Sam had never been to the hospital in all his life. Okay, so he had been there as a baby, but that didn't count. He had never broken a bone, never had his appendix removed, and all his organs were still where they belonged: inside.

Sitting on the examination bed in the ER, he tried to relax as the nurse had told him, let the painkiller work. A violent stab behind his eyes made him wince and he massaged his forehead, willing the headache to go away.

His parents had been informed of what had happened, though no one was sure what exactly it was. He had been run through a battery of tests already, including MRIs of his skull and wherever else they had been looking.

Sam gazed at his cell phone, fiddling with it. He wasn't allowed to turn it on inside the ER and he longed to talk to Bumblebee, but he didn't want the wrath of the nurses on him. His eyes were on the dark display as if it held the answers to all his questions.

And then he was looking through the LCD display front, right into the very heart of the little device. He seemed to browse through processors and chips and hear broadband signals and was whisked away to peer through the camera lens from the inside, looking out, going back and down the video feed and headset plug-in components, marveling at the structure of every little node and tiny…

The curtain was pulled back and before Sam could utter a word he was swept up in the embrace of his mother, who hugged him tightly.

"How are you?" Judy Witwicky asked, looking anxious.

He blinked, still confused as to what had just happened. "Fine. A bit headachy, but fine."

His father was hovering in the background and a man who looked like a doctor smiled reassuringly at him. He now stepped forward.

"Dr. Carl McGregor," he introduced himself.

And then he went on flinging around medical terms that ended with 'You'll be fine, it was probably just stress'. Sam wasn't sure he had spaced out for a second, but he had no clue, aside from the fact that there seemed to be nothing wrong with him, what McGregor had just said.

"Are you sure?" Judy asked. "There's no tumor or aneurism or something?"

"Mom…" Sam groaned.

"Mrs. Witwicky, I can assure you we found nothing. Your son told my colleague Dr. Hamilton that he worked pretty hard for college and he had a cold last week. I think it's just stress."

Sam spaced out once more, his attention drawn to the dark monitor beside the bed. For a moment there seemed to be something like an image whispering over the screen, then it was gone and his mother was hugging him again, telling him how glad she was he was okay, and that he would not look at his books the whole weekend.

Sam just shrugged. "I don't feel stressed out, Mom," he muttered.

But he had no chance.

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The headache never really went away. It was less sometimes, but it never disappeared. Sam kept that fact to himself since his mother was turning into a full-fledged mother-hen. His father only shared a sympathetic look with him.

"Judy, let the boy be," he finally sighed. "He had a headache and you're not helping."

That got him a look that had Ron Witwicky fall silent for the rest of the evening and not commenting on anything at all again.

Sam managed to get some private time whenever he snuck out into the backyard and hung out with Bumblebee. He had developed a stronger craving for sweet stuff, but since he didn't seem to be putting on any extra weight, he didn't really think about it. Snacks were now part of his daily nourishment.

"This sucks," Sam muttered, playing with the radio, looking for a good station.

His parents had insisted he stay with them in Tranquility until he felt better. He could catch up on classes, but if his condition worsened, he should be close to his family. Sam had only silently groaned at that. His 'condition'. He was fine!

Bumblebee was silent, letting him be. Suddenly the radio gave a squeal and then went dead. Sam stared at it.

"Bee? You all right?"

"Uhm, yes," the mechanoid answered, sounding mystified.

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure. One of my circuits just… expired."

Sam sat up straight. "What?! Is it bad? What's wrong? Do we need Ratchet?"

"No, it's okay. Probably a lose wiring. I'll talk to Ratchet and he can fix it the next time."

Sam didn't look reassured, but he sank back into the seat. "This sucks," he repeated.

"It does. How is your head?"

"Still attached," Sam joked. "I'm fine, Bumblebee. Maybe I really overdid it, with the lab hours and classes and papers to write. I mean, I so badly want to have this degree in as short a time as possible, and know about you guys. I'm not really useful anyway…"

"Sam, I'm your friend not because you're useful," Bumblebee interrupted him.

The young man blinked, a little shell shocked. "Huh? I mean…"

"You're our friend, Sam," Bumblebee repeated. "You're my friend. I'm your guardian. Not because I was assigned to it, but because I want it."

"That's not… I mean… everyone around the base has a job…!" he argued, already hearing how weak it sounded.

"You don't need a job or an assignment to come visit the others."

