The Boy who saved the Worlds

by WingedLadyColette

Summary:

A boy with the All Spark's power in his body saves the world. Both of them.

Notes:

I am not the most informed person about the Transformers universe, but this idea has been bouncing around in my head for a while now, so I had to get it out. So, please forgive me if it's not solid for the universe. I don't know how much of this I'll do, but here we go! I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Robot Death Match

Notes:

Beta read by EvangelineRose2412.

He woke up disoriented and feeling like his skin was on fire. There is a din all around him, but his ears are ringing too loud for him to be able to put together what it is that's beyond it. He opens bleary eyes, looking around confused. He's in a room. A dorm room? Like a college dorm room? There is two beds and posters on the walls, but there were also boxes littered about, as if someone was in the middle of packing or unpacking. But the boy's befuddled mind can't seem to make sense of what was going on around him. People are walking around talking outside of the room that he's in, their voices are muffled behind the closed door.

At first it was decently loud, but even the thin walls were enough to bring down the decibels to a manageable level, but the boy startles when the door opens and a girl peaks her head in, giving him a look. The loud din from the hall beyond makes the teen's head hurt, and he flinches hard enough to jar something in his shoulder.

"Power out in here too?" She asks, staring at him blankly.

The teen rubs at his forehead, squinting around the room. Nothing electrical appears to be on, so it appeared as though her question has merit. No electricity here. He carefully pushes himself up from where he was sprawled out on the ground between one of the beds and a few boxes. The sky outside the nearby window is fading from a starburst of orange, reds and yellows.

"Yo? Freshie?" She says, pulling his eyes back over to her.

"Wha..?" He rasps, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. He tries to form a thought, but his head is throbbing. He pushes himself up a bit more, leaning heavily on one shoulder, but his hands are tingling. He feels so... foggy. His skin burns and his mind feels so... dull. As if it was full of cotton.

"You good?" She asks, quirking an eyebrow.

The young man nods, dumbly, not sure he fully understands the question. But she doesn't ask further and just leaves, only mostly closing the door behind herself. It's still open enough for the chatter in the hall to be unbearably loud in his pounding in his skull.

He brings numb hands up to his head, rubbing roughly at his temples, trying desperately to clear away the throbbing and the cloud. It's not right. Something is wrong, he recognizes that, but he can't... he can't seem to...

It hurts. It all hurts. His body. His mind.

But he can't stay. He knows that he can't. He has to go. He's not safe here. Not where they could get him. But he doesn't... he doesn't remember where here is. He doesn't remember how he got to here. Or who the "they" are that he's trying to keep away from. Or why he has to get away from them. He just knows that he has to get away before someone or something that wants to hurt him comes to find him. Wrong. It's all wrong, everything.

He needs to get... get away to... he needs to get to... he doesn't know. He doesn't know where he needs to get to, just that he needs to get away. But why exactly is he not safe here? That too, he doesn't know. It's all so fuzzy. His mind is cloudy. He needs to... he needs to...

Climbing to his feet is almost impossible. His world tilts, he falls onto the bed and bounces off onto the floor. But he barely feels it. His skin feels numb, disconnected from him aside from the tingling. Like lightning arcing up and down all the cells in his body. It's a horrible feeling.

He needs to... he needs to...

Somehow, he manages to climb onto his feet. Numbly, he moves out into the hall, flinging the door open in his path but doesn't stop, even as the sound of it slamming into the wall behind him is drowned out by all the bodies in the halls, talking so loudly it splits his head. It's hard to push through the crowd, his skin buzzing, his head pounding, and he can barely swallow around his tongue.

Wrong. It's all wrong. He needs to... he needs to...

He pushes onward despite this strange feeling washing over him. It feels like sickness. Like a weakness or fatigue. Something seems to be draining his energy. Like holes stabbed into his aching feet that all his energy just pours out of.

But he pushes on, despite the pain in his body and mind. He follows the silent instruction in his mind. He has to escape. He needs to get away. To get out of here. It's not safe for him.

He needs to... he needs to...

Damn it! If only he could just think! If only he could just... put together what it is exactly that he needed to do.

All he knows is that he needed to get out of there.

And so, he will.

***

It took longer than the young man could articulate to get out of the place that he was in. He nearly fell down the stairs at every flight and had to stop once he made it outside. The fresh air, cooling as the sky darkens more and more, hurts his skin more, but he has to keep moving. He can't stop. Not now.

So, he moves.

As the sky continues to darken more, the young man makes his way further and further from the noise. Nothing seems to be powering on around him. People gather in the streets. They are confused. Angry. Annoyed. But he can't stay. He can't listen to them complain. He needs to get away from the place that's not safe. He needs to get to...

Damn it! Why does it hurt? His brain. His body. Why can't he remember..?

Anything. He doesn't remember anything.

It's fine, he knows. He just has to get to -

He falls, barely catching himself on a lamp post, his head throbbing harder as a thin tendril of blue light arcs off of his fingers and up the lamp post, making it flicker to life, then blow out above him. He curls around himself, gasping as fatigue washes over his weakened form and blown glass from the light rains down on him. He takes a second to collect himself before shaking a bit to get the glass off. Even plucking at the back of his shirt a bit before he pushes away from the light post and keeps walking. Stumbling. Pushing onward at an unsteady pace.

The noise gets quieter and quieter the further he goes. And it must have been a while because his legs ache something horrible and it's pitch black out when he finally looks up from his feet. To the empty streets around him. The darkened-out industrial complex that stretch and consume all corners of his vision. When did he get here? How long has he been here?

He doesn't know. His head hurts. His body hurts. He needs to... he needs to...

He stumbles, moving into a nearby alley, feeling so bad. Something is very wrong with him. He knows it. But he just needs to... just for a moment...

He finds a place in the alley that isn't covered in trash or other questionable things, and lowers onto the ground, knowing that he should keep moving until he's...

But he can't. He's too tired. He feels too... bad. Too something that he can't put into words. Maybe a little bit of rest will help him. Then, once he's rested, he's sure that everything is going to be back to normal. Whatever... that is.

He lowers down to his side and tucks one arm under his head to keep it off the ground before curling up as small as he can make himself. That horrible feeling washes over him, and he knows he's not well. Something is wrong. He just doesn't know what. He can't think. He can't focus. His mind is in a haze. A fog that clogs his ears.

The concrete is blissfully warm from having absorbed so much heat during the day, even as the night cools down just enough to not be unbearably sticky out. Or maybe it's just him. Maybe he's overheating and he hasn't realized it. Either way, he just needs to rest, he thinks, and then everything will be better. Even if only marginally so. A little bit is better than nothing.

But it wasn't. He felt no better when he opened his eyes. It was still dark - maybe even darker than before - but the distant sounds of the city were still present. They were still grating enough on his nerves, on his throbbing head, that he could hardly sit up without gritting his teeth. It hurt, it all did. He can't explain it. Maybe he only closed his eyes and open them again. It sure doesn't feel like he rested at all.

Before he can contemplate lowering his head down to rest again, hoping that his second attempt is better than his first, he feels it. Fast approaching. Encircling him. Closing in on him. Not something that he can see. But a feeling. An impending encounter, but his mind is too befuddled. He can't make sense of this feeling. The rise in his heartrate. The way his hands get clammy. His eyes now wide open and his brain alert - at least, enough that the option of trying to sleep has illuded him.

He can only interpret this growing anticipation as panic, remembering that he had to get away before it was too late. And he could curse himself for not getting far enough before allowing the weakness of his body to force him into a rest that didn't even assist him in the end. He has to move. Now, before it is too late.

Scrambling to his feet, the disoriented teen stumbles into a nearby dumpster but only manages to save his face by slamming his elbows and forearms into it instead. The loud clank makes his ears ring and his head hurt more.

The incoming feeling, the... them... comes in clearer. They are closing in fast.

His brain registers the roar of a beast. Jump kicking his heartrate even more. He can't stay. It's not safe! He has to run! He needs to get to... he needs to get to...

It doesn't matter. All he knows for now is that he has to get away. That has to be enough. At least, for now.

He runs out into the darkened street, with only the starlight and the full moon in the sky providing any assistance in seeing anything around him. His head is pounding but he has to ignore it in favor of escape. He can worry about other things later.

He needs to get to... to...

Run. He sprints as fast as his weak legs can move, as far as they can carry him. His world tilts drastically back and forth but he doesn't stop. He can't. Close. They're close. Too close.

The roar.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

He stops, legs shaking. And he turns as his vision whites out for a moment before the light dims a bit. He blinks the stars from his vision, squinting as the light dims enough to reveal... a car? Sleek, dark gray in the lack of light. And something decidedly... other about it. He's not sure what. But something about that car isn't... it isn't...

He blinks, moving slowly closer. Despite that feeling of other coming from the car, he felt... something. Anticipation? Worry? Relief? He's not sure. He doesn't know.

The car idles and the teen stops, frowning more. That creeping sense of unease making his head swim as the front driver's side window rolls down and a strange voice comes through the... empty cab. "Sam, thank Primus! We were so worried about you!"

The teen steps around the car a bit more, making sure to keep a wide berth to peek into the cab, unable to believe that there was actually a disembodied voice coming from the car itself. Is he going crazy? Surely this must be a trick in his confusion addled mind. 

The teen peers inside the open window to the dark cab, squinting into the darkness. He's hoping against hope that he was wrong. That he was just imagining things. But no. His first instinct was correct. The cab was empty. There was no one in there. No one that should be speaking to him, at least.

"Sam..?" The decidedly male voice says, hesitantly. "Are you okay? Oh! I mean, I'm an Autobot, Sam. I should have mentioned that. I know... I mean, well, I know you, but you don't... Sam?"

The teen backs away slowly, eyes flickering about, searching for a quick getaway. He can't run down the street, that's stupid. The car would obviously move faster than he could run, it would catch him. Catch him? Dear God, how horrible a thought is that? A car, catching him?

"Sam..." the disembodied voice says, softly. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm with Bumblebee. And Optimus Prime. I'm Sideswipe. An Autobot."

He doesn't know. He doesn't understand. He has to get out of here. Away from the otherness that is the being before him. Being. How... insane. A car, not a car, but something else. He doesn't understand. He can't... his head hurts. He has to get away. They are still closing it, faster and faster. He can't stay. It's not safe.

"Sam!" The car calls out to him, but the teen races to the alley that he had slept in, utilizing its smaller space to avoid the car being able to follow. "Sam, wait!"

He hears the roar behind him and the sound of wheels screeching against the asphalt from where he was just moments before. He skins his hands running them along the brick wall while he's trying to remain upright while running. He hardly feels it with the throbbing in his head and the radiating pain in his body. He has to go... he has to... he has to...

He comes out the other side of the alley, looking down the way that he thinks the sleek gray car will be coming from, but doesn't wait around for it to come zipping around one of the streets. He races across the street, ignoring the crosswalk about fifteen feet to his left. He goes at an angle in the opposite direction to make it to another back alley, and as he goes, there is an itch in the back of his head. A feeling, like a whisper in a voice that doesn't sound like his own.

"I couldn't convince him I was an Autobot..."

The teen stops, feeling like he's going to pass out. He stumbles but somehow keeps on his feet and rushes as fast as his sluggish legs can carry him. He's basically heading back the way he came - he thinks - but it's getting harder for him to focus. Harder than it already was. His mind just can't seem to grasp...

He rounds a corner, hearing the roar behind him before he recognizes the sound of the idle in front of him. He slams hard into the grill of the truck like it materialized out of nowhere though he rationally knew that it was there, his mind just too rattled to comprehend otherwise. He bounces off of it hard enough to fall onto the ground onto his stomach, having flailed in his attempt to correct his fall. Pain radiates across the front of his body, further aggravating the pain his body already is in.

Blood fills his mouth as a blue arcing light spreads out on the concrete around them, dancing up the space in all directions. Across the vehicle, making it shutter, and up the buildings on all sides of him. He blacks out for a moment, that horrible sensation washing over him again. He opens his eyes to the sound of something whirling as it pulls from his pocket.

He pushes up onto his hands and knees, looking down at his phone seemingly struggling somehow from his pocket down to the concrete, shifting and twirling. The teen scrambles away from both the truck and the twitching device as it morphs from a phone into... something decidedly other. Some kind of being. Something person shaped. What was the word? Why couldn't he remember? Humanoid? Yes, that.

Terror washes over the teen as something nagging pokes at the back of his head. The phone chitters something unnatural, before turning burning crimson eyes towards the teen. It hisses and spits, charging for him before the truck whirls unnaturally and a massive arm unwinds from the chassis of the truck, slamming into the concrete over the phone, crushing it effortlessly.

A deep, grumbling voice comes from within the shifting truck, "You alright, Sam?"

The teen stares up at the growing figure. The truck turning into... a person. A large... robot... person.

The teen shakes at the sight of the scary thing. Something so wholly unnatural about it. He's never seen anything like that before. Well, except for his phone just a few seconds prior. He can't... his brain... he can't comprehend what he's seeing. This isn't normal. He knows that it's not right. He's never seen anything like this before.

Right?

His instinct was to run. From them? So, then he must have known about them. He must have seen them before. Must have known that they were out there. How else would he have known that he was supposed to get out of there. He knew, then. He knew that these people - or things? He can't... his brain... - were out here. He knew this, so he ran. Ran from that car from earlier, because they are the same. In his heart he knew that they were, even if his brain is having a hard time keeping up. Even as his mind was unable to remember it. Subconsciously.

Away. He has to get away.

Blood is spat from between his lips as he stumbles to his feet, shaken. He feels like he's going to vomit, that horrible feeling washing over him again and again, but he manages to keep it down. The teen wraps his arms around himself as he watches the last joints and panels seal into place on the robot and the being stares down at him with unnatural blue eye lights, tilting his head.

Scary. It's scary. He has to get away. He's not safe. He's not safe. He's not safe!

"You're injured," the robot says. Despite it being low and gravelly, there is something akin to... gentle affection mixed in. Something he doesn't understand. "Come on. Let's get you to Ratchet."

He's scared. He doesn't understand how he got into this situation. He doesn't know what's going on. He just... he can't do this alone. He needs someone to help him. He needs to get away. To get to somewhere that will allow him just... just a moment to think. A moment to stop being in pain, so he can figure out what's going on. What happened to him. He just... he can't do this. He needs... he needs...

There is a rumble. Hard enough to shake the ground under his feet. It feels like an earthquake. The teen stumbles back, putting more distance between himself and the large robot, who turns, looking at the building next to him, grunting in surprise, blue lights for eyes going from tiny pinpricks to swirling wide.

Something bursts through the building, sending bricks and metal and concrete flying in all directions. For a moment, the teen thought a bomb went off, his ears ringing like it did, when something roars unnaturally, throwing itself at the being before him. It's an incomprehensible amalgamation of limbs all twisting and spinning around itself as it grabs onto the smaller being by comparison and just hefts him up off his feet and hurls him into the building across the street, knocking down the wall there.

The teen barely manages to press flush against the building to avoid the worst of the flying debris. He cries out when something slices through his leg but it's more surprise than anything. He can barely feel anything through the surprise, the pain, the cloudiness.

The amalgamation roars, charging for the being, all its flailing limbs like something out of a nightmare. It came from within the building that the teen had been running along through the alley. All that is inside of it now is torn support beams and a huge hole in the concrete that it seemingly ripped itself from. However the being had been hiding in there before, it had managed to compact itself much smaller than it is now.

"Now where in Unicron's wet dream did you come from, ugly?" The being snarled, one of his hands morphing into a... cannon?

The young man's ears ring as it opens fire on the amalgamation. It screams in pain and something... hurts. A pain in the teen's chest that makes him cry out. The amalgamation roars in rage, grabbing onto the being, lifting him effortlessly once more despite his flailing and the wild shots, one of which takes off one of its many arms, and hefts him nearly two streets over.

The amalgamation turns to the teen then, almost immediately forgetting about the black truck now that it was out of its line of sight. It towers above the buildings, its arms rotating around it's body like it's on a wheel. Nearly hidden in the mess of moving limbs, two blazing red eyes peer down at him as it moves closer. A wave of sound emanates from it. Like clicking and beeping, flat tones and a hiss. Steam fires out from between the creases in its plates as it moves closer, slower, as if cautiously.

One of its many arms twitches roughly, as if something is wrong with it, before it reaches for him. Too fast, too scary. It'll crush him in its grip.

The teen pulls tight to the building, squeezing his eyes shut in terror as a voice rings out, accompanied by thunderous steps from far off and drawing closer, low and enraged, "Hang on, Sam!"

A roar comes separate of the voice from down the street. A car comes speeding down it, too fast to avoid hitting the amalgamation. Bright yellow with two black stripes running down it. It doesn't slow as it approaches the amalgamation. In fact, it speeds up until it's almost right beneath it, before snapping into a transformation, just like the truck had done. Going from being a car, to a yellow being, small enough to climb around through the many arms of the amalgamation, shooting into the mess of limbs with its own arm cannon.

The amalgamation screams in pain and the teen cries out, tears welling up in his eyes. Hurt. They are hurting it.

Then, rounding one of the streets, comes another being, larger than both the black truck and the yellow car, but not quite as large as the amalgamation. He jerks his shoulder in a purposeful motion, a long blade appearing, running along the length of his forearm, glowing a bright, flaming orange.

The amalgamation grabs hold of the smaller yellow being by its leg, throwing it into a nearby building before turning to face the charging blue and red flamed being, screeching in rage and... fear?

Fear. Why...? No, the teen understands. He's afraid too.

It's a flurry of motion. The red and blue flamed being is elegant, hacking away at limbs as they reach for him, all the while the amalgamation holds off against cannon fire from all angles. The black truck and the yellow car spin around them, trying to get the angle on the amalgamation when the gray car shows back up, transforming too into another being that skates to them on two of its wheels. Two blades extend, one from each wrist, and together, with the red and blue flamed being, they just cut down the amalgamations many arms.

It screams in agony, one flailing limp grabbing onto the gray being and tossing him at the red and blue, sending them both hurdling backwards into some rubble of what used to be whatever housed the amalgamation before it became... this.

Became..?

A smaller being shows up, a purplish pink motorcycle that immediately transforms into a being like the rest, startling the teen. It isn't as large as the others, but still stands over him easily. The amalgamation roars in rage, grabbing onto the black truck and smashing him into the ground hard enough that the teen falls over, disorient.

"Fragging slag that hurt," the truck groans before rolling out of the way of a massive foot coming down onto where it was just a moment before, turning the concrete to powder beneath its massive weight.

"Are you alright, Sam?" She asks, her voice unmistakenly feminine, glancing wearily over at the large amalgamation as it rampages behind her. "Please, we need to get you to Ratchet."

The clashing of these titans is no more than twenty feet from him, knocking down buildings and shattering powerlines that don't even spark when toppled over. Just like the place he was in before, there is no power. And certainly, it's quiet enough in the rest of the city that anyone close by can at the very least see and hear the titanic robot death match happening over here. How could they not?

A horrible wail of agony lances through the teen's chest, sucking the air from his lungs as he looks past the feminine motorcycle at the amalgamation crumbling to one knee, massive body heaving as it's encircled by the beings. A smaller, blue being, spinning electrified whips slips between the truck and the silver car. They form a tight circle, trying to plan out their next move.

A green being appears, eyeing the amalgamation before moving around it towards the teen. The amalgamation tracks him, shuffling a bit on its knee, the metal scraping against the powdered remains of the concrete beneath it. It lets out an unholy screeching noise when the green being kneels down in front of the teen, nearly blocking the teen and the amalgamation from one another. The teen flinches, his chest aching at the sound - at the pain and anguish in it.

"Sam."

Its body is in ruins. Many of its numerous arms are in pieces, hardly any are still intact. There is a growing puddle of pink liquid pooling around it, coming from the many wounds on its body and from the open ends of its severed arms. The beings circle it, like birds of prey. Ready, waiting for the right moment to strike. Kill it. They are going to kill it.

"Sam."

And when those crimson balls of light peer through the darkness at the teen, he notices a distinct glistening beneath it. When it shifts, the lights that the beings cast catch it just right, revealing... tears.

The amalgamation is crying. Frustration and pain and fear, and as it meets the teen's eyes, shame. Bright, burning failure in those crimson orbs.

It has failed the teen. And as a product of its failure, it's going to die. The teen's not sure what it's more afraid of, how it failed the young man, or that now it is going to die for it.

"Sam."

He blinks, vision blurry, as he looks up at the knelt green being, its mimicry of a human face twisted in confusion. "I need to scan you. You're unwell."

"Why..?" He rasps, voice raw as his throat feels like sandpaper.

The being twists its head more, frowning. "Your vitals are all off. You were injured at some point and - "

"Why does it have to die..?" He asks, tears leaking down his cheeks. "Why do you have to kill it..?"

The being jolts, perplexed, before looking over its shoulder at the amalgamation, as if noticing something strange. It shifts a bit on its hunches, studying the amalgamation as it stares at the teen in turn

"It is enslaved to primal functioning," the green being says, but his voice is low, unsure. "There are no higher functioning in it. It can't feel anything... or... it shouldn't."

It makes a blast of noise, still looking at the teen and it's horrendous to hear - and not just to the teen. The smaller blue being shivers at the sound while the yellow being moves between the teen and the amalgamation, car doors acting like wings spread wide in an animalistic display of intimidation. Making itself appear larger in order to scare off predators. Or in this case, larger beings. The amalgamation, still much larger by comparison even while down on a knee, crackles and hisses like a feral beast at the yellow being, who beeps and clicks back, shifting more between the teen and the amalgamation.

"See, Sam?" the green being says carefully. "It doesn't have any higher functioning. It is cruel to leave it like this. Without a spark, once the chassis runs out of energy, the bot will offline, and it is a cruel thing to do to it. It will run feral, mad, until it can't function anymore."

No, he doesn't see. Not what the green being is trying to say, at least. It's not feral - it's scared. It didn't ask for this. All it wants is... is...

The teen sobs, heart breaking. The swell of emotion hitting him so hard that he couldn't stop it from happening. The yellow being flinches, looking down at him, a sad whirling sound that hurts him more. The red and blue being shifts, uncomfortably, sparing a glance at him with eerily bright blue eyes, brighter than even the green being before the teen.

"It's my fault," he sobs, hands clenching at his racing heart and aching chest as he turns his gaze to the amalgamation through the bulk of the green and yellow beings separating them. "I'm sorry," he rasps. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Sam," the green being says, shifting closer. "You need to calm down, Sam. You are not well."

"It's my fault that you're in so much pain," the teen cries, leaning too heavily against one of the last standing buildings around here, his entire body barely able to hang on any longer. He's too weak now. The longer he stares into those crimson eyes, knowing that tears flow from them as well, the more he feels the shame, the pain, the fear, as if it's burrowing deeper into his chest, filling him to brim until he'll simply explode from it.

"Sam," the green being starts again, voice growing wearier before it stiffens as the amalgamation lets out a mournful cry.

It reaches for the teen with its many broken, bleeding arms, begging for him. Just like a child, reaching for a parent. And it sobs, big, shoulder heaving sobs, startling the beings around it. It crackles and hisses and spits out beeps and clicks, but it's all garbled, like a dozen different nonsense sounds all at once. The pink motorcycle flinches at the noise, covering the side of her head where an ear would be had she been human.

"Is it... trying to speak..?" the pink being asks, eyes wide in horror.

It spits static, swaying before falling onto a hip, the trembling is enough to drop the teen to the ground, but he doesn't feel it, the numbness in his body settling in once more. He can't... he can't stay on his feet any longer. He can't even really attempt to try and concentrate any longer. He's too weak.

"Ratchet," the blue and red flamed being snaps, tersely, blue eyes like twin flames in the darkness.

A beam of blue light scans over the teen's body before a tab pops open on the green being's arm. He studies it, shaking his head. "As I suspected, multiple injuries, possible concussion, low blood pressure, Primus. Very low blood sugar. And..."

"I'm sorry I did this..." the teen slurs to the amalgamation. "I'm sorry I hurt... you..."

The amalgamation cries out mournfully, sliding down onto its side, as if too injured to lift its massive body back up, but still, it reaches for him. A low, agonized cry whistles out of it before its body slumps and the red of its eyes fade to gray.

Chapter 2: Dead to Living

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.

It's like a fog, or maybe a tide is more like it. Pulling in and out. When the tide pulls in, he's buried in darkness, unable to think or dream or anything. But when the tides pull back, he can hear snippets of sounds, words spoken, or flashes and images. It was all so jumbled and garbled. Then he's drowning again beneath the waves, and it takes all of the things he could see and hear above the water gets washed away once more.

The water pulls back.

"...chet? Is Sam going to be..."

"..arks power... in his cells..."

"...do with it..?"

"...power ran out of its chassis... to dispose of it..."

"To NEST?"

"Where did it come from..."

"Allspark...must have been Sam..."

"...he does still have it..."

"Lord Prime... wrong with the mech... low level readings..."

"...how is that possible..?"

"Check... spark!"

A bright blue light, like the sun flaring, almost burning his eyes from his head, and doing nothing good for his growing headache. He rasps out a gasp of pain, and maybe a whine when a shadow passes over him, blocking out the light. He doesn't have the strength to move, to even consider it. He's thankful that someone is looking out for him.

"Primus! He has a spa..."

"It's the All...has to be..."

Back under the waves he goes. It's a cold and empty darkness. Tendrils of wisping white threads flow from him like roots from a tree, but they vanish into the darkness around him, swallowed whole.

The water pulls away once more.

Something holds him, wrapping around his entire body and lifting him up into the air. The night is warm, almost stifling so, when before it was just a bit chilled. Maybe it's him. Burning too hot. He is pressed close to something even warmer. And it's equal parts comforting and painful. His bleary eyes open to see bright yellow, almost like the sun, beneath a shade of gray darkness.

A few soft clicks and then a voice, gentle but pained, "I have you, Sam. Optimus and I... we have you."

"Don't speak, Bumblebee," a snap from a harsher voice. Familiar. He just... he just heard it... recently. "Your vocalizer is damaged again. And I don't have the parts to repair it. So, no speaking. Radio only."

A pause, then, "I'm sorry, Ratchet. I just... need him to hear me. His heart is racing and panicked..." He is shifted, the yellow consumes his vision and he's pressed against something smooth. But beneath it...

Strength. Power. A thrum of life. Not like a heartbeat. Like something spinning rapidly, more whooshing, but there is a hum. Comforting, life-giving.

"Listen to Ratchet, Bumblebee," a low, gravelly voice rumbles. "The last thing he would want is for you to hurt yourself more." A wash of hot air over his body, air passing through metal slats. His bleary eyes can't comprehend anything beyond the yellow. "I understand how you feel. He is unwell. This entire situation is strange but here is not the place and now is not the time."

Noises of affirmation from more than just the being that holds him, before he slips back under the waves again. They are all around him, the roots like from a tree, with him as the epicenter. Some are bright and strong as they taper off into the darkness, others are weaker, filmier. Opaque even. But it's all the same, trailing off into the darkness beyond his vision.

The waves pull back and he's so weak. He can hear himself wheezing as hushed voices speak over him. But he can't understand them. Like a series of clicks and beeps and it hurts his head. He is still held close, cradled as if he was precious, but the warmth is too much. He turns his head away and rasps, but the being pulls him closer still. Protectively so, and despite the uncomfortable heat, he does feel safe.

"I don't care about the mech, Optimus," a soft male voice says. His voice is low, much like the one that was told not to speak, but this time there is no pain or strain to his voice. "What Sam did is incredible, but I don't care. I only care about Sam."

"I know, Bumblebee, but we cannot leave him here. Sam has unintentionally tapped into the power of the Allspark. He gave life to this mech. Crafted him from Earth metal and bonded a spark to his chassis. Even now his metal is rapidly altering into the living metal we are made from. He was hardy enough without the enhancements our metals provide. He will be even more formidable in the future if left to his own devices."

"He wants something from Sam, I know it. We can't let him hurt him, Optimus."

"I do not intend to. But these are irregular circumstances, Bumblebee. I won't allow harm to come to him, of that I swear upon my spark, but I am sorry, friend, the mech comes with us." His voice is low, but patient.

"Very well. But I wish to remain with him. I will keep Sam safe."

"I will allow it."

The waves come back with a vengeance, striking him hard enough that it feels like phantom pain washing over him. It grips him tight, winding around him like a viper and pulls him into the darkness. But this time, instead of bobbing up and down, he sinks far below the surface. It swirls and curls in sinful greeting around him before swallowing him whole.

***

A low whine of pain jolts him awake. The teen blinks bleary eyes, taking in the space around him without really any strength to do more than look around with his eyes. Some kind of hybrid between a science lab and a medbay. There are two massive metal berths in his view on the other side of the room with stacks of supplies in massive bins between them. The room is bright and sterile, both in cleanliness and in the smell in the air.

Despite the weakness and fatigue of his body, thankfully his head isn't throbbing horribly any longer. He can at least form coherent thoughts. His memory from before waking here is muffled, distant, like he was looking at it from outside of his body. While it's hard to fully grasp all that happened, he does remember pretty much most of it despite how out of it he was.

"You're awake!" A woman says. The teen looks over and is face to face with the yellow being shifting into his vision. It must have been just out of his eyeline when he looked around. Its big vibrant blue eye lights staring at him from its slightly elevated position.

The teen lurches back, momentarily forgetting about the weakness in his body and nearly falling off of the gurney atop of a large metal slab. Large metallic hands cup around the gurney in case the teen fell off, which was surprisingly thoughtful for the strange... being to do.

Heart racing, he sits up straight at the edge of the gurney, furthest from the being, but doesn't move any further. His body is still so tired and despite the adrenaline having helped push him up in that moment of fear, he can already feel his limbs and back start to flag as exhaustion washes over him. Finally, with a clearer head and better lighting, the teen can finally see the being before him.

Definitely a robot with big blue eyes and an almost humanoid face but instead of a mouth, there is a circular mouthpiece that glows a pretty blue. This bot was the one that was holding him earlier. In the harsh light of the lab, he is like a bright yellow sun.

Heavy footsteps draw his eye to the green being, towering over the yellow one, and it's then that the teen realizes that the yellow being is knelt down. His green is more of a mix with yellow than Sam had initially thought due to the low light and like the yellow being, both are accented with black. Distinctly different from one another. The teen tries to commit both of them to memory.

They seem friendly enough. That is to say, they haven't hurt him yet. So maybe his panic from earlier was unwarranted. That is more of an appealing thought than he's willing to give voice to.

"Sam," the green being says, lowering down next to the yellow. "It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling? Your vitals are all still off." He glances off to the side and the teen follows his look. There is a monitor set up and wires attaching to him. He hadn't realized that whatever he was wearing before - probably a band affiliated t-shirt and jeans - is replaced with simple sweats and a plain t-shirt. He's not even going to get started on figuring out how these giant robots changed his clothes. He'll leave that up to the imagination.

"Sam?" The teen echoes, rubbing at his head as he reminds himself that he should be focusing, the fogginess lifting more but he is still lost and confused. He's heard that name before. A lot of times. And most of them very recently. "Is that... me?"

A pause, both of the beings look at him, the yellow one shaking his head, blue eye lights spiraling wide. He looks over at the green... robot. Yes, definitely a robot. A huge one! Both are. Wait, yes, he already thought that. Ugh, maybe he still needs a little more time.

"You..." the green robot says, frowning his very humanoid face. "You don't know who you are, Sam?"

The teen rubs his forehead. "Is that me? Am I Sam?"

The yellow robot sends a sharp look to the green one, beeping and clicking in a panicked rush. It's then that the teen feels something wash over him. A tingle in the air that made the hair on his arms stand on end. It feels like... panic, fear, confusion.

The green robot looks over at the yellow one, putting a hand on his arm. "Settle, Bumblebee. No need to panic."

The feeling pulls away, leaving the teen wondering what that feeling was. But another washes over the teen, this one still making his arm hair stand on end, but it's calmer more soothing.

"Optimus, come to the medbay. It's Sam. Something is wrong."

"Ratchet just commed, saying it's not urgent."

"It's not urgent, just... troubling."

"I'm enroute."

The teen - Sam - tilts his head a bit, wondering which one said that. It would have to be the yellow one, as the green one has a more humanoid face and his lips would have moved had he spoken as he witnessed it do before, but before the teen can ask just to be sure, the green robot shifts closer, jarring his thoughts.

"Yes, Sam," the green robot says. He sends a look over at the yellow robot next to him, a disapproving look on his face. "You're Sam. And I am Ratchet."

"Ratchet..." Sam murmurs softly, putting the name to the face. He carefully lowers onto his side, tired. He pulls the thin blanket over his hips, too tired and weak to worry about whether they were going to hurt him or not.

The yellow being reaches forward, pinching the blanket between two fingers and pulls it higher up onto his shoulders, reinforcing the feeling that perhaps they won't hurt him. They seem friendly enough.

"And your name..?" Sam asks softly, squinting at the kind yellow robot.

The yellow bot flinches, as if struck, before looking over at Ratchet, then back to Sam. Then he rolls his shoulders back and with a strange enthusiasm, he says, "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!"

Sam's lashes flutter, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "W...What?"

"Bumblebee," Ratchet says, a light coming from his arm and scanning Sam up and down. A tab opens on his arm, and he studies the readings.

"Bumblebee..." Sam says softly, shifting closer to the faces, staring up at the yellow one. The longer he does, the more aching familiar he seems to be. Just the way that the yellow robot perks at Sam saying his name, how his strange metal face seems to just soften as he leans closer. The way that finger that helped pull up his blanket, runs down the length of his side, offering comfort freely.

Sam feels safe with this robot. The panic that had overwhelmed him earlier - yesterday? A few hours ago? - is gone. Maybe it's the aura of calmness that seems to radiate around them or that somewhere deep in the back of his mind, Sam recognizes this being.

"I know you... don't I?" Sam asks softly. He studies the big blue eyes, the yellow, black and white painted face.

Bumblebee nods. "Your Guardian, Sam," a series of different voices says through the radio. That would explain the woman's voice from earlier.

"Something is wrong with your voice," he says.

Bumblebee nods, placing a hand on his throat and making a sound of sadness. "It's broken, you know? All banged up and stuff."

Sam frowns, lashes fluttering a bit before burrowing deeper into his pillows and the thin mattress that would otherwise feel uncomfortable, but right now feels heavenly. "You're hurt?" Bumblebee nods. "Are you okay?" He nods again, the blue light of his eyes softening more somehow.

There is a noise, a keening blast of sound, clicks and beeps and grinding gears. Sam looks down towards the foot of his gurney, past his feet and the edge of the massive berth, to see two more robots. One of silver and black, tall and sleek, the other of black, silver and white, shorter but broader. And on the berth between them - two berths it seems, pushed together - is the amalgamation.

All of its many arms in various states of destruction all tangled up, held together by bent metal, restraints holding its body down and even in the bright white glare of the lights, there is two vibrant red eyes peering through the darkness of its plating at him. From this angle, Sam can see that there is a distinct set of shoulders that press close and narrow down into the rest of its torso, meanwhile, there is some kind of raised collar around its head where all the many arms are attached to. Or maybe it's the highest point of the body the arms can go but they can move down the torso, Sam's not sure. He can't really tell from this distance.

The two robots... they almost look like they're... guarding the amalgamation. Or... maybe standing guard is a better way of looking at it. On the floor around the amalgamation is a bunch of spare parts that seem out of place all just left haphazardously but it's not Sam's place to comment on the strangeness of it.

"The silver one is Sideswipe," Ratchet says, following Sam's eyes. "He was the first Autobot that you ran into out in the streets, if you recall. The other is Ironhide, he was the second one."

"Side...swipe..." Sam mumbles, recalling that was what the disembodied voice in the silver car had said too. The silver robot smiles, offering a two fingered salute while the black and silver robot nods as Sam says, "Ironhide..."

"How are you feeling, kid?" Ironhide asks, casting a look over at the amalgamation before looking back at Sam.

"I'm... tired," Sam says, quietly, still looking into the bright red eyes of the amalgamation. "I'm confused."

"What is the last thing that you remember, Sam?" Ratchet asks, the tab on his arm closing.

"Waking up in a room... and a girl came in to ask if I'd lost power. But I don't remember her. I don't know where I was." Sam rubs at his forehead, a bit of a throb behind his eyes. "I think I fell down and hit my head."

Bumblebee chirps, little ear-like antenna wobble on his head. It's adorable.

Ratchet hums. "Yes, I think so too. You've got a good knot on the side of your head. Thankfully the swelling is going down and it doesn't appear to have done significant damage. Your vitals are all working back into the normal range. I'll keep you here for monitoring, but I think the amnesia, the confusion, is all just temporary. Any damage done to your brain is already showing signs of healing."

Sam yawns, rubbing at his forehead. "Are you a doctor?"

"In a manner," Ratchet says, shifting to rest an arm across his knee. "I'm the Autobots chief medical officer."

"Auto...bots..." Sam says softly, blinking and rubbing at his tired eyes.

"Yes, Sam. We are Autobots. Autonomous robotic organisms, and we hail from the planet of Cybertron."

All the room shifts towards the door to the hall, seeing the massive red and blue robot, the tallest of them thus far, carefully making his way in. The amalgamation spits a wave of noise at him, pulling on his bonds, red eyes narrowed. But it shrinks back when cool blue eye lights turn to it, his metal lips pressing tightly together. Despite his hard expression, there is something compassionate about it. Like sadness or concern.

"Sam," Ratchet says, pulling the frowning teen's eyes back over to him. "Do you know who this mech is?"

Sam shakes his head. He does remember all of them from... well, before. But he doesn't know their names. But just like Bumblebee, who's shoulders wilt a bit at Sam's denial, there is something about the red and blue robot - mech - that just feels... safe.

"You're aliens," Sam says, sitting up a bit. It should be obvious yet saying it out loud just seemed to click something in his mind.

The large mech nods, moving closer as Bumblebee climbs to his feet and steps aside to offer the red and blue mech his spot. Sam misses the soft, comforting motion of the mech running a finger up and down his side almost immediately after it's gone. They exchange looks before the red and blue mech goes down onto a knee to bring him closer to eye level with Sam. "Hello Sam," the mech says, voice warm and kind, despite the flicker of unease across his face that smooths out a moment later. "I am Optimus Prime."

"Optimus... Prime..." Sam murmurs.

The amalgamation thrashes a bit, blaring white noise at them, making Sam flinch.

"He's not a big fan of you," Sam says through a grimace.

"I imagine not," Optimus rumbles in understanding. "I suspect that it's the Prime Aura. All autonomous robotic organisms, not just those of Cybertronian descent, can sense it, and to some, it brings unease."

"Prime Aura?"

Optimus stares down at him, a small frown pulling at the corners of his lips, before he carefully says, "It allows my field to be more... appealing or perhaps, persuasive to other mechanoids. A form of compulsion, as it were. Making me seem more agreeable. Some mechs are extremely sensitive to it. The energy fields, I mean, and react negatively to it. Like it's an intrusion."

Struggling to understand, Sam quietly asks, "And it feels... unnatural to him because he's going against his instincts?"

Pride washes over Optimus's features and his smile is so warm, Sam sinks into his bedding, feeling utterly safe. "That's part of it. Without anything beyond very basic coding, the mech over there is running on instinct. But he's running so hot that any attempts to calm him is met with resistance, hence why he's being... detained."

Sam casts a long, sad look over at the amalgamation, frowning a bit. "What's his name?"

There is a long stretch of silence before Sideswipe finally says, "He doesn't have one, Sam. He was onlined here. He's not one of ours."

Sam blinks, staring into those bright red lights staring back at him. "So... how do we know what his name is? Will he tell us?"

"He is not capable of speech, Sam," Ratchet says softly. "You... made him, but he wasn't given any proper programming aside from very basic coding to keep him operating to some level. He's basically a clean slate bitlet without any sort of assistance in coding, programming, even firewalls for protection. He doesn't have access to our comms system or our neural network. Normal for a newly sparked bitlet, but not for a fully formed mech."

"Basically, a big ol' baby in a big ol' body," Ironhide says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"And he's hyper fixated on you, Sam," Sideswipe says. "He probably thinks that you're his creator or something, which, sure, you are."

Sam frowns, rubbing at his aching forehead. "I made him? How?"

All eyes turn to Optimus, as he quietly considers. His blue light eyes study Sam and for a moment, the teen wondered if he was going to lie to him - not that Sam would be able to tell - but then he sighs, leaning in a little more and Sam knew he was going to tell the truth. "Hopefully, you will remember this all soon, Sam, but you got... imbued with the power of the Allspark. It's a powerful artifact of creation from our world - or it created our word, depending on what parts of the histories you believe. But it was in danger back home, so it was sent here into space where it eventually found its way to Earth. It was... destroyed a few years ago, but a piece of it survived."

"We learned that the Allspark's power is unique - more so than we initially thought," Ratchet offers. "It holds all of its powers within every piece of itself. Meaning, even when it was mostly destroyed, the small piece that remained held all of the power of the whole of the Allspark. When you came into contact with it your body absorbed the power, and it has been steadily growing inside of you for the last few years."

Sam quietly listens as Optimus tells him this fantastical story about how, when Sam was sixteen, he was found by Bumblebee because he had an object that would lead them to the Allspark. Optimus told him a bit about Cybertron, about a war that broke out there between the Autobots and the Decepticons. How he was the one that removed the Allspark from Cybertron and the leader of the Decepticons, Megatron, had chased the Allspark to Earth. That Sam's great, great grandfather Archibald Witwicky had found him in the Artic Circle and had the location of the Allspark burned into his glasses. The same glasses that Sam had put up on Ebay to sell, which is what led to the encounter between Sam and Bumblebee.

Optimus explained them meeting, Sector Seven, and Mission City. The government cover-up and how Megatron now sits at the bottom of the ocean after Sam had thrust the Allspark into his chest - his own spark - instead of Optimus's spark, despite his insistence. That was when the energy of the Allspark was introduced into Sam's cells. And have been steadily growing and evolving there for the last two years. It was in some sort of dormant state, which is why it went undetected for so long.

Just before going to school - college, specifically - he located another piece of the physical cube, and it supercharged his cells again, causing an awakening in his cells. No longer was the power growing in a dormant state, now it was active and getting stronger.

Something happened to Sam at school, Ratchet thinks it was just a buildup of energy, and he was the one that blacked out the city unintentionally using the Allspark's power. It's why he's so out of it since last night.

"So... Bumblebee is my guardian, and has stayed with me even after Mission City?" Sam asks, trying to wrap his mind around all of this.

Bumblebee nods excitedly, pointing between the two of them singing through the radio, "You and me. And me and you. So happy together!"

Sam laughs, soft and tired. He looks down at the amalgamation, as it periodically hisses and spits waves of sounds, tugging at its bonds and kicking out its feet but it is very much stuck in place. Sam feels bad for the confined being, wishing that there was some way he could undo what he'd obviously done wrong. He just didn't know what to do.

"You weren't coming to hurt me," Sam says, carefully pushing himself up to a sit, looking back to the leader of the Autobots. "I don't know why... I panicked. I knew that you were coming, but I just... I don't know."

"There is still so much about the Allspark that we don't know," Optimus says, patiently. "And now that it's a part of your body, there is more still we don't know. There is more to tell you, Sam. About us, about what we've been through, but now isn't the time. You should focus on what we've caught up with. The rest will come with time." The Autobots nod solemnly in agreement, but Bumblebee appears troubled, although he doesn't speak out. Sam can't fully make sense of his words, though. "What we caught up with?" What does that mean?

Instead of that, though, Sam asks, "What do we do about him? I thought he was just going to run out of energy or something, right? Isn't that what you said yesterday, Ratchet? Or am I misremembering?"

"No, that's what I said," Ratchet agrees, finally rising to his feet, the metal of his knees grinding a bit. "But he's... different. This mech was given a spark when he was onlined. The last time the Allspark granted power to the machines of Earth, it forged them bodies and sent them on a rampage, as it had done in Mission City and in all of NEST's experiments leading up to our reacquisition of it. The metal of your world is not like others, not like Cybertron. Your metal is dead. Ours is alive. It allows us to feel through it. When a mech is made and gifted life from either a specific type of forge on Cybertron or through the Allspark itself, the living metal can house a spark, essentially turning what would have been an active brain in a dead body, into a fully operational being. Like us."

Sam rubs at his forehead, and Ratchet looks like he's about to insist again that Sam take some medicine, so he quickly stops and distracts the green medic with an inquisitive, "So you thought, because the big guy was made of Earth metal, he wasn't going to be like you guys were, because all the other times this has happened, they weren't like you but this time... he is?"

Ratchet frowns, watching Sam's hand drop to his lap, but nods regardless. "Yes. I'm not certain of all that is different, but I suspect it has something to do with you."

Sam carefully moves into a cross-legged position, back bowing a bit, tiredly. "I was freaked out last night. I couldn't think straight, I thought I was running for my life. I just... didn't know what was going on. I didn't mean to do this. I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"No one thought that you did," Optimus says patiently, shifting a bit. "Unfortunately, we now have to find a way to sooth an overly charged mech without being able to communicate with him, who is aggravated enough as it is."

"How would you sooth a... bitlet?" Sam asks.

"I would have access to their medical port, and there I could download protocols and data files to assist us," Ratchet says, ignoring the snickering of Bumblebee and Sideswipe at the thought of this massive mech being referred to as a... baby Cybertronian. Which is what Sam is assuming a bitlet is. "But he's far too big to mechhandle and even while temporarily offline, I wasn't able to locate a medical port."

Sam's heart sinks at that. "Oh no. Why wouldn't he have one of those?"

Ratchet looks over at the amalgamation, but it is still staring at Sam, unflinchingly. "Either when it was sparked a flaw in its design made it so, or it's hidden somewhere I haven't seen yet."

"Where is it usually?" Sam asks.

"On the arm for easy access."

Sam stares at the dozens of broken arms all knotted up behind its head to keep them from being able to move freely. Some of the intact ones have their fingers twisting, as if anxiously. Sam has no idea where to even start on which one could have possibly had the access port, but it was probably one of the broken ones, if he had to guess. But thankfully, it appears as though the pink fluid is no longer dripping from the limbs, so that's probably good.

As if reading his mind, Ratchet says, "If we destroyed his medical port, I'm just going to have to get the parts and install a new one. Which will take time, unfortunately. Until then, I can only do so much as he's too agitated for much else."

"I'm not helping matters," Optimus says, looking over at the amalgamation in time for it to blast noise at him again. "I make him uneasy. Especially with you, it seems."

"Why is that?" Sam asks.

"Maybe he's upset at Prime because of the Aura," Ironhide offers.

"Or he wants something from Sam," Sideswipe adds. "Maybe he can sense the Allspark? I mean, it has been slowly healing him, transforming his dead metal to living metal the last few hours." It's then that Sam noticed that the pile of repair scrap around the amalgamation wasn't spare parts but probably pieces of the amalgamation that were regrown and forced off of his body.

That's kind of crazy.

Bumblebee's doorwings flutter up a bit at Sideswipe's words, frowning at that. He stares at the amalgamation, distrust written all over his face.

"It's okay," Sam says softly to the yellow bot, recognizing it as protectiveness as opposed to malice. "I don't think he wants to hurt me. He didn't want to yesterday, at least. And he doesn't seem like he wants to hurt me now."

"Well," Optimus says diplomatically as he moves to his feet, "until we can communicate with him, he must remain restrained. He is too big and too strong to be allowed to roam freely. We won't allow harm to come to him while he's in our care. Once he's finished healing, hopefully Ratchet will be able to gain access to his medical port and we can go from there."

"So, he's just going to be stuck there?" Sam asks, frowning. "All strapped down with guards standing over him?"

"For now," Optimus says. There is a hint of sadness to his expression as he looks over at the amalgamation. "But you should rest, Sam. You seem very tired."

Sam opens his mouth to protest, when a yawn escapes him. He flushes, looking down at his lap. He should argue, but he's not sure how to help the situation, or if there is even anything that he can do. But he's too tired. His mind is racing, trying to compile all of the new information that he's been given. He has questions, they burn in his chest and lungs, but some of it could be answered, he thinks, if given time to remember on his own, and others, when he is of a clearer head than he is now.

He lowers down onto his side again, wondering how he's going to try to sleep with how loud of a buzz there is in his ears, or how rampant his thoughts are.

He looks up at the yellow bot, moving closer again with large, gentle blue eyes. His guardian. His best friend, according to Optimus, and something in Sam's chest tightens in affection. Somehow, he knows it's true. Softly, he asks, "Will you stay with me?"

Bumblebee nods, lowering down next to the berth. His soft voice, whispering in the back of Sam's head, "I will never leave your side again."

Notes:

Another chapter! Sorry for the long wait! I've been quite busy looking for a second job while still working the one I've got, so I'm not able to spend as much time writing as I would like to, but I am still going! Thank you so much for your patience! I hope that you enjoyed!

Chapter 3: Found

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.

Sam jolts, a blast of sound forcing him into awareness once more. He looks down towards the amalgamation to see that he's staring intently at Ironhide. By the way that they were staring at each other, it's almost like Sam caught them in the middle of a silent argument. Which might have been amusing if one of them wasn't literally strapped down to a berth and under guard. Any amusement from that is short lived.

"Knock that off, mech," the black and silver mech snaps, scowling. "I told you that we aren't going to hurt you."

"He doesn't understand you, Ironhide," Sideswipe says, stepping out of his spot by the amalgamation's head for a smaller, blue mech to take his place. "Oh, and Jolt, he's been shedding his metal this whole time, his little hands are the last thing, I think. Well, and pieces inside his chassis, if I had to guess. His chest is bulging out, but he won't let Ratchet look at him. So, well, good luck with that."

The smaller, blue mech, probably about Bumblebee's size if a little shorter, tilts his head. He looks at the dangling, mostly repaired hands and twitching and twisting sporadically. "Uh huh..." He looks at Sideswipe. "So, what happens if we have to open him up to expel the dead metal from his frame?"

"You hold on for dear life," Sideswipe laughs.

"And if he doesn't open up?"

Sideswipe considers while Ironhide simply says, "He blows up."

The smaller mech, Jolt, scowls at the taller mech. He moves to take Sideswipe's spot, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks over at Sam, blue eye lights brightening as he straightens up, arms dropping immediately. "Oh. Hi, Sam."

Sideswipe twists around to glance at him. His brightens a bit. "Hi Sam! Sorry we woke you."

"You probably don't remember me either," Jolt says, quietly. "I'm Jolt."

"It's... nice to meet you, Jolt."

Sam rubs at his throbbing forehead as he sits up a bit. There is a strange little tingle in his chest. Nothing hurting or alarming, almost like an itch, but inside, somehow. His gurney, thankfully, isn't completely flat, so all he has to do is prop himself against the pillows to better look around the room. Optimus Prime, Bumblebee and Ratchet are all gone, Sam notes, looking around.

"They are speaking in the hall," Ironhide says, tilting his head. At Sam's perplexed look, he adds, "Prime, Bumblebee and Ratchet." Sam blinks in surprise, wondering if he had spoken out loud, but the black and silver mech simply laughed, eyes brightening as a sensation of amusement and affection wash over Sam, prickling his skin. "Amnesiac or not, you don't change, kiddo."

Sam licks his lips, mouth dry, before managing to ask, "We've known each other for a while..? Since Mission City?"

Ironhide nods. "Yep. Ratchet, Optimus, Jazz and I met you in Mission City. You and Bumblebee met a bit before us."

Sam blinks, reaching up to scratch at his arm. His skin tingling now along his arms. "Jazz?" His eyes flicker around the room, wondering if he could recall Jazz from the night before. "Which one was he from last night?"

Jolt and Sideswipe both share a look with one another as the feeling of affection and amusement from earlier is washed away. Sadness and forlorn runs a shiver down Sam's spine, immediately making him feel bad. The amalgamation shifts, as if uncomfortable.

Ironhide heaves a sigh, making steam blast out from between the plates of his armor. "Prime didn't tell you everything earlier about Mission City. Jazz died there. He was torn in two by Megatron."

Sam jerks back in horror, trying to imagine this beastly mech capable of physically tearing another mech into two pieces. He doesn't know how large this Jazz was, and also this Megatron, by comparison, but in Sam's mind it was like one titan tearing another in two. Which, he supposes, it was. The brutality of it in his mind's eye is too horrific for words.

"Ironhide," Jolt sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. Sideswipe looks down at his feet, as if he could sink into the ground. "He really didn't need the specifics."

Ironhide's face does something complicated. Sam has to know them, has to be used to them on a subconscious level, because he can read them so well. Rationally, he knows that they are familiar to him even though he doesn't remember them actively. He can spot minute changes to their expressions. The action is practiced and familiar. It comes so naturally for Sam.

Finally, Ironhide looks over at Jolt and says, "I disagree. Prime can't help himself. He'll always chose to protect Sam first, even from the harsh reality of the situation that we're in. Especially right now while Sam doesn't remember, we are relying on his belief in our word about the danger of the Decepticons. He needs to know how bad they are, and Prime understating the danger just to spare Sam of the harshness of the truth is a detriment to him. Jazz was one of us. He was murdered in cold blood by Megatron. He wasn't shot in battle or beaten in a fair fight. He was torn in two at the waist."

Then, Ironhide looks over at a door on the other side of the room, large and metal, next to another that was open, a desk visible inside with filing cabinets barely in view and schematics on the walls. Sam can't make anything out from this distance, yet a part of him doubts he would be able to understand any of it even if he could see it clearly. Sam follows Ironhide's gaze, staring at the closed door with his brows pulled together.

"Is...?" Sam rasps, throat unbearably tight as a sadness that feels both foreign and half felt, almost secondhand washes over him like a tidal wave. He rubs his hands up and down his arms, his flesh still tingling, like static crackling under his skin.

"Yeah, he's in there," Sideswipe says quietly. "He was repaired so that when Prowl got here, he wouldn't have to see..." he trails off, shaking his head, blue eye lights fluttering a bit. "Never mind. But yeah, he's in there."

Sam looks over at the closed door next to the office where Sam suspects that Ratchet works in. But to be sure, he asks, "Does Ratchet work in there?"

Sideswipe, Jolt and Ironhide all look at the door.

"Yes?" Jolt affirms, tilting his head.

"Was he friends with Jazz?" Sam asks, sitting up a little bit more to stare at the door, as if able to peer past the solid metal and see the bisected mech inside that they're talking about. It's hard to track this conversation, his skin feels like bees are buzzing just beneath the surface.

"Prime, Jazz, Ratchet and I..." Ironhide says carefully, not seeming to notice Sam's discomfort, "have known each other for a very long time, kid. Jazz was an easy mech to love and be annoyed by. They had their ups and downs, but you don't spend as much time together as we all have without getting close. Friends or not, there is a loyalty and love there that's beyond labels. You know what I mean?"

Sam looks over at Ironhide, nodding slowly, his shoulders pulling inward. "I think so." Then back over at the door. "How torturous that must be. To always have someone you care about one room over... like that."

The amalgamation rumbles, sounding upset, with narrowing red slits bouncing around those gathered in the room but the other mechs are silent, looking between each other and the closed door. As if maybe, they hadn't considered, or just never spoke the acknowledgment out loud before.

"Sam?"

Sam glances over to see Ratchet walking in, his gait hastened, as if in alarm. Optimus Prime and Bumblebee are following in behind him, looking between the yellowish green bot and Sam, confused. The amalgamation snarls and shakes on his berth, glaring at Optimus. In Sam's peripheral, he sees Ironhide, Jolt and Sideswipe turn their attention to the large Earth-born mech, trying to calm him down.

"Ratchet?" Sam rasps, looking over at the greenish mech as a beam of blue light nearly blinds him from Ratchet's arm. "Ow, why?"

"Sam, how are you feeling right now? Right at this moment?" Ratchet asks, voice tense.

"Like my eyes just got burned out of my head."

Sideswipe lets out a little snicker, as Ratchet sends Sam a droll look. "Are you in any pain?"

"Just my retina."

"Samuel," Ratchet growls, looking less than pleased by his response. "It's good to see that your personality is coming back, I was worried with how demure you were earlier, but I need to know what's going on with you right now."

Sam rubs hard at his eyes, blinking the spots from it, but it doesn't distract him from the tingling in his skin. "There are..." Sam hesitates, trying to figure out how to say this. "It feels like my skin is buzzing. It was fine when I woke up, but it's growing more like..." He rubs his arms as the tab opens on Ratchet's arm and he frowns down at it. "Bees under the skin," Sam mumbles.

Bumblebee tilts his head at that, making a little noise. He reaches forward to lightly touch Sam's side with a finger when Ratchet snaps, "Wait! No, Bumblebee!" The large yellow mech freezes a few scant inches from Sam's side.

Sam glances over at the large metal finger as a crackle of blue lightning almost... jumps from his nose and zaps the tip of the digit. Bumblebee makes a noise of surprise and pulls his hand back. The small crackle of lightning dancing up into his hand before vanishing beneath the plates there. Bumblebee's eye lights are blown wide as he shakes his hand out and looks at Sam. He makes a humming noise.

"Lightning, lord!" Bumblebee says through his radio. "Right from the sky!"

Sam's body heats up, like a dam being broken. "I don't feel good." He sinks into the bed, feeling all the energy leaving him. His skin feels like it's vibrating, and the effort of each shake is enough to draw more of his energy from him.

"Allspark energy is fluctuating out of control," Ratchet warns, looking over at Optimus Prime. "He might shut down this entire base with another electromagnetic pulse, like he did at Princeton."

"How do we stop that?" Jolt asks at the same time that Sideswipe asks, "What is that going to do to us?" They both look at each other, then back to Ratchet.

"Getting blasted with enough energy at ground zero with a sacred artifact that already blacked out a city yesterday, yeah, I wonder," Ironhide says drolly. "And there is no way we can outrun it."

"How do we stop that?" Jolt asks again, leaning away as if that was somehow going to help. The amalgamation lets out a blaring sound, and is hushed by Jolt with a soft pat on his head and a quiet, "I can't hear if you make all that noise, mech." The amalgamation tips his head back a bit to be able to see Jolt, rumbling but otherwise quiets down a bit.

Ratchet shakes his head, still looking at Optimus. "I don't know how to stop it. We might just have to let him..." he trails off, belying how much he really doesn't want to finish the sentence or do whatever it is that he was suggesting.

Optimus looks down at Sam, slowly lowering to one knee, blue eye lights flickering a bit. "I won't just leave him to suffer, and we can't just knock out more of the city and the NEST base." He considers, looking at Sam as he rubs his hands up and down his arms, but it feels like all of his limbs have fallen asleep. That intense prickling sensation of a limb without blood in it but it was across his entire body.

"It hurts..." Sam rasps, curling up a bit. He looks at his hand, arcs of blue lightning between his fingers. Was this what it was like before? He doesn't remember.

"Here, Sam." Sam looks up to see Optimus Prime's large hand moving closer, palm facing upward. "Try to dispel some of the energy into me. My spark can handle it." Ratchet sends him a sharp look, lips pressing together.

"He could fry your systems, Optimus."

"I'm willing to take the risk, we are sitting on the same portion of the grid that a hospital is. We can't afford to destroy the grid here. I have to at least try," Optimus says. He looks at Sam, expression softening. "We will take this slowly. Just keep touching my hand and expel the charge."

Shaking, Sam barely manages to slur out, "How..?"

"As you did with Bumblebee," Optimus says, voice even despite the softness on his face.

Sam waits a beat longer, looking at Optimus's face, trying to decide if he meant it. Seeing nothing to the contrary, Sam reaches out, his hand, tiny by comparison, touches the finger and the blue lightning arcs off of his hand and into the finger. It almost burns inside his chest as a bit of relief hits him. The blue lightning snakes across Optimus's hand and up his arm, sinking into the plates there before Sam pulls his hand back to break the connection between them.

Optimus keeps his face neutral, but Sam could see that the lightning was doing something to him. It didn't appear to hurt, thankfully. But he did flex his hand, even if he kept it out towards Sam.

"I think that... is a little better..? Maybe..." Sam murmurs.

"Go again," Optimus says, voice gentle. Bumblebee moves around to the foot of the berth that Sam's gurney is on, while Ratchet is now focused on the tab on his arm, carefully watching the readings he's getting.

Sam obeys, reaching out to touch Optimus's finger. The lightning races from Sam's hand into the Optimus's finger again, up his hand, into his arm and up towards his chest before Sam can pull away. That tingling sensation ebbing away a bit, but this time, Optimus shivers, the lights of his eyes flickering while Sam can see the static beneath his shifting plates, dancing just below the armored exterior.

This time, Sam sighs, taking in a few deep breaths after, already feeling relief. He hadn't realized how tight his chest was until just now.

