The dusk was suffocating.
The dim light from the setting sun proved a worthy halo for the mech that the yellow Autobot sought. For a moment, Bumblebee paused, standing at the foot of a hill to watch the one who had situated himself at the crest; an eerie, jagged silhouette wreathed in the blood red hues of the dying day.
There had always been something about Barricade that had unnerved the Camaro. He was not afraid of the Mustang, not hardly; the smaller Autobot had courage that most faction leaders lacked, and there was no situation in existence in which Bumblebee would not lay down his life for his cause. Perhaps it was the notion that his self-appointed nemesis was much the same. Knowing that Barricade was alone, Bumblebee eased forward, scaling the hill slowly, and none too stealthily. He made no effort to quiet his heavy footsteps; the last thing he wished to do was creep up on a very paranoid Decepticon. The slight change in the Saleen's stance told the Autobot that his presence was known.
"What do you want?"
Bumblebee visibly winced. The voice. The sharp, grating intones laden so heavy with hatred caused his dermosensors to keen and shiver, sending a shudder over Bumblebee's hide. That's what it was. That hatred. The sheer and utter loathing that Barricade was capable of, that was what made the Camaro nervous. Bumblebee had never been reviled so completely, so deeply, before.
"To talk," the yellow ventured, staying out of reach of the black.
Barricade turned his helm, quadoptics glinting reddish yellow as they focused their spiteful gaze upon the Autobot. "Your time for words is long past."
The black-striped Camaro made a sound akin to clearing his throat, his still unreliable and tinny-sounding voice processor acting up and cutting out. "I know," he replied softly. "I didn't come here to reconcile. What's been done can't be undone. I understand that."
Barricade seemed to roll his optic sensors. Damned Autobot sentimentality. It irked him so. "Get to the point and leave, Autobot."
"I need your help."
A bomb going off ten feet away could not have gotten the Ford's full attention better. Barricade twitched in surprise, jerking his head to focus on the Chevrolet once more. The look of shock quickly melted back into the typical expression of cruel neutrality commonly seen across the Ford's facial plating. "It is curiosity alone that compels me to ask you to explain."
Pride was an acidic potion, and it hurt going down, but Bumblebee swallowed. He had to ask this of his enemy. "It's Sam," he blurted. "He has fallen ill and has need to travel to a hospital some two hours northeast of here."
Barricade scowled. "Last I checked," he sneered unkindly. "You have a vehicle mode all on your own. Take him yourse--"
"That's not what I need you for." Bumblebee stood a little stronger. "Sam collapsed thirty minutes ago. Ratchet says he needs to go to a hospital who can treat him for possible radiation poisoning, and Ratchet himself is in Sacramento helping with a fifteen car pileup there." The pain in the yellow Autobot's damaged vocals was thick and heavy. "He couldn't get here in time. I can get Sam there easily by myself, but I'd wind up with half of California's highway patrol after me."
It clicked. "And you want a … police escort." The black Decepticon latched onto the agony in his enemy's voice and tilted his head. "Radiation. So you have finally figured out that we are poisonous to them with prolonged, constant exposure."
The Camaro flinched, and ducked his head. "It was not something any of us thought about at the time."
"And now your charge is suffering for your ignorance. Priceless."Barricade turned away from the Chevy once more, focusing on the outline of the city silhouetted by the very last remains of the sunset. Emotional pain, it was so evident. The oozing, stifling feeling of the pain and guilt that the Autobot was suffering from soothed Barricade's nerves as though it were cream on a burn, and he finally broke the silence that had once more encompassed them both: "And why should I help you help the maggot?"
"A trade. I don't have a lot of time to negotiate with you, Barricade, but this is what I offer: peace." Bumblebee stopped as the Mustang looked at him. "You are the last known Decepticon on this planet. Your teammates are all either dead or have fled and left you behind. Help me now, and I give you my word that none of the Autobots who remain here will bother you." The yellow shook his head slowly. "We will not come after you as Ironhide has repeatedly attempted to instigate."
For several minutes the two rivals stood face to face, weapons unarmed, just staring at one another as the last remnants of the day faded into the distance, leaving only clear, bright night sky in its wake. From their vantage point, a thousand tiny stars exploded overhead, and Bumblebee found himself anxiously glancing up at them, away from his friend-turned-adversary, awaiting the pivotal answer to his request. Sam did not have time to wait.
Barricade shook his head. "Get him there yourself. I owe you, of all Autobots, absolutely nothing."
The Ford abruptly found himself listening to the ominous thrum of the yellow Camaro's charged weapon as Bumblebee pressed it to the side of his head. He didn't remember the Autobot reaching out and grabbing the sable armor surrounding the tender and easily damageable components of his neck to yank him closer. He didn't recall the clicking and whirring of Bumblebee's gun hand reconfiguring and charging.
All Barricade was aware of at the time was the heat of the cannon and the bright, angry sapphire gaze of the Autobot that he had once called 'friend'.
