Note: This idea has been noodling around in the back of my head for a few months now but, kind of petered out. So this is less fic and more drabble. This fic is takes its left turn at Albuquerque after the first movie because the second is, by all accounts, made entirely out of biological waste products and I haven't seen the third, which is supposedly good.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The bright yellow Camaro seemed slightly out of place as it pulled up to the curb. Legs pumping, a young man dressed in jeans and a faded yellow and gray T-shirt leapt out of the driver's seat and bolted into the house, yelling that he would just be a minute. In the car's passenger seat, Mikaela Barnes slouched, a pout creasing her mouth, which somehow only served to make her look cuter.
The radio switched on, playing "Big Girls don't cry" and she glared at the console. Almost contritely, the radio switched over to Marvin Gaye and Mary Wells' "What's the Matter with You Baby".
"Nothing," Mikaela grumbled and then sighed, "nothing and everything."
The radio changed stations again. "What you talking 'bout Willis?" demanded Gary Coleman's voice followed by the Eurythmic's "Talk to Me".
"It's . . . a human thing. You wouldn't understand."
The radio didn't seemed satisfied and switched again, this time to Pink telling her that she didn't believe her.
Mikaela sighed and rolled down the window, glancing into the mirror as she wondered how to explain that she was feeling possessive of Sam and didn't want him out of her sight, a feeling that despite a string of boyfriends, she'd never had before and she didn't know how to deal with it.
On the radio, Peter Gabriel urged her to come talk to him, but Mikaela suddenly sat up straighter as something in the mirror caught her eye. Someone was walking along the sidewalk, staring at the houses and cars. Later, she would recall that what caught her eye was the brilliant red of his shirt, and then recognition hit. She pushed open the car door and leapt out, turning to confront the stranger and found herself face to face with Sam Witwicky, her boyfriend, who had just run into the house not a minute ago. Somehow, in the space of that time, he'd changed his shirt, gotten a scar over one eye, picked up a tan, lost at least ten pounds, changed his haircut, and run around the block. He stopped walking, twitching and stared at her blankly
". . . Sam?" she asked and his eyes widened.
"No . . . nonononononononononononono!" he exclaimed. "Nononononononononono deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead!"
"Sam, what-" she began, but he was already backing away from her in a jerky, leg pumping run that under other circumstances she might have found adorable, but right now, it was just freaky.
"Not here! Not here! Nononononono!" he yelled, and bolted out into the street and took off faster than she'd ever seen him run, and then her mouth fell open as he glowed with some sort of light, and then suddenly, there was a giant red robot in his place which then transformed into a red car (absently, she identified it as a '68 Dodge Charger) that took off with a squeal of tires on pavement. With a clatter, Mikaela's phone flew out of the Camaro to land on the grass before the Camero's door slammed shut and it took off after the Charger.
The phone beeped with the sound of an incoming text, and by reflex, she glanced at the screen.
-Verify Sam is in house. Do not let him out of your sight-
Mikaela ran inside and found Sam, just as he had been a minute ago, clattering down the stairs, DVD in hand.
"Found it! It was under my book on-" he broke off as Mikaela grabbed his cheeks, staring into his eyes. "Um . . . Mikaela?" She almost cried. It was him. It was her Sam, the man she loved.
So who the hell was Bumblebee chasing?
Bumblebee, Autobot Scout, Audiophile, and Guardian to Sam Witwicky, wasn't sure if he could believe his optics, but he wasn't about to let this . . . Red Sam get away. Even as he transmitted a message to Mikaela's phone, he was uploading what he'd just seen to the Autobot's com-net, tagging Optimus Prime and Ratchet in the process as he rerouted all available power to his drive train for more speed.
"Report, Bumblebee," Optimus Prime responded. Like always, Prime's voice was calm, collected and serene. Bumblebee could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen the Autobot leader lose his temper. Which was to say, once.
"I am heading Northeast in pursuit," Bumblebee replied, adding his GPS coordinates. His exterior voice box might be on the fritz, but there was nothing wrong with his com link. "I have visual on the entity I've designated 'Red Sam'. Mikaela is verifying Sam's presence within his house."
"Understood," Prime responded. There was a click, a ring, and then Mikaela could be heard.