"It's lessening," Ratchet murmurs. "It's working, Optimus."

"Does this hurt you, Sam?" Optimus asks softly blinking his eye lights stable once more. Bumblebee shifts, as if the prospect upsets him.

Sam shakes his head. "No. I can breathe better. The tingling in my skin isn't as bad." He reaches for Optimus again before stopping just a few short inches from his finger, small arcs of electricity connecting them together. "Does this hurt you? Am I..?" He hesitates, knowing that he should probably keep going even if it was, simply to ensure nothing worse happened, but he didn't want to hurt Optimus.

The red and blue mech smiles softly. "You aren't hurting me, Sam."

Relieved, Sam nods, reaching out to place his hand back on the large metal finger, watching as the arcs of lightning dance up the hand, into the arm, to the shoulder then down into the main body, crackling loudly and dancing between the plates, sinking further beneath. Optimus sucks in a slow breath, chest puffing out. The expansion of his chest gives Sam enough room to see small gaps in the armor, the blue electricity crackling along the frame, meeting a whiter lightning underneath. They twine and spark when they meet.

Sam doesn't let go, even as Optimus closes his eyes. Sam feels instant relief, the heat of his body being stolen from him. The tension in his muscles ease more and more as the blue lightning from his body just jumps around Optimus's, between armored plates, across limbs, sinking into whatever framing lies beneath. Dimly, Sam can hear Ratchet talking, voice low, but he can't make out the words, even as Optimus nods slowly, eyes still closed.

Like a floodgate being released, the last of that growing pressure breaks and the flow of lightning across his skin fizzles out. The intense tingling sensation dims enough to be bearable and Sam sags against the sheets once more, sighing in relief.

Optimus's plates spread out, like puffed out fur on a cat, boiling hot air hisses into the space of the otherwise quiet room around them, but it is directed away from Sam, as to not burn him. Although the fact that Sam can feel the tangible rise in temperature tells him everything that he needs to know about how hot the air the Autobot leader exhausted was.

Sam watches as Optimus, eyes still closed, lets the lightning crackle around his plates for a few minutes, slow even breaths through metal slats, and as Sam was sinking into exhaustion, Optimus finally opens his eyes. The arcs of blue lightning finally dissipate where Sam can't see them. The plates press firmly back in place as Optimus turns his attention back to Sam, studying him carefully.

"Are you alright now, Sam?" His voice is soft, blue eye lights brighter than normal.

Sam nods, exhausted. "I think so. I'm just... tired now." Optimus nods, his hand curling up and a single finger runs down Sam's side, so gently that the teen smiles lightly. "Are you okay, Optimus? I didn't... hurt you?"

Optimus shakes his head. "No, Sam. You didn't hurt me."

Sam rubs at his forehead, sinking into the covers. His eyes drift to Ratchet, who is nodding at the readings from the tab on his arm, while Bumblebee, who was standing between Ironhide, Jolt, Sideswipe and the amalgamation, moves over to Sam, on the other side of Optimus. The three Autobots were looking at the ground, as if respecting their privacy. Jolt had moved in front of the amalgamation, saying something softly to him when the larger mech shifted and pulled on his restraints.

Sam looks back over at Optimus. "Did I do something wrong? Humans don't... they don't have lightning come from their fingers..." He rubs at his head, exhausted. Bumblebee lets out a little whirl, sounding sad.

"You did nothing wrong, Sam. You needed to expel that energy, and it worked out in our favor. You don't need to worry about anything else for now," Optimus says, voice gentle. Sam thinks about what Ironhide had said, about Optimus always choosing to protect Sam first, even from the harshness of the truth and had to wonder if he was doing it again, or if in time he'll explain.

"How do you feel now, Sam?" Ratchet asks. "Your levels are all off. Are you able to eat something or do I need to prepare another IV for you?"

"I can eat," Sam says right as his eyes droop closed and sleep claims him.

***

"Frankie."

Bumblebee glances over at him from beside Ratchet, who only turns his head in acknowledgement. They were standing over on the other side of the room at what appears to be some kind of workbench, by the door to the office and what Sam can only assume is basically the Autobot morgue. Two new bots, identical in almost every visible way, aside from one being green and the other red and slight armor design differences, now flank the amalgamation.

"Robin. Tyler. Josh. Gerald. Philip. Tom."

Sam squints, rubbing at his eyes as Bumblebee moves closer, tilting his head to the side. Sam shifts in his gurney, trying to wake himself up more as he struggles to think of other names. He's been awake for a few minutes, trying to get his bearings, and all he can think about is the amalgamation, and how it has no identity outside of that single word.

"What're you saying, Sam?" The green bot asks, tilting his head. Like all the others thus far, they knew him, but he didn't know them.

"Going crazy, saying random human names. Goner, total goner," the red one sighs, shaking his head. "I'll miss him."

The green one gives him a look. "You think he's dying or something?"

"Why else would he be staring like that? Speaking in monotone and just..." he gestures at Sam, as if his entire person was reason enough for this bot to feel the way he does.

The green one looks at Sam, blinks his eye lights just slightly off sync, before nodding. "Yeah, okay. I see it."

"No offense, of course," the red one says, looking at Sam with a crooked smile. Both had thick southern drawls to their voices, and the red one's smile shows missing teeth - which is very strange. And beating a stereotype to death.

Yeah, what was there to be insulted about there.

Bumblebee beeps and clicks at them, and there is a terseness to it that makes Sam think it was probably chastisement. Both of the two bots flip Bumblebee the finger as he rolls his eyes and turns back to Sam, expression softening.

"Are you trying to remember something?" Bumblebee asks in the radio voices. He moves closer, dropping down to a knee so that their faces can be near one another. Sam feels something in him relax at the proximity of the yellow mech. They were friends, best friends, before this, and Sam feels it. Feels something like love and affection in his chest for this mech. But it feels distant, like it's coming from way deep inside of himself.

Sam shakes his head as he rubs at his eyes, trying to wake himself up more. "No, I was trying to think up a name to call him. In my head, I keep thinking 'amalgamation', but that's not right. We should call him something, but Earth names seem too... not right."

"Why?" Bumblebee asks, honestly. "Bumblebee." He puts a hand to his chest, meaningfully.

Sam presses his lips together. "It's different. You chose that, or at least like it enough to keep. And besides, it's different than Bob or Steve. It's, well, Bumblebee. It suits you."

Bumblebee beams at that, proudly. "Thank you. It was my third name. But it's the one I like the most. The one I intend to keep."

"Third?" Sam murmurs, sitting up a bit. He's still tired. He doesn't know how long he's been asleep, but he knows it's been a while. "There is a story there."

Bumblebee nods. "I didn't like who I was before the Autobots. So, when I joined. Optimus Prime gave me a new name."

Intrigued, Sam asks, "Is it normal for him to rename Autobots?"

Bumblebee shakes his head. "I asked him to. Joining the Autobots wasn't like a new chapter. It was a fresh start."

Sam considers that. "How did Optimus come up with that? Had he been to Earth before?"

"Cybertronian names are complicated, Sam," Ratchet says, making his way over. "A lot goes into it. Appearance and station, amongst a slew of other things, which is why it's a lot. And our names don't easily translate into your language, but we find similar meanings or glyph sounds and use those to make it easier for humans to speak with us."

Sam wilts, looking over at the amalgamation. "I just don't want to keep calling him 'Amalgamation' in my head. He needs a proper name. Human names definitely don't fit. But if Cybertronian names are as complicated as you say, I don't know if I can figure that out for him." At least not now. He would be willing to try mostly because he believes that having a name is important, and well, Sam made the amalgamation, he should be held responsible for him.

Even if he hadn't intended on doing that, especially in the panicked state he was in the night before.

"I'm sure any name you come up with will be a good one," Ratchet says, crossing his arms. He adapts a faraway look for a moment before blinking out of it to focus down at Sam once more.

Curious if he imagined it but figuring it wasn't his place to question what the look was for, Sam instead asks, "But what if he doesn't like it?"

"Then, once he can speak, he can change it, if he wants. Or ask for help in coming up with a new one." Ratchet says it so easily. But it's not super common for humans to change their names just like that. Isn't it? He knows that people do it all the time, but like there is long process and things to go through in order to do it. Maybe it's not the same for the Cybertronians.

Sam rubs at his temple. He feels the pull of the IV in his arm. He forces himself to put his arms back down as to not mess with it.

Ratchet frowns but turns away instead of fussing. He heads back over to his workbench and keeps fiddling with whatever he was working on.

Sam looks back at the amalgamation, not surprised to still be perpetually holding his full attention. "Is it sexist that I just assumed he was male? Is he male?" He looks over at Bumblebee. "Is that bad to ask? I don't even know."

Bumblebee chirps, expression warm as a feeling of intense affection and fondness washes over Sam's skin. "We do not separate into genders like humans do, Sam."

"Oh?"

"'He' and 'She' are used for humans' differentiations of us, but really there isn't genders for us," Ratchet explains, his back to them. "We are all technically hermaphrodites by human standards, I suppose. We are capable of reproducing with any frame type. I can be a carrier, and carry my young, or sire for another."

Sam's eyes nearly bulge out of his head in shock. "Really? But then... I thought that smaller mech, the pink one, was female."

"Yo, Elita-1 is a femme, Sam, get it straight," the red bot says.

"There are two frame classes, mech and femme," Ratchet sighs, turning to look at Sam. "And from there, subcategorized into greater distinctions. Bumblebee and Elita-1 are in the same subcategory as speedsters. Elita-1 just happens to have a femme frame while Bumblebee has a mech frame. Yes, there is physical differences, but we don't recognize those by genders."

"So, no 'he' or 'she'?" Sam asks, trying to see if he understands.

"We use identifiers in our glyphs when addressing one another," Ratchet says. "Simply speaking, we use our connection to them as their identifiers. For example, in a professional standpoint, instead of 'he' or 'him' for Bumblebee, I would use the equivalent of 'underling' or 'patient'. With Optimus in a more friendly standpoint, I could use 'acquaintance' when I'm angry at him, and 'friend' when I'm not."

Sam looks down at the covers on his lap trying to absorb this new information, nodding to himself. "That sounds... complicated, if I'm being honest."

Bumblebee lets out a little whirl, eyes cresting in a sweet caricature of a smile despite him not having a mouth. At least, not like Sam's.

Ratchet shrugs his shoulders, turning back to what he was working on. "Yes, well, that's why your language was very easy to learn. Some of the idiosyncrasies leave much to be desired, but easy enough compared to the complexity of our own language."

Sam lets out a little huff, sinking into his bed, looking between the red and green bots to the amalgamation, who was, of course, still watching him. There is a sound of a door whooshing open that pulls Sam's eyes away. He looks over to the door into the medbay to see a human man in a military uniform walk in. In his hands is a tray. Ratchet turns to greet him, walking over and kneeling in front of the man.

"Thank you, Johnson," Ratchet says, taking the tray. The man looks up at Sam, but Sam can't really make up his features with how far they are from each other, and from the angle in which he's slumped against the bed. He just turns his attention to Ratchet, who holds out the tray once he was close enough. Sam leaned forward a bit to take it as carefully as he could. Ratchet went back to his workbench while Sam took note of the food offered to him.

The tray had soup and a glass of water, and some bread. It was jarring to Sam to realize that he didn't know if he would like any of this. He didn't remember what foods he enjoyed. But either he was so hungry that it didn't matter, or he liked the soup and bread anyway and they knew that he would, but once he started eating, he couldn't stop. The soup had bits of chicken and carrots. The broth was nice and creamy and warm. He loved it. He dunked the soft, warm bread in it. He practically licked the bowl clean afterward. It was so good.

"Like?" Bumblebee asks, tilting his head with bright eyes from where he was knelt at Sam's bedside, having watched the whole time while he ate.

Sam nods, rubbing at his full stomach. "That was very good."

"Did you see that, Mudflap?" the green mech asks.

"I sure did, Skids," the green says, leaning forward with wide eyes. "His jaw unhinged like a snake."

Sam flushes, sinking into the bedsheets. Bumblebee whirls on them, clicking and beeping at the two, eye lights narrowed. The two mechs - twins, they have to be - start clicking back at him while Ratchet rolls his eyes and heaves his shoulders in a huff. Sam looks back over at the amalgamation to see him watching the teen with bright red eyes. The amalgamation shifts in such a way that Sam can kind of see a divot down the center of its chest that he hadn't noticed before but can't quite make out from this angle.

Sam pushes the tray away, moving it off to the side of the large gurney behind him so that he can roll onto his side towards Bumblebee and the arguing two mechs at his feet, eyes locked onto the amalgamation. He knows that everything, memory-wise will come back to him in time - he hopes - but with the all-encompassing everything else going on, he just wants to focus on what he feels he can control. He doesn't want to think about how he got wrapped up in alien robots from outer space, or how he has an alien artifact super charging his cells. Or about all the obligations he's not fulfilling, and all the things in his life that he has simply forgotten.

It feels overwhelming. It feels like too much. He had hoped thinking up a name for the bot that he unintentionally created would at least offer him some semblance of control, but it still leaves him lacking. Mostly because it seems like a proper name for the amalgamation is not going to be coming from him.

After a whole thirty seconds of the yellow, green and red bots all clicking at each other, Ratchet glares over his shoulder at them, snapping, "Keep up that bickering and I'll remove all three of your vocal modulators. Quiet!"

All three of them quiet down. Bumblebee rolls his eyes, turning back to Sam, while Mudflap leans over the amalgamation's feet for a bit, stage whispering, "Seems like the Hatchet is in as good of a mood as he always is."

Turning his attention away from Skids and Mudflap, Sam looks up at Bumblebee. "I have to go to the bathroom."

***

Turns out, there isn't a bathroom in the Autobot medbay, which, Sam thinks is fair. So, Ratchet removed the IV, deeming that Sam's levels were back to where he wanted them, and that he probably wouldn't need it anymore. Once there was a bandage on the back of his hand from where the IV was stuck in the vein, Bumblebee carefully picked up and lowered him to the floor. It took a second for Sam to maintain his own balance, but once he did, Bumblebee stepped back and transformed into a sleek, gorgeous Camero.

And to be honest, he's kind of surprised he remembered what a Camero was in that moment.

Sam would have taken a moment to admire him, but his bladder would no longer be ignored, so he climbed into the proffered driver's side seat after the door opened on its own and Bumblebee took him to the nearest bathroom, which was thankfully down a massive hallway, built with Autobots in mind, past a few double doors built to match. As nice as it all was, there was something notably janky about it. Like it was all kind of hobbled together last minute.

As they were leaving the room, the amalgamation seemed to realize Sam was leaving and started wailing. Sounds of panic and rage as it thrashed about behind them as Bumblebee peels off. Sam felt bad for just leaving, but he was about to pee his pants, and he certainly wasn't going to do it all over Bumblebee's seats.

He relieved himself and washed his hands before he stopped, looking at his reflection in the mirror. This is the first time he's seeing himself. And it is definitely a stranger looking back at him. Too pale skin, dark hair that curls around his ears and dark green eyes that appeared bloodshot. He's young, he can see. Optimus said that he was sixteen when he and Bumblebee met. And it's been two years since then. Plus, he just started college at Princeton. So, he's eighteen.

He is young.

He lifts his shirt to look at his side, from where he fell on the floor back in his dorm room. There are marks along his ribs, but they are an ugly yellow, purple and green color, like they were already in the final stages of healing. He lifts the shirt further to look at his shoulder to see it's much the same. But when he touches them, it doesn't hurt, like the wounds are healed but his body hasn't fully figured that out yet. Was this the power of the Allspark?

He hit his head, that's what Ratchet said. But when he feels around his hair on that side, nothing stands out to him aside from a small knot, but it doesn't hurt either.

He straightens out his shirt, rubs tiredly at his eyes, surprised that he still wants to go back to sleep, but gives himself a little shake before deciding to head back. The amalgamation was so upset when he left, he needs to check in on him. He's responsible for the mech that he created. He's wasted enough time looking at himself. And trying to make sense of the stranger looking back at him.

He heads back out to see Bumblebee waiting for him where he left him. There is a few military personnel walking about as Bumblebee drives back to the medbay, careful not to hit anyone. Thankfully, there are designated 'sidewalks' that everyone keeps to, to ensure the center of the walkways are open for the Autobots, it seems. It's when they are only a part of the way back that Bumblebee suddenly slams on the accelerator, and they go flying down the hall.

"What's wrong, Bumblebee?" Sam asks, sinking back in his seat in fear.

"They need Bee," Bumblebee says.

"Who?" Sam gasps, stomach sinking in dread.

Bumblebee doesn't respond and by the time they make it back to the medbay, the room is full of the Autobots. Mudflap, Skids, Ratchet, Ironhide, Sideswipe and Jolt are there, trying to calm the amalgamation down, as he tears away at another restraint. His left leg is free, the many smaller arms are free - some still in a minor state of disrepair and spew sparks - and the upper chest bar is currently being torn apart by the little hands as the amalgamation tries to sit up.

Bumblebee practically spills Sam out of the driver's seat and transforms into his bi-pedal form. He moves to join Ironhide and Mudflap on one side, trying to hold the amalgamation down, with Skids and Sideswipe on the other, while Ratchet and Jolt try to wrangle as many arms as they can, but the small appendages keep batting them away.

The amalgamation roars at the sight of Bumblebee, enough of its small arms pull away from Ratchet and Jolt to grab onto Bumblebee and start to dig beneath his armor. Bumblebee wails, trying to pull away when Ironhide's hand transforms into a cannon, but before he can open fire, Ratchet already yelling for him to hold his fire, Sideswipe unsheathes a blade from his own arm and slices through the offending limbs.

Rage, pain, fear pulses through the room as the amalgamation recoils, stuck between battling off the Autobots, trying to free itself, and shrinking away from Sideswipe.

"Stop!" Sam yells, racing forward as far as he dares, not wanting to get crushed under the Autobots' feet as they struggle to grab onto the amalgamation. Bumblebee stumbles back, reaching for the remains of the arms, ripping the first one out from under his armor and lets out this horrendous yowl of pain, pink liquid pouring from under the armor. "Bumblebee!"

Hand pressed against the armor, Bumblebee staggers back some more, but looks at Sam, shaking his head when the teen takes a step closer. "No, back, Sam!"

"Enough!"

Sam nearly jumps out of his skin at the booming command from right behind him. He turns to see Optimus moving into the medbay, eyes flickering down to Sam and carefully stepping over him.

The amalgamation hisses at the red and blue Autobot, yanking free of all his remaining restraints and pushing to his feet, red eyes blazing with rage - and fear.

"Are you alright, Bumblebee?" Ratchet yells, trying to keep the small arms he does have under control. "Bumblebee?"

Bumblebee nods, still holding his hand over the weeping armor plate, little ear flaps on his head twitching when Optimus looks at him. He clicks something before turning his gaze back to the amalgamation. Three more of its small arms are dug in underneath Bumblebee's armor, but he wisely leaves them be as they hang uselessly, now separate from the amalgamation's main body.

Optimus holds up his hands, a mask sliding into place across the lower half of his face appears and tries to calmly speak to the amalgamation. His voice is low, even, and he's bending his knees as if to make himself smaller, not that he needed to. The amalgamation is the tallest in the room, even as it staggers, trying to regain its footing. It - he - looks at Optimus, panicked, and blasting waves of sound at him, making a hasty step back, only to knock into the two berths.

In the harsh light of the medbay, Sam can finally see the amalgamation's chest. The sides of its shoulders seemingly blending downward into its main body and meeting strangely at its hips. The way its chest is carved inward between the two strange protrusions. His armor is so black and crudely plated that if it didn't remind Sam of a straight-jacket - a straight-jacket! Of all things to remember! - then he wouldn't have made the connection.

And then, it clicks.

"They're his arms," Sam murmurs, eyes blown wide. "Ratchet! The protrusions on his chest, Ratchet!"

Ratchet glances over at him as the amalgamation stiffens, hearing Sam's voice. He pulls his eyes from Optimus wearily, searching for Sam.

"What?" Ratchet huffs, feet sliding slightly across the ground as the amalgamation tries to free his little arms from the Autobot medic.

"The protrusions from his shoulders to his waist, they are his arms crossed over his stomach!" Sam says, his heart thundering in his chest. He's right, he knows that he is. If Ratchet can get to his arm, then they can calm him down.

Optimus shifts slightly, moving to the right, the action drawls the attention of the amalgamation, who snarls at him, but shrinks back again, still frightened of the red and blue Autobot.

It happens so fast. They had to have somehow communicated with one another in the span between seconds, because once the amalgamation dared to look down at Sam, who was now revealed since Optimus moved out of the way, all the Autobots were moving to restraining measures, even injured Bumblebee. Everyone was grabbing limbs and pushing down and moving to contort him on the ground as he struggled. Ratchet released a cord from his arm and, with brutal efficiency from Sideswipe, they carved off the panel of armor on the amalgamation's arm. The pink of their blood, like with Bumblebee, immediately beings to flow.

The amalgamation squealed in pain, trying to buck them off and push them away, but despite his incredible strength, they were too much for him. They managed to force one of the arms away from the main body. They used the place where Sideswipe cut away the armor to do something to the exposed form beneath that seemed to force the arm out of whatever was holding it in place before, the amalgamation screaming the whole time, before Ratchet forced open the now revealed panel that was located on the inner arm, pressed to his stomach and plugged the cord in. A few more harrowing moments of screaming and thrashing, before the amalgamation just completely stilled, red eyes dimming gray once more.

Notes:

Sorry about the long wait! I do hope that everyone is enjoying so far! Phew! This was a long one! There was a lot happening here. Sam is still out of it, but he's trying his best. Meanwhile, sweet baby amalgamation is going into ultra protective mode. The Autobots have to use the big boy gloves because he's too big and too strong to handle any differently, but now that Ratchet is attached to the amalgamation, he'll be able to get him to calm down. But we shall see!

Thank you all so much for your support thus far!

Chapter 4: Earthquake

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.

Sam, torn between the downed amalgamation once more, and Bumblebee, who leans against the closest berth, holding his side, goes to the latter. He moves up towards his side, but Bumblebee beeps in alarm and gestures to the pink liquid as Sam draws near. The big yellow bot slowly lowers to the ground to rest, letting out a huff of air from his vents, blue eye lights flickering a bit before focusing down at the approaching human.

"Don't go any closer to the spilt energon, Sam," Optimus rumbles, hand placed on the amalgamation's chest. He looks at Sam with a small frown, eye lights flickering towards Bumblebee and back. "It is toxic to humans."

"Just hold on Bumblebee," Ratchet murmurs. His focus is on the tab on his arm, frowning. "Give me a moment to start uploading the data files."

Bumblebee chirps, pressing his hand tentatively under the bleeding plate, as if trying to put pressure on the wound. Sam moves around the splatters of blood to come up on Bumblebee's side. He reaches out and places a hand on the smooth, bright yellow armor, frowning up at the big blue eyes looking down at him again.

"Are you okay?"

Bumblebee nods. "Aye aye, Captain."

Sam tries to smile but fails. He leans against Bumblebee's arm but looks over at the amalgamation. He's asleep once more - or the Cybertronian equivalent, Sam supposes - with one of Optimus's hands on his chest. Ratchet is knelt by his arm, connected to the open panel there. He glances over at Bumblebee, who gives him a thumbs up, before nodding curtly and looking away again.

Skids and Mudflap both maneuver the berths back into place, sniping back and forth with one another about what had just happened, while Sideswipe rolls his shoulder, grumbling about something being jarred loose and Ironhide heads over to the entrance into the room. Sam's eyes follow the large black and silver bot, blinking in surprise when men in military gear are all piled in formation just inside the room, pointing their guns at the amalgamation. Sam hadn't even realized that anyone else had come into the room.

Ironhide kneels down in front of the man standing at the forefront of the others, his hand balled up in a fist held up by his head.

"Sam!" The man calls, looking right at the amnesiac while leaning around the large black bot. Sam blinks in surprise. "Are you okay?"

Sam nods, turning away to look up at Bumblebee. "Do I know him? I mean, I must, right?"

Bumblebee chirrups softly. "Friend."

"That's Major Will Lennox," Jolt says, kneeling down opposite side of Optimus. He's looking over the many small arms, laying limply around the slumbering amalgamation. He inspects some of the broken ones before looking over at Sam. "He and his team were with the Autobots here on Earth during the battle of Mission City. Yourself included. You've known each other for a few years now."

Sam nods, running a hand down the smooth metal of Bumblebee's arm plate, glancing up at the yellow Autobot with a little frown. Bumblebee had made him feel better; he just didn't know how to return the favor. Although Bumblebee doesn't seem to mind, meeting Sam's eyes with his expression gentle. The feeling of adoration and love that seems to thicken the air around them makes Sam's skin prickle.

Sam looks away, back to Optimus, Ratchet, Jolt and the amalgamation. The green medical Autobot nods to himself, disconnecting from the lattermost of the group before giving him a once over, considering something, but instead of addressing it, he turns to Bumblebee and heads over. He looks down at Sam, frowning.

"Are you hurt, Sam?"

Sam shakes his head. "No. Is Bumblebee going to be okay?"

"Most likely," Ratchet says, then makes a gesture for Sam to move out of the way. "Go on. Get out of the way so I don't squish you."

Sam nods, giving Bumblebee another soft touch before moving over towards Optimus, being sure not to step near Bumblebee's pink blood. Optimus holds out the hand not touching the chest of the amalgamation to Sam. As the teen gets closer, Optimus picks him up so that he can look down at the massive bot a lot easier.

"Is he okay?"

Optimus nods, still looking down at the amalgamation, distracted with his thoughts. "He's... in forced recharge."

Sam tries to adjust to the feeling of being manhandled, not all that sure if he likes it or not. It's not exactly comfortable, and while Optimus could no doubt squeeze the life out of him, he thankfully doesn't, but that might be a part of his unease. He can't deny that he does get a better angle of the amalgamation from this high up, so he'll just deal with it for now.

"Does that hurt him?" Sam asks, looking over at Optimus as the large blue and red mech moves the teen to rest on his knee. Sam definitely does like this better. He balances on the Autobot leader's leg joint, holding onto the kneegard while Optimus folds his hand around Sam to make sure he doesn't fall off. It seemed so automatic for them, Sam suspects that he's done this before.

"No," Optimus rumbles, eyes flickering back and forth over the amalgamation's unconscious form. "But the amount of data Ratchet just downloaded into his processor is going to leave him with a gnawing helmache for a few days. The recharge will be good for him, though. Other than the short time he was powered down, he's been awake nonstop, all higher level defense and assault protocols on high alert. He needs some time to wind down."

"Will he be better when he wakes up?" Sam asks, looking over to see Ratchet helping Bumblebee to his feet and up onto the berth he was leaning against, which happened to be Sam's. His gurney and equipment are moved to the next berth over and out of the way.

Sam looks back over at Optimus as the red and blue mech shakes his head a bit. "I don't know, Sam. His situation is unique in that the Allspark has made him directly, which hasn't happened on Cybertron in a very long time. But he isn't how the Allspark usually makes its bots."

Sam frowns, leaning against Optimus's hand a bit, yawning. "What does that mean?"

Optimus's eye lights flicker as he looks from the amalgamation to Sam. "Hm," he considers for a moment before continuing, "What I mean, is that the Allspark makes sparks. It is part of our reproduction. When the correct conditions are met, so long as one is in the sphere of influence from the Allspark, there is a chance for a bot to be sparked. The Cybertronian equivalent to a human pregnancy."

Sam blinks, eyes wide. "Wait, what? Sphere of influence?"

Optimus nods. "All of Cybertron and many of our occupied worlds sat comfortably within its sphere of influence, and those within it could reproduce with some level of ease. Or as much ease as a long live species such as ours can. But the further a bot got from it, the harder it got to reproduce."

Sam isn't sure he completely understands. "What's the sphere, then? Is it an actual sphere or something?" He wasn't even fully sure of what the Allspark was, even with Optimus's explanation from earlier.

"No, the Allspark gives off powerful cosmic energy. That is the sphere I speak of. It is with that energy that when the sparks of two Cybertronians merge, that the gamble of the third spark appearing occurs."

Fascinated, Sam wanted to ask more, but it felt a little... weird. He was basically asking how babies were made, which felt very personal and very much not his business. Even though Optimus doesn't seem to be at all bothered by his questions. Sam has to wonder if he's asked this before. If they are having a conversation that they've had in a time that is now lost to him. He's not really sure how they would have - what could have prompted such a conversation, but it's either that, or Optimus just simply doesn't mind his questions.

Deciding to slide a bit away from the reproductive aspect of it, Sam asks, "Is it still there? The influence? Even though the Allspark is gone?"

His words settled the gravity of reality on his shoulders. The Autobot's - the Cybertronian's - ability to procreate. Gone.

"I don't know," Optimus admits. "A new Cybertronian hasn't emerged in a long time. The sphere of the Allspark's influence isn't something innately felt. At least, not in a recognizable way until it became lost to us. It was something that took a long time of research from minds far smarter than my own to come to understand. Even still, the Allspark is an ancient artifact that we know so little about, even after all of this time."

Sam is quiet for a long time, looking over at the sleeping amalgamation, Jolt, who was knelt down next to him, rubbing at the back of his neck. To Skids and Mudflap, being ordered around by Sideswipe as they try to get the medbay back into order, the former two grumbling the whole time. Then over his shoulder, past a slightly shifting Optimus, to Ironhide, who was making his way over to Ratchet and Bumblebee, the soldiers heading out once more. Except for Major Lennox and another unknown man hanging back at his side. They both look around, scanning the room for any more dangers, before turning and leaving.

Except, at the door, Major Lennox turns around again to look at Sam, but too much of the room separates them that Sam can't quite make out his expression. But after a few moments, he turned and left.

Sam's eyes shift to Ironhide once more, watching as he takes the amalgamation's severed little arms that Ratchet passes to him after removing them from Bumblebee's body. Despite the amount of pink blood and Bumblebee's little grunts of pain, the yellow bot just stares vacantly up at the ceiling. Sam can't see if there is any shift in his expression from his angle, but his body intermittently tenses and relaxes.

"Is Bumblebee going to be okay?" Sam asks quietly, twisting around to look at Optimus. He leans against the large red and blue Autobot's hand, flagging a bit again.

"Ratchet is incredible at what he does," Optimus says evenly, bright blue eye lights focusing down at the young man. "But it seems like the injuries weren't all that bad either. Don't worry. Bumblebee will be okay."

Sam rubs at his forehead, feeling a gentle throbbing behind his eyes. He looks over at the amalgamation, shoulders slumping a bit as his hand wraps around Optimus's thumb as he sinks into the larger palm.

"He freaked out because of me, right? He was struggling when I left..."

"Try not to be so hard on yourself, Sam," Optimus rumbles, his hand curling around the amnesiac a bit, protectively.

Sam flags a bit more, shaking his head. "He was so upset..."

A beat of silent consideration, before Optimus says, "As he is, in the state that he's in, the mech can't comprehend outside of you. You are the center of his universe. While he was able to watch you and ensure your safety, he was... tentatively pacified. But it was only a matter of time. He has been running so hot, he was going to burn himself out eventually."

Sam thinks about Ironhide's words again. And he had to wonder how much Optimus wasn't saying to spare his feelings.

"I still feel bad," Sam admits softly, resting his cheek against the warm metal of Optimus's hand, watching the digits curl a little bit more around him. It should feel constricting, or like a cage closing around him, but it doesn't. Despite his mind not knowing for certain, his heart is assured that this literal alien wouldn't hurt him. That he was safe with Optimus.

"I know," Optimus rumbles.

***

He doesn't remember how he got here. Or even where here is.

Sam is walking down a strange hallway. He's swallowed by the massive space. He looks up at the ceiling and it feels like it is swallowed by the darkness above. But there is no sky, no stars. A ceiling must be there, but Sam just can't see it. There were strange, jagged rock-like protrusions that barely peak through the darkness above. The walls of the hall were strange, distorted. Dark and shifting, as if it was alive. Sam's head throbs at the sight of it, so he looks away.

He follows the hallway to a split. The right path leads into nothing. A blackened-out emptiness. The left path was dimly lit, like the rest of the hall behind him. Sam takes that hall, hearing a low, rumbling voice that was unfamiliar to him, saying something to him from far away. He's not sure what the words were, but they were... gentle, he thinks. Kind. Protective. Safe.

He travels down that bland hall, trying to find that voice. He only makes it a few more feet before it all falls away and Sam wakes up.

***

"What time is it?" Sam asks, looking over at Ratchet, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. He's been sleeping a lot since he woke up, but finally, after these last few times, he finally feels better. He's tired. Fatigued of the body, but his mind feels more alert than it's been since he got amnesia.

Bumblebee is laying on the berth that he had been occupying up until the attack with the amalgamation. He tilts his head up to look at the new berth that Sam was placed on. He remembers nearly falling asleep in Optimus's... hand? Optimus had cradled him close, cupped safely in his hands, and while the teen drifted in and out of consciousness, he was brought to this berth. Everything was set up again and then he was placed in the gurney and he easily slipped back into slumber.

He woke up a few minutes ago, in a daze, but he does feel better. But also like he's out of sorts in the sense that he can't tell how much time has passed at all. Has it been days? Weeks? Months?

Logically, he knows that's crazy. But he would feel better knowing.

Ratchet, who was leaning over the sleeping amalgamation that at some point had been moved back up onto the two berths, glances over at him. "It is 3:16 a.m."

Sam blinks a few times, trying to remember if it would be light or dark out right now. The lights in the medbay are dimmed, so that's probably his answer.

"How long has it been?" Sam asks, sitting up on the gurney. "Since I was at the school."

Ratchet detaches the cabling connecting him and the sleeping amalgamation. He makes his way over to the amnesiac. "It's been over a day, Sam. The incident at the school happened just after 8 p.m. We located you just shy of 11 p.m. that same night. Just now, you were asleep for three hours. How do you feel?"

"I'm okay," Sam admits. "Tired, still. But I feel more... alert, I guess?"

Ratchet nods, popping open the tab on his arm. "Good. Your levels seem to be in an acceptable range, but I would like for you to eat more. Are you hungry?"

Sam shrugs. "Not really, but I can try." It feels like he's not one for eating right after waking up, but he doesn't want to make trouble for Ratchet, who is obviously just trying to take care of him.

"Good," Ratchet says, nodding to himself. He skims over whatever is displayed on his arm while Sam looks over at Bumblebee.

"Are you okay?"

Bumblebee nods. He lifts an arm and flashes a thumbs up that makes Sam smile. Blue eye lights crest.

With Bumblebee begrudgingly berthbound at the moment, Ratchet takes Sam to the same bathroom as before, in a befitting ambulance of all things, before bringing him right back to his gurney, food awaiting him. Skids and Mudflap are still there, yapping to one another in a mix of clicks and beeps with occasional curse words in English thrown in. Sam was slow to eat his bland meal before looking back over at the amalgamation and back to thinking of names for him. Now that Ratchet was able to get into the amalgamation's systems, hopefully that means that they will be able to communicate soon. Sam would like to have a name thought up for him before then.

Sam is kept under lock down in the medbay, which he doesn't so much mind. He is still so confused about who he is and what was going on before the amnesia struck, that he was relieved to have those familiar four walls standing around him. It felt more like a security blanket and less like a prison cell.

He spent so much time, the rest of the night and into the following day, just wracking his brain, trying to come up with something to name the amalgamation, and everything just seems so silly. He's never named anything before - at least, not that he remembers. And Ratchet and Bumblebee weren't all that much help. Cybertronian names are complicated, that was about as much as they could give him and that wasn't much of anything at all.

He would eat as much as he could from whatever was put in front of him when Ratchet deemed it necessary. He would use the bathroom, and after the fourth time, he convinced Ratchet to let him walk by himself. He needed help getting up and down, but other than that, he was happy to make the trek simply because it gave him something to do that's not driving himself crazy trying to think of something adequate to name another intelligent living being.

When he's not wracking his brain or eating or taking his time walking down one long hallway to the bathroom and back - he's sleeping or staring off into space. It isn't until he's choked down some lunch that Bumblebee, who was plugged into a tablet that is way too small for his large hand, just staring at it and probably watching something for the last few hours, finally, unplugs from it. Bumblebee tentatively moves into a sitting position.

Bumblebee chirps, drawing Sam's eyes over to him from where he was staring off into space. He moves to his feet, waving away the sharp look that Rachet sends him. Then, he kneels down at Sam's side and holds out the tablet to him.

"What?" Sam asks, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Did you download some movies for me?"

Bumblebee chirps again, blinking big blue eyes, before shaking his head. From the radio voices, he says, "Next time. These are all from me. Our time together. Some of many."

Sam sits up, taking the tablet. "What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, Bumblebee simply nods down to the tablet. Sam turns it on and goes into the gallery. There are hundreds of photos and videos. But they weren't actual photos. They were candid shots taken from an unnatural angle. Always looking down at him. These videos... these pictures... they were taken by Bumblebee. They had to have been.

And so many of them were of Sam.

And he looked so... happy. Happy, content, calm.

Some in front of a beautiful sunset. Turned away, staring at it, or looking back towards Bumblebee, haloed in its fading light. All of them alone, as if it was just the two best friends. So, so many of them. It seems like that was a spot that they went to very often. Sam can tell by the different clothes that he's wearing, but a lot of the shots are taken on the same days. He seems so... happy.

Sam flips through them, feeling a little strange to admire himself, but he feels disconnected from it. It feels like he's looking at someone else. A stranger.

Bumblebee whirls softly, peeking down at the tablet from over Sam's shoulder. Sam looks at his friend, smiling a bit, before looking back to the photo to see Bumblebee and the version of him that lived this life in front of a mirror in the garage. Bumblebee is holding up a peace sign while knelt down to look at their reflection. And Sam, bright eyed and grinning in an open laugh at something.

Sam smiles, turning to look at the cresting blue of Bumblebee's eyes. "We were close, weren't we?"

Bumblebee nods, ears flapping a bit. "You're my best friend..." The radio sings.

Sam laughs. "You're so quick," he notes.

"That's not the first time Bumblebee has heard Sam say that," Mudflap says, almost not quiet enough.

"Quick overload," Skids stage whispers back. Both of them laugh.

Sam frowns, not understanding what they were referring to. Ratchet turns to glare at them and Bumblebee rumbles with annoyed clicking. Both the twins laugh, making gestures like they were elbowing one another, but they weren't close enough. Mudflap nudged the amalgamation's foot instead. Both of them tense up, staring wide eyed at the massive bot between them, waiting for him to spring up and start the fight again. But he remains unmoving.

"I forced him into stasis," Ratchet snaps, rubbing at his forehead. "He won't wake until I know he's gone through all the data packages I've downloaded into his processor. But I might reconsider if you two don't pipe down." Then he casts a look at the amalgamation, lips pressing together in concern before he turns away, back to his workbench.

The twins share a look before Skids stage whispers back, "The Hatchet is back."

"You're acting like he ever left, idiot."

"I'm not an idiot. I'm smarter than you!"

As the two devolve into sniping one another with insults, Sam just lets out a little, amused laugh and turns back to the photos on the tablet.

"There is no camera, Bumblebee," Sam says, drawing narrowed blue eyes back down to him. "How did you take these pictures?" Bumblebee's expression softens as he brings up a big hand and taps at his temple. It takes Sam a beat before understanding dawned on him. "Oh, your eyes can be like cameras? That's cool."

Bumblebee chirps proudly, annoyance at the twins forgotten. Ratchet isn't so lucky, casting long angry looks at the red and green bots while Sam and Bumblebee just quietly go through the photos. There was so many of them, despite a lot being cut from short periods of time in groups, he can see that they spent a lot of time together. And each image is... nice. Sam's not vain enough - at least, not that he remembers - to be carried away with how he looks, specifically, but to see these little snapshots of his life... to see himself as happy. As content. It alleviates a fear in him that he hadn't known was there. An uncertainty maybe.

They spent a while just looking at the pictures. He didn't make it through more than a portion of what Bumblebee had uploaded, but there was a video intermixed with the pictures. He was singing - rather poorly - to music playing from Bumblebee's radio while washing a massive red and blue semi. Sam himself doesn't recognize the song, but the version of him in the video does.

From the windshield of the semi and based on the slight movement of the video, Sam can see Bumblebee is dancing, hard to do while knelt down, but he makes it look easy. Video Sam laughs, turning from where he was washing the grille of the semi to point at Bumblebee and sing a line of lyrics at him with a big grin on his face. Bumblebee points back which makes video Sam laugh before going back to cleaning.

In trunks and a wet t-shirt, Sam moves around the blackened asphalt without a care. He climbs up the cab and leans into the rolled down window, throwing his head back in a laugh and a nod, dropping back down.

It takes a second for Sam to make the connection. The red and blue semi? The paint along the sides... they were flames. And Sam has seen those red and blue flames before. The semi was Optimus.

In the bright light in the wide-open space - it looks like a massive runway; in the distance Sam can make out people and vehicles moving around. How many of those were Autobots?

It all looked so peaceful, so calm.

There is a feeling in Sam's chest. An ache that isn't quite pain. It's more like affection so strong it hurts. It feels like Optimus underplayed it so much. They were so connected to one another. He could feel it. The larger Autobot wasn't shy about explaining Sam and Bumblebee's relationship but said nothing in regards to their own. But Sam could see it in this video. How lovingly the version of him there took care of the other bot. How he laughed and patted the side of the doors, no doubt hearing Optimus speaking to him from over the music. How the video him was so meticulous in his cleaning to ensure that the red and blue bot absolutely shined.

And shine he did.

Why hadn't Optimus said anything about that? That they were friends. He sort of alluded to it, but didn't state it as fact, like he had with Sam and Bumblebee's relationship. Had it been because he didn't want to presume Sam's feelings? He hadn't had a problem in regard to Bumblebee.

It hurts to know that these things, these memories, were lost to him. What if they never come back? What if this happiness and joy is never returned to him? What if all it will ever be is an image burned on a screen?

As if sensing Sam's drop in mood, Bumblebee reaches around the gurney to run that finger down the length of his side again. Sam hadn't realized how much he had rolled onto his hip until then. He looks up at Bumblebee, turning the screen off, throat tightening. Sadness washes over him both in a constriction of his chest, and like a blanket settling over his shoulders as Bumblebee's eyes soften.

Ratchet turns, scrutinizing them with lips pressed tightly in Sam's peripheral, but doesn't say anything.

Ignoring the yellowish green bot, Bumblebee says in a soft voice not of the radio. "I didn't mean to make you sad, Sam." His throat clicks a few times, and his eye lights flicker but his face remains unmoving. Ratchet's expression hardens in disapproval.

Sam leans forward, surprised that Bumblebee had been close enough that the tips of his fingers could touch Bumblebee's throat. The bot leans a little closer, baring his throat a bit more as Sam says, "Your throat hurts, Bumblebee. Don't talk, okay?"

Bumblebee nods. "Aye, aye, Captain," the radio says.

Sam smiles a bit, trying to push past the fog of sadness but it clings tightly to him. After a moment of debate, staring into those bright blue eyes as they stare back, he says, quietly, "What if I never remember? What if I can't be the person that was in these pictures? This video?"

Bumblebee blinks, eyes spiraling down before widening again. "You are Sam." Simple. Finite. As if completely set in stone.

"You don't care if I go back to that person?" Sam asks, incredulously. That was the person that was their friend. Maybe that was why Optimus didn't say anything about their relationship. Maybe this Sam was way different than he is now. Maybe in this short time that they've known each other, Optimus realized he couldn't like who Sam is now without his memory.

And even with the surprising amount of hurt that brings him, it's not like it would surprise him. He's a stranger to them now - as they are to him. But these feelings, and the connection to them, is a difficult thing to ignore. The Autobots feel safe. There is a feeling deep inside of him that knows that they aren't going to hurt him. That they wouldn't let anything happen to him. Why he had been so scared before... well, he'll blame it on the Allspark, that seems like a safe bet.

"You are Sam," Bumblebee repeats.

Sam sighs, running his fingers lightly across the wires spread over Bumeblebee's throat. They are warm. Very warm. Sam hadn't realized how cold his fingers were until that moment. The medbay is cold, but Sam had been mostly comfortable this whole time, so he hadn't even noticed.

"What if I don't regain my memories, Bumeblebee?" Sam asks, voice soft. He didn't want platitudes. He didn't want his friend to say what he thought Sam wanted to hear. He wanted the truth. What would happen to them if Sam couldn't go back to being the person that he was before? Would the Autobots leave him? Surely not with the power of the Allspark within him.

But he definitely didn't want that to be the only reason that they stayed.

"Then we will make new ones," Bumblebee says in his own voice again, just as softly.

***

Sam was dozing, his sleeping schedule shot to shit now, when the following morning - 7:32 am, according to the tablet Bumblebee left with him - that Ratchet announced that he was going to wake the amalgamation up. Sam is surprised by that. He thought that they were going to wait longer, but he didn't get a chance to question it before everyone else started moving.

Bumblebee, who had moved back to Sam's old berth to rest, was immediately moving to his feet, waving off the look Ratchet shot him, and heading over to Sam to scoop him up. Meanwhile, Sideswipe and Jolt - who took the places of the twins at some point a few hours prior - straighten up.

"Is Prime coming?" Jolt asks.

"Yes, and Ironhide, I've already sent word," Ratchet says, moving over to the amalgamation's side. "The twins will watch the door."

"Sure they will," Sideswipe says, rolling his blue eyes.

"I mean no offense," Jolt says carefully through a wince. "But is it wise for Prime to come? I mean, the mech doesn't seem to be very fond of him."

Ratchet shakes his head; eyes focused on the tab on his arm. "Maybe not, but Optimus is the only one strong enough to physically restrain the mech if the need comes of it. He's simply too big and too strong for the rest of us without him. Plus, if he's going to be sticking around, whatever his hang ups with Optimus are, he's going to have to find a way to live with them."

Sam swallows, nervously. He hadn't considered the 'if'. That the amalgamation wouldn't have a place here with those of his kind. What would the amalgamation do if he wasn't able to stay here? Sam is too scared of the answer to ask. He's responsible for the amalgamation. What is he going to do if the amalgamation can't stay?

Bumblebee looks down at him, pulling him close to his chest. Unlike Optimus who wrapped his hand around Sam, Bumblebee has his hands cupped so the teen is just sitting on his palms and fingers. It's not as constricting but he also feels like he's going to fall off. With that thought, he grabs onto Bumblebee's thumb, just in case.

He chirps inquisitively, but Sam shakes his head, chewing on his lower lip.

A few minutes later, Optimus walks into the room with Ironhide behind him - the black bot pausing at the entryway to speak to someone outside the door, probably Mudflap and Skids - before closing the door behind him.

"Are we ready?" Optimus asks, looking around the room for nods of agreement before landing on the Autobot's medic. "Remember everyone, we want to keep him as calm as possible. This is all incredibly new to him. He will need time to adjust. We must be accommodating." A meaningful pause that makes some of the tension loosen in Sam's gut before he nods to the green bot. "Whenever you're ready, Ratchet."

Ratchet types away at the tab on his arm before lowering it and turning his attention to the amalgamation. Sam follows his gaze, noticing that aside from Jolt and Sideswipe, everyone is giving the amalgamation space, almost so it won't look like they are all looming over him.

It feels like time stretches into eternity; Sam barely able to hear over his own racing heart, when the amalgamation stirs. A jolt here, a twist there. The mass of spindly arms, all the fingers - those that were repaired - all flex and curl as feeling returns to them. The one arm that hadn't been forcefully removed from across his chest hisses as it disengages and carefully moves to mimic his other arm resting at its side. The metal, like wide flat panels, move and shift, rounding out to look more like arms.

It's so strange to Sam. He's sure the Autobots probably know why it's like that, but his arms turned almost plate-like over his abdomen, like an extra layer of protection, fusing near seamlessly over his stomach. Sam's not sure why, and never actually came to think about the why behind it. And now was certainly not the time to ask.

Like feeling returning to a limb, the amalgamation flexes his body a bit, before the dull gray of his eyes bleed red once more. There is a roar in his chest as if all the systems inside of himself all power on at once. Sam didn't have time to wonder if it was a good or bad thing before he was answered with a tension striking the Autobots. No weapons pop out of the amalgamation, but the Autobots all go rigid anyway.

Except for Optimus.

His posture remains completely relaxed as he takes a few steps closer, but still offering the amalgamation some space. "Good morning, friend. Can you understand me?"

The amalgamation tenses, red eyes turning to look at the Autobot leader, then around the room, making note of everyone, all staring back at him just as intensely. His red eyes focus on Sam, cupped in Bumblebee's hands, before growling a bit.

A strange click. Then another. Then one more. Sam wonders if it's supposed to be their language, but none of the Autobots are responding, and it doesn't really sound right. It sounds a lot like what Bumblebee's throat had sounded like the night before. Right before he spoke.

"Release the Creator." The amalgamation booms. His voice deep and guttural. Whereas Optimus's deep voice has a rasp and gravelly sound to it, the amalgamation's is just smooth baritone.

Bumblebee tenses up. He shakes his head, his radio playing, "Oh hell nah."

Red eyes narrow as he moves to sit up, flinching at a spark on his arm, where Ratchet had plugged into it before. He ignores it and just looks between Bumblebee and Sam, once more demanding, "Release the Creator."

"Easy now," Optimus starts, his voice still calm and even.

Bumblebee's eyes narrow too, pulling Sam closer to his chest. So much so, Sam can feel the rumble of the yellow bot's engine against his spine, hear a bit of the louder inner mechanics at work beneath his armor. "How about no, Scott."

Sam holds his hands out when the amalgamation snarls, yelling louder than he intended, "Wait!" The amalgamation stiffens, obeying. He looked like he was about to get up, which probably wasn't about to go well for any of them. Sam takes a few, gasping breaths, trying to calm himself before saying, "It's okay. They won't hurt you."

The amalgamation stares back at him from over the lifted collar covering his mouth. "This platform does not fear damage, Creator. This construct must regain the Creator to ensure your continued safety. This platform will get the Creator."

Bumblebee growls. "The hell you are!"

"Settle, Bumblebee," Optimus warns, his posture still at ease, voice still calm.

Bumblebee struggles for a moment, warring on whether he should obey or not, before he does. His metaphorical hackles lowering again.

"I'm okay," Sam says, catching Ratchet looking around displeased, as if unsure of which part he dislikes about this situation the most. Jolt, Sideswipe and Ironhide are all watching the amalgamation unblinking, waiting for him to make the wrong move.

"This platform must save the Creator. This platform has already failed once. This platform cannot fail again."

Pain grips at Sam's chest. "I'm sorry," he says, shamefully. "I was in a bad way. I... I lost my memories. I was confused. I wasn't in any danger from the Autobots, from them," Sam gestures around himself, not sure what all Ratchet had given the amalgamation. "They weren't going to hurt me. They're my friends. You didn't fail to save me, because I didn't need to be saved."

The amalgamation, still tense, looks around again, as if unsure. "This construct... has no purpose?"

Sam blinks, surprised. "What?"

Sideswipe winces, as if the question struck him, while Jolt's eyes flicker down, then back up, remembering to stay vigilant.

The amalgamation looks at Sam, gaze heavy with dread. "This construct... has no purpose, Creator? The need for this construct has been fulfilled?"

"What?" Sam asks, confused. This sinking feeling claws at his chest.

"By 'construct'," Optimus says slowly, drawing weary red eyes to him. "You are referring to 'cold construct', are you not?"

The amalgamation hesitates, looking between Sam and Optimus before nodding. "The Prime has deemed to speak to this platform."

Optimus shifts, arms crossing over his chest defensively. Sam feels a radiating discomfort fill the room, making everyone shift back and forth. Even Bumblebee. But the discomfort isn't from Optimus, it's from the amalgamation.

"The Prime should not speak to this platform. This platform has failed its duties to its Creator. Will the Prime have this construct decommissioned?" A pause, then, to Sam. "Will the Creator?"

Sam shakes, overwhelmed by the intense feeling of sadness and fear washing through the room. Bumblebee holds him closer. "Decommissioned? What? You mean like dying? Like we would kill you? No! Why would we do that?"

"This platform has failed," the amalgamation intones, shoulders slumping, like it brought him pain to admit. "And without purpose, this construct has no reason to exist."

"I - what? No!" Sam says, shaking his head. His hands tremble as his heart races. Ratchet is staring at him intensely, a scowl across his face. "No, that can't - ! I didn't mean - " Sam blinks rapidly, not able to form words. He looks desperately to Optimus.

Taking his cue, Optimus looks over at the amalgamation. "We are not going to decommission you. We simply wish to help. This was all a misunderstanding." The Prime opens his posture again, arms lowering to his side. "I am sorry that we attacked you."

The amalgamation jolts, as if surprised. Red eyes flicker and a spark flies from his head as if unable to understand Optimus's words. "The Prime says this thing that should not be said. Not to a failed construct."

"Did you not hear him?" Optimus asks, his voice softening. "Your creator has said already that you did not fail."

The amalgamation steals a quick look at Sam before wearily returning to Optimus. He struggles, as if looking for the words before rumbling, "This platform serves no more purpose to the Creator." Pain, heart-wrenching sadness. "This platform failed before its construction."

"No!" Sam says, voice ladened with guilt. He did this. It's his fault. "No, you didn't do anything wrong! It was me. I was the one who - I was - I didn't know..." He rubs his hands roughly over his eyes.

"Sam," Optimus says softly while Bumblebee leans forward, nuzzling the teen's spine. A wash of undeserved affection makes Sam's skin prickle.

"I'm sorry," Sam says on the verge of crying. The emotions whirling inside of him feel intensified a thousand-fold with the weight of sadness and pain pulling at every inch of his skin. In his peripheral, Ratchet tilts his head.

"Do not apologize to this platform, Creator," the amalgamation rumbles, turning sad red eyes to the distressed human. "It is not the Creator's fault that this platform could not succeed."

"But that's the thing," Sam says, gripping his chest trying to calm his pounding heart. "It isn't you. You didn't ask for this. For any of this! It was just me panicking in an unfortunate situation. I'm sorry that you feel like you failed, but you didn't! You didn't fail me. You did everything you could to help me, even though you shouldn't have had to." He sobs, unable to stop himself, the sadness is choking him, squeezing his body from all sides.

The Autobots' stiffen, but Ratchet draws closer, tilting his head more, those blue eyes bright like tiny stars. "Sam..."

Optimus's expression tightens, looking over at Ratchet while the amalgamation finally moves steadily to his feet, ignoring the unease of Jolt, Sideswipe and Ironhide. The lattermost of the three looking between the amalgamation and Ratchet.

"Do not feel sorrow, Creator," the amalgamation murmurs. "This construct has the kindest Creator."

A sweeping feeling of affection helps Sam from not completely falling apart but he's still sobbing, gripping hard at his chest, terrified his heart will punch right through his breastplate and hands.

"Optimus, immobilize EM fields and fill this space with serenity," Ratchet orders, voice stern.

Optimus stares at Ratchet, not moving. Many sets of blue eyes turn to the Autobot leader and medic in confusion when the maelstrom of emotions that Sam was feeling weighing him down and tearing him apart eases away. And like that, Sam could control himself again. He was still hurt, still upset, but it felt like it was coming from within now.

The amalgamation hisses, glaring mistrustfully at Optimus, shifting away.

Ratchet holds out his hands in a sign of peace towards the massive, black-plated bot. "Calm. This isn't for you. It's for your creator. He is being overwhelmed by our EM fields. This is just to help him think clearly."

Bumblebee stiffens at that, looking down at Sam in shock, which he just blinks at in surprise, wiping the tears from his face gruffly. "Wh-what?" He sniffles, nose stuffy. Great. "You mean me?"

Ratchet nods, casting a curious look his way. "I've been curious for a while, Sam. But this just confirms it. We can talk more about that later, though. For now, say your piece."

Sam doesn't understand what's happening, but the fog settling into his brain has finally cleared, so he can at least focus. His heart no longer feels like it's going to explode out of his chest. He will just have to take that for the win that it is.

"I don't want you to think you failed," Sam finally manages to say, somewhat evenly. He sniffles again as his gaze meets that of the amalgamation once more. "Thank you for coming to my rescue. Thank you for doing everything that you could. But just because I don't need you to fight off the Autobots doesn't mean I don't want you to still be by my side."

The amalgamation seems surprised by that, forgetting his ire towards Optimus, who was now staring intently at Sam. "The Creator wants to keep using this failed platform?"

"You didn't - " Sam starts and then sighs. It's going to take more than one conversation, it seems. "Yes. I want you here. Not against your will, of course. But I don't want you to die. You didn't do anything wrong."

The amalgamation shifts, like he doesn't understand. Then he confirms that by saying, "This construct does not understand."

Sam has no idea how to say this. Struggling to find the right words, Sam tries a different approach. Clearing his throat and sniffling a bit, he says, "I wanted to give you a name."

The amalgamation jerks, spine snapping straight. Sideswipe smiles at his side.

"Does the Creator not mean a designation..?" the amalgamation asks softly.

Sam frowns. "I... don't know what the difference is."

"He means a name," Sideswipe interjects, still smiling. He ignores Ironhide's look.

The amalgamation looks at Sideswipe with a slightly narrowed expression before Sam's words pull his attention back to the human, "It's going to sound silly, just so you know. But you're a Cybertronian, but you're also an Earthling. You have two homes. I couldn't think of a good Earth name to give you, so I decided to just give you a name that I hope you'll like enough until you come up with a better one yourself."

Relief and affection blast through the calm, making Sam shiver. Ratchet and Optimus's eyes both flare at that before the calm settles around them again, muting everything else.

"Will the Creator tell this platform? What this construct should be known as...?" the amalgamation asks softly.

Sam nods, relieved. "It's not a great name, just forewarning you. But I think it fits, for now. If you don't hate it, I would like to call you Earthquake."

Notes:

Wow, this is a long one! That's crazy! Sorry for the long wait and any errors in this chapter. I'm tired but I couldn't sleep without putting this one out tonight. Anyway, thank you all so much for all of the support for this story. I appreciate hearing from you. This chapter has a lot of moving parts so I'm sorry that it's hard to follow.

Also, no one come at me, I know I'm bad at naming things. We are all just going to have to live with my shame, I'm sorry to say. XD

I do hope that you all continue to enjoy and have a wonderful rest of your day!

Chapter 5: Acceptance

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.

Earthquake's red eyes brighten. He looks at Sam, then at Optimus, then around the room at the rest of the Autobots, as if waiting for someone to reach out and pluck his name away from him. He turns his red eyes to Sam, and in a voice so small compared to his massive size, he asks, "Will you give the name 'Earthquake' to this platform? Truly, Creator?"

"Yes," Sam says, shrugging his shoulders a bit. "For as long as you want to keep it. But feel free to change it when you find something better."

Earthquake's bright red eyes flicker. "Why would Earthquake change this precious thing given so kindly by the Creator?"

Uncomfortably, Sam shrugs again, feeling his ears warm up. "I don't know. When you find something that you like better, just know that you can change it. I won't be upset by it or anything."

"This platform will find nothing better than what the Creator has given it," Earthquake rumbles, eyes narrowing a bit.

"Give yourself some time," Sam mumbles, sheepishly. He doesn't necessarily regret the name; he just knows that it's not nearly good enough to be given so much reverence from the mech before him. But Earthquake doesn't know better yet. Maybe he will like it enough to keep it, or maybe one day he'll find something he likes more and will change it then. Either way, Sam won't be upset by it. He's just glad that Earthquake seems to be happy with it at the moment.

The largest mech in the room seems unhappy with what Sam said, but doesn't respond to it specifically, instead, he says, "The Creator is very kind. Giving Earthquake a name. But Earthquake doesn't know why this is. That Creator would be so forgiving. That Creator would be so kind to this Earthquake. Even though this platform has failed you. Even though it serves no purpose."

Sam shifts a bit, uncomfortable and unhappy. "You didn't fail me, Earthquake. And don't say you serve no purpose. You don't need to serve a purpose. You just... need to be alive."

Earthquake tilts his head. "This platform doesn't know how to fulfill this purpose. This... not purpose..."

"We'll show you," Sam says, not really sure how to explain it. "The Autobots and I." Yeah, no. He definitely was not made for this. "At least until you're wiser of the way of the world..." Sam says slowly, "then won't you stay? Here?"

"Stay?" Earthquake says, red eyes flickering.

Sam nods. "We can learn together. You and me. And we can ask the Autobots to help us."

Earthquakes looks around, as if troubled. "Is that what you want, Creator? Are they not a threat to you any longer?"

