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“Jackie,” Bulkhead whispered, recharge still gripping his voice box and making his voice sound slightly scratchy. “Jackie, wake up.”
He hasn’t moved in a while…I wonder if he…
Stop it Bulkhead, he’s fine. You’re being stupid and paranoid. Again.
“Jackie, please,” Bulkhead tried again, clearing his throat awkwardly.
The green Wrecker leaned down and gently nudged Wheeljack’s shoulder, trying to gently shake the mech awake. Wheeljack was a light sleeper - sometimes Bulkhead caught him sleeping with both optics open, and there had been too many instances of Bulkhead rolling over and seeing Wheeljack staring at him while still asleep - but he’d been taking medication lately to try and fall asleep a little easier. A concoction Ratchet had put together that most of Team Prime used today, and it seemed to work just fine. It was something Bulkhead should strongly consider, the point proven by his current situation.
Now that the war was over, they didn’t need to constantly worry about being shot in their sleep or staying awake for weeks on end watching the rest of their group. Back then, it was sometimes better for a person to just stay awake instead of getting measly five minutes of nightmare-ridden sleep.
It definitely had required some adjustment; the realization that they could enjoy life instead of simply focusing on survival was something that never failed to surprise Bulkhead. Sometimes he wondered if he was dreaming, that they hadn’t defeated Megatron (twice, if you counted Unicron’s possession) and they hadn’t finally moved home after all this time. Sometimes he wondered when he was going to get pinched and wake up in the trenches of Slaughter City.
Bulkhead gently poked Wheeljack’s face, tracing a large finger across his scars. The sensation always tickled the shorter mech, but for some reason it didn’t seem to be working today. His eyelids hardened for a moment and a small groan escaped him, but he still didn’t stir.
Bulkhead drew back inside himself again. He knew better than to bother Wheeljack when he was sleeping, even if he needed comfort. He could figure this out for himself anyway, Wheeljack needed the rest more than anyone. He’d always been the one to give up on sleep or force himself to dig into his energy reserves so Bulkhead could rest. There had been too many times where Wheeljack’s body literally forced him into recharge because there was nothing left to burn from. There had been two particular cases where Wheeljack had almost not woken up, and that had scared the ever loving shit out of Bulkhead.
It was with these memories playing in his mind that caused Bulkhead to withdraw more. Who cared about his measly nightmares? He could handle it himself, he didn’t need Wheeljack’s help. Bulkhead should be a little more considerate when it comes to Wheeljack’s feelings. He should -
“Would you stop thinking so loud?” Wheeljack’s voice distracted Bulkhead from his spiraling thoughts instantly. The green Wrecker focused on his partner, who had rolled over and was blinking at him sleepily. “I can hear ya makin’ yourself sick. Yer lookin’ greener already.”
Ashamed, Bulkhead withdrew his field, praying that Wheeljack hadn’t felt his inner turmoil before it was too late. Wheeljack had always been better at controlling his emotions than Bulkhead, as much as he hated it, sometimes it came in handy on the battlefield.
But we’re not on the battlefield. He doesn’t have to have secrets with me.
Does he know that? Is he comfortable showing all the parts of himself? Am I asking too much? Am I asking him to change?
Bulkhead opened his mouth to say something - defend himself, fire something back, apologize and let Wheeljack go back to sleep - but he never got to find out what he was going to say. A choked sob escaped his mouth, followed quickly by a hiccup and another sob.
There was no hesitation. Wheeljack was up instantly, wrapping his arms around Bulkhead the best he could and rubbing gentle circles where he was able. His chest vibrated in a comforting manner - what Miko described as a purr, apparently felines did it all the time when they were happy - that sent a comfortable wave through Bulkhead’s own chest. It made him feel safe in a way he couldn’t describe, almost warm and fuzzy, despite his plating being cold and containing no fur.
Bulkhead was very aware that his field - even pulled tight against his body - was mingling with Wheeljack’s in a familiar fashion. Wheeljack wasn’t pressuring with his venturing, but he wasn’t pulling away either. He was letting Bulkhead set the pace, something that he’d been working on for some time now. Not that he had ever been pressuring before, just the opposite; learning when not to pull away had always been harder for Wheeljack.
So Bulkhead did the only thing he was able to do.
He cried.
Openly, loudly, unapologetically, he cried. Lubricant poured out of his eyes in rivers, running down his cheeks and falling onto his lap or Wheeljack’s helm, now resting against his chest. His breath was broken apart by sobs and hiccups and whimpering, and though the noises were pitiful he just couldn’t bring himself to care. His entire body shook and his knee bounced at an awkward angle where he was still cross legged on his side.