"Yes, Optimus?"
"Mikaela, have you located Sam?"
"I'm looking right at him," Mikaela replied and Bumblebee could hear Sam asking for an explanation which was abruptly cut off by the sound of Mikaela slapping her hand over his mouth. "Optimus, what is going on?"
"Unknown as yet, Mikaela. Ironhide, Bulkhead, and Arcee are on their way to Sam's house. Ironhide will return you here to Autobot Base while Bulkhead and Arcee maintain watch on Sam's house in case Red Sam eludes pursuit and returns there," Optimus ordered, referring to one of several Autobots who had followed Optimus' message to Earth. "Bumblebee. I have dispatched Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to assist you." A fresh set of GPS coordinates downloaded to Bumblebee's navcomp. "The three of you are to drive Red Sam to these coordinates and I will meet you there. Optimus, out."
NotrealNotrealNotrealFleerunhideprotect
Protect.
Iamthelast
Until all were one.
AlldeadwhyamIthelast
Until all were one.
Bumblebee was far too much a soldier to question the orders of a superior, especially when that superior was Optimus Prime, the only reason the Autobots were still around. Pit, he could even follow Prime's logic; Sideswipe and Sunstreaker specialized in operating long term behind enemy lines as saboteurs and first strike specialists. They were fast and tough, with the ability to cause damage that only the Wrecker unit could rival. From Bumblebee's point of view, they were also loose cannons, with a blatant disregard for authority. But that may have been what was needed. If cornered, Red Sam was likely to fight and while Bumblebee was no slouch at combat, he was just a scout. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, however, specialized in it.
That didn't mean he had to like this, however.
He marked his current position, and that of Red Sam, and the coords Optimus had sent him. The twins, assuming they went off road and took the most direct route, would intersect with them near the state border. Optimus needed time to get to his position, so if they could herd Red Sam onto 171 South . . .
Two hours later, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had caught up to them and had Red Sam pinned between them. Anytime he attempted to speed away or slow down, they bumped him, hard, and it took a lot of Bumblebee's self control to remember that this was not Sam, not his Sam anyway, and that his own scans had confirmed that regardless of appearance, the Charger was in fact made out of Cybertronian alloys, and that since Chargers were built like tanks to begins with he was not going to be hurt.
The GPS beeped and Sunstreaker dropped back, and Red Sam took the opportunity, jumping the guardrail and onto the desert sand, tires ballooning up and the body rising up on previously hidden shocks, kicking up sand and rock as the tires found their traction, and then took off like a shot. Bumblebee and the twins could do that as well, and followed without hesitation, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker taking up their former positions, and boxing Red Sam in again once more.
Two minutes later, the form of Optimus rose up on a desert dune and all four cars screeched to a stop, the twins fanning out so that they formed a triangle with Bumblebee at the third corner and Red Sam in the middle.
Red Sam went to robot Mode and Bumblebee and the twins followed suit.
Prime stepped forward. "I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, and-" he broke off as Red Sam let out a shriek.
"No no no no no no no! Dead! Saw you dead! Kept safe! Kept safe! Good soldier, good soldier!" He dodged to his right and tried to bolt, but Sunstreaker was faster and slammed his fist into Red Sam's face, sending him staggering backwards. "Dead dead dead! All dead! Went squish! Should be dead! Kept safe!" ' With that, Red Sam went into Combat Mode and rushed Sunstreaker, who calmly dodged Red Sam's blaster fire, and not even bothering to extend his own blades, slammed his fist into Red Sam's face plate once more.
Red Sam did have some combat training, but it was covered in panicked, flailing blows, wild and misaimed, which made Bumblebee's coolant pump sink. He'd seen that before in 'bots who had gone beyond their limits and were simply fighting, no thought, no plan and not caring if they lived or died.
Within a minute, it was over as Red Sam crashed to the ground, armor dented in a number of places, and did not get up. "Kept . . . safe . . . like you wanted . . ." he said, as Optimus approached and stared down at him.
"And for that, I thank you," Optimus replied, dropping to one knee and placing his hand on Red Sam's shoulder. "You've done well, and now it is time to rest."
"No! Not safe! Not safe! Tried to stop him. I'm sorry, so sorry."
