Work Text:
Bumblebee has, for the last three Earth weeks, been trying to convince the Autobots to do Christmas.
Jazz and Mirage were surprisingly open to it. The former bot was eager to learn more Earth customs, having found a love of human music through Blaster’s endless playing of it, day and night. Mirage… Mirage preferred human games, said that Cybertron’s lack of variety made it impossible to stand. He and Grimlock practised basketball in their free time, roping in the others when they could. Hot Rod discovered the holiday on his own from Carly and happened to mention it, leading to him being roped in as well.
So far, they had not managed to get more than a few rolls of tinsel and a random tree they convinced Grimlock to take back to base.
(Ironhide was less than pleased with the addition. Apparently, he kept mistaking it for a shadowed bot. When Bumblebee suggested he get his optics checked, he grumbled about “not bein’ an old timer” and stormed off.)
“We don’t need those grumps to have fun,” Jazz says, five days before Christmas. “The holiday is about closeness and the importance of family! And Miss Mariah Carrey.”
Perceptor looks up from his device (made to flip through human sized books and make it readable for Cybertronians) with an arched eye ridge. “Is it not about that human, Jesus Christ? That doesn’t quite apply to us… would we make it about Primus?”
“... Primemas?” Hot Rod says.
“Absolutely not,” Ratchet snaps.
“It’s basically a secular holiday now, though,” Bumblebee says. “It’s about presents and food!”
“We don’t have plans for food,” Jetfire frowns.
“We have time!”
Ratchet pinches his nasal ridge. “All this fuss,” he says, rolling his optics. “We’ve never had a problem with this before now, we have our own holidays.” He narrows his optics at Bumblebee. “Perhaps you’ve been hanging around bad influences.”
“Rude,” Bumblebee says, sticking out his glossa.
Their small gathering of bots in Perceptor and Wheeljack’s shared lab (one of the few private spaces where the dinobots could squeeze in) make several comments. Jetfire had come willingly upon seeing the decoration and now sported tinsel and a few solar-powered lights to celebrate the holiday. The dinobots, Seaspray, and Smokescreen were easily swayed by Mirage and Grimlock, Powerglide’s girlfriend (yuck) had convinced him, and Perceptor begrudgingly admitted he wanted the company. Ratchet joined to “contain the chaos,” whatever that meant.
“I just wanted a Christmas,” Bumblebee bemoans, dropping his helm into his servos. “This is lame.”
Perceptor pats him on the back, attention still fixed on his screen. “The others mean no real harm. I believe they’re just wary of letting down their guards with the Decepticons around.”
“But the Decepti-creeps haven’t attacked us at all this month!” Hot Rod says, doing his favourite and most annoying habit of using Bumblebee’s helm like an armrest. “It’s like they’ve taken a break.”
“That is true.” Ratchet tilts his helm thoughtfully, optics locking on Bumblebee’s. “I wonder why.”
It was starting to get on his sensors whenever something odd with the Decepticons happened and either Ratchet or Wheeljack would immediately look at him. Give a bot room to vent, jeez .
Although…
“I’ll scout around!” Bumblebee says, raising his arm and simultaneously shaking Hot Rod off. “Don’t look at me like that! If they’re building a super nuclear weapon, we should know.”
“Bug does give the best information,” Hot Rod says, putting his arm back on his helm. “I give him my vote of confidence.” He glances down to wink and Bumblebee shoves him off. The mech has the gall to look offended.
Perceptor shrugs. “Gather more of those indigenous spiny plants.”
“... Cactuses?” Grimlock asks.
“Cact- i .”
“ Perceptor is a cactus?”
“... Never mind. Bumblebee, go ahead.”
Ratchet opens his mouth to speak and nope , Bumblebee transforms and rolls out! , wheels hitting the pavement before the medic has the time to get a word out.
It’s a bit of an uncanny feeling to be able to just waltz into Decepticon headquarters, but he enjoys the ability. He taps his symbol to change it and glances around, noticing how… sparkly… everything was. Did Rumble and Frenzy go overkill again?