And Wheeljack held on, holding him close and never persuading him to stop. He let Bulkhead cry and sob and moan as needed, and he simply held on. Once or twice he kissed Bulkhead’s forehead and chest, wherever he could reach without letting go or moving too much. He didn’t try to crack wise and he didn’t once make a move to leave, and Bulkhead loved him all the more in that moment.
Slowly - almost painfully so - Bulkhead grounded himself, taking deep breaths when he could and trying to focus on things he could see, touch and smell (a trick June had taught him a few years back that always worked well for him). His spark was still pounding in his chest, but at least now his blood wasn’t roaring in his audio receptors. He could hear his own thoughts now, and though he wasn’t out of the worst of it, his head was much clearer now.
“Nightmare?” Wheeljack asked after Bulkhead’s sobs had calmed down enough that his breathing was only a little shaky.
“Yeah.” Bulkhead responded lamely, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Where?”
Bulkhead grunted. “Slaughter City, the eighth wave.”
“That anniversary is coming up,” Wheeljack whispered, glancing at the electronic calendar hung up above his desk, just a few paces from the bed. Their small apartment didn’t warrant much personal space, but it’s not like they needed a mansion anyway. They preferred each other’s company and personal space over a big, empty house anyday. If they wanted alone time, they did that together too.
“Might be why you’re thinkin’ of it.” Wheeljack continued, shifting a little so he was sitting in front of Bulkhead on his lap, pulling himself up a little so they were optic to optic. His firm servos found their way to Bulkhead’s face, cupping them gently and giving a squeeze of comfort. “I’ve been tryin’ not to think ‘bout it, but that just makes me think about it more.”
Bulkhead nodded, flicking a switch on his H.U.D to turn on the lights. He knew probably didn’t look the greatest, but he wanted to see Wheeljack anyway. Sometimes, in his worst nightmares, he’d imagine waking up and Wheeljack holding him close, but when he’d flick on the lights he’d see a burned out shell of the mech Wheeljack used to be. Burnt to a crisp by a bomb or blaster fire.
Thankfully, Wheeljack was in one piece as Bulkhead turned on the lights. He blinked a few times to adjust to the light, and his topics darkened a little when he took in Bulkhead’s face. Bulkhead, in turn, studied his mate.
There were dark bags under Wheeljack’s optics, a combination of lack of sleep (both from working overtime and not being able to sleep at night) to a general amount of stress and anxiety that the Wrecker carried with him at all times. His plating around his lips was a lighter gray, showing that he hadn’t been fueling properly.
In the grand scheme of things, neither of them looked that great.
“Aren’t we fit for the cover of a magazine,” Wheeljack joked, leaning over and pressing a tender kiss to Bulkhead’s forehead, then reaching down to his lips. “My beautiful, perfect Bulkhead.”
Flattery had always melted Bulkhead’s spark faster than a lava pit, but whenever Wheeljack said it, he actually believed him. Whenever he tried to tell himself the same it just didn’t make sense.
“We need somethin’ to eat,” Wheeljack was saying next, his optics softer now. “Can I go see if we got some leftovers? Otherwise I’ll make us somethin’ and we can talk this out.”
Bulkhead appreciated him asking, and he nodded an affirmative. Wheeljack smiled gently and pressed another soft kiss to Bulkhead’s forehead, then lips again. Then to both of his cheeks, then each of his knuckles on his hands.
Wheeljack pulled himself off Bulkhead’s lap and moved towards the kitchen. There was a half wall in front of the appliances that prevented Bulkhead from seeing Wheeljack the entire time he was moving around. But judging by the clanking of pots and pans and the smells that slowly filled his receptor, Wheeljack was making Bulkhead’s favorite comfort food: waffles.
Bulkhead slowly began to work his way to the side of the bed, forcing himself to swing his legs over the side and haul himself up. After a nightmare, that was always the hardest part. There were times where he couldn’t drag himself out of bed for days, not even when Wheeljack made waffles. But here, he’d done it all by himself, which showed him that he was already on the right track.
When he slowly made his way into the kitchen, he saw a small plate of waffles already set aside for him, with syrup put on the side. Wheeljack was still working on the next batch, his optics focused and his movements precise.
Say what you will about waffles being comfort for Bulkhead, but it was also comforting for Wheeljack to make them. Being able to use his hands and distract himself from what his mind had been trying to show him was the fastest way to get Wheeljack talking and moving past it. Bulkhead felt a small swell of pride that he was helping them both right now.