"Do not apologize," Optimus replied firmly, somehow sounding comforting at the same time, "and by the Matrix of Leadership, I promise you; you are safe."
"Safe?"
"Yes. Safe. I swear upon the Matrix and Primus himself. You are safe."
"Safe." There was a flash of light and then Red Sam was lying on the desert floor, human and unconscious.
Pain.
Everything hurts.
Who am I?
A rush of memory.
Opening his eyes, Samuel P. Witwicky immediately shut them again, not only because it felt like one ton weights had been tied to his eye lids, but the bright sunlight directly on his face. Gingerly, because his arms felt like he'd been lifting blocks of concrete, he raised his hand to block the sunlight and tried again. The second time it was easier and he blinked rapidly until his eyes adjusted.
He was lying on a bed under a soft woolen blanket. The sunlight on his face came from a row of windows overhead and one of them was missing the tinting. Someone had plugged an IV line into his arm and some kind of monitoring device on his finger. Slowly, he sat up, muscles protesting and looked around. He was on some kind of raised platform, metal floor with a steps at one end . . . . and, he realized belatedly, someone had taken his clothes.
Scrubbing the sides of his face with his hands, he tried to remember how he'd come to be here. He remembered the arrival of the Autobots clearly enough (no way to forget that), and the fighting, and Optimus giving him his final instructions. He remembered weeks of searching and fighting, and then just . . . everything devolved into a kind of blur. Still, he . . . He pressed one hand to his chest. Yes, still there. He could feel it. He looked around again, and spied his clothes sitting on the floor next to the platform's railing, from the look of it, someone had washed them. Pushing back the blanket, Samuel started to get up and then froze as he heard Optimus' voice. "How is Red Sam today?"
"Doing well," replied someone else. A human, from the sound of it, "given that he had one of the most severe cases of dehydration combined with exhaustion I've ever seen. I did the hourly check about fifteen minutes ago and Annabelle changed the IV Bag. He's unconscious, but vitals are strong."
"But why was he acting like that?" demanded another man's voice and Samuel sucked in breath through clenched teeth. Because the voice was his dad's and that was impossible. Samuel had seen his father's charred corpse with his own eyes.
"Shell Shock," came the calm reply of a woman.
"What?"
"Known now as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is caused by extreme stress due to traumatic situations such as sustained combat operations."
"Yeah yeah," replied his father, "just because I didn't follow Dad into the Navy doesn't mean I don't know the language. What I want to know is how the hell my kid-"
"I'm right here, Dad!" Samuel's voice interrupted. "Th-tha -that's not me up there!"
Samuel fell back onto the pillow, eyes wide in shock. Hearing his father say that he'd never gone into the Navy was weird enough, especially since Samuel vividly remembered Father going on and on about the Witwicky tradition of Naval Service, but to hear himself interrupting him, that was bizarre. You did not interrupt Father, it just didn't happen.
"Here's what concerns me," came Ratchet's voice, "these energy readings. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I'd scanned an Autobot, if not Optimus himself."
He felt his hands begin to shake as he looked at the IV again. He was fairly sure he was awake, almost positive he wasn't hallucinating, and pretty certain that this wasn't some 'con VR trick, since he'd personally put a dozen ion plasma charges into Soundwave's central processor. Which meant . . . this was real. Somehow, it was impossibly terrifyingly real . . . and he had no idea what to do.
No, he did know what to do. He had to get out of here. Leave. Run, fly away, flee. It was what he did best. He sat up again and almost immediately regretted it as his entire body protested. He wasn't getting shot at, he wasn't hungry or thirsty, wet, dirty, cold, or overheated and quite frankly, Samuel's body was perfectly content to stay here for the foreseeable future. A flash of memory; Optimus standing over him, promising him he was safe.
He shook his head. Not safe. Never safe. He ripped out the IV and pulled off the monitoring device before reaching for his clothes and hurriedly pulling on his pants and shirt. He noted absently that he'd been provided with underwear and he tossed it aside. No time for that. The monitoring device likely would have altered whoever had put in the IV, which meant that someone would be coming to check on him. His socks followed the underwear and he he slipped his feet into his shoes as he heard footsteps on the stairs and braced himself for combat only to open his mouth in shock as he saw who was coming up the stairs.
