"The reason it hurts so much to separate is because our souls are connected. Maybe they always have been and will be. Maybe we've lived a thousand lives before this one, and in each of them we've found each other."

.

.

If you were with the one you truly loved, would you be a hero, even if it meant risking the one you can't lose?

You see, Sam Witwicky had done this hero thing three times and it didn't ever get easier. The paranoia never went away and the nightmares might not be as frequent but he can still recall every one with uncanny accuracy. Every day he lived with the knowledge that he was mere seconds away from dying, because he had been seconds away from dying for years now. He did not feel like a hero. Heroes are supposed to feel proud and have homecoming parades and a princess on their arm. He just felt vaguely accomplished, and he had not even been to a homecoming. He certainly had no princess on his arm, heck, he didn't even want a princess on his arm. Unless you confused "princess" with a giant robot who was easily 2 1/2 times the size of himself. Quite a few had told him that just because he was not an average hero didn't mean he wasn't one, and that felt like half-hearted condolences being whispered into the wind. He wasn't sure if he was even capable of being a hero anymore. He felt so old, soiled by his own unwilling spirit.

He felt tired, as if he had been aged by his courageous acts and his good deeds. He had been lacking that famous quick-fire wit that had gotten him out of too many sticky situations to count. He knew he was wise beyond his years, but though he was in a great physical condition, his mind just felt perpetually groggy.

Sam decided he would not be a hero this time. Bumblebee would not be either, because it was either they both hide or they both fight. If they were going to be in danger, they would be in danger together, and Bee thought that was all that matters. So, they had decided not to be a part of this battle. They still could not manage to completely detach themselves from it, though. Bee asked Ratchet for updates every half hour, and Sam found himself checking either the news or his laptop almost constantly.

"Death Toll: 3,000 and counting," the internet provided him unhelpfully.

If he were on the front line, being productive, he would save people's lives somehow. Having Sam helping the Autobots in this battle, any battle, would change the odds and maybe even put them in the Autobots' favor. But the noble Autobots refused to ask him to. Sam had done his duty, three times over.

The thing was... after the first time, it wasn't just his duty anymore. It morphed into a quintessential part of him, who he was.

You see, when you take two constants out of an equation, the end result becomes a giant variable. Bumblebee and Sam were both without a doubt constants at the battles on Earth. The end result had been success each time they were in the equation. Now that they had been removed from it, would the result be volatile and unpredictable, like a mama bear who has lost her cubs?

An hour later, he starts pacing and Bee suspects he will change his mind soon. Sam usually put others above himself. This was about the opposite of how Bee had expected Sam to react. He understands Sam's viewpoint, he really does, because Sam did deserve a break. It was the first time Bee had seen Sam even being remotely selfish. Sam usually wore a badge of honor, visible only to the mechs who knew him and the few humans who were close enough to the boy to know his secrets. It now seemed as if he was taking it off and stomping on it.

At first, there had been no doubts; it seemed like such an easy choice. But now it was real, and people were dying. His determination was slowly falling apart at the seams, destined for damnation. "Stop being a hero," he thinks, just as that old motto rings through his head, "No sacrifice, no victory."

He falls comfortably asleep in Bee's arms a few hours later, reminding him of how much he could lose should the battle go wrong and strengthening his resolve.

He wakes up and the first thing he does is turn on the news and Bee thinks he will change his mind soon.

"Death Toll: 3,500," The scroll along the bottom of the screen provides him with the chilling numbers. The news anchor speaks with the gravest of tones as he continues to inform them of the incoming situation, "Alien attacks scattered around the globe have left thousands killed and injured."

"Decepticon attacks," he corrects the anchor angrily, throwing a can at the screen.

An hour has passed since the last time Sam looked at the television. It feels like no time at all. It feels like an eternity.

Bee knows they need to talk about it. He has known it all along, yet he can't bring himself to say more than just, "Are you sure, Sam?"

Sam just kisses him slowly, wondering if Bee can taste the desperation on his tongue.

Three hours later and the news is on again, because Sam just can not seem to stop watching it. The destruction was almost intoxicating, painfully so, but the pain of his own guilt was greater. He really should stop watching it, since all it did was leave him feeling defeated and broken with whispered "your fault"s and silent promises of consequences. Yet, he just can't bring himself to stop staring at the television, because maybe he would rather be consumed by guilt than be out of the loop.

