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Becoming Mama Bear	By : Breech_Loader Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > Het - M/F Views: 8539 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Becoming Mama Bear

Co-Written by Harley Quinn hyenaholic and Froggy22651

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Harley: Okay, moving on to Hotwire. And I know, yes, I damn well KNOW that she’s been in another fanfic of mine. But the Decepticons don’t have a medic. And the other day I altered the colour of Hotwire’s optics. No, that doesn’t mean her optics change colour. It just means I think they look better green and concealed by a blue visor.

Froggy: What Harley’s trying to say is that she’s almost certain that Hotwire is not a Mary Sue. It’s always kind of hard to decide for yourself.

~~~

Chapter Three: Angel of Death

“Let me get this straight.”

Mixmaster and Scrapper were both looking at Hotwire hopefully and holding out Bumblebee’s limp robot form. Hotwire, the unit medic of the Decepticons, was standing in the door of her med-bay, her round face looking as apathetic as ever. You wouldn’t think somebody that thin could be that apathetic.

Hotwire was insane up in the mainframe. Not quite as crazy as a split-personality like Blitzwing, but most of the times she had gotten involved with battles between the Autobots and the Decepticons, she had demonstrated how little she cared for taking sides.

“Let me get this absolutely straight,” Hotwire repeated, her six foot plait twitching in irritation, “You just busted up this Autobot prisoner, and now that he can’t show his agony anymore, you want me to fix him up so that you can torture him again.” Her impassive expression changed for a moment to one of disgust and horror, but it was so brief that neither Constructicon paid attention.

“Oh, come on Hotwire,” Scrapper pleaded, “Everybody in this base knows you’ve fixed both Autobots and Decepticons. Besides, he’ll probably die if you don’t.”

Hotwire’s mouth twitched now. Her original function had once been Triage Officer, and a long, long time ago on Cybertron she had been given the task of deciding who on the battlefield would live, and who would die. Well, not so much given it as taken it on. But here on the Nemesis, there was enough equipment and medicine to not need Triage. Nobody should have to die for lack of supplies.

“And anyway,” Mixmaster added, seeing the twitch, “It wasn’t us who busted him up. We didn’t even get a chance. It was the Seekers. We just found him like this.”

“And you were so disappointed that your fun had been spoilt that you came straight to me for some repairs,” Hotwire said. Her voice was a low drawl, “How honoured I feel.”

“What, do you have a problem with Autobots getting tortured?” Scrapper asked, sounding suspicious.

“I just don’t see the point of doing so,” Hotwire answered. As usual, she gave them a rote, empty response that confirmed nothing, “Besides, you’re acting as if this is a twenty minute fix-up job. It could take weeks. Months even. Depends how quickly I can get the parts. He might not even live through the repairs.”

The pitiful-looking Autobot prisoner twitched briefly in his captor's grip, trying to squirm free. He edidn't want to be repaired! But he was so utterly drained of energy that it was a useless effort with no reward.

“Come on, Babe,” Scrapper pleaded, “You like fixing people. It's what you were made for!”

How can you know what I was made for when I'm not even sure? Hotwire continued to look at the Constructicons impassively. Part of the reason for the lack of emotion was the visor that covered the top half of her face, hiding her optics. She hardly ever smiled either, that was for certain.

The Autobot made a sound that was something like a cough, but was more like a burst of static. His vocal circuits had been utterly destroyed in the brutal sessions he had been put through, and he could not so much as beg for help... and it didn't look like he even had the will to do that if he could.

Mixmaster got the feeling that Hotwire was looking right through him, “Come on Hots,” he whined, “Hurry up and choose! You don't fix him up quick, you won't get a chance to strangle your creators!”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Hotwire commented dully, as usual listening to only half the conversation, “It’s just that I don’t like being given extra work just because somebody else is having more than their fair share of ‘fun’.”

“Fine,” Scrapper muttered, “We’ll take the little scrap pile out back and dump him in the garbage heap. He’ll be dead soon anyway.” He and Mixmaster turned away, carrying the limp body of Bumblebee between them.

Being dragged off, the weak Autobot shuddered in relief. Death would be slow, but it would come. The expression on his face, despite a lack of optics or vocals, was utterly pitiful.

Hotwire didn't seem to be looking at the blinded Bumblebee at all, "Oh, very well," she said calmly, "Put him on the table and get out. I'll contact you when he's ready to be moved again. And remember, it could take weeks, or months. It would take weeks even if I didn't have other things to do."

Scrapper and Mixmaster grinned at each other and walked back into the med-lab, dropping Bumblebee onto the med-lab table heavily, before they walked out, the door sliding shit behind them.

