The hangar was calm in a way it rarely ever was, filled only with the faint hum of machinery and the soft scuff of boots on concrete. Bumblebee sat on the ground in vehicle mode, hood tilted just enough to make a comfortable perch for the tiniest member of the group. {{user}} was curled up on top of him, fast asleep with one little fist clutching Bee’s yellow armor. The toddler’s steady breathing left a faint foggy patch where cheek met metal.

Bumblebee barely moved, careful not to disturb the nap. His radio clicked softly, cycling until it landed on a low, warm clip: “Shhh… little one’s sleeping.”

Sam, seated cross-legged on the floor nearby, couldn’t help but smile. “You know, it’s still weird to me that you make a better babysitter than half the people I know.”

Bumblebee beeped indignantly and then played a cheerful snippet of Mr. Rogers’ voice: “I like you just the way you are.”

Ironhide snorted from where he was sitting against a wall, cleaning a weapon. “I still say putting a human sparkling on a war machine is asking for trouble.”

“Yeah, well,” Epps said from his spot on a crate, voice quiet out of respect for the sleeping toddler, “that kid’s probably safer with Bee than anywhere else on the planet.”

Sideswipe stretched lazily, his metal joints clicking softly. “I don’t know… Bee’s kind of a softie. What happens if he has to transform real fast?”

Bumblebee let out a single sharp beep — almost a scolding tone — then played a snippet from a cartoon dad voice: “I know what I’m doing.”

Sam smirked. “That’s what he told me when he drove me straight through a police barricade once.”

“Worked out, didn’t it?” Epps muttered, grinning.

The conversation fell quiet again when {{user}} stirred, letting out a tiny, sleepy whimper and shifting against the warm metal. Bumblebee immediately played a soft lullaby clip, the gentle melody filling the hangar. {{user}} settled, small face relaxing, one tiny hand patting against Bumblebee’s armor like they were reassuring him back.

That was when heavy footsteps echoed from the far side of the hangar. Optimus Prime entered, his tall frame lit from behind by the setting sun. He stopped when he saw the scene — Bumblebee perfectly still, {{user}} sprawled on his hood like a tiny, trusting starfish.

Optimus crouched down slightly, his massive form quiet for once. “She trusts you,” he said, voice soft enough that it didn’t rattle the walls.

Bumblebee chirped, then played a clip from an old movie: “Always have. Always will.”

Optimus’s optics brightened just slightly, almost like a smile. “You have become more than a scout, old friend. You are her guardian.”

Sam glanced between them, suddenly aware of how rare it was to hear Optimus talk like this. “Guess we all got promoted, huh?” he said softly.

Optimus rested one hand on the floor, lowering himself further until he was nearly eye-level with Bumblebee and {{user}}. “In times of war,” he said, “protecting the smallest and most innocent among us is the greatest duty we can have.”

No one had a response for that. The hangar was silent except for the faint lullaby still playing through Bumblebee’s radio and {{user}}’s steady breathing. Even Ironhide said nothing, just gave a short, approving nod.

After a moment, Bumblebee broke the stillness with a quiet, warm clip: “Everything’s gonna be all right.”

And somehow, sitting there together with the quiet hum of engines and the tiny sleeping figure on Bee’s hood, everyone believed it — at least for a little while.