"Mother?"
Judy Witwicky came down the stairs two hours after she went up. The shoulder of her shirt was sopping wet and her expression was a tired frown.
"Well?" Ron Witwicky demanded and Judy shot him a look and then sighed. After all, she had volunteered to go up and look in on Red Sam on the theory that he might be better off seeing a more familiar face.
"Is he okay?" Annabelle Lennox asked, handing her a towel.
"I think so," Judy said absently. "Mr. Optimus?"
"Yes, Mrs. Witwicky?"
"What's a Dabbocon?"
"I have no idea," Prime admitted, "why do you ask?"
"He was talking and crying at the same time. He said that word a lot." She frowned at her wet shirt again and then gave up. "He's asleep again. Just like Sam." She ruffled her son's hair. "Every time he's upset, he cries himself out and then falls asleep."
"MOM!" Sam exclaimed horrified.
Judy was unmoved and smiled at Mikaela. "You should remember that, Mikaela dear. When Sam gets overly emotional, just let him cry and have a nap. He'll be fine after that."
Both teenagers blushed and Annabelle laughed. "Mikaela, treasure these little nuggets of information. All Will's mom ever told me about him was his irrational hatred of beets."
"It's not irrational," Will Lennox replied, slouching down on the couch and crossing his arms, "nothing edible should be that shade of purple."
"Eggplant," Mikaela said.
"Plums," added Ironhide.
"Grapes." Sam put in and everyone looked at him. "Well . . . I mean, red grapes are kind of . . . purple . . . sort of." he hunched his shoulders.
"Yeah yeah, a good chuckle," Reginald (never call him "Reggie", which everyone did anyway) Simmons interrupted. "But if we're all done playing Feel Good Moment, I need to debrief that kid." Simmons was a lean older man with the subtlety of a doberman and the stubbornness of a mule. On paper, that made him the perfect person to liaison with giant robots from outer space since there was no way they could run roughshod over him. In person, he came across more like an excitable Chihuahua.
"You are not debriefing him until he's ready!" Judy snapped.
"Lady, I am not going to-"
"We wait," Lennox cut in, eyes hard. "We've waited three days now, a little longer won't matter and I'd rather debrief someone with their head screwed on straight."
"Statistically, sir, the Major is right," said the huge man at Simmons' elbow. "The more emotionally and mentally stable the young man is, the more productive the interview will be." Special Agent William Fowler was Simmons' partner, and to be honest, his handler, being one of the few people who could not set off Simmons' Bullshit detector.
"Excuse me!" Simmons exploded. "But is Keller breathing down YOUR neck, Lennox? No, he's breathing down mine!" He turned to Optimus. "C'mon, Prime! You want answers as much as anyone else!"
"I do, but I trust Major Lennox's judgement in these matters. Still, Agent Simmons, you are not wholly wrong. Red Sam was running from something or someone. As much as I would prefer to let Red Sam tell his story in his own time, that is not an option."
"Tomorrow, then," Lennox suggested. "That way everyone gets a good night's sleep and then in the morning, Prime and I will debrief the kid."
"No, I debrief him!" Simmons barked. "That's my job, Army boy!"
"I'm base commander," Lennox replied. "My decision."
"Acting base commander," Simmons shot back.
"Sir," Fowler cut in, "Keller never gave us a time limit, only he was to be immediately notified once Red Sam woke up. Does it matter if he woke up today or tomorrow?"
"It doesn't matter who debriefs him, Red Sam is under the authority of the U.S. Army." Henry Talbot was rail thin, with a head that resembled a hardboiled egg. "And as the base's senior medical officer, it's my call on the boy's health and my call is that we wait until tomorrow." Talbot turned to Lennox, "though it would be easier, Sir, if we could move the patient to medical."
"Sorry, Henry," Lennox said, hooking both arms over the back of the couch and putting his feet up on the battered low table. "Not gonna happen. That kid stays here in the hanger where both we and the Autobots can keep an eye on him."
As Simmons and Talbot walked away, Lennox sighed. Simmons was a loose cannon, he didn't entirely trust Talbot, and he had a potential powderkeg in the form of a kid who could change species. Sometimes, command really sucked.