"They were never a threat," Sam says, feeling the honesty burn in his chest despite him logically not actually knowing that for sure. Well, they could have hurt him, but they didn't. And Bumblebee had all of those pictures. And that video. And everyone has been nothing but kind to him. Trying to help him. They give him food and shelter. They protect him. They can't be bad. They don't feel bad at all. They aren't acting bad. Maybe his threshold for what's bad and what isn't is all skewed, but maybe it isn't. Maybe his instinct is just right.

And even if he doesn't know for sure, he thinks he would be able to tell if someone was acting bad. But this burning need to trust them is too strong for him to ignore.

Earthquake looks as far down as he can with the high collar of his armor covering more of his face. His red eyes flicker. "Never a threat..." he rumbles. Then looking back over at Sam. "This construct will obey the Creator. If the Creator wishes to remain, the construct Earthquake will remain as well."

The Autobots share looks around the room while Sam turns to look at Optimus. "Is that okay? Can he stay too?" He had absolutely no idea what he was going to do if Optimus said no.

But instead of a worst-case scenario, Optimus nods, eyes bright as he stares back at Sam. "We will assist in this transition." He turns a solemn gaze to the large black plated mech. "Earthquake, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots."

Wearily, Earthquake nods back, keeping his eyes from meeting Optimus's. "This Earthquake is honored to meet the great Prime." He considers, then adds, "Earthquake would seek permission to remain with the Creator. Great Prime must tell his underlings to relinquish the Creator back to Earthquake."

Bumblebee growls, pulling Sam closer to his rumbling chest. "He's not yours," the radio plays.

"Bumblebee," Sam says, looking up at the narrow eyes of the yellow bot.

"Settle, Bumblebee," Optimus commands, calmly. Bumblebee nods, shifting backwards but not making any move to turn Sam over to the largest mech in the room. Earthquake growls back, the little hands that had settled behind his back flare up threateningly, making Jolt and Sideswipe flinch back but ready themselves for a fight.

Irritation and anger pierce through the calm making Sam's skin crawl.

"Stop!" Sam and Ratchet call out at the same time. Sam's is much more desperate and less annoyed than Ratchet's.

Ratchet clicks something terse and sharp at Bumblebee, which makes the yellow bot scowl back at him, but Sam just reaches up to rap his knuckles against the yellow bot's chest. "Let me down, Bumblebee."

Bumblebee looks down at him, puzzled, then with a huff, he obeys. He steps closer to the berth that Sam had started on when the Autobots first brought him to their base, but it became Bumblebee's after he was hurt. He hesitates, though, before letting Sam go and stepping back. Sam offers a little smile to the yellow bot before turning to Earthquake, moving to the end of the berth and holding out a hand.

The hostile rumbling in the largest bot's chest quiets a bit as his red eyes turn to Sam. He immediately moves closer and drops down to a knee in front of the small human. Jolt and Sideswipe tense, shifting closer as if to follow him, but don't get too close with a look from Optimus. Bumblebee shifts uncomfortably behind Sam, but he waves his free hand at the yellow bot. He can feel irritation, unease and agitation prickling at his spine before that blanket of calm just blasts it all away once more.

With the hand outstretched to Earthquake, Sam gently touches the dark space between those two large orbs. With his massive height, even down on one knee, he still has to lean over a bit so that Sam can reach the smooth, warm metal. Something in Earthquake seems to settle a bit at Sam's proximity. Sam places one hand on the sturdy metal of the high collar, glancing down to see a humanoid mouth like most of the Autobots, save for Bumblebee.

"Earthquake," Sam says quietly, looking into those bright red orbs. He should be scared; a little voice warns him. Those red eyes have always been nothing but dangerous for him. But he's not scared of Earthquake. Earthquake didn't do anything wrong. Sam shouldn't be scared of him - and honestly, he isn't - because he seems to only want to help Sam. And looking into his big red eyes, Sam doesn't feel like he's in danger.

He thinks back to the other night, when Sam accidentally created Earthquake - and how easy the name just seems to fit him. How he fought off Ironhide, but it took long enough for the other Autobots to show up. How he was overwhelmed, and scared, but still fought because Sam was scared. How he cried when the Autobots managed to overpower him. How he felt like he failed Sam - how he never ceases to bring it up. Earthquake wasn't bad. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He just wanted to help Sam. And it really feels like he's not the only one.

"Creator?"

"Try not to be too angry at Bumblebee," Sam says softly, pulling from his thoughts. Earthquake scowls, faceplates shifting, but says nothing. Sam waits a beat, feeling like he had to defend Bumblebee. There is a real connection between them, Sam just knows it, even though he doesn't actually remember it. But he doesn't want there to be any friction between Bumblebee and Earthquake. "He's very protective of me. Has been ever since Egypt."

Earthquake's eyelights flicker slightly but otherwise has no reaction. Jolt and Sideswipe both stiffen, sharp looks sent to Optimus, who's eyes narrow a bit.

"Egypt, Sam?" Optimus asks, voice low.

Sam blinks. "What?" He frowns, brows furrowing as he looks over at the red and blue bot. "Egypt what?"

"You said Egypt, Sam," Ironhide says slowly, stepping around Optimus to look at him closely.

"Did I?" Sam thinks back. "Oh, that's weird. I don't... I don't remember that. I mean, I remember saying it, but I don't know why." He has never been to Egypt before. He's never left the States - barely left California.

Did he?

Sam's temple throbs and he flinches.

"It doesn't matter now," Ratchet says stiffly.

Sam looks at Ratchet, frowning through a squinted eye. "I... I don't know why I said that, Ratchet. And my head... I..."

Something in Ratchet's demeanor softens a bit. "You're alright, Sam. This is a good thing. Unintentionally, you're trying to remember. Don't fight it and certainly don't push it if you can help it. Just let it come."

Sam rubs at his forehead, temples aching, but nods regardless. "Yeah, okay." He turns to Earthquake, whose bright eyes watch him carefully. Through the blanket of calm, Sam can feel suspicion, worry and something else that's more complicated. Like fear mixed with mistrust, before it's buried beneath the calm once more.

"I don't fully know what's going on," Sam says softly, placing his hand back between Earthquake's eyes. The action seems to awaken a piercing feeling of comfort from it. So, Sam gently runs his hand back and forth, forgetting about his headache. "And I know that it's a little scary. We're somewhere unfamiliar and we are surrounded by people we don't know, but I... I don't believe they want to hurt us. I don't think they want anything bad for us."

Earthquake rumbles, seemingly unsure about that, but nods regardless. "Yes, Creator."

Sam smiles sympathetically. "I know you're scared. And that's okay. I'm a little scared too."

Earthquake stiffens, turning red eyes back to Sam. "Why does the Creator feel fear?"

"Everything is unknown..." Sam says carefully. He's not sure he knows how to properly explain himself. "I lost my memories, but I get this feeling... I just know that we can trust them. I feel safe with them - the Autobots, I mean. But it's still scary. It's still scary not to really know, you know?"

Earthquake shakes his head slightly, trying not to dislodge Sam's hand. "No, Creator."

Okay. Time to switch strategies a little bit. "Even when we're scared, we have to be brave."

"We do?"

Sam lets out a little huff, shoulders loosening. "Yeah. We have to be brave, especially when we're really scared." He pulls his hands back, wrapping his arms around himself. "I know that we can trust them, even if we're afraid. Give them time, okay? Give them a chance. The Autobots, Optimus, they aren't going to hurt us. So, you have to listen to him, okay? And no more fighting the Autobots."

Earthquake's plates ripple. He looks around as if whatever he was looking for was floating in the air around his head. Then, he nods. "Okay, Creator. This platform will obey the will of the great Prime. This Earthquake will not pummel the Prime's Autobot underlings into the ground anymore."

Ironhide snorts, rolling his eyes. "That's not how I remember it happening."

"He flattened you, Ironhide," Sideswipe quips, grinning.

Ironhide sniffs, crossing his arms over his chest and turning away. "You're imagining things, Sideswipe. You got to ask the doc to check your optics."

Sideswipe grins back but Earthquake ignores them as he moves to his feet. "Then this platform will return to neutral state."

"That's for the best," Ratchet says, scanning Earthquake before opening the tab on his arm to look through whatever it was showing him. "Yeah, you definitely need to power down your defensive systems. You are on the verge of burning yourself out."

Earthquake's pure black plates ripple, then flair out letting out a gust of hot air. Had Bumblebee not been on point, and scooped Sam up and out of the way of the blast of hot air, Sam has no doubt that would have been disfiguring at best and boiled to death at worst. He cradles Sam close, snarling something in his clicks and whistles. Sam can feel the intense heat brushing against his skin as Bumblebee retreats back. Boiling hot shimmers in the air shows just how bad that was about to be for Sam, had Bumblebee been any slower.

But sweet Earthquake doesn't seem to notice or hear them. He was too focused on staring off, letting his plates flap open and close, releasing more hot air to cool his systems down, the sound of whirling fans filling the space like a lion's mighty roar. Even Sideswipe and Jolt shift back a bit to give him some space and keep from peeling the paint off their plates.

Earthquake's plates ripple again, but this time they all bend out, then fold into themselves. Sam watches in awe as the plates around his chest almost seem to slim out as a portion of the bulk in his chest moves down around his abdomen. The plates smooth out, making it look more natural as the grooves that his arms slotted into vanish. His high collar splits into two, the front half, from shoulder to shoulder, pushes downward with the rest of his plates, folding into his chest somewhere while the back half of his collar stays up. And all those little hands - broken or not - all stiffen, flatten and then fuse together down his back. Like a cape.

And his eyes, those bright red orbs, go from crimson to a beautiful lilac color.

"Oh," Ironhide grunts, giving Earthquake a once over. "He's an outlier."

Outlier? What's that?

"Not only that..." Ratchet murmurs, blue eyes bright as he slowly circles around Earthquake, looking him up and down as well. The tallest mech in the room, still taller than even Optimus, but his chest and shoulders are now slimmer, watches Ratchet from over his narrowed shoulders, plates shifting a bit in discomfort but says nothing.

"Ah," Ratchet continues. "Yes. This build. By Primus, he's a Nursery bot."

Thankfully, Sam doesn't appear to be the only one who doesn't know what that is. Jolt and Sideswipe share a look, the latter of which shrugging.

"Huh?" Ironhide says the same time as Optimus asks, "And what is a Nursery bot?"

Ratchet looks around, scoffs, and rolls his eyes. "I know that it's been a long time but don't any of you know any history? Optimus, please."

Optimus looks contrite. He tips his head and offers a little wave of the hand. "Please expound."

"Is it like a babysitter? Or a daycare worker?" Sam asks, surprising himself by remembering that without any real prompt.

Ratchet hesitates. "Yes, but not quite in the way that you are thinking. Nursery builds are specific because they were meant to protect our newsparks. Our bitlets. They stretched back during the war with the Quintessons millions of years ago, and maybe even beyond. They were said to protect our young while we went to war. They were left not only to wrangle our little bits, but to keep them protected from invaders."

Sam's eyes are wide, the feeling of being impressed and awed washed over his skin and whirls up in his gut. Something in Bumblebee's chest stalls a bit at that.

"That would explain all the little servos, I guess," Jolt finally says, looking down at the hands-turned-cape. The ends fray a bit as the fingers move. The places where the arms are damaged are notably shorter than the rest of the others. Jolt looks a little surprised then weirded out. "Yeah, that'll take some getting used to."

"Why would the Allspark make a Nursery build, of all things?" Sideswipe asks, crossing his arms over his chest. "There has hardly been a sparkling emergence since the shutdown of Vector Sigma. Since even before the Allspark was disconnected from the Simfur Temple. What's the point of a bot that was specifically designed for something that isn't here anymore?"

Ironhide growls, glaring at Sideswipe, who meets his hard look with apathy.

"Sideswipe," Jolt reprimands, firmly.

The silver bot shrugs. "What? It's true."

"Maybe the Allspark doesn't know that," Jolt says dully. "Maybe the Allspark is pulling frames from a long list in some internal database or something. I mean, I'm not an expert or anything but wasn't that what Vector Sigma did? It helped build frames for cold constructs? It had a massive internal database or something, right? Maybe that was connected to the Allspark?"

"Maybe," Ratchet says, but seems unsure but Sam doesn't know which part he's unsure about. Sam had hardly a reference to any of this. "Either way, it's a very unique build for a once in a lifetime bot being formed. We may never know why the Allspark made Earthquake's build the way that it did, or if there was even a reason behind it at all. The Allspark has never shown signs of sentience."

Bumblebee chirps, tilting his head while Optimus crosses his arms over his chest.

"Let us get introductions out of the way," Optimus says carefully, eyes flickering back and forth in thought. "Then, we should give Earthquake a tour around base. Start getting him acquainted with the way things are run here."

Earthquake stiffens, a frown pulling on the corners of his mouth, but Sam gently reminds him, "You have to listen to him. To them. They're here to help us."

"This Earthqauke doesn't wish to leave the Creator," Earthquake rumbles, after introductions were done. He looks around the room, either curiously or simply to commit their names to memory, the amnesiac isn't sure, but he eventually settles on the teen and the Camero, eyeing Bumblebee mistrustfully before looking back at Sam. "What if the Creator requires more adequate protection?"

Bumblebee growls. Sam looks to his guardian's scowling face to see his door wings flex up into the air from over his shoulder armor.

"Enough," Optimus commands, voice low and even, but the authority is unmistakable. Both mechs stiffen at it. Optimus spears Bumblebee with a look that he immediately submits to, before turning his gaze to Earthquake. "I understand that everything is new to you, Earthquake, but I assure you, Sam is safe with us. And you won't be far from him. If he ends up needing you, which I honestly don't think that he will, but if he does, you will know it. And you will be close enough to react accordingly."

Earthquake looks reluctant but doesn't push back when Jolt gently nudges him towards the door. Ironhide and Sideswipe join him. Ironhide stops outside the door, probably to talk to Skids and Mudflap who let out expletives at the sight of Earthquake before coming back into the room and closing the door behind him, leaving Sam, Bumblebee, Optimus and Ratchet with him in the room.

Finally, reluctantly, Bumblebee lowers Sam back down onto the berth as he and the others circle around.

"That could have gone worse," Sam says quietly, moving to sit on the edge of the berth, legs dangling.

"It could have," Optimus agrees. "But thankfully Earthquake can be reasoned with. He's simply confused and adjusting. His reactions are not out of the ordinary or to be unexpected from the unique situation that he's in. I think he handled himself quite well despite it all."

Bumblebee rolls his eyes, making a little whirling sound.

Sam sends him a sympathetic look. "He didn't appear to be your biggest fan, did he?"

"Jealousy is an ugly color," Bumblebee sasses, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning onto one hip.

Sam huffs, smiling lightly, but he feels exhausted.

"There is a lot to discuss," Ratchet says, turning his eye lights to Sam. "But I would like to talk about you, Sam. About how you're feeling right now."

Sam shrugs. "I'm fine." At Ratchet's look, he turns his gaze down towards the ground, surprisingly not scared of the height. "I feel tired, I guess. I'm glad that Earthquake is out there, at least trying to fit in. I hope that everything will be okay with that." He slow blinks up at Ratchet. The tiredness just seems to peel away at him more and more.

"As do I," Ratchet says, evenly. "What's going on with you and the Allspark has been a mystery to us, and I suspected, even before you lost your memory that something was going on. You were growing more and more sensitive to our emotions. And it was more than just reading body language, like I initially thought. This instance today has proved to me that you are. So much has reset for us, aside from our memories, and your connection to the Allspark."

Optimus looks away, frowning while Ironhide shifts from one hip to the other.

"What does that mean?" Sam asks. "What reset?"

All eyes turn to Optimus. The red and blue bot lets out a sigh through vents around his body, plates rattling a bit. Optimus turns large blue eye lights to Sam, studying him closely, and not for the first time did Sam wonder if he was going to withhold things. Soften the blow like Ironhide said he would if it meant protecting him. Despite knowing Optimus deep in his heart, he's not able to decipher the complex look flickering over his face, even with the blanket of calm never faltering over them.

"There is so much to tell you, Sam," Optimus says, gravely. "And we will. I will. But not now. Not while you're still just trying to grasp the life you've lived. What I will part with is this: we are here for you. We will protect you. And I promise that I will tell you everything. In bits and chunks. To try to make all of this as easy as possible."

Sam's shoulders slump, and his eyes flicker to Ironhide, then back to Optimus before he can decipher that look either. "Oh, okay."

Optimus's eyes spiral down a bit before he moves closer, going down onto a knee to bring his face as close as he can to Sam's level. "Something unbelievable happened to us, Sam. We traveled through time. Ten of your Earth years into the past. In the blink of an optic, you went from barely twenty-eight to back to eighteen."

Sam blinks, surprised. "What? Really?"

Bumblebee chirps, nodding, as Ironhide says, "We came to, all at once, to the feeling of the Allspark blasting through the city, Sam. That's why it took us so long to get to you. We were all disoriented and confused."

Sam, completely overwhelmed with everything he's heard, mumbles out, "You said that your memories and the influence of the Allspark was the same, but everything else was reset..."

Ratchet nods. "Yes, our bodies reverted to how we were at this time, for example, Bumblebee's previously fixed vocalizer is now broken again, but we retained our memories from the last ten Earth years. It's how we knew about the sliver of the Allspark that you interacted with. How the power was flowing through your veins even though you destroyed it in Mission City, but then the sliver that you located two years later basically revitalized it enough to trigger some form of activation. We had been monitoring it's growing power in your body once we discovered it."

"Not this soon, mind you," Ironhide adds. "We only realized that something was going on with you about two or three years from now. It took us some time from then to realize what it was and begin monitoring it."

Aliens. Time traveling aliens. Even with how bizarre and mind-warping all of this is, it should feel like this is some sort of elaborate prank. A joke that could only be played out in the moves or books for how fantastic and unbelievable that it is. And yet, Sam believes them. Why would he not? Once again, it's like this is all straight out of a bad science fiction novel anyway, why not throw in some time travel? Although now Sam does kind of understand why Optimus doesn't want to just dump everything all at once on him. He doesn't even know who he really is. He doesn't know of his life, the one that he lived up until this point, let alone an additional ten years on top of it.

"Not two years, but twelve," Sam says, looking at Bumblebee. "Twelve years together..."

Bumblebee whirls softly, expression gentle as he kneels next to Optimus, nodding. "You belong with me!"

Sam lets out a little huff, staring into the eyes of the large yellow mech in front of him. And they are connected. Linked together by something unseen. Yet he feels it. The love and affection that just seems to roll off of Bumblebee in waves towards him. He felt it in his chest. That little voice in the back of his head, telling him to trust them. Telling him that they would never hurt him. This feeling deep in his heart that he was safe with them. Twelve years together and an echo of that must still be inside of him. His mind might not remember, not coherently, but some part of him does.

This connection to Bumblebee and the rest of them. It's real. They are proof of it. Twelve years together. Those images that Bumblebee showed him, all the ones he had yet to see, they were tiny snapshots of their lives together. What they have is real. It's not a boy and an alien. It's two people. Two people born on two different worlds yet connected together. And not just them, but all the Autobots. They all came for him. Well, not him, but for the Allspark. And for the power it imbued into his every cell during the battle for Mission City.

"Optimus," Sam says, dragging his eyes from Bumblebee to the Autobot leader, "if Bumblebee and I were so close after those twelve years, what were you and I?"

Bright blue eyes brighten more, then soften as he rests an arm over his knee and stares intently into Sam's eyes, his voice soft but even as he says, "You are the most important person in my life."

***

Sam, feeling both like he's floating on a high and weigh down by the intensity of the conversation, was brought back to his gurney not long after to rest. Earthquake, who should have been unconscious - or in stasis, he supposes - until he was done with processing whatever data packages that Ratchet gave him, was awakened earlier than planned by Ratchet, apparently. He couldn't override Earthquake's defensive systems while he was running so hot, so Ratchet let him process through the data as much as he could before was unwilling to risk him being under any longer, so he woke Earthquake up ahead of schedule. But they wanted him sleeping again soon. According to Ratchet, it was one of the easiest ways to both fix the damage he'd done to his body while running so hot for so long, and to integrate whatever it was that Ratchet downloaded straight into his brain, er processor.

While Sam was dozing, he heard Earthquake come back in, tentatively run a finger down his side and whisper, "Recharge well, Creator." Before he went to his own berth to lie down. Ratchet goes over to him and makes some level of pleasant talk, asking if he liked going around the base, to which he blandly admits, "I don't know. Everything is very small. Creator fits nicely, but this platform is too large."

"You are a big bot," Ironhide said. "We'll have to get him an alt mode soon."

"We will," Ratchet agreed. "For now, Earthquake, while you recharge, keep going through those data packets that I sent you."

"Yes, Doctor Ratchet," Earthquake rumbled. Then he fell quiet.

There was some shuffling about, some talking, before everyone went their separate ways once more. Optimus mentioned something about being only a comm away before leaving. But not before Sam felt the heavy weight of his gaze on him. They didn't get to really talk about the sensitivity to their... fields, but Sam's sure that they will in time. But it seems like everyone is trusting enough to let Earthquake rest without an audience.

Bumblebee went back to his berth to rest at Ratchet's command and the remainder of the Autobots departed. A part of Sam suspects that someone is still standing guard outside the door but doesn't know for sure. Then again, maybe Ratchet and Bumblebee are the guards and are doing an excellent show of not appearing as such.

A few hours later, while Sam's eating, a new Autobot walks in. She's silver, like Sideswipe, but significantly smaller, maybe only slightly smaller than Bumblebee, her head fin bringing her to just below his shoulder. She turned and caught Sam's eye and introduced herself as Chromia.

Sam waved hello and kept on eating as she let Ratchet look at her elbow.

Sam listens quietly as he eats while Chromia tells Ratchet about how her and her sisters were scouting around the city the last few days. They were worried about a rise in Decepticon activity because of the pulse from the Allspark. It sounds like they found some scouts. They caught sight - and shot - from someone called Barricade but managed to chase him off.

"It was too easy," Chromia said, after Ratchet fixed her arm and gave her the all good to go. "Big bad Barricade doesn't run off for no reason. He must have been called back."

"What does Elita think?" Ratchet asked, stepping away so that Chromia could hop off the berth that she was sitting on.

Chromia casted a long look at Earthquake, studying his unmoving form long enough for Sam to suddenly start feeling uncomfortable, before she turns blue eyes back to Ratchet. "Elita thinks that the 'Cons are up to something, which is never new. Arcee thinks that if they came back like we did, ol' Megs is probing for information - that's if they've dug him out of his watery grave yet. Or I guess, fished him out is a better way of putting it."

Sam has no idea what that means. Megatron was killed in Mission City, wasn't he? Yet they're saying he gets dug up? Or fished out...? From a watery grave? So, the dead can come back to life?

His eyes drag to the closed door by Ratchet's office, thinking about the mysterious dead mech on the other side. The one that was killed by this Decepticon leader Megatron. Ripped in two. An Autobot by the name of Jazz.

If Megatron can come back from the dead, why can't he?

***

It was later on in the evening, with Earthquake still sleeping, that Sam was finally given his own tour of the base. There was a massive fence with a lot of signs separating the base from the edges of the city beyond and only two checkpoints that Sam was able to see, both heavily guarded. While the base itself wasn't anything that was overly interesting. It was a handful of buildings. Armory, a couple of garages, hangers, an airfield and two training grounds. One built for human use and the other that was obviously designed for Autobots in their alt modes.

"It's not exactly the time for us to risk being seen outside of our alt modes," Optimus says. He was acting as Sam's escort in Bumblebee's stead. The yellow bot was in the last bit of his recovery and despite his protests about coming with, Ratchet was unwilling to budge. "Not until we've worked on getting Diego Garcia up and ready. It's on its way, but I'm not ready to move our forces there permanently yet. While we are still under the protection of the United States of America, I would like to keep our involvement in Earth politics to a minimum until we can be recognized as a sovereign nation."

"Deigo Garcia?" Sam echoes from inside Optimus's cab, letting the truck drive itself while he gently runs one hand over the soft leather of the seat beneath him, while the other traces the Autobot's logo on the horn of the wheel.

"It's been our home on Earth for most of that decade. We established ourselves as a separate entity from the United States."

Sam looks out over the airfield as they make their way to one of the cramped hangers that the Autobots all pile into and rest in their alt modes together side-by-side. He had complex feelings about it, seeing that the twins were already in there while Optimus was showing him around, sleeping in their own alt modes despite it being evening and the sun had yet to dip below the horizon was enough for him not speak his concerns aloud. No doubt they are very aware of their own living conditions and don't need Sam pointing it out.

"Did I go there? Did I live there with you guys? Or did I stay here in..." he hesitates, realizing he didn't know where he was exactly. "Here?"

"You did," Optimus says, voice even, but gentle too. "You came to live with us. I asked you to come and be our representative. You were our bridge to humanity. Our connection to them. You and all of the others that led by your example. Like Major Lennox and Chief Master Sergeant Epps and their team. Even Ma..."

Sam blinks, turning his eyes from the horizon to look at the radio as the truck rolls to a stop just outside of the hanger entrance. Sam breathes softly in the quiet cabin, waiting for him to finish his thought, but after almost a solid minute of not saying anything, Sam prompts, "Ma..?"

"Maggie," Optimus murmurs.

"Maggie?"

"She was an ally who - " Optimus hesitates, and it seems weird that he is. Sam frowns, eyebrows pulling together. "No, she was a friend."

Sam runs his fingers lightly along the horn, listening to the hiss of the Autobot's shocks settling, his low idle. He waits a moment to see if the red and blue bot would continue, but he doesn't. So, Sam carefully prompts again with a soft, "Was?"

"Yes, she..." He stops. His entire frame rises up and then settles again. "It's alright. I will pay closer attention."

Horrified, Sam asks, "Did you step on her?"

Optimus's frame jolts. "No," he rumbles. "No, she died in an accident."

"Oh," Sam says softly. "Sorry."

"Me too," Optimus admits. "But let's not talk about that, or the future. For all we know, everything will be different now, simply because we know it."

Sam's eyebrows raise. "You think it'll change? Or that you guys knowing will make it change?"

Optimus rumbles again, frame letting out a hiss as he rolls forward into the hanger. Once he pulls up next to a recharging Ironhide, he stops, idling again. Then, evenly, he says, "I don't know, Sam. I'm not sure what to expect with all of this. You being here with us now is different. That pulse from the Allspark was different. Things are changing already without any direct intervention from us. I'm not sure we should take what we've been through as a layout for what is to come. I fear that may lead us into a form of complacency that we are ill-advised for."

Sam nods. "Treat it just like living life, where anything could happen, right?"

"Right."

Sam and Optimus just sit in silence for a few minutes, enjoying each other's company. Sam stretches, yawns and leans his head back against the rest behind it. "I can't be yawning. All I've done the last few days is sleep."

"The Allspark is drawing a lot of energy from you, Sam. You were like this near the end too."

"I was?"

"Yeah, you scared us. Bumblebee was becoming a mess."

Sam frowns. "Really? Was it that bad?"

"Not bad, just unusual. You were much more the opposite. It was getting you to slow down that was the hard part. You were quite the, ah, the night owl, I think is the phrase that was used."

Sam smiles. "Somehow that feels about right."

Optimus rumbles and Sam feels a gentle wash of affection so feather-light and gone so fast that Sam wondered idly if he imagined it. "Yes. We were worried about you. You were tired all the time. Going to bed early, sleeping through your alarms. It was... not an easy time."

"I'm sorry I worried you," Sam says, thinking back to what Optimus said. About Sam being so important to him.

"It's nothing you did or could help," Optimus murmurs softly through the radio. "I'm just glad that you're alright. Or as alright as you can be. Ratchet reported that you're starting to show signs of stabilizing, which is good to hear. He just wants to keep monitoring you while you're amenable."

Sam tilts his head a bit. "Did I not like Ratchet?" It doesn't feel like it. In fact, Sam does like Ratchet. The grumpy bot can be a bit terse, but nothing that Sam has seen thus far has made him feel distaste for the dark yellow bot.

"On the contrary," Optimus says, amusement trickling into his voice. "For as much trouble as you find yourself in, you and Ratchet got close. Ratchet cares very deeply for you, Sam, even if he doesn't want to show it. He might be a little intense at times, but he means well."

"Good," Sam admits. "From just these last few days, I've liked him. So, it's good to know."

Something soft and warm and affection washes over Sam's skin before it's gone. "I'm happy to hear. But you're tired and your ride is here to take you back."

Sam looks at the side mirror closest to him to see the dark yellow ambulance rolling up on his side. Sam can't see anyone through the windshield, not that he expected to. Ratchet flashes his lights. Sam opens the door after unbuckling the seatbelt that Optimus insisted that he wear despite the slow drive around the base. Before taking the steps down from the cab, Sam pauses.

He must have hesitated long enough for Optimus to softly call out, "Sam?"

"When Diego Garcia is up and running how you want it..." Sam says slowly. "Will I go with you again?"

Suprise makes his skin tingle a bit. "I want you to," Optimus admits. "But I would ask you and do my best to respect your wishes."

Sam nods, adding that to the list of things to think about. "Okay. Thank you for the tour, Optimus."

"You're welcome, Sam."

"Goodnight," he says softly.

His idling stalls and warmth is like a gentle brush of a hand down his arm. "Sleep well, Sam."

Sam closes the door and hops down from the stairs leading up to the big rig. He makes his way over to the driver's side as Ratchet pops open the door for him. As Sam climbs in and puts on the seatbelt, he says, "Thank you, Ratchet."

"Did you have fun?" Ratchet asks dryly.

"It was nice to get out," Sam admits. "To see beyond the four walls of the medbay. Or the long hall to the bathroom."

Ratchet backs up out of the hanger and back towards the building - it holds the barracks and meeting rooms for the NEST - that holds the Autobot's medbay. As he makes his way to the side of the building and in through a large open garage door. It all seemed sort of cobbled together to Sam, but it wasn't his place to question it. Even though there was a bit of a burn in his chest when he saw the hanger that the Autobots are sleeping in, all packed together like sardines. It was just... it wasn't the way sentient beings should live. Crammed together like that.

"Well, I suppose so long as you're feeling up to it, you can go for some regular walks until you're back up to snuff," Ratchet says wearily, as if unwilling to promise anything, but Sam is thankful for the offer, no matter how tentative.

"Okay. Thanks, Ratchet."

A grunt. "No need for thanks. Now, let's get you back to berth to rest."

"Okay." Sam climbs out of the ambulance, looking over to see that Earthquake was still sleeping peacefully in his two berths pushed together, and Bumblebee's berth was empty. "Where's Bumblebee?"

"Bumblebee and Jolt are out patrolling the city. They'll be back in a few hours." Ratchet transforms into his bipedal form. "Now, do you want to eat something? Or do you want to rest?"

"I want to rest," Sam says, smiling lightly under Ratchet's scrutiny. "Today has been a lot."

Sympathy gently trickles over his skin. Ratchet's eyes cycle a bit, watching the hair rise on Sam's arms. "Yes," Ratchet says. "I'll let you rest, then. Let me know if you need anything."

With Ratchet's help getting up onto the berth, Sam kicks off his shoes and climbs into the gurney himself, pulling the covers up to his shoulders. He lets out a little sigh feeling a tension he didn't realize he was carrying with him bleed from his tired muscles, eyes drifting shut.

Notes:

Starting the threads on a few different things to explore later. Sorry for the drag at the end, but it'll start to pick up a bit in the next one. Thank you all so much for your support thus far, I hope that you continue to enjoy!

Chapter 6: Threaded Together

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.

He walks down the hall. He takes in the familiar disarray. Like before the ceiling seems to stretch up into forever and yet still somehow feels just out of reach. Or, out of sight, he supposes. The protrusions still point down at him as he walks by underneath, making him a little anxious. What were they called? Stalagmites? Stalactites? He can't remember what the difference was. Those same strange halls, moving and shifting like it was alive. Undulating unnervingly that makes Sam's skin crawl a bit in discomfort.

Once more, that makes his head hurt. A throbbing that swallows up every inch of his skull. It even makes his teeth hurt, surprisingly enough.

Further up ahead is the 'T' intersection, but he's a lot further back than he was the last time he had this dream. It's long and stretched out, it feels like it takes him an eternity to reach it, but once he does, like before, the right path leads into a daunting darkness. But this time, there is a low humming sound. He doesn't know what it is, but it makes his skin prickle, not in discomfort, but in pain. Something about it more unnerving, more painful. And it's in his hands, it starts in his palms and spreads out into his phalanges. Like pins and needles.

A surge of panic, fear, betrayal. A voice, starting out softly, as if impossibly far away, before, like a doppler affect, comes barely closer and closer as it rushes past him. "How could you? How could you? Howcouldyouhowcouldyouhowcouldyou?"

Sam cries out, recoiling. His hands burn. His head is splitting. This feeling of agony and betrayal and why why why licks like fire across his skin. He turns and races down the dimly lit left path. He runs as fast as he can, hearing his feet slap against a stone floor. Something follows. Something scary and oily and tenacious. Icy cold fingers of fear slither up his spine, making his burning skin feel like it's peeling off. It wanted to grab hold of him. To stop him. To pull him further back into itself like a starving beast shoveling food down its gullet.

But he ran and ran and ran it just didn't seem to be enough. His legs just weren't long enough. He wasn't fast enough. He couldn't get far enough away. Closer. Closer. Closer. It wraps around him, squeezing him tight, closing in on him.

Sam screams.

***

The dim lights overhead brighten more and more and then blows out. Had any of them been directly above Sam, the shards of falling glass would have landed all over him instead of around the berth he's on and across the room. Sam's hoarse scream echoes in the open space as he surges upright. Sobbing in terror, he runs his hands over his body, trying to wipe away the horrible feeling of whatever it was that was crawling all over him. Trying to get feeling back into his burning hands. Trying to orient himself back into reality.

His lungs burn. His hands hurt. His head is pulsing. His heart is racing. This feeling of panic and fear grips tightly at his chest, making it hard to focus. Whatever it was, it followed him. It was here. With him. It still has a hold on him.

"Bumblebee! Bumblebee!" Sam cries, peering through the darkness to see big blue lights leaning over him, so close that Sam can just barely hear a soft, crooning sound trying to sooth him from the yellow bot. The face moves closer as Sam wraps as much of his arms around the large head as he can. "Don't let it take me! Please! Please!"

"Sam, you're okay," Ratchet says, standing over Bumblebee. His voice is soft. He turns on a light on his shoulder that cuts like a beam through the darkened medbay. And like that, the death grip surrounding him loosens a bit, like a knife severing the connection between them, but the feeling doesn't fully dissipate. It makes Sam feel a little bit better, though, being able to see beyond the shadows that felt like they were closing in around him. He's finally able to take big, gulping breaths to fill his squeezing lungs.

Earthquake stands at the foot of the berth, growling, eyes blazing red. His little hands are splayed out around him, ready to tear things apart.

"I don't want to go, Bee, I want to stay with you," Sam sobs, pressing his face into the hard metal between two glowing blue eyes. His skin feels hot, flushed, and Bumblebee's metal is cool enough to take some of the bite out of the heat. "Please, stay with me, Bee. Please." He's awake, a rational part of his mind knows that he is, but it still feels like he's there, in that hall, running for his life.

"I'm here, Sam," Bumblebee rasps, vocalizer strained. He makes soft cooing noises, curling his hands around the sobbing teen, as if to protect him from the things that scare him. Sam sinks as much as he can into the hard, cool metal. Ratchet moves away, taking the bright light with him, to go across the room. There is the sound of shuffling as Sam presses closer to Bumblebee, feeling his entire body trembling in fear.

"Sam." Optimus's voice makes Sam jolt in surprise. He pulls his face from Bumblebee's just enough to turn and look at the imposing form of the Autobot leader carefully making his way into the room. The headlights on his chest are lighting the way for him, pushing away more of the shadows in the room. For as big as the Autobot is, he moves so incredibly quiet, it's unbelievable.

If Sam wasn't panicking out of his mind, he'd be amazed.

Ratchet reappears over Bumblebee's shoulder. He casts a look over at Optimus before looking down at Sam. A moment later, a man appears at the foot of the gurney, moving to the IV that has been on the far side of Sam's makeshift bed since he woke up here. Once Ratchet had disconnected him from it, there hadn't been a need to reattach it to him - until now, it seems. Sam blinks through tears, pressing closer to Bumblebee as the older man, probably middle aged with dark hair graying at the temples wearing military fatigues and a white lab coat moves around purposefully.

The strange apparition of a man takes the offered banana bags from Ratchet and hangs them up before moving over to Sam. The teen recoils when the man reaches for him, pressing more into Bumblebee.

"It's okay, Sam," the man says, bright blue eyes staring back at him. "It's me. Ratchet."

Sam sniffles, blinking through tears. No one reacts. No one seems surprised. Bumblebee is still curled around him protectively and Optimus is watching silently. Floating blue orbs stand in the doorway, enshrouded in darkness but judging by the height, if Sam had to guess, it was probably Ironhide.

Only Earthquake shifts uncomfortably, looking at the human Ratchet. He clicks something, red eyes bright, and Optimus clicks something back, which makes some of the tension bleed from the largest mech in the room.

Human Ratchet is like a ghost. He's translucent through most of his body, except for his hands, right before he interacts with anything, it's almost like it solidifies. It's not so easy to tell in the darkness, but Sam can see the Autobot medic's hand solidify as he reaches out for Sam's hand, in silent offering.

Tentatively, Sam offers his hand in return, resting it on Bumblebee's fingers so that the strange human Ratchet apparition can stick the needle of the IV into the back of his hand and tape it down. A small arc of blue lightning dances from his fingers into the apparition Ratchet making it pull back and wave the feeling away before securing the IV and moving back to the pole once more. For a moment, the whole of the apparition becomes solid, then begins to fade back slowly to the state that it was when it first appeared.

"Sam," Ratchet - the bot not the human - says, "I need you to calm down, okay? Your blood pressure is too high, and your blood sugar is too low. The Allspark is draining your energy."

Sam looks at the hand resting just under one of Bumblebee's eyes, watching tiny arcs of lightning dance between his fingers and into the metal of his friend's face. His eye flickers a bit, but Bumblebee doesn't seem to let it bother him. He folds his fingers more across Sam's back when the teen moves to pull away.

"I don't want to hurt you," Sam rasps, feeling exhaustion wash over him. He leans into Bumblebee as the large yellow bot coos more.

"You could never hurt me," the radio plays softly.

Sam, without the energy to fight, leans against the yellow bot. He looks down at his fingers, fluid flowing through the tube in the back of his hand but doesn't see any more sparks. He sags a bit, looking up to see the human Ratchet vanish.

His lashes flutter in surprise but Ratchet says, "Are you in pain, Sam? What hurts?"

Sam glances up at bot Ratchet, feeling like his brain is in a fog. "Pain? My..." he leans back a bit to offer both his hands out to Ratchet. "My hands are burning. Or... they were..." His brow furrows. How did that happen? How was there two Ratchets? One that was human and the real Ratchet. No one seemed surprised. It must be something that the Autobots can do. Make... human versions of themselves?

Sam's head hurts.

Ratchet looks down at the teen's hands, leaning further over Bumblebee to scan them before looking down at the tab on his arm.

"Are you okay, Sam?" Optimus asks, moving closer. The lights on his chest dim as he lowers down to a knee next to Bumblebee as to not burn holes in Sam's retina - to which he's thankful for.

"I... I don't know," Sam admits. The shaking is gone. Now he just feels something calming, something affectionate wash over his skin. "I was running from... from something scary. I was in... in a hall..."

Optimus's eyes shutter in a slow blink, considering. "A nightmare?"

"A nightmare..?" Sam echoes, brow furrowing more. "Was it?"

"You never left this room, Sam," Ratchet says, evenly. "It was just a bad dream. You're alright now. Other than the Allspark draining your energy and an elevated heartrate, you are fine."

"I'm alright now," Sam echoes, looking at the large greenish yellow bot. Saying it makes him feel a little bit better. Ratchet's eyes brighten a bit as he lowers his arm to nod at the teen.

"Yes, Sam. You're alright now. It's okay to calm down. Let the medicine help to calm you. Help to ease the pain you're in."

Sam nods slowly, head throbbing. Either Ratchet's sensors can pick it up, or something on Sam's face is giving away the actual pain in his head. Either way, it seems like little gets past the medic. "You made a human version of you, Ratchet..." Sam murmurs, looking over at the Autobot's doctor. "How did you do that?"

Ratchet huffs, blinking bright blue eyes as Earthquake's armor lets out a hiss and the little arms settle down his back. No doubt going back into his neutral form again, metal shifting into place. Once it's settled, he rolls his shoulders and neck a bit, as if to work out a kink as bleeding red eyes return to that beautiful purple. Ratchet casts him a long look before turning back to the exhausted teen.

"It's a holoform, Sam. An image given form using hardlight. But that is definitely not what you should be thinking about at the moment. How are you feeling?"

"I'm tired," Sam admits, sinking back against Bumblebee's fingers as the yellow bot helps lower him into the gurney once more. "It felt so real. I don't know..." He looks around the darkened room. "I'm sorry. I broke your... lights?"

"It's alright, Sam," Optimus rumbles, pulling Sam's green eyes to the Autobot leader's blue ones. "Try to get some rest."

"All I do is sleep, Optimus," Sam grumbles, a frown pulling at the corners of his lips. "Are we sure that I'm getting better? What if I'm just dying? Very slowly?"

Ratchet frowns while Bumblebee full on flinches at that, recoiling violently enough for Sam to feel bad for his words. Earthquake growls, plates flaring out while Optimus, through a slight grimace, says, "I have to have faith that you'll get better."

Feeling bad for that reaction, Sam mumbles, "I'm sorry. I don't mean that."

Bumblebee's wings flair up a bit, then settle back down in place, looking over at Optimus, who shuts his eyes, taking a moment before opening them once more.

"Try to rest, Sam. Let us know if you need anything."

"I'm sorry that I'm a mess," Sam mumbles, pushing the heel of his palm into his forehead, still fighting that headache.

"You're not a mess," Optimus rumbles, a look flickering over his face. Trepidation, worry, something akin to fear washes over Sam's skin before the deep sense of calm takes its place once more. Earthquake looks at Optimus, bristling a bit, but doesn't growl this time.

"Rest, Sam," Ratchet says firmly, casting a look to Optimus and Bumblebee.

Without the strength to argue or fight it, Sam carefully moves to his side and reaches out to touch the fingers that Bumblebee has lightly coiled up onto the gurney as if to reach out to Sam, should he need it. He touches the warm metal, eyes drooping a bit.

"You'll stay, Bumblebee?"

Bumblebee nods, expression softening. "I will be right here," the radio says. "Sleep well."

Sam mumbles in reply, eyes slipping closed.

***

After sweating up a storm the night before, Sam managed to talk Ratchet into getting a shower. There was no personal shower for Sam to use in his usual bathroom, so Major Lennox offered up his for Sam to use. Ratchet was hesitant, not because of Major Lennox, but because Sam would be away from the medbay for a while. He had offered a sponge bath, but once Sam looked up, he vehemently disagreed, to Ratchet's chagrin.

"We have that meeting with Galloway," Ratchet warns Major Lennox. "He'll want you there to represent NEST."

"I'm not sure he wants anyone there other than Prime, so that he can give him another needless dress down," Major Lennox says as specter Ratchet removes the IV from the back of Sam's hand and robot Ratchet brings him down to the floor, a scowl never left his face. "But I'll drop him off and head back there."

"I'm sure Optimus will enjoy that," he grumbles, rolling his eyes. "I need to go and sit in, but I'll come back when you get here, Sam." He casts Sam a long look. Taking in the way that Sam sways a bit on his feet, how he rubs at his head, still feeling a gentle throb. How the chill of the medbay makes his skin prickle so he wraps his arms around himself. "I'll be monitoring you, Sam, so don't worry."

He hadn't been, but maybe he looks bad enough that he probably should.

"Okay," Sam says, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I just really need a shower."

Ratchet nods, still looking unhappy. He leans down close to Sam, holding out a hand that had some folded clothes for him. Sam takes the bundle close and turns to Major Lennox. "I'm ready."

His brown eyes skim over Sam, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth before he holds out a hand for Sam, beckoning him forward. "Come on, Sam. Let's go."

Sam nods, offering a little wave to Ratchet. Bumblebee was gone by the time Sam woke up this morning, going on patrol with Arcee and Ironhide, according to Ratchet. And the room had been cleaned up of any broken glass while Sam was asleep, the bulbs all replaced. The teen's eyes flicker to Earthquake, still sleeping on his two berths - parsing through the information that Ratchet gave him still. According to Ratchet, he's going to be doing that for a while. There was so much for him to catch up on, so much of his systems that needed tending to. He had a long road ahead of him. But Ratchet didn't seem concerned about it, which was a relief.

As if reading his mind, Ratchet simply says, "I'll keep some sensors on him. But he really does need the time to rest his frame and categorize all the information that I've given him. Leave him be."

Sam nods again. With a hand on his lower back, Major Lennox directs him out of the room with a wave of his hand and a farewell to Ratchet, promising to see him in a few minutes. To see whoever this Galloway guy is.

As they make their way down the hall, opposite the way that Sam is used to going to his bathroom, they turn down another hallway, before Major Lennox looks over at Sam and asks, "Are you okay, Sam?"

Sam casts him a sideways look. "I think so. I'm tired. But otherwise, I'm okay."

Major Lennox frowns, a crease forming between his eyes. He stops, hand wrapping around Sam's forearm, gently. "Sam, are you sure? You don't look good at all. What's going on? Ironhide isn't saying anything, which means it's something bad. He doesn't keep anything from me."

Sam shifts a bit to turn towards the older man, wondering what their relationship is. Optimus said that they were in Mission City together. That they've met on and off these last two years. But Sam's not sure if that's as friends - or as much as a teen and an adult can be, probably - or if they were just passing acquaintances bound together by the strange circumstances that aliens from another planet tends to do.

But if Ironhide isn't saying anything, should Sam? He doesn't know this man, no more than he knows anyone else. And while he does have the feeling that he can trust Major Lennox, there is a reason that no one else has, right?

"I'm not fully sure I know what's going on," Sam admits, feeling like that was safe to admit. "Ratchet has been looking after me and I guess I'm going to be sticking around for a while."

Major Lennox frowns more but nods slowly. "Sure, but it's just strange. Prime has been trying so hard to keep you out of all of this for the last two years, respecting your wishes, now they have you locked down in the medbay and no one is saying anything about any of it." He squints at Sam. "Are you sure that you're okay? What does this have to do with that new Autobot in the medbay?"

"Earthquake?" Sam echoes, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Honestly, I don't think it has anything to do with him." Kind of a lie, mostly not. Maybe.

Major Lennox stares at him hard, as if able to read his mind with the intensity of his look. Sam squirms a bit offering a weak, tentative smile. Major Lennox sighs, rubbing at his forehead before gesturing for them to move on. Sam follows along, continuing down the hall to a split, turning right and then passed a few rooms before making it to one with a nondescript door with a keypad on the outside. He punches in a code before opening the door and gesturing Sam inside.

Major Lennox's quarters were clean and orderly. A bed up against the far wall, pressed neatly in military perfection. A desk, cleared of everything but a closed laptop and a lamp. A second pair of boots next to the large storage chest at the foot of the bed. There are two doors, one that is wider than the other, probably a closet if Sam had to guess, but it's the smaller one that Lennox directs him to.

The bathroom is just as clean and tidy, if small. A stand-up stall, a toilet and a sink all crammed into the small space. Major Lennox explains the shower mechanics, offers his shampoo and body wash for Sam, as well as grabbing a new loofah for him before heading out after Sam assured him that he remembered how to get back to the medbay. Sam waited until the door leading to the room shut and automatically locked before he turned his attention to the mirror over the sink. And okay, he gets why Ratchet and Major Lennox were looking at him like they were.

Sam looks horrible. His eyes, better to see in this light than the other bathroom that he's been using, are actually green not brown, but they are bloodshot with smudges of purple and black underneath despite how much he's been sleeping. His skin is pale, an almost gray pallor and his cheeks are gaunt. When he pulls off his shirt, he's skinnier than before, enough to see the subtle lines of his ribs but not enough to be alarmed - although a little voice whispers in the back of his head that's not normal for him - and the bruises that were once on his shoulder and side are both completely gone. Tenderly touching the skin shows it's no different than the rest of his body.

His brown hair, curling at his ears and the top of his head, is greasy and lifeless - something his brain also supplies isn't normal for him. He feels disgusting and looks horrific. No wonder Ratchet, who is already very protective of him, didn't argue when Sam offered even the slightest bit of pressure about wanting to get himself cleaned up. And as much as Sam suspects that Ratchet doesn't like being so far away - yet still in sensor rage, whatever that means - he's still pleased that Sam isn't spending yet another day rotting away on that gurney, looking through the pictures Bumblebee got him or sleeping - which is what he spends most of his days doing.

With clean clothes on the sink, Sam turns on the shower but keeps it cool. He then shucks off his dirty clothes, pushing them into a pile for later before stepping in under the spray.

Sam gasps as the cold water steals his breath away for a moment. He counts quietly in his head until he can stand the temperature and gets to work on washing his hair and skin, being extra thorough with multiple washes, before turning the dial to warm and just relaxing under the spray. The rhythmic beats against his back, against his front, however he turns, it feels nice and relaxes his muscles bit by bit.

Relaxed and clean, with pruned hands and a room full of mist, Sam finally shut off the shower and toweled dried himself. He changed into the clothes that Ratchet prepared for him, simple sweats and a graphic t-shirt. He put on socks and his shoes before grabbing his dirty clothes and towel to bring with. He didn't want to leave them for Major Lennox to have to deal with on his behalf.

With everything bundled up in his arms, Sam airs out the bathroom's mist into the bedroom for a few minutes before closing the door, as Major Lennox had it before they came in, then heading out. While the room was cooler than the bathroom, this outer hallway is freezing, making Sam's skin prickle. He picks up the pace and walks faster down the hall back to the medbay. A few NEST soldiers walking by give him odd looks, no doubt suspicious about what this random teenager was doing walking around, dressed down as he was in a military base.

They didn't stop to ask him, and he didn't feel secure enough to breach the conversation himself. With a quirky smile and an awkward wave that had him mentally kicking himself, Sam hurried on, pretty sure he made himself appear more suspicious rather than less. Oh well.

Back in the medbay, Sam stops, tilting his head slightly at Earthquake sitting up on the berth, looking back at him with big violet eyes.

"How do you feel?" Sam asks, moving closer, moving his bundle to one arm. His eyes drift to the closed door where the body of the unknown Jazz lies behind. A strange tingle runs down his spine, but he pulls from it with the help of Earthquake's voice.

"This Earthquake is well. Creator's internal temperatures are lower than what is deemed, 'average' by Doctor Ratchet's standers. Give this platform a moment to receive further instructions from Doctor Ratchet."

Sam lets out a little laugh. "Don't bother Ratchet, Earthquake. I'm okay, just a little cold. I just need to get under the covers and my temperature will rise again." At least, he thinks so.

Earthquake looks hesitant, little hands resting against the berth twitch a bit before he nods, reluctant. "Very well, Creator. Would you like assistance?"

Sam flushes, nodding. "Yeah, sorry. I'm a little too small to get up onto the berth alone."

Undisturbed, Earthquake moves to his feet and walks over to Sam, thundering steps making the ground shake. He leans down and gently wraps his fingers around Sam, lifting him effortlessly up and onto the berth before letting him go once more. As Sam lays the pile of dirty clothes and towel next to the gurney and toes off his shoes, Earthquake goes down onto a knee next to the berth to watch him. Purple eyes wide and curious, as if Sam was doing something deeply interesting rather than completely mundane.

Sam crawls under the covers, snuggling in before turning onto his side to look at Earthquake, who continues to watch him with interest. "Did you go through all the information that Ratchet gave you?"

Earthquake nods. "Yes. This construct has finally finished parsing through and organizing all the data that Doctor Ratchet has provided. Long and tedious, but necessary, as Doctor Ratchet has expressed. This platform will need to fully integrate the information into long term memory, which will take time, but Doctor Ratchet offered to assist."

"You like Ratchet?" Sam asks, thinking about how cold Earthquake is to Bumblebee. And Optimus. And even a bit to Ironhide. He doesn't seem to be a big fan of any of them. But he speak relatively kindly about Ratchet.

Earthquake nods. "Doctor Ratchet's purpose is to help heal the Creator. Doctor Ratchet keeps close monitor over the Creator's health. Speaks at great length of alternatives on how to treat the Creator one way or the other. This Earthquake is pleased with Doctor Ratchet's attention to the Creator's health and well-being."

"You know, Bumblebee also cares about my health and well-being," Sam points out with a hint of teasing. Earthquake frowns a bit, looking away.

"Inadequate," he sniffs, unimpressed.

"Give him a chance," Sam says, offering a little smile.

"Earthquake doesn't like the puny yellow Autobot," Earthquake grumbles, face twisting in distaste.

Sam laughs a little, giving his head a slight shake. "Something tells me the sentiment is shared. But you don't have to like him to give him a chance. To give all of them a chance."

Earthquake sighs, looking like he would be more interested in sticking his hand into a meat grinder. "If that is the Creator's desire."

"Give them and yourself a chance," Sam says, figuring his own advice to himself might help. "You never know? Besides, they have been nothing but kind and helpful to us. I feel it, even if I don't remember. I feel like we can trust them. And I do, I mean. I trust them. Give them time to earn your trust to."

Resigned and unsure, Earthquake nods, turning big purple eyes back to Sam. "As the Creator desires."

***

"We are about to get on the plane to take us to France!" His mom says. "I'm so excited! I've never been on - Ron, stop pulling on that shirt you're going to stretch it out! And don't walk like that, you're going to trip!"

There is muffled talking in the background.

"Oh, I know - uh! Honey, Sammy, baby, mommy has to go! I love you! Okay, bye! Bye! Ron, say goodbye to your only son!"

Another muffled sound.

"O-Okay, bye."

The line goes dead. Sam listens to the silence for a few moments before pulling his new phone from his ear to see the generic home screen that was preprogrammed into it. His number is the same as his original, but it's the newest model - according to Sideswipe - and has all the bells and whistles - according to Arcee. But seeing as his old phone was caught beneath his car's tire - utterly crushed to death by Ironhide's full weight - the chances of him reclaiming anything that was on it is astronomically small.

Sam's mom - he hadn't even realized that he had one - called him almost immediately, chastising him about not picking up his phone. That she knew he was busy enjoying his life in college but that she didn't go through hours and hours of labor just to be ignored by her "only baby boy". It made Sam feel bad even though he had no true part to play in that, but she seemed to get over it pretty quickly, accepting his apology in stride.

It has been almost a week and a half since Sam lost his memory and little things were coming back to him, bit by bit. Sam had a flash of Bumblebee, standing with the light of the moon as a backdrop, stretching up to point at the stars. He looked a little beaten, a little worn down, not sleek and shining as he did now. But Sam can see it so clearly. See Bumblebee pointing up at the stars in the sky, then looking back down at him. A crowd of cheering people from his radio as he clapped and point at Sam.

It was just after Bumblebee had revealed himself and had a robot alien death match - seems like there was and will, unfortunately, be a lot of those - and the real start to their relationship.

Sam also recalled other things. Small benign things. He remembered his best friend growing up, Miles. Who he still talks to, but the place of best friend was firmly taken and held in a death grip by the yellow Camero. Because Sam couldn't tell Miles everything that he could tell Bumblebee. It wouldn't get Sam in trouble with the U.S government if he talked to Bumblebee about there being alien robots roaming the streets of Tranquility - of the world.

He was definitely one of them.

So, while Sam and Miles still hung out, Bumblebee was always there. Always listening, always offering advice and a playful jab here and there - excellent comedic timing with some of his songs and sound bytes. And honestly, it wasn't the same after Mission City. Not that Sam remembers that part of it, but he needed Bumblebee. He needed the companionship and the closeness that was offered by the yellow bot, freely.

He remembered his favorite elementary school teacher and that time when he was seven and fell off of his bike, leaving a scar on his knee. He remembered the crush he had on this really pretty girl in a few of his classes over his schooling years. He doesn't have any recent memories of her. A few in elementary. And a few in middle school.

He's told Bumblebee and Ratchet after each new memory surfaced and was met mostly with support and happiness. That last one got a strangled reaction from the yellow bot. A complex series of emotions passed over his face before he cheered and clapped, as if nothing happened. Despite his lame attempt to cover it up, Sam could tell that either it made Bumblebee uncomfortable or hurt his feelings. Either way, Sam decided not to talk about her again.

"That went well."

Sam looks up from the generic background of the phone, away from the little mail icon with dozens of unread messages that he still needs to look through. He just got his phone a few minutes prior to the thirty-minute-long conversation with his mother, who just so happened to have called him at just the right time. Since the number is the same as the one that he used to have, his old contacts could get ahold of him, he just didn't have anything saved. Pictures, contacts, texts, anything. It was all gone.

Ratchet, who was hovering nearby, monitoring Sam's heartrate, crosses his arms over his chest.

"I think so too. She really didn't let me get in a word edgewise, but that's probably for the best," Sam admits. "I don't have memories of her, but I remember her. Her voice is familiar. And I feel..." he hesitates, bringing a hand to his chest. He's not sure what word to attach to the feeling that grips at him just below the ribs.

"Love?"

Sam blinks, looking at Ratchet, latching onto the word and attaching it to the feeling. And it's right. His shoulders loosen in relief, and he smiles. "Yeah. Love." Something in Ratchet's entire demeanor softens.

"Good." Ratchet nods.

Sam takes a bite off of his plate that sits in front of his crossed legs while he looks through some of the tools on the phone, wondering if his other phone was able to do any of the things that this phone advertised or not.

"Be sure to eat everything, Sam," Ratchet says, nodding to the plate before turning to head into his office, leaving Sam alone. Bumblebee was off doing things for the Autobots - patrols or monitoring information - and Earthquake has been moved to the hanger to stay with the other Autobots, learning more about their principals and how to work alongside the NEST operatives. He wasn't all that happy about it, and Sam was both a little sad to see him go and happy at the opportunity for the large bot to be around others that might better understand him, but Earthquake put on a brave face and marched from the medbay with his head held high.

Ever since seeing the dismaying state of his body in the mirror in Major Lennox's bathroom, Sam has been trying to find some semblance of balance. He's still tired, often too tired to be normal, but he has taken to going on walks at least twice a day, which Ratchet has taken no mind too so long as he was close. Either Bumblebee or Earthquake were his companions. Optimus was busy, but came by once to walk with him and they got to talking a bit about this meeting that he had with this Galloway guy.

Apparently, something had happened in China and while the Autobots were to return to Diego Garcia, to their base there, which wasn't too odd, as the base was here for a reason, something stalled that. It just came out of left field that Optimus, spur of the moment, commanded their forces come here instead of returning to Diego Garcia. Optimus couldn't explain why the version of himself before he gained his memories of the future felt compelled to come here but was ultimately thankful that they had seeing as hours after they landed was when they gained their memories and felt the blast of power from the Allspark.

But apparently, this Galloway guy was upset about what had happened in China but also was being allowed oversight by the U.S President. Optimus was... less than pleased, if his expression was anything to go by.

"I wish for peace, Sam," Optimus had rumbled, blue eyes focused ahead to the hall nearing its end. They would soon have to turn around and walk the length of it again to keep talking. "And while we have appreciated the help of the United States government and all that they have offered, in this war with the Decepticons, we simply can't be bogged down by the politics of a single nation. We can uphold their laws, and our dignities, but we must become a separate entity. The reign of Decepticon tyranny will not end at the borders of the U.S."

"You have to do what's best for as many people as you can," Sam said in understanding.

Optimus looked relieved, nodding down at him as they turn and continue back down the way they came. "Sooner than I had planned, we might have to fully establish Autobot and Cybertronian nationalism here on Earth."

"People... they won't be happy about it, will they?"

A sigh, one that seemed to carry the weight of their whole world with it. "No, Sam. I do not think they will be."

"Okay," Sam says, pulling from his memory and turning his attention back to the phone. He flips through the screens, trying to learn something with his mind that his fingers are already accustomed to. He's able to maneuver it around with little difficulty, despite the slight touch of disconnect. He nibbles while going through his text messages. None of the numbers jump out at him but he was able to locate his mom's number with the lot of "Sammy, baby" and "don't ignore your mother". And he was able to discern his dad's number with the lot of, "just answer your mother, Samuel" and "she won't stop until you call her back".

So, he put 'Ma' and 'Pop' into his phone for them, simply because it felt right.

Then he looked through more of them and just couldn't make sense of who they could be from. They seemed like friends but didn't offer much information that Sam could use to discern who they were exactly.