Speaking of–
“Christmas!” Rumble says, pulling a string. Bumblebee has just enough time to sidestep out of the way and avoid the worst of it, an entire bucket of glitter dumped onto him. “Damn, shouldn’t have warned you.”
“Christ… mas?”
“I suggest Cybermas but the big guys didn’t go for it.” Frenzy comes up behind him from somewhere, linking their arms together.
“What?”
Rumble blinks slowly, reminding him of Ravage. “You remember a while ago when you told us about that human holiday and that you wanted to celebrate?”
Bumblebee does. He was sitting in Soundwave’s chambers, maybe a bit too enthusiastic about the newest traditional day he learned from Spike. “I do, yeah.”
“We decided to do that! Soundwave was down for it and he convinced Megs and Screamer and here we are!” Rumble gestures around to the lights and tinsel strewn about. “Good, eh?”
“This is amazing,” Bumblebee says, tilting his head as he smiles. “But why?”
Frenzy starts walking, dragging him along. “For you,” he says, and the answer is so easy that Bumblebee almost doesn’t register the words. “You seemed really excited, so…” Rumble links up with their little chain, steering them towards the command deck. “There’s so much human information on it that it was a breeze to learn.”
Spike had read him the story of The Grinch, a classic Christmas tale. Even though Daniel really wasn’t old enough to understand much of anything, Spike said it was good to teach them early. The story is entirely fabricated, of course, and the anatomy of a strange human adjacent creature was totally different from a transformers, but Bumblebee has to worry that perhaps his spark is growing and the chamber won’t be enough to contain it.
It’s not, of course, and the moment passes as the door to the command deck slides open.
He bursts out laughing, drawing the attention of everyone inside.
Megatron huffs from his place at the controls. “You like my hat?” he grins, flicking the little puffball on the tail end of his Santa hat. “Starscream said it suited me.”
Behind him, Starscream smirks. He mutters something quietly in Vosian and Bumblebee’s used to the language switches, translator programs ready. “It really doesn’t.”
Bumblebee doubles over with his laughter this time because what a dick move as Spike would say. Starscream also cackles, to the mild confusion of Megatron, and that makes a feedback loop where the whole situation just seems more and more ridiculous so he has to laugh. Then Rumble and Frenzy join in, even Soundwave mechanically gives a chuckle, and it’s completely over.
“Merry Christmas,” he wheezes, “Mother of Solus, you guys are in better spirits than the Autobots.”
Starscream looks somewhat perplexed. “This squishy holiday seems perfect for them,” he says. “Yet they have not got into the so-called “Christmas spirit”?”
“I think the big guys are worried about you attacking,” Bumblebee mutters.
“Nonsense!” Megatron says, a dramatic servo over his spark. “We don’t do anything during the Feast of the Primes, remember? Soundwave, you drafted the treaty, yes?”
Soundwave stares blankly.
“... I sent it in a memo, remember?”
“Soundwave: perhaps… ignored.”
Megatron throws his helm back, swearing as it clangs against the metal of his chair. “That explains it,” he says.
Bumblebee snickers and laughs again.
“Inquiry: joke?”
He mimes wiping optic fluid from his face. “Thank you, guys,” he says, knowing he probably has the stupidest grin on his face and Starscream will definitely take a photo for blackmail. “I love Deceptimas.”
“Frenzy, get a banner!” Rumble says, shooing his twin away. “We need one for every room!”
“Deceptimas,” Starscream repeats, like he’s testing the word on his glossa. He mumbles to himself, trying a translation in Vosian. He looks somewhat content, about as much as Starscream can ever be, “I accept the name.”
“Soundwave, send a treaty for Deceptimas,” Megatron says. “Make sure to call it that, put Christmas in parentheses.”
“That’s so petty ,” Bumblebee says, trying not to smile too wide.
“I have Deceptimas spirit,” the warlord grins.
Bumblebee shakes his head. Idiots , he thinks, fondly. But they’re my idiots . The thought surprises him, but it settles warmly in his spark.
His home away from home.