Bulkhead wandered over and wrapped his arms around Wheeljack’s middle, holding him flush against his back. Wheeljack hummed and reached up with a free hand to wrap around Bulkhead’s neck, patting his cheek gently.
“Hey, big guy.” Wheeljack murmured, flipping open the waffle maker lid to pull out the next batch. “You got up.”
“Yeah,” Bulkhead agreed lamely, not trusting his voice to say more than that. Chances are, if he started talking he would never stop until he couldn’t breath and cry and talk at the same time.
“You wanna hear about work today?” Wheeljack had gotten home pretty late from his last shift and almost immediately collapsed into bed. Normally they always talked before bed, but sometimes there were times on both sides they were just too exhausted.
Bulkhead nodded, not missing how Wheeljack was deflecting his focus away from the nightmare. He would probably circle back to it eventually when Bulkhead had some energon in him, but he didn’t mind the distraction.
“Good, ‘cause there’s a lot of shit that happened today. I think the next time I see Brainstorm, I’m gonna clock him.” Wheeljack turned off the waffle maker and brought his own plate of energon waffles to the table, piling it high with syrup and whipped cream. “That little shit doesn’t know when to stop. He pushes every last button I’ve got.”
Bulkhead chuckled. “Jackie, be honest with me; are you pushing his buttons back?”
Wheeljack did a spit take, sputtering and attempting to form words with his mouth. “That’s not the point! He does it first!”
“I find that hard to believe.” Bulkhead rolled his eyes, taking a large bite of waffle. “What did he do this time?”
“I’m so glad you asked,” Wheeljack grumbled, adding more syrup to his already drowning pancakes. “So ya know how we’re working on that new chemical equation, right? The one I told ya ‘bout last week?”
Bulkhead nodded, not remembering one chemical equation from the next. They were all the same to him and he couldn’t bring himself to tell Wheeljack he had no idea what the difference between any of them were. He was starting to suspect there wasn’t any.
And so Wheeljack rambled on and on and on until the topic was exhausted, and he shifted to the next order of business. Bulkhead listened as intensely as he could, doing his best to comment and add when he was able. Wheeljack would let him tell a story sometimes, and Bulkhead would share about his day or his annoying coworkers as well. Wheeljack was excited to hear that his building was on the list for upcoming renovations, and he launched into another rant about how the building he was working in was barely upright (it was fine. State of the art in fact). Rinse and repeat until the waffles had been eaten and the sun was starting to rise.
Wheeljack exhaled a long breath after he’d summarized the last story in a single inhale, and Bulkhead was kind of impressed with how he did it. Wheeljack rose to his feet and grabbed Bulkhead’s finished plate, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he did so. Bulkhead grinned and let Wheeljack take the dirty dishes to the sink, where he began to rinse and clean them.
“Let me do that,” Bulkhead tried to insist, rising to his feet and trying to step closer. Wheeljack turned around sharply and fixed him with a glare, one that said ‘don’t you fucking dare’. Bulkhead didn’t dare. Bulkhead settled onto the edge by the window overlooking the city, watching the sunlight dance on the windows of the other tall buildings in the area.
“So,” Wheeljack broke the silence, his voice so much softer than it had been moments ago. “Ya ready to talk ‘bout it? You know you don’t havta force anythin’, ‘kay?”
Bulkhead sighed, his mind drifting back to his most recent nightmare. Wheeljack’s distraction and food had worked beautifully, keeping his mind bright and distracted from the nasty memory. Even now, when he looked back on it, he didn’t see it in such an extreme way. Wheeljack had reminded him that he was safe and okay without having to say a word, and Bulkhead loved him even more.
(Wheeljack did a lot of things that made Bulkhead love him more, but wasn’t that the point?)
“It just…I…” Bulkhead struggled to begin, and Wheeljack didn’t push. He kept his movements methodical and his audio receptors open, waiting for Bulkhead to talk first. “It wasn’t just a nightmare. It was a memory.”
Wheeljack hummed. “You said Slaughter City right? The eighth wave?”
Bulkhead hummed back, leaning his head against the cold class.
Wheeljack made a noise deep in his throat. Noncommittal, but he knew what it meant. “We lost a lot of brothers that day.”
Bulkhead looked back at him. “I almost lost you that day.”
Wheeljack looked up at him then, his blue eyes bright in the reflection of the rising sun. His servos stilled where he was holding a dish and the wet rag, the bubbles creeping up his arm. “Yeah, you did. Only reason I pulled through was ‘cause of you, too.”
