Summary: Dark fic and self-harm ahead! When you spend too much time thinking, bad things happen. The thoughts became too much and Bumblebee didn't realize until he was soaked in his own energon.

A/N: Consider this my apology for being away so long! :3 Angsty Bee is a fun Bee to write. I'm a sadistic little freak.

He knew he had a problem, but he just didn't want to do anything about it. It was pure habit, something he had done for a long time and never told anyone about. His emotional walls had been built up so high that not even he could see over the top. The mind, specifically his, was an interesting little thing. No matter how hard he tried, the blockade wouldn't crumble.

He had tried everything from surprising himself to accepting those buried feelings from within. Every time, he would get the same result: the masked rebound. He'd lock himself in his room for Primus knew how long and admit to his fears and anxiety. He'd remember friends and family that came to pass, Optimus Prime's amnesia, Raf's fight with death, and everything else in between. However, his barriers were far too sturdy. As soon as the thought of war and destruction entered his processor, they were kicked right out. He could never lower the walls alone. Each time the mask unraveled, there had been a presence.

It started when Ratchet left his laser scalpel out on the countertop. The medic was nowhere in sight, probably watching the monitors and listening to Arcee and Bulkhead bicker over the comm.-link. It had been so easy to sneak back there. After all, he was a scout.

The tool was just laying there, perfectly innocent as he had once been. His optics widened as a voice echoed throughout his processor, the one that he had been trying to coax out into the open for so long.

You know what to do: use it. It is what you need, what you so desperately want. It will help you accomplish your task.

He grabbed it without hesitation, dropping it into a subspace pocket before leaving for his room. It was easy to ignore Ratchet's cries of "I needed that!"

Over the period of a month, he acquired more medical tools used for surgery. Ratchet was convinced that he had misplaced them, but wasn't too worried. The backups were safely tucked away in their drawers. The disappearance of the equipment was more of a nuisance than anything.

Nobody on the team expected their youngest member to be holding them hostage.

Bumblebee's optics now surveyed his collection. It felt so good to experience every raw emotion he had ignored for vorns. In a time of war, there was no time to dwell on petty feelings of self-loathing and stress. But now, isolated and secure, he could let everything out.

Carefully, Bumblebee picked out the laser scalpel and activated it. The bright red beam was captivating, trapping his processor in a weak hypnosis. The thoughts of self-hatred clouded his better judgement as he made the first incision on his servo.

He was the weakest of the Autobots and the least experienced. There were two slices for that. He disobeyed orders from his superiors and put his charge, all the humans, in danger; three more for that. He was annoying whenever he was kept at base. By the end of the day, nobody wanted to be around him. He was a waste of energon; ten for that.

He resurrected Megatron. Bumblebee swapped to an energon saw, used for intensive surgeries by Ratchet. The medic hadn't needed it for a long time and didn't really notice when Bee snagged it from the med-bay. Bumblebee made sure to leave a long, painful slice for that. He had never forgiven himself for the ordeal.

They had a chance to end Megatron's tyranny once and for all, but he went and fragged it up. One gash across his chassis wasn't enough. The pain didn't resonate in his processor as a sufficient punishment. He quickly raised the saw to his door-wings, the most exposed area of his sensory grid. Bumblebee was left in tears after he made three deep cuts on each wing. Energon was pouring around his pedes, creating a softly glowing blue puddle. His vision was beginning to go fuzzy, but he had to keep himself going. The punishment wasn't over yet. The voice still wasn't silenced.

He cited specific examples of when he put Jack and Raf in harm's way. He reminded himself of Optimus Prime's amnesia and how he could have stopped Prime from entering the wrong Ground Bridge. There was when he got Bulkhead in trouble for letting him out of the base without his T-cog. He remembered new failures, old failures, Tyger Pax, Cybertron, Cliffjumper, inattentiveness, general stupidity, bad decisions, wrong decisions, Megatron, Unicron, MECH and everything in between. His right servo was in shreds, energon running down it at an alarming rate. He froze.

MECH...

Bumblebee had broken the number one rule: don't harm the humans. He had been in a blind rage and just wanted his T-cog back. Those humans had stolen it, they deserved whatever punishment they got. But through the hazy memories, he could guarantee one thing:

He had killed humans.