There was one particular string of texts that caught his attention, though. One that texted him over a hundred times in the last week and a half, unread. They even called over two dozen times. At the beginning of the unread messages, they were asking where he was and if they were still going to be chatting that night. That they called a few times, and he must have been busy or something because it went to voice mail. Then they asked a few times if things were alright throughout the night, then nothing for over eight hours. Then again checking in a few times. A few calls. Then nothing again throughout the next night.

A day of silence, and then dozens of texts all at once. "Sam, where are you?" "Sam, what's going on?" "Are you hurt?" "Are you dead?" "Why aren't you responding?" "Is something wrong?" "Please just tell me if something happened." "I just need to know that you're alright." And so many frantic calls in rapid succession.

Sam's eyes flicker over the screen, looking through the messages in surprise. Whoever this person is, they must have been close. There is an ache in his chest. A pain at leaving this person in such a frazzled state. All because his phone turned into an angry little robot and met the business end of the heel of Ironhide's hand.

After that, the frantic texts come in more erratic. "I'm coming to see you." "D came for the sliver." "Please be okay." "I'm on my way." "Hold on." "I don't know what else to do." And so many more calls. The last interaction was hours before, a voice mail that was barely 20 seconds. But Sam didn't know the code to get access to the voice mail. So, whatever messages were left for him there were lost to him.

Sam hits the call button, bringing it to his ear but the call goes straight to this person's own voice mail. To Sam's surprise, it was a woman's voice, smooth and clear, she says, "You've reached Mikaela. Leave me a message and I'll call you back, thanks." But Sam hangs up after the beep, suddenly embarrassed. He has no idea what he would say to this strange woman.

"Hey, Ratchet!" Sam calls, looking up at the doorway into his office to see Ratchet peak a head out.

"What?"

"Do I know someone named 'D'?"

Ratchet tilts his head, eyes spiraling to observe him from across the room. "Oh, Bumblebee. You call him Bee."

Sam blinks, confused. In his head, he could hear it, like a thousand voices all overlayed together. "Bee." And it felt so right. It was what he called his friend. The night of his nightmare, he had called the yellow bot that. It had slipped out in his panic that he hadn't realized it.

Shaking the sidetracking thoughts, filing the nickname away for later, he clarifies, "D, Ratchet. Not Bee."

"Oh," Ratchet says, making a face. "I don't believe so. I'm no expert on all the people in your life, Samuel, but if there is a person called 'D', I don't know of them."

Sam sighs, looking down at the messages. "Okay. Do you think Bumblebee would know?"

"Bumblebee makes it his business to know everything about you," Ratchet says by way of answer.

Sam grins up at him, already pushing the covers off of his legs. "And where would I find my wayward Bumblebee?"

Notes:

Thank you all so much for your support, thus far! I feel the need to point out that while this is definitely taking place during Revenge of the Fallen, I am most definitely playing fast and loose with the continuity, so no one come at me. XD I'm sorry that it feels like it's dragging on, but I appreciate all of you sticking around. I do hope that you continue to enjoy!

Chapter 7: What's in the box?

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.

Turns out, Bumblebee is still out doing whatever it was that he was doing but had already radioed ahead that he would be back soon, especially since Sam was waiting on him. So, when Sam exited Ratchet's cab in the Autobot hanger, it was to Ironhide, Optimus, Sideswipe and the blue sister, Arcee, and Jolt. The twins, the two other sisters and Bumblebee were out in the city doing who knows what. One of the large sliding doors for the hanger is wide open, while the other is closed, offering some level of privacy. The day was drawing, slowly, to a close, transitioning the sky from blue to the beginnings of a starburst of reds, yellows and oranges scattered across the horizon.

The lights inside the hanger are bright and harsh to the eyes, but Sam manages to adjust as he makes his way towards the other Autobots, giving Ratchet space to shift back into his bi-pedal mode. Earthquake, who Sam missed at first, shifts from the corner of the room, drawing closer to him with bright purple eyes.

"Hello, Sam," Optimus greets, warmly, going down on one knee to get a closer look at him.

"Hi, Optimus. You don't mind if I wait here for Bumblebee, do you?"

Something in Optimus's expression softens, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Not at all, Sam. We're happy to have you."

"Happy to see you out of bed," Ironhide adds, stepping around Optimus with his arms crossed. "You feeling better, kid?"

Sam shrugs his shoulders, turning to look at the black and chrome bot. "I don't know. I mean, not really. The energy comes in spurts, I guess. I wanted to talk to Bumblebee, and well, I needed to get out of the medbay for a little bit."

Optimus looks at Ratchet, silent communication passing between them. Sam is starting to recognize that look for the concern and the searching that it is.

"Hey, Optimus!" Sam calls, pulling blue eyes back to him. "I will tell Ratchet if I need to go back. Or he'll tell me."

Optimus tips his head in acquiescence when Earthquake moves over to Sam, lowering down to a knee as well, tilting his head. There is a displeased look on his face. "Creator, you should be resting. According to Doctor Ratchet, until you are stable you should remain in the medbay."

Sam smiles, knowing that Earthquake is just worried about him, so he can't be mad. Like with Optimus. "Does it get me cookie points if Ratchet is here with me?"

Earthquake's eyes flicker as he looks at Ratchet, the little hands resting along the floor in their cape form twitch a little bit. He looks troubled, turning back to Sam. He opens his mouth, furrows his brow, then closes it again, considering. Finally, he admits, "This platform is unclear. Are 'cookie points' something this platform must obtain from the Great Prime? Or is it perhaps something Doctor Ratchet must prescribe?"

"They aren't real, Earthquake," Jolt says, coming up from behind Sam as he transforms from his alt mode. "It's a phrase. He's basically asking if it makes you feel better that the bot that set the restrictions is, uh, standing right there." He crosses one arm over his chest, points at Ratchet with the other before crossing that one too.

Ratchet looks over at Earthquake, pleased. "You needn't worry too much, Earthquake. I'll keep an optic on your creator."

Earthquake nods solemnly. He has complete and utter faith in the Autobot medic. "This Earthquake approves of Doctor Ratchet's methods of care. The most adequate of the Great Prime's retinue to care for the Creator."

"Might be because he's the only medic amongst us," Arcee offers, crossing her own arms over her chest.

"And he is the CMO," Sideswipe says with a wave of the hand and leaning on one hip. "As Sunny always says, 'If it makes the most sense, it's probably because it's meant to be that way.'"

"Idiot," Arcee, Jolt and Ironhide add in unison. Ratchet rolls his eyes while Sideswipe grins, amused. Sam lets out a laugh, amused.

Optimus, unbothered, turns to Earthquake, nodding in agreement to his words. "You are correct in finding Ratchet's work to be excellent, Earthquake. He has been a doctor for a very long time, and he is very good at what he does. He'll take good care of Sam."

Ratchet huffs, seemingly unaffected by the praise. Earthquake, though, seems pleased at Optimus's acknowledgement.

Standing around, chatting, Sam found himself leaning more and more against the warm metal of Optimus's leg as he's remained crouched down next to him. As they talk, Ratchet keeps checking on him, monitoring him closely. He knows that at some point in the near future, Ratchet will insist that they return to the medbay, but once more the older bot seems to be pleased with Sam not rotting away on that gurney like he usually is, day in and day out.

At one point in the conversation, Sam looked up at the large red and blue Autobot, asking, "Optimus, you wouldn't happen to know if I know someone named 'D' do you?" He's not sure why, but a part of him feels like the Autobot leader would possibly know. Perhaps showing the closeness that Optimus alluded to earlier when he said that Sam was very important to him. Optimus feels very important to Sam. Not just because he's the Autobot leader. But it feels like there is something more to it.

Optimus looks down at him with cycling blue eyes, considering the question as if it was significantly more important than idle curiosity. After a moment of thought, he says, "No one that you haven't met again yet, that I can think of. But perhaps, dad?"

Ratchet slaps a hand to his forehead. "Right. The human title for your sire."

Sam squints, feeling like that made sense, but it also didn't feel completely right. Then again, the message was, "D came for the sliver," which he supposed that could be it, even if it didn't fully ring true to Sam's mind. But why not just type out 'dad'?

"Or perhaps not," Optimus says knowingly, smiling faintly at the look on Sam's face. Then, having ascertained what Sam hadn't said, he adds, "Bumblebee might have a better idea than I." Well, guess he's stuck with waiting. It was worth the try.

He smiles up at the large bot, patting at the smooth metal along his shin, until the distinct sound of a growling engine that Sam subconsciously recognizes pulls his attention away from Optimus. His mind's eye sees Bumblebee with a clear vision before turning to see said Autobot drive in through the one opened door into the hanger.

The smile that spread on his face was of joy. Seemingly recognizing it, Bumblebee's engine revs, sliding up to offer his sleek profile to Sam, frame wiggling on the wheels, which makes Sam laugh.

"Show off," Jolt teases as Bumblebee transforms back into his bipedal mode, immediately going down onto a knee to smile at Sam. His wings wiggle in an adorably endearing manner.

"Hi, Bee," Sam says, consciously using the nickname that feels so right on his tongue. Bumblebee's eyes bright as he chirps happily.

"Look at you, my best friend," the radio plays. "Are you feeling better?"

Sam shrugs. "I'm okay. Tired, but I wanted to talk to you. Did you go out with Arcee's sisters and Mudflap and Skids?" He glances over passed the yellow bot but none of the four of them were following him through the one open door.

He makes a gesture as if going their separate ways. "Went off. Patrol the streets of Gotham."

Sam makes a face, laughing a bit. "Gotham? Is this city really as dangerous?"

Bumblebee shrugs. "You never know, chief."

Sam rolls his eyes, still smiling. He shifts back to allow Optimus the opportunity to stand without smushing him. But once the bot has moved so that he could face Bumblebee, Sam leans against the smooth metal again, feeling a bit better with the Autobot leader so close. "Where did you go, then? If they are out patrolling?" He's not sure if he should ask, but if it's not something he should know, then surely Bumblebee just won't say, or find a way to redirect.

"To get all of house and home. College is the staple piece for all maturing boys and girls," the radio says.

Sam frowns a bit, tilting his head. "You.. went to my college?"

Bumblebee nods, reaching down to the ground, cupping his hand before pulling back. A box is there where his palm was a moment before. Sam bulks a bit in surprise. "Whoa! Did... was that magic?"

Bumblebee smiles, amusement tickling across Sam's skin. His EM field, Ratchet had explained. Sam was able to feel their fields when they were close to him. It was a secondary form of expression for Cybertronians as their faces aren't exactly super emotive. Or maybe they evolved to not be super emotive with the assistance of the fields, but either way, it's there to help convey emotion.

Just normal humans don't feel it. But the Allspark's energy makes him sensitive to it. Easily to the point where it can overwhelm him.

And Sam's not sure what Ratchet means, the Autobots seem to be very emotive to him.

"Not magic, Sam," Optimus says, voice tinged with affection. "We have access to a separate pocket dimension where we can store things. We call it subspace." Sam wasn't even a little sure on how to better approach that. It still sounds like magic to him. Pocket dimension? That was really taking a running leap into the science fiction or fantasy realm of the way things are.

"Right," Sam says, unconvinced, which makes a small rumble of amusement come from the Autobot leader. "So, what's in the box?"

"What's in the box? What's in the box?" Bumblebee's radio plays, his blue eyes bright in amusement. He gestures to the box.

"Can I look inside?" Sam asks, finally moving away from Optimus over to the closed, simple brown box. Bumblebee nods, gesturing to it again. Sam looks down at the top flap, seeing his name written on to top. "Sam's miscellaneous?" He blinks a few times, surprised. "Oh, it's mine. You brought it from my dorm?" He looks back up to see Bumblebee nod.

Sam kneels down and opens the lid, looking around at all the strange, random items thrown into the box. Posters, some letters. A few trinkets and even some photos. Everything Sam looked at pulled some fragments of memories. And Sam was yammering. Showing off the items, surprised by how easily the memories were coming to him. Things from his childhood, gifts from his parents and friends. It was all so crystal clear. The memories, the feelings. He should have been embarrassed with all this talking, but the Autobots were listening whether it be intensely - like Bumblebee, Optimus and Earthquake - or respectfully like the rest with varying levels of interest based on what he was talking about.

Then, nearing the bottom, Sam spots two framed photos. One of him and his parents. He knows, the moment that he sees them. He's standing with his parents on either side of him. His dad's hand proudly on his shoulder and his mom's arm linked through his. They are standing in front of a beautiful house that Sam immediately knows is his childhood home. He looks like a teenager, probably in high school, and despite the bright and sunny day in the picture, the three of them are wearing ugly Christmas sweaters that Sam knows is a tradition for them. And they were happy. Sam remembers. This was the most recent Christmas.

He places the picture close to him, hoping Ratchet will let him bring it back to the medbay with him. Reaching in, he grabs the other picture frame and can't help himself but to smile. "Aw, Bee." The nickname coming easier still. "It's us."

And it was. A boy and his alien car. Bumblebee is sleek and shining, the sun light and blue sky behind him is beyond flattering. Something taken out of a professional shot of the beautiful Camero. With the front door open, as if about to get inside before he stopped to take the picture, had Sam smiling brightly at the photographer. One arm on the top panel, the other across the length of the top of the door and just this look of relaxed joy on his face. A good time. A good memory.

Bumblebee chirps, something like surprise and affection washes over Sam's skin, leading the teen to wonder if the bot actually knew that it was there before. In Bumblebee's excitement, his wings flutter a bit as Sam turns the picture towards him to better see. Something decidedly gentle and adoring crosses over Bumblebee's face.

"Aw, look at us," his radio plays, "we cute."

"You didn't know I had this, did you?" Sam asks, studying those bright blue eyes.

Bumblebee nods. "Knew you had it. Not that you framed it. Or took it with," the radio jumbles together. "But it is expected. I'm a badass."

Sam laughs, looking back down at the picture. It was taken at Lookout Point, just a few short months ago. And he knows, he feels it in his bones, Mikaela took this picture of them.

Before he can ask on it, Sam spots something he doesn't recall putting into his box, something that seems benignly stuck on a case for a CD. He sets the framed photo of him and Bumblebee with the other, settling on asking Ratchet to bring them both with, before pulling out a few beaded bracelets. His mom had made them. One of purple and silver and one of black and silver with a little charm of a star. They were made years ago, he remembered. His mom had taken up the hobby and Sam had been the recipient of a lot of them for a time in his early teens.

He had kept most of them to make her happy.

Unless there was more in the box itself, Sam can safely assume that they were stuck on something that he hastily shoveled into his box when he was packing it. Or maybe his mom snuck a few things in without him knowing. He couldn't say.

The star charm on the one bracelet and the purple on the other seemed telling to Sam who he should give them to.

"Earthquake," Sam says, grabbing the bracelets and standing. "Come down here, I want to show you something."

Without hesitation, the large black bot goes from kneeling to sitting and leaning closer with big purple eyes as Sam moves closer, holding the bracelets up for him to see. "My mom made them. They are bracelets that go around your wrists. Well, not yours. But human's, I mean. But my mom made them."

Little hands flare out in surprise. "The Creator's Creator?" Sam laughs, and nods. "This construct knows little about this type of creation, but it must be superior to any other."

Sam laughs again, shrugging. "I'm not sure I would go that far, but they are nice, aren't they?"

Earthquake nods, solemnly, purple eyes bright. "Yes, very."

"She made a lot of them, see? This one is purple and silver. This one is silver and black - and look! It has a charm on it. A star, see?"

Enthralled, Earthquake leans closer, eyes spiraling to get a better look at the small charm. "Yes, Creator. This platform sees it!" Those little hands float around him, having broken apart from their cape form and making twitching motions in the air, as if excited.

Ratchet, who stood beside and behind him, looking genuinely... affectionate. Something soft and endearing as he looks at the larger bot. And when he looks at Sam, there is something like pride there. It brushes against Sam's skin, before it is gone again.

"I want you to have them."

Earthquake's body stiffens in surprise, purple eyes wide. "The Creator... would give something so precious to this Earthquake?"

His friend didn't have to know that there were probably dozens more at home, scattered across his room from years prior. Instead, Sam says, "Sure. You can't wear them as bracelets, but once you get an alt mode, I'm sure you can find some way to attach them to you. Besides, purple, black and silver? I think those would be great colors for you. And, well, I've always loved the stars."

Earthquake nods slowly, purple eyes still wide as he murmurs, "And this platform is an alien."

"That's not - " Sam starts, then squints, then nods. "Sure."

One of the small hands reaches over Earthquake's shoulder to let Sam place the delicate beaded bracelets onto the large palm. He brings them up closer to his face to further inspect them, softly asking, "What... what would the Creator like for this construct to do with these precious things?"

"Keep them close so a part of me is with you." And because Sam's sure that they won't last long, but seeing how attached Earthquake is to him, having something of Sam's with him might make him feel a little better. And, well, Sam thinks he would like it, which he obviously does.

Affection and adoration so strong that Sam was almost swept away with it as Earthquake looks at him with wide, bright purple eyes. He leans in close to stare at Sam. "This construct has the kindest Creator."

Sam blushes a bit, embarrassed. His lips part to say - what? He's not sure - when a sharp, feminine voice calls out, "Bumblebee! There you are! Where is Sam?"

The whole room freezes, all the Autobots turn to look at someone who is obscured by Bumblebee's body from Sam's view. Earthquake huddles close to Sam, guarding him with an angry hiss, little hands flaring out defensively, while Bumblebee twists around, still hunched. His wings, though, arch up and into a tight v.

There is a clanging noise of something metallic hitting the concrete floor as hurried footsteps come closer. "I have been trying to reach Sam for over a week! He's not picking up his phone and when I spoke to his roommate, he said he hadn't seen Sam since the first day. I checked the police station, but they said that the missing person's report was filed and then closed. That he had been located and was deemed safe. What's going on? Where is he?"

"How did you even get in here?" Sideswipe asks, crossing his arms over his chest, frowning down at her. "Someone is going to need to brush up on standard procedures with the gate guards." He rolls his eyes.

"I snuck in," she says, voice droll. "Although I do agree they need a brush up."

Ironhide snorts, amused, while Sideswipe rolls his eyes again.

"Bumblebee, where is Sam? I saw you at the dorms." That would explain how this unknown woman, who knows him, found her way here, Sam supposes. Looking for him of all people.

"Sounds like the gate guards aren't the only ones needing a little reup on their education," Jolt jests, grinning at the scowl that Bumblebee sent his way.

"Mikaela," Optimus says carefully. Sam jolts. Mikaela? The Mikaela that he called? That had taken the treasured picture of him and Bumblebee? That had been blowing up his phone? She was here? Yes. Yes, she said that she was going to come see him. He had forgotten.

"Optimus, please," Mikaela says, cutting him off. Her voice is pleading, and Sam feel a horrible pain in his chest. "I'm scared that something is wrong with him. Please. Just tell me what's going on."

Sam gently moves away from Earthquake, running a hand along the large fingers defensively hunched over him. Earthquake doesn't want him to leave but doesn't force him to stay.

"Creator..."

Sam moves around Bumblebee, feeling across the smooth yellow plating with his hand, as he had with Earthquake, and Bumblebee's unease prickles the pads of fingers. Once he can see the girl, he catches Optimus, lips pressed tightly together, turn to look at him.

The girl is beautiful. Long dark hair, bright blue eyes, tanned skin. She's breath-takingly beautiful. And when she looks at Sam, in that first instance, there is relief and joy written across her stunning face. And when Sam's eyes meet her own, he knows her. He knows Mikaela. He sees her in his mind's eye as that little girl from his schooling. The one that he had spent all his school years with.

No, pining for. He could feel it. A love for her that was desperate - and old. Something equal parts desperate and deep, and shallow and distant. Something akin to affection rather than love.

And then she seems to see him. Really see him. And before he can decipher the look that crosses over her face, she's in his arms, hitting him with a force hard enough that he stumbles back into Bumblebee's leg and hand, as he tries to steady them. Across his back, he feels Bumblebee's agitation, his anger. And then pain.

"Bee - " Sam starts, glancing up at his friend when Mikaela grabs his face and looks at him, her face twisted in worry.

"Sam, oh my god. Are you okay? Look at you. What's going on?"

Sam, flushed, swallows nervously. "I- Uh. I, um..." His tongue won't seem to work. He's being yoyoed between the feeling of being a flustered boy in love with this girl, and someone who only knows her through an almost third person sense. He's nervous and can't bring himself to touch her. She feels both extremely intimate and like a complete stranger.

It hits him from all angles, anger, so intensely, so fiercely. Anger, rage, indignant, disgust, pain, pain, pain. And it's coming from all around him. From all of the Autobots, all of them feeling emotions so passionately, so intensely. It all just jams itself into Sam's brain, clogging up his veins. His stomach, his lungs. Any open space inside of him is packed full and he feels like his entire body is about to explode.

"Enough!" Ratchet snarls, loud voice piercing through the roar of his clogged ears. "Autobots, reign in your fields, now! Optimus, calm this place down now before Sam gets an aneurysm!"

Bumblebee stiffens, whining low in fear and pain, but everything else gets sucked away fast enough to make Sam dizzy. The weight of the calm that settles around them has Sam falling over, barely being caught by Mikaela and Bumblebee.

"Sam!" Mikaela calls, brows creasing in fear. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Sam leans into the scoop of Bumblebee's hand, knowing his weight won't affect the yellow bot the same way it will Mikaela. Even still, she holds his hand as he struggles to fill his lungs and not eject his lunch.

"Are you alright, Sam?" Optimus rumbles, going down onto a knee once more to watch him. There is a sever look on his face that strikes sadness in Sam's chest, but he's easily distracted by his wonky equilibrium. He'll settle down once the room stops spinning like a top.

Ratchet scans him, tsking angrily at what he's seeing. "Keep your fields to yourselves, pit spawns," he snarls. Then, to Sam, in a noticeably gentler tone, "Just breathe, Sam. It'll pass. It already is."

"Don't move, Bee," Sam mumbles. "I don't think my stomach can take it."

A low churr, but Sam's eyes are closed so he can't actually see the look of sadness that he knows is there. He can't open his eyes, or he will vomit. So, he breathes steadily and keeps still. It helps a bit.

He stays like that for a few minutes, listening to his breathing, and Mikaela's as she holds his hand. To the low thrum inside of Bumblebee as his inner mechanics whirl and piston and creak. To even the subtle shifting of the Autobots around them. Once the nausea clears enough for Sam to get his feet back under him, he pulls just enough away from Bumblebee to not be laying on him, but not enough to not still hold onto the larger yellow bot.

"Sam," Mikaela says quietly, as if being too loud would be too much for him. His green eyes meet her pleading blue ones. "Please, tell me what's going on."

She knows the Autobots. She wasn't surprised to see them. She was on first name basis with Optimus. And Bumblebee too. She knew Sam. She was friends with Sam. She was close to Sam. And yet, Major Lennox was a lot like all those things, and more. He actually worked with the Autobots, and still he didn't know what was going on. Major Lennox was close to Ironhide, and the black and silver mech said nothing to him as far as Sam knew, even days later. He looks around the room, catching Ironhide's eyes, and watches the subtle shake of the black and silver mech's head.

"I'm... sick," Sam says, pulling his eyes back to Mikaela's. He's not sure what else to tell her. He won't talk about the Allspark. He's not sure he's allowed to. And while he wants to trust her. He wants to assuage the obvious concern on her face, he can't. He could feel Bumblebee's unease. His anger. His fear. His pain. Sam doesn't know why, and he's not going to hurt his friend if he can help it.

But isn't Mikaela also his friend? She came all the way here from their home in Tranquility to not at least be that.

"Sick, how?" Mikaela asks, brow furrowing.

"I - " Sam studders, glancing over at Optimus. "I... have amnesia." Optimus's eyes flash. Through the calm, Sam feels the briefest, yet sweetest brush of affection feather light across his skin before the calm settles once more.

Sam looks back at Mikaela to see her frowning. "What? Are you kidding me? If this is a joke, Sam, it's not funny."

"It is no joke, Mikaela," Optimus rumbles softly, eyes spiraling down at her. "Sam was in an accident involving the power of the All Spark over a week ago that has left him disoriented and without memory for a time. He is gaining it back rather quickly, but for now we are watching over him."

A myriad of emotions play across her face as she finally releases Sam's hand, giving him a complex look. Like she wants to hug him, hold him, but doesn't want to overstep, and something clenches in Sam's stomach.

"Do you remember me?" She asks, voice soft.

Sam nods and there is a flash of relief on her face. Bumblebee tenses, but Optimus's features stay completely unmoving.

"You do?" Mikaela asks, hope in her eyes.

Sam nods again. "Yeah, we went to school together." Her face stays unmoving for a moment, before a tension takes hold and Sam realizes there really was more. "We were... we're friends."

No, her expression tells him. That wasn't right. Sam looks away in embarrassment and shame. Beyond Mikaela is a metal box. It's old and rusted, but there was something... something about it. Something that calls to him.

At this point, he was willing to walk off the side of a cliff if it meant not being part of this conversation anymore. He's hurting her. He knows that he is. But he's so conflicted, so confused. He should talk to her, try to explain, but it's easier to let Optimus do it. It's easier to let the burden fall on the large bot rather than take it on himself. Mostly he doesn't know what to say, or what he's allowed to say. It makes him horrible, he knows, but he's not sure what else to do. How to make any of this better. It's not fair to Mikaela or Optimus.

"Ouch," Sideswipe says, turning away. "I can't watch this."

Sam cringed. It seems as though he's not the only one that really hates what's happening here.

Jolt scowls at the fully silver bot, reaching up to slap at his abdomen. "Shut up, fragger."

"All I'm saying - " Sideswipe starts but Ironhide sends him a look that cuts him off.

"We know what you're saying, Sideswipe. The commentary isn't necessary."

Sideswipe shrugs, unbothered. Mikaela flinches at that and a touch of sympathy passes over Optimus's features. Sam's eyes flicker back over to the box, pulling slowly from Bumblebee to head over to it. There was something in there. Something he had to see. Something that was familiar to him. Something he couldn't place without seeing it. And once he got that figured out, he would hopefully have mercy on them all and try to talk to Mikaela himself.

Well, not that talking around the foot in his mouth will be much of a blessing, but it will be better than forcing Optimus to speak on his behalf. Maybe. The large blue and red bot certainly had a way with words, Sam will admit.

"I am sorry, Mikaela," Optimus rumbles, sounding genuinely remorseful. "He may not fully remember now, but he's better than he was when we found him."

"That's good," the brunette says softly, not sounding at all assuaged. "So... he hasn't just been dodging my calls? He just didn't pick up because he didn't remember me?"

"My phone came to life and met the business end of Ironhide's palm," Sam murmurs, glancing over at her. The large black and silver bot chuckles, amused by the imagery while Ratchet rolls his eyes. Sam looks back over at the box, finally giving in. He makes his way to it.

Mikaela considers for a moment, looking at Sam with big, sad eyes before shaking herself and mercifully turning to look at the red and blue Autobot leader. "So, this has to do with the sliver?"

"Silver?" Optimus echoes, before recognition flashes over his face. "You have the piece of the cube."

Mikaela nods, moving over to him. Tucking a long strand of dark hair that came loose from her ponytail behind her ear, she digs around in her pockets before pulling something out to hold out for him to see. Sam is too focused on the box he's now standing in front of to really tell what's going on behind him. Yes. He feels it. There is something in there.

"Yeah, Sam gave it to me to keep safe after it turned his house into a battlefield between his kitchen appliances and Bumblebee."

"Thank you for returning it to us."

Sam reaches out, grabbing hold of the lid, releasing one of the latches. It's there. Something is there. Calling to him.

Bumblebee chirps, making Sam pause for just a moment before he reaches for the other latch.

"What do you have there, fella?" Bumblebee asks through the radio.

"I kept it in my safe at the garage," Mikaela was saying. "But you'll never guess who came for it." She shifts; he hears it. Feels it, somehow, as he unlatches the last barrier keeping the metal box closed. Then, her voice cuts in, laced with surprise and panic, "Wait! Sam! No! That's a Decepticon!"

Notes:

I'm sorry about the long wait. Thank you all so much for your kind words and support! I really do appreciate everyone reaching out to offer your thoughts. More of Sam's past is coming back to him. He just needs a little bit more time. And we've met Mikaela! Sorry, you guys. Some of you had such interesting predictions! If I was able to pull D-16 out of thin air for this fic, I was so tempted to. But alas, there was no way I would have been able to pull it off. Sorry about it. But the missing word we've been looking for is... Decepticon! Finally, a small bit of excitement to be had in the next chapter. Thank you for the support! Le me know what you think! I hope that you continue to enjoy!

Chapter 8: Incoming

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.

Sam didn't have time to react. He stumbles as something springs into his chest, hitting it hard enough to knock the wind out of him as he falls onto his back. Gasping and aching he frantically scrambles backward a bit with the heavy weight being pulled along with him.

"Sam!" Mikaela cries out from somewhere behind him.

The teen grabs hold of the small bot that lands on his chest, wheel feet digging into his sternum and stomach, making it hard to breathe. Big red eyes lean in close to him, studying his face as a blast of sound surrounds them. Something hard and heavy hit the ground next to him and Sam looks over at Bumblebee, eyes narrowed down into tiny pinpricks and a canon powered up from his arm, pointing at the little bot sitting on Sam's chest.

"Woah, woah, woah, hey now!" The small bot jolts, moving up over Sam's shoulder and then down behind him, half hidden under Sam's body. The hard metal components of his little body digging into Sam's spine uncomfortably. Claws slide over his shoulder enough to ache with the pressure but not to cut through his shirt and skin. "Call off ya Bumblebee, Sam. Come on, come on!"

Sam, heart pounding and gasping for more air in his lungs, looks up at Bumblebee and feels the rage from the yellow bot lick at his skin. With Bumblebee on Sam's right side, his chest rumbles in a growl and he shifts back and forth as if to get a better angle on them. But he's not the only one, in his peripheral, he can see the Autobots all focusing in. Earthquake's eyes are burning red, little hands splayed out around him beside Bumblebee. Ratchet is in front of the multi-armed bot, keeping him back, expression guarded.

On the human teen's left is Ironhide, his own cannon pointed at Sam and the little Decepticon. Jolt beside him, hands spread wide, as if preparing to strike.

The little Decepticon makes a chittering noise, nervously. Sam can feel it like gooseflesh along his spine and shoulder blades. "I ain't gonna hurt ya, Sammy boy. Just call off ya Junxies, okay? Okay?"

Sam licks his lips, shoulder burning a bit, eyes flicking to Bumblebee, wondering if he was about to make a mistake. Even though there are only parts to him that just intrinsically know things that come with Bumblebee and their connection - especially with the unspoken part of it, while his conscious mind does not, Bumblebee seems to see what is in Sam's mind as if it were written across his face.

"Sam is about to move," Bumblebee says, in his regular voice, completely unaffected. Sam tenses for just a moment, surprised that Bumblebee would just say it, before jolting forward, trying to get away from the little Decepticon behind him. No point in wondering about it now. He'll ask what the hell that was for later.

In his haste, those claws that he managed to not catch earlier, slide over his shoulder and down his back, this time slicing through, but Sam doesn't stop despite the yelp of pain that escapes him. Instead, he shoots forward, scrambling to put as much distance between himself and the small Decepticon as he can. He rushes to Bumblebee's side, sliding alongside and then behind him. He turns around in time to see the scrambling little Decepticon jerk back - right into Arcee, who was hiding in the shadow of Optimus's bulk a few feet behind Sam. Once more, Sam marvels at just how close the large bot could get while being so quiet.

She moves as fast as a viper, grabbing the little Decepticon in her hand, immediately holding him up toward the red and blue Autobot leader. Optimus's face is sever, eyes flickering over to Sam and back down at the tiny... toy car? Unless he's a real car like the others but miniaturized, he supposed.

"Gotcha!" Arcee says, glaring down at the little Decepticon.

"Woah, woah! Arcee, baby! I ain't gonna hurt nos bodies! I was just tryna talk to ol' Sammy here! I'm friendly! I'm friendly!" He waves little hands around, eyes bright, field anxious.

Arcee frowns, brow furrowing. "You know who I am?"

He sputters, looking around at the other Autobots, then to Sam. "Come on, Sam. Please tell me yous remember ya best buddy Wheelie?"

Sam leans into Bumblebee, surprised to hear that the growling has stopped. Bumblebee's field, which is rife with agitation, suddenly teaks with confusion. He shifts just slightly, pressing back into Sam, as if offering comfort. Sam's thankful for it.

"Wheelie," Optimus rumbles, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. The little Decepticon flinches at being addressed by the large red and blue Autobot. "You know Sam?"

Twisting a little to look at Optimus sideways, he says, "Uh, well, kinda. 'm an Autobot. I promise, see? Cross ma spark and all that." He makes a crossing motion over the center of his chest. Does that even really work for Autobots? Huh.

Arcee scrutinizes the little Decepticon - Wheelie, he said - her blue eyes with a ring of purple, flicker up to Optimus. They seem to share some sort of silent communication as Wheelie twitches, anxiously. Despite the throbbing pain in his shoulder, Sam feels almost bad for the little guy. He knows Sam, that much is clear. But now Sam's starting to think - and what he thinks that the Autobots are starting to think, based on their shifting glances - that this Wheelie must be like them. He must remember as they do. Have memories of the future.

Wheelie thinks that Sam might know - but he doesn't. He thinks that the other Autobots don't know - but they do. So, the little Decepticon has it all backwards.

"Sam doesn't know you, Wheelie," Optimus says firmly, blue eyes locked onto the tiny bot. Wheelie flinches, casting a look over at Sam, before glancing back over at Optimus, kneading little hands, eyes flickering as if trying to think of how to get out of the situation that he's in.

"Listen, Prime. I'm good for it, ya know? I'm an Autobot. I swear! I wasn't going to steal the sliva! I was gonna return it and hopefully get some amnesty. I don't wanna work for dos Decepticon bozos!" It occurs to Sam then. Mikaela's message. D came for the sliver. Decepticon came for the sliver.

That had been what Mikaela was trying to tell him. She was warning him of what was coming. But he didn't have his memories. He didn't know that. He's been stuck thinking it was a person - which it kind of was - but really it was a warning that he should have been able to understand if he'd had his memories. It comes to Sam then; government coverup. Secret forces. Aliens being hidden by the government. They have to monitor their speech, their conversations. Their words have actual locks on some of them. She said what she could because she couldn't say more. Sam didn't know. Didn't realize.

Whatever more Wheelie seemed to want to add, Optimus holds his hand up to silence the smaller bot. He moves up onto his feet, lording over all the smaller bots and the two humans with his incredible height. Optimus stares down at the little bot, contemplating something. Then, after some consideration, he holds out his hand to Arcee, who tilts her head for a moment. She takes a few steps forward and places Wheelie onto the larger mech's palm. Optimus straightens, bringing his hand up closer to his face so that they can look at one another more closely.

"I mean it, Prime," Wheelie says, looking around, worriedly, yet doesn't dare take the long leap off the side of Optimus's hand. "I wasn't comin' to hurt nos bodies. Ya gotta believe me, Prime. Not gonna do nothin' wrong. I swear! Loyal Autobot, through and through."

Optimus studies him for a long moment, considering. "Wheelie, are you friends with Sam?"

Wheelie hesitates, red eyes flickering around before he leans into the larger mech. "Prepare yaself, Prime. Wha' I'm abou' to say may change everythin' ya thought ya knew." He leans in a little more. Optimus blinks slowly, still focusing down at the smaller bot while Ironhide, who lowered his cannon alongside Bumblebee, rolls his optics. Wheelie, ignoring the large chrome and black plated bot steps closer to Optimus, staring up into his eyes as Arcee leans heavily on one hip.

"I," Wheelie says, pausing for dramatic effect, "am from the future."

A beat of silence.

"Alright," Ratchet drawls, rolling his eyes. "You deal with that, Optimus. Sam, get in, we are going to the medbay. I need to take a look at that arm. Earthquake, Bumblebee, come."

Mikaela, who was now at Sam's side, takes ahold of his arm. "I'm coming too."

Sam glances at her hand before looking over at Ratchet who kneels down beside Sam and Mikaela, transforming into his alt mode, both doors popping open. Earthquake is shaking in barely contained rage, little arms wiggling with twitchy fingers, itching to grab ahold of Wheelie and give him the ol' Ironhide special.

"Come, Earthquake," Ratchet commands through his radio, voice even. "You too, Bumblebee."

Straightening up from where he was protectively hunched over Sam and Mikaela, Bumblebee nods. He casts a long look at Wheelie and Optimus, returning the nod the red and blue bot sends him, before moving from Sam and Mikaela and transforming into his alt mode. With his shoulder burning and throbbing, Sam makes his way around Ratchet towards the driver's seat, being careful not to lean back against the injury. He can feel a little bit of wetness working down his shirt. Before he gets in, he stops, looking over at the box and the two pictures.

"Sam?" Mikaela calls, settling into the passenger seat.

"Ratchet? Can I bring those pictures with to the medbay?" Sam asks, looking back at the cab. "The ones of my parents and Bumblebee?"

Ratchet's engine makes a low hum. "Yes. Be quick, Sam."

Obediently, Sam rushes over to the box, leaning down to grab the two pictures, flinching at the pull on his back and shoulder before moving back over to Ratchet. He climbs in and lets the door close behind him. He leans forward to keep from bleeding on Ratchet's seats, even as the seatbelt slides over his shoulder and snugs him up. Ratchet and Bumblebee head out with Earthquake lumbering after, without an alt mode at the moment. In Ratchet's rearview, he spots Earthquake slow down to stare back at Wheelie and Optimus, little hands clenching and unclenching before Jolt moves over to him, gives the large bot a little nudge, before he continues to follow after.

Mikaela keeps sending looks over at Sam, blue eyes searching. The amnesiac sends her a sideways glance, offering a thin smile, but his shoulder is throbbing too much to keep a straight face. He looks at the rearview mirror again, watching as Earthquake hunches a bit to get into the building and follows them down the long hallway at a more sedated pace.

"Why are Bumblebee and Earthquake coming?" Sam asks, trying not to think about the burn feeling on his shoulder. Not that he minds all that much about them coming along, he's just curious. And anything to keep from focusing on the radiating pain on his back and shoulder.

"Bumblebee isn't as in control as Optimus is, so he can't be trusted around Wheelie for the time being, and Earthquake is a hyper-protective newbuild. He needs to be away from Wheelie to keep from deactivating him. You are his creator and he's a protector-build. He may be specifically designed for sparklings, but a lot of his protocols are based on protecting smaller frames. Being with you and away from Wheelie, will calm him down. Both of them, frankly."

Sam nods, flinching a bit at the pull on his shoulder.

Once making it to the medbay, Mikaela and Sam move out of Rachet and back away so that he can transform into his bi-pedal mode. He scoops them up and puts them both onto the berth before commanding Sam to sit on the gurney while he moves to grab the supplies he would need. Sam sits at the end of the gurney, placing his two pictures off to the side by his pillows for later. Mikaela's blue eyes are roving around the room as Sam struggles to pull off his shirt.

"Samuel, if you remove that shirt, so help me," Ratchet snaps over his shoulder, making Sam freeze. Earthquake moves to the foot of the berth, red eyes watching Mikaela mistrustfully, while Bumblebee stops on the side closest to Sam. His elegant wings are twitching anxiously as he studies Sam's back and side. A subtle brush of agitation and anger makes the hairs on Sam's arm stand on end before it's gone again.

"How are you going to get to my wound?" Sam asks, lowering his arms back to his side to keep from angering the greenish-yellow bot.

"I'll cut it off, now stop twitching."

Sam slouches, immediately regretting it with the twinge of pain. Bumblebee croons sadly at him while Earthquake stares intensely.

"Creator? Are you in pain? Shall this construct dispose of the little bot?"

Sam sighs, shaking his head. Mikaela quirks an eyebrow at Sam response, slowly lowering to a sit at the foot of the gurney. "No, Earthquake. It was an accident. He didn't mean to hurt me. It was more of my fault then anything, I shouldn't have moved."

Earthquake scowls. "This Earthquake will petition the Great Prime to remove the little bot from this life."

Bumblebee snorts, rolling his eyes. "Good luck with that one, chief."

Sam gives Bumblebee a look to which he holds up his hands in surrender, "I'm cool, I'm cool," his radio plays. Sam doubts he's feeling anything but cool right now.

He stares at the yellow bot for a long moment before looking over at the large, purely black framed Autobot. "It's okay, Earthquake. It was an accident. I'm okay, I promise."

Earthquake's scowl deepens, unconvinced. Ratchet makes his way over, carefully setting up a tray with all of his supplies next to Sam by the gurney. Hand transforming into a series of strange sharp instruments, he motions for Sam to twist his back to him before carefully removing his shirt. Sam crosses his legs on the gurney, facing Mikaela while Ratchet works. He gives Sam a shot for the pain, cleans the wounds and sets to stitching the cuts closed with expert precision. Even with the shot, Sam can feel the dull pain of the needle, so to distract himself he focuses on Mikaela.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't get your messages. I didn't mean to ignore you."

Mikaela smiles lightly, her eyes flicker down to Sam's stomach and chest. He follows the motion, seeing that there were red splotches where he'll no doubt start to bruise at some point. "I get that now." She pulls at a loose thread on the knee of her jeans, turning her eyes from Sam's chest to around the room once more. "I was really worried about you."

"I'm sorry," Sam says again. And he is. There is a pain just beneath his ribs. A dull thud of disappointment. There was nothing he could have realistically done, but he still feels bad about putting her through that. Even with the odd emotional disconnect, a part of him holds old affection - and honestly Sam just doesn't think he's the type of person to ghost others - he feels bad for falling off the grid like he did. Even if it was completely unintentional.

Mikaela shakes her head, tucking a strand of long dark hair behind her ear before pulling at the thread again. "I forgive you, Sam. I'm sorry that... that you're hurt." She squints at him. "Both from the little Decepticon and from the whole..." she gestures to her head.

Sam cracks a loose smile at that as Ratchet informs them, "Wheelie is an Autobot. He switched sides."

Mikaela looks at him, surprised. "He was telling the truth? When I caught him trying to steal the sliver, I was certain he was a Decepticon. I mean, he has their insignia."

Ratchet hums, making Sam glance over at him. Meeting bright blue eye lights to light green eyes, Ratchet says, "It's complicated. But he's one of us."

The future. In the future he switches, Sam realizes. That's why he knows Sam. Because he's like the other Autobots. He remembers the next ten years as they lived them. He was brought same as they were. So, does that mean all the Autobots are the same? They have ten years' worth of additional memories? Or is it certain ones, and they've just been lucky thus far?

Does that mean the Decepticons remember? If so, is it all of them, or just some?

Mikaela watches as a myriad of emotions flicker over Sam's face, curiously. She opens her mouth, hesitates, then instead flicks her thumb over her shoulder. "So, who's the big guy? New Autobot?"

Before Sam can answer, Earthquake's engine rumbles, displeased. "This platform is not 'Big Guy', fleshling. This construct was given the name 'Earthquake' by the benevolence of the Creator. Use it." His little hands bristle around him like the hair of a cat standing on end.

"Settle it down, big guy," Bumblebee's radio plays, his expression droll.

Earthquake growls. "Be silent, puny yellow Autobot."

Bumblebee's wings hike up in anger, his field brushing against Sam's skin in annoyance while Ratchet, fed up with both of them, snaps, "Enough! Settle down, Earthquake. And you, Bumblebee, do try not to act your age or both of you are going to be removed from my medbay with a missing gasket each." He sends a shrewd look to both bots before continuing with his work.

Bumblebee sighs, holding his hands up in surrender, while Earthquake pouts. He's still new to discipline.

"Okay..." Mikaela draws out slowly. "So, they aren't friends."

"It's complicated," Sam admits, eyes flicking over to the room where Autobot Jazz is located behind, feeling that pull again. He shakes himself, looking back at Mikaela. "When I lost my memory, I was in a panic. I... well, I made him. Earthquake, I mean. The sliver gave me a bit of the Allspark's power and in that panic, I accidentally created Earthquake. His first instance with the Autobots was to fight them, thinking he had to protect me from them. He's... still adjusting." Sam shrugs, not sure what else to say. Once more, without Optimus here, Sam's not sure what all he's allowed to say about any of it.

Mikaela blinks slowly, trying to take in all that was said. Carefully, she asks, "So... what are we going to do? Is there a way to get the Allspark's energy out?"

Sam stiffens a bit, surprised he hadn't wondered that himself. He looks over his shoulder to Ratchet. "Can it?"

Ratchet shakes his head, blue eyes still intensely focused on his work. "Not at the moment, no. Is there a way? Perhaps. But I don't have the equipment or the processors here to be able to begin even pondering how to do so. And do so safely." He shakes his head, mumbling more to himself. "I would need Wheeljack and Perceptor. Primus! I would probably need a priest too, while I'm at it. I wouldn't even know where to start." He sighs. Then continues, to Sam, "As of now, no. But the Allspark isn't hurting you. Not really. It's wreaking havoc to your vitals, but it's not killing you."

And that's the best that we can hope for at the moment, is left unsaid, but hangs around them like a dark cloud.

Mikaela, uneasily, looks over at Earthquake, then back to Sam, jumping back to a decidedly simpler topic. "So, he calls you Creator because you made him?"

Sam nods, relieved to move on. "Yep."

Now it's time for Earthquake to cut in. "Creator? Who is this fleshling?" His red eyes peer down at Mikaela, still weary.

"Mikaela," Sam says. My friend, almost slipping out. But that hadn't been right, he remembered her look from earlier. She wasn't his friend. She was something else.

"Mikaela Banes," Mikaela says, twisting to look at the largest bot in the room over her shoulder. "I'm... Sam's girlfriend."

Sam's eyes widen as Earthquake perks at this new phrase, leaning a bit closer. "Expound. How are you linked to the Creator? Explain it so that this platform can better understand this meaning."

Mikaela sends Sam a sweet smile that lights up her beautiful face even more and something hollow in Sam's chest hurts at it. A memory. A feeling. A memory of a fleeting feeling that's buried under a decade of untapped memories. Two - or maybe even three, depending on how he looked at it.

Sam's sure of it now. Whatever connection they had - Sam's hot girlfriend! - was at some point severed. They broke up, he thinks. He doesn't want to think of the alternative. Like what happened to the unknown Maggie that Optimus spoke of.

She smiles faintly at Sam, searching his face for - what? He has no idea - but he can't read her well enough to know if she found what she was looking for or not. As she explains to Earthquake that it means they are basically partners, Sam's mind wanders a bit. He's trying to make sense of the chaotic maelstrom swirling around inside of him. Now that confliction, that complication feeds into even more complicated feelings. She is present Sam's girlfriend, but Sam holds the feelings of someone who has loved and lost her. Any strong romantic feelings for her are cooled, aged with time.

Stress pulses at the back of Sam's head like a growing headache but he shakes it off, stiffening when Ratchet growls at him for moving. As if sensing the distress, Sam reaches his hand out to the side a bit, feeling Bumblebee's fingers resting on the gurney, as if the bot had reached for him first, but then just settled his hand there in case Sam needed him. Needed the reassurance, the grounding that the yellow guardian offered. He curls his hand around as much of the finger that he was holding as possible, relishing in the feeling of Bumblebee's field brushing back at him. Sam is thankful to have his friend there through all of this confusion.

While they talk around him, Sam feels his eyes slid across the room to the closed door, hiding the body of Autobot Jazz within.

---

Sam has no idea what Ratchet gave him, but after a small meal, he was knocked out. Ratchet had moved another gurney up next to Sam's with a respectable amount of distance between them for Mikaela to use, after she insisted on staying with Sam. No one argued, but Sam could just feel how upset it was making Bumblebee, and no matter how tightly Sam squeezed that finger, or for how long he stared into big, sad blue eyes, nothing seemed to comfort the yellow bot.

Sam wanted to make him feel better but grew too tired to even so much as keep his eyes open. Before he knew it, he was losing himself to the siren's beck and call. But even being as tired as he was, he spent the night in a half haze. He recognizes at one point that Optimus was there. His finger running down the length of Sam's side. Wheelie was there too, apologizing quietly for hurting him. And Bumblebee, ever constant - like Ratchet and Earthquake.

Sam ached something terrible in the morning. His shoulder and upper back on his right-hand side was in agony. Ratchet got him a change of clothes - his own that Bumblebee had gotten from boxes of his stuff - and he was able to use Lennox's shower again. But that was only after he explained what happened. And how he got hurt. Lennox was as weary of Wheelie as Mikaela was. She's still a little befuddled about how he was an Autobot but wasn't at the same time. And Sam didn't miss the look Lennox sent to Ironhide, who didn't meet his gaze.

Mikaela stepped out later into the afternoon the following day, after having spent most of the day talking to Sam about his life, about their time together, hoping to spark something - and it worked, for the most part. He recognized everything she said. He was able to add small details, but his recollections were pretty keyed into whatever she was saying. But he couldn't really summon a whole lot on his own and once another headache started to bloom, Ratchet insisted they take a break. So, after a small lunch that Sam was still nibbling on, Mikaela left for a bit to call and talk to her dad, as she had left pretty suddenly.

Sam used this time to speak to Bumblebee in relative private, not minding that Ratchet was a few feet away, working on whatever was on the work bench on the other side of the room.

"Can I ask you about yesterday, Bee?"

Bumblebee perks up from where he was setting out more of Sam's things. On the floor, far from Sam's reach, but he was trying to find boxes that weren't clothes and textbooks, so that he could have other things to occupy his time with. Pulling box after box out of his subspace, while Sam watched in wonder, still unable to believe that this wasn't straight magic.

Bumblebee chirps, blinking over at him.

"Why did you tell the Autobots about me moving?" In all the excitement yesterday, he had forgotten to bring it up again.

Bumblebee's face contorts a bit in confusion, tilting his head. He moves across the room, going down on one knee to look at him curiously. He makes a chirping noise.

"When Wheelie was hiding behind me. You told them I was about to move. Wheelie was right there, he heard you." Sam shifts so he's sitting with one leg tucked under him. "I get that he's an Autobot, or would have been, but why did you do that?"

Bumblebee's big blue eyes flicker, confused. Ratchet, who is always listening - not that Sam minds all that much - turns to look at him. There is something complicated in the CMO's expression.

"You heard... that?" Bumblebee's radio pieces together, his blue eyes widening.

Sam nods. "Yeah, why did you do that?"

Bumblebee and Ratchet both share a look, communicating silently between them, before the yellow bot leans back into Sam, looking at him intensely. After a few moments of them staring at each other, Bumblebee deflates, letting out a low whistle in disappointment.

"What?" Sam asks, tilting his head a bit, eyebrows furrowing. He gingerly leans onto his wounded shoulder, feeling a slight burn and throb even through the pain killers Ratchet gave him.

"I used internal communication," Bumblebee's radio plays. "I didn't speak out loud. Wheelie didn't hear me."

Sam bulks, surprised. "Really? But then why did I hear that?"

As soon as he asked that question, he knew the answer. "The Allspark," the three of them say in unison, Bumblebee's voice raspy and pained.

"But it's not working now?" Ratchet asks, rubbing at his chin, staring at Sam, contemplatively. Sam and Bumblebee both stare at each other for a solid thirty seconds, before Bumblebee looks back over at the medic and shakes his head. "Has there been any other instance in which you could hear something but the bot wasn't speaking?"

Sam shrugs. "I don't think - wait." A thought occurred to him. "Well, I think there was a time, when I first got here. I heard Bumblebee and Optimus talking, and Optimus hadn't been in the room. Oh! It was when we learned I lost my memory, I think."

Ratchet's brow quirks. "And you said nothing?"

Sam flushes a bit, sending him a playful scowl. "I didn't recognize voices at the time."

Ratchet tisks, but doesn't refute it. "Let me know as soon as it happens again, okay?"

Sam nods. "Okay."

"As soon as what happens again?" Optimus asks, quietly stalking into the room in low thumps with each step. Bumblebee clicks and beeps at him. Optimus seems surprised, glancing over at Sam. "You can hear our internal comms?"

Sam shrugs. "I don't know. I guess Bumblebee just tried it and it didn't work. But I'm supposed to let Ratchet know if I hear it again, so let's hope I'll be able to tell the difference. I only brought it up because I thought that it was weird that he would tell everyone that I was about to run from Wheelie. Well, now I know why he did it - or didn't do it, I guess. But it sounded just like speaking so I couldn't tell the difference." A moment of thoughtful consideration, then, "Well, maybe I'll pay closer attention in the future and might be able to notice something different."

Optimus rumbles in agreement, eyes spiraling from large to small to large again, in thought. "Let me know if there is anything I can do to assist you, Sam."

Not sure how he would do that, Sam just laughs, giving the Autobot leader a thumbs up. "Yes, sir."

The corners of Optimus's lips quirk up when suddenly he freezes, bringing a hand up to his... um, spike on the side of his head. "Optimus Prime." A pause, then something noticeably shifts in him. His expression softens. "Hello Maggie."

Bumblebee lets out a low hum, sadness and a brush of familiarity washes over Sam's skin while Ratchet's expression remains unreadable. Sam, though, is intrigued. Maggie! This was the girl that Optimus was talking about. Someone he was fond of that died within the next ten years. Someone he felt responsible for losing.

Optimus's gentle expression stiffens. "Pardon? Our deep space satellites?"

Bumblebee moves to his feet while Ratchet frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, both turning to give Optimus their full attention. Sam sits up a little bit, feeling Bumblebee's EM field fray a bit in worry.

Optimus's eyes flicker back and forth, unseeing, as he either considers what she told him, or is listening as she tells him more information. Sam watches as Optimus's face grows more and more severe, but he can't feel anything in his field. He must be keeping it under control as to not influence Sam in any way. That almost makes the teen more worried. Stupid Ironhide and his stupid warning.

"I understand, Maggie. Thank you for the report. We will finish up here and try to head back to Diego Garcia immediately. I'll send some forces ahead of time, just to be safe. Await further instruction. Prime, out."

His eyes focus in on the room again, as he looks from person to person. Sam, Bumblebee, then settling on Ratchet.

"What's wrong?" The Chief Medical Officer asks, his own severe look deepening in concern.

"Our deep space satellites have picked up a massive anomaly entering into this solar system. A ship from deep space and it's heading right for Earth."

Notes:

Sorry about the long wait, everyone! Thank you all so much for your support! I am so excited for the next couple of chapters! I wonder who it is that's coming! Good or bad? :D Guess that we'll have to wait and see together!

Chapter 9: Miss me?

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.
Warning: Violence.

The next few days moved by so quickly. The Autobots and NEST forces begin making plans to transport everyone overseas to Diego Garcia. Optimus makes the decision to send the twins, the triplets, Ironhide and a majority of the NEST forces over there to prepare for whatever may come from this strange anomaly encroaching on Earth. From Sam's understanding, their deep space satellites are pointed slightly off course, and as they move into the proper condition, they will gain better insight into what exactly they are looking at. Unfortunately, according to Ironhide, "Fragging Soundwave is pointed right at them." Which doesn't seem good. But as the anomaly draws closer, Optimus seems more and more sure that it's a ship coming to them. Now, whether it is an Autobot vessel or a Decepticon one, he couldn't say.

If all the Autobots affiliated with Sam and the Allspark when they fell back in time, then the chances of the ship being an Autobot vessel goes way up, as they would have had a few weeks to alter their course to start for Earth ahead of schedule.

The same could also be said if the Decepticons know what's going on. Then more of their allies could be homing in quicker than intended. So, Optimus wasn't so ready to put complete faith in the incoming vessel being strictly Autobot. Not without knowing for sure.

While Optimus and the others were planning, Sam and Mikaela spent any time that Sam wasn't sleeping or showering together, and Sam could see why he loved her. She was funny and smart and genuinely cared for him. And despite enjoying his time with her, he's no less confused now than he was when they first met, and he told her. Not about the time travel thing, but about how he's got conflicting feelings. He loves her, but he doesn't. There is affection, no doubt, but it fluctuates and while he doesn't mind being her friend, it doesn't feel fair that she thinks of them together, while he wasn't so sure.

It hurt her feelings, he knows it, but then she shook it off and just kept acting as they were. He's not sure if this was her version of friendship, but he was happy to have her at his side.

Before Ironhide, the twins, and the triplets left, much to the former most Autobot's chagrin at being forced to leave ahead of the rest of them, Earthquake was given his alt mode. It was one of those armored trucks that SWAT teams use. Sleek and powerful and while it shifted his armor a bit, giving him headlights and windows, his overall look didn't change all that much. But he did get a clear Autobot insignia in the center of his chest with the help of Jolt, which Sam was so proud to see. Despite still being a little prickly at times, these last few days has allowed Earthquake to settle down a bit with the other Autobots. To learn from them. To better understand where he comes from and how to better be like them while still being able to figure out who he is.

Once he was transformed back into his root mode, Sideswipe stepped up to him and said, "Don't worry, Earthquake, I'll talk to Sunny for you."

Sam kind of assumed that he would snub the other Autobot, despite him slowly warming up to them, but instead he nodded and rumbled, "Thank you, Sideswipe." Guess those private lessons in manners with Elita-One were paying off. Well, he was still a little prickly with Bumblebee and Wheelie more than any of the others but... um, baby steps.

Ironhide was very unhappy about having to go, but Optimus pulled him aside - again - to talk, before he finally left gracefully. The six Autobots transformed into their alt modes and piled onto a heavy transport - like something straight out of a movie, alongside the majority of NEST personnel, leaving behind only a contingency force to oversee the base for a while longer before they too will be removed from American soil and back to Diego Garcia. Major Lennox and his squad also departed with the bulk of their people, having a few quiet words with Optimus before giving Sam a wave and heading off.

It was two days after they left, when it happened.

Sam was in the medbay with Ratchet, Wheelie and Earthquake. Mikaela was out shopping with Bumblebee, getting some last-minute items for them before going to Diego Garcia - because they were both going with. Mikaela wasn't safe because no one knew what the Decepticon's knew, so it was simply ill-advised to leave her behind, and she insisted on staying with Sam. Meanwhile Sam wasn't really asked. He wanted to go, so he didn't really mind it, but he figured the pleasantries were lost in the excitement of the situation. Once more, he didn't mind, but there was something endearing - in Sam's opinion - about them just assuming that they were all going to stay together. Sam is relieved that they aren't going to leave him alone. It eased a tension in him that he hadn't realized he had.

Sam was a little surprised that Bumblebee had offered to take her, seeing as he seemed very conflicted about her, but then again, Sam shouldn't be surprised. Bumblebee is so sweet, despite how conflicted he might be, he wanted to make sure that she was safe. Sam appreciated his best friend. He's not sure why Bumblebee was upset, but at least he wasn't letting it stop him from being as wonderful as Sam has come to know him as.

They were, unknowingly, safe in the medbay, when the signal went out. Wheelie was telling Sam about their friend Brains who Sam "is going to freakin' love" when all three Autobots stiffen in place. Sam was sitting on his gurney with Wheelie sitting by his knee. Ratchet was by his office door, ordering Earthquake around on where to place supplies that Ratchet was taking with them. Including some things that were stored in the sealed room. The one that held Jazz's body. He was in the process of unlocking the door to get to the supplies but wouldn't remove Jazz from it, when they all turned to look at the entranceway into the medbay.

"What?" Sam asks, looking around. Earthquake tilts his head, lowering the heavy box he was lugging around for Ratchet to the ground, armor rippling.

Then Sam feels it. A prickling sensation across his skin before this strong sense of... connection washed over him. He felt tense. Alert. Like adrenaline was pumping through his veins.

"Oh shit," Wheelie gasps, climbing to his feet - er wheels. Red eyes flicker over to Ratchet. "Prime just activated the battlenet."

Ratchet's expression hardens. He looks over at Earthquake, commanding, "Stay with Sam. Decepticons are attacking." Earthquake's plates ripple as his form alters, little hands spread out around him and eyes turning red. "Wheelie." Ratchet looks over at the gurney as he moves to the door.

"I'll be 'ere, doc," Wheelie says, hopping off the gurney and onto the berth. "Come on, big guy! Let us down. Don't let Sammy and I be stuck up 'ere if those bozos come this far into base."

Ratchet nods, stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind him. There was a distinct click as it locked. 

Earthquake moves to put them down onto the ground before body blocking the door, standing at the ready. If anything was going to come through that door, it was going to face him. His field rippled fierce and protective, and they almost soothed Sam when he moved too close, as if Earthquake was using his field to reassure him that Sam was okay without taking his now red eyes off the door.

"What's going on, Wheelie?" Sam asks, fingers fiddling with the hem of his graphic tee.

