Full Summary: '07Movie. When Sam is badly injured and standing on death's doorstep, the Autobots must make a decision that will change Sam Witwicky forever. But the war's not over yet, others have made landfall, and what about the Decepticons and their sudden interest in the newest Autobot? (BeeSam, others)
Disclaimer: What? Who's Michael Bay? Steven Spielberg? Hasbro? Never heard of 'em! -sounds of guns being cocked- Oh, you mean that Michael Bay, Steven Spielberg, and Hasbro! Oh, yeah… they own Transformers, not me…
Author's Nonsense:
This thing was written on a spur of the moment. I've been questioning my writing ability and don't trust myself to proofread this without deleting the entire thing. I'll fix the spelling and grammatical errors later.
"…Talking…"
"…Thinking…"
"-…Communication Lines…-"
Author's Edit: Fixed a few things. Grammar, spelling, the title.
- - - Set in Motion - - -
Chapter 1
"…Sam…"
"What do you mean?"
Mikaela raised one finely-shaped eyebrow; the picture of incredulity. "Sam, how is it not weird making out in a sentient, alien car?"
Sam opened his mouth (ready to retort that they had once made out on Bumblebee's hood and could recall quite clearly that she had been the one to instigate it), but quickly snapped it shut. He hadn't given much thought to the matter… But, if Mikaela felt uncomfortable about it, then how did Bee feel?
"…Sam…"
"Honestly, I think you're trying to get yourself as dirty as possible." Sam huffed, carrying a large bucket full of washing supplies. Setting down the blue container, he put his hands on his hips and gave his car a once over. His Camaro's usually bright, yellow paint was now coated in a dried layer of mud and what could be seen was now dulled by a thin veil of dust kicked up while taking the back roads to the Autobot base. 'WASH ME' had been written lovingly across his back window by Mikaela, something Sam had refused to wipe off (much to Bumblebee's chagrin) on account of his car's every attempt to get as dirty as possible by the weekend. After all, he was the one who suffered the brunt of his father's anger when the monthly bills came in.
"Dirty, nasty, kinky, take me, I'm all yours…"
"Ugh, Bee, at least choose a different song." He whined, squeezing soap into the bucket as it filled with water. Once the bucket was full, he turned off the hose and attached the power nozzle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bumblebee rock on his hinges. He was probably eager to remove the weeks grime from his body.
From what Ratchet had told him, it could sometimes be painful transforming with dirt or grime on their armor, as the dust often clogged their filters or shifted clods got stuck in uncomfortable places. It was still amazing to think that they weren't just machines. While not breathing, they were certainly living, and could feel pain just like any human.
It was also then that his friend had walked into the med bay, muck clinging to his armor, and Ratchet had fired off something in rapid Cybertronian, fingers twitching as if he was subconsciously looking for something to throw. (Bee had told him stories of The Hatchet's legendary temper.) Sam could still remember hugging his sides tightly, laughing despite himself as his sixteen foot tall robot guardian lowered his head and shuffled his feet, looking very much the part of a reprimanded child.
"…Sam…"
"-It's just for one night. Your dad can trust you to bring it back after one night, right?-"
"I don't know… I mean, he doesn't even let me walk across the lawn, I don't think he'd lend us his car..."
"-Oh come on, Sam! Just tell him that Bumblebee's got some 'official Autobot business' to attend to. He'll understand.-"
She had a point. And one night without his best bud there wouldn't kill him.
"…Alright. Saturday night, then?"
"-Yeah, I'll see you at six. 'Night, Sam. Love you.-"
"Love you, too, 'Keala."
"…Sam…"
"Bee?"
Then he woke up.
Warnings flashed in front of his eyes, signs he was used to seeing on a computer screen. Numbers, Letters, Percentages, all were familiar, yet at the same time foreign and threatening. To his left, massive figures moved in, large hands reached for him, metal that should have crushed him, held him gently, firmly to the cold slab of metal beneath him. They spoke, no, they shouted to one another, speech garbled and metallic as their hulking forms.
And then that familiar voice: "Ratchet! What's wrong with him?"
He glared past the bars and numbers while his body, encased in lead, struggled against his two captors. Three… three of them, surrounding him, crowding him…. He took in everything around him, but none of it mattered, he had to find that familiar figure, the one who always offered safety. Monitors, wires, red, black, cables, metal rafters, blue, yellow--Bee!
He broke free, slipping from their grasp. His body no longer felt weighed down, he leapt from the table and hit the ground. Metal rang loud in his ears, like someone had taken a metal bat to a large piece of sheet metal. He continued to run towards the familiar figure, toward to one who would keep him close and protect him.
He shouldn't have been able to understand, oh he shouldn't have been able to decipher their harsh tongue, but he did. He understood with crystal clarity and so did his guardian.
"Bumblebee! Grab him!"
Those large yellow hands that had cradled him close, protected him from danger, kept him safe; opened wide, ready to snatch him up the moment he was in reach.
His once-guardian lunged, fingers outstretched.
He ducked. He ducked and twisted in a way no human ever could.
And then he ran.
His once-guardian had been standing in front of a large door, one that wasn't as big or as tall as it had once been. He fled from the reaching hands, the probing fingers, ignored the voices calling to him, vainly calling back.
Tires screeched and buildings flew by. Lights were only a streak of bright color before they too faded behind him. People were only a blur of colorful clothing and noises. They talked, chatted, screamed, argued, aged, changed, continued on with their lives. Some stopped, they pointed at him, whispered to one another, but he ignored them. He had to get away. He had to keep running. They were behind him, following his trail, concealed among the innocent vehicles, hiding in plain sight of those they had sworn to protect.
Finally, it all fell behind them. He outran it all. Buildings turned into trees and the roads were silent.
The darkness that surrounded him was comforting. It was without noise, without form. It simply was. Slowly, it folded in on itself, quietly slipping over him like a blanket, tucking away his fears, covering his anxiety. His world went black.
End Chapter