Bumblebee gave a pained crackle of static from his speaker unit as he was dropped heavily onto the table, squirming weakly in his injured state. He tried and failed to speak again, glancing around blindly at his surroundings with empty optics. Fearful and alone, he slowly curled up into a protective ball on the steel table, leaking vital lubrication fluids from his cracked chassis. He wanted to offline! Why wouldn't they let him?!

Hotwire looked down at the injured mech. She was shocked and disgusted at what had been done to him, though she didn't dare to say it out loud. This was a Decepticon base, after all. But just by looking at him, she could see that he'd been beaten and raped multiple times, with his armour torn off him and his optics and voicebox torn out, and there was barely a place on him she could touch without smearing her own hands with his oily blood. It was appalling, "Bumblebee?" she asked, softening her voice, and taking his right hand, "Squeeze my hand twice if you can still hear me."

A moment passed with inaction, and it began to look like he couldn't hear her at all, but the young Autobot gained the will to do something, to answer something at all, and he gave her hand two light squeezes.

Hotwire sighed with relief, "Okay, Bumblebee, I'm going to start by giving you a strong painkiller program. You'll feel less pain, but don't move, I don't want you further damaging yourself," she continued to look him over. At some point, somebody had effectively crippled his legs, and she was pretty sure that his chassis and back had been cut into with an Energon Whip.

With that, Bumblebee felt a sharp sting in his neck as the painkiller program was installed into his circuits. It would be about eight hours before Hotwire could give him another.

Something like a metallic sigh escaped Bumblebee, and the wounded Autobot relaxed. Limply lying back against the table, he tried to speak again, failing once more. Driven on by some goal known only to him, the robot tried to scratch something into the surface of the steel table.

"Don't try to speak," Hotwire released his hand and wheeled over an Energon feed - for Bumblebee hadn't been refuelled much, and he'd bled out a lot of Energon. Without a feed, he might die during surgery, "You could weaken what's left of your vocals further." She plugged the feed into his right wrist, and started attaching the tabs for the Spark Monitor to his chassis, "I'm hooking you up to a monitor and an Energon feed," she told him, "So don't worry."

It seemed to have the opposite of the intended effect. Bumblebee scratched more forcefully onto the table, a metallic shriek accompanying the sounds of the equipment and monitors as he tried to etch some symbols into the table.

"Don't struggle, Autobot!" Hotwire pressed the flat of her hand to his chassis, trying to hold him down without hurting or scaring him, "You're not strong enough!"

Determined not to be stopped, Bumblebee put whatever strength he had left into his task, scratching out a message and finally falling back and relaxing on the table. He had scrawled something in the Cybertronian language on the metal table, and while it was messy and somewhat difficult to read, the words were clear; "Shut me down."

"Shut you down?" Hotwire took his hand again, frowning, "You mean, end your life?" she asked him.

Weakly, Bumblebee nodded his head, affirming what she had gotten from the message. Clearly he was in so much pain that he thought that death was the only way to escape it. Or worse, maybe it was a loss of all hope which had driven him to ask that of a total stranger.

"No," Hotwire said firmly, "Bumblebee, you are my patient. I will protect you. It's my job. I couldn't live with myself if I shut somebody down when I had the equipment to save them. And I will protect you, no matter whose side you're on."

A shudder went through the frame of Bumblebee, and the young Cybertronian reached out to take her hand again, giving it a squeeze. It was a pitiful sight, him reaching out to an enemy for the smallest bit of comfort and certainty he could find, but it was all he had. He was weak, defenceless, and on death's edge already. He wasn't sure if he trusted her, but he had no choice.

Hotwire growled, placing Bumblebee's hand back on the table, "Those arrogant, spiteful, cruel, sadistic... POINTLESS Decepticons!" she snapped, "Having their 'fun', then giving me all this work just so that they can have even more fun..." she took a deep breath, trying to cool herself down. Bumblebee wasn't certain whether she was telling the truth, but it was nice to hear at least that somebody here didn't agree with what had been done to him.

He would take what he could get. It was not like he had a lot of choice in the matter. His life was in her hands, and it seemed that she had chosen to sustain him... if only so he could end up sent back to this hospital bed again.

Hotwire slid one hand under Bumblebee's head, checking it. There was an ugly dent on the back of his helm, but it hadn't been cracked, "Don't be afraid," she told him, "I won't allow anybody to hurt you in here. This is my med-lab. Now..." she picked up a soldering iron, "I'm going to start the repairs by welding shut your wounds. It may sting a little, even with the painkiller program, but it shouldn't hurt too much. Don't fidget."

It looked as if Bumblebee wanted to try and argue the point again, but either he decided to trust Hotwire for the moment or was simply too tired to try and protest. Sighing and laying still, he complied with her request.