Wheelie glances up at him. "Decepticon bozos are attacking - no idea why. Prime just activated the battlenet and summoned Bumblebee back to base. But it seems like there is seven confirmed Decepticons raiding the base. No Megs spotted, though."

"That's a good thing, right?" Sam asks, anxiously.

Wheelie hesitates. "It is. If he's still dead. If he's not, then it's bad. Real bad. He would be out there, plotting, planning. And Megs is bad news. Real bad. I ain't never seen anyone who can take on Prime like ol' Megs can."

Anxiety spikes in Sam's gut. There was an explosion somewhere close enough to shake the building and flicker the lights. Sam jolts, frightened. Wheelie presses close to the side of Sam's leg, red eyes wide as he stares at the doorway. Earthquake keeps tilting his head back and forth, as if listening to something beyond the obvious sounds of fighting outside of their room. Sam had thought that Ratchet was standing guard outside the door, but according to Wheelie, he went out to assist Optimus, Jolt, Sideswipe, and after about ten minutes, Bumblebee had also returned to join the fight alongside the NEST soldiers still present.

Four against seven. Those were not good odds. He couldn't stop thinking about it, growing more and more anxious. They needed help. They needed Earthquake. He only had a few lessons on how to utilize his weapons, but he was heavily armored and stronger than any other singular Autobot. He could help them. But instead, he was here, standing guard over Sam and Wheelie. Admittedly, Sam didn't want to send his newborn friend out to fight, but all he could think about was what would happen if the other Autobots failed and then it was seven against one.

He starts to pace, listening to the sounds of explosions and screaming. The building shakes and Sam shivers. His eyes flicker over to the closed door. In all the time that Sam has been here in Ratchet's medbay, it has never been opened. Not once.

"You have to help them, Earthquake," Sam says, turning to look up at his friend. He doesn't want to send him out there, but in his mind's eye, he can see Mission City. He can see the Autobots fighting the Decepticons. He can hear the explosions and the gunfire. He can hear the screaming on the streets. The rumbling of massive feet chasing after him - 

I can smell you, boy.

Yes. Wheelie was right. There is no bigger bad than Megatron. He may not fully remember, but he remembers enough.

"This platform will not leave the Creator," Earthquake rumbles, red eyes turning to him. "This space is too open, if the Decepticons come, they will see the Creator." And a slight flicker down at Wheelie. "And the small traitor."

Wheelie scoffs but Sam ignores it. He turns, looking at Ratchet's office, cramped, small. Then, to the door next to it. That feeling again.

"There, we'll hide in there." Earthquake looks at the door, tilting his head.

"Crea-"

"I know," Sam says, stiffly, looking up at the black armored truck. "I know you don't want to leave me. I don't want you to go. But if the Autobots get overwhelmed... you can't take all the Decepticons on alone."

Earthquake scowls but doesn't argue his point. He looks at the door again, then nods. He moves over, picking up Sam and Wheelie. He opens the door and it's dark inside. There are small red lights adding an ominous glow to the room. The air is stagnant, old.  This door isn't opened often. The primary light is over the berth in the center of the small room. There are crates of things stacked up high against the walls, offering as much space as can be afforded to the berth with symbols written across it, and the body of the Autobot Jazz, in the center of the room. It takes a moment, for the image in Sam's mind to solidify, to see Jazz standing at Optimus's side, sleek plating white trimmed with black, a blue visor staring back at him with a grin across his face.

Now even in the dim red light, his plates look... bad. A gray sheen across his body. It wasn't just gray coloring either, there was something more matte about it. As if all the life had drained from it. Like skin losing pigment. If Sam didn't know any better, he would look like he was sleeping. Visor dark, plates gray. Like he was sick, but asleep. Whatever damage that was done to him - torn in half by Megatron, Ironhide had said - it was undone.

Earthquake lowers them onto the berth by Jazz's hip before pulling away and heading for the door, closing it behind him, leaving Sam and Wheelie in the darkened room with Jazz. The big mech obviously didn't think about how morbid it was to just leave them next to a dead body, but Sam wasn't going to complain.

"I remember," Wheelie murmurs, looking down at the Autobot. "It's a Polyhex tradition for a warrior who dies in battle. It's meant to be one of the highest forms of respect. They are kept on the land - if they can be - to be claimed by their next of kin. Their sparks remain at their place of rest and can only be coaxed away by those they love. It's why he was left here on American soil. He was claimed when Prowl got here. Or will get here."

Sam moves up Jazz's arm to stop by his helm, flinching as another explosion shakes the building. That feeling, that pulling. He has to be here. He needs to be here.

"Prowl?"

Wheelie follows after. "Yeah, Prowl's the Autobot second-in-command. He's second only to the Prime."

"And he's Jazz's family," Sam says quietly, looking back at the somber face of the Autobot lying unmoving beside him. That feeling intensifying. He needed to be here. But why?

"Yeah," Wheelie murmurs. "Yeah, he is."

Sam looks at Jazz's visor, that feeling hollowing out his chest. He hears crackling and it takes him a moment to look down and see blue sparks arcing between his fingers. Sam tries to swallow but he can't. His ears start ringing as the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. Then, Sam blacks out.

---

He's floating. Like on the surface of a great ocean. He can hear the sounds of waves crashing against one another, the low rumble of an oncoming storm in the distance.

Boom... boom... boom... 

Let me see 'im.

"What?" Sam whispers, but his voice feels like it is swallowed by the sound. Yet the darkness from below curls around him. It's welcoming. He is familiar. This is familiar. But also not.

I want to see 'im. One last time.

"One... last time?"

I'll stop fightin'. I'll go wit' ya. Just once more. I wanna see 'im.

"Go with me?" Sam echoes, eyes tracing images in the back of his eyelids. Beyond this, amidst the low rumble, Sam can hear another voice. Distantly. It's unclear what it's saying. And it gets washed away too easily for Sam to even attempt to decipher it.

I can't be another disappointment. Not to 'im. I need to see 'im. Just once more. And I'll stop fightin'. I'll join the Well peacefully. Just once more. I'll never stop fightin' otherwise.

"Who... are you?"

A breath, like a great shift in the world yet the darkness behind Sam's eyes remains stagnant. Welcoming, but unchanging. Something turns inward, reaching out to brush against him. There is something decidedly other about the feeling. About the thing that touches him. 

It reaches for him, and he reaches back. And then, there is a feeling, nothing like touching. Almost like molding together, fragmented pieces of one another fuse together. And then, Sam sees him. And knows who he is.

"Jazz." Sam opens his eyes, and before him, no longer grayed out and in a state of sleep-like death, stands the white and black accented Autobot. They sink beneath the waves, yet nothing really changes. The lighting pitches darker, but the storm and the waves sound the same. The voice just on the side of too light can barely be heard.

Jazz tilts his head, blue visor brightening. Then, a curl at the corner of his lips as if finally putting a face to the memory, and a soft sigh. "Hey, kid."

Sam reaches out to Jazz not just with his hand, but with all the pieces of himself and Jazz reaches back, visor brightening. Over the thunder and the thrashing waves, there is a deafening silence layered between them, Sam says, "The Autobots, Jazz. They need you."

The TIC's expression sharpens from gentle to something decidedly more sinister. As they twine together, Sam feels Jazz explode. From Sam's fingertips. His chest. His very soul. And lightning crackles in the sky - a bright flashing of blue with multi-colored static along the edges. It slices down through the air like a knife uncaring for laws or physics or reality and into the very essence of Sam's being. As it does, it pulls, pulls, pulls, until the light called 'Jazz' falls out.

---

Jazz's optics tick online, his entire processor going into hard reset. As systems boot back online, he gets a slew of alerts across his HUD, warning of misaligned systems, unnatural reset, irreparable damage to major systems and immediate shut down. His processor nearly fries, trying to make sense of what was happening to his frame.

He shunts away all the warnings from his HUD pressing relentlessly for his systems to boot up so that he can at least function. As his optics focus, he sees red lights hanging over him, and when his audios boot up, he can hear the sounds of hard pounding. Metal against metal. He goes to shake himself when he realizes, he can also hear a voice yelping at him.

"Woah, woah! Chill it ou' there! Sam! Sammy! Ya alright?"

Jazz looks down at his chest, static crackling along his plates, to see Bumblebee's ward, the young human Sam. The teen is draped across his chassis, pale-faced and panting. A quick biological scan and a peak at the world wide web told him what he was already starting to suspect. Sam was not in a good way. His heart was racing, and his levels were all off. He doesn't have the in-depth scans like Ratchet would - 

The boy's pheromone level suggests he wishes to mate with the female.

Jazz shakes his head, trying to get his processor to focus. He carefully sits up, being sure to gently cradle the teen in his hands before looking over at the voice that called out to him, spotting a small... Decepticon. His battle systems spiral on instinctively when the little Decepticon holds up little hands, backing up.

"Woah! Keep ya gasket unblown, boss! I'm Wheelie! I'm an Autobot! An Autobot! Sheesh! Yous guys are almost as prickly as those bozos." He crosses his arms over his chest, rolling his optics before flinching at a loud bang in the next room, looking over his shoulder at it. "Oh! Shit! I forgot! Bozos incoming!"

Jazz gently places Sam down on the berth, sliding off of it onto the floor. His leg struts fail him. He drops to a knee, snarling in pain as alerts pop up about disconnected lines and compromises in his leg and back struts. He pushes through it, leaning onto the berth, praying it was sturdy enough not to tip over and launch Sam across the room, as he struggles to his pedes. 

"Hey, TIC, what are ya gonna do?" The small bot - Wheelie - asks, moving over to Sam's side to look him over before turning back to Jazz.

Jazz rubs at his aching processor. He casts a look over at the small bot. "Ya attached to the battlenet?"

Wheelie nods. "Yeah, Prime activated it. Pretty solid but a bit garbled. He's in battle."

Prime in battle is no Prowl. A thousand bots not in battle is no Prowl.

Being unable to connect to the battlenet is unnerving, even if it was as garbled as Wheelie claims. His optics flickers as he straightens up, listening to the sounds of banging outside the room next to the one that they are in. 

"What's the status?" He manages to get out, his vocalizer grinding from misuse. Begrudgingly, he'll trust this strange little Decepticon. His behavior in regard to Sam, looking over him worriedly, gives Jazz enough reason for pause. A bot flipping sides isn't so unusual that it doesn't happen, but it is still uncommon enough to give him a moment of tentative consideration. Jazz, though, has a hard time taking anything at face value anyway. By his nature he is mistrustful, but he's willing to play ball for now. He'll get it all figured out in time.

"Prime, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Sideswipe, Jolt and Earthquake are ou' there. There was seven Decepticons, they took down five of 'em, but then four more showed up. Two slipped into the buildin'. This one," he gestures. He flinches at a loud tearing, groaning of metal bowing under intense pressure. His optics flutter. "Another down. Five to go."

Jazz nods, trying to get his processor to focus. Prime, Ratchet, Bumblebee. Expected. He was with them at Mission City. But Sideswipe and Jolt? When had they gotten here? Who was Earthquake? And where was Ironhide? He never would have left Prime if he could avoid it. And now where is he? His chronometer is all wonky, fluctuating between the last orn he remembers - once more, the battle against the Decepticons in Mission City - and flying way off into the future. Or... or he thinks is the future...

He side-optics the little bot, debating, as he searches his subspace for anything on him. Decepticons, no doubt, are now ransacking the other room. Whatever was there wasn't holding their interest for long, as now beating on the door beside him. Jazz pulls his field up tight against his frame, knowing that if anyone was going to save their afts, it was going to be him.

"Ya died," Wheelie says, wringing little servos anxious. "Mission City. Ol' Megs tore ya in two."

Jazz's derma presses tight, optics flicking to the berth, to the symbols. Glyphs of respect and honor. A friend, a comrade, a leader, an ally, a brother. A spot was left open, in plain view. The glyph for lover left with enough space to be filled. Prime left it for Prowl. To complete a warrior's honor - the intricate code written out around him, painstakingly clear and upkept. Prime honored him. Gave him a Polyhexian honor rite. But it was half done. It couldn't be complete until Jazz's body was claimed, and his soul laid to rest in the ways of his people. Prowl wasn't here to do it.

In any normal circumstance, he shouldn't be able to. They were spark bonded. Jazz's death should have marked them both for it. But... but Optimus left it open. Left the space there for Prowl to fill in. Which, unless Prime was waiting to see if Prowl somehow overcame Jazz's death - which isn't impossible, but highly unlikely, although if anyone could find the strength, it would be Prowl - or he already received word that Prowl was alive and was waiting to finish the rite after Prowl comes to Earth to claim his frame and set his spirit free.

A harsh bang that bows part of the door in before it snaps back into place, makes Jazz turn slowly towards it, servo carefully closing around an energon dagger in his subspace. 

"Oh shit, we are gonna die in here," Wheelie mutters, horrified.

"Not this orn, mech," Jazz snarls, derma curling. If there was a chance, a chance, that Prowl was still out there, like the pits was he going to die before getting the chance to see him again. He can feel it, the raw agony of a bond severed. His bond to Prowl is severed, from his side. It hurts, bad, but nothing like he's sure the agony that Prowl is going through. And if he feels along the edges of the bond, it is bloodied and torn. Frayed and aggravated and a fresh wave of crippling pain across it makes Jazz grit his denta to keep from growling.

He can't. He can't focus on it now. He has to survive long enough to search the stars for his beloved. He has to make it through this orn. And the next. And the next. Until his Prowl is before him once more. Until then, nothing else can stand in his way. Not Prime. Not time. Not even a bunch of Decepticon slagheads trying to break down the door to the room he's in. He can hear two sets of voices in the other room, talking. After a klik or two of it, the sound of one snapping at another and steps retreating away. Then the banging continues.

Well, that was fortuitous. Now it's just one.

Shunting away all warnings flashing across his processor, Jazz slides into the dark corner of the room, getting the angle on the doorway being sure not to disturb the junk that has gathered around the space. His visor dims to its lowest setting but won't go into stealth mode - damage to command link - and he has to just accept it. If he just came back from deactivation, there is bound to be things that don't work right. Wheelie watches him for a long moment, still kneading his little servos before crouching down next to Sam, as if to use his little body to protect the unconscious, distressed human teen.

The door bursts open and a large blue and gray plated Decepticon stumbles in, growling in agitation. He looks around the room, to the berth-turned-alter at its center. He tilts his helm, taking in the small bot and the unmoving human teen.

"Drone?" The Decepticon rumbles, plates flaring. Jazz moves when steam hisses from his protoform, using the sound cover for his pedesteps - stealth step disengaged due to neurological pathway decay. "Soundwave has been looking for his little pet. Best return now before Ravage tears you to shreds."

Wheelie flinches, optics brightening in horror. He fights, Jazz can see it as he creeps closer, to not look at the sneaking Autobot.

"I'm playin' the long game," Wheelie rambles, anxiously. "No need to get ol' Soundwave involved. I'm gonna get the sliva! Uh, Decepticon's honor! I just, uh, need, to, um, figure out where the Autoduds placed it is all!"

Jazz pauses, struts aching in protest, but there was a moment - a small one - where he could gain some information that could be valuable. He has to kill the Decepticon. He has to keep them all safe. And he can't actually fight. He's too weak, his joints all aching. His processor feels like sludge and his energon levels are dangerously low. But if there is a chance that they could learn anything useful, he has to risk it. Ratchet is going to bend his fender for this, but it's got to be done. Just for as long as he can hold out, which won't be long. He looks at Wheelie and prays that the smaller bot is as smart as Jazz is hoping that he is.

Wheelie keeps his optics on the big Decepticon, which Jazz finds admirable seeing as he's obviously terrified.

"What's with the fleshie?" The Decepticon asks, posture sharpening.

Wheelie glances down at Sam, then back at the Decepticon, struggling for a moment to come up with something to say before blurting out, "It's him. Ya know? Meg's deactivator. Wanted to see wha' the kid who deactivated the Champion of Kaon look like, ya'know?"

The Decepticon growls, stepping closer. Jazz uses that to get right into his shadow, tensing up, ready to strike. He couldn't focus on the implications. On Wheelie's words and what they truly mean. Sam killed Megatron? How could that be?

"This is the filth that deactivated Lord Megatron?" The Decepticon asks, arm cannon charging up at his side.

Wheelie's optics bleach white in terror at realizing he had just outed Sam. Perhaps this Decepticon was special, or new, but it seems like they might not have a full grasp of what exactly happened that ended Megatron's life. Them and Jazz both. 

"I should kill him," The Decepticon snarls, but before Jazz can move, he continues, "but I'll leave it. Lord Megatron will probably want the satisfaction of squashing the fleshie himself."

To Jazz's surprise, Wheelie doesn't look surprised. He just looks sickened, and afraid. "Is... Is my lord on his way?"

Yes, Jazz very much needed the answer to that question before this Decepticon deactivated. And excellent timing, because Jazz isn't sure how much longer he can hold out. Everything hurts and his systems are all flashing bright red alerts through his HUD faster than he can shunt them away.

The Decepticon chuckles, shoulders shaking a bit. "He will be. Ravage has escaped into the city with the sliver. The return of Lord Megatron is upon us."

That was all Jazz needed to know. In a reflex a million years ingrained, Jazz leapt up onto the back of the larger bot, spinning his knife around to stab first through his communications array on the side of his head, then sliding the blade through the largest energon line in the neck, ensuring that there will be no last-minute burst transmissions as he grays. It's fast, efficient and the spray of energon thankfully overshoots Sam's unmoving body before the Decepticon crashes to the ground, gurgling and clutching at the severed line, desperate to seal it closed with his fingers. Jazz steps up to the mech's helm, staring down into horrified red optics as his visor brightens again.

The Decepticon sputters, choking in horror and disbelief as energon bubbles up his intake. "J-Jazz..."

With a pede, he gently turns the helm to the side before leaning down and jamming his blade into the temple, hitting the main processor node on that side, sending his system into a critical failure. The body convulses. Once, twice, three times, before the servo that was trying desperately to keep his energon in his frame falls to the ground at his side and his plating grays out.

Trying desperately not to collapse from his own frame's unwillingness to push on despite his own will to do so, Jazz looks up as another form darkens the doorway into the room. He grips his energon-covered knife tightly in his servo, ready to take on whomever else dares enter this room uninvited, when he takes in the unmistakable form of Optimus Prime. Blue optics blown wide, yet the rest of his expression is perfectly hidden behind his battle mask. His armor is dented and damaged, a windshield broken on his left side, but overall, he doesn't look too worse for wear.

His field, though, welcomed, as it reaches out to gently brush against Jazz in a tentative greeting. It's strong, stalwart, sturdy. So, Optimus. But something vulnerable, hopeful that Jazz won't just keel over again as if he never stood to fight to begin with. Strong, reserved, compassionate Optimus. Jazz's friend. One of his oldest friends.

Jazz reaches out, brushing back against him. Jazz feels their bond inside of himself. From millennia working together and being together, bonding in a measure so close to Amica, he can feel it. Frayed, wounded, broken - like with Prowl. But once more on his end. Severed by him. By his death.

He feels Optimus's side open, cautiously, letting in the emptiness and pain from the bond flow into him, but then Jazz hijacks the bond, flooding it with himself. His concern, his fears, his pain, but also his love, dedication, loyalty and sorrow. For leaving them behind. For not being good enough. For letting them - him - down.

The battle mask slides away as Optimus catches hold of the feeling, keeping their bond wide open and Jazz is relieved by the feeling. It has been a long time since he's been so empty. Without anyone. Without anything. Alone in his frame with just himself. Except now it's just him and the energon-coated, tattered remains of the bonds that he unintentionally severed. Except for one. Bright and sparkling and new.

"Oh, Jazz," Optimus rumbles, normally severe expression softens ever so slightly as he takes in his friend, feeding love and relief and pride down their tenuous bond to the saboteur. 

Despite the pain and the exhaustion and all those pesky bright red warnings across his HUD that now refused to be shunted away, warning impeding shut down, Jazz grins at his longtime friend, relieved as the warmth he feels in their bond at the motion. "Hey, bossbot. Miss me?"

Notes:

I'm sorry for the wait! I am so excited for this chapter, even if it didn't quite go the way that I planned it to, I hope that it's not too bad. I did a POV shift that I hope wasn't too confusing. I don't know if I will do a whole lot of that seeing as this story is going to be mostly confined to Sam's POV but there might be a few deviations that I think will make sense for the story, but hopefully not too many. I'm squeezing this chapter in the middle of my busy work week, so I'm a little sleep deprived. I'll try to correct any mistakes in the days to come, so bear with me. Thank you all so much for your support! I do hope that you all continue to enjoy!

Chapter 10: Reunited

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.
Warnings: Suicidal themes.

Sam is floating in a medicated haze. In the short time that his memory has allotted him, he's growing very accustomed to the feeling of a medicated haze. He can subconsciously feel the tubing in his arms and the mask over his mouth and nose. He can feel the cold of Ratchet's medbay threatening every revealed inch of skin despite the fact that he's burning up, lethargic and so very tired. He's alert enough to know that something is going on around him but lacks the strength to even open his eyes to see for himself.

"I can feel 'im, Optimus." The voice is vaguely familiar. But Optimus, he recognizes Optimus's name.

"What do you mean, Jazz?" Optimus asks. Jazz, yes, that's right. He remembers Jazz. He remembers the body in a sleep-like death. He remembers the feeling of connecting. He remembers Jazz falling from him, as if peeling from his flesh and bones and spirit. Out of Sam and right back into his own body.

"He's there. In mah processor. A bond. A creator bond."

The words drift off as Sam does.

He emerges again what feels like a moment later. The burn is manageable. There is a haze of recently applied medication flowing through his veins. Something that numbs Sam's ailments, and Sam himself.

A heavy sigh, like air rushing through metal slats. "Jazz, I know you're anxious, but you need to calm down. He's right there. He's fine."

"I know, Ratch, trust me. I ge' it. Rationally, I need to settle, bu' he's..." a heavy sigh. "He's mine."

A low growl somewhere nearby. Something that feels familiar. It takes a moment for Sam to recognize the protective feeling of a bot leaning over him. He's safe. No one is going to hurt him. No one is going to hurt them. He knows it. And subconsciously he reaches out for the presence close to him. He can't move, though, but hopes that somehow the message passes to him.

"Easy, Earthquake," Optimus murmurs. Guess not. "He's not trying to take Sam from you."

"Prime," Earthquake rumbles, voice so close to Sam, as if he's leaning over top of him, "alert your TIC that the Creator recycled his spark but made this platform's from scratch. This construct is the first creation of the Creator. Was chosen, made from nothing into what this construct is. Your TIC was not."

Jazz's laugh is soft, if not a bit pained. But there is something good-natured about it. "I got cha, mech. I ain't gonna steal Sam from ya - "

"Creator," Earthquake growls. "Show respect to the Creator and address him correctly."

"Earthquake," Optimus's voice is calm and a wash of serene energy makes Sam's clammy skin tingle a bit. "Sam wouldn't mind the informality."

Earthquake growls more, leaning over Sam as if to protect him from the words. "The Creator has not given permission for the Second Creation to be so informal. You will speak to the Creator respectfully, Second Creation."

A groan from one mech and then the very distinct tsk from Ratchet. "Listen, mech. It's Jazz. Not Second Creation."

"It is Earthquake, not Mech. The Creator blessed this unworthy platform with this precious thing. It will be used."

A beat of silence, then, Jazz murmurs, "Ya right. I apologize, Earthquake. I didn't mean to be disrespectful. Ya name is important. I ge' that. I'm sorry."

Earthquake is quiet and tense for a long moment. Sam's throbbing head can almost see the hard look on the larger mech's face as he tries to discern whether or not Jazz was being truthful or placating. He seems to war with himself for a moment, actively shifting as apprehension presses against Sam's skin. Finally, quietly, the largest of the Autobots murmurs, "Then... this platform will accept the apology. And will extend one in return, but only on the strict condition that Jazz swears to apologize to the Creator for the disrespect."

Sam can almost see the amusement coming off of the smaller silver bot. "I gotcha. I'll apologize to the Creator whe' he wakes up. Alrigh'?"

Earthquake leans away from Sam a bit, his ire abated. "This counter-condition is acceptable. Then this platform will apologize for disrespecting Jazz."

A low chuckle, and the sound of metal shifting against metal as Ratchet grouches, "Lay down, Jazz. I don't care which way you face, just lay down now."

Sam drifts. When he awakens again, it's on his side, feeling a finger run up and down his back and when he just barely opens his bleary eyes, he can see Bumblebee leaning on the berth that Sam's gurney is resting. He's looking across the room at something out of Sam's view. He blinks a few times, trying to clear his blurry vision, but he can't, and to fight the weight of his eyelids begs a herculean strength he doesn't have.

"...shouldn't be as kind as he is," Earthquake rumbles. "Doctor Ratchet's files on Cold Constructs explains that the Creator would give parameters for this construct's purpose. This construct failed in his mission to protect the Creator from the Autobots. But the Creator said that this construct wasn't meant to. Instead of being angry at this Earthquake for its failure, like the data packages on cold constructs suggested that he should be, he treats this construct kindly. The horrid crime of this Earthquake having failed the Creator was met with forgiveness, kindness and even permission to remain at his side. 'Together', the Creator had said, 'learn together.' The Creator wasn't even upset."

Jazz huffs. "I imagine not."

"He instead gave this construct a name, not a designation of letters and numbers. He has gifted beautiful accessories from his own Creator to this Earthquake..." the tall mech continues on Sam's other side, where his back is facing. "The Creator is very kind to this Earthquake. Far kinder than the history of our people suggests he should be. So kind, that this platform feels shame for leaving him. The Creator commanded this platform to help the other Autobots, but this platform did not wish to leave, even though the Creator ordered it."

Bumblebee chirps quietly as Jazz says smoothly, "I get it. Ya jus' wanted to keep 'im safe."

Earthquake rumbles, a touch of relief at the acknowledgement of his true wishes. That someone understood. Metal shifts, rubbing a bit, as if he was anxious. "Great Prime?"

"Yes, Earthquake?"

"You have known the Creator longer than this platform. How does this one go about reingratiating itself to the Creator once more? This platform spoke back when given an order by the Creator, and after leaving, nearly disobeyed to return. How does this construct get back into the good graces of the Creator?"

Instead of giving a soft laugh like Sam half thought that Optimus would for a silly question Sam didn't offer a second thought to, Optimus took it seriously. He gave it deep consideration before saying, "An apology, a meaningful one, will always go a long way. It does not undo what was done and may not mend whatever damage is done, but it is always an excellent place to start."

Earthquake quietly absorbs this information, then, hesitantly, he asks, "Does the Great Prime think that the Creator will be angry enough to send this platform away?"

Sorrow and fear prickle up Sam's arms, making the hair there stand on end. Even though he feels weighed down, Sam wants to jump up and hug the big bot. Insist that he didn't do anything wrong. That Sam understands. That he didn't want his creation to go running off into danger so horribly unprepared. Had his rational mind not feared the absolute worst, he wouldn't have had Earthquake leave at all. And if that had happened, there is a chance that Jazz wouldn't be alive right now. Sam feels regret for causing his friend so much worry, but he can't feel sorry about Jazz. The Autobot wasn't done.

But he's too tired, and his consciousness is fading once more.

"No," Optimus says, voice gentle. "If nothing else, I think Sam understands."

"This platform desires that," Earthquake murmurs. Without stopping Bumblebee's constant, comforting finger running up and down Sam's back, Earthquake gently placed his hand over Sam's legs, as if needing to touch him. "The Creator is very kind. This construct wishes to remain with the Creator for as long as possible."

"I think Sam would feel the same," Optimus says, kindly.

With as much strength as Sam can muster, he moves his hand over the large hand resting over his legs, wrapping loosely around the one large finger he could. The hands on him tense as Earthquake and Bumblebee both pull closer.

"Creator?"

Sam opens his bleary eyes but can barely keep that up as they slip closed a moment later. Instead, he minutely squeezed the finger, hoping that his affection was conveyed despite the fact that he simply didn't have enough strength to do anything else. A thumb very gently brushes against the back of Sam's hand.

A heavy body coming closer. "Sam," Ratchet's voice is low, even. "I'm glad to see that you're awake, but you need to rest more. Once Sideswipe returns to base, we are going to make the final preparations to head to Diego Garcia. I want you as stable as I can get you for when we go. So, rest, Sam. Worry about things when you feel better."

Sam drops off.

When Sam is finally able to stay awake for long enough to eat a meal and shower, they prepare to set off. It had been three days since the attack. There had been minimal injuries as most of NEST had been removed from the base, and any that were injured were seen to by Ratchet and any remaining medics. The base was finally evacuated in two waves, the first was the rest of NEST personnel aside from the bare minimum to remain behind to oversee the base and work alongside the American Government to its repairs and the crew that would take the Autobots across the sea to Diego Garcia. And that included Mikaela, who was actually okay with going on ahead, expressing that it would give her a bit of time to set up their space. A room for each of them was being set aside and she had plenty of things to ensure was placed in their rooms, including what Sam had from college.

Sam had taken her hands weakly in his own before heading off to the shower right before she was scheduled to leave. "You don't have to do that, Mikaela. You don't have to take care of me."

She had smiled, squeezed his hands. "I know. I'll see you over there."

Ratchet's holoform sat on the toilet while Sam sat in the shower in Lennox's bathroom - that Sam made sure to call to ask the other male if he was okay with Sam using it, which he laughed, affirming that he was - washing his hair and body while resting under the spray. He didn't need help washing himself, but he didn't have the strength to do it all without stopping. Ratchet was kind enough to keep him company to ensure he didn't need any help while the rest of the Autobots made the final preparations for them to leave. Once Sam was done with his shower, they would pretty much leave.

Sam tried to hurry, but he was still lethargic from his days of rest but once he was done, he got dressed with Ratchet's help before closing the doors to the bathroom and Lennox's room and making his way over to the waiting ambulance, crawling into the gurney in the back then letting himself be strapped down. It wasn't ideal, but Ratchet wasn't ready for Sam to be away from him yet, he would stay with Ratchet throughout the flight. Holoform Ratchet got him all hooked up, with a breathing mask and everything. Ratchet could keep breathable oxygen inside of his form for Sam but wanted to ensure that he had extra precautions in place for him.

Warm and bundled up to Ratchet's specifications, Sam managed to drift to sleep despite the turbulence. He woke up about half-way through the flight to eat a little bit and the opportunity to walk around and stretch his legs. Mask still firmly in place in case something was to happen to the cargo carrier, Sam was let out of Ratchet to walk around a bit. He could see the crew of the carrier, walking around too, which eased a bit of his worries, as he looks around the large cargo bay, seeing high, heavy crates strapped together and down to the hull of the carrier, and the Autobots, all in their alt modes spread out over the open space. Directly behind Ratchet is Optimus, as the rest of the Autobots seem to encircle the large Peterbilt.

After closing Ratchet's doors, Sam makes his way over to the grille of the large semi. He runs his fingers lightly over it, feeling the idle of a powerful engine underneath. He leans into it, despite the sweatshirt and double lined pajama pants, wool socks and sneakers that Ratchet put him in, Sam was cold. He reaches between the grille to lightly touch the warm metal feeling it rev slightly under his touch. Sam takes a moment to let his fingers soak in the warmth before a flash of lights to his side draws his attention. He leans around the semi to see the sleek yellow Camero on that side.

"Hi, Bee," Sam rasps, trailing his fingers along the sleek semi as he makes his way over to the Camero, letting a little laugh as the yellow bot flashes his headlights, one darker than the other, giving Sam the impression that he's winking. He carefully makes his way over to the front of the Camero, running his hands over the hood, feeling the warm idle of the engine underneath. It gives a little rev, which makes Sam smile more. His fingers find a deep weld there, gently running over it. Bumblebee doesn't seem to mind the touch, as it almost feels like the yellow bot is pushing into his hands a bit.

He looks up to see Earthquake, remembering vaguely how worried and vulnerable his friend had been. He gives Bumblebee's hood a pat before moving over to Earthquake, moving over to the passenger side door. He grins when it pops open welcoming. It takes Sam an embarrassing amount of time to finally crawl up into the seat. After catching his breath, he asks, "Do you still have the bracelets I gave you?"

Earthquake's frame stiffens, sudden apprehension washing over them, but the glovebox in front of Sam falls open and the two simple bracelets rest inside. As Sam reaches in to grab them, Earthquake softly murmurs, "This platform is disconsolate by how it treated the Creator, but - "

"Earthquake," Sam murmurs, bringing the bracelets over the rearview mirror so that they hang from it, "I'm not taking it from you. I was thinking that this would be the perfect place to display them. We're stuck together, Earthquake, don't worry about upsetting me. If I've got a problem, I'll let you know."

Earthquake's anxiety lessens significantly until nothing, but adoration and affection is left to brush over Sam's skin. "This construct will always worry about upsetting the Creator but is thankful to hear that it will be addressed when it happens." 

Patting the seat, Sam moves to leave, already tired from all his moving around, but he wanted to at least complete the small circle of Autobots before he calls it a day. He hops down, closing Earthquake's door to smile at Sideswipe. He makes his way over to the silver chevy stingray. He wiggles on his wheels while Sam patted his hood.

"Creator?" Earthquake asks, rolling down his window so that Sam could hear him.

"Yeah?"

Sam makes his way over to Jolt, smiling happily when the chevy volt wiggled on his wheels in a successful attempt at making Sam laugh, when Earthquake asks, "Now that there are two creations, Creator, it is important to establish to the newer creation that the first is the superior one that heralds the majority of your affections."

Sam chokes out a surprised laugh as amusement floods the space from the surrounding Autobots. Jazz, a silver Pontiac solstice, who was on the opposite side of Optimus from Bumblebee, rolls down his window and calls out, good-naturedly, "That's col', Earthquake! I though' we found some common ground!"

"The ground may be common, Jazz, but it is important that you know that the Creator holds greater affections for this platform as the first creation. This construct needs to ensure that Jazz understands this now so that he feels no sadness at learning it later," Earthquake says, simply. There is no malice, or any attempted cruelty. He seems to genuinely think that he's being kind in ensuring there is no confusion.

Sam laughs through his coughs, as he leans away from Jolt, so he doesn't spittle on him. At their TIC's expense, the other Autobots also seem to be finding this situation equally amusing. Bumblebee's radio even plays out, "Protect the women, protect the children!"

Jazz, thankfully, doesn't seem to take any offense to it. He chuckles. "I ge' it. I ge' it. You want to make sure that the Creator knows tha' I'm definitely no' the favorite." Bumblebee soundbytes a laugh track. "Shu' your energon hole, Bumblebee. Ya jus' wait until we restart spec-ops training exercises. Optimus won't be standin' between us and then your aft is mine." Bumblebee makes a low whirling sound, but Sam doesn't think he's all that contrite.

"There are no favorites," Sam laughs, coughing a bit into his elbow. "But if it makes you feel better, I will be sure to let Jazz know that he is firmly in second place for my favorite creation."

Earthquake rumbles, pleased. "Yes, Creator. It is a greater kindness for any delusions to be dissuaded."

"Don't worry, I will ensure that Jazz is very aware of where he stands in the pecking order," Sam manages, barely able to breathe.

"Primus, you are more ruthless than Sunny, Earthquake." Sideswipe says, also laughing. "At least Sunny knows he's a slaghead and doesn't care. You're just giving Jazz the reaming of his second lifetime and doing it as a measure of kindness." He laughs more, as if unable to believe it. "You don't want his feelings to get hurt, so you pulverize them before he gets the chance. Good fellow."

Laughing, Sam makes his way over to the Autobot TIC, needing to sit down and the steps leading up to Optimus's doors were calling his name. Sam has to grab onto the bar and lower onto it, legs and arms weak and tired. Optimus pops open the side door, and a blast of hot air follows, warming Sam up immediately. Sam relaxes, wrapping his arm around the handrail to keep himself steady.

He looks at his hands wrapped around the rail, noting how pale they were. He never even thought to look at himself when he was showering earlier, but he must look haunting. Optimus's engine revs and it feels like his whole frame warms up, even the steps and the rail, which was a relief for him.

After almost a full minute of Sam, eyes closed, just basking in the warmth, Jazz quietly asks him, "You doin' alrigh', kid?"

"I'm okay. Just tired." He opens his eyes to look at the down window of the Pontiac. "Are you... okay? It was a... I..." Sam frowns, not sure what he was saying. "That was intense."

Jazz chuckles. "No kiddin'. Ya brough' me back from the Well, kid."

Sam furrows his brow, trying to remember exactly what happened, but it's sort of lost in the haze of the last few days. "It really happened, huh? That place?"

Jazz hums in affirmation. "One momen' I'm in the Well, and the next, I'm wit' you. I don't remembe' Ol' Megs tearin' me in two. Not really. But I do remembe' bein' dead, or at leas' knowing tha' I was. And then, there was you. Ya reached out for me. I could see ya. Feel ya. And then I was back in myself. Feel like slag. Like I was in the rin' with two Megatrons, bu' I wouldn't have it any other way."

"I'm sorry you feel like garbage," Sam admits quietly.

"I'm sorry for ya too, kid."

Sam looks through the window, a little sigh falling from his lips. "I don't know how I did it... or even why. It was like... well, I didn't have control of myself. I needed to be there. I needed to see you, and once I was standing over you... I don't remember what happened."

"Wheelie informed us that you just crawled up onto Jazz's chest and reached into his cold spark and it spiraled back to life," Optimus rumbles through the open door. Sam twists to look up at where his voice came from when he spots Wheelie, the last of the present Autobots, in his little toy car form next to Ratchet's back wheel, resting.

"It felt like we were like that for a lifetime," Sam murmurs, still looking at the little bot, relieved that everyone ended up being okay. Little bumps and scrapes to most of the Autobots, Sam had vaguely noted as he moved around the space, but nothing too bad. At least nothing that's preventing them from pushing onward.

"It did," Jazz agrees. "Bu' ya don't got to worry abou' me, Sam. I'm grateful to be here, even if I feel like slag at the moment. I would rather tha' than be dead, ya know?"

Sam nods. "I understand. It just feels weird, you know? Like something out of straight fantasy? I shouldn't be able to bring you back from the dead. Never mind the ethics behind it all. I sure didn't ask you if it's what you wanted."

Jazz hums for a moment, considering his words, before quietly admitting, "I don't deserve it, ya know? I don't deserve a secon' chance. There are many a bot ou' there that do and don't got it. Bu' I'm selfish, ya see? I will take any chance I got. I go' someone I need to see again. I aint goin' nowhere until he can live peacefully."

Sam stares at the side of the solstice for a long moment, considering what to say next. He settles softly on, "Is it this Prowl person?"

A soft sigh from the silver bot. "Yeah, my Prowler. I can't be another slaghead that disappoints him. I need to see 'im again."

Sam leans back a bit to look up at the open door of the semi. "Do you know? Is he going to be here soon, or are you going to see him soon?"

"Very soon," Optimus says. "Before we left, I received word from Ironhide that the unknown anomaly was a ship. Specifically, the Perseverance. Prowl was leading that ship."

Sam leans back a bit to look at Jazz. "That's fortunate."

Jazz hums, and Sam can feel a trickle of affection brush his skin. "He woke up with memories from the future-" he huffs, as if unable to believe it still, which makes Sam realize that unlike the rest of the Autobots, Jazz has no idea what happened. What the future held in the life that they lived. "- and so of course he high tails it here."

"It was a small, fast ship," Optimus adds. "Prowl lead the vessel. Among his crew was Sunstreaker, First Aid, Bluestreak and Bulkhead. A formidable team, if a little imbalanced, but a most welcomed addition here on Earth."

None of the names sounded familiar to Sam, but he nodded regardless. He leans against the rail, feeling his eyes droop closed before he opens them again with a little shake.

"Are they here? I mean, in Diego Garcia? Or Earth?" He rubs tiredly at his face.

"They landed a few hours ago," Optimus explains. "Prowl insisted on taking a small reprieve to go to the United States to retrieve Jazz's body so that he could be laid to rest. I have opted to having him wait until we get there before telling him the truth."

Sam gives himself another little shake, glancing over his shoulder up at the open door, brow furrowed. "Isn't that a little... mean? I mean, he thinks that his... that Jazz is dead. Isn't it better to have him know sooner rather than later that Jazz is very much alive?"

"In normal circumstances, I would agree with you," Optimus rumbles, not at all insulted by Sam's question. "Unfortunately, Prowl's situation is a little... different. Due to the bond that Prowl and Jazz shared, when Jazz deactivated... Prowl nearly followed suit from the backlash of it."

Sam's eyes nearly bulge out. "What? Is he okay?"

"Yes, he's alright now." Optimus's voice is even, but Sam gets the feeling that there was something not being said. Before he can ask, Optimus adds, "Bonds are important to our people. We forge many different bonds like physical tethers that connect us to one another. Through these bonds we can feel and communicate with one another even across great distances. The severing of these bonds, especially in sudden and violent ways, like deactivations, can leave those they are bonded with in agony over the loss. In the type of bond that Jazz and Prowl had..."

"Realistically," Jazz picks up when Optimus didn't immediately continue, "my Prowler should have dropped dead with me. The pain of losing one half of the Conjunx bond that we had, should have been so traumatic that Prowl shouldn't have been able to stop himself from tearing his spark out of his chest to escape the pain."

"Oh, God," Sam murmurs, horrified. "But... but he didn't."

"No," Jazz says in agreement, but his voice is grim instead of relieved. "No, he didn't. He did something so much worse."

A pit settles in Sam's stomach as Optimus quietly offers, "Prowl turned it off. He shut off his emotional cortex. He killed the only piece of him that controls any sort of emotional input, output and interpersonal connection. To survive the death of Jazz, he severed his ability to feel anything at all. Duty and a logical recognition of social sensibility kept him operating rather than living for the last ten years. It... was not easy to see."

"I'm sorry," Sam says softly, feeling bad for a bot he doesn't even know. He tries to imagine what it's like, to be agonized over the death of someone he loved so much that it just... kills this fundamental part of him. Sam can't bring himself to even think about how that would change him. How he would be without his ability to feel... anything, even connected to other people. It just feels surreal. Like something like that shouldn't be able to happen in real life, but they don't have any reason to lie to him. Sam believes their words without a doubt. Sam also can't help but to see it from the flip side, watching someone that he loved just... shut down.

"That's why, even if I didn't wanna come back, I'm glad I did. Mah Prowler deserves a life wit'out another bot lettin' 'im down. So, if I can give 'im his life back, even fo' a klik, I'll do it. Servos down," Jazz says firmly, leaving no room for discussion.

Sam nods slowly, overwhelmed by everything he was just told. Carefully pulling himself to his feet, he looks over at Ratchet longingly, a faint smile of relief pulling at the corner of his lips when the doors pop open and that horrible gurney that he has grown to love these last few weeks waits there for him like a Godsend.

"It's going to be okay," Sam murmurs, more to himself than either bot closest to him, but he feels a brush of acknowledgement from them against his skin. He wraps both his hands around the railing for another moment, absorbing the warmth that he can from it, before turning and making his way to Ratchet. A shimmer before his holoform appears, waiting patiently to help him back into the back of the ambulance. Before Sam can get to it, though, Jazz calls out to him again.

"Yo, Sammy."

Sam glances over at the silver Pontiac. "Yes?"

"Is it alrigh' if I call you 'Sam'?"

Sam must have had a stupid look on his face, because Jazz chuckles warmly. "Uh, yeah?"

"Good. Jus' checkin'."

---

Per Sam's request, Ratchet made sure he was awake by the time they touched down on the landing strip in the Diego Garcia airfield. Despite having already been awake, Sam doubts that he would have been able to sleep through the landing like he had with the lift off. He was glad to have not eaten a whole lot - taking Ratchet's advice on smaller meals more often for a few days - or he's not sure he wouldn't have thrown it up with all that shaking. Even with the doors to Ratchet's ambulance form closed, he could hear soundbytes from Bumblebee as well as Sideswipe and Jazz, all voicing complaints. He could hear the low thunderous base of Earthquake's voice, but it was too muffled and too drowned out by the higher pitch of everyone else's complaints for Sam to catch what was said.

It takes some time, but before Sam can start to get stir-crazy waiting, Ratchet starts to move. It takes a few minutes, with Ratchet's slow roll forward, but eventually he hits the ramp going down before levelling out again and maneuvering off to the side. He opens the back door and Sam crawls out, blinking into the bright sunlight and fresh air. He pulls the mask down around his neck and squints around, trying to see through all the reflective metal of hulking Autobots all gathered around to welcome their leader and his current retinue.

Breathing in the warm, seaside air, Sam's gaze creeps over the closest Autobot to the ramp, giving a few feet of space so that the Autobots can unload in front of him. As Ratchet transforms at his side, Sam looks at the imposing black and white Autobot standing before the rest, even Ironhide is at his side and back a step. Doorwings like Bumblebee's are arched up high in a tight 'v' with the brightest, whitest blue eyes Sam has seen in an Autobot - but his face is void of any emotion what-so-ever. His posture is at parade rest - perfect, if Sam had to guess with his own limited knowledge. His monochrome colors broken up only by the sharp red chevron adorning his forehead.

Behind him in neat, orderly lines is the twins, Skids and Mudflap, closest to Ratchet and Sam, as well as the triplets, Arcee, Chromia and Elita-One. By Arcee is a massive forest green plated mech that is about as broad as he is tall. Sam's not sure from his angle, but that bot has got to be as tall as Optimus. And if he's not, he's pretty close.

Beside him is a primarily red bot with white arms and white shin plates. He can see medical decals similar to Ratchet's along his shoulder pauldrons. He must be a medic too. Optimus did say someone named 'First Aid' was amongst the Autobots Prowl had with him. This must be him. The bot that might be First Aid looks right at Sam, from around the big green bot, and smiles, blue eyes brightening at him. Despite his stiff, upright posture, he offers a little wave of his fingers that makes Sam smile back at him in return.

Beside him is a sleek golden bot. Taller than the rest aside from the green bot, and built for speed, like Bumblebee or Sideswipe. His eyes, though instead of blue like all the other Autobots, are orange. And... the more that Sam looks at him, the more familiar he seems. But with the scowl on his face, it's hard to tell where Sam knows him from.

On his other side, is a blue and silver bot with doorwings, similar to Bumblebee's. But unlike the leading Autobot's, which are hiked up and tense, unmoving. His are relaxed and flared out slightly, like Bumblebee's usually are. His expression is solemn, looking at the Autobots slowly making their way down the ramp with Optimus's hulking form taking the lead, but then, as if sensing Sam's eyes on him, he looks over at the human. He blinks eyes the same alluring purple as Earthquake's, then he smiles, his doorwings hiking up and fluttering happily like Sam's seen Bumblebee's do. He opens his mouth to speak but the taller, golden mech turns to give him a look that silences him immediately. Despite the obvious chastisement, he still smiles at Sam and, like who Sam suspects to be First Aid, wiggles his fingers in greeting at his side.

The lines of NEST soldiers, headed by Major Lennox, also stand at attention in straight lines further back from the Autobot ranks, giving them space.

"Great Prime," greets the bot beside Ironhide, who Sam can barely see with the doorwings in the way, shifts closer to Optimus, placing a hand over his chest and bowing. The rest of the Autobots follow suit as Optimus carefully transforms into his root mode, looking down at the smaller bot.

"Prowl," Optimus greets warmly, smiling at the shorter bot. Bumblebee makes his way over to Sam, transforming and kneeling down at his side.

Sam's heart picks up, looking intensely at the expressionless black and white plated bot, seeing exactly what Optimus was trying to say. He grips at his shirt, sweat starting to build up along his back and chest, eyes flickering to Jazz, who rolls up next to Optimus while Jolt and Sideswipe slide off to the other side. Confused and a little squeezed for space, Earthquake just barely manages to pull off to the same side as Ratchet and Bumblebee, moving around them to transform behind Sam. He catches the new Autobots watching him wearily. He can feel their fields reaching out to him, curiously at the stranger - except for Prowl. 

He looks at Earthquake with the coolest, unflinching, unchanging expression. His eyes flicker down to Earthquake's chest, where the Autobot symbol rests, before looking away, completely unfazed. Needless to say, Sam is unnerved. The teen then feels something against his pant leg and looks down to see Wheelie there, leaning into him a bit, watching the highest echelon of the Autobot leadership interact in silence.

Ironhide shifts suddenly, surprised. His eyes down at Jazz, face twisted in confusion, mouth hanging open. The gold and the blue and silver bots both caught the action and tense up, but Jazz just slides closer to Prowl and Optimus before transforming, standing just slightly shorter than Prowl as he smiles, quirkily, and asks, "Wha', Prowler? Ain't go' nothing to say to me?"

Surprise and disbelief cuts like a knife over Sam's skin and he falls back into Bumblebee's leg as the yellow bot wraps his body around him protectively. Ratchet looks down at him but doesn't move to do anything more. His eyes train back on Prowl intensely. The other doorwinged mech, stiffens, taking a step closer before stilling, and this time the golden bot doesn't stop him.

Prowl's expression is completely devoid of any emotion as he stares at the face of his love. And it stays like that long enough for Jazz's thin attempt at a playful smile to dip a little. Jazz shifts forward as Optimus moves a bit to give them space to allow the silver bot to gently run a hand down Prowl's chest. "I'm here, baby," Jazz says softly enough that Sam barely heard him. "Le' it come slowly. I'm righ' here."

Prowl doesn't react for a moment longer before his optics shutter rapidly. On, off, on, off, on, off. Over and over and over again growing faster and faster. His wings start shifting rapidly. Up, tight v, spread wide, drop low, hike up, press together, to the middle, press out, drop down, tight v, back up again.

Jazz takes Prowl's clenching and unclenching fist of his right hand and brings it over his own spark, holding it there, just... letting Prowl feel it.

Prowl's blue eyes shine bright like tiny suns in his head before a bright spark flies out of his head, making Jazz flinch. Ratchet moves closer, field flaring out to Prowl, pressing into him. Sam barely gasps a breath, realizing he could barely expand his chest enough to fill his lungs as the pure weight of all the Autobots' fields - save for Earthquake - press into Prowl. And instead of suffocating him like it feels like is happening to Sam, it seems to be... steadying him. Like a hug from all angles... or perhaps a compression blanket wrapped around him.

The doorwinged bot steps right up behind Prowl, placing a hand between his wild doorwings careful to avoid getting hit, face contorted in concern.

"Jazz, he's going to short out," Ratchet growls.

"He's no'," Jazz says firmly, looking up into the bright blue eyes trained on his blue visor. They carefully grab hold of each other's forearms. Prowl leaning into Jazz until their foreheads touch. "He's go' this. My Prowler is stronger than anything or anybot I've eve' seen. Feel i' slowly, Prowl. Come on. Don't overwhelm yaself. Come on, baby. I'm here. I'm here. Tell ya tacnet that ya ain't dyin'. Ya good, beautiful. Ya good."

Wings going crazy, body shaking and finally, his field pulls from him, emotion flooding it. It punches through the comfort and support and understanding from the Autobots around them, nearly dropping Sam to the ground as a sob pulls from his lips. Agony. Like fire licking at the fingertips or burning away the soul. Like ice filling up every inch of his being or a massive chasm stealing his voice, his feelings, his everything. Like the end of the world is upon them.

Optimus, Ironhide and Ratchet tense, shifting close enough to put their hands on Prowl too as the other bot nearly wrenches away from Jazz, hand going right for his spark, before Jazz grips them tightly in his own.

"No! No, Prowl! I'm righ' here! Look at me! Look!" He grips the hands hard enough for the metal to groan. When that doesn't seem to work, he grabs onto Prowl's arms and gives him a hard shake. "Baby, please! Please look at me! I'm here, Prowler. I'm right here."

Prowl falters, hand resting against his spark but nothing more. His eyes flicker as he stares at Jazz, doorwings arched high before drooping as Prowl's bright red chevron lowers to Jazz's forehead. And for a moment, they just stare at one another. Everyone is breathing heavily through their vents and when Jazz gently taps his pointer finger against Prowl's arm, Optimus, Ironhide and Ratchet shift back to give them space. The rest of the Autobots are watching intently, fields still pressing in on the white and black Autobot, keeping him steady. The mech behind Prowl leans forward between the doorwings, pressing his forehead into the slightly taller mech's back. Prowl doesn't seem to mind that touch.

Finally, after a long, agonizing moment, Prowl whispers as if too afraid to speak too loudly and break whatever spell has befallen them, "Jazz? Are you real?"

Jazz lets out a little, breathless laugh, smiling up at the slightly taller bot as the hands slide up his chest to gently cup his face. Jazz turns his head a bit to kiss each palm before saying, "I'm real, Prowl. I'm real."

Prowl's field ripples out again, the agony ebbing bit by bit as he presses harder into Jazz, eyes turning off while he sucks in a few deep breaths, the tension bleeding from his body. His field fluctuates through a myriad of emotions. Pain, fear, tinges of agony, hope, joy, disbelief and then relief, before pulling in tightly. His plates ripple, and the pressing of the other Autobots' fields cease, respectfully. The other bot pulls away, purple eyes swimming as he gives them space.

"How?" Prowl asks, brokenly, raw pain written across his face. "Why now, and not then?"

"It wasn't the Matrix that saved him, Prowl," Optimus informs him. Prowl nods, showing he's listening, but he won't stop staring at Jazz, leaning into him as if afraid he'll vanish again. "It was the Allspark."

Notes:

Wow! This was a long one, and I had to sit on it for a bit, going back and forth on how I wanted to do this. On one hand, I wanted this to be a more private thing between a small group of the Autobots and Sam, but the more that I kept thinking about it, the more I decided that this was the right way for this story. I wanted to show how truly connected they all were to one another. How their bonds formed between them allow them to be anchors to one another, to offer more support even without tactile touch. The Autobots didn't crowd Jazz and Prowl but used their fields as a sort of embrace to keep Prowl stable and steady. To thwart off the immediate inclination to end his life at the agony in his spark over Jazz's death. They are soldiers, yes, but they are also a community. A family. And getting Jazz back got them Prowl back too.

There is so much going on in this chapter with the dynamics between Jazz and Earthquake. Jazz and Prowl. The new Autobots coming in. Going to a new place. So, this chapter was jam packed and I'm sorry if it was confusing to anyone. Thank you all so much for your support and your kind words. I do hope that everyone continues to enjoy, and I will see you all in the new year of 2025!

Chapter 11: A new home

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.

Prowl stiffens, then looks right at Sam, the whitest blue eyes wide before something complex passes over his face. Tentatively pulling from Jazz enough to come towards the young man, while holding tight to Jazz's hand he stops a few feet from Sam, Bumblebee and Earthquake. 

After a beat, Prowl finally says, "Hello Samuel."

"Hello," Sam says, resting a hand on Bumblebee's thigh as the bot curls around him. Sam hadn't realized that he was swaying a bit, having been overwhelmed earlier by all of the emotion from the Autobots' EM fields, and just the sheer weight of all of them pressing in around him. Now it feels like he can actually take a few deep breaths, stretching out his lungs to capacity.

Prowl straightens, his doorwings pulling up into a tight 'v' before he brings his free hand up over his chest and bows respectfully, like he had done to Optimus earlier. Sam blinks in surprise at the action, eyes flickering over the SIC's shoulder to a smiling Jazz. The slightly shorter, primarily silver bot winks at him with one half of his visor before mimicking the motion with his free hand and bowing.

"Please," Sam says, embarrassed. "You don't have to do that."

"You gave me back my mate," Prowl says, voice smooth. He straightens up with Jazz a half-second behind him. "Simple respect and recognition are grossly understating what you deserve, Samuel."

Earthquake rumbles in approval. "This platform is pleased that the Autobots' Second-in-command is able to recognize the Creator deserves such respect and then some. Take notes accordingly, Jazz."

Jazz chuckles, amused, while Prowl casts a long, curious look at Earthquake, looking like he was trying to decide what Earthquake meant by that. In the meantime, Optimus turns to the other Autobots and NEST soldiers who probably couldn't make sense of what was happening - if they could even see anything at all with the line of Autobots in front of them - and after warmly welcoming the former (back) to Earth, he dismisses them. NEST soldiers begin to head back to base while the Autobots all move towards each other in greeting.

From what Sam could sort of see past Bumblebee, there is a collection of large, almost hanger like buildings, a massive one at the end of the airstrip. He can't see beyond it, but they appear to be on the side of the airfield. There is a ton of aircrafts all lined up neatly in rows, spaced out in a way that suggests that they could be deployed at any moment. There is even a ship, unlike all the others, that's angular and alien to Sam's eyes, no doubt the ship that Prowl and his crew flew in on. The Perseverance. As for what the other buildings are, he's not sure.

Sideswipe goes to the golden bot, wrapping him up in a hug that he barely returns, before they press their foreheads together. The other winged Autobot looks lovingly at Prowl, purple eyes bright as he turns away to hug Sideswipe when the silver bot pulls from the golden one. Arcee, Chromia and the green mech all turn to each other talking while Elita moves over to Optimus and Ironhide. Ratchet sends Sam a long look, scowling about something but the red and white bot pulls his attention away. First Aid - Sam thinks - tips his head respectfully to the yellowish green bot before smiling at him. Ratchet's expression softens slightly as he reaches out to pat his shoulder. Jolt moves over to the twins, hands on his hips as they excitedly fill him in on something that quickly devolves into shoving one another to which Jolt leads them away a bit.

"I do not believe we have met," Prowl says, voice even as he stares at Earthquake. He's definitely more attentive now than he was with his emotions shut off. His white-blue eyes study Earthquake carefully, the lines in them spiraling small then wide then small again. "I am Prowl. As you stated earlier, I am the Autobots' Second-in-Command."

"He's one of us, Prowler," Jazz says, stepping up next to the other monochrome bot, their hands still firmly linked.

Bumblebee chirps, a respectful, but happy brush of his field goes over Sam's head. 

Prowl pulls his eyes from Earthquake momentarily to look down at Bumblebee, nodding with a smooth expression. "Hello again, Bumblebee." Then back to Earthquake. "And you are?"

"This platform is Earthquake," the large black plated bot says, shifting a bit. "Unlike Jazz's recycled spark, this platform's spark was carefully and lovingly created from scratch by the Creator."

Bumblebee plays a laughing track at Jazz's expense while the visored mech shakes his head, amused with a smirk on his face. "Ya cold, Earthquake. My spark is not recycled, it's my spark!"

"Be nice, Earthquake," Sam says, smiling a bit and mouthing an apology to Jazz, whose smirk never faltered as he shook his head, unbothered. Earthquake seems to be pretty keen on being recognized for how close he is to Sam, and while Sam doesn't so much mind it, he doesn't want to give anyone the wrong impression. Earthquake seems very proud of Sam, and honestly, after what they've been through and how he's willing to push onward despite all of this being brand new to both of them. He is proud of Sam and their connection, and Sam is proud of him.

Earthquake went out to fight in their defense, and Sam is proud of him for doing so unflinchingly. But he could lighten up on Jazz a little bit, in Sam's opinion, but obviously he is still expanding his understanding of Cybertronian and human culture.

"This platform is being nice, Creator," Earthquake murmurs, tilting his head while looking down at Sam.

Sam waves his hand so that Earthquake will kneel down close to him, bringing his face within arm's reach so that Sam can run his fingers over the smooth metal between bright violet eyes. Oh, they are similar to the other winged Autobot. Maybe there is something there that Sam can ask about. Bumblebee shifts a bit to give Sam some space, but stays close enough for his other hand to still rest of the yellow bot. "Saying someone's heart - or in this case spark - is recycled isn't very nice."

"But it is - "

"Joking and teasing is one thing, Earthquake," Sam says, pressing his palm against the smooth metal. "But be sure that you're mindful about what you say and how you say it. Just be sure that if Jazz asks you not to say something like that again that you respect his wishes and maybe stop bringing up the manner of Jazz's undeath. At least give his mate and friends time to readjust to having him back, okay?"

Earthquake frowns, a crinkle forming between his purple eyes. "This platform was not attempting to be harmful, Creator. Jazz and this creation have found ground that is common." He's not arguing, he just seems to be confused.

"Prowl just got his mate back," Sam says, keeping his tone light. "Try to consider how he would feel about your words too. They don't just affect you and him, okay? You might not care now, but remember, first impressions are so important, and while Jazz might not mind, if you want to have a cordial relationship with Prowl from now into the future, you still have to be respectful to his feelings too."

Earthquake considers, frowning. After a few moments, he looks over at Prowl, tipping his head a bit. "If this platform has hurt the feelings of the Autobot SIC, it hadn't been this creation's intention. For that, this platform apologizes for any disrespect."

"You're all good, mech," Jazz says, squeezing Prowl's hand. Prowl's face is completely impassive, but he looks back and forth between the three of them, nodding.

