Tfrid humans

Setting the tone

Bumblebee paced around his living room. It was big, perfect for pacing. Optimus came down the stairs, grunting a little with each step. Bumblebee could tell the toll each year had on him. "Dad... you're going to need to sit." He said solemnly. "Just what I was going to do," Optimus smiled, still so full of light even though he was aging fast. He used the old wooden frame of the couch to sit down, the soft cushions easing his legs. "Dad... you're getting older..." Bumblebee began. Optimus frowned. "No no no. I know where this talk is going." He said. Full of light but still so stubborn.

"I'm only 60."

Bumblebee sighed. "Dad..." he handed him a pamphlet for a nursing home and turned on the table lamp by the couch so he could read it. "Why can't I stay here?" He asked, looking up at his son with disappointment. Not at his son, but more of a sad kind.

"Listen, I'm just saying that I might not be able to give you the kind of care you need at your age."

"But I don't want it. I can still take care of myself. I'm over 40 year old I'll say that but I've still got it." Optimus said, throwing the pamphlet onto the pale green rug. Bumblebee shook his head and picked it up to set it on the table with the lamp. "You need to think about it... but it's your choice." He spoke smoothly and stoically.

"Please don't let this set the tone for the rest of the evening." Optimus pleaded, running a hand through his short, grey hair.

Maybe it already has... Bumblebee though with a frown.

{About an hour after Optimus had went to sleep: Wednesday}

Bumblebee slouched at a bar stool, drink in hand. It wasn't a strong one, it was just a Wednesday night afterall. Of course he had things on his mind he didn't really want to worry about at the moment so you would be damn right to know it was alcohol. He was at a bar.

A tall man sat by him. This slightly sunburned man had a cowardly feel about him, but sort of like a smart cowardice. Like he knew how to do things and when not to do things.

He had slicked back, brunet hair and wide, yellowish hazel eyes, and a narrow face. Bumblebee could see he wore makeup, to which he had pale foundation, maroon eyeshadow, deep gold eyeliner and subtle blush.

His clothes were mostly maroon-coloured and well-fitting and had a jean-jacket with the Australian flag over the breast pocket.

"Aye lug! Bloody Mary over here!" He shouted at the bartender, his thick Australian accent rolling so naturally off his tongue. "Quit  allying me a "lug" Hudson." The bartender, Underbite as far as Bumblebee knew, growled, grabbing the vodka and other things to begin mixing Hudson's drink. "That's Chopshop to you ol' boy! Hudson's my dad." He snarked as he was headed the alcohol. Underbite rolled his eyes.

"Pay up."

"Add it to my tab!" Chopshop chuckled as he left the counter, accidentally bumping hard into Bumblebee's shoulder and knocking his badge out of his jacket. He always had that with him when he wasn't in uniform. Chopshop saw it and his facial expression seemed to change a bit. "A cop eh?" He said, glancing at him from the corners of his eyes. He picked it up.

"You're Lieutenant Prime?"

Bumblebee took it back from him. "You can call me Bumblebee." He held out his hand for him to shake it but the Australian man brushed it away. "I'll be seeing you then," he said as he walked off.

[contract]

Jetstorm sat in the couch after school pissed. That stupid contract with the stupid Bounty Hunting whoever made Drift go. Or he made himself go. Either way he promised he would be home for that week. He promised that they wouldn't call him because this was his vacation but screw that. Screw it all. Sometimes, he wishes Drift didn't adopt them. He wished sometimes he would tell them who that other person he adopted them with was so they could live with them instead. Maybe that person would actually give them some attention and comfort that they needed. Jetstorm doubted that they really wanted Drift to leave them with their two toddlers.

Jetstorm sat on his phone, he was supposed to be grounded for getting in the fight with the neighbors kids but it's not like Drift was there to monitor it.

#texting

Jet: Where are you?!

Jet: You said you wouldn't be too long!

Slip: sorry I just got carried away

Jet: with what

Slip: none of your business

Jet: tell meeee

Slip: no.

Jet: come on

Jet: please

Jet: tell meee

Jet: you can trust me

Jet: it can't be that bad

Jet: are you ignoring me??

Jetstorm rolled his eyes and slouched. Either his brother was doing something stupid or something dumb. Only one would cause lasting damage and Jetstorm knew he was pretty responsible. He just hoped that he really knew how responsible Slipstream was.

[Keep going]

Fixit groaned as he walked to his door. His little house wasn't much but the rent wasn't terrible and it was easy to clean. His hand twitched as he put the key to the handle. He barely noticed it as it was happening to him his whole life. He got in and didn't even bother locking the door behind him. He just slumped dejectedly in a chair. It felt nice to get off those prosthetic legs for once. He was born with fragile bones, to the point the doctors had to apmputate from the lower half of his shin down to his feet on both legs.

Prosthetic legs.

Just another thing to make his life harder. And least his Tourettes didn't really affect those.

He checked his phone. The only notifications were from apps telling him people were posting. He didn't bother posting anything on social media really. No one ever liked or commented anyway. He never got any messages from the one dating app he had. No one ever texted him. "WO-woo-woosh!" He shouted involuntarily as his phone went flying from his hand. He sighed as he went to pick it up. He didn't care to suppress it at home, but he wished he could do better at work. It wasn't like his coworkers didn't notice the occasional "bap-bap" or twitch. And how he hated it when they did.

All the banter all the name calling the questions. It was too much. It was always too much. Sometimes he wished he didn't exist. Maybe he shouldn't exist. He was one twitch away from being useless. He was one broken bone away from having his whole leg amputated. Maybe both. Granted his bones were stronger now, most of what was going on was only spread throughout the aputated parts of his legs. Even so it still felt as though he could just break. He tried his best to smile. To be happy. Every day it was harder and harder.

He sighed deeply and went through his contacts. There wasn't many. He picked the number he trusted most, a man who worked at a scrapyard.

"Hey Denny... over been having some trouble..." his voice was so low he barely recognized it compared to all the smiling and happy mess he usually coated it with.

"You thinking about it again... aren't you?"

Fixit didn't bother to answer that question. "Listen if your hands are full with your kid it's okay... I'll be okay..."

"It doesn't sound like it. You should come over for a while."

"Denny... no. This was a mistake."

"It's not a mistake. The only mistake here is if I hang up now. I'll be there to pick you up. You're my friend and I care about you."

Denny was so kind. He was possibly the only man in the world who would say that to him. "Okay... I'll be here... maybe..."

"You will. Okay? Don't let those puckered asses you work with tell you how you should feel about yourself."

Fixit smiled a little bit. They were assholes.

"I'll be here. Definitely."

%side note y'all. Fixit is literally my comfort character in the series bc his little glitches are a lot like Tourettes and I (diagnosed I fucking hate it when people pretend they have it so they can get attention) have been living with Tourettes for most of my life.