Four hours later and Bee knows he can't fight it much longer. Sam trying not to be a hero is like a leopard trying to tear off its spots, a frivolous endeavor, they'll just grow back.

Sam sees, "Death Toll: 4,000," on his laptop's screen and it's hard to avoid seriously talking about it.

"Bee?"

But Bee does not even look at him; his eyes are glued to the small television in their temporary hideout (temporary because he was starting to think if they kept hiding they wouldn't have any place left to.)

"Will it be worth it?" Sam asks, because the guilt is really gnawing at him and he starts to wonder if he's making the wrong decision.

However, Bee's optics are glued to the television. He doesn't answer, because he will not tell Sam that he doesn't believe it is. Bee felt as if it was a goal not worth the sacrifices necessary, the lives that would end.

Two hours later and Sam knew he should re-evaluate his decision before it's too late. He looks around their home, how it felt odd calling it that.

"Call Optimus," he says, and Bee looks at him with hope. "Tell him I've already made my decision."

And the hope in Bee's eyes is extinguished. But at least the love was still there...

Sam just couldn't see it right now, right?

"I'll love you no matter what, Sam," Bee says.

"Not what, who." Bee looks at him, perplexed. What was he talking about?

"No matter whom I become." Sam felt as if he hadn't been himself ever since he had decided to stay safe with Bee. He had never given into temptation like that before. He wasn't accustomed to the idea of putting his wants first, and he hoped he wouldn't do it again. He secretly feared he might get addicted to it, his own selfishness. He knew if he got addicted he wouldn't be able to quit, and he would be a different person. He would look and talk exactly like Sam (except the words might be crueler), but he wouldn't be, because the true Sam Witwicky doesn't have selfish as part of his vocabulary. Who was he becoming?

Silence is all that greets the two, in response to Sam's question.

"If you change your mind, I'll be okay with it. Whatever you choose, wherever you go, I'll always be at your side, Sam." Bee stares right into Sam's brown eyes, funny, they were usually sparkling. Funny, because he usually got lost in his eyes. But now he was just swimming in a sea of guilt.

"Is the world ending yet?" Sam asks him, after nearly a half hour of silence.

"Not yet," Bee frowns. "Give it another day."

"You hate me," he accuses. Bee's mask slips, just for a second.

"No, Sam. But all these people are dying. We belong out there."

He leaves the room, not wanting to continue the conversation any further in case he accidentally says something he'll regret later. Little did he know he already had.

Sam would rather die with Bee's love than survive without it. If he died, at least he would die like a man. Oh shit, that had flown out the window when he fell in love with a decidedly male, robot, alien, didn't it?

He felt with an utter certainty that he wouldn't be alive at the end of this battle. "Give me five minutes to call my parents," he practically begs, "and then we'll leave."

His final battle and he knows it. He says goodbye to his parents one last time. No sacrifice, no victory. But hadn't he already been sacrificed once?

An hour later, and they are at NEST, preparing for the inevitable battle that would erupt, spewing death and despair on those who deserve it least.

No one mourns the cowardly, Sam reminds himself, and he can't help but think he'll always be a coward.

Lennox is pissed when he sees him. '"Nice to have you on our side, Sam," he says, and Sam just blinks, stung by his comment.

"I'm here now, aren't I?" He grumbles under his breath. He is disappointed that it seems as if they won't be forgiving him before the battle, because he doesn't think they'll have a chance to after. Unless they enjoy talking to corpses, of course.

He just looks around the command center and prays without faith that they all survive this battle. Then he finds a pen and an empty desk. Half hour later and he's finished his letter. They would know, after he died, that he hadn't meant to be a coward.

Then again, he hadn't ever meant to be a hero, either.

An hour later and the battle is completely on. Sam isn't sure what he's supposed to do this time, though, so he just stays with Lennox's team and just barely manages not to get killed by a 'Con.

It was odd. Before, they had always had his back, making sure he was okay. Now, they rarely checked to see if he was still with them. He felt like a liability, not that he hadn't before. But, this time, he didn't feel like a valued member of the team. Instead, he feels like a cow waiting to be slaughtered.

But he's Sam Witwicky, oddly talented in reverse self-preservation, so he just stays alive until it's his time to save the world.