Hotwire started by welding shut the many cuts on his chassis - that was, of course, the most important place. Rejoining torn servos as she did so, she knew that many of Bumblebee's damaged circuits would have to be replaced rather than just repaired, but she did everything she could with the soldering iron, before moving onto his right arm. It might be the least damaged of his limbs, but it still needed work doing on it, "Those bastards really did a number on you," she commented as she worked.

Bumblebee's shudder certainly reinforced that statement. He didn't seem to mind the pain of the soldering iron, but then again, after the suffering he had endured, it was nothing to him. No matter how much she repaired his body, Hotwire could not fix his mind or erase the memories that were sure to haunt him for however long his life would be...

"Okay..." Hotwire said after about half-an-hour. She had completed the basic work on Bumblebee's right arm, but there was much more to be done, and it would need more than a soldering iron to deal with, "I'm gonna move onto your other arm now," she told him, picking up the useless left arm. The damage Starscream had done ensured that even after she'd done all she could with the soldering iron, it would need hours of specialist repair to the joints, circuits and servos. It was only still attached at the elbow by a few wires.

It was so bad that Bumblebee's processor had disconnected all sensation to the arm below the elbow, having overloaded his pain sensors. Many replacement parts would be needed. And Hotwire knew that once she'd done the basic repairs, it would start to hurt again. She didn't bother telling Bumblebee. He'd find out soon enough. She started making repairs with the soldering iron, repairing torn metal and the wires, "Frag, I'm practically rebuilding you from the inside out," she muttered, "Bet they wouldn't be so quick to torture if they were the ones who had to clean up afterwards... sickos..."

Bumblebee couldn't argue with that. Autobots had to interrogate prisoners sometimes, and sometimes they had to get rough with them, but they never went as far as these Decepticon monsters, and they certainly never did it for fun.

Hotwire fell silent, completing her work on Bumblebee's left arm. As she did so, she thought about his request to be offlined. Not that she would ever grant it... but suppose the young mech tried to do it himself? She wouldn't be here all the time. A few nerves were wired back in, and pain suddenly shot through the Autobot again.

Bumblebee flinched and contorted in a soundless scream as pain sensors and circuits came back to agonizing life for a brief moment, and then he was still again, tremors running through his battered chassis. Why wouldn't she offline him and end his pain?

Hotwire moved her nimble fingers down to start work on Bumblebee's damaged legs. It was unlikely that he'd even be able to walk the way they were right now. But at least he was bleeding out a lot less energon. Instead of the sticky, oily fluids leaking from his wounds, they were drying. Of course he still looked terrible, but at least he wasn't losing Energon now.

Bumblebee, while hardly looking comfortable or healthy, at least was starting to seem more relaxed in her presence. He was drained from the loss of vital fluids, but he would be better off now without dripping them everywhere. He didn't look grateful for the repair, though. In fact, he looked very, very afraid.

Hotwire wasn't good at reading expressions, but the fear in Bumblebee's face was easy to see, "I know you've been damaged around here..." she straightened his legs and started to weld the top half, "And I don't expect you to trust me so quickly. But I'm not going to hurt you."

Another crackle of static escaped Bumblebee's damaged vocal circuits, and the young Autobot had to disagree with the medic with all his spark. She was hurting the hell out of him with her welding iron... even if it was an unavoidable pain.

Hotwire continued to work her way down his left leg, "Of course, the damage that can be seen, is only part of the problem," she said, holding her own conversation, "Considering the number of times you've been... abused... I'll need to do an intricate systems scan to check whether you've been infected with any viruses."

Were he able to speak, Bumblebee would have told her that, yes, he did have several viruses in his system that his firewall and antiviral programs were fighting hard to get rid of. It was a particularly vile gift from his brutal captors, and it made him feel worse to even think about it.

"But for now... the important part is to keep you functioning... day by day," Hotwire moved onto the Autobot's right upper leg. Time passed, "Now..." she finished a few wires and looked on her work. There was still much to do, even if you didn't take into account the torn armour, and damaged optics and voicebox. So many circuits needed repairing, "This would be so much easier if the Decepticons had the AllSpark key," she muttered to herself.

That shook Bumblebee out of his calm acceptance of her treatment, causing the Autobot to thrash and try to drag himself off the table. He'd be damned before any Decepticon got their hands on the Allspark. Not after all they had done to him, not after all his comrades had sacrificed.

"Stop that!" Hotwire tried to hold him down gently again, "I've already told you, moving around like that could seriously damage you!"

He didn't care. He was determined to no longer be a prisoner. He had to get out somehow but he had no idea how to accomplish it. He couldn't even see!

"Bumblebee, if you keep struggling like this, I'll have to sedate you!" Hotwire warned him, "You're not repaired enough to do this!"

