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It was heavy.
Bumblebee laid on the makeshift berth, a servos curled right above his spark chamber. Twitch and Thrash were playing a card game that the Malto children had taught them. By the sound of it, Thrash was losing and hard. Twitch giggled, vocalizer low enough as to not disturb Bumblebee who was supposed to be in recharge.
He onlined his optics once again, the increasingly familiar view of wooden beams that made up the ceiling of the barn. He thought about the feeling of hearing Alex talking about his family traditions, how it had felt being able to join the older Malto as he went through the practiced motions. It reminded Bumblebee of training with Jazz as the older autobot taught him all the skills a good scout would need to know. Sometimes if he wasn't too busy, he'd even tell Bumblebee about life before the war.
It was strange to hear, and he had tried his hardest to remember cities like Iacon as they were, not as remnants and rubble that were replaced with outposts with makeshift barricades. No Decepticons. No Autobots. No shortages of Energon. He had often wondered what a time of peace really was like, only knowing of it as an abstract concept that the rest of them thought about wistfully.
It wasn't to say Bumblebee hadn't hoped for an end of the war. It was what he had been fighting for along with his comrades. It was what he remembered wishing for when he was even smaller, a tiny thing perched on Optimus's lap as the Prime talked about no more death and fighting. The thought of Optimus, of safety from contact, had his vocalizer stall for a moment.
That was the crux of the issue, wasn't it?
Bumblebee knew nothing but war. Any memories before the war were scattered things, dominated mostly by the comfort of Breakdown's company and the haze inherent to sparkling memories. In practice, he had only ever been a soldier, and soldiers didn't need to be comforted when they couldn't sleep at night. Soldiers shouldn't need to be held close and have coolant wiped from their optics because they were too scared of the dark. They shouldn't need to be reassured and comforted by their commanding officers. Soldiers shouldn't act like sparklings because he stopped being one the moment he got his red insignia. Bumblebee shouldn't need Optimus to tell him he's proud of him, shouldn't need Optimus to answer each stupidly irrelevant comm call, shouldn't need Optimus to share some Cybertronian tradition with him. Bumblebee shouldn't need Optimus outside of orders, like every good soldier.
He wasn't a little sparkling that sat on Optimus's lap as the other held him. He couldn't be that anymore. Optimus knew it, but Bumblebee still hadn't fully learned to deal with the distance that had been placed between himself and the mech he had considered his...
He thought of Alex and Robby, contentment and matching easy smiles as they shared something that spoke of their bond. He offlined his optics once again.
The comm line played the almost cruel voicemail message. Bumblebee hung up.
He wasn't Optimus's sparkling anymore. He had to move on. He just wish it didn't hurt that much.
Two small frames curled up against him. He turned, observing how Twitch and Thrash had made their way silently toward him. The twins stared at him, glowing eyes peering over his own frame. He opened his intake to speak, only for the words to stall. He reset his vocalizer.
"Did you need anything?" He asked the sparklings. There was no war, afterall. There can be sparklings now.
The Terrans looked at each other, no doubt communicating in the way they shared with their human siblings.
"We just... wanted to try recharging! Yeah, we definitely didn't want to check on you because you seemed sad." Thrash said, nodding against Bumblebee's arm to show he was satisfied with the lie.
"Mom always tells Robby and Mo that they need to sleep if they want to grow up healthy, so we should do that, too!"
"What is wrong, Bee?" Optimus had asked, blue optics peering down at him. He giggled, pulling the small toy that Elita had definitely not bought for him closer. The Prime chuckled. The scene plays as it always does when Bumblebee remembers it. The last night he had been a sparkling. Optimus brushed a servo over one of his horns. Bumblebee remembered leaning into it.
"Sparklings need to recharge if they want to grow strong..." Bumblebee whispered, echoing what Optimus had said what felt like a lifetime ago.
It was perhaps selfish. He did not need these comforts. He hasn't been a sparkling since that moment, regardless of what any Decepticon had sneered during a fight or what Ratchet said when the normally grumpy mech would slide energon treats to him after patching him up. And yet...
The twins squeaked in joy and cuddled closer. Twitch's tiny digits curled around his own and Thrash wedged himself right at his shoulder. His free servo drifted to his chassis, right above his spark. It curled.
It was still heavy, but maybe just that bit lighter.