"Any slight has been forgiven," Prowl says, nodding once in return. He turns to look down at Sam, eyes brightening a bit. "Thank you for giving me my mate back, Sam. Should you ever need anything, do not hesitate to ask."

Sam pats the plates between Earthquake's eyes before turning back to Prowl as Earthquake moves once more to his feet. "You're welcome, but you don't have to repay me. Jazz saved mine and Wheelie's lives right after waking up, I think he's repaid any debt that might have accrued." He offers a little smile, despite needing to lean into Bumblebee to keep on his feet. Despite the warm air on his face and hands, Sam is cold and fatigued.

Prowl frowns a bit, as if he doesn't agree but Ratchet steps forward. "It's time to go, Sam."

Sam leans more into Bumblebee, hand running along the warming metal. "To the medbay?" Bumblebee lets out a low rumble, nuzzling the back of Sam's head with his own, gently enough to only move him slightly instead of throwing him off of his balance.

Ratchet nods. "Yes, now come along. You look like you're about to collapse on your feet." Sam just gives him a thumbs up, not at all interested in arguing. Ratchet hums, pleased, before looking at Prowl and Jazz. "And you two, go and resolidify your bond, your pain sensors are pinging in the red for me, Prowl. Solidify your bond and come see me when you're done."

Prowl's stoic expression - not indicating any of the pain that Ratchet mentioned - flickers slightly in either indecision or protest. At Ratchet's hard look, Prowl frowns, looking over at Optimus. "Permission for a half shift leave, Prime?" Jazz snorts, head lulling in a mimicry of an eye roll.

"Prowler, Imma need a little more than a half shift to warm you up."

"Three days," Ratchet snaps, turning burning blue eyes to Optimus, who makes his way over. Ironhide, faithfully, is right at his side, arms crossed over his chest.

"One day," Prowl responds, evenly. Both Ratchet and Prowl completely ignoring Jazz, as if he wasn't standing right there. Jazz opens his mouth to comment but Prowl's hand, without even looking at the slightly shorter bot, flies up to cover it. Not at all breaking intense eye contact with a scowling Ratchet and a serene Optimus.

"I'm not going to give you a half shift, you think I'm going to give you a day? Three days," Ratchet growls. He looks at Optimus. "Approve three days, or I'll order a week." Prowl stiffens, door wings hiking up ever so slightly before falling back into their neutral tight 'v'. 

"Prowler," Jazz says, a smirk curling one corner of his mouth once he pulls the hand down and laces their fingers together to trap it, "I'll keep you occupied. Get ya those data pads with long lines of code ya love decipherin'. Do a bit of spark bondin' to get rid of ya pain - "

"Frag your processor blank," Ironhide offers. Jazz's grin turns positively salacious while Prowl scowls at Ironhide, scandalized, his field rippling out in displeasure. Ironhide seems completely unaffected by the look. "Put that damned tacnet to rest for a while, Prowl. Fragging thing runs you ragged when you let it. Take the three days so you can plan your next vacation in the next millennia or two."

Jazz laughs, and while Sam's face is warm at the implications of all of this, Bumblebee is rumbling good naturedly at his back, hand curled around him to keep him upright. He might not completely understand the terminology used here, but he can definitely use context clues to get the gist of what was being said. Guess it goes to show, when you spend so much time together, nothing really stays secret - or sacred - forever. Despite all the joking and the blatant displeasure worn across both Ratchet and Prowl's faces, there is something comforting. Something akin to a bone-deep relief. It wasn't just one person that was saved, but two. The reunion between a dead man - bot - and his not-quite living mate, and all of their friends - their family - too. And no matter the expressions they share, there is a love here. Maybe it was born from time, from connection by cause or trial or pain, or maybe there was something more here. More than platonic, but not with the intensity of romantic.

Either way, it sooths something in Sam he didn't know he felt building in his chest.

Prowl, still displeased, looks at Optimus. "I will accept three days." And yet his expression is so sour that Sam only felt safe to let out a little chuckle at Jazz's laugh.

Optimus nods, magnanimously. "I'm happy to hear it. Three days approved, Prowl and Jazz." Blue eyes flicker between the two monochrome bots. Then he addresses the group in totality. "Until you are back on schedule, Ironhide, Ratchet and I will see to your duties to the best of our abilities." Prowl frowns more but Optimus's smile is kind. "We will have plenty of time to adjust to any alterations you wish to make upon your return, Prowl. For now, focus on each other. We will happily see you back on the schedule in three days."

Stiffly, Prowl nods, offering a respectful bow once more before pulling Jazz towards one of the buildings. Jazz flips around to offer a two fingered salute when Prowl stops to press his forehead into the slightly shorter winged bot that moved away from Sideswipe and the golden mech to intercept them. The blue bot murmurs something, reaching up to pet his face before they pull apart. The blue bot, barely taller than Jazz quickly hugs him before pulling back and giving them a little wave of the hands and returning to Sideswipe and the golden mech, positively beaming in joy.

---

Sam didn't get to see much of the base from the back of Ratchet's ambulance form. What he does know is that once they got inside of a building, they went into a massive elevator and went down. And down. And down. Before driving for almost fifteen minutes at a leisurely pace, until finally making it to Ratchet's medbay. This medbay puts the other to shame. It's massive, fully stocked and definitely designed with the idea of the transformers in mind - which ended up making sense seeing as Ratchet's medbay was actually just for them. Humans had their own medbay and while Ratchet oversaw all medical staff and could step in on any medical emergency on both sides, he saw primarily to the Cybertronians, but had a deep wealth of knowledge in regard to human physiology.

But of course, when Sam asked if he should go to the human's medbay, Ratchet scoffed, as if disgusted, and asked, "So I can waste my time walking over there when I could just treat you here? Absolutely not."

"But shouldn't I go to the human medbay, as you know, a human?"

Ratchet looked at him like he was insane. "No, you're under my care." And that was that.

After another full day of resting, Sam was eating on his new gurney, perched on top of his new berth, with Bumblebee sitting on it next to him, when Prowl and Jazz walk into the medbay. Bumblebee glances over at them and catcalls. Prowl sends him a stern look while Jazz grins. Sam ducks his head, blushing which only seems to amuse Jazz more.

First Aid, who Sam correctly guessed was the white and red bot, was fluttering around the medbay, datapad in hand as he made notes, checking on their supplies and integrating what they had brought from their own ship to add to the medbay's storages, turns to look at the two commanding officers as they walk in. "Oh, good afternoon! What can I do for you today?"

"Here to check in wit' Ratchet, Aid," Jazz says easily, walking over to the berth next to Sam's hopping up on it before grinning at Prowl, patting the spot next to him suggestively.

Prowl gives him a level look before walking over to Jazz. He pauses to tip his head briefly in greeting to Sam and Bumblebee before standing next to Jazz, shaking his head when the slightly shorter bot nodded to the space next to him.

First Aid nods, heading off into one of the back rooms leading to the offices on the far side of the room - primarily one for Ratchet and one for the lead medic on shift if it isn't Ratchet - with a chipper, "Certainly! Give me just a moment to go get him."

While he's gone, Sam swallows the food in his mouth before leaning around Bumblebee a bit to ask, "How are you guys? I mean, are you still in pain or anything, Prowl? I don't fully know how this works."

Prowl turns to look at Sam. "I am in no pain, any longer. Reestablishing my bond to Jazz has alleviated any of the pain that I was feeling. Thank you for the concern."

Sam nods, relieved. "Cool, okay. So, can I ask something I forgot about until now?"

Prowl's wintery eyes level with him. "Yes."

"That bot with the purple eyes? The one like you and Bee?"

Jazz grins. "He's Praxian, like Prowler and Bee. Baby Blue."

"Bluestreak," Prowl says smoothly, not looking over his shoulder at the slightly shorter bot. "What would you like to know?"

"I noticed that most Autobots have blue eyes, but he has purple, like Earthquake. But that bot with Sideswipe had orange eyes. Does that mean anything?"

"So, the mech with the orange optics is Sunstreaker," Jazz says, legs kicking back and forth. "He's Sideswipe's twin brother." Oh, wow. So that was why there was something about him that looked so familiar. He must be the enigmatic 'Sunny' that Sideswipe was always talking about. "His optics are orange because he and Sides probably have a lower caste parent. Jus' like Sideswipe's optics are blue cause they have a mid-caste or higher parent."

"There's a difference?" Sam asks, dumbly.

Jazz nods. "Yep. You can change ya optic color but there is always something a little different about it. Most bots jus' don't bother to change it." Jazz reaches up to grab at his visor. It makes a click, and the blue band goes out before he pulls it away from his face to reveal bright red eyes making Sam's eyes widen in shock. "Prowler's blue optics have a brighter shade to 'em cause he's from the nobility in Praxus. I'm from the gutters of Polyhex."

Prowl glares over his shoulder at Jazz, but the other mech just grins at him, putting the visor back in place. Despite what has to be a very dramatic difference in their stations, they were bonded together. It was like a story book. Like a fairytale.

Sam takes a moment to try to digest what he's learned. "Woah, so Prowl's like... a nobleman by your people's standards?"

"Once upon a time," Prowl says stiffly, a frown marring his face. Sam almost cracks a smile at the irony of that. "But my family title was lost when my home was destroyed by the Decepticons. Now I am an Autobot, just like all of the others."

"I'm sorry," Sam flinches, any semblance of a smile dropping from his face. "I didn't... I mean... I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Prowl says, shaking his head, arms still crossed over his chest. "Praxus was lost millions of years ago. I got the piece of it that matters with me. Bluestreak." Millions of years? Insanity. It's hard to grasp that the mechs around him could be so old. Sam can barely comprehend such a thing.

Sam perks up a bit, thankful for the out. "So, you guys knew each other?"

Prowl nods. "Yes. Bluestreak is my younger half-brother. Our sire had him while he was away when I was preparing for my final upgrades into adulthood. His carrier died in emergence, so he brought Bluestreak back to Praxus with him. I basically raised him since he was only a few chords - or our equivalent of weeks - old."

Jazz's smile is warm as Sam takes this information in. Those looks, the tenderness between them, it all makes sense now. "You raised your little brother, then."

Prowl nods again, the mechanisms in those wintery blue eyes spiral wide as if he's staring off into the middle distance. His expression is calm but there is something... almost gentle about how he holds himself. "Yes. My carrier wanted nothing to do with my sire's betrayal, but he was my little brother, and I loved him. Thankfully I was still living with my creators at the time and decided to stay while Bluestreak was still young enough to need me to care for him. Once he started his formal education, I was able to move out."

"You two seem to be very close," Sam admits. He doesn't have any siblings, and often wondered what it would have been like to have any - not that he would have wanted his dad to step out on his mom to get one, but the idea still stands.

Prowl's eyes refocus. "Yes. He was still quite young - barely into his second to last upgrade - when Praxus fell. Of our family, he and I were the only survivors. When I found him, he had been buried under what used to be our family's estate."

Sam looks away, hearing Bumblebee softly hum, sadly. "I'm sorry, Prowl. I... I can't imagine." And he couldn't. The home that he could see in his memories. The place where his parents raised him, where he went to school, to the supermarket for groceries, the parks to play, arcades with friends, and even the beach where he would spend most of his days every summer - to see it all cast in fire and nothing more than rubble. Buildings torn down or burning, people dying in the streets - neighbors, strangers, friends, family - places of passing interest or necessity or love, all destroyed. And a life, built not by him but for him, gone.

Prowl shakes his head, dismissively as Ratchet and First Aid walk out from the back heading towards them. "Praxus has been gone for a long time, Sam. I managed to save the one thing that meant the most to me. While I mourn the loss of my carrier and sire, Bluestreak was my priority. I miss my home, but it's just a place. My home now follows me. And I had almost lost it forever. But you saved it. You saved him."

First Aid's hands grapple at his chest, as if suddenly anxious while Ratchet frowns in mute understanding at what they are talking about.

"I'm sorry," Sam says again, even though he knows his words are empty.

Prowl holds out his arm to Ratchet, but keeps wintery blue eyes on Sam. "Don't be sorry, Sam. It's done now. But as for your question about Bluestreak's optics, he is an outlier."

Sam perks up at that, once again thankful for the out. He hadn't heard this term before. "What's that? An outlier?"

"They're special," First Aid cuts in, hands kneading at his chest, still anxious. "Outliers have extraordinary abilities that simply go beyond our normal programing capabilities. They are exceedingly rare. Even in the Autobots there is only a handful of them. One of which is Bluestreak."

"What sort of special abilities does he have?" Sam asks, intrigued. And relieved to have moved past the heavy baggage he hadn't realized he'd kicked over with his interest.

Jazz brings up a hand and folds it into a gun, mock shooting it with a flick of the wrist. "Pow," he murmurs. "Kid can hit anythin' at incredible distances. And I mean anythin', with anythin'. He's the best sniper in all of the Autobot forces. But even put a pistol in his servo and he can hit jus' about any target from insane distances. Ain't that much of a surprise, though. Another outlier in the Autobots is Prowl. Usually it's inherited, but neither of Prowl's creators were outliers, but it can just crop up randomly when the righ' circumstances are met."

Sam's brows are to his hairline as Prowl adds, "That's not to say that it's impossible for Bluestreak's carrier to have been an outlier either. Unfortunately, my sire was not forthcoming so we will never know."

Ratchet plugs into Prowl's medical ports and begins running through diagnostics, focused intently on the tab that popped up on his arm. 

"Prowl is an outlier even though his eyes aren't purple?" Sam asks.

"There are rare occasions where outliers appear without purple optics but usually a telltale sign of an outlier is somebot who has purple optics, like Bluestreak," First Aid explains. "Typically, purple optics means that Bluestreak inherited the code for an outlier from both creators - which would mean that while Prowl's sire was not an outlier, he had the coding for it - which is probably what made Prowl an outlier too. But the purple optics means that Bluestreak will most likely have a greater chance at having an outlier offspring - especially with a partner who is either an outlier, to which it is basically guaranteed, or with the coding - but if his partner is neither, he still has a higher chance by himself as most of his code has it imbued into him. Prowl is an outlier, but Jazz is not, nor have we seen any coding suggesting he's a silent carrier. They could produce an outlier like Prowl, but their chances are significantly lower."

Sam smiles a little at the excitement flaring in First Aid's eyes. He's practically vibrating. Sam's not sure if it's about the prospect of Cybertronian babies running around or if he's just that fascinated by the idea of Cybertronian genetics - or just medicine in general - but it's good to see he's not as anxious anymore. Sam suspects that Praxus might be a sore subject for a lot of people and while Prowl seems completely indifferent, Sam doesn't know the bot well enough to tell if his indifference is truth or just masking. Either way, best not to poke the metaphorical bear.

"What's your superpower?" Sam asks Prowl, eyes wide.

Jazz grins, looking at Prowl in warm adoration so plain on his face that it makes Sam's heart clench in his chest as Prowl says, "I can create an incredibly powerful overlay." A pause, considering, then, "Any bot of significant processing power and skill can project a field that isn't unlike our EM fields to some degree. This specific type of field is called an Overlay. What they do is bond bots together for a limited time, forcing a level of deeper connection. With this field, specifically, I can craft a battlenet."

Sam blinks rapidly, leaning his elbows onto his knees to get a better look at Prowl. "Battlenet?" Hadn't he heard something about something like that before somewhere?

Prowl nods. "Amongst the Autobots there is only three of us that are capable of creating a wide enough and connective enough net to be effective on a battlefield. One is Optimus Prime, another is Ultra Magnus, and the last is myself."

"Of the three of them, Prowl's is the most powerful," Ratchet adds, glancing over at Sam. "What the overlay does, basically, is it interweaves the processors of all the bots connected to the net. Optimus and Ultra Magnus can only affect other Autobots, make them feel more connected to each other, invigorated, share information with one another and overall improve cohesion amongst the forces."

Sam's eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open in awe. He's not fully sure he understands what that all really means, but it sounds incredible. "Wow."

"Prowl, though," Jazz says, pride evident in his voice, "can affect both sides. Invigorate our allies while disheartening our enemies. He can dramatically improve our cohesion while pushin' the 'Cons into disarray. In the net, information passes through the bot castin' it, they interpret the information and send it out across the net to where it needs to be, offerin' quick commands to our forces over a whole battlefield. Ultra Magnus and Prime can't cast a powerful enough net together to saturate enough of an area to match Prowl, even on a bad day. None as thorough or as in-depth. He's the best we got. The best either side got."

"Of the Decepticons, only Megatron and Tarn hold enough power to cast a battlenet," Prowl says, unfazed by the compliment. "Tarn's problem is his zealotry. If he was able to focus, his skill in tactics would make him far more dangerous than he is, but Megatron is a problem. His battlenet is fueled by his charisma, to which he has plenty to spare. If he doesn't have Optimus Prime to hold his attention, he can cast a net powerful enough to negate the negative effects my net has on the Decpeticon's closest to him. He already passively protects himself from any negative effects."

"Wait," Sam asks, mind whirling, "so he just... doesn't feel the bad from your net? Like disheartened or disarray? He's just... fine?"

Prowl nods. "One of the reasons that Megatron is so dangerous. His will is simply too strong to be influenced. And if he's able to focus, he can make it so that the Decepticons closest to him can't be effected either."

"Part of the reason OP will always meet him in battle," Jazz says, leaning back on his hands, still kicking his feet. "One of many."

Sam shivers. He doesn't mean to, but it almost rips from him, and he hears it again. That same voice. Low, growling. Just the very sound of it is enough to shake Sam to his bones.

I can smell you, boy. Give me the cube.

Bumblebee looks down at him, eyes overly bright as Sam forces a weak smile. "I remember him, Bee. I remember him chasing me for the Allspark."

Big blue eyes soften in understanding. He nods as his radio plays, "You're safe with me, kid."

Sam sags a bit in relief. He pushes away his half-eaten plate to press into Bumblebee's side, relishing in the warmth coming from him. "Thanks, Bee." Turning to look around the room at the gathered bots, he says, "Thank you for telling me about... well, all of that. Praxus and Bluestreak and... all of that."

First Aid smiles brightly, lowering his hands finally. "You already knew most of it, Sam. You just don't remember yet. But, well, you're welcome!" Prowl nods in agreement while Jazz offers a thumbs up and a grin.

Ratchet gives Prowl approval to head back to his - now his and Jazz's room - after stepping privately into another room to look at Prowl's spark to ensure that the bond was fully formed once more and there weren't any lasting ailments that he needed to see to. At the curious look on Sam's face when the two bots walked away, First Aid helpfully informed him about the privacy of one's spark. It's shared with one's sparkmate and their medic and that's about it. If it had been just Jazz and Ratchet in the room, Prowl wouldn't have any issue showing it off, but with First Aid, Sam and Bumblebee also there, he preferred to go somewhere private. Understanding this, Sam was content to let that be. And once Prowl was back, with a warning from Ratchet that he and Jazz had two more days before he could be back to work, he sent them on their way.

Ratchet checked on Sam, ordering him to finish up eating before getting some more rest before heading back into his office. Meanwhile First Aid went back to his counts, humming a soft song under his breath that eventually lulled Sam to sleep.

By the next morning, Sam was finally cleared by Ratchet to go to his own room. Bumblebee was more than happy to take him, and Sam was pleasantly surprised to see Mikaela there too. They hugged before moving to get into Bumblebee's alt mode after listening to Ratchet remind Sam - again - that he has to take it easy. No strenuous exercise and if he's feeling unwell to call or come see Ratchet immediately.

Once they get into Bumblebee's cab, he takes off down the massive halls, obeying the dotted lines in the middle of massive hallways, like they were on a public road. There are spaces marked off as sidewalks and crosswalks. Like they were in an underground city despite it's rather utilitarian-like appearance in concrete walls and floors and ceilings.

For a moment, Sam is back in his dream, walking down bland hallways so similar to these. Well... not quite, with the stalagmites hanging from the ceiling but...

"You're already looking better."

Sam blinks. He turns to look at the young woman next to him. "What?"

"You're already looking better," she repeats. "Your skin isn't as pale and the dark shadows under your eyes aren't as bad."

Sam looks at the rearview mirror. His skin is paler - after years growing up under the California sun and having spent basically weeks indoors, he's definitely lost some color - and there are dark circles under his eyes, but they don't look too bad. He definitely looks worn and tired, but he supposes he must have looked worse if this was considered better.

"I feel better," Sam admits. "Well, I feel gross, I need a shower," Mikaela smiles with him, "but I do feel better. Stronger."

"Good," Mikaela says, twirling one of the rings on her fingers. "So... what do you think is going to happen from here?"

Sam gives her a curious look as Bumblebee stops at a crosswalk, letting a few people cross the space, going from one side to the other. While they wait, Sam considers her question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." she waves her hand around. "All of this. What are you going to do about school? You've missed so much already."

Sam falters, shaking his head. He hadn't really thought about it. "I don't know. I don't know if I remember enough to even go back right now." Mikaela frowns at that. "And right now, with everything going on, I just think that it's better for me to stay with the Autobots."

Mikaela nods slowly. "Okay. And what about your parents?"

"They'll never leave California," he says, and he knows it's true the moment he says it. He hadn't fully realized the implications of his words until they were said. He would only be thinking about how his parents wouldn't ever leave California, if he was thinking about leaving it as well - in a more permanent measure. Not forever, but... maybe longer than just the school year. He looks at Mikaela and sees it in her eyes as well, what he wasn't saying. "I need to talk to them," he admits. "I don't know what to do about tomorrow, but for now, I know I need to stick around. Until we know more about what's going on with me, I need to stay close to Ratchet. And Earthquake needs my help in adjusting and well... Jazz..."

Mikaela nods, watching his expression carefully as she twists in her seat a bit to look at him. "Yeah, Jazz. I remember Mission City. How he... how he died. How is he back?"

"The Allspark," Sam admits, fingers running along Bumblebee's wheel, feeling the warmth soaking into his extremities and as soon as he thinks that the seat beneath him starts to warm up. Bumblebee isn't stopping him or giving him the impression that he is saying anything that he shouldn't, but he doesn't want to push his luck.

"What? Like from the sliver I brought to the base?" Mikaela asks. She still doesn't know. Not everything. Sam needs to talk to Optimus before giving away too much. He's not sure what he should say. What he's allowed to say. He wants to trust Mikaela and for all intents and purposes, the Autobots seem to, but he doesn't want to mess anything up. He thinks that they should tell her, but he doesn't know if it's his place to be the one to do it without at least talking to Optimus first. He hadn't seen the red and blue Autobot since they arrived in Diego Garcia. From Sam's understanding from what Bumblebee has told him, Optimus went right to work establishing Cybertronian independence and nationalization with Earth's governments. He's making plans and expanding resources to the island. But aside from that very broad understanding, that's all he knows.

"The sliver has a role to play," Sam says illusively, feeling bad about the omission. "But it was the power of the Allspark that brought him back." He shakes his head, not wanting to interpret the slow look she sends his way before asking, "What about you? What about your dad?"

"I mean, he's on parole," she says carefully, casting Sam another look, her fingers twirling tone of the many rings she has on. "The shop, home, and the grocery store are about the limit to the places where he's allowed to go. I don't think he'll get a passport to leave the country any time soon."

"I don't know about you but I'm pretty sure I don't have a passport out of the country," Sam admits. Mikaela lets out a laugh, shaking her head.

"Me neither," she agrees.

"I don't really know how all of this is going to work," Sam admits. "I'm assuming that Optimus would handle it all for me - and you too, I would guess. If you wanted to stay."

Bumblebee pulls into a wide-open circular room, separated into six sections. The entrance to each section has massive blast doors that were wide open behind security checkpoints and colorful lines along the walls, no doubt to assist in directions but Sam was too far away to tell what was said on them. They exited the blast door marked with a 3 and moved over to the one marked 4 on both sides of the open door. They get up to the checkpoint designed for Autobots and Bumblebee rolls down the windows so that the NEST soldiers can peak inside at Sam and Mikaela.

"IDs?" the guard on Sam's side says, three are armed with guns, one with a tablet and another with some kind of folded up device. He unravels some kind of strange scanner like device and runs it under Bumblebee. After only about fifteen seconds it chirps positively in affirmation.

"We don't have base IDs yet," Mikaela says. This obviously wasn't her first time going through this. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her regular ID, passing it out the window to the guard next to her. "I'm Mikaela Banes and he's Samuel Witwicky."

The guard she spoke to pulls up the tablet, looking at Sam closely, then at Mikaela. Sam's palms suddenly start to sweat, anxiously. He didn't have his ID on him. Honestly, it was probably in one of the boxes that Bumblebee packed up for him that have since been moved to his room. No one told him he needed his ID.

"Confirmation: Bumblebee," the guard with the scanner says. Bumblebee's alarm chirps.

One of the guards, holding his gun carefully blinks, eyes wide as he stares down at the yellow Camero, as if suddenly realizing he wasn't just a regular car. He must be new.

"And yours?" The guard by Mikaela asks, looking in at Sam after handing her back her ID.

"I..." Sam swallows, looking at him. "I don't have it..."

The guard frowns but before he can speak, Bumblebee powers up the radio. "He's cool, he's cool."

"Sir, regulation says - "

"I know what it says," Bumblebee's radio slides back and forth, splicing bits of phrases together. "I was there when it was written. Special permissions from the big guy."

"Big guy..." the new guard says, blinking slowly.

The guard still looks like he wants to argue, when the one with the tablet shakes his head. "He's here. Prime has him marked. Samuel James Witwicky." He's an older gentleman, and he levels a stare at the other man until he backs up. After also retreating a few steps, he nods to the gate, granting access. "Sorry for the hold up, sir. Have a good day."

Bumblebee chirps, rolling up the windows and gliding forward slowly as the arm of a small gate lifts up and the spikes on the other side, designed to puncture tires, sink down into the ground. All guards at the checkpoint salute as Bumblebee moves through it and heads off down the path.

"Are you going to try to... stay here?" Mikaela asks after almost a full two minutes of silence. "I mean. I know something's up, and you need to figure out what it is, but... you are coming back. Right?"

Sam shrugs, sinking into the warmth of Bumblebee's seat, comforted in his alt mode equivalent of a hug. "I don't know," he says, honestly. "I'll definitely visit. My parents are there. My friends are there. But it's all so confusing right now that I don't know what to do but just focus on getting better and seeing where we go from here." Mikaela looks down at her hands, still twirling her ring on her pointer finger, but doesn't say anything for a long time, considering. She sucks in a slow, deep breath. "You're upset," Sam notes, rubbing at his forehead.

"No, Sam," Mikaela says, looking back at him with beautiful blue eyes. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't be worried about me," Sam says, offering her a little smile.

She rolls her eyes with a little shake of the head. "Shut up, Sam. I'll always worry about you."

Sam thinks about these last few weeks. About the Autobots being super protective. How Ratchet barely let Sam leave the medbay. How Bumblebee has barely left his side since he woke up. Special permissions from Optimus. How it was just assumed he would come with because he was one of them. Twelve years. Twelve years they were together - memories that he only has at most the last two of that is filling in more and more - and while he doesn't know with solid memories. He feels it. He feels it in the way they all interact with one another. How they react with him. How they all just seem to fit.

Despite being human, Sam feels like one of them.

Sam runs his thumb against Bumblebee's Autobot symbol in the middle of the horn. Bumblebee's engine purrs beneath them and he feels the yellow bot's field press into him gently enough not to suffocate him. It feels like adoration. Like connection.

"A lot of people seem to," Sam murmurs, almost sinking more into the plush soft cushion of Bumblebee's seat. "I guess I'm just lucky like that."

Bumblebee drops them off at his door. Sam knows it's his because for some reason Bumblebee's anxiety seems to grow the closer they get. Deeper and deeper down the path, Sam's skin prickles with tension that isn't his own. Once they come to a stop outside of a door and Bumblebee shifts into park, only Mikaela's door unlocks. She doesn't notice, but Sam does. Mikaela climbs out, smiling at the radio with a sincere, "Thanks, Bee."

Some of his anxiety abates as he chirps back. She closes the door and walks around the front, heading to the pad outside of Sam's door. She pulls out a piece of paper from her back pocket and unfolds it.

Sam waits until her focus is on the paper before looking over at the radio and quietly asking, "Are you okay, Bee?" Bumblebee chirps. If Sam couldn't feel the weight of his field, he might be completely convinced of the sound, but he can feel it and he's not fooled. "Bee, you can tell me if something is wrong."

Bumblebee idles for a long moment before he softly asks, in his own voice, "Can I come see you tonight?"

Sam blinks in surprise before nodding. "Okay. Tonight."

The field lifts, fluttering a bit before Sam can't feel it anymore and the door unlocks for Sam to exit. He waits a beat longer to see if his best friend will add anything else. When he doesn't, Sam pulls himself from the seat and closes the door. He runs his hand across the top of Bumblebee's alt form, debating on just asking if his friend wanted to talk now, but Bumblebee sends out a pulse in his field that almost feels like a nudge, so Sam pats the top and moves away, letting Bumblebee drive off. Mikaela has the door open, paper held out for him to take. He does as she gestures inside.

"Home sweet home," she says, offering a little smile. "At least, for now."

Notes:

I feel so bad for Mikaela. I like her character and I'm excited to expand on it, but for now she's sort of left in the dark. In the next chapter we get a little bit of Sam and Bumblebee! And we get to start seeing more of the Allspark's direct intervention. Big things are coming and the next chapter for sure is going to be leading up to it. I dropped a lot of foreshadowing about the future in this chapter so I'm curious to see if anyone has noticed it. Either way, thank you all so much for the support! I really do appreciate it, it is quite the motivator, lol! I do hope that you continue to enjoy!

Also, I am in love with Prowl and Jazz. I really am considering doing a little side story - or maybe just a bunch of chapters for things that I'm not sure how to fit into this story. I'll keep thinking on it. Anyway, thanks again!

Chapter 12: Some Truth

Summary:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.

Mikaela hangs around long enough to show Sam around the pretty basic room. There is a small hallway that serves as one of the walls for the bathroom without the door, that leads into the meat of the room. It has a large enough space for a living room set up - couch, television, bookcase, small but stocked mini fridge and desk - on the far side of the room straight ahead, while to the left is a step up for a bit of division in the space, where a bed and two nightstands are located. To the left of the bed is the doorway into the full bathroom - standup shower, lounge tub, toilet, sink, and a small built in for towels - and a door to the closet, filled with his boxes marked with his clothing. Back into the main living space, behind the couch in the center of the room is another door that leads to a decently sized storage space.

"You've got a bigger room," Mikaela jokes, sending him a smile that he knows would have made him weak in the knees once upon a time. "They must like you more."

"Or they know my stay is more permanent," Sam offers, practically, but still offers her a grin. "And because they like me more."

She laughed, gave him a swat on the arm and took her leave, while telling him to shower because he was stinking up the place. Sam took the time to see her out, hearing the door automatically lock behind her, before going into the bathroom and into the closet. He digs through a few of the boxes, finding some clothes to lounge in before turning on the shower. He perused the shelves of stocked essentials. He chose some shampoo, conditioner, and body soap. He then located a towel to drape over the closed lid of the toilet, a rag and a loofah. He put everything into the shower before turning it on and closing the door while it heated up. He grabs his phone, going to the music icon to the playlist that Bumblebee had made for him filled with songs that he loved, some he remembered, others he was hearing for the first time.

As steam filled the room, music bouncing off the walls, Sam undressed and stepped under the spray. A groan escapes him as he leans his forehead against the cool tile as the hot water wets his hair and slides down his back and chest. He closes his eyes and just lets his body relax. He dozes a bit on his feet, listening to the music that Bumblebee prepared for him, mouthing the words of the songs he knows, so before he falls asleep, he takes care of his hair and body, cleaning himself up, then returns to relaxing under the spray for a little longer. Once his fingers and toes start to prune, he finally turns off the shower and steps out. He shuts off his phone, wipes down his hair and body, before changing into sleep pants and a graphic t-shirt. It's early evening and he should probably go to find some food - seeing as every meal he's had so far has been served to him since waking up in the medbay back in the United States - but he's not hungry as of yet but knows that he should eat once more today. Plus, Bumblebee was going to stop by later, maybe he can text him and ask to bring something to eat.

And if Ratchet catches wind of him skipping meals, he's done for. It's one thing to try and not eat a lot, and another to skip it all together. And the old mech is scary when he's mad.

Sam grabs up the pile of dirty clothes, dropping them into the hamper just inside the large walk-in closet. He curls up on the couch with his phone and messages Bumblebee. He had thought it was weird for them to have phone numbers without phones, but Bumblebee had set a laugh track at him for his question, embarrassing him into flipping off the yellow bot and turning away.

"Do you still plan on coming back tonight?"

Not even ten seconds later, Bumblebee responds, "Yes. Is that alright?"

"Yeah. Is there any way you could bring some food? I just don't have it in me to go out tonight."

"Are you okay? Shall I call for Ratchet?"

Sam laughs, rolling his eyes. Everyone seems to be so wound up about him. "I'm fine. Just tired. If Ratchet doesn't force me to stay indoors, I would like to look around the island tomorrow, so I want to save up my energy." And the thought of changing again just to change back in an hour just doesn't appeal to him. Maybe he's getting to be way too pampered.

"Ah." A pause. Sam can almost see the yellow bot contemplating on what he was going to say next. "Is there anything is specific that you would like to eat?"

"Not at all, surprise me."

"Will do. I'll let you know when I'm on my way." And then he punctuated it with a thumb's up emoji.

Sam smiles, shaking his head. He puts his phone on the couch beside him and grabs the remote, turning on the television and beginning the hunt for something to occupy his time until Bumblebee comes to see him. He finds a sitcom marathon from the late 90s that he remembers watching with his mom in their living room, so he puts it on.

A knock at the door pulls Sam from his mindless staring at the television, slowly rotting away, to look at the door in confusion. He blinks, surprised that someone would be here. A quick glance at his phone shows that Bumblebee had texted him about fifteen minutes prior to let him know that he was on the way. But then... who was knocking on the door? Did Bumblebee pick up Mikaela?

"Coming!" Sam calls, moving to his feet and almost tripping over his numb toes. He hadn't realized how long he was sitting there. His legs tingle, barely agreeing to hold him upright as he stumbles to the door. He opens it and stops, expecting Mikaela, not the man standing before him. And Sam knows him. Immediately, there is something about him that Sam knows he's seen before. Sam thought that he was one of the NEST soldiers, in fatigues and a simple black t-shirt tucked in and boots. But instead of the NEST insignia on his shoulder, there is a silver Autobot regalia.

A soldier? Here? What did he want? And not just any sort of soldier, but unbiasedly a very attractive one. Somewhere in his early to mid-twenties, if Sam had to guess.

That shaved blond hair, bright almost unnaturally blue eyes and when those eyes reach Sam's, he smirks. And this dimple just... appears on his cheek. Sam's eyes fall to it, and the smirk spreads into a grin. Sam's cheeks burn as if he was caught looking at something that he shouldn't, meeting the other male's eyes with his own.

"I - "

"You always did like the dimple," the soldier says.

Sam's eyes drop to the dimple again before he really understood what was said to him. Flustered, he asks, "What?"

The soldier laughs and it's warm as it sends an electric tingle down Sam's spine. The soldier steps closer, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, holding up a simple brown bag that Sam hadn't realized he was carrying. "Hello, Sam."

Sam blinks, the voice now striking him.  "Wait," he murmurs, looking at the smiling soldier carefully, then jolting in realization. "Wait! Bee?"

He laughs and somehow it both fits and doesn't for his human form. His strong, masculine human form. "Hello, Sam," he says again.

"Bee! How - holy cow! Is this your, um, what did Ratchet call it? Holoform? Is this yours?" He reaches out to touch the hand of the holoform, not minding the warm food bag.

Skin. It feels like real skin. Just slightly colder than Sam's. Enough that he can tell at least. Sam takes the food bag and lays it down on the small table by the door, just fascinated how lifelike it was. He knew from Ratchet that it was at least passable, but he never really saw it like this. If Sam hadn't known it was Bumblebee, he would guess this was just some random guy who might have an iron deficiency. Sam smiled at the mental joke, knowing that Bumblebee would groan at it. At the... irony.

"Yes," Bumblebee laughs, whether at Sam's disbelief or he can read Sam's mind. "It is."

Sam presses his thumbs into the back of Bumblebee's hand, marveling at the feeling of tendons and bones. So unbelievably realistic. Even the callouses on his fingers. It was all so incredibly life-like. Or, perhaps it's better to say, very human-like. While his hands feel along the strong, calloused digits, his eyes roam over the holoform in front of him. A soldier's physic to go with his position within the Autobots, like what Sam would assume would translate over to this holoform, is. Sam has to wonder if he has control over that. Surely, he does, right?

"May I come in?" Bumblebee asks, still smiling.

Sam nods, pulling away. He flushes, surprised at himself. "Yeah. Thanks for coming by. Um," he looks out the door, wondering where Bumblebee was projecting from. "Yeah. Uh, come in."

"My real frame is in the medbay, I'm in low stasis," he says, as if able to read Sam's mind. Again.

It's then that Sam realizes that it was Bumblebee's voice. His actual voice is being used to talk to the young human.

"Does that hurt your throat? To talk?" His mind is racing a mile a minute and he's struggling to keep up, analyzing what was being said to him after the words were already leaving his mouth. "Wait, medbay? Are you okay?"

Bumblebee laughs at the worry on Sam's face.  The hand that he's not holding reaches up and runs up his arm in a motion that immediately relaxes him. A thumb digs into the joint of his shoulder, rubbing soothingly. "I'm fine, Sam. And no. It doesn't. This holoform is a projection of my voice. I'm not moving the damaged components in my throat. I'm just... projecting the sound through the hardlight image."

"No, right. Sure." Sam squints at him, a little annoyed at the blatant amusement on the yellow bot-turned-holoform human. It's so obvious that he doesn't understand. "So, you're okay?" He clarifies. "Right?" In the end, whether Sam understood or not, Bumblebee being alright was all that matters.

"Yes," Bumblebee says, warmly. He lowers his hand from Sam's shoulder as the young man releases the hand in his grip. "Ratchet has me in low stasis to heal from my vocalizer replacement."

Sam frowns a bit, moving over to the couch once more, making it only a few steps before he hears the sound of a bag crinkling. He glances over his shoulder to see that Bumblebee grabbed the bag that Sam already forgot about and was bringing it with them to the couch. Sam curls up with his legs beneath him as Bumblebee deposits the food next to the human and then went to the small fridge to grab a bottle of water for Sam before joining him on the other side of the food. He digs around in the bag, pulling out a warm sandwich from inside, immediately thankful to the Autobot beside him. It was some kind of warm ham and cheese sandwich, and it smelled amazing. Simple, easy and something that Ratchet might recommend on his restricted diet.

Although maybe not.

Sam takes a few bites of the sandwich, humming a bit as he chews. Maybe he was hungrier than he thought that he was. Once he swallows, he looks at Bumblebee, finally realizing what the bot had said. "Wait, did you say that you were healing from a vocalizer... replacement? So... so your voice..?"

Bumblebee, who was watching him warmly, nods. "It'll take a few days, but Ratchet is sure that I'm going to be all healed up. I just need to adjust to the new parts."

"He did that today?" Sam asks, surprised at how fast it was. It's only been like five or six hours since he left the medbay. He knows nothing about surgery on a human, let alone on a Cybertronian so what did he know about any of that. Still, it feels like it's impossible to find anything that Ratchet can't seem to pull off.

"Yes, I was just given the order to power down, so I was able to come see you," Bumblebee says, turning to Sam, propping up his head on his fist against the spine of the couch.

He looks so relaxed, so comfortable. He's a stranger, yet Sam recognizes the man, and at the same time, knowing it's Bumblebee only enhances the feeling. Sam doesn't remember this version of Bumblebee consciously, but somewhere in his subconscious, he does. His smile, his laugh, even the lines forming at the sides of his eyes. His holoform is older than Sam. Maybe mid to late 20s? And very conventionally attractive. Unnaturally blue eyes, bright like flames were trapped whirling around his irises. A strong jawline complimenting full lips and that dimple peeking out as they curve up a bit. His shaved blond head, strong body. He was taller than Sam by a few inches. And even though they were two entirely different races, Sam could see Bumblebee in every movement of his holoform, in his eyes, the way he smiles. Everything. Purely Bumblebee.

"I'm happy for you," Sam says softly, feeling actual relief loosen some tension in his shoulders. "I hated the idea of just talking hurting you."

"Thank you," Bumblebee says, blue eyes bright and that dimple flashing against his cheek.

"Is it different than Ratchet's?" Sam asks, eyes flickering away from the blatant interest they have in that dimple. "You can only use your holoform when you're... asleep?" Ratchet wasn't like that. He was able to do it while standing over Sam, so that he can work on whatever Sam needs, or in the hall outside of Lennox's room while he showers. But maybe it's different for them because Ratchet is a medic and Bumblebee is a scout. He's not sure how that equates out, but maybe it does.

"In some ways," Bumblebee admits, quietly. "His holoform can do in depth medical scans. Mine cannot. But mine can do stronger cursory scans of my surrounding area and I can travel much further distances from my main frame while maintaining a strong constitution with it. And no, I don't need to be powered down to use it. I just am this time." 

Sam nods slowly as the other talks, taking a few more appreciative bites of his sandwich, wanting to finish it while it was warm. He sets the sandwich down on the wrapping perched on his knee before grabbing his water, unscrewing the lid and taking a long drink of the cool liquid. He puts it down on the coffee table before going back to his meal. After another bite, chew and swallow, which was received with silence and a watchful stare from the holoform next to him, Sam finally probed, "I'm happy that you're here, Bee, but I get the feeling that this isn't what you wanted to talk about earlier."

Bumblebee's eyes lower to his lap, long lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. "I'm not being fair to you, Sam," he admits after a long silence. His voice is low and shameful.

Sam frowns, finishing the bite in his mouth before asking, "What do you mean?"

Bumblebee lets out a little sigh, rising his eyes to look at Sam, searching his face. "Optimus and I spoke - at length. There is so much that you don't know, and I know that doesn't really change much and that you're remembering as time goes on, but it feels like we are being dishonest. We are of a like mind about wanting to tell you everything but differ on what's holding us back. I want to give you time because I know that it will all come back to you and everything will be fine, but Optimus isn't as sure. He is of the belief that remembering everything isn't going to be the "magical flip of a switch" that I think it is," he says. He wiggles his fingers in air quotes.

Sam takes the last bite of his sandwich, using the time it takes to chew and swallow, trying to make sense about what Bumblebee was saying. Once he couldn't avoid speaking any longer, he finally admits, "I don't get it. Are you talking about the events in the future? I thought Optimus was pretty sure things weren't going to be a one-to-one. Especially since it already hasn't been. Ratchet believes either one of two things is going to happen, either I will remember the next ten years as clearly as the last two are coming to me, or I won't. I mean, I get feelings, like ghost sensations of thoughts and feelings that could only be from the future, but no solid memories. Is that what you're worried about?"

Bumblebee shakes his head. "It's not that specifically. It's about us. About our relationship." His eyes still not leaving Sam's face, watching his expression closely.

"You know..." Sam admits slowly, reaching forward to place the bag and the wrapping onto the coffee table and out of the way. "I had this feeling that Optimus was holding something back."

Bumblebee's eyebrows tick up at that. "Oh?"

"I was scared to ask him about it, though." He hadn't meant to say it, at least not like that, but Bumblebee was so easy to talk to. Different form or not. Memory or not. He couldn't explain this connection that he has with the yellow bot, but he's always been so comforted by his presence. Always so relieved to have the scout at his side.

"Sam," Bumblebee says softly. "Don't ever be afraid to speak to Optimus. Even if it's about tough things."

"I know," Sam murmurs, and he does know. But something about what Ironhide said still rings in his head. That Optimus would withhold things to protect him and while Sam can appreciate that, he also doesn't want to put the red and blue mech in the position to lie to him. "Bee?"

"Yes?"

"Would Optimus lie to me? If I asked him something, do you think he would?"

Bumblebee frowns at that. "No. Not if you asked."

"Even if it was to protect me?" Sam asks, watching his best friend closely.

A look flickers over Bumblebee's face, one that Sam can't decipher. "Okay, fair," he says after a long silence. "He might not say something to protect you, but he wouldn't straight up lie. He would just tell you that he will explain it in due time. That revealing it now may do greater disservice than could be accepted for a situation. His job is very important, and he treats it with the reverence and respect it deserves, even if it comes at personal cost to himself. He will do what he thinks is best. I have never, and will never, doubt his dedication to the Autobots, our cause, or you."

Sam feels a tug at the corner of his mouth as those words warm something in his chest. "You sounded like him just then."

Bumblebee smiles back. "There are worse bots that I could have emulated."

Sam sinks into the couch, resting his cheek against the cushion, still facing Bumblebee. He finds a loose thread and plucks at it a bit. "He's pretty great, isn't he?"

Bumblebee nods, watching him quietly with the softest look on his face. "Yeah, he is." They sit quietly for a minute or two before Bumblebee shifts a bit, focusing intently on Sam. "I'm not angry at Mikaela, not really."

Sam casts him a long look. "Okay? I mean, you seem to be fluctuating a lot. Sometimes you seem upset, and other times your fine. I've wanted to talk to you about it, but there never seemed like a good time to bring it up."

Bumblebee sighs, rubbing at his face as blue eyes flicker around the room, trying to organize his thoughts. "I'm jealous of her. I'm trying not to be, but I am."

Sam tilts his head a bit, frowning. "Jealous? Why?"

Bumblebee hesitates, almost like he's going to clam up, but then he just heaves a heavy sigh, meeting Sam's eyes with his own. "Because for the last six Earth years, you were mine." Sam stares at him, not sure he understands. "My people have a type of bond that we share with one other. A Conjunx Endura bond. It's like a chosen life partner. A mate. Like Jazz and Prowl. And despite everyone's joking that we were already there, the truth is that we were heading there. I knew. I always knew, back in Egypt that I would forever choose you."

Sam stares, wide eyed. "I... we were dating?" Despite his surprise, he felt it in his bones. The reason why he felt a fleeting affection for Mikaela, but his mind's unwillingness to even attempt to pick up a budding relationship with this girl who obviously cares for him. And the Autobots. When Mikaela came into the hanger at the base in the United States. When she hugged him, and they all got so angry. He didn't understand and no one said anything about it. It hadn't even occurred to Sam to even ask about it. Sure, he had thought that it was strange but with everything going on he never really put much more thought to it. The Autobots got angry at Mikaela because to them, Sam and Bumblebee were already an item, and she was... what? Infringing on that? Or she was at least viewed as an obstacle.

Maybe they weren't so much angry at Mikaela but were protective of Bumblebee.

Bumblebee nods. "Yes."

Sam just stares at him, trying to wrap his mind around how this would have even worked. "Like... we did the whole thing? The dates? The... the..." he waves his hand around trying to find the words as his face heats up. "The... everything?"

Bumblebee raises an eyebrow, amusement blatant on his face. "The whole thing. The everything, Sam. We were together for six Earth years." A smile pulls at the corner of his lips. "And yes, Sam. Even what you're too bashful to say. We had plenty of dates and kisses and again yes, even sex."

Sam flushes more, shifting to hide the warmth that washes over him. He's definitely embarrassed, but there is something warm knotting in his gut that is familiar in hindbrain. "Bu-But, how? I mean, I... we... how could we when you're... and I'm..." His cheeks are burning and while all Bumblebee is doing is looking at him in the most genuine loving manner, it is only serving to make Sam more embarrassed. "How could we have sex when - " he stops, blinking rapidly. He looks at Bumblebee's holoform, seeing it for the first time, realizing where his amazement in the realness of it comes from. Where his immediate, undeniable attraction comes from. Sam swallows, shifting again. He looks down at the holoform hand that's closest to him, the one dangling by Bumblebee's face from where it was propped up against the couch. The hand that he was touching earlier.

"Sam," Bumblebee says softly, drawing Sam's eyes to his own. "I want to make something clear to you. Okay?" Sam nods. "I am your best friend, as you are mine. And just because our relationship evolved once doesn't mean it has to again. I just felt like I was being more than dishonest to you, feeling the way that I do for you without you knowing about it. I am trying not to pressure you or be unfair to Mikaela as I know that realistically the two of you are together, but this is by no means my way of trying to break the two of you up. I know that you're confused and still trying to just catch up to the life you've lived without being forced to accept the choices that you made in a life you biologically haven't lived yet. But I've not had the best time at keeping myself under control and that's my fault. I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam shakes his head, scooting closer to take the hand that he's been staring at, still marveling at how much it feels like a real human hand. "I know, Bee. I know you're not trying to force anything on me. I... yes. I'm confused and just trying to..." he waves his free hand around trying to find the words while still gripping Bumblebee's hand with his other one. He sighs, trying to organize his racing thoughts. "I... thank you. For telling me, I mean. I'm sorry that all of this is happening but thank you for telling me the truth. I know that this can't be easy for you either."

"It's not easy," Bumblebee admits. "But I haven't exactly made it any easier on anyone else, either. The nature of this bond makes us highly territorial and protective so it's harder for me to keep a cool head. It's not an excuse, just a fact. I'm young, relative to my species, so I'm much more prone to reaction than Optimus is. I'm much more likely to react on instinct than he is, but even seasoned mates like Prowl and Jazz can't escape a reaction when their mate is in danger, even if cooler minds prevail more often than not."

Sam stares at him, perplexed. "I don't understand. I mean, I do to some of it, but what do you mean prone to reaction?"

Bumblebee shrugs, running a thumb along the back of Sam's knuckles. "Just quicker to aggression. Some of the friction with Earthquake comes from that. I logically recognize that the situation isn't exactly normal, but the fact that he's so young and has no true concept of how easily he could kill you just triggered me. That steam that he released from his frame when you were on the berth too close to him for example. And Wheelie too, when he hurt you. I know it was an accident. I recognized it when it happened, but I just about crushed him with the heel of my servo, Ironhide-style."

Sam offers a weak smile at that, not really wanting to picture it. Funny when it's about his phone, not when it's about an actual person. "That's why Ratchet forced you to come with."

Bumblebee nods. "Yeah. If it hadn't been for the hardcore discipline that comes with Spec-ops training being beaten into me for millennia, I'm not sure I wouldn't have lost all composure in either instance, and even then, the baseline code that dictates 'protect mate' just about overwrote countless vorns - or years - of training in an instant."

Compassion wipes away the heat in Sam's gut as he holds Bumblebee's hand just a little bit tighter. "I'm sorry, Bee. That has to be scary for you. To lose control like that."

Bumblebee seems surprised for a moment, before his expression melts away into something so gentle and loving. "You always did just understand." Sam's smile this time is stronger. Bumblebee keeps rubbing away with that thumb as he says, "I will answer any and all questions that you have about our relationship, when you're ready to address it. But just know that I'm okay. I don't need the dates and the kissing and the sex. Being with you fills my spark with joy, sooths the ache in my bond to you. As nice as those things are," he smiles at Sam's flushed cheeks, "I don't need them to be happy with you. I just want you in whatever way you'll have me."

A tension in Sam's gut loosens while his heart constricts. "What about Mikaela? Or any other girlfriend I could have? Or boyfriend?" Sam hadn't given any thought at all to his sexuality. The only girlfriend he recalls is Mikaela, and Bumblebee... is an alien. An alien robot that turns into a car. But he does take on a more masculine appearance and the human form of his choice is male, so... boyfriend? With an asterisk attached to it? But either way, neither seem wrong to him. One a little more for his brain to wrap around, but not wrong in any way. And obviously Sam from four years into the future had no problems with dating his alien-robot-car-boyfriend-with-an-asterisk-attached for six years. So,

that has to mean something too.

"It won't be easy, and I can't guarantee I'll be able to mask it every time, but I will certainly try my best to be as respectful as possible," Bumblebee admits. A crease appears between his eyes belying just how unsure he is of his own words.

"That doesn't seem fair to you," Sam admits, quietly. Shame grips at his chest. He feels like he's leading two people on, even though both expressed understanding his situation, yet it doesn't feel right at all.

"I've lived for four years knowing that I wanted to bind myself to you for the rest of our lives," Bumblebee says softly, eyes warm and compassionate. "I made it work then, and I can do it now."

"You shouldn't love me if I can't love you back," Sam says, even though he knows that's not possible. He's been reading the love that he has for Bumblebee in the sense of their bond as friends, but he can see where he misunderstood. Before this happened, before whatever brought the consciousness of the Autobots back in time occurred, Sam loved Bumblebee. Sam was in love with Bumblebee. And the hard part of this is that the two versions of him, like with Mikaela are all mashed together. An intense love from two people who were romantically involved and the love between two best friends. It all feels tangled despite Sam knowing how he logically feels. Putting it into words about there being a chance he could ever not love Bumblebee hurts his heart, which to Sam feels more telling.

But his brain. His stupid brain is in the way.

Bumblebee's face remains completely unmoving, unaffected by his words, still as loving and compassionate as he was before. "You don't get to decide that, Sam. If you hadn't shown a budding interest in me six years ago, I would have been content to spend the rest of your life desiring you as I did. I love you, Sam. And my love is not conditional on your reciprocation of it. Believe me when I tell you that you exactly as you are right now is enough for me. It's the difference between our species. As our species aren't naturally very tactile except for those we love or that exist in our close familial units whether it is by choice or CNA, we don't require a lot of physical attachment. It's mostly spiritual. Our bond fulfills us."

"But I can't bond with you," Sam whispers, staring intently into Bumblebee's passionate blue eyes.

"And yet, I feel it. I feel you, Sam," Bumblebee says softly back, eyes searching the young man's face. "The Allspark allows for a greater connectivity, I think. But even when I didn't actually feel it, my spark always did. In your smile, your laugh, your beautiful eyes that go from emerald to an almost mint like green depending on the light. And when we drive, just you and me, listening to the radio as we go for as long and as far as we can with no plan, just living..? I love those moments. I love seeing your face as you look out at the sights of your beautiful world. Your wonderment, your amazement, it never gets old. I don't need sex or kisses or dates that end with either or both. I just need you."

The hand Sam wasn't holding comes up to his face. Bumblebee's thumb gently runs under his eye, wiping away a tear that sprang free. Sam blinks rapidly trying to clear his vision as the feeling in his chest squeezes tighter. And as confused as his mind is, in his heart there is love, so much of it, that's both romantic and platonic. And there's something else too. Like an acknowledgement of Bumblebee's feelings for him, but also this intensity to the true depths of it, and how, once upon a time, Sam returned that love with equal fervor. 

And still easily could again if his stupid brain stopped getting in the way.

"I don't want to hurt you," Sam whispers, feebly. He's not sure, at this rate that there is even a choice on his future in this regard, feeling the way that he does.

"You won't hurt me," Bumblebee says with absolution, no room for argument in his tone. "You're the most important person in the world to me."

Sam's heart stutters, eyes widening for a moment before squeezing shut beneath a shaking breath. He's heard that phrase before. When asked what they were to one another, Optimus had the same thing.

---

Sam makes his way down the path. The more he walks it the more he thinks he's in some kind of underground facility. The rocks jutting out of the ceiling that vanishes into blackness. The shifting walls that feel like they're breathing. And for the first time, Sam notes how cold it is here. His fingers feel numb as the chill slips its way through the threads of his shirt, making his skin prickle all over his body. He crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits as he moves forward, eyes darting around the darkness of the hall that only peels away steps in front of him.

The sound of his bare feet slapping against the hard floor and the drip drip drip of water follows him down the hall.

Then, after a few minutes of walking, there is a low din. At first, Sam stops, listening to it. He strains his ears, but he can't make anything out. With an abundance of trepidation, he pushes onward. Further and further into the darkness and the din grows louder with each step. Louder and louder. Further and further. Sam's skin crawls again as he realizes the din, which he'd for a moment thought was the buzzing of bees, is actually voices. Dozens all speaking at once. At first, he thought it was whispers, but the further he goes, the more it seems like they are yelling at one another, but it's almost as if the volume is set so low that it could be mistaken for whispers.

Still, it's loud enough that Sam's ears are ringing by the time he makes it to the intersection in the hall. He shivers again, looking one way and then the other, unable to decipher which way the voices are coming from. He's not sure if he wants to go towards the din or not. Both paths, this time, disappear into darkness, calm and unmoving. Not like the last two times he was here.

Finally, daringly, Sam quietly croaks out, "Hello?"

All the sound stops.

Sam's heart leaps into a gallop in his chest, picking up speed as the silence stretches on. The yawning darkness around him almost seems to sharpen, focus in on him. Tendrils of what is almost... awareness seems to reach for him. The awareness is prickling, thorny, and it slips around him like a noose, threateningly. It constricts like a snake, a great weight pressing in on him from all sides. It squeezes. Tighter and tighter and tighter.

Sam gasps for air, his vision darkening as the shadow crawl over it. His chest, his lungs, it feels like they are being held in place by a force pushing in on him from all angles. He felt it then, a pressure unlike the squeeze on him. The weight of a heavy field laced with ancient power wrapping around him in an angry snare. Despite his failing vision and the weight of the world sitting on his chest, the true pain is in his head. Titanic pressure turning the soft tissue of his brain to mush. Tighter, tighter, tighter.

Sam's head fogs over, his eyes roll up into his head. A squeak passes his lips, a barely there, "Please..."

And then it stops. The angry viper of darkness coiling around him suddenly lets up, just enough for Sam's brain to breathe. He gasps for air, drinking in as much as can fill his lungs. This thing that wraps around him flutters like a bird, gently patting across his body as if inspecting him. Sam weakly bats it away, trying to get himself back in order but his head is splitting, and his lungs refuse to fill enough to ease the ache in them.

Then, the presence recoils, as if stunned.

//You...// it whispers. //What are you?//

Notes:

We are inch worming our way into BumblebeexSam! Poor baby is so confused right now, but there is obvious attraction. The way he is now, Sam isn't in the mindset to be making decisions like that for himself, but as more time passes and Sam regains his memory, then he will be able to make more educated decisions about what he wants his future to hold. And ugh, I just love Bumblebee! I am so excited for this story. And that little bit with Sam connecting Bumblebee and Optimus's words... hmmm. Anyway, thank you all so much for your support! I do appreciate all of your kind words! I do hope that you continue to enjoy.

And, as a side note... what's happening to Sam?

Chapter 13: First Occurance

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.

Sam jolts awake, hands shaking. His whole-body throbs alongside his heartbeat. He looks over next to him on the bed. Wheelie is snoring away. According to Bumblebee - and reaffirmed later by Wheelie himself - Wheelie and Brains would sleep with Sam in his room so that no matter what, he was never alone. It rings true, it feels familiar. Wheelie's soft snoring and mumbling in his sleep - recharge - feels familiar to Sam. And without windows in the room to help dictate the time of day, it's pitch black in here, so Sam is thankful for the little bot being here. It feels less lonely. There isn't anything that casts any sort of light too, to assuage him of his fears. Maybe he should invest in a nightlight or something. He's not scared of the dark, necessarily, but he is starting to grow weary of what could be hiding in it. Sam takes a few shaking breathes. He rubs his forehead as he reaches over to grab his phone right as it lights up with a text from an unfamiliar number.

"Are you okay, Sammy?"

Sam blinks, surprised. He rubs his eyes, seeing spots from the harsh light of his phone in the darkness of the room. He lowers the brightness on his phone before squinting at it. It's still late into the night, at almost two-thirty. Way too early for him to be up and about. He has to read the message three or four times before it finally makes sense to him. He responds, "I'm okay. Who is this?"

A second later, "Jazz, Sammy."

Jazz? Sam's eyebrows raise to his forehead. "How do you know something is wrong?"

"I can feel it." Sam stares at that, blinking a few times, trying to understand such a simple sentence. He must have waited too long to respond due to his confusion because Jazz elaborates, "You created me, Sammy. Recreated me, I guess. But either way, that forged a bond between us."

Sam sits up a bit, leaning on his elbow and turning away from Wheelie, hoping that the dim light won't wake him from his peaceful sleep. "It did?"

"Yep. Forged a creator bond between us. I can feel your emotions. Especially if they're strong ones. Like the panic that you were feeling just a few minutes ago. But I got strong enough sensors to keep track of you. Nice and safe in your room. Wheelie with you. So, unless someone broke in and are hidden from my sensors and didn't manage to wake Wheelie, I'm assuming that it wasn't an intruder."

"No," Sam admits. "It was a nightmare, I think. I don't... I don't really remember it."

//What are you?// The voice had asked before he jolted awake. But every other part of the dream was fading away from his memory, slipping from it like water through his fingers.

"I see. You okay?"