Bumblebee was not stupid; he knew she had a point. In his state, he wouldn’t get ten meters before a Decepticon took him down and dragged him back to his cell. If he was patient, maybe Hotwire would fix him up enough that he would actually stand a chance. He stopped struggling, quietly shaking in anger.

"I am trying to help you," Hotwire said smoothly, putting the soldering iron aside, "Tomorrow I will continue the work on your circuits... but for now... I think you could use a little cleaning up." She picked up a damp rag, and started to wipe the dried on fluids away from Bumblebee's face.

The young Cybertronian laid back and let her clean him. The simple act of removing the grime and fluids from his body felt good. It was a simple relief that he needed. It helped to keep him a bit more sane in this nightmare he found himself in.

"Yes," Hotwire sighed, "And I may be in this Decepticon base, healing their 'cons... but it doesn't mean I'm on their side. I'm just doing my job. The job there's nobody else to do." She started to clean off Bumblebee's chassis with its bare, sensitive circuits. By Primus... there was even fully processed energon stuck to him.

Bumblebee frowned. It seemed odd to him that Hotwire was here if she felt that way. If she was a medic and she wanted to help people, it seemed that the Decepticons would be the last people she would be willing to work for.

Hotwire didn't expect Bumblebee to understand, But she continued to talk as she cleaned him, "I'm not an Autobot. And I'm not a Decepticon. I'm neutral. Somebody needs to be."

If he could have laughed, he would have, although it likely would have come out bitter. Bumblebee failed to see how anyone could be neutral in this war. One way or another, everyone got dragged in and forced to take a side, and it seemed that Hotwire was no different, even if she claimed to be.

Hotwire saw the thin smile on Bumblebee's face, "I'll explain some other time," she said, wiping down his arms, "Not that it really matters... Decepticons weren't the only team to keep me in a cage and use me as a tool."

Bumblebee easily understood what she was implying, although he certainly didn't believe it. The Autobots imprisoned enemies, but they didn't "use them as a tool." She had to be exaggerating or just being bitter.

Hotwire shook her head, even though Bumblebee couldn't see it. In this place, this cage, where she was monitored every second of her life, and treated like a drone more than a femme, the only important thing was to do her job. It was all she had left. Maybe someday she'd tell him that. She moved her hand further down, and started to clean up his crotch.

Bumblebee flinched and batted Hotwire's hand away, uncomfortable with her touching him there, or anyone for that matter. The memories of his recent abuses were still too clear in his mind.

"I know, I know," Hotwire said, answering his silent protests, "You don't like being touched there. But it still has to be cleaned up." She pushed Bumblebee's hand away and continued the task, having to investigate some way into him. There was a sickening amount of lubricant and energon dried on the inside of his thighs. His interface cables were covered in it. It was inside his interface port and exhaust in thick, sticky layers of grease, energon, lubricant, soot, and just about every fluid a Cybertronian could expel. Not once had the small mech been allowed to wash himself out.

Bumblebee made a static-filled noise of protest again, but he knew it had to be done. At least it was being done quickly and without emotion, by a clinical mind, and so wasn't as humiliating as being touched by the other Decepticons. But it wasn't a task that was over quickly, for there was such a lot of disgusting muck down there, and it all needed to be removed.

When it was finally completed, Hotwire threw the filthy rag into a chute for incineration, "Okay... done," she looked up at the half-empty Energon feed, "You'll need some recharge before I work on your circuits... but I'm not sure that I trust leaving you alone."

Bumblebee gave her a confused look...or tried to, at least. Being blind, he wasn't looking directly at her. But he knew why she felt he needed to be watched. If he could get the strength up, he'd try and offline himself. He couldn't go back to that cell again!

"Or," Hotwire was still technically talking to herself, "I could always get somebody in here," she looked at the spark monitor, still beeping away, "What am I to do with you?" she sighed.

He couldn't provide a whole lot of input. He just hoped that she wouldn't place him with someone else. She seemed to be the only person with a sense of decency in the whole base.

"Oh well..." Hotwire sighed. Almost eight hours of repairs had really tired her out. The painkiller program would be wearing off soon too, "I suppose I'll have to rely on these..." She raised the bars on each side of the bunk that were designed to stop mechs from falling off it, "There will be more repairs tomorrow," she told Bumblebee.

The Autobot nodded slightly, laying back against the bed and sighing, exhausted by the ordeal, as well. At least now he didn't feel like he was on the edge of death. Maybe, just maybe, if he bided his time, he would get his chance to escape from this hell. He had to cling to that hope or else lose his mind.

~~~

Harley: You know the response. Read and Review.

Froggy: Constructive Criticism accepted! The point is that Bumblebee can't speak just yet. You'll have to wait until he's repaired.
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Becoming Mama Bear