The time does not come. It seems as if they do not need Sam Witwicky this time. The thought crosses Sam's mind that maybe they never really did.

Five minutes later, and more Decepticons somehow manage to sneak up behind the group. Sam alerts Will that one had just snuck up behind him, and the soldiers all start shooting at it and Sam saves his life. Will just says, "Thanks," because, in all honestly, they were in the middle of a battle and there wasn't much time for manners.

They check to see that he is still with them more frequently after that, though not as much as Sam would like.

Starscream blasts the group of soldiers and Sam with his cannon, effectively frying a few unlucky soldiers to a crisp. He then takes advantage of the human's slow, to a mech, reactions and grabs Sam with the full intent to kill him. However, Lennox and his team manage to hit him in the chest with numerous saber rounds, having gathered their bearings, that make Starscream stumble and almost fall backwards. He lets go of Sam accidentally, with his arms almost straight up into the air, while trying to catch his balance. Sam flies up into the air, and he just keeps getting higher and higher, until he has to struggle to breathe because of the wind hitting him so fast and his altitude. After what seems like an hour, he starts to fall again and he doubts there will be anyone to save him. He takes comfort in the fact that it will be a nearly painless death, killed upon impact.

He's bracing for the impact, but then a strong metal hand catches him and he manages to escape death once more. Then he stares up at Optimus, who has just saved his life for the umpteenth time, in thanks. He looks around and he's a few whole blocks away.

That slagger!

Optimus is soon in the middle of fighting an enemy that's the same size, if not bigger than him, when he sees Rumble heading towards the item they were all fighting over. It sat on a pile of rocks, just glowing a soft blue in the mid-afternoon heat. He hadn't had time to be given a thorough debriefing. "No one had," he thinks for a moment, "even heroes like yourself can't always get special treatment, Sam." Optimus had set him down gently and told him not to move while he engaged in battle. But he knew everything revolved around that horseshoe-shaped thing, and Rumble was getting closer and...

Next thing he knows, he's running. Again.

Thirty seconds later, he's almost to the item, when Rumble starts firing. He runs in a crazy pattern to try to avoid the blasts, but one hits him square on the head and he is sent spiraling backwards quite a few feet.

Ten seconds later, and he's no longer immobile from the pain but Rumble's so close now. He gets back up and starts running and Rumble's so absorbed in the thought of whatever that item was he doesn't even notice Sam until he was only thirty feet away and Rumble is still a good sixty. Rumble charges up his cannons again, but then he is blasted back by a cannon shot from behind Sam.

Sam still doesn't stop. Rumble gets back up and he's only ten feet away now, damn his human legs!

Optimus cries out, "No! Sam!"

He just can't let the Decepticon get this thing.

Optimus might have cried out but all Sam heard was "You're such a coward, Sam," and "No sacrifice, no victory."

Thirty seconds later, and Sam can't smell anything but flesh burning. Sam wonders why it smells so close, and then he realizes it's his flesh burning. Thirty seconds later, and Sam can't feel anything but his flesh burning. Funny, he thought it would all have burned off by now.

Thirty seconds later, and Sam can't hear anything but his own screams. There was one other voice, but he drowned it out. The screams were more important.

"Hang on Sam, I love you, Sam! Sam!" the voice had said.

Thirty seconds later, and he's still touching that fucking thing because he can't let the Decepticons get it. Someone tries to pry it from his grasp but he still holds on.

"It's gonna be okay, Sam!" A voice is in his ear now. The voice must have lied.

Sam's world just started to fade to black and maybe, just maybe, Sam Witwicky wouldn't be quite so lucky this time.

"You feeling lucky, punk?" A different voice said. But it wasn't a voice, it was a memory, and he certainly was not feeling lucky. That was his last thought before the black.

Bumblebee screams as his eyes close.

Three days later, Bee finds his letter. He wishes he didn't have to read it, maybe he didn't. Ratchet had said that it might be possible that Sam could be resurrected, after all. The only thing they were waiting for was Bee's approval.

"I'm sorry." Bee starts to read with a shaky breath. "I… I just… Three times already, you know? I didn't even know I could be this selfish. I just felt as if it was my time to be happy before it's too late, and if you reading this, it probably is. I just wanted to prolong my last moments with Bee, but I think everyone hates me now. I guess it doesn't matter now, if you're reading this I'm dead. I knew I wouldn't be returning home from this battle. I don't know how… I just knew. When I'm gone, don't miss me too much. You've got to move on and keep being heroes. The world needs you. My personal, last goodbyes:

Bumblebee- You've been my anchor to sanity for so long now. I just love you so much. I'm sorry that I don't have time to redeem myself in your eyes. I'm sorry it ends like this. I hope you don't still hate me. Don't get stuck on my memory, please. I want you, no, need you to be happy. Have fun with the Autobots and don't lose sight of what's right and wrong. Just know that I love you before all else. Goodbye.

Optimus- You are, in all certainty, a true hero. You have saved my life so many times. Don't be too hard on yourself if you can't save me this time. Don't be too hard on Bumblebee. I am so glad I met you. Thank you… for everything.

Ratchet, Ironhide, and the other Autobots: I am sorry I don't have time to write each of you a personal letter. Just know I love you all, even the Twins, and you have all inspired me. I'll never forget a single one of you, afterlife or not.

My parents: Don't give this to them. I already said goodbye. My last wish: make sure they don't do anything stupid.

Will and Epps: I realize now why you were so hostile. You have to leave the ones you love every time you step onto the battlefield and risk leaving them behind. But there is such a big difference between us. You are true heroes, and I'm just a kid from Tranquility. While I wish my last moments of you were fonder (maybe they will be), I know you meant well, cause you always do. I won't ever forget you guys, either. Don't beat yourself up. Keep being a hero.

Everyone else: Don't be sad. I've lived such a remarkable life. Keep my funeral private, just basically the Autobots, my parents, Leo, Simmons, and any people at NEST who want to come. I've known this was coming for a while now. I'll be okay. Just defend my memory. It's been an honor fighting alongside you all."

He finds Ratchet immediately afterwards. "Do it," Bee orders, and he nods. Bee knew that Sam might resent them for this, his worst fear was death, after all, and they were just forcing him to relive his worst fear, again. But he was too young to die, and in all of the human stories he had read the heroes survived.

He wasn't naïve enough to believe that was actually true, of course, but he couldn't bear to part with Sam when he didn't have to. He just hoped Sam wouldn't be mad about his act of selfishness, but he can't lose Sam.

Two hours later, and Sam opens his eyes and damn, the light hurts. It feels like lightning, because his eyes feel like they are on fire. The light burns, but he tries to focus on something else. He tried to focus on where he was, who he was, but all he could recall about his life before was burning and some kind of metal horseshoe. He doesn't remember anything important, just the burning. The burning was all he could think about because it had been all he felt before he died and the first thing he felt after being brought back to life.

"The light, Ratchet!" said a voice.

And then there is darkness again. Sam had come to like the darkness...

He shuts his eyes again, to come back home into the black haze, to all he had known for the past three days and all he could remember.

When they lose him again, Bumblebee punches a hole through the walls of the hangar that was temporarily Ratchet's med bay.

Ratchet settles for throwing a wrench through the roof.

One day later, and his eyes open. He feels groggy and tired, until he sees the painfully bright light which pulled him out of unconsciousness. He couldn't remember where he was, and what was going on, but it didn't matter to him because all he could focus on was the light. He had not seen light for more than a minute in three days, and it makes him wish for the darkness again, because in the darkness he feels nothing but numb and cold.

The light hurts worse than anything he could remember, which was very little, but it doesn't turn off this time. Five minutes later, and his eyes are adjusted to the light after weeks of darkness. He looks around and sees his friends above him. He realizes he is alive.

He almost cracks a smile.

"Sam?" and it's the most apprehensive he has ever heard Bumblebee.

"Bee," he rasps.

"We are so glad you're awake," the other yellow- Ratchet- says. "It was so dicey at first."

Then a new figure enters the room, human. Tall, smiling, brown hair, in military uniform. A small voice in his head screams, "Will!" But the bigger voice screams, "he's no coward. "

Sam succumbs to the voice's call, and in turn, the darkness.

Ten minutes later, and he wakes up again. He recognizes them all; Ratchet, Bumblebee, and Will. And he smiles at Will, at ease with the brave man. Sam suspected it had something to do with what had been injected in his arm, because he could no longer hear the voices in his head or see the blackness pulling over the corners of his eyes.

Maybe the light wasn't so bad.

He smiles and looks at their encouraging faces. Bee grins at him, happier than Sam has ever seen anyone, because he had a funeral to cancel. Sam looks down at his body and there's barely a scratch on him. Though, he does notice some dried blood on his shirt, right where his heart should be, and looks up curiously at Ratchet, who looks so guilty.

"The Matrix works on you," he said miserably. "It also healed you of most injuries, presumably because of your contact with the artifact. Though I'm sure your other encounters with items of our race haven't helped either."

"Not... human?"

"You are, as far as we can tell, still human." A sigh of relief. Ratchet actually felt guilty because it wasn't his life to give, but he and all the other Autobots had agreed that if Sam could be brought back to the land of the living, they would do whatever it took. Ratchet just hopes that fate wouldn't reap it's revenge on the life Ratchet had sowed.

It sinks in and Sam curses. He was right. He had died.

"How? I mean, I thought it only worked on sparks."

"We are not exactly sure. We suspect that the Matrix somehow identified your heart as a spark due to all the contact you have had with us and our artifacts, which we assume produced the energy needed for your heart to be identified as a spark. The Matrix must have identified the difference and adapted to it, which was only possible due to the extra energy that was present," He explained slowly. "It will definitely not work on other humans, though Ironhide suggested there's a slight possibility it would work on Will due to his extreme contact with our race, and by extension, Epps."

He's alive, and there was a hole in his chest that would be there forever, but he doesn't care because he's actually alive, goddamn it! It was peculiar because he was a coward and cowards were supposed to run away. But he was still here... hmm.

He figured he had one life left. "Third time's the charm, Sammy boy," the voice whispers.

A couple days later, and life is slightly surreal but he's getting used to it again. He had met the president and been honored along with the Autobots and soldiers at N.E.S.T at a lavish ceremony that had included various people of prominent places in the world. Sam had decided to live at the base temporarily. Sam had been foolish in thinking that no one would ever respect him again. In fact, the Autobots and soldiers at N.E.S.T treated him with the same, if not more, respect, as if his reluctance to his fate had never happened. Sam doubted that anyone other than the Autobots, Will, and Epps knew about it, anyway.

So the voices had stop calling him a coward. Now they just teased him with "No sacrifice, no victory" over and over again, and Sam has to remind himself not to waste his last life.

Later that night, he sits alone with Bee. "I love you," he tells Bee, glad that he had been brought back to life. He had to value every moment he had with Bee. Happy blue optics stare back at him. "I love you too."

"I guess it all worked out pretty well, huh?" He said, patting Bee's shoulder affectionately. He just stared out into the sky and nodded.

One day later and Bee felt the need to talk.

"I had found your letter, you know," Bee says. "I found it but it still hadn't sunk in. I never really accepted that you were dead."

"You found it? Oh. I would have assumed you would have mentioned it yesterday if you had." It was a very heartfelt letter, and Sam had figured Bumblebee would have jumped at the chance to discuss it as soon as he could. Instead, Bee had waited until today, as opposed to talking about it the first chance he got. Perhaps he needed time to think about what he would say, or wanted to give Sam time to process all that had happened before attempted to talk to him about a topic so sensitive.

"I am not capable of hating you." Bee would never be able to feel anything even remotely resembling hate towards Sam. What Sam didn't know was just how distraught Bee had been while Sam was dead. It was like his spark was being ripped in half with grief constantly, on the brisk of giving out, just to rise from the ashes again to feel the hurt and pain, like a phoenix caught in a bear trap. The three days Sam had been dead were easily the most unbearable of his existence, and he had never really accepted that Sam was really dead; he didn't want to imagine what would have happened had he truly understood and realized that Sam wasn't coming back. The only thing that kept him remotely sane was the hope that Sam could be resurrected by the Matrix. Bee felt almost ashamed at how completely useless he had been during that period. He had done nothing but wallow in his grief, and though he had felt guilty about it, he knew if he couldn't bring himself to do anything else. If he were to lose Sam again, he didn't know if he would be able to handle it.