Sam nods, curling up on his side. "I'm okay. Sorry I woke you with my... feelings?" He was learning a lot about bonds - at least the different types of them - these last few hours. Conjunx Endura bonds. Creator bonds. If he made one with Jazz when he brought him back, does that mean he made one with Earthquake too? Has it been like that this whole time? That might explain why he's so sensitive to Sam's feelings.

"Nah, Sammy, you're good. I'm just glad you're alright."

Sam sits in silence for a long while, long enough for his eyelids to start drooping once more. He shakes himself awake to respond. "I'm sorry I did that to you, Jazz. The bond thing. I don't feel anything but..." After almost a solid two minutes of typing and erasing, he decided to add, "...but hopefully it won't affect you too much."

He's not really sure what this bond does, but it's true that he hopes that it's at least not distracting. His own thoughts and feelings could be distracting, but the vague memories of Mission City - running for his life as the city is turned into a warzone, cube clutched to his chest. Its hard edges pressing into his sternum. His mind racing, heart pounding - is enough for him to not want to share his headspace with anyone else. Especially when they are the ones that are fighting in this war. The last thing he would want is to be responsible for getting Jazz killed because his emotions are all over the place and distracting.

"It's all good, Sammy. Just try and get some more sleep." A pause. Then, "And don't worry about the bond. We will talk more about it later. Bonds are natural for us; we are used to mitigating it. Goodnight, Sam."

"Okay. I'll talk to you later. Goodnight, Jazz." Sam clicks off his phone after saving Jazz's number in his contacts and lays it back down on the side table before rolling onto his other side, looking at Wheelie, still snoring lightly. He's sprawled on his back, one hand by his head, one resting on his stomach with his little legs splayed out. He's relaxed and content. Sam's happy to see it, even though he had been a little forlorn earlier about missing his best friend, Brains.

Both of them had been underlings to the Decepticon's Third in Command, Soundwave. All that Wheelie would say about him was, "You don't get on ol' Soundwave's bad side. Megs will just deactivate ya. If Soundwave doesn't put ya into time out," a shiver, "then he'll turn ya over to Shockwave."

Wheelie did not want to talk about the mysterious Shockwave or his former master in Soundwave. Sam had enough good sense about him not to press further.

Sam curls up again, letting out a little sigh before letting his eyes droop closed and sleep to claim him.

---

Two weeks pass in a flurry of activity. After Earthquake checked in with him at an ungodly time the following morning to ensure that Sam was okay before he went out on his very first patrol run with Arcee and her sisters. It took a lot of coaxing from Sam and a patient Elita-One rolling up next to the large, armored truck and offering her gentle two cents as to Sam's security before he was finally convinced to leave. Sam went back inside to get ready for the day after receiving a text from Mikaela. She had made plans with Bumblebee; they were going out into Diego Garcia.

The city attached to the base was two years into its growth. Probably less, considering whatever time was needed for logistics of the land being turned over to the Autobots, surveyors for the buildings and city layout, and the time it takes for the land to be cleared and the materials to be brought in. Contracts with the necessary people to make it all happen and such, but within the two years since the battle at Mission City, Sam can say that he's honestly impressed with how large and complex the framework for the city is. There are only a few buildings, recreation centers, supermarkets, a school for the children of NEST operatives, and apartment complexes for their families. It's not a whole lot, but it is definitely turning into something. There is plenty more buildings being built and a constant stream of supplies from the port up into the city.

There wasn't a whole lot to see, but they looked around at everything that they could. The buildings were all spaced out based on the overall image of the city, so not everything was all clustered together, but placed in a specific way that it made sense for when the rest of the city goes up around it. Sam could kind of see it, but Bumblebee assured them that Optimus was meticulous in his planning. And with Prowl here, it would all start running a lot smoother.

They end up at the beach after a long day. Bumblebee had rolled up onto the sand and let them out, but remained in his alt mode, as all the Autobots had when out in the city. They would reveal themselves in time, but even here, on their home on Earth, it wasn't safe for them to do so just yet. There were so many strangers - contractors from around that were fully vetted by NEST and the Autobots, but not brought into the fold as of yet. As far as the families of NEST are aware, this is a UN project, so not something specific to a single country, which would explain why there was people from all over the world. It was primarily Americans, but Optimus was open to the idea of recruiting any who wished to join them - after being properly vetted, that is.

Sam and Mikaela walked along the beach for a time. They talked, reminisced about more than he could remember, before sitting side-by-side staring out over the ocean. A different ocean, a different view, but the sound of the waves was the same. The warm breeze is the same.

"I talked to my dad," Mikaela says after a comfortable silence. "He's doing well."

"Good," Sam smiles, rolling up his sleeves from his flannel button up. Despite the warm air, he's still colder than he usually is.

"Do you think..." Mikaela trails off, pushing strands of long, dark hair over her shoulder as she turns to look at him. "Do you think there's a chance that Optimus might let me stay here? That my dad might be able to come here? I know we don't work for the Autobots, but we could? We could do... something?"

"I don't know," Sam admits, glancing over at her while squinting into the sun behind her. "I don't see why not. Economy and all that. I imagine people are going to bring actual cars here when it's not just a collection of a few buildings and not all within walking distance of each other. So, they'll probably need a garage opened for maintenance and stuff, right? That's normal."

Mikaela smiles, appreciatively. She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, nodding to herself. "Yeah, maybe not now, but sometime. And maybe that's what we need. A fresh start."

Sam nods, agreeing whole-heartedly. He wished he could talk to her, explain that he did love her, just not the way that she did. And now he knows why. That beautiful yellow Camero silently sitting up the beach behind them was the reason. Sam followed down the plotline to a bunch of romance novels. He fell in love with his best friend. He fell in love with his guardian. His protector. And yet even with that truth filling his chest, he couldn't help but feel like something else was missing. He has no idea what, but he knows that there is.

They go back to Bumblebee not long after and he brings them back to base. There is a large cafeteria that displays an incredible amount of food choices for them. Cards are laid out with all major food allergies and content information. It doesn't surprise Sam with how monitored his diet has been that the chief medical officer wouldn't see to each and every one of their individual health. Or at least keep their options open and give them the chance to be informed about what's going into their bodies.

Sam manages to fall into a routine over those two weeks. He stays almost primarily in base, but once he got his ID badge, he felt a lot better traveling without Bumblebee as his escort. He recognizes how busy everyone is so he felt bad for making Bumblebee his escort all the time, despite the yellow bot's insistence that he didn't mind. In his own voice, too, in his own body. Three days after getting his vocalizer fixed, Ratchet finally gave him the 'Ok' to speak regularly, but just to... take it easy in the beginning. In his holoform, his voice is very much human, but it is slightly different from his actual voice. There is the subtle hint of a synthesizer in every word. It's so subtle, that if Sam wasn't paying perhaps too much attention, he wouldn't have noticed it. But all the Autobots have it. Just very, very faintly.

He has only seen Optimus twice, and both of those times were in passing. The Autobot leader was going from one side of the base, through the main central chamber, and into another corridor, respectfully going through the checkpoints without complaint, even as the NEST forces tried to quickly push him along without holding him up for long. Sam didn't want to bother him, seeing as he's been so busy. But it was interesting to see him in that position. The polished to a shine red and blue flamed Peterbilt rolling to a stop at each checkpoint, powerful engine rumbling in the massive space, as he patiently waited for them to scramble through their procedures, before opening the gate and he rolls forward, disappearing down the tunnel until even the thunderous engine is swallowed in the din of the space around him.

The second time, after he got his official ID, Sam stopped in his queue when he heard the throating roar of Optimus's engine, a few days later. Sam had been surrounded by others trying to make their way through the checkpoint that, he could hear the Autobot leader but not see him. Not aside from a bit of his cab. He had his trailer pulling behind him - he was transporting materials further into the base that was still being constructed, and nothing was below his attention, it seemed. Sam felt Optimus's field brush against him. It was welcoming, loving, gentle. Sam shivered, but smiled, wondering how the bot could have known that he was there. He had grabbed his phone and sent of a quick text to the Autobot leader - thankfully Bumblebee had gotten him everyone's numbers, just in case he needed them.

"Hello to you too."

Half a second later, there was another affectionate brush against him that made Sam's spine tingle, before Optimus was waved through the checkpoint and disappearing once more.

Bumblebee told him later that his ID had a tracker in it - all of them did. It was another way for the Autobots to keep track of all their little humans. Both for safety and security.

Sam's ID was special, even beyond that, he guesses. It had a clearance level a lot higher than Mikaela's. It didn't really seem like there were many places where Sam couldn't go. He didn't go to a lot of restricted areas, but one of his favorite places, was the Hive. It's where Prowl spent the majority of his time. It's there that he organized... everything. He planned out the construction across the island, organizing schedules for Autobots and NEST operatives, as well working on mission briefs from incoming and outgoing agents. And... and...

Well, Prowl oversees a lot. A lot of logistics. A lot of day-to-day. A lot of security and planning. And a lot of... a lot.

Sam liked to hang around the Hive. It was an inverted dome accessible by five descending staircases, one definitely designed for Autobots. On each level there was computers. So many computers.  All the motion, all the rows upon rows of computers and many different workstations with someone sitting at every desk, made it seem like there was a perpetual din hanging over the room. There was a constant flurry of movement. There is a massive set of screens high up on the wall and a few large terminals definitely built for Autobots at the back of the Hive. This is the place where they gather information. It all funnels through here before being separated out and into other areas. Sam's understanding is that they currently don't have the staff - both human and Autobot - to perform accurate operations for each section individually as of yet. As well as the base is still under its own construction. But day by day, more of the base finishes, and the promise of Autobots drawing closer increases. If Prowl and his crew regained their memories of the future, then other Autobots might have as well.

Jazz told Sam that the consensus between Optimus, Ratchet, Ironhide and Prowl, was that any Autobot that was within the Allspark's influence when they were brought back got their memories. So Autobots like him, that were dead, or not alive, like Earthquake, or not close enough, like the majority of their forces, are all going without this ten-year glimpse into their future. Those that managed to make it here within the next ten years will no doubt be high tailing it here as they speak.

It sounds like they will be having more Autobots appearing in the near future. Which is probably why Optimus is killing himself trying to detangle the Autobots from the lordship of the U.S. Government. His people are going to need him to be able to speak solely on their behalf without going through a filter. If they intend to make this place - Diego Garcia, Earth - their home, then it has to be theirs. Not on loan or borrowed. But theirs.

If Sam thought that he could do anything to help, he would, but even as his life from before the ten years comes back to him, those ten years are much more elusive. Mostly feelings. Sometimes, a flash of something like a vision, or whispers of ghostly conversations without context will bleed into his mind, but it's the first eighteen years of his life that come in far clearer. And much easier.

Sam likes it at the Hive. He doesn't want to bother Prowl while he's working so hard, but a lot of bots pass through here and if Sam is ever looking for Jazz, this is usually the sure-fire place to find him.

Outside of the rows of computers is scaffolding that allows Sam to walk up to a higher elevation so that he can speak to Autobots closer to their level. They have these scaffoldings in pretty much all of the areas where humans and Cybertronians occupy the same space. The scaffolding here is temporary, though, according to Bumblebee. Once more sections of the base are available for the work that needs to get done, then the Hive's purpose will alter more and more until it becomes as it was intended to. What that is, exactly, Bumblebee didn't say.

Jazz is playing a stringed instrument behind Prowl, singing softly enough that Sam can just barely hear it. Prowl's wings dip low and press to his back, facing Jazz with the flat panels. Bumblebee had told him that it was the sound of Jazz's singing. Their sensor wings are sensitive to it.

"Prowl is tense," Bumblebee had softly murmured to him, casting a look over at the SIC. "He's under a lot of stress right now. Without some of the others to help take over some of these positions, he's stuck doing all of them."

"Can we help?" Sam asked, frowning. He looked to the black and white winged bot, his bright blue eyes intensely focused on the screens in front of him.

"Jazz is trying," Bumblebee admitted. "Just do what he says and... pray that Blaster or Red Alert, or even Inferno get here soon to help alleviate some of the pressure. Oh, and... well, let Jazz sing to him." Bumblebee sends Sam a look he doesn't understand. "It's easing his nerves a bit."

Sam blinks, drawing his focus back to the present. He looks over to see Prowl standing at the top of the Hive, like a lord overseeing his workers, wings pressed flat as Jazz, who was sitting about fifteen or so feet back in one of the chairs he stole from the empty workstation to Prowl's left, sings away softly. He strums and sings, head tilted back a bit with his visor dark. Prowl typically works in absolute silence. He stands there monitoring, working, speaking only when someone comes up to him or he needs to address someone or something. Otherwise, he doesn't say anything and hardly even moves.

"Hey, Sam."

Sam jolts, heart leaping into his throat. He looks over at the young woman next to him, surprised he didn't hear her walking up the scaffolding to get to him. Her curly blond hair pulled up into a messy bun, with strands dangling around her face. Her lips glossy in a grin and blue eyes bright.

"Hi Maggie," Sam says, smiling.

Maggie. A friend of Optimus's who died. Killed in an accident. Sam has been watching the Autobots around her, and most seemed pretty fond. Bumblebee is always quick to offer her attention and even Prowl, who is respectful, but stern, treated her with more...impersonal kindness. Just slightly less business professional. And that's coming from a bot that had his emotions turned off last time. Nowhere near as friendly as Jazz, who despite knowing anyone other than Lennox's team peripherally, was welcoming to everyone he came across. But decidedly more friendly.

According to Bumblebee, Maggie worked very closely with Prowl. She did a lot for NEST. She helped plan and run operations for Spec-ops. She's intelligence. So that means that everything she touches is classified. And even though Sam has only met her a handful of times, he really likes her. She's nice with a thick Australian accent.

Maggie places her sunglasses in her hair at the top of her head, grinning as she sips her coffee. Her nose ring catches the light as she waggles her fingers at him. "You should really see about doing something in intelligence since you seem to like it around here."

Sam shrugs. "Maybe, although I doubt that I'm actually smart enough to do what you guys do."

She shakes her head. "No way. I'm sure you'll be fine." She sips at her coffee again, considering. "Unless Prime doesn't want you working here."

Sam casts her a long look, curiously. She seemed so... in the know. Something about the way she so casually said it. Not so much that she's fishing, but more like she already either knows the answer, or suspects it.

"I don't really know what Optimus wants," Sam admits. It was mostly the truth. Optimus had told him once upon a time that he had wanted Sam to be their human ambassador, but there wasn't a whole lot that he could do while he was still relearning the life that he lived. He wasn't even in school anymore. He's not necessarily opposed to the idea of it, but he's just not sure where to start or what to do. Not about that position, or how to even go about it. He's still just trying to scavenge his own life - or at least what he's lived of it - to worry about his future just yet.

"Fair enough," Maggie acquiesces with a shrug. "I'm sure he'll talk to you about it once you've settled in. To be honest, I was pretty surprised when I saw that you were on the manifest coming here. I had thought Prime wanted to keep you as far out of this as possible."

Sam nods, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I think he did. But the truth is, I'm where I belong. Maybe not where I'm needed just yet, but where I belong."

Maggie smiles, and it's beautiful. Mikaela's smile is like that. "It's good you're here, Sam. Don't worry about the rest. It'll sort itself out on its own."

Sam feels himself smile. "Thanks. So," his eyes flicker over to the large black and white Praxian, then back to Maggie, "like working with Prowl?"

Her eyes brighten. "Yeah, he's brilliant. A lot of my other bosses were, well, incompetent. Not him. In just one week he's already getting stuff organized and running streamline. Efficiency and all that. I mean, it's only been a week, but I'm already impressed with the improvements. Never liked my bosses, but I already like him. A little stiff but," she shrugs. "Anyway. It's also good to know that he's the Autobots' Second-in-Command. He's got his shit together, which is good. And now there is some real structure here for the Autobots, which just makes my life easier."

Sam frowns, head tilting. "How so? More people to report to?"

Maggie shifts her weight from one hip to the other. "Yes, but it also helps when things start to bottleneck. When NEST was formed the head of the division was the Prime, which it still is, but then there a lot of bureaucrats in the middle from the U.S. Government, then Major Lennox, and a pile of people trailing after. The chain of command - the clear division between the military both human and Autobot - and then the more civilian applicable stations was a lot more... um... unclear. No one really knew who they were reporting to exactly. Just that ultimately, it all ended up on Prime's desk. But if he was out dealing with Decepticon threats, some of those reports would be left untouched for days, weeks even, depending."

"That... sounds like a logistical nightmare," Sam admits.

Maggie laughs, eyes bright. "You have no idea. But thankfully, as soon as Prowl came in, by the end of the first workday, a mass email was sent out over all NEST forces, military and civilian branches, dedicating chain of command, operations managers, and solidified job positions. Who reports to who, what is our exacting positions, parameters of operations, etc. It's nice. It's organized and it's crystal clear. Little room for interpretation."

"I'm glad," Sam admits. "This is a good thing. I know it."

Maggie grins. "Yep. Me too."

---

Down the path he goes. He can hear it again - the voices. Like whispers from far away. As he continues down the path, in the darkness ahead, he knows that the intersection awaits him. He can't see it yet, but he knows that it's there. The more he does this, the clearer this place becomes. More of it sticks with him. Like the smell of moisture in the air. But it's old, stale. Like distilled water.

He looks down at his feet, at the concrete floor, to see that he was bare footed, and not in the socks he fell asleep in. He couldn't feel the concrete or the cold, yet when he breathes out, a puff of mist surrounds his mouth. Like this place is cold, yet he still feels warm and content, like how he was when he went to sleep earlier. Bumblebee had come to visit him for a few hours before bed, walking in with dinner as Sam was in the middle of talking his mom off a ledge. She had just learned that he wasn't in school and was losing her mind. He managed to - tentatively - convince her that he had to take the semester off and that he would start again the next one. At the rate his memories were returning to him, he should hopefully be ready to take classes by then.

Bumblebee already offered to talk to Optimus about finding a way for him to take online classes, seeing as he wasn't on the same continent as the school anymore. So, hopefully they can work something out with that.

Surely, he'll be ready by then.

Down the path he goes, towards the sounds of whispers, apprehension of that choking sensation from last time spiking in his gut. Yes, he... he remembers. There was something else in here last time. Something else that was reaching for him. How could he have forgotten?

"..."

Sam stops, suddenly chilled. Like all the warmth has drained from his body. He feels... was that...? He doesn't know, but it almost felt like something just happened. Like within the whispers that has steadily increased, there was something else but... but...

"..."

Sam looks behind himself, to absolute nothingness just three paces back. He's walked further than that, so it's almost like everything is disappearing behind him. With a shiver, Sam turns forward once more. With his arms wrapping around himself he pushes onward. He can hear his feet slapping against the concrete but there is such a strange disconnect from it. He doesn't feel it. Like he's listening to someone else walking right in his own footsteps. He keeps going, trying not to get distracted every time the feeling strikes him.

There was something else here. If he keeps pushing onward, he'll find it again. Something... yes, something spoke to him the last time. What was it? What else is in here?

"..m."

His breath catches. In the din of voices steadily growing louder, there was something... something else. Or maybe it was the same thing from last time? He doesn't know.

"Hello?" He dares to call out, tensing once more. The last time he did this, whatever it was that was down here with him just about squeezed the life right out of him. But nothing this time. The din of voices is still laid over them in a blanket of sound. He dares again, just slightly louder, "Hello?"

Still nothing. Sam pushes onward. More and more. The further he goes, the louder the din gets. But there are no words - at least none that he understands. He finds the split in the path. One way into a suffocating darkness, the other, towards the voices. A flicker of light impossibly far in the distance. Sam heads for the light, calling out again and again, until the whispers fall silent. Until the presence of consciousness focuses in on him. Instead of attacking like last time. The feeling wraps around him like a caress, running up and along the length of his body, as if trying to picture him. Trying to see him.

//What are you?// The voiceless question seems to stretch out across forever.

Sam's heart gallops in his chest, eyes searching the darkness ahead for something. Anything that could alert him of who, or what, is speaking to him. But he can't see anything.

"I'm..." Sam swallows, mouth dry. "My name is - "

A vice around his upper arms. "Sam!"

Sam jerks back, disoriented. He just about stumbles wildly, hands flailing as he shoves at the iron grip on him. His vision blurs, going from the dark, dimly lit hall with the smell of old water and the dripping and the concrete to something more brightly lit. Another hall, but with colors painted along them with directions and hanging lights impossibly high where stalactites once were.

Then there is a roar in his ears. Something sharp and loud and unnatural. An engine - a loud one - roaring overhead. A jet, his mind tells him. Explosions that rattle his teeth, rocks pelting his skin, dust and dirt in his lungs.

"It's Starscream!" 

Sam scrambles, crying out in fear as he backs up into something. His hand smacks against something hard enough to hurt. The smarting pulses with his racing heart. Something strong and unyielding curls around his back, keeping him upright, even as he panics. Three different places overlapping one another in his mind. The cityscape, the musty tunnel, the hallway in Diego Garcia.

"Sam! It's okay!"

Sam's wild eyes fly toward the soldier approaching him with purpose, blinking wildly as he tries to understand what's happening. "Bumblebee," he rasps, terrified. Where is Bumblebee? Bumblebee will help him.

The soldier tilts his head, blue eyes bright. "I'm here, Sam," he says softly.

Sam blinks rapidly, looking at the soldier and finally seeing him. Shaved blond hair, unnaturally bright blue eyes. And then, just beyond, the bot in question. Hunched down, blue eyes focused intently on him, head tilted. Sam's rapidly pounding heart slows as he takes in the space around him. Bumblebee knelt in front of him, just past his holoform. Jazz a few feet behind him with Prowl at the open doorway behind the TIC. Autobots down the hall beyond the SIC, all watching with bright eyes. Ratchet standing to Sam's left, also knelt down with a frown on his face. And Optimus is behind Sam, hand curled lightly around him to keep him from stumbling back any further. Ironhide standing just over Optimus's shoulder.

"You are in distress, Creator."

Sam blinks as Earthquake pushes passed Mudflap and Skids, ignoring their protests, as he comes closer. Jolt follows him closer, stopping him a few feet back from Bumblebee, running a hand down his arm, murmuring softly to the large bot. Earthquake's eyes flash red before returning to purple.

Bumblebee's holoform vanishes as Bumblebee presses closer, face contorting in worry. Sam hears Ratchet shift and when he looks over at him, he's momentarily blinded by the medical scanner. He sort of ragdolls into Optimus's hand in surprise, lucky to not have accidently tossed himself to the concrete.

"Ratchet," Optimus rumbles in disapproval as Sam rubs at his bleary eyes, trying to get the spots out of them.

"Sam," Ratchet says stiffly, studying the tab on his arm with a growing frown as Sam squints at him. "I apologize for startling you, but your blood sugar is tanked. You're outputting a lot of Allspark energy."

"Am I?" Sam asks a moment before he stumbles a bit, relieved to still be within the cage of Optimus's hand so that he didn't just fall over as fatigue hit him like a train. He watches blue arcs of lightning dance from his hands into Optimus's, sinking into his plates. Reassurance and calm press into him from all sides, stomping down the panic before it builds in him.

"Yes," Ratchet says blandly. "You are."

Sam rubs at his forehead, dizzy. He leans against the large silver thumb, trusting the Autobot leader to keep him upright. "How...did I get here?"

Bumblebee edges closer, chirping softly. He reaches out and very gently runs the back of his finger from Sam's thigh, over his hip and just under his arm in a soothing motion. Optimus closes his hand around Sam just a little bit. "You were sleepwalking, Sam."

"Yes, but it was scary as the pits," Sideswipe says from a few feet beyond Prowl. "It made my plates tingle; the base was flooding with the Allspark's power."

Jazz shifts closer, lowering down until he's balancing on the balls of his feet next to Bumblebee with his elbows resting on his thighs. He tilts his head to the side, his field pushing up against Sam's skin, calm and relaxed and in control. A slight tension in Sam's shoulders loosen as he rests more against Optimus. He watches as sparks jump from his finger tips to Optimus's hand.

"You alright, Sammy?" Jazz asks, tilting his head.

Sam nods. "I think so... I don't know what happened."

"Another dream?" Jazz guesses.

Ratchet casts him a look. "Dream?"

Sam looks between them before settling on Jazz. "I don't know. I think so." He squints. "Did you feel it again?"

"I was a little distracted," Jazz admits. It was so benign a comment, Sam wouldn't have thought twice about it had Prowl not scowled at the back of the TIC's head, wings hiked up high. "But with the output of the Allspark's power just about knocked Prowler and I offline." Sam's cheeks darken in realization of what he was implying. Ratchet scowls at Jazz next, opening his mouth no doubt armed with something scathing, but then something seems to occur to him. His jaw snaps shut, brow furrowing in confusion, seemingly thinking hard about something that confounds him.

Sam's cheeks are burning as Jazz's lips quirk into a grin before looking over his shoulder at Earthquake. "What about you? What were you getting from Sam? Before he woke up."

Earthquake tilts his helm, purple eyes burning bright. His cape of hands twitches at the bottom, fingers moving restlessly. He considers his words before admitting, "This construct does not know. The Creator's feelings were very strange. Whipping and whirling from one extreme to the next. This platform is unused to the Creator's emotions feeling like that. And is unsure of where they went."

Ratchet blinks, shaking his head as he looks over at Earthquake. "What do you mean?"

"The Creator's emotions were abnormal," Earthquake says. "When he felt them, they swirled around him, plucking away at the bond, but instead of traveling down it, as it usually does, it almost... went away." Earthquake scowls then, as if angry that he didn't know how to put it into words. Jolt pets down his arm a bit, trying to comfort him.

"It's alright, Earthquake," Optimus rumbles, still propping Sam up without complaint. "Try the best that you can."

Earthquake struggles, shifting uncomfortably. "His feelings weren't going down the bond fully. The Creator's feelings were... being swallowed up by something else. It was unnatural and swallowing up more just before he woke up." Baited moments of silence follow as they try to absorb this information. Earthquake still looks upset about not being able to say it right.

"I did notice that his feelings were muffled," Jazz offers carefully. "But that can also attribute to not feeling emotions very strongly."

"No," Earthquake says, finitely. "It does not." Jazz stares at him for a long moment before turning around back to Sam.

"Okay," Jazz says evenly. "Never mind."

Sam sags against Optimus's hand, rubbing at his forehead. His dizziness is starting to settle, but he still feels out of sorts. The sparks have lessened enough now where it looks to have stopped. Which is good, because Sam now feels like garbage.

"Ratchet," Optimus murmurs, softly. "We should table this for a different time, I think."

Ratchet turns to them, looking down at Sam before nodding. "Right. Okay, Sam, it's time to go back to the medbay."

"I'm sorry," Sam murmurs, looking up at Optimus. "I didn't mean to..." he waves his hand around, struggling to find the words, just like his creation. "...do whatever I did." He can't help but feel shame for once again uprooting everything that they were doing on account of not being able to control what's happening to him.

Optimus shakes his head. "We are all trying to adjust to this transition, Sam, and there will be growing pains. We just need to keep communication and our minds open. Whatever it is that we go through, it will be together."

Sam nods, watching as Ratchet transforms into his alt mode. With his lips pressed tightly, Sam looks between Optimus, Jazz and Bumblebee, asking, "Why did I come down this way? What's down here?"

"We are," Bumblebee offers softly, running his finger down Sam's side one final time before pulling away. Optimus's hand hovers close as Sam slowly makes his way over to the back of the ambulance. "Maybe the Allspark is trying to get close to us?"

"Maybe," Sam murmurs, unsure as he climbs inside where Ratchet's holoform is waiting for him. He doesn't protest as he crawls into the gurney, curling up on his side, letting his eyes droop closed.

Notes:

Either the next chapter, or the chapter after, and things are going to start to get exciting. I haven't quite worked out my timeline just yet. Either way, thank you all so much for your support, sorry that the chapter was so slow. I do hope that you enjoyed and that you continue to do so!

Chapter 14: Viable

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.
Warning: Brief robot sexual content starts at: "Prowl is floating."

"Doctor Ratchet?"

Sam and Ratchet both turn towards the entryway to the medbay to see Earthquake standing there. His massive frame filling the doorway. His bright purple eyes flicker between them as he shifts a little, his field reaches out to Sam, brushing against him in a strange way. Like seeking or searching. For comfort, maybe? Sam offers a soft smile that seems to alleviate some of the tension in the large bot. It's later now, in the actual daytime, nearing noon, and Sam has just gotten some food in him after resting. He's still drowsy and feeling off, but Ratchet has been putting together a mixture of supplements for him to take. They're starting with some drinks and Sam's already powered through one and is working on the next and they're actually really good. When Ratchet sort of explained what was in it, Sam's brain started to make a weird fuzzy sound, and it must have shown on his face because Ratchet just scoffed and rolled his eyes.

But Sam was already feeling a lot better, and his vitals were back to where the yellowish-green bot wanted him to be at, which was already a good sign. Sam would take it. Bumblebee had been there less than a half hour prior, having stayed with him while he rested but had to run drills with Jazz and Bluestreak, who were apparently the only three Spec-ops operatives planet side at the moment. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were like temp members. They were more frontliners, than Spec Ops, but they did have training in both, according to Bumblebee.

Jazz had poked his head in, gave Sam a long look before grinning, offering a two fingered salute and then order Bumblebee to follow after him, promising revenge for his "cheekiness" from the plane ride to Diego Garcia. Bumblebee executed a perfectly timed, sound-bye of "Oh, come on, man!" which was met with a feral grin from the shorter bot and a mock seductive come-hither wiggle of his finger. The two headed off without further ado leaving First Aid laughing and Ratchet rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"Yes, Earthquake?" Ratchet asks, turning to face him, bringing Sam's mind back to the present. His blue eyes scan the black plated mech in front of him, searching for any ailments. "Are you hurt?"

Earthquake shakes his head taking a few tentative steps into the room to reveal Jolt right behind him. The smaller, blue bot meets Ratchet's gaze and makes a face that Sam doesn't understand. Ratchet's brows furrow a bit before turning his attention to a shifting Earthquake.

"No, Doctor Ratchet. This platform is undamaged. This construct would like permission to speak to the Creator and see to his health."

Ratchet's brows furrow more as he looks over at Jolt, whose face remains in that look, lips in a flat line, face tight. Sam's not sure if they are speaking over comms or not, but Earthquake's shifting is making Sam nervous. Or maybe that's the large bot's anxious field brushing against him. First Aid, a few feet away with a data pad, looks at them with his own worried frown, probably feeling the energy too.

"Yes," Ratchet finally says, stepping back from Sam. "You can see him. But I assure you, Earthquake, Sam is alright."

A tension eases from Earthquake as he makes his way over, going down on one knee in front of Sam, studying him with large purple eyes. "Is the Creator well? Doctor Ratchet is very well informed on the Creator's health."

"He takes good care of me," Sam admits, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. He leans forward, crossing his legs on the gurney to offer the massive bot his full attention. "But talk to me, Earthquake. You seem troubled."

Earthquake hesitates, looking around for a moment as if the words he seeks were floating around his head and not inside of it. After a few moments of baited silence, he says, "Jolt has said that this construct is not bad."

Sam blinks slowly, trying to understand what that could mean. "Of course you're not."

Earthquake's shoulders loosen a bit, as if a bit relieved, but still tense. "This platform has been trying to find the words to say but has been unable to. Speaking with Jolt has helped this platform better find them. Jolt has said it might be best to speak to the Creator as this platform is very comfortable with you. As the Creator may be able to assuage this platform's fears."

Sam tries hard not to look at Jolt, offering the large, black plated bot his full attention. "Okay. Talk to me. What's got you afraid?"

"You are close to the Great Prime, yes, Creator?" Earthquake asks. First Aid stiffens, hands gripping his data pad tightly while Jolt and Ratchet share a look at one another behind the massive mech's back. Jolt's expression, now better identified as grim, is still unchanging.

Sam's stomach clenches a bit. "What's wrong, Earthquake? Did Optimus scare you?"

"Yes," Earthquake murmurs, staring unfaltering at Sam. "This platform can sometimes forget to be scared, as the Great Prime can be quite cordial, but there is much to remember while this platform sleeps. Waking Prime is less scary than sleeping Prime."

Sam licks his lips, trying to understand what the big bot was trying to say. He thinks back to all the interactions he's seen between them. Earthquake, since the beginning, has always shown a fear of Optimus, but Sam had always chalked it up to his Prime Aura making him uncomfortable or maybe it was when he first awakened - came to life - and Optimus cut off some of his little arms. He had been scared of Optimus after that. Except no, that wasn't true.

The amalgamation - Earthquake - grabs hold of the smaller yellow being - Bumblebee - by its - his -leg, throwing it - him -into a nearby building before turning to face the charging blue and red flamed being - Optimus -, screeching in rage and... fear?

Earthquake had been afraid of Optimus since the very beginning, even before he was hurt by the Autobot leader. It had never occurred to Sam until now that there could have been some alternative reasoning behind it other than being in a battle with him. As Sam certainly wouldn't be able to keep it together if Optimus was his enemy. And to Sam's immense shame, it never occurred to him to even ask. To check in and see how the big bot was doing.

It's a bitter pill to swallow. Sam scoots off of his gurney to sit down on the metal berth, placing his hand over one of the large fingers curled over the edge. "I'm sorry, Earthquake. I'm sorry I never thought to ask if you were doing okay."

Earthquake seems perplexed by that, tilting his head slightly, his mouth covered by the collar of his armor. "You needn't feel sorrow, Creator. This platform is still able to perform tasks to the Creator's desires even while being uncomfortable."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't feel that way if it can be helped," Sam admits, feeling like a huge asshole for never noticing. "Why are you scared of Optimus, Earthquake?"

"It is the Great Prime that deactivated this platform," Earthquake says. Surprise zings through the room, replacing the growing unease from the Autobots around them. Sam can't help the little shake of his head as he tries to make sense of that. Surely Optimus has killed before, they're in war, it would be strange if he hadn't. Unbelievable, more like. But... but it didn't make any sense the way that Earthquake said it. At least not to Sam.

"You mean... you dreamed that he did it? Deactivated you, I mean."

Earthquake furrows his brow at that. "It is as Jolt said. Has this platform confused both Jolt and the Creator?"

"No, I..." Sam sighs. "I mean, you were created, here, by my use of the Allspark's energy. And you're here right now. I didn't bring you back like I did to Jazz. He couldn't have killed you. Deactivated you, I mean. How and when could he have done it and bring you back without me knowing?"

"Before," Earthquake states firmly. At the perplex look on Sam's face, he elaborates, "This platform was deactivated and then the Creator reforged it. The chassis is different, the spark is different, but this platform was gifted in the power of the Allspark and granted remembrance. From when the platform was different." Those purple eyes shine brightly, as if tellingly. Outlier.

Ratchet makes a quiet noise at that, crossing one arm over his body to prop up the one that is cupping his chin. "You... remember your time in the Well?"

Earthquake grunts. He shifts a bit, looking over at Ratchet, but appears to struggle with the words once more. "This platform was... different before. But bad. So, the Great Prime deactivated it. It... it was many, but now it is one."

"I don't understand," First Aid admits quietly, looking at Ratchet. Sam couldn't agree more. He runs his hand up and down the length of the finger next to him and feels a swell of joy from the massive mech in front of him. Purple eyes crest a bit at him before looking over at First Aid, contemplatively. He tilts his helm as if having never really seen him before.

"When once were many, the spark became one when reforged," Earthquake says, then frowns, as if still unsure of the words. A lot of unsure looks.

Even though he doesn't understand, Sam pushes to the heart of the issue, the thing that he could help with. "Okay, but about Optimus, Earthquake. Is there anything that I can do to help you? Should we talk to him together?"

Brow furrows, Earthquake tilts his head. "What would the Creator like for this platform to say to the Great Prime?"

Sam shakes his head, still lightly running his hand up and down the length of the large bot's finger. "I don't know, Earthquake. Would it make you less afraid if you talk to him? Maybe tell him about these dreams? Maybe he could assuage you of some of them, if you want?"

"This construct doesn't know if there is any way to assuage this feeling," he admits, softly. "But... if the Creator wants this platform to speak with the Great Prime, then it will."

Sam scrunches his lips to one side of his mouth. "No, I don't want to if you don't want to. But if you decide that it would make you feel better, or if you're willing to try, then I will definitely go with you if you want to." Earthquake nods slowly, considering Sam's words. "Also, do you mind if I speak to Optimus about it? If you're uncomfortable but don't want to talk about it, I'm willing to talk to him on your behalf. I won't if you don't want me to."

Something warm and affectionate brushes against Sam's skin. 

"The Creator doesn't need to clear anything with this platform. It is by the Creator's dictation that this construct abides," Earthquake murmurs affectionately. His large purple eyes are bright, the fear lost in them to Sam's relief.

Sam holds out the hand not petting down the large bot's finger, towards the massive plates. Eagerly, Earthquake leans forward so that Sam can gently run his hand down the smooth plates between those beautiful eyes. Sam feels his own affection for the bot in front of him grow like a weed in the cage of his chest, which only seems to please Earthquake more. Sam has to wonder, in that moment, if Earthquake could feel it down their bond. "If you say no to talking to Optimus about this, then I will respect your wishes, Earthquake. But I think that Optimus would want to know if he was making you uncomfortable, because I don't think he intends that. But it's up to you and what you want."

It's then, as Earthquake is quietly considering, that Sam realizes how close Jolt is to them, his hand resting on the large black plated mech's back. As if offering comfort. Blue eyes locked onto the back of Earthquake's head. A frowning Ratchet and an anxious First Aid share a look that Sam can't decipher.

Sam's eyes are drawn back to his first creation when Earthquake rumbles, "The Creator can speak with the Prime on this platform's behalf if that is your wish. This platform doesn't have a preference one way or the other and was content to say nothing about it until Jolt insisted."

Sam feels a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He's not sure if it's a budding friendship or what growing between them, but he's happy that Earthquake seems to definitely have someone in his corner with him. To help him in all the things that not even Sam can help him with. "You like Jolt, huh?"

Earthquake nods slightly as to not dislodge Sam's hand. "Yes, this platform prefers the company of Jolt over all the others. Excluding the Creator, of course."

Sam's smile grows as Jolt joins him slightly, blue eyes still wrought with worry but there is some affection there. "Of course," he teases. "But I'm glad that you have Jolt."

Jolt smiles a little more while Earthquake nods solemnly. "Yes. This platform is fortunate to have Jolt to help it navigate the eccentricities of the culture of both humans and Cybertronians. This platform is still trying to learn how to better understand social norms and Jolt is very helpful in that. Time with Jolt is preferable than to any others, aside from the Creator." Jolt's plates flutter a bit and his eyes flicker, but Sam isn't wise enough in Cybertronian mannerisms to know what that means. Before Sam can analyze it further, though, Earthquake adds, "But yes, if speaking to the Great Prime is what the Creator wishes, then this platform will approve of it."

---

In the next month, it happened again. Sam was pulled from trying to reach the presence of something reaching back for him in a startle and panic to Bumblebee trying to calm him down. And once again, he was about where he was the time before, not far from Jazz and Prowl's room. Sam felt kind of bad, but despite Jazz not coming right out and saying it this time right from the beginning, every time he spoke Prowl was scowling at the back of his head, as if waiting for him to reveal that they had probably been sleeping together again. Sam was feeling pretty bad about interrupting their time together with whatever it was that was happening, but he was much too embarrassed to say something.

They speculated, once more, for a time trying to discern what it was that the Allspark was doing, but everyone seemed unsure. Finally, Optimus, with a furrowed brow, suggested that perhaps the Allspark was trying to do something, and they were stopping it preemptively. That seemed to get Ratchet's attention. He rubbed at his chin in thought before nodding and they agreed that next time, they would just allow the Allspark to go. His only concern, though, was that Sam was expending a lot of energy every minute that the Allspark was doing this and suggested that they might have to have him stay closer for a while because it's obviously something in the Autobot hall that it's trying to get to. They just don't know when it's going to happen next. Sam wasn't all that keen on spending an indefinite amount of time in the medbay just waiting for this to happen again.

It was then that Jazz joked that they should wait to bring Sam to the Autobot wing once he and Prowl have another night off as that seemed to be the common denominator. Prowl's wings hiked up in anger, while the other Autobots still listening in snickered at their expense, but Ratchet just cast him a long look, not reacting to the playful grin sent his way and Sam's obvious contrite. They have been working to steady their bond, according to Bumblebee. As broken bonds are hard to mend, and while Prowl doesn't appear to be in agony any longer, he still has to be feeling the wound of the broken bond. All of them do. It'll take a while for it to fully heal over for them all, but time together will help mend it.

With that settled, they say their farewells once more. Thankfully, Ratchet just got him a few of those specialized drinks that made him feel better, and after a few scans, sent him off to his room with Bumblebee. Despite Bumblebee's physical body driving away, Sam laid in bed curled up with Bumblebee's holoform and had he truly been in his right mind, he might have been flabbergasted about this turn of events - although maybe not - but he just curled up with his head resting on Bumblebee's holoform's chest with a snoring Wheelie on the other side of the bed. He hadn't woken up either time this happened, which was a little amusing. Sam, though, slept for another ten hours before forced into getting up by an irate Ratchet.

Sam and Mikaela went to explore the island about a week after that, opting to walk as Bumblebee was running ops with Jazz and Bluestreak again, but Maggie joined them on her lunch break once they got to the only coffee shop on the island. It was family owned, it seemed, but they specialized in a lot of cultural coffees. Different beans, types of coffee, all sorts of things. And honestly, Sam didn't know anything about coffee or had anything more than a budding taste for it, but Mikaela and Maggie were more than willing to take him on the road of discovery.

Sam enjoyed trying all of their recommendations, even if more missed than they hit. But it was fun, regardless. Mikaela and Maggie were easy to be with. They were a fascinating dichotomy from one another. One a problem-causing smart Alec, ex-model who is computer smart but couldn't accurately explain what an Allen wrench is. While the other was a grease monkey, ex-delinquent who could pull apart an engine and put it back together but couldn't navigate Microsoft office. Both beautiful, both insanely intelligent in their own fields, and two of the funniest people Sam has ever met. He was greatly enjoying spending this time together with them and couldn't help but think about how teenage Sam would be dying at the mere prospect of lunch with these two beautiful women, drooling over the possibilities of them just glancing in his direction. Instead, they were laughing and joking and smiling at him and all he felt was... calm. Content. Happy.

For almost two months, a new normal set in. Lunch with Maggie and Mikaela - when Maggie's schedule allowed for it - spending time with Bumblebee and Earthquake and getting to better know the other Autobots. He even got the joy of finally, officially meeting Sunstreaker, Sideswipe's brother. Sunstreaker was as crotchety and rude as everyone led Sam to believe he was, but he was... kind, in his own way. He had hounded Ratchet incessantly about his terrible paintjob until the grouchy medic gave in and was repainted in white and red, like First Aid. It was standard for medics, but it also looked really good on him. He brushed off the catcalls and the cheers from nearby mechs with a snarl and a wrench hurled at the back of Mudflap's head, before stomping away to the medbay once more.

Sideswipe even convinced Sunstreaker to see to Earthquake's own paintjob. Earthquake started out resistant, not wanting to change anything about himself as this was how his creator had made him, but Sam insisted that someone with Sunstreaker's keen eye for color would only better enhance his features. That it might be nice to add some color to his plates - help activate dormant color nanites, according to Sideswipe - and if he didn't like it, they could always go back to standard black. After some playful probing by Sideswipe and the promise from Jolt that it would be okay, Earthquake approved of the rolling-eyed Sunstreaker to paint his plates. On the condition that he was still primarily black plated. 

And despite his sour mood and unwelcoming attitude, Sunstreaker seemed proud of his work. As he should be. Earthquake's plates were beautiful. Primarily black, like he wanted, but with accents of silver and a beautiful purple that matched his eyes so well that Sam couldn't take his eyes off of it. Sleek and powerful. Sam loved it. And even though Earthquake was very uncomfortable with the praises he was getting, he did quietly admit to Sam that he liked it.

It was the following day, Sam was in the Hive, just... admiring the flow of all the moving parts, when the throaty roar of Optimus's engine pulls his gaze to the approaching Peterbilt. Many of the NEST agents stopped to look before going back to work, sending discreet glances when it could be afforded, while Prowl, in one of the rare times in which Jazz wasn't here while Sam was, turns to face the Prime as he transforms into his bi-pedal mode next to the scaffolding that Sam was standing on. Despite it, Sam had to crane his neck to look up at the massive bot when a brush of adoration made his skin prickle.

"Hello to you too," Sam laughs.

Optimus goes down on one knee, resting one elbow on a thigh, looking at him curiously. "How do you feel, Sam?"

"I'm okay," Sam says, wrapping his hands on the safety bar in front of him, leaning on it a bit. "Just bothering Prowl, as per usual."

"Not at all," Prowl states firmly.

Optimus smiles and it's warm. Sam hasn't gotten the opportunity to speak with Optimus about Earthquake just yet, seeing as he's been super busy about gaining the independence of Diego Garcia, recognition from the UN - and ultimately the world - about the Autobots, and working out some unknown deal with the Egyptians about something Sam wasn't privy too. Needless to say, the older bot was very busy. This was actually the first time that Sam has been able to talk to Optimus that wasn't in passing or after sleepwalking through the base. Sam always felt bad about bothering Optimus as it seemed like he was very busy, all the time.

"How are you, Optimus?" Sam asks. "I know you've been running around like crazy." He wanted to offer to help but he had no idea what he could do that would be of any help. He had been running some ideas past Bumblebee about possibly starting college the next year. Maybe do online classes or something. Maybe sooner if they are able to. Bumblebee very much liked the idea - probably because Sam had no intention of actually going back to the States to get his degree. And the longer time goes on, the more that the thought of starting next semester seemed like a pipedream.

"Many things need to get done in a timely manner," Optimus agrees, the mechanisms in his eyes spiral at the young man. "But I am fine, Sam. Thank you for asking."

"Is there something that I can assist you with?" Prowl asks, head tilted slightly.

Optimus turns to Prowl. "More like I was checking in on you, Prowl. I got your request, so I've come to relieve you early."

Sam perks at that, surprised. Prowl? Requesting off? That seemed strange.

Prowl frowns at that. "It was not a willing request, Prime. Ratchet insisted."

The mirth fades from Optimus's expression. "I do hope that you're well, old friend. Ratchet wouldn't have insisted if he didn't believe it to be entirely necessary."

"There is an unexpected drag on my processor," Prowl admits. "Ratchet seems to be worried about innocuous things in regard to my health. I am perfectly capable of performing my function without fault or faulter. He is using my day off tomorrow as justification for making me take longer."

"We have been operating on Earth's 24-hour schedule, Prowl. I don't need to be the one to tell you that a single day on Cybertron is double that. I respect that there is much that needs to get done and you are more than uniquely qualified to handle much if not all that comes across your desk, but you are not seeing to your own personal care. You put in more hours than Ratchet does, and his berth is in the medbay." Optimus moves to stand, stretching up to his incredible height and dwarfing all in the room with him. "I am inclined to agree with Ratchet. Take the time, I will forward you anything I deem myself unable to handle, and the base will still be operating when you come back. Rest. Reset."

Prowl crosses his arms over his chest, white-blue eyes narrowed as his gaze drops to the floor, contemplating. "You've worked for weeks straight with minimal defrag time," Prowl mutters, bitterly.

Optimus smiles. "And I too have been sent to berth by Ratchet and Ironhide for it. Your dedication is admirable, Prowl. But I promise, you are far too valuable to us to allow you to burn out. With the long stretches that you do, I would recommend setting aside at least two days in there sometimes to keep Ratchet from becoming overly persistent." Sounds like he knows from experience to Sam. Perhaps he's changed a lot in the next ten years, but from what he can remember of his life up until this point, he was pretty sure he would never have that kind of work ethic. He knows how to work hard in short spurts, but the dedication that the Autobots have is truly admirable.

Prowl is scowling at Optimus again. He moves closer, lowering his voice. "I am not a sparkling, Prime. I do not need to be treated as one. Jazz is back, I'm fine."

"This isn't about your bond, old friend," Optimus replies calmly, unaffected by Prowl's tone. "We all need to take some time to ourselves. For as great as you are, Prowl, even you are not unaffected. We need to wind down too. I know that you're duty-oriented, but you need to take a few days at a time between these long stretches to just relax. I know things are difficult right now, but it's during difficult times that we have to all band together. You do so much for us, Prowl. Let me do this for you."

"Fine," Prowl growls, still scowling. "You are welcome to remain, but I'm staying until the designated time. I'm in the middle of too many things to just leave it in the servos of someone who doesn't know what's going on. No offense, Prime. I will get it done in a timely manner, until then, I'm sure you will be able to find something to occupy your time with. And in the future, I will not be going to Ratchet with any concerns from now on." With that he turns and heads back to his workstation with his wings hiked up high in annoyance, fumes are practically spewing from his ears - er, head.

Prime, serenely, turns to Sam once more, looking down at him. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"It's fine," Sam says, waving his hand. "Prowl doesn't like to be booted out of his workspace, huh?"

"Prowl is a Praxian, their entire culture is built around service. The people of Praxus have jobs that are meant to be interpreted as service to one another and to Cybertron. Everything they do is because of each other and for each other. So, the majority of the Praxian labor force can be found in jobs of service. Enforcers, Fire Brigade, Medics. Even things like teachers and therapists and custodians. And as Nobility, Prowl has been instilled with a deep sense of duty to his people. We, the Autobots, are most fortunate to have him. But Praxian frames are well known for their incredible health problems as they are commonly found to be running themselves into an early grave," Optimus heaves a heavy sigh, as if carrying the full weight of the consequences of a people's choice in dedication. "Prowl, Bluestreak, Bumblebee and Smokescreen are typically monitored very closely by the medics they are stationed with for this exact reason."

Bumblebee. Sam thinks about the countless hours he's spent hovering over Sam. Guarding him as he sleeps or whenever he leaves. Always there. Always watching. Always quick to see to him. Sam had first thought it was because he was taking this whole 'Guardian' thing to the extreme. But then he began to wonder if it was because of Bumblebee's affection for him. Now he's starting to wonder if it was something that has been ingrained in him for his entire life. Or maybe it was a combination of all three possibilities.

Sam looks around the massive red and blue bot to see Prowl glaring at the screen in front of him. If there was a way to read angrily, that would be Prowl. Sam pulls his gaze back to Optimus. He hears the rumble of an engine approaching behind him. "I suspect this is a common fight."

Optimus smiles, and while shallow, there is warmth there. "I have known Prowl for a very long time. I know him well at this point. Smokescreen can be reasoned with, Bumblebee was raised in Iacon without the cultural pressure exasperating the trait, Bluestreak was still young enough when Praxus fell that he's more flexible - at least by Praxian standards - but Prowl has been set to all the extremes of duty. Raised for it as head of his family, dedicated his functioning to his people in many ways, not just as an Enforcer, but also taking the responsibility that comes with assisting me in leading the Autobots? It is... more difficult to convince Prowl to back down than any of the others."

"'Cause he's a stubborn glitch," Ironhide rumbles, transforming next to Optimus. "At least with Jazz around he migh' lighten up a bit."

"Jazz seems to be good for him," Sam offers, looking between the two bots.

"They are good for each other, I think," Optimus murmurs, affection fluttering lightly in his field. "Now, it is best if I see if there is anything Prowl won't slap my servos away from." Ironhide chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest and leans on one hip as Optimus turns away to go to the terminal next to the irate Praxian.

"Good luck with that, Prime."

---

Prowl is floating. He can feel Jazz kissing away at his throat cables, servo gently rubbing at his chassis, encouraging his chest plates to close and guard his overworked spark. Despite how irate he was before being booted out of his job by Ratchet and Optimus, Jazz was immediately all over him when the other bot returned to their hab just a few short Earth hours ago. They fragged because Jazz is still suffering from his loss of connection with his fellows and needs to be close to one of the few bonds that has rapidly repaired itself - the one that the two of them share. Normally, Prowl wouldn't be interested in fragging this much, but he too still feels the ache and the pain in their bond like a light throbbing that's getting more and more distant. Every overload, every wired connection, every spark merge, heals it more and more.

It's gotten back to the point where Prowl can feel Jazz clearly despite the space that separates them. He can feel Jazz's processor always at the edge of his own. They are even able to communicate via their bond once more, without the need for comms. At first it was the presence of the other, then it was feelings, then emotional thoughts, and just now, Prowl could hear Jazz's thanks to Primus for bringing them back together. It was distant, quiet, and had Prowl not been in the middle of willing his fritzing spark to calm, he wouldn't have heard it. But they were closing the distance from where they left off and where they are now very quickly, and Prowl couldn't be happier. Even if he was spending a lot more time trying to appease Jazz's insatiable appetite for interface.

With as much time as they had spent apart and the rawness of their bond, Prowl doesn't so much mind the high volume of interfacing for now. Prowl sighs, letting his thighs fall open again when Jazz slots his hips back in place before freezing. Through the bond and the buzzing of post overload, Prowl can feel confusion, then worry as Jazz pulls away, twisting around to look at the door to their hab. His field steady as his overly bright visor stays focused on the door. Prowl shifts uncomfortably, still high on the overload.

"Jazz?" he murmurs, rubbing at his optics.

"Frag it," Jazz whispers, frowning. "It's Sam."

The lust bleeds from Prowl immediately as he sits up, forcing his processor to focus and sense that - yes! Just like the last two times, the power of the Allspark seems to be bleeding through the walls, stuffing their vents full of its cosmic energy. Snapping into full alertness, Jazz sends Prowl a remorseful look before pushing away from him and heading for the door. He pauses long enough by some cleaning cloths to wipe himself down and close his interface equipment before continuing on.

"Clean up, Prowler, I'll go check it out."

"Is he okay?" Prowl asks, quietly, moving to his pedes and heading over to the small room to the side of their hab. Jazz doesn't respond, brows furrowed in worry as Prowl stops at the doorway to their personal wash rack. He couldn't go out there with Jazz's transfluid all over his thighs, so he quickly washes off and closes up his panels, promising a deeper clean later. Jazz had easily slipped out and closed the door behind himself.

Once he's presentable, Prowl opens the door and steps out, helm tilted in the direction that Sam should be coming from only for Bumblebee and Jazz to both reach out to stop him from fully stepping out of the room. His wings hike up in alarm, ready to initiate battle protocols when he noticed that Ratchet, returned to his regular paint colors of white and red, and Optimus were just behind Bumblebee and Sam was at Prowl's feet, staring up at him. Both were knelt and while Optimus's expression is severe and focused, Ratchet looks increasingly uneasy. He looks between Sam and now Prowl, creases forming between his optics.

Prowl's wings flutter a bit in confusion as Bumblebee pulls away, going down into a crouch as well, tilting his helm at Sam. Jazz, though, keeps a hold of him, servo sliding from his shoulder down to his own, gripping it.

"What's wrong?" Prowl asks slowly, looking down to meet the vacant gaze of the green eyed human. There, in the darkness of his pupil, is a pinprick of blue light. The Allspark shining inside of him. The energy is pouring off of him in waves that makes Prowl's protoform warm.

Sam holds a hand out towards him, as if beckoning the former Enforcer closer to him. Prowl looks over at Jazz, whose brow is still furrowed.

"It is a gift," Earthquake's low rumble draws the optics of the Autobots to his hulking form. Prowl had heard from some of the humans walking by that Earthquake got a new paintjob and so had Ratchet, but the SIC hadn't actually seen either of them until now. But the massive Autobot was staring intently at Sam, his small servos floating around him, fingers twitching anxiously. Or maybe excitedly.

"What do you mean, Earthquake?" Ratchet asks, field prickling to the touch. He's uneasy, which makes Prowl more uneasy. Which in turn is make Jazz more uneasy.

"The Creator heals. Fixes what is broken. Gives life to what is dead, or dying," Earthquake rumbles. Bluestreak, who was back with the other Autobots, sandwiched between his two best friends in Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, stiffens. Bluestreak's optics find Prowl's armor, searching for damage. Jazz's field, and through their bond, floods with anxiety and fear.

"Whatchu mean, mech?" Jazz asks, voice controlled, but low. Dangerous. As if just insisting that something was wrong with Prowl was justification for deactivation. Jolt, standing at Earthquake's side, sends Jazz a stern look but says nothing.

"It's going out..." Earthquake murmurs, tilting his helm. "The Creator... will bring it back..." He shifts, purple optics brightening. "It's not too late... yes... not this time."

"Something's wrong with Prowler's spark?" Jazz asks, voice still even, but Prowl can feel the maelstrom of anxiety and fear and fierceness flowing over him. Like he could keep Prowl's spark turning manually with just his will alone. But Prowl doesn't feel like anything is wrong. Doing a quick diagnostic doesn't show anything out of the ordinary. His spark rate is still a little elevated, but his booting up tacnet is finding it in acceptable range for what the situation calls for. Still, Sam reaches up for him, again, and the power of the Allspark bleeds into Prowl's plates, making his protoform warmer still at the touch.

Since the Allspark was sent away, there has always been a chill to his protoform - to all of them. The familiar feeling of its energy always with them was a comfort, a normality that was all they ever knew was suddenly gone and they were left cold. Off. It's almost strange to feel it again after having gone so long without it.

"Ratchet, I thought Prowler was - "

"I'm fine, Jazz," Prowl snaps, not liking being spoken about as if he wasn't right there.

"He is," Ratchet says, hitting Prowl with an intense, medical scan that made Prowl's denta clench at the strangeness of it. "I don't... I don't see anything out of the ordinary." His blue optics skim over the tab on his arm again and again, as if he could have missed something the first three times.

Jazz, troubled, lowers to a hunch, staring at Sam intently. "What's wrong with my Prowler, Sammy? What is the Allspark doing?"

Despite his expression remaining stoic, strict, Jazz's fear and anxiety through their bond is too much for Prowl. His bondmate has always been keeping his emotions in check on the outside. Their bond is the only place he has felt safe revealing his true feelings. Prowl was his safe space, as Jazz was Prowl's. He didn't think there was anything wrong with himself, but then again, it's not every orn that a bot can survive an Earth decade after the traumatic deactivation of their bondmate and then somehow get reunited with him when a great artifact of their people brought him back to life once more.

Maybe there was something wrong with his spark. The place from which it came would probably know best.

Prowl lowers to his hunches before the human male, hesitating. Sam moves closer, reaching out to place his hand as close to Prowl's spark chamber as he can reach, telling Prowl everything he needed to know about what the artifact was looking for access to. He glances between Optimus and Bumblebee, then down the hall at the other Autobots and immediately everyone was turning away, to offer him privacy, but obviously still wanting to remain close. For what? He's not sure even they know. Bluestreak is one of the last to turn away, besides Earthquake, who didn't seem aware of the cultural need to offer that respect without Jolt to guide him. Bluestreak looks apprehensive, servos needing at his stomach. He looks torn between respecting Prowl's spark by looking away, and wanting to keep watch on his elder brother, to look after him, as they had been doing for one another for the younger one's entire functioning.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker both sling their arms around him, turning him manually, but offering him the closeness of their presence. And Prowl is thankful for them. The Terror Twins are a nightmare to deal with at the worst of times, but Prowl understands them, cares about them, and was willing to let them befriend his little brother despite the problems that they had. His innocence and naivete offers their wilder, more aggressive side some temperance that is good for all three of them. The twins learn to get close to someone who isn't them, and Bluestreak makes friends that will remain loyal and kind - as kind as Sunstreaker can manage, that is.

All in all, Prowl is proud of them.

Bumblebee rotates on the pads of his pedes to turn as much away as he can without knocking into Prowl with his doorwings, tilting them so that the sensors are angled away from Prowl's spark. Optimus lowers his chin, closing his optics, but Prowl trusts that the taller bot wouldn't look unless he deemed it absolutely necessary.

Now the only ones left were Ratchet and Jazz, both of which have seen his spark before, and Sam. Sam, who he would normally not feel comfortable seeing his spark, but the way that those vacant eyes stare back, the power of the Allspark bleeding from in tangible waves, is enough to assuage any of his feelings of propriety.

Opening his chest plates, he reveals his spark. He leans down a bit, not sure what else to do. It wasn't until he was leaned down enough for Sam's hand to reach in to touch his spark that his tacnet posed the question of if the radiation of their spark was dangerous to humans or not. Prowl stiffened but it was too late. He looks down to see Sam's pupils shrink until only the blue light remains as his hand curls into a fist with a single finger pointing at Prowl's spark. Jazz and Ratchet lean closer, as does Prowl, wondering if what ails him is not something that can be picked up on a scanner but can be seen by sight alone somehow.

Ratchet sucks in a deep vent, blue optics widening. "Prowl, you're carrying."