Samuel awoke in darkness and he didn't feel anything. It was like he'd cried out all the grief, anger, and loss and now there was just . . . exhaustion. The kind that came from the end of stress, when all of a sudden, there was nothing pulling at you. No demands, just this bone deep tiredness that only rest could counter.
He couldn't see a clock, but someone had taken away the IV and monitoring equipment, leaving only a dimly lit lamp, just enough to see by and he looked down almost reflexively as his stomach growled. He supposed he should at least thank his hosts and he stood up slowly, muscles protesting. Wincing, he made his way down the stairs and looked around. A vast open space spread around him, the walls climbing high overhead and he dimly made out that they curved inwards. Some sort of dome? No. A hanger.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," said a man's voice and Samuel turned to see that along the back wall of the hanger was some sort of lounge. Three couches surrounded a square coffee table and a refrigerator, sink, and shelves with counter space were against the wall. On the couch in front of the sink was a man, feet up on the table, arms hooked over the back of the couch. "Bet you're hungry," the man said and jerked a thumb at the fridge. "Sandwich stuff there, bread on the shelf." He tilted his head back and studied the ceiling. "I think someone brought Pepsi, but Pettit might have drank it all."
As Samuel made his way to the kitchen, he noticed the large red and blue Peterbilt parked next to the lounge area and wondered if that was Optimus Prime. Which was weird, since the last time he'd seen Optimus, the Autobot leader's vehicle mode had been a fire truck.
There was indeed everything he needed for a sandwich, and suddenly ravenous, he made what Miles had often referred to as the "buddha mix"; or, a Sandwich with everything he could get his hands on. There was not, however, any Pepsi, only a small bit of Orange Soda. Samuel took it anyway and then sat down on the couch facing the Peterbilt.
"Is that . . . . Optimus Prime?" he asked.
The man did not take his eyes from the ceiling. "Yup. But he's never met you before."
"Parallel universe?"
"Seems that way. Why? What did he look like when you saw him?"
"A fire truck."
The man chuckled. "Parallel universe it is." he raised his head and regarded Samuel. "Major William Lennox, United States Army Rangers."
"Samuel Witwicky. I guess . . . I guess you have questions."
"Indeed," Optimus said, "and regrettably, Samuel, we cannot wait for you to tell us in your own time. The sooner we know what you know, the better for all concerned."
"Why?" Samuel asked, suddenly tense, "is Galvatron here too?"
"Galvatron?" Lennox repeated, and then looked at Optimus. "'Dabbocon'?"
"It would seem so," Optimus replied. "Samuel, begin at the beginning and leave nothing out."
"This is unreal," Sam said. He and Samuel sat on opposite sides of the table, staring at each other.
"Wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes," Ron Witwicky stood next to his son, looking from one boy to the other. "Mother of God."
"It's kind of . . . freaky . . . Annabelle Lennox admitted.
"You are going down, Lennox!" Simmons snapped. "Debriefing the kid was my job, and when I'm done with you, you're gonna be lucky not to get packed off to Alaska!"
"Agent Simmons," we have bigger problems, it seems., than a breach of protocol." If he sat cross-legged and ducked his head, Optimus could fit inside the hanger . . . just barely. "Major Lennox and I debriefed Samuel most throughly and a recording will be provided to you. But again, we have more pressing problems . . . and great joy."
"You're leaving Earth," Simmons retorted.
"Shut up, Simmons," Lennox snapped. "You're gonna want to hear this."
"Thank you. Samuel is indeed from a parallel universe. How he arrived in this one remains a mystery, but his curious ability is the result of an accident. As you are all aware, we travel through space by means of what you would call, 'warp jumps'. In Samuel's universe, the Decepticons and the Autobots arrived at Earth's solar system at the same time and a battle ensued. Both sides used short range jumps to gain tactical advantage as they moved through the system, and . . . something went wrong, putting both sides into a state of dimensional phase. The only way they could manifest in a solid form is to find an anchor and form a bionetic bond with it, switching physical forms at need."
"And they chose humans." Lennox said.