Angered now, Bumblebee didn't hesitate to slice through his abdominal plating. He cut his door-wings again until they were barely recognizable through the twisted armor and energon. His whole frame was a mess. He was a mess. The only place untouched was his neck.

Once his fury dissipated, the pain hit him full force. It sent him crashing to the floor, helm laying in his own energon. His optics weren't working properly, the room fading in and out of his vision. He knew he was screaming. His modulator was using a frequency too high for a human's ears to pick up, but easily heard by any Cybertronian within the area.

Vaguely, he hoped he wasn't found. He could escape a world of war and despair. He wouldn't have to worry about dodging the next bullet or throwing the next punch. Everything would somehow be better.

But what about Raf? The boy would miss him. And the whole team would suffer without him, right? They were his reason for remaining strong, his reason to keep fighting. He could fight for them, right? He wasn't going to give up now because dying like this would be selfish and wrong. Nobody on the team deserved this. Besides, he's the one who wanted the agony. It was the only way to repent for his shortcomings and mistakes. He deserved every last self-inflicted wound on his frame. The more he believed it, the more the voice crept back into the shadows of his processor. For now, he would be fine. No bothersome, hurtful truth was going to bother him now.

Bracing himself for the pain, Bumblebee tried to push himself up. With a pained warble, he fell back down, splashing energon all over his frame. There was no way he could do this alone, he needed help.

That's when the voice came back.

You're so close to the end so just finish it! What happens in the future? The war has to end eventually! What will you do when it does? You're processor is already messed up enough! You'd never be able to adjust! You'd never return to normalcy because the war is normal! You have no hope for the future!

His chassis armor split apart subconsciously, revealing his spark chamber. His servo automatically reached for the laser scalpel as he rolled onto his side. It would take the laser a few seconds to completely puncture his spark. An agonizing death was the least he deserved. He leveled the tool with the center of his spark, watching the swirling blue energy twirl in its hold. Before he could power up the device, his door was smashed open. Shocked, he jumped and dropped the scalpel as his optics flew to the door. Bumblebee saw Arcee standing with her mouth agape before fainting from energon loss.

Arcee reacted immediately, catching Bumblebee and laying him down gently. She gagged once she saw the sheer amount of energon coating the floor. Minutes ago, she had heard Bee's familiar high-pitched keen from across the base. Automatically, she knew something was wrong and made her way over to the youngling's room. The door had been locked and it took her far too long to break it down.

Now, she was on the verge of a breakdown. Bumblebee was the strongest of her, Ratchet and Bulkhead. He kept a level processor in times of high stress. He handled everything so admirably, minus when his emotions were finally let loose on MECH. He was energetic, optimistic, happy-go-lucky, young, spirited...

And now he was dying from self-inflicted injuries.

His door-wings were the worst of it, reduced to ribbons on a protoform. She didn't bring herself to look at the rest of his ravaged frames. It was too devastating to know that Bumblebee had done this to himself without anyone else noticing. They had failed their youngling when he had given so much for them. Arcee felt ashamed.

"Ratchet, please respond," she begged into her comm.-link.

"What is it?" the medic replied, "I'm in the middle of an-"

"It's Bumblebee." Her swift response and tone left Ratchet speechless. "I found him in his room about to...to..." She shook her helm. "That's not important right now. You need to get here fast."

"What happened?" he asked, rushing towards the scout's room.

"Ratchet, he..."

No further explanation was needed. The two soldiers locked optics. Ratchet knelt down and lifted the fallen scout. Cradling Bumblebee to his chest, he ran for the medbay hoping that it wasn't too late.

Arcee simply stood in the doorway, servos crossed over her chassis. Spark-broken, she uttered one phrase:

"I'm so sorry Bumblebee."

A/N: I do know where this came from, but I assure you that I have never cut before. I admit this to be a branch off of myself. My head is pretty screwed up and I know it.

While I was away, I had a complete mental breakdown in front of two of my close friends and I told them everything. The stuff that spewed out of my mouth was the last thing either of them expected to come out of me. As I admitted to them: I've only harmed myself once and I am never doing it again. It was subconscious and the stupidest thing I could have done. It wasn't too serious, but it hurt like hell.

Anyways, thanks for reading and I'm kinda hoping I made you cry. Honestly, there aren't enough of these fics for TFP Bee.