The Wreckers had been outgunned six to one with no back up en route, but they had to try and take the city if they had any hope of continuing the war. So, naturally, Wheeljack had charged into the battle first, and as a result, he’d been the first mech down in that fight. He looked like an absolute lunatic and got shot in the gut as a way of Primus saying, “Sit your ass down or I’ll make you sit down”, and it had been a pretty effective message. Bulkhead had broken rank to save Wheeljack by dragging him five hundred kliks to the nearest hospital, and while his superiors had a field day ripping him a new one and threatening him six ways to the All Spark, he didn’t regret it.
It was one of the things Bulkhead both hated and admired about Wheeljack: he was never afraid of anything. Staring Megatron dead in the eye while beaten down and alone? Wheeljack would laugh and fight until the laughter died. In an interrogation room with Shockwave, the most terrifying torture specalist on Cybertron? Wheeljack could recharge to the sound of the drill, all while taunting Shockwave and goading him on.
It was reckless. It was stupid. It was ever so slightly attractive. But mostly stupid. Definietly stupid and Bulkhead should not encourage him.
Bulkhead liked to remind himself that sometimes - like the Slaughter City nightmare - he was the only reason Wheeljack lived most of the time. Because if he hadn’t done that, Wheeljack would be dead. And if Wheeljack was dead, Bulkhead would have gone too. There was no way Bulkhead could live in a world where Wheeljack didn’t exist. And though he didn’t say it in quite so many words, Wheeljack felt the same.
“I never want to lose you, Wheeljack.” Bulkhead admitted, his voice turning from confident to shaky by the end of the short sentence. He felt tears spring up in his optics and a bulb began to clog his throat. Wheeljack was by his side in an instant, kneeling in front of him between his legs and looking up at him with as tender of an expression he could manage. “I don’t know what I’d do without you…I wouldn’t…I can’t...”
“Hey,” Wheeljack whispered, interrupting Bulkhead’s sobs. Once he was sure he had Bulkhead’s attention, he continued. “Ya never have to worry about that anymore, ‘kay? Yer stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”
“I know that now,” Bulkhead confirmed. “But back then? Every day was a gift, and your reckless ass made me realize that I could lose you at any time.”
Wheeljack nodded comfortingly, biting his lip. “I was never really one to duck behind cover, huh?”
“No,” Bulkhead agreed. “You never were.”
“Bulk…” Wheeljack trailed off a little, pulling himself into Bulkhead’s lap again and placing his legs over Bulkhead’s thighs, pulling their chests together as best he could. Bulkhead’s servos found their way until his door wings, rubbing gentle circles down his back. “There were a lot of times I thought I wasn’t gonna make it. Too many times.”
Bulkhead could agree on that one. His spark had nearly stopped too many times to be considered comfortable, and sometimes even when they would bring Wheeljack back from the dead, it wouldn’t be enough to still his beating spark.
"But Bulkhead, every single time, you saved me." Wheeljack emphasized his point by pointing at Bulkhead's chest and hitting softly with each word. "One time, you even saved me twice in the same day."
Bulkhead gave him a puzzled look, and Wheeljack bit his bottom lip. A sign of nervousness that he normally didn't like to show, so it was clear how much he was struggling with this.
“I meant to tell you this years ago, but it just never felt like the right time," Wheeljack explained. "It's not like I tried to hide it from ya, 'cause it is important and all, but I just didn't want ya to freak out." "I wouldn't freak out," Bulkhead defended himself, but Wheeljack raised a brow. "Okay maybe I would have. But it would have been for good reason I bet!" Wheeljack found it within himself to roll his optics, and Bulkhead felt a spark of affection for him. It crept into his field and brushed against Wheeljack's, and the shorter Wrecker gave him a soft smile. "Please tell the story, Jackie." Wheeljack nodded slowly. "There was one time - the Battle of Slaughter City, eighth wave - where I didn't make it. You pulled me outta the scene and we made it all the way back to base before I lost myself. When I opened my optics, I was standin’ in front of the pearly gate, Primus tryin’ to pull me in.” Wheeljack chuckled at the dismay on Bulkhead’s face. “I know I know, you can’t believe I made to the afterlife, I didn’t believe it either at first. I thought I was either delusional or on some really good meds.”
The smile fell from Wheeljack’s face. “He said it was my time. I’d yee’d my last haw, killed my last ‘Con. And for a minute there, it sounded pretty nice.” Wheeljack added quietly, and Bulkhead felt his servos shaking and his lip trembling. Wheeljack also noticed, leaning in and pressing a passionate kiss to Bulkhead’s lips, causing the green Wrecker’s tears to fully spring from his optics and fall down his cheeks in rivers again.