"With their permission." Optimus clarified. "At least, among the Autobots. The human identidies of the Decepticons were never discovered, but Samuel was the anchor for an Autobot named Cliffjumper, who is no longer with us. However, their link, and Samuel's absorption of Cliffjumper's knowledge, is what has kept him alive for more than a year, despite being stalked by Galvatron." He looked at June. "That, Mrs. Witwicky, is what he was attempting to tell you yesterday. Not 'Dabbocon', but 'Galvatron'."
"I take it Galvatron is bad news," Fowler spoke up.
"Indeed. Megatron suffered from short sightedness due to his overpowering rage and need for violence. Galvatron, though he shared Megatron's thirst, was more subtle about it. He was one of the Senators who served on the Cybertronian council and before that, a Gladiator in the pits of Kaon. His deprivations were discovered only later, after, his termination. In this universe."
"But not so in Samuel's," Simmons mused.
"No. Before plunging Cybertron into Civil War, Megatron appeared before the Council to present his case for war against other planets. In this universe, Galvatron condemned Megatron's ambitions, but in Samuel's, he supported . . . and then surpassed Megatron. In Samuel's universe, Megatron never came to Earth and Sector Seven was never formed. Without the study of Megatron, human technology never advanced to the degree it has here, and thus, the Allspark was consigned to sit in a museum, as Archibald Witwicky never truly realized what he'd found and so never found his glory. Which means, that when the Decepticons attacked, humanity's only defense was the Autobots, and because they had no wish to risk harm to the Decepticons human hosts, were constrained to avoid lethal measures, a decision Galvatron exploited and decimated the Autobot ranks. Eventually, only Samuel and my counterpart were left . . . on an empty earth. Galvatron had exterminated humanity."
A quiet shudder passed through the room.
"Yeah, I think its time for that great joy you mentioned," Simmons said.
"Before Samuel and my counterpart parted ways, a choice was made. That Optimus moved to confront Galvatron for the final time, but not before entrusting Samuel with his Matrix of leadership, which contained a copy of his memory files in their entirety. . . and this." Prime held up a small cube of bronze metal.
"Primus!" Ironhide gasped. "Prime, is that . . .?"
"A fragment of that universe's Allspark, yes. In time, it will regenerate into a full Allspark and we will be able to renew our race, but that is for the future."
"Wait a minute," Mikaela was frowning. "If other Sam was carrying a Matrix, doesn't that make him Prime? I mean, that's how it works, right?"
"I wasn't worthy," Samuel said, resting his elbows on his knees. "It stayed with me because of the Allspark fragment, but it wouldn't let me in, even to share anything that might help me survive."
"So where is it now?" Simmons asked.
"Within me," Optimus said. "In time, it will find a new host, but until then, it resides within me and even now, it and mine are 'comparing notes'."
"Hooray. More metal men," Simmons groaned. "So this Galvatron is here?"
"We do not know for sure but if Galvatron still lives, whatever force brought Samuel here, may have also brought him as well. It would behoove humanity, Agent Simmons, to keep a watchful eye out. If Galvatron is here and chooses to strike, he will choose his target with care, and strike with maximum force."
"In other words, the only warning we'll get is everything exploding. Great." Muttering to himself, Simmons stalked off.
"Until we know otherwise, we have to assume Galvatron did cross over," Lennox said, addressing the room at large again. "That means finding him, neutralizing him, and burying him in the deepest, darkest hole we can find."
"But how do we do that?" Sam asked. "I mean, he'll look human. Like, human, human. Like he looks like me!" he pointed at Samuel.
"Samuel emits a unique bioenergy signal, not trackable without specialized equipment," Ratchet explained. "Like us, the Autobots of Samuel's universe relied on adapting human technology to meet their needs. Because there was no Megatron, they did not have the level of technology that we do here."
"So," Lennox added, "we build the scanners we need, and start looking. If nothing else, we should be able to narrow down his geographical location to something manageable."
"And then we go in, find him, and beat him into small metal splinters," Sideswipe finished, slamming a fist into his open palm.
"Indeed," Optimus agreed. "Regrettably, whomever Galvatron's anchor is, whether his joining with Galvatron is willing or otherwise, sparing him cannot be an option."
Mikaela turned to Sam and they exchanged a silent conversation and then she shrugged. "Nope. Still not sorry I got in the car."