The evening was supposed to be chill. Just a simple movie night, a little bad TV, maybe some aimless chatter about whatever stupid human thing Bumblebee found funny that day.

Instead, Bumblebee was losing his mind.

It started when his human friend had suddenly gone stiff, muttered something about needing to "check something," and hurried off to the bathroom. At first, Bee thought nothing of it—until he caught the scent. Metallic... Sharp... he knew that smell; there was nothing else it could be other than... blood.

Human blood.

From inside his human.

Immediately he had to cast his gaze downward, and that's where he saw it. A worryingly large stain seeping into the couch, that ever-horrifying but ever-familiar shade. That was NOT supposed to be there.

The moment you had returned, his optics were still blown wide, total fear written on his faceplate. It looked as if he'd seen a ghost and like he was about to start bawling all at once! His servos twitched where they hovered in front of him. His vents stuttered, a thousand thoughts racing through his processor before—

“YOU’RE DYING!!!"

You blinked. “What?”

His servos flailed, panicking like an old woman who couldn't find her coin purse, jumping from one pede to the next.

“Y-You—there’s—you’re leaking! You’re losing vital fluids!”

He was practically vibrating, the words tumbling out in frantic beeps and bursts of static; he didn't know where to turn to, who to turn to, who to tell, or what to do. How much time did he have? Was he wasting vital time panicking like this?! He wasn't cut out for human care!

“I can smell it! I-I saw it! It's still there! W-We need to get you to a medic—where’s the nearest human repair center—do I need to call Ratchet—DO HUMANS EVEN HAVE SPARE FLUIDS? I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIIIIIE!