The night air is cool on his skin and in his throat, the pavement rough beneath his feet and still holds a shadow of warmth of the sun that long ago set beyond the horizon. He thrusts his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, head and heart heavy as the stars glimmer overhead.
It's days like these that make him wonder where he would possibly be if things were different. If great grandpa Archibald had never set foot on thin ice, if the glasses, old and unwanted by his father and seemingly forgotten, hadn't fallen into the hands of a desperate sixteen year old boy looking to buy his first car.
His first car. That was what started all of this.
Truth be told, he couldn't possibly imagine what his life would be like if all of those things hadn't happened. He glanced up at the cold moon, the shadows on its surface dark and its craters dusky. No, he was so far down this path now he couldn't imagine where he'd be if he wasn't.
But still, he wondered.
Maybe if none of that had ever happened, he never would have broken a bone. Maybe if these strange and awesome creatures had never found him, he never would have fallen from a building, looked death in the face too many times for him to care to count, had to run through fire and brimstone and ashes, never would have had been faced with the guilt that thousands of people's lives had been ended on his fault.
Because really, a few broken bones he could deal with. But it was that last part that always really choked him up in the middle of the night in cold sweat and made it impossible to get back to sleep.
Maybe he never would have had to make so many impossible choices. Maybe he and Mikaela would still be together.
Days like these were what shook his confidence down until he felt like he couldn't breathe. Days like these, when he felt like he was being crushed from all sides and pressed down on till he suffocated, when he couldn't get a single right word in or a single right fact straight, when he felt like he was fighting an endless, loosing tide of blood in a white suit and silk tie…these were the days when he wondered if their coming here was really for the good of all, or if humans were just too stupid and prejudiced to even be worth saving.
Days like these he didn't just loose confidence in himself. He lost confidence in all of humanity.
And still, everyone looked to him to make it right.
He knew what some people thought out there, all of the obsessive psychos or even a few envious, normal kids. Look at him. That's the Robot Boy. That's the hero. If only it had been me…
They are so wrong.
There's more to this life than just the plasma cannons and the gunfire and running in through all hell to save the day; there's more than just leather upholstery and gleaming paintjobs and brilliant robots and a national guard and all that glitters.
Being a bridge is something they could never understand. Extraterrestrial contact is something they can't begin to imagine.
There are days when he will be so furious that he can't make people understand that he wonders if Megatron id dead, because he seems to be channeling his spirit. There are days when he feels so ashamed that he can't look Bumblebee in the optics, days when he gets so scared that he feels his heart stop before he knows that NEST made it back to the country, safe. He's stuck alone on this tiny little island, between two worlds, and he's just a kid and he can't do this and everyone expects him to hold the bridge up that is slowly crushing him under. And the only one he can ask for advice is currently in South America, chasing a Decepticon spy with nicks in his energon blades and warlike-focus in his righteous heart.
This isn't a joyride. This isn't a perfect little gang that is a secret to the world anymore or even safe from it.
What they have is far from perfect.
What they have must be enough.
Sam rubs his face wearily as he quietly crosses the lawn, rough stumble scratching beneath his fingers. Sometimes, he can't help but wonder.
Bumblebee is already transformed when he steps inside. It's dark, the space only lit by the moonlight streaming in through the tinted and bullet proof garage windows.
He doesn't hesitate. He doesn't stop to say hello.
He just walks right over as settles himself on a high stool, hands still in his pockets, and begins to talk.
He tells him everything. His overwhelming fears, his overwhelming doubts, his shame for his own race, his lack of belief in himself, his job, his ex girlfriend, his guilt, and his overwhelming fear of failure, because he knows and this scout knows that no matter who falls, they can not fail. He talks and talks and talks, until the moon has reached the peak of its arc in the sky, those little, deep blue lights watching him the whole time.
He can't talk back. Even if he did, maybe he wouldn't know what to say. But it doesn't matter, because all Sam really needs is someone to listen, for once, someone to understand, for once, someone who knows him better than he knows himself and sees him as more than just a liability to the Alliance if lost or a powerful political ally to gain.
At last he falls silent, his voice waning and dying in the dark, and he looks up at those optics, waiting to be judged, because in this business now, that's all he ever knows.
But no judgment comes. The Autobot just holds his stare, his face so expressive and so kind and so open that Sam feels his shoulders relax, as if a great burden has been lifted off of them, and he realizes it was stupid to think Bumblebee would ever judge him in the first place.
"I just…I just wish someone would tell me what to do." Sam says into the silence, looking down at his hands. "I just wish I knew…everything around me feels weird, like its just not happening, and I just want someone to tell me what's the right thing. Simple. Easy. Like kindergarten." he laughs sadly and shakes his head.
It's quiet for a while. And then slowly, a soft, easy tune begins to flow out of Bumblebee's speakers, rising slowly until Sam can hear the words.
"And I'll be here by the ocean, just waiting for proof that there's sunsets and silhouette dreams.
All my sand castles fall like the ashes of cigarettes and every wave drags me to sea.
I could stand here for hours just to ask God the question, 'Is everyone here make-believe?'
With a tear in His voice, He said, 'Son, that's the question.'Does this deafening silence mean nothing to no one but me?"
Sam snorted and then laughed, whipping a tear away from his eyes. The song is kind of sad, but it's understanding, and that's what he needs right now more than anything. And with that put in perspective, everything else starts to click in place, like it always does with Bee.
If none of this had ever happened, he would probably still be where and who he was all those years ago; a skinny, unconfident, smart-mouthed kid that knew right from wrong better than anybody but couldn't find the confidence in himself to always follow through with it. Not bad, just…incomplete. He had known who he was then, and he knew who he was now.
If none of this had ever happened, he wouldn't be the person he is today- and even with all that had gone down, that's a person he knows will do the right thing and will never, ever give up. He never would have met his best friend in the whole world, someone who understands him better than anybody on the planet ever could. He probably never would have dated Mikaela in the first place; he never would met them.
Things aren't perfect. Maybe what they have never will be.
But it is the way things are, it's they may they were meant to be, the world is still standing, and they're still together. And, as he smiles up at the giant robot in front of him, guardian, sports car, and friend, he knows in his heart that he wouldn't have it any other way.
Outside, the half-moon still hangs suspended in space, darker than ever, but maybe that's what makes it all the more brighter, too.