Jazz stiffens, optics staring intently into Prowl's chest, as Prowl is, seeing yes, a small whisp of light fluttering around his spark, orbiting it. The problem being that it's already losing energy. Its light sputtering, growing weaker, fading fast. It's normal, expected. Without the power of the Allspark, no split in spark has held, thus no sparklings have come from their people in millions of years.

It had to be all of their interfacing, Prowl rationalized. Jazz and Prowl have been going at it like crazy trying everything they can to restrengthen their bond. They haven't had to worry about any form of contraception because without the Allspark, there are no sparklings.

Just as he thought that Sam's finger, now decidedly pointed at the small whisp of dimming energy, flicks towards it. A bolt of blue Allspark energy flies from Sam's finger to the tiny whisp, brightening it once more. It's next rotation around Prowl's spark, reveals it to be far brighter than before.

"He..." Ratchet whispers, hitting Prowl with another medical scan right to his spark. "He... transferred Allspark energy directly into it. The... the spark is... viable." His wonderment, bewilderment, his tentative excitement all bleeds into his field. Optimus sucks in a slow breath but doesn't open his optics. Bumblebee does, but he quickly turns his head away, wings fluttering a bit in excitement, surprise, and worry.

Jazz, though, is stunned. Like Prowl. They both look from the innocent rotation of the fragment of the spark orbiting his own, to each other. Too at a loss for words to begin deciphering the maelstrom of emotion being shared between their expressions and their bond to one another. Prowl barely noticed how tightly Jazz was gripping his servo.

"What'd the ol' Hatchet say?" Skids asks from down the hall. "A spark is visible?"

"Viable, idiot," Mudflap snaps, smacking his brother upside the head. "You are so dumb."

"Ow! That hurt!"

Sam smiles, then, dazed. He tilts his head, sways slightly, and mutters, "Soundwave..." before his eyes roll up into his head, and he collapses to the ground.

Notes:

Woo! There is a lot that happened in this chapter! Sorry for laying it all on yall at once. This is definitely a longer one, but hopefully it wasn't all that bad. But yeah! That's what Sam's been doing in that hallway, lol. Jazz just so happened to be on to something about it lining up. XD I might have a minor, every growing love for Prowl, so forgiving me for bringing that into this, but I promise, this is still about Sam, lol. And how he saves their worlds. But aside from that, what does Soundwave have to do with this? What's going to happen now? I'm excited to hear your thoughts. Let me know what you think! Have a great day!

Chapter 15: Surprise at the airfield

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.

Sam's eyes open to the sound of talking. He recognizes Ratchet's medbay, even in his befuddled mind. His body lethargic, his head pounding, and just looking around the room from what he can see on his side in his normal gurney on his usual berth is enough to make him dizzy. The light is low, but Sam can make out Optimus and Ironhide standing by Bumblebee, who was knelt at his side. Their attention is elsewhere, though, looking at the berth nearest to Sam's feet where Prowl is sitting, his legs were spread and Jazz was pressed between them, back facing the SIC as if to safeguard him from Ratchet standing before them. There is a tension in the air, thick enough to make Sam's throat constrict.

"...not what I'm saying," Ratchet's voice cut in, strained. His face is screwed up in a mixture of exasperation and worry. "Prowl is already in a delicate state. I don't wish to further exacerbate the issue."

"He's fine," Jazz snarls, lip curled in rage. Sam can feel it pulsing into his chest, brushing across his skin. "Ya ain't gonna kill our sparklin'."

"I'm not suggesting that, Jazz," Ratchet snaps, scowling. "I'm telling you that Prowl is not in any state to be carrying."

"What's the alternative, doc," Jazz growls, plates flaring as he presses back against Prowl, who murmurs softly into the side of Jazz's head, but the other doesn't seem to hear him. "What? Ya want to take it out?"

"No!" Ratchet gasps, eyes wide. "No, Jazz, never! All I'm saying is that he will not be able to successfully complete this carrying cycle if he keeps pushing himself the way he has been. His spark is still heavily damaged from the severing of your bond. In any normal circumstance I would highly recommend against going through with this for purely his health alone. Get your helm out of your aft!"

Optimus steps closer, holding his hands out placatingly, despite the snarl that Jazz sends his way. Prowl grabs onto Jazz's sides and squeezes, brows furrowing in disapproval. Optimus keeps his hands up as he softly rumbles, "Peace, Jazz. No one wants to hurt Prowl or your sparkling. Ratchet is coming from a place of worry. For both of their health."

Sam's eyelids flutter. He blacks out for both an hour and a second but after he comes to again the scene has changed. He blinks bleariness from his eyes before the image comes in clear to see Jazz's hand clenching a knife in his fist as it rests on Prowl's thigh, while the winged bot is hugging at his back. One arm around Jazz's neck, the hand of the other resting on the center of Jazz's chest. Ironhide is standing between Ratchet and Optimus, glaring with his stance wide and aggressive. Bumblebee is frozen at Sam's side, focused intensely on the situation in front of them, tension radiating from both him and the other bots in the room. It's stifling for Sam; he can hardly breathe beneath the weight.

"You will not raise a blade to the Prime," Prowl growls into Jazz's... ear? The hand on Jazz's chest moves down to the blade, wrapping around it in a vice grip.

"Prowl," Optimus starts, voice soft and placating. 

Prowl doesn't even look at him, still staring intently at the side of his mate's face. "You are third-in-command of the Autobots. You are lead Special Operations' director. You are not some hot helmed, young energoned mechling who needs to defend his mate from gangbangers. We are not on the streets. We are in a safe environment with our allies, our comrades, our leader. You will give me the blade, and you will calm down. Don't make me pull rank. I'll comm the Terror Twins right now. I will have your aft thrown into a holding cell and I won't feel bad about it."

Ironhide huffs, posture relaxing a bit as he crosses his arms over his chest, but his focus remains intently on the visored mech.

There is a few, long beats of silence, as Sam's eyes droop closed. When they open again, the blade is gone, and Jazz has finally stepped away from Prowl and Ratchet. He's off just above Sam's head, so the young man has to tilt his chin up a bit to see properly, talking with Optimus and Ironhide, with Bumblebee still watching them silently. Jazz is quiet in his apology, rubbing at his neck and stealing glances over at Prowl. His face is smooth aside from the hard set in his jaw, but Sam can feel an intense anxiety pressing against all the corners of his chest.

"I'm not sure wha' came over me," Jazz murmurs low enough that Sam barely heard him. "I'm sorry, Prime."

"It's okay, Jazz," Optimus rumbles. "I understand. The safety of your mate is paramount, and that's without including your newspark." His eyes flicker to Sam, meeting his own green ones. His expression goes from understanding to warm and adoring. "Sam."

Bumblebee turns to him immediately. Big blue eyes stare down at him. "Are you alright, Sam?"

Sam nods ever so slightly, too exhausted to even form words. He's so discombobulated, he has no idea how he got to Ratchet's medbay or what was going on. The last thing he remembers is chatting with Wheelie before bed, arguing about going to a monster truck rally. Sam is pretty sure Optimus isn't going to approve of a field trip to the States any time soon - and for something like that. He was relieved to have Bumblebee so close, the yellow bot leaning in to lightly run a finger up and down the length of his side as Jazz steps closer, visor overly bright.

"Sammy, do you - " he stops, tilting his helm. "Nah, never mind. Ya way too out of it." His expression gentles. "Rest up."

Sam curls up a bit, feeling the layers of blankets piled on top of him. He looks down at his fingers loosely curled around the lip of the blanket closest to him to see his skin is a sickly gray. He pulls the hand beneath the covers, pressing it against his chest trying to warm the frigid appendages. He looks up to see a shimmer, like superheated air, and then Bumblebee's holoform is there. It takes Sam a second to realize he's whimpering in distress. Bumblebee's holoform crawls onto the gurney with him, wrapping around Sam's shaking form.

//Ya sure he's good, Ratchet?// Jazz's asks, lips pressing together tightly as he looks at Sam, studying him. //My readin' ain't medical grade but he jus' don't look right, either.//

//He's pinging where I expect him to, Jazz.// Ratchet says calmly, lips unmoving. But he does steal a glance over at Sam before returning his attention back to Prowl's readings on the tab on his arm.

Sam's lashes flutter as he looks at Bumblebee. "It's happening again," he rasps. Bumblebee blinks while Jazz glances between Optimus and Ironhide.

"What is?" Bumblebee asks quietly, voice low, despite Sam knowing the other three bots nearby being able to hear them clearly. Sam should feel embarrassed at how Bumblebee just wraps around him, body radiating a heat that leeches any tension from Sam by proximity alone. But he can't. He's too tired, too confused, and at this point, he doesn't care enough to try.

"I can hear Jazz and Ratchet. I can hear them speaking even when... when they aren't out loud," Sam mumbles, which makes Jazz's brows shoot upward. Optimus frowns while Ironhide seems to share in Jazz's surprise.

//How about this, Sam?// Optimus's low voice gently rumbles in Sam's ear, yet still his mouth is closed. Bumblebee glances over at the red and blue bot before glancing back at Sam, blue eyes wide.

//Yeah. Can you hear us like this?// Bumblebee asks, his real body's little ears flicking a bit as he presses closer. His finger gently runs up Sam's side.

Sam nods, eyes drooping closed once more.

Opening his eyes once more from a dreamless sleep, Sam peers through the extremely low light. The medbay is mostly dark now. His head is still pounding, and he can't help but wish that Bumblebee was still there with him, but he doesn't know where the yellow and black bot is but hopes that he returns soon. His eyes start to droop close when he hears a soft sound of something shifting. Sam blinks rapidly, looking down to the berth closest to his feet to see Prowl, sitting up as he had been the last time Sam had seen him, sometime earlier, but Jazz is once more between his legs, face buried into the center of Prowl's chest. They hold one another in silence. Jazz occasionally pressing a kiss to plates covering Prowl's spark.

"I'm sorry, Prowler," Jazz whispers soft enough that Sam barely heard him.

"I know, Jazz, I understand," Prowl says, just as softly.

"I need to keep ya safe, I need to," Jazz says, pressing another kiss to the center of his chest. "Now more than eve'."

"I know," Prowl sighs softly, running a hand up and down Jazz's back. He presses a kiss to one of the horns on Jazz's head. "But you have to trust I can protect myself too. We will look after one another, and protect our newspark, but we are equal partners. I need you as you need me. And our bitlet needs both of us."

"If it survives," Jazz says brokenly. Sam feels an agony pierce his chest, making his throat close up and tears stab at his eyes. He has to suck in a few low breaths just to keep from crying out.

Prowl's wings hike up, then droop. "My spark is inhospitable."

"No," Jazz growls, jerking back so that a band of blue meets white-blue lights. "Without th' Allspark's constant power, no spark can hold forever. Not unless they are fully formed. And ya survived over a human decade without ya bondmate. That's longer than any I eve' heard of. It's jus'... strained ya is all. And ya haven't had a moment's res' since ya go' here." Sam's not sure if Prowl said something so low he couldn't hear or what, because Jazz rests against him again and says, "I know, Prowler. I know ya tired and those naggin' little programs won't let ya rest, but ya gotta. Ya need to slow down. If we wan' a chance at this sparklin' surviving, ya need to take it easy. I know it's hard withou' Red Alert and Inferno and all the rest of the comman' structure, but ya gotta try. Ya gotta."

"I can do everything right and it still not be enough," Prowl murmurs, voice low, uneasy, maybe afraid.

Jazz hesitates, quiet for a moment, before he pulls back and they lock eyes once more. "All ya can do is what ya can do. I'll help in every way possible, bu' in the end, Prowler, if it's outta our servos, it's outta our servos."

They stare at each other for a long moment. Long enough that Sam's eyelids droop closed once more, but before he completely slips into slumber, he hears Prowl's soft voice say, "I realistically understand, Jazz. But I can't conceive the notion that Primus would give me back my mate and the chance at a bitlet of my own, just to take it away from me."

Sam is asleep before he can hear the response.

---

It took Sam almost an entire week to recover enough to spend most of the day awake. Bumblebee was there when he could be. Optimus stopped in once the day after, and softly spoke to him about nothing, blasting hot air from his vents on Sam to the human's relief. It was the perfect temperature and the best nap and doze he had the whole time he was there. Ratchet was a constant presence. Jazz and Prowl were there a lot too. Most of the time Sam would wake to them coming in and leaving, and over the course of the week Sam couldn't help but notice that there was a feeling unending in his chest. Like a coil of anxiety that he can't shake. It was a constant hum in his chest that persisted only growing stronger whenever Jazz and Prowl came to the medbay.

Ratchet theorized, once Sam was coherent enough to talk to him a few days in, that Sam is probably hearing their internal comms because of the Allspark - which, no surprise there - but only when it's active. In the more inert state that it usually is in, Sam can't just passively hear the comms like he can after it acts up. As for his anxiety? Ratchet's not sure about that either, and if it has anything to do with Jazz and Prowl, or if he simply notices it more in the presence of others. Sam's pretty sure it has something to do with them, but it could just be because of how bad he feels for what he did to Prowl.

Sam has no memory of what he did, walking into the Autobot hall and up to Jazz and Prowl's room and just... zapping a baby into Prowl's chest, but he feels horrible for it. This was obviously not what anyone planned for, and the base isn't exactly a place to raise a Cybertronian baby. Never mind the fact that it's still being built and lacking any of the necessities for childcare, Ratchet doesn't even have everything he needs to help Prowl through the pregnancy - er, carrying process - in the slightest. The baby - sparkling - isn't a burden, but what Sam did... well, it was.

And Prowl didn't get a say in any of this happening. Shame keeps Sam's mouth sealed shut, but he feels like he somehow betrayed the black and white bot. He has to talk to Prowl - and Jazz, he supposes - but he's too afraid of the fall out. Jazz has been nothing but jovial and kind, quick to crack a joke or offer a smile to him, while Prowl has been his usual distantly kind self. He let Sam spend constant hours in his presence without complaint and would even offer tentative conversation in his very brief breaks. He's been fortunate to have a reason to not speak to them yet, as the coward that he is musters up his courage, but he feels absolutely horrible.

It was on Optimus's second visit at the near week mark, that Sam finally blurted it out, "Do they hate me?"

Optimus, who probably had about a thousand other things to do, but instead offered to bring Sam his lunch, turns from where he was speaking to Ratchet with raised brows. "Who?"

"Jazz and Prowl," Sam says, stealing a glance at the doorway, praying that now wouldn't be the time for another of their surprise visits. Er, checkups. "For what I did to... to them. Well, Prowl, but... but them."

Ratchet tilts his helm, perplexed, then seems to understand. "Sam, you didn't do anything to Prowl or Jazz. Well, aside from the obvious. But you didn't force anything on them. The situation is complicated, but they aren't upset by it."

Sam looks down at the tray of food Optimus brought for him, somehow expertly managing to hold it and place it gently on the gurney next to Sam without disturbing the meal itself. It's bland, some chicken and rice but after days of nibbling, Sam wants nothing more than to wolf it all down, but he can't with the pit in his stomach.

"I think I remember Jazz being upset," Sam murmurs, shoulders slumping.

"He was, but not at you, at me," Ratchet huffs.

Sam casts him a look. "Because Prowl is sick?"

Ratchet waffles, struggling with something before casting a long look at Optimus, who stares back steadily. Sam's not sure if it's the many, many years that they've known each other so that they don't need conversation, or if they were speaking over comms and without the Allspark, Sam just can't hear them, but either way, the silence stretches for a beat more before Optimus turns to him.

"Prowl will do what is necessary for his newspark. It's a blessing in disguise, I think. Now he has a reason to prioritize something over constant work," Optimus says, offering a small smile.

Once again, Ironhide's warning about Optimus protecting Sam whispers in his mind and Sam has to wonder if there was something that the red and blue leader wasn't saying. But instead of lingering on that, he says blandly, "Yeah, but Prowl didn't ask for this."

"Prowl didn't know he could ask for this," Ratchet reminds him. "And while I won't speak for what he really wants or how he really feels, I can tell you that he's been here, present. He's been taking better care of himself in the last few days than I've seen him do in the millions of vorns that I've known him. It's..." Ratchet heaves a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sam, I think you're panicking over a notion that you played any true role in this aside from a vessel for the act. You didn't do anything to Prowl, the Allspark did. And the Allspark didn't do anything that Prowl and Jazz weren't already making possible."

Optimus nods. "We are empathetic, Sam. But you should hold no feelings of responsibility. Prowl and Jazz have been full grown mechs for a very long time. If this was truly something that they didn't want, they have access to the tools necessary to prevent the newspark from flourishing. Reabsorption is very common for newsparks. Keeping one flourishing is an arduous task at best - hence the difficulty in our species being able to procreate."

Sam sinks into his gurney, looking down at his food unhappily. "It feels like I'm somehow responsible. I mean I get what you're saying, Ratchet, but... but they didn't ask for this."

"You're being too hard on yourself, Sam," Optimus murmurs, affectionately. "Your concern is noble, but Jazz and Prowl seem excited for this. I wouldn't worry about it too much. If the need arises, I'm more than happy to come with you to speak to them about your concerns."

Hearing words similar to his own to Earthquake made Sam's eyes cut to Ratchet, who was staring back at him with a tilt to his helm, as if thinking the same thing.

"I would like that," Sam says, turning his full attention to the red and blue Autobot. "But... Optimus, there is something I've been meaning to speak to you about that I haven't been able to." 

"Oh?" Optimus's brow ticks up, as if surprised by that. 

"You've just been so busy that I haven't wanted to bother you, so I've been putting it off," Sam admits. His fingers find a lone, loose thread to pull on from his blanket.

Optimus moves closer, taking long, mighty strides until he's knelt by Sam's gurney. "You are never a bother, Sam. What can I help you with?"

Flushing slightly, Sam rubs one hand over his face before looking at the bright, kind eyes of the Autobot leader. "Earthquake is scared of you."

Optimus's soft expression hardens a bit, then he sighs. "Yes. Try as I might, I can't seem to alleviate all of his unease."

A tension loosens in Sam's shoulders, as he studies the expression of the bot in front of him. Ratchet heaves a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. Sam draws his knees up to his chin, softly asking, "You knew?"

Optimus smiles faintly, shifting slightly to rest the length of his forearm on the berth, careful not to place it hard enough to jolt the gurney. "Yes. It's hard not to notice. I'm trying not to push boundaries with him. I feel I'm making progress, but I don't wish to force him and undo any of my hard work." He tilts his head. "What prompted this, Sam?"

"Jolt convinced him to come talk to me about it a few weeks ago," Sam admits. "He seems convinced that you killed him at some point, and that's why he's so weary of you."

Optimus frowns, looking away. Sam carefully picked at the loose thread, feeling bad for just dropping this on the Autobot leader. He didn't feel fully assuaged about the conversation about Prowl and Jazz from earlier, but he's resigned himself to maybe seeing how they act with him and maybe talking to them in private. Seeing as Optimus and Ratchet don't seem to believe either is mad at Sam does make him feel better about putting that on the back burner for now and focusing on Earthquake's issue with Optimus.

After a few beats of silence from the blue and red mech, Sam adds, "It seems to be in his dreams. He says that it's easy to forget how scary you are when he's awake, but he remembers while he dreams. Nightmares, I guess."

"He said that he was bad, so you deactivated him," Ratchet adds, giving Optimus a look, who shifts a bit to look at the medic from over his shoulder. "He said the Allspark allowed him to remember."

"It did..." Optimus murmurs, troubled.

"He said he was once many and is now one. He had a different name, a different frame, and now he's him," Sam offers. When the words don't illicit a real reaction, Sam adds, "He likes you when he's awake. He forgets to be scared. It's only..." Only when he has nightmares about you that he remembers to be scared, Sam almost stupidly said. Yet the words seem to hang in the air. Sam flinches in realization as Ratchet makes a face.

Optimus hums, eyes closing and a hand massaging his face. Sam's heart sinks at the sight. He wishes that he could go over to the Autobot leader and somehow offer comfort. His eyes flick down to the arm draped over the berth. He scoots off of his gurney and lowers down next to Optimus's hand, gingerly placing his hand against the large mech's palm. Optimus blinks, twisting his head slightly to look at Sam. A myriad of emotions play across his face. Then something so close yet just off of absolute adoration just washes across Sam's skin, as his expression softens.

"I'm sorry, Optimus," Sam says quietly, looking into bright blue eyes. "I knew talking to you about this would hurt your feelings and I still fumbled it." He licks his lips nervously. Optimus's eyes follow the motion, his body shifting more so that he's facing Sam intently, studying him, taking him in with just those two orbs of blue light. "What I'm doing a horrible job of saying is that for whatever reason, his nightmares are a poor enough reflection of you that as you are in the light of day puts him enough at ease that he forgets to be afraid. You aren't what he's afraid of."

"I understand, Sam," Optimus murmurs softly. His massive hand shifts slightly, moving just enough that his thumb can rest against the back of Sam's hand, running lightly up to his forearm and back in a practiced move that showed their closeness once more. The pressure is perfect, enough to offer a feeling of connection, but not enough to hurt him in any way.

Sam sighs heavily, catching his hand reaching out for the older bot before he realized it. He didn't have time to hide his unintended act before Optimus's massive face moves forward and Sam's fingers gently brush against the smoother blue guards around the vents on Optimus's face. The metal is warm - warm enough to alert Sam of just how cold his fingers are in this freezing medbay. Sam is instantly reminded of how he touches Bumblebee's face - specifically his mouthpiece - and figures that it's okay in their culture. That, or it's Sam. Bumblebee always seemed eager for this attention and while there is probably a plethora of reasons for that, so long as Optimus doesn't seem to mind, then Sam's not all that worried about it.

Sam catches Ratchet watching them from his peripheral, this soft expression on his normally stern face. Sam's fingers find a groove in the metal by Optimus's lips, and it takes him a moment to realize that it was a scar. It blended in so seamlessly in that same silver color as his face, yet Sam's fingers could feel it lightly cutting across the upper right lip.

"Thank you, Sam," Optimus rumbles, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as Sam flushes, dropping that one hand back to his side. "Thank you for being courteous enough for my feelings. I am happy to hear that Earthquake is getting along with the others and that he recognizes my efforts in assuaging his fears. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"You're welcome," Sam breathes, realizing his heart was pounding. Ratchet tilts his head slightly and Sam looks away, embarrassed about being embarrassed. Thankfully neither bot said anything about it.

---

"Sammy, do ya know someone named Soundwave?"

Sam, who was situating himself to wait for his turn with Ratchet before he was finally set free from the medbay two days later, looks up sheepishly at Jazz. He and Prowl were there to see Ratchet, both of which had slipped into the back room to give Prowl privacy while Ratchet inspects his spark and the small orb of light that Sam empowered there. Optimus is present again, standing by Sam's gurney because he wanted Sam to accompany him in meeting a new arrival that will be here at the Autobot base within the hour. But he was going to be transported to the airfield once he arrived and that Prowl, Jazz and Ratchet would be accompanying them once he was done with Sam and the Autobot SIC.

Sam casts a curious look at Optimus, who's stare remained steady back at him, before nervously turning his attention to Jazz, still surprised that the other bot didn't join Prowl and Ratchet in the other room. He understood what Ratchet and Optimus were trying to say about Sam not having any control of the Allspark - which was equal parts true and annoying - but he still felt awkward about his part in all of this. Either Jazz didn't care to offer his stiffness any attention or was aware of the reason and was either giving Sam the chance to bring it up himself or get over it. Regardless, Jazz was perfectly cordial when they came in, grinning and friendly as always. Even Prowl paused long enough to greet Sam and Optimus respectfully before obeying Ratchet and moving to the nearby berth for preliminary scans before heading into the back.

"I kind of know what soundwaves are," Sam offers thinly, cracking a weak smile.

Jazz, completely cool and unshaken, grins more. "Nice, me too. But not those soundwaves, I'm afraid."

"I'm assuming this 'Soundwave' is a person? Er, transformer?"

Jazz nods. "Yep. Ever heard of him?"

Sam shakes his head after giving it a few moments' thought. "No, I don't think so. Should I have?"

Jazz nods, expression falling somber. "He's the Decepticon TIC. He works as their head communications officer and resident spy master. So, he's a big bad, ya feel?"

Sam wraps his arms around himself, a bit shaken as he nods slowly. The more he remembered, the more he learned about the factions, the war, all of it, felt like it was just growing bigger and deeper and more real somehow. "Okay. Yeah. I got it."

Jazz watches him curiously. "Do ya know why I'm askin' about Soundwave, Sam?" Sam shakes his head. "The last night ya were influenced by the Allspark, ya said his designation. So, I've been gnawin' at the bit to see if ya knew why."

Sam frowns, shaking his head again. "I don't remember. I've never met this Soundwave before. Well," a glance at Optimus, "I mean, have I?"

Optimus shakes his head. "Not yet," he says grimly. "Soundwave was not planet side during the attack on Mission City. He had still been in space on his way here. He was also not present during the attack on our base in America. Only Ravage was present." Then to clarify to Sam, "He is one of Soundwave's cassettes."

Prowl and Ratchet enter the room once more as Sam asks, "What's a cassette? I mean, I know what they are for humans but I'm assuming they aren't the same for Cybertronians."

"Are we talking about Hosts?" Ratchet asks as Jazz and Prowl share a look. Prowl's door wings flicking slightly which makes Jazz nod before he looks back at Sam.

"Yes," Optimus answers Ratchet. "Specifically, Soundwave."

"Ah," Ratchet says, folding his arms over his chest. "Sam, Hosts are a specific frame type that can link together with another very specific frame type, namely symbiotes. Or, cassettes, I suppose. Cassettes can connect to Host frames by either linking their physical forms or through a bond that is unique to them across great distances. It's from these bonds that they can share information, sensation and location. Depending on the bonds and their strength it influences how much can be shared. Cassettes are intelligence agents, once upon a time, they were used to guard and gather information for the people of Cybertron during the First Age. Hosts were once mobile information platforms. They can process and house massive magnitudes of power and information. Such as places and people. Historical events. They were the collective memory of our people back in the old days."

"It is as Ratchet said," Prowl adds, stopping behind Jazz, wings pressing up into a tight 'v'. "Symbiosis is one of the best ways to describe their relationship. Cassettes gather information to return to the Host, and the Host protects both the information and the cassettes alike."

"They are a rare frame type nowadays," Optimus supplies as well. "Since our people were finally able to settle and build cities, namely libraries of our own, the need for Hosts and Cassettes has whittled their numbers down over the generations."

"All fair," Jazz says, keeping his focus on Sam. "But also, not the point here. Soundwave is very dangerous. And I just need to make sure that he ain't sniffin' 'round here. Not with his cassettes, or otherwise. He's been the mastermind behind a lot of Autobot bases fallin' across the millennia. Certainly, you can understand why I'm weary, Sammy."

Sam nods. "I... I don't know why I said his name. I don't know him. At least, I don't remember him."

Jazz stares at him for a long moment. Sam has to wonder if he's using the bond that they apparently have to... well... tell if he's lying? Is that how it works? Then the silver and black bot nods, seemingly finding whatever he was looking for in their bond or Sam's face, whichever. "Have ya seen a cybercat?"

Sam blinks slowly. "I'm assuming that's a metal cat?"

Jazz grins. "Yep, and a lot bigge' than ya ordinary cat."

"Not at all," Sam says firmly. He would definitely remember that.

"And birdformers?"

"Birdformers?" Sam echoes incredulously. He looks around at the other Autobots, wondering if he was being punked right now or not. But only expectant expressions meet his gaze. He swallows thickly, realizing that this wasn't a joke and looks back over at Jazz. "Um, no. Sorry. I thought... no, never mind." He blushes, embarrassed.

"It's all good, Sammy," Jazz says, moving to stand. His plating ripples as he shakes, as if he had a cold chill, which was a little crazy to see. "It's a good thing, in a way. Means ya haven't seen one - that ya know of. Soundwave is a different beast from most of the 'Cons. Best to not get involved in anythin' Soundwave's got his servo in. Leave that to Spec Ops."

Sam feels his shoulders tense up following a kick to his heartrate which draws Ratchet's frown in his direction. Sam whispers, "Bumblebee is in Spec Ops."

A complicated feeling brushes against Sam's skin from the mechs around him. Bumblebee is... Bumblebee is his best friend. And for the last six years, whether he remembers them - which he doesn't - or not, they were together. And he can feel the bone deep love he has for the yellow bot. He's still not fully convinced if he's in love with Bumblebee like he must have been once upon a time, but Sam's eyes flicker over to Optimus, knowing in his heart that the red and blue Autobot understands. Certainly, of all the Autobots, Optimus must know that the two of them were together for six years. And it's there, in the softening of Optimus's expression. He does know. He does understand.

A moment happens. Something Sam can't put a word to. Staring into Optimus's bright blue eyes, Sam feels a stirring in his chest. A feeling that in the back of his mind he knows is familiar. It surges through him as the blue of Optimus's steady gaze meets his own and there's something there. Something warm and loving and familiar right there at the edge of Sam's memory. If only he could reach out and touch it. If only the slightest nudge toward it didn't send it careening away.

Sam blinks rapidly, pulling back into himself as Optimus's overly bright optics stare back at him. Sam realizes, dimly, that Jazz was speaking, "Don't worry abou' Bee, Sammy. He's Spec Ops. We look afte' one anothe'."

Sam nods slowly, dazed and barely remembering what Jazz was talking about. The intensity behind Optimus's stare holds him captive for a few moments longer before Ratchet breaks the spell that the Autobot leader has on Sam as the medic moves over to the human with a curt, "Alright, Samuel. You're next."

---

Sam wasn't sure what he expected, lowering himself from the last of Optimus's steps leading up to his cab, but NEST and Autobots crowding around a fighter jet was not it. Now, Sam didn't know anything about weapons of war - tanks, jets, battleships - but he could tell that this one was old. It was rusted and worn with age, but there was something about it that just seemed... ancient. 

Sam backed up slowly to give Optimus room as he moves towards Lennox and Epps who were next to Ironhide. He could feel his heart skipping a beat and when he glanced down at his fingers, there was a small arc of blue electricity dancing from his thumb to his pointer.

"You're saying this is an Autobot?" Epps was saying as Sam came to stand on the opposite side of Lennox. Both of them offer him a nod when he glances at them, but his focus quickly returns to the jet sitting, almost out of place in the airfield. Everything else is top of the line, bright and shining and new. This jet was old, aged, but given a wide berth. Enough space from the nearest aircrafts for a transformer to move around comfortably without knocking into anything.

"A Decepticon, once upon a time," Ironhide grunts. He shifts, as if anxious. "Back during the time of the Thirteen Primes. A living legend. Before the Decepticons were ruled by Megatron, in a bygone era millennia before, the faction was ruled by the Fallen. This bot betrayed the Decepticon ruler and sided with the Autobots. He's been here since the Age of Primes."

"Doing what? This?" Epps asks, incredulously.

"I don't know. Something about Nazis and the Cuban Missile Crisis, but that's whatever," Ironhide mumbles, shrugging. Epps and Lennox give him perplexed looks as Sam moves passed them, walking slowly toward the jet. This pull, he recognized it. This was the same one he felt when Wheelie - who is currently chattering Arcee's ear off fifteen feet away about the legend of Jetfire - was locked up in the box Mikaela had brought to the Autobot base.

Sam walks passed Ratchet, who was scanning the jet, and it wasn't until he was ducked down under the nose of it, that he realized that Ratchet had called out to him. Sam stops, realizing what he'd done and turns around to see the eyes of NEST and Autobot alike. There was an intensity from the Autobots, not shared by the NEST soldiers, who just seemed confused about what was going on. The Autobots reach out to him with their fields - Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet, Ironhide, Arcee, Wheelie, Elita-1, Chromia, and Bluestreak - and then there was Optimus, moving smoothly through the throng of soldiers - his soldiers - but not like a general would. He moves slowly, with poise. Careful, regal, radiating power and authority. And when he stood before the jet, before Sam, he was... ethereal. The light from the sun dancing off of his red and blue flames, gleaming and bright. His optics, wise and all-knowing, taking everything in. His stature, tall and strong, as if he could reach up and touch the heavens.

For a moment, Sam's breath caught in his chest. Optimus was beautiful.

And then, this creature closer to the gods than any other, nodded his head in permission. Sam's hand raises up over his head, high enough for the light of the Allspark that has been flickering around his fingers, to jump up into the bot hovering over him. Only a beat passed before the entire frame of the jet shutters, metal plates crawling before they start to shift and fold, transforming. Sam scrambles forward, out of the way, towards Optimus, making it a few steps from the jet before a heavy slam behind him nearly knocked him off his feet. He turns to see a massive all black Cybertronian. He stretches up to the sky, ruby red eyes skimming the gathered crowd. He goes from one Autobot face to the next, even glancing down at the startled NEST soldiers, before landing on Optimus. The scowl on his face stiffens, then shifts, a myriad of emotions play across his expression, settling on an awed reverence.

He shuffles closer, red lights brightening as he just... takes in Optimus standing before him. His jaw drops open as he dares another step forward, making Sam scramble further back to safety at Optimus's feet. The large bot leans heavily on his cane, blinking rapidly. His voice is deep, guttural but filled with awe as he booms out, "Primus! Do my optics deceive me? A living Prime!"

Notes:

Hello my lovelies! I am so sorry about the long wait! I just had a few deaths in the family in the last week, so I've been distracted for a while now and hadn't been able to find my muse until now. But I'm back! I am so excited for this story and where it goes from here. Thank you all so much for your kind words, they really do inspire me! So, thank you for taking the time! Once more, sorry for the long wait, and I do hope that you continue to enjoy!

Also, sorry, Sam got a little thirsty there at the end. Whoops.

Sidebar, now that Jetfire is here, shenanigans will soon ensue! >:D

Chapter 16: Communicate

Notes:

Betaed by EvangelineRose2412.

Jetfire is... a character. Loud, crotchety, eccentric. He's brash and bustles about as if forgetting his sheer size, but Sam liked him. The Autobots welcomed him easily enough with a kind of reverence. He's ancient by their standards, according to Bumblebee. Certainly, the oldest known bot on this planet. He's boisterous and didn't mind working with the humans, so everyone seemed content to let him into the base - or at least Optimus and the Autobots did, and NEST just sort of had to obey. It didn't seem overly hard for them, though. Jetfire was not only used to humans, but he was also used to soldiers specifically. And while NEST watched him curiously, they followed the Autobots lead without too much difficulty - even if Lennox made a gesture for Ironhide to come see him.

But the Autobots stuck around - some at least, like Bulkhead, Arcee, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe - to listen to his old war stories from a bygone age. Even Prowl listened in for a while with Jazz hovering close by, watching Jetfire like a hawk. He seemed to settle in nicely in what Sam came to learn was a recroom of sorts for the Autobots far deeper into the base to give them some semblance of privacy. Sam and Major Lennox and a few others being some of the lucky few that were allowed into the space, which was nice. Sam felt a little bad, like he was invading a private area, but no one seemed to mind him being there, so he tried not to make a big deal out of it.

It was a few hours later, on his way back to his room after going to one of the handful of cafeterias to eat with Maggie and Major Lennox - Will, as he insisted he be called - that he ran into Mikaela. Bumblebee was with Bluestreak, and the Terror Twins, which Sam now knows isn't in fact Skids and Mudflap, but Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. They were running some ops with Jazz, or maybe it was going over some ops? Sam wasn't sure. But it was a big enough deal as Prowl and Optimus were going to be there. Jetfire too.

He was lost in his thoughts when she appeared at his side. "Hey, Sam."

"Hey, Mikaela," Sam greets, bumping her shoulder with his own, which makes her smile. "What have you been up to?" It honestly feels like he's hardly seen her in weeks. They catch a few minutes together here and there, they go out to lunch most days, but that's with Maggie. It's been a long time since it was just the two of them.

She shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest as they get in line for the checkpoint. "Just been talking with my dad. Wandering the island. That sort of thing."

"Oh, how is your dad? And the island exploration, I guess."

She smiles. "Good, on both accounts. I spoke with Optimus and he promised to make some inquiries. He said there would always be a need for people with specific trades, even here. So he would see about being able to get my dad here. He and I can open a shop."

"That's good!" Sam grins, showing his badge to the guard along with Mikaela. He scans them, scrutinizes the two of them before letting them through. As they slowly make their way down the hall towards their rooms, Sam gets the sense that Mikaela is building up the courage to say something, which makes him nervous. Despite it, they dance around from one mundane topic to another, as Mikaela seemingly wars with herself on what it is that she wanted to say.

Before his mind can go too wild with scenarios, Mikaela finally asks, "We aren't getting back together again, are we?"

Sam stumbles, panic flashing through him. "What? I - I..." He turns to her, tongue tying into knots as so many words fight for first in line to come tumbling from his mouth. She watches him struggle until he finally just forced out a weak, "What?"

Mikaela smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I know that you're still trying to get your memories back and I respect that. But... I've been reaching out to you and you're just so far away." Was he? "I understand and a lot is going on, but I also understand that I don't know all that's happening. I've been trying to be patient, but I can feel it, Sam. I've lost you." She smiles and it's a sad thing. Like she's trying to be understanding but can't fully hide the pain that she feels. Sam's heart aches for her, understanding how difficult this must all be for her. And how much of the burden really falls on his shoulders.

He told her she shouldn't wait for him. That he was too messed up to really know what was going on to be a good partner to anyone, but he's not ignorant to the fact that it wasn't really a let's-move-on sort of thing. But more like a I-can't-be-who-you-need-right-now. And that's misleading. He hadn't known the full truth then, but he really should have been more upfront. He should have been more firm. Instead, he was ambiguous and it ended up hurting her more, to Sam's great shame.

"I..." Sam hesitates, moving to his room and opening his door for her. She heads in, going straight for his couch to sit down with one leg tucked under herself but still off the edge. Sam closes the door and walks to her as the automatic lock clicks into place behind him. "I'm sorry, Mikaela."

Her eyes mist, full lips pressing together before looking away. "Can I know why?"

Sam hesitates, again. Still unsure of what he can say. But then, with a silent apology to Optimus, he moves over to the couch and sits next to her. "The Autobots are from the future."

Mikaela blinks, looking at him with a skeptical frown. "What?"

It's too late, it's already out. He should really stop putting things off. He really should have made sure to find time with Optimus to get this all cleared up. But it's too late now. He has to follow through. He highly doubts she's just going to let it be as it is. So, he tells her. He tells her what little he does know about the situation. That the Autobots were from a decade into the future. That somehow, the power of the Allspark growing inside of him was the catalyst to them - Sam partically included - being thrown back in time. They couldn't really explain how it was, but Ratchet theorized that someone named Wheeljack might have some wild theories.

"So, it's like I'm three separate people," Sam continues slowly, watching a myriad of confused emotions playing over Mikaela's face. "The part of me that doesn't fully remember everything, the shadow of the person that remembers everything up until this point, and the person from the future, who influences my feelings on things of the past. And they all have feelings on everything. It's been... solidifying bit by bit over time, but even now I'm still so confused. I love you; I feel it." Mikaela smiles faintly at that. "There is a yearning love. A passionate love. And then an affectionate love, like something that has simmered from years of emotional separation."

Her smile falters as she considers his words. "So... we break up in the future, is that what you're saying?"

Sam nods, swallowing thickly. "Yeah..."

She turns away from him, blinking rapidly, as if trying to wrap her mind around all of this. Meanwhile, Sam finally feels something vibrate in his pocket. He digs it out to see he has a few unread messages from Jazz. He felt Sam's panic and was checking in to make sure everything is alright.

"I'm okay, Jazz. Thanks for checking in."

He responded back almost immediately. "No problem. Prowler checked the camera feed for that hallway and said you were just talking to Mikaela. Everything good?"

"Not really," Sam admits, stealing a glance at the beautiful brunette shaking her head with her thoughts. A frown on her lips. "I took the coward's way out in a conversation I really shouldn't have and it's come back to bite me in the ass."

There is a longer pause, before he says, "Sorry to hear it, kid. Good luck."

"Thanks," Sam lets out a little sigh before quickly moving to Optimus's name and sending him a quick message before he can chicken out. "I may have done something that will make you mad at me, can we talk later?"

The response from Optimus is quick. "Yes. Is it something urgent?"

"No, but I would like to talk about it with you."

"Very well. I will come to see you soon."

Somehow, that almost made Sam feel worse. Like he's asking for the chastisement, but what's done is done.

"Is there someone else?" Mikaela asks.

Sam blinks, pulling his eyes up from his phone as he stuffs it back into his pocket. "What?"

She frowns at him. "Is there someone else? You said you have feelings from the future, so what? Does that mean you're choosing someone else based on the feelings you have from the future?"

Well, when she puts it like that, wasn't he, in a way? He still wasn't wholly convinced that he was in love with Bumblebee, but he wasn't entirely running away from those feelings either. Sure, they haven't talked about it more since the initial conversation, but Sam hadn't exactly been ready to do that either. He still wanted to see if they would grow together more organically. Maybe he was letting the feelings from the future influence him and he hadn't realized it. Maybe he was leaning away from Mikaela in the same way that he was leaning into Bumblebee.

And even with all of that, he still felt like something was missing. Something in the connection that Sam has with Bumblebee, it feels like there is a hole in the center. A chunk pulled from it, and while Sam's feelings on Bumblebee aren't muted or altered as far as he can tell because of it, he couldn't bring himself to actively pursue something like that while being so uncertain of how he truly felt.

"I don't know," he finally answers and yet it still felt almost like a lie. The hurt that washed across her face feels like a punch to Sam's gut. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I didn't me-"

"Is it Bumblebee?"

Sam blinks rapidly, brain shorting. "What?"

Mikaela smiles then, and despite the pain in her eyes, she's beautiful. "He adores you. I know. I know he loves you, Sam. Do you know how I know?" Sam shakes his head, stupified that she would have just guessed that at random. Her smile turns a bit bitter as she quietly says, "Because that was how you used to look at me."

"Mikaela..."

She stands up, hands shaking as she moves towards the door. Sam is quick to jump to his feet to follow her, calling out to her retreating form. She stops at the door, hand holding the handle, hesitating. She looks down at the ground, shoulders shaking. Each tiny breath she took was another punch to the gut. Sam tries to reach out to touch her, to somehow take the pain away, but she flinched when his shadow casted over her own. And that was a different agony all together.

"Mikaela," Sam whispers, throat and chest tight. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

She turns a sweet smile back to him, but her eyes wouldn't meet his. "I'll be okay, Sam. I shouldn't have held onto hope. You are a nice guy, Sam, and you were trying to tell me in a nice way. I just..." she sucks in a deep breath before letting it whoosh out of her. "I just thought that maybe, if we had more time, if you remembered more..." That bitterness returned. Then she finally says, "I'm sorry too." And the door was slowly closing behind her while Sam stared at the place she occupied a moment before, brain buzzing.

He's not sure how long he stood there, rooted in place feeling like the scum of the Earth, when a voice startles him from behind, "Tha's so rough, Sam." He looks over at Wheelie, who was hiding under the covers. His red eyes are bright, looking from Sam to the door. "Yous really shudda told her about ya Junxies, ya know?" Sam couldn't help but glare at the small toy car even as self-deprecating anger burned in his chest.

Sam didn't have time to tell Wheelie to shove off when the sound of a horn from outside the door made him jump, despite it being muffled. Sam had a sense of who was there before he even opened the door. Earthquake pops open his door, asking, "Is there something the Creator needs this platform to eliminate?"

"Yeah, me," Sam says, dryly. He casts a sour look back at Wheelie, who had moved to the couch with a little shrug, before heading out. He jumps into the passenger seat before quietly asking his first creation, "Do you want to go for a drive?"

The tinge of concern and anger in the big bot's field dissipates into joy at the prospect of them sharing time together. "Yes, Creator!"

Sam felt bad about not being pleasant company while Earthquake was so happy, but the armored vehicle didn't seem to mind. Obeying the laws inside of the base, Earthquake made his way out while Sam quietly sat in the passenger seat, simmering in the reality of the conversation he just had with Mikaela. For all intents and purposes, it had gone well. There was no screaming, and hardly any crying. And they both made it out alive, and yet, Sam felt like garbage. He knows Mikaela took some of the blame on herself, but he couldn't help but feel like he really had been leading her on. He never definitively said that they were done. He couldn't help but think that he made this worse for both of them.

Earthquake was unbothered by the silence. He drove them all around the streets of Diego Garcia's small city in circles. Sam was content to just let the big bot go around and around and around without argument until after over two hours of aimless driving, Earthquake adjusts his pathing and heads back towards base. By now, it was getting late. The sun had already dipped towards the horizon, turning the sky a darkening starburst of reds, oranges and yellows. Sam watched as instead of heading into base, they made way for the airfield, driving past rows and rows of airships and jets alike to a cliff on the far side and the tall, imposing figure of Optimus Prime. He's like a guardian of the land, staring out over the sea, hands on hips, shoulders wide and legs spread apart. He looked powerful, indominable. 

Sam pulls his phone from his pocket to see a few messages from Jazz checking in to see how it went, and two from Optimus, asking if he was ready to meet and if he was okay.

Earthquake pulled to a stop a few feet away from the Autobot leader, and Sam heaved a heavy sigh. He pats the dashboard for the armored truck, sullenly saying, "Thanks for driving me around, Earthquake."

"It is always a pleasure to be with the Creator," Earthquake replies, happiness still brushing against Sam's skin despite his own sour mood. Sam leans forward to pat the dash again, hoping to convey to the bot how much he appreciated this time together, even if he wasn't the best company. Earthquake's field was warm and content.

Without further ado, Sam opens up the door and slides out. He pats the side of the armored truck before moving over to the massive red and blue Autobot. Optimus turns to greet them, tipping his helm to Earthquake as he slowly reverses in one hundred and eighty degrees before heading back to base. Guess that means Optimus is going to be his ride back.

"Hello, Sam," Optimus greets warmly. "I spoke with Jazz. An argument with Mikaela?"

Sam's shoulders droop as he kicks the toe of his shoe into the dirt. "Not really. We broke up. Like officially." Sam sighs, rubbing at his face. "I guess I was really ambiguous about letting her down and she was still hoping that it was a temporary thing and instead of being clear, I sort of just dragged her along all these months."

Optimus frowns. "I'm sorry it seemed like the two of you were not on the same page. I suppose clearing it up now is better than dragging it out longer."

Sam lets out another sigh. "Thanks for not just covering for me. I still feel like garbage but that makes it a little better."

Optimus's engine rumbles. He turns to look out over the horizon, quietly contemplating something.

Sam relishes in the peaceful silence. Only the waves and the seagulls to keep them company. It's different from back in California. Lookout Point felt so different. And it was something usually viewed with Bumblebee in his alt mode at Sam's side. This wasn't bad, though. Just different. But in a good way.

"Were there oceans on Cybertron?" Sam catches himself asking. Optimus glances down at him, eyes spiraling into pinpricks before widening again. 

Looking back over the horizon, he nods. "Not with water, though. We had the Rust Sea. It was made up from acid native to our world. It didn't have the same applications as water does here. It didn't sustain us, but beings did live there and when it rained, it was the acid that fell."

Sam cringes, trying to imagine. "Didn't that hurt?"

Optimus rumbles, a small smile crossing his lips. "We are a hardy species, Sam. And it was our home. We grew to adapt. Our plates are stronger, thicker. We have polish that can harden our plates and protoform to highly corrosive agents." He stops, blinking then clarifies, "No, Sam. It didn't usually hurt. Against wounds, yes, but not in day-to-day life on average."

"Huh," Sam murmurs.

Optimus turns then, wise eyes studying Sam's face as he gently probes, "You're stalling, Sam."

Sam flushes, rubbing at the back of his neck before turning to the Autobot leader and just admitting the truth, "I told Mikaela about you guys being from the future. I had been meaning to talk to you about it but you've been so busy and I didn't want to bother you and I felt like I had to say something. I had to get her to understand and I hated that she was so far into this yet was left out of the loop and it didn't feel right. I know that I shouldn't have done it without talking to you about it first but -"

Optimus holds up his hands, giving them a little wave to slow down. "Settle, Sam. I'm not angry at you."

Sam's shoulders slump. "But you probably should be, shouldn't you?"

Optimus seems surprised by that question, giving it considerable thought before ultimately shaking his head. "No. I never specified that it was any sort of secret. You didn't do anything wrong, Sam. I appreciate you telling me."

Sam opens his mouth, waiting for the memory of when  he was told to say nothing to appear, but it doesn't. If they had spoken about it, it would have been to caution when speaking about it with anyone. But unless he's not remembering it, this suddenly feels like it's an assumed thing and not something explicitly said. But still...

"I'm sorry, Optimus," Sam says softly. "It feels like every time I need to talk to you it's never about anything good."

Optimus chuckles, affectionate warmth brushing over his skin. "I enjoy whatever time we have together, Sam. I am very busy, and I appreciate that you want to keep from adding more to the list of things I am overseeing, but I promise, I am not so busy that you can't reach out to me when you need to talk. Or, if you simply wish to. I will respond, and make time, when I can. It is no burden to me."

Sam smiles, surprised at how much better he feels. "Thanks, Optimus." He sucks in a deep breath, looking back over at the sun as it dips below the horizon more and more. After a few minutes of peaceful silence, Sam feels a playful grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Hey, Optimus? How do you feel about monster truck rallies? Asking for a friend."

Optimus squints down at him. "This wouldn't happen to be for Wheelie, would it?"

Sam busts out laughing, catching the small smile crossing Optimus's lips. "Has he already asked you?"

Optimus chuckles, eyes turning back to the horizon. "He put a formal request in yesterday. I barely finished reading it before Prowl denied it." That makes Sam laugh harder.

---

A week has past without seeing hide nor hair of Mikaela. Sam sent her a few texts to check in, but didn't want to bombard her after the third time of her insisting she was okay and they would speak soon. Yet even though their rooms were next to one another, he never just randomly caught her in the hallway. It was the day after, while he was having lunch with Maggie, that he had to explain to her that Mikaela wasn't seeing him right now cause he unintentionally led her own. Instead of being angry with him, Maggie was understanding, even offering to have dinner with Mikaela in a day or two so that she wouldn't feel lonely. Sam was relieved, thanking the blond for her thoughtfulness. If Mikaela wanted space from Sam, that's fine, but so long as she wasn't isolating herself.

After a few days of self-isolating in his room, ruminating on his feelings, Bumblebee finally came to see him, pulling him from his room to invite him out with a bunch of the Autobots in their lounge. There was quite a few of them in here despite it being pretty late into the night. Sam glances up at Bumblebee who had him sitting on a human chair on top of a table. It felt a little weird cause Bulkhead, Chromia and Ironhide were playing some Cybertronian card game around him that made no sense, but they don't seem to mind him.

Bumblebee waits until the cards are cut and passed out again. This time Bumblebee sits at the offered chair by Bulkhead and takes the dealt hand. After a moment, he passes a card to Ironhide, who scowls at him, then passes a different one to him, muttering something akin to "afthole" under his breath. Bumblebee's wings wiggle as his eyes crest at the old bot. Sam takes this time to move his chair to Bumblebee's chest so that he's as much out of the way for the other bots without falling off the edge as possible. Never mind the fact that the room is freezing to accommodate the massive bodies filling it and the heat coming off of the scout feels wonderful.

Chromia gets a card from Bulkhead and gives one back to him. They all place bets, then lay down their cards. After a moment of looking at everyone's hand, somehow the squiggles on the cards indicates Bulkhead won. They cut the cards again and this time they all take one card, pass to the left, then a new one to the right, then Chromia and Bumblebee switch another one and Ironhide and Bulkhead switch another. Bumblebee is curled around Sam in a way where he can look at the cards in front of him, but he has no idea what any of it means. Bumblebee nuzzles the back of his head, which pulls a surprised laugh from Sam as he leans back against the yellow bot while the four Autobots arrange their hands, place their bets, and then show their cards.

"Again, Bulkhead?" Chromia asks, brow raised.

Bulkhead laughs. "Trust me, I've got a lot of experience in Trade Off. Wreckers play rough."

"Oh Primus," Chromia grins. "What happens if you lose?"

Bulkhead grins down at her. "Penalty game."

"No penalty game," Ironhide grunts, but he almost looks unhappy about that. At the questioning looks sent to him by Bulkhead and Chromia, he expounds, "Prowl threw Roadbuster, Sandstorm and Broadside into the brig for three chords for the last one on Klaoh IV. Thousands in property damage. It was bad." Ironhide shakes his head.

"Oh, wow," Sam grunts. "That sounds like it was a mess."

Bulkhead chuckles. "How did they find a cell to hold all three?"

"They didn't," Ironhide says, grinning. "Jazz pissed Prowl off too, so to get back into his good graces, he was left with one mission: keep them there until their sentence is served."

Bulkhead barks a deep belly laugh, throwing his massive head back, while Chromia, also laughing, shakes her silver head. "Well, that'll do it." Noticing Sam's inquisitive look, Chromia leans closer to him, "Don't ever let Jazz's good natured personality fool you. He earned the respect of the Wreckers when he beat three of them in a matter of seconds."

Sam's eyes widen. He knew that Jazz was good. But he hasn't really seen the bot fight or anything. He was there in Mission City, but with everything going on it was hard to really notice who was doing what. So, despite believing it, he gasped out, "Jazz? Three Autobots? In seconds?"

"Jazz is the head of Spec Ops," Bumblebee reminds him. "You don't get to that position without being the best."

"Wow..." Sam murmurs softly, reaching into his phone to pull it out and find Jazz's contact. "I just heard that you're a badass."

The response is immediate, "'Bout time you noticed." And then there was a second message with a smile emoji, which makes Sam grin. Not too long after, Jetfire ambles into the room, making his way across it. He's slow, leaning on his cane as he goes, but he looks shinier than he did last time Sam had seen him. Last he'd heard, Jetfire had been sequestered to Ratchet's medbay to be overseen by the CMO and First Aid. He didn't look rusted anymore, even if the paint had been worn down on some places from what Sam can only assume was either a decent scrub down, or a sandblaster. Either way, he looks good.

"Like hunting fliers, do ya?" Jetfire asks dropping down into a plush, well loved chair, grinning at Sunstreaker and a newly painted, bright red Sideswipe. "I was talking to that young medic. The jumpy one, not the cranky one."

The twins nod from where they were leaning against the back of the couch, in the Autobot lounge. Sideswipe leaned forward on his elbows by Bluestreak's head and Sunstreaker with his arms crossed and hip pressed against the back of it.

"Yeah, need some tips?" Sideswipe asks, grinning.

"Tips? Please!" Jetfire waves his hand around. "I've been scrapping mechs of all shapes and sizes for longer than the Autobots have been an operating faction! As if you could show me a damned thing!"

Sunstreaker rolls his orange eyes. Sideswipe, still grinning, asks, "You got any tips for flying?"

Jetfire squints at him. "Aren't you a grounder?"

The red mech nods. "Yep," he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "I have a jetpack. If I could change my alt, it would be to a jet of some kind. Ratchet said he found flier CNA in Sunny and I." Sunstreaker casts him a nasty look but says nothing.

Jetfire rubs at his metal beard, grunting. "What does that mean?"

"Which part?" Sunstreaker asks dryly. 

Bluestreak raised his wings and gave them a little shake. Bumblebee rumbles a laugh as Sunstreaker rolled his eyes again.

"The CNA," Jetfire asks, leaning back into the plush cushion. "A grounder with flier CNA?"

Both nod. "Yeah," Sunstreaker says. "One of our creators was a flier, the other was a grounder."

Jetfire seemed to think about that for a long time. Long enough that the twins both look at one another. Even Bluestreak glances up at them before offering, "Prowl thinks my carrier was a flier. I don't mind flying either. I don't have a jetpack or anything like that, but I'm a sniper, I like my super high nests." He smiles.

Jetfire tilts his head, still slowly rubbing his beard. After a couple of minutes, he gestures between them, asking, "Siblings?"

"Twins," Sideswipe and Sunstreaker say together.

Jetfire narrows his bright red eyes. "There is three of you! Don't think me senile, youngsters! I can still count!"

Chromia snorts. Sideswipe blinks slowly while Sunstreaker sneers, "Not us and Blue, old cog. Sides and I." He gestures to his twin.

"Oh," Jetfire rumbles, squinting at them. "Your face plates look similar."

"We're twins," Sideswipe laughs, then looks at the annoyed expression on Sunstreaker's face and laughs harder.

"Of course we look alike," Sunstreaker snaps. The plates along his shoulders ruffle before he pushes back from the couch and stomps off out of the room. Sideswipe half calls after him but doesn't follow. Bluestreak is grimacing but Sideswipe waves off the concerned look.

"He's in a mood," Sideswipe says dismissively.

Jetfire grunts, looking at Bluestreak. "You're gonna have to get your brother to settle down. He's not going to make any friends like that." Bluestreak blinks slowly, mouth opening and closing, as if trying to decide what to say to that while Sideswipe laughs, slapping his hands onto Bluestreak's shoulders.

"Yeah, get that afthead to chill out, Blue."

"No," Bluestreak says, genuinely alarmed. "I don't want him angry at me!"

Sideswipe keeps laughing, not at all bothered. A low sound draws the room from the laughing Sideswipe to the massive jet, draped over the chair, head tilted all the way back as he snores. Sam joins in on the laughter, leaning back against Bumblebee, feeling the rumble of his engine as the yellow bot laughs. Amusement flutters about the room and for the first time in what feels like too long, Sam relaxes.

---

"Sir!"

Sam jumps as Maggie's voice cuts through the usual din of the Hive. Sam looks out to see Prowl is turning from where he's having a low conversation with Jazz at the back of the room. His hand is on his spark and Sam is trying not to worry but can't help himself. It's no time at all for a Cybertronian, but Prowl is almost a month along, and Sam has noticed that he's going in to see Ratchet every day, which is basically twice a Cybertronian day. And he's been noticing that Jazz has been hovering a lot more which concerns Sam more and more, but he's too afraid to interfere. He had spoken with them - well, Jazz - about what he'd done, and Jazz had been very understanding of Sam's perceived crime against his mate. He was empathetic to how Sam felt but said in no uncertain terms that they were going to do everything that they could to ensure that this sparkling flourished.

"Ya gave me life again, Sam. Gave me back my Prowler. Gave us both a chance to live outside of this war. Don' think I ain't still keepin' track of our debts."

He would hear none of Sam's insistence on there not being any debts owed. But he did promise to speak to Prowl on Sam's behalf, and seemed to do so, as the bot greeted him warmly - or as warm as someone like Prowl could, with an impassive expression and a gentle brush of welcome with his field before pulling back - the next time Sam saw him. But like before, Sam's been finding himself coming to the Hive more and more as the days pass. Not because of any inherent interest in what's going on specifically, but Sam's starting to suspect that it's Prowl. That it's always been Prowl. That Sam's initial draw to the Hive has been because Prowl had been reabsorbing the sparks floating around his own. That on a primitive level, his hindbrain now infested with the claws of the Allspark, has compelled him to remain close so that those sparks could flourish.

So, what does it mean if he's being drawn back again? Judging by the harsh set to Prowl's features, Sam imagines it's nothing good.

"Report, Madsen," Prowl commands, marching over to his computer terminal with Jazz on his heels.

Maggie, standing at her desk, types away on her computer. A second later, one of the massive screens at the front of the room changes into some sort of tracking system with latitude and longitude that was first around Diego Garcia and then pushed out to cover the world. There is a lot of moving pieces that Sam can only assume are planes from all around the world moving from one place to the next, but Maggie highlights one object on its way to their location.

"This bogey is headed right for us," she says. "I tried to track where it came from, but it appeared out of nowhere." She types away and the screen changes, everything moving and freezing, the bogey vanishing. A time stamp appears in the corner. She moves frame by frame of the scan until, in the space between seconds, the bogey appeared.

"It's a stealth craft, I recognize that energy signature," Jazz says, hands on his hips. He narrows his optics as Prowl nods, hand moving up to the side of his head.

"We're getting an incoming communication," another tech calls out. "It's Cybertronian, displaying it now." One of the other screen changes as the Cybertronian glyphs fill it, over and over and over again. Jazz barks out a surprised laugh while Prowl sighs.

"Prime," Prowl rumbles, expression tight. "We have received contact from Wheeljack, he's planet side and heading right for us."

Notes:

And now Wheeljack is here! If I plan this out accordingly, the next chapter or the one immediately after is where things are going to start going down! Sorry for the long wait, my lovely beta reader, EvangelineRose2412 was helping me edit all the chapters up until this point. Thank you all so much for your patience and support! Let me know what you think! And I do hope that you continue to enjoy!

Notes:

Well, that was a tough one to write. The big guy is growing on me. Anyway, let me know what you think! Have a great day!