"I tried so hard to be civil with you, Barricade," Bumblebee whispered quietly, face to face with his equally sized rival. "I will not let Sam perish because of me. It would be so simple for you to earn your right to live peacefully here without the worry of being hunted. You as well as I understand your predicament, Decepticon: alone on the face of a planet that hates you. This is your chance to rethink your answer."
Only a hair's breadth apart, with nothing between them but the dank, humid night, Barricade stared into the bright blue orbs imbedded in the face of one whom he'd once been pleasant with. Many eons past, before the cold, before the pain, before the battles and wounds and emotional numbing that had taken place after the war's initial beginning. Before the altercation between the Decepticons and Autobots had begun, the black and yellow had passed before in conversation, and had even entertained one another at one of the local watering holes over high grade. A routine slowly presented itself, and they found each other meeting precisely twice a week at the bar to chat.
Back when Autobots and Decepticons speaking together was not uncommon, or wrong.
The police impersonator tilted his helm to the side slightly, feeling the cannon follow his movements. Unexpectedly, Barricade leaned forward, closing the small space that separated his chest from Bumblebee's – a movement reserved for lovers only, not enemies. "You hide behind your faction," he hissed maliciously, softly. Four wicked eyes polished with fire glanced upwards for the fleeting passing of a second at the scuffed insignia conspicuous on the yellow helmet, only to flick back down at the Camaro's visage, inches away. "When, from where I'm standing, that symbol of yours looks a lot like mine."
The last nine words that escaped Barricade's vocal processor struck Bumblebee like a train. The Autobot got a very clear image of what he was doing in his mind's eye: standing atop a hill at dusk, the din of the busy Californian city as his backdrop, holding a charged cannon to the temple of an opponent who had no weapons at the ready. The barrel of the firearm trembled infinitesimally with the realization that perhaps in more ways than one, he was very much comparable to this most violent enemy.
Possibly, he was not as innocent as everyone around him perceived him to be.
His voice was strained, thick with indecision and grief. "I cannot let Sam die. Please, Barricade. There was a time you would not have hesitated."
"A time that you destroyed with your decision to mislead me," crooned the Decepticon almost gently, but the poisonous undertone was undeniable. "How many millennia have passed since then, and still you hang onto it, as if you think it will come back?"
Bumblebee stared hard at his counterpart, so close. "Some days, I hope it will."
The Mustang let his half-doorwings stand up straight, a victorious, haughty stance. "You're as stupid now as you were when I first met you, Bumblebee. You've just grown sneakier." A twisted grin settled across the raven mech's already grotesque features. "You would make a fantastic Decepticon…you're already halfway there. Had you gone straight from the greeting to the gun-slinging and skipped over the asking completely, you'd already be one of us."
"Answer me!" the Camaro cried, unable to take the viciousness of the truth being shoved in his face.
Barricade snarled, his bizarre, toothy maw millimeters from tearing into the yellow and silver plating that was right in front of him. But...he refrained. "I suppose you have given me no choice."
Bumblebee heaved a sigh if relief, an action that he had picked up from hanging out with Witwicky so much. "Ironhide is waiting with Sam down the road."
Without so much as a nod, Barricade assumed his Ford Mustang mode and motored down the hill. The yellow Autobot watched him, expecting him to flee as soon as he felt it was possible to do so, but no. The Decepticon that he'd once chatted over drinks with had never been the kind to run from a threat, even when it came from someone or something that he couldn't possibly be victorious against. Another similarity between the yellow and the black: both were courageous and defiant of danger, be it out of necessity or pride. Disengaging his forearm cannon, Bumblebee called after the retreating ebony and ivory form. "Barricade."
The diffused glow of bold red taillights shown at the bottom of the grassy hill.
"I'm sorry, and thank you."
A disgruntled rumble of the V-8 engine sitting beneath the slick black hood was his only answer. Crouching, Bumblebee shifted into the sleek sports car that he had scanned, feeling every piece of himself reallocate back into place. The Camaro slowly followed the Mustang, picking up Ironhide on the way, and with Barricade at the front of the short emergency procession, they hit the highway.
Maybe I'm not so nice.
[Author's Notes: I went through and edited it, as I had written this yesterday without any sort of editing. Anyway, this version explains a bit better why Ratchet couldn't drive Sam himself, given that ambulances are exempt from being pulled over by the police. I just like how the whole thing flows better now, personally.
Also, I just wanted to say, that when I say "radiation" in this fanfic, I am not referring to "rads" as they stated in the 2007 Movie. If I meant "rads", which, as a reader informed me, is a measurement of energy absorbed, I would have said "rads". When I refer to radiation in this fic, I'm not pulling anything from the movie at all -- but in truth, how are we to know what sort of radiation and energy fields these alien mechs have that could screw with our little organic bodies over time? Imagine the radiation they could have just picked up amidst their travels in the vast darkness of space.
All in all, Sam's ill-health was just a plot device that I mused on, and an excuse to write a non-smutty but still emotionally meaningful piece between the possibility of friends turning to enemies. Also: LOOK. BUMBLEBEE BEING IMPERFECT AND UNCUTE. ; I know the world shall implode now!