"It seemed like an appropriate thing to write at the time." It was true. Sam had felt as if everyone had a negative opinion of him because of him initially hiding. He realized that wasn't true now, but at the time, Sam had just assumed Bumblebee and everyone else resented him.

"I see," he frowns. "But you still understand?"

"Yes. I know you'll never hate me," Sam states and looks at Bee with a huge, stupid grin on his face.

"You don't regret being brought back, do you?"

Sam looks at Bee for half a second, and he has his answer. "No," he says confidently.

"What was it like? You were…okay?"

"I don't remember much. I just remember a black haze and a whole bunch of voices. More than the two."

"What two?" Bee asks, and Sam almost smacks himself on the forehead. He hadn't meant to release that bit of information. Bee often made him so… discombobulated that he forgot about everything else.

"Oh," he started casually, knowing that he couldn't avoid this discussion now that he had opened his big fat mouth. "I just… Uh, I kinda, you know, hear some voices occasionally? But I'm not crazy, I swear. I'm, er, just imaging them?"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Bee demands and looks at Sam intently, no doubt running scans.

"It's not important." Their were still a few mechs and countless humans still in a bad physical state from the battle, and Sam didn't feel he should waste any of Ratchet's time with his silly imagination run amok.

"We're going to Ratchet, now. No protests." Bee knew that Sam hearing voices could be a sign of a much bigger problem, such as post traumatic stress disorder, though he wasn't exhibiting any other symptoms. Though Bee had a nagging feeling that it instead had something to do with Sam's prolonged contact with the artifact. Either way, he would ensure that Sam went to Ratchet. There would be no risks taken in regards to Sam's health. He was slightly comforted by the fact that Sam didn't think his problem was important enough to require other people's medical needs to wait, if only for a few minutes. Bee knew that Sam may have committed, and not completely carried out, one act of selfishness, but he was still the same selfless Sam. One act had not changed him.

Sam just groans and tries not to complain when Ratchet questions him without relent for the next twenty minutes.

Two days later, and he's gone all day without hearing the voices, for the first time since he woke up. He has a great day and jokes around with Will and Epps.

"Glad to have you back, kid," they say, and Sam just laughs.

"You sure do follow that mantra thing you have pretty well. What is it again?" And Sam silently begs him not to say it.

"No sacrifice, no victory," Two voices chorus in perfect harmony, one in his head and one real.

They just don't understand when he suddenly gets very pale and runs out of the room. The two soldiers just stare at each other, dumbfounded. They were clueless as to why Sam had been so freaked out by a simple compliment.

"Was it something I said?" asked Epps.

Will just shrugs, at a loss for the boy's sudden departure from the room.

Three weeks later and everything's fine. Sam has not heard the voices in a very long time, in fact, he had started to doubt he ever heard them in the first place.

He still lives at the base, and he doesn't imagine moving out anytime soon. He had finally accepted that he would never be completely normal. Once he accepted that fact, it made lots of sense to continue living at the base. Bumblebee got to protect him and see his Autobot comrades all the time. Also, they wouldn't have to keep going back to base every week so Ratchet could give Sam his check-up.

He's still blissfully in love with Bumblebee. He could never really justify trying to run away like he did. In lieu, he just tells Bumblebee: "I would take it back if I could, but whether I'm saying that because it all turned out fine or because I truly would, I'll never know." It's not as good as anyone deserves, but it was enough.

And in the end, he still ends up being a hero; he just resisted it at first. He had prevented that Decepticon from getting the artifact. If the 'Cons had gotten their hands on the artifact, they would have used it against the Autobots. It was very unlikely the Autobots would have won the battle if they managed to grab it.

He walks into the hangar, plops on a beanbag, and turns on the television. The channel already on is the news, and something flashes across the screen.

"Death Toll: 5,200."

He just stares while a voice whispers, "No one mourns the cowardly."

.

.

Disclaimer: Transformers doesn't belong to me, blah blah blah, duh duh duh.
AN: Quote in the beginning is by Nicholas Sparks. Thanks to Chi Shiro for beta-ing this! :) I saw Transformers 3 for the third time last night actually, haha. I can trash talk Micheal Bay with the best of 'em.^_^ But it made me gain interest on Dylan's character so I wrote a oneshot about him and his history. Trying to understand the trainwreck that is Dylan... Anyway, reviews are really truly appreciated! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed. ;)