They kissed and kissed and held each other close, coming up when one needed air and couldn’t kiss for another second. Bulkhead poured his heart and soul into his field, and he felt Wheeljack doing the same. Their fields mixed with such a beautiful, loving song that Bulkhead felt like he could sing.
“But it wasn’t my time,” Wheeljack broke the kiss and held Bulkhead at an arm’s length. “It wasn’t. Because I could still hear ya’, cryin’ over my body like I was Optimus Prime himself. And I knew that I wasn’t done yet. ‘Cause you weren’t done yet. I’m with ya Bulk, I’m with ya’ ‘til ya stop breathing. Until we’re as old and cranky as Ratchet.”
Bulkhead couldn’t stop the ugly tears from falling, so he didn’t try. There were tears on the edges of Wheeljack’s optics, but they weren’t falling yet.
“Wheeljack, I'm not mad at you for keeping this from me, I understand. You died and I had no idea, but I'm happy you told me at all.” Bulkhead whispered, wrapping his arms around Wheeljack and holding him tightly, so tight that he never wanted to let go. If Wheeljack merged to his frame right now, he wouldn’t be upset by it. "I can't believe I was so close to losing you, and didn't even know."
"I'm sorry for not tellin' ya," Wheeljack apologized, his words sincere. "I just...knew how it would make you feel, and ya woulda fought tooth n' nail to get me benched, and I couldn't do that. I couldn't let ya go out into battle without me there, 'cause that would have killed me. I worry 'bout ya too much to let you outta my sight."
"Jackie, we've talked about this. You can't throw yourself into the fight to protect me." Bulkhead tilted Wheeljack's chin so the shorter mech was looking at him. "I know you don't want to lose me, but I can't lose you either."
“You never gotta worry ‘bout losing me, you big bucket of bolts,” Wheeljack said, kissing the top of Bulkhead’s helm. “I’m ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
"You know what I mean." Bulkhead tilted his helm a little. "I know the War is over and we don't have to worry about that anymore, but I still get scared that you'll...I don't know, poison yourself at work or something or get shot on the street by some ex-Con with a grudge."
"Bulk,"
"Or what if you just drop dead one day of an old spark? Or your battle wounds finally catch up to you? What will happen then?"
"Bulkhead,"
"Don't tell me to calm down, Jackie!" Wheeljack raised his servos and let Bulkhead continued. "The point is, I'm always worried about you! When you left to be on your own, I was scared! Terrified! And now that I have you back...I'm just worried..." Bulkhead shook his helm to clear his head. He and Jackie had beat that topic to a pulp and at the end of the day, they couldn't change what had happened. Wheeljack had been scared of accepting love while Bulkhead had been scared of losing it. They had both cried and screamed and held each other through the long nights of that conversation, and to bring it up now was just not the right time. They'd grown together as a couple and as seperate people, and Wheeljack had made leaps and bounds in terms of accepting love, while Bulkhead knew he couldn't force anything.
Their conversation tonight attested to it. Wheeljack hadn't left when Bulkhead's head went south and Bulkhead had been careful to not force anything while making sure his emotions and feeling were heard.
"I know you're here and I know that you won't leave me, but that doesn't stop me from being nervous," Bulkhead's voice was softer, his optics downcast.
Wheeljack nodded, his gaze somber and the tears in his optics glowing a little in the faint sunlight. "I know." He replied. "The best I can do for ya Bulkhead is to be here when you need me. And the best you can do for yerself is trust me when I tell ya there's no place I'd rather be than with you."
"I love you," Bulkhead leaned up and pressed his forehead against Wheeljack's, his optics closing.
"I love you and your big backside." Wheeljack replied, his tone already lighter than before.
Bulkhead wrapped his arms under Wheeljack’s aft and hauled him up, laughing brightly when it drew a surprised shout from the smaller Wrecker. He carried him back to the bed and fell down on it, Wheeljack still tightly bound in his arms. They were both laughing now, Wheeljack’s laugh a delightful sound that Bulkhead wished he heard more often.
“Bulk,” Wheeljack whispered, lowering himself on the bed so he was eye level to his mate. Bulkhead met his optics, waiting for him to talk first. “I’m here.”
Bulkhead’s optics fluttered closed, the affirmation making him feel a thousand times better. He gave Wheeljack another tight squeeze and held him close, and Wheeljack didn’t protest. "I know, Jackie. And I'm never letting you go."
They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and this time, neither of them were haunted by dark dreams. For the first time in a long time, Bulkhead's sleep wasn't haunted by dreams of any kind. He slept peacefully, with Wheeljack sleeping softly beside him.