"Yeah, well, but… aside from being the guy who destroyed the Allspark and killed Megatron… what am I?"

"You're Samuel James Witwicky."

"And?"

"Isn't that enough?" Bumblebee asked.

Sam rubbed his forehead. "Sometimes I think all I am is the fading celebrity. What if the Decepticons return? I'd be of no use!"

"I don't choose my friends by usefulness," the mechanoid pointed out. "I like you, Sam. I like being with you. It's why I wanted to stay. Not because you're an important person to protect but because I like you. Take it easy on yourself. You don't have to prove yourself to us or anyone else."

Sam gazed at the dashboard, feeling a little better, but still like this was pep talk to do just that.

Microscopic solar energy receptors covering every surface of the skin, channeled via a network of gas-filled tubes for powering the solar power accelerator weapon. A cyclotron.

Sinking.

Sinking deeper.

Touching a bright light, soft and harsh in one, containing everything, containing a soul and a mind and a…

"Sam!!"

The blinked and focused where he was. To his surprise, Sam found himself several feet in the air, held in cupped hands, gazing into the bright blue optics of his guardian. Bumblebee's comm receivers, the tiny antennae on his head, were twitching anxiously.

"Uh, Bee?" he stuttered.

"Sam, what happened?" the mechanoid demanded. "You didn't respond to my calls. You were just staring at me."

"I'm not sure… Uhm, you transformed?"

"You didn't react. I was worried. I also felt strange, like something was going through my systems. I called Ratchet."

Sam gazed at his friend, still confused as to how Bumblebee had transformed into his bipedal mode with him still in the car – and without Sam actually feeling any of it.

The headache was coming back and he rubbed his temples.

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What Ratchet knew about humans, their anatomy, their biological functions, he knew from the internet. He had downloaded countless files on these subjects and stored them whenever he needed a reference. He had done the same with whatever else he found an interesting subject.

It didn't make him a doctor. It only made him a transforming encyclopedia of knowledge.

When Bumblebee had called him, detailing what had occurred, Ratchet had been fascinated but stumped. He knew nothing about humans from a medical point of view. He couldn't make a diagnosis. And Sam had already been examined by the human doctors, and nothing had been found.

Looking at the slightly worried mechanoid, Ratchet finally sighed.

"Bumblebee, I have no idea what it might be."

"But he was staring at me like… like I wasn't there. And then I felt his… presence going through my systems. Like it was a touch… I mean…" He stopped, shrugging. "I don't think it was a touch. More like a log-on."

"Sam is human. He couldn't be logging on to your systems, Bumblebee."

"I know that, Ratchet!"

The medic ran through his results again. "I can't tell you more. I also can't tell you why one of your systems glitched. It was fine when I examined you just now."

Bumblebee paced the length of the room. "Something is going on with Sam, Ratchet. He isn't well and no one can find anything!"

"It might be one of those odd human illnesses…"

"It's not!"

Ratchet raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Bumblebee, I'm only saying that there is nothing either I or the humans at the hospital could find. He might be stressed, and so might you be. You are his closest friend among us. It's known for some of our kind to become empathic to others…"

"Ratchet, he's human! He's a different species! I couldn't connect to him, like Jazz to Barricade, even if I wanted!"

"I know that. I'm just saying that we know next to nothing about humans. They know little about themselves, too. They are so various in their evolution, in their culture, maybe it's something natural to them without them knowing."
Bumblebee gave off an almost frustrating sounding groan. "That's not helping!"

"I know."

Bumblebee just turned and walked out of the medical area, leaving Ratchet with his thoughts.

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Sam's headaches lessened and he returned to Mission City and his own place. He started to work on his assignments, putting in lab hours, and brought home several straight A's. Lab work was the easiest, especially when it was about taking apart and understanding machinery. Sam had never so easily breezed through classes and his professors called it a natural understanding and talent. Sam called it dumb luck that he had met the Autobots and had learned more about machines than anyone could ever guess.

His sweet tooth never went away. Sam was always seen munching on something or other with lots of sugar.

Ratchet was keeping an eye on the young human, noting things, making notes, downloading corresponding files from the internet. He involved Sam a lot more in his own work, explained to him the mechanics of a Protoform, was surprised to see how much Sam actually took in and truly understood.

Bumblebee was never far from his charge and Ratchet heard of a few more electronic mishaps of the Camaro now and then. Sensors glitched, there were white-outs for a nano-second or two, Sam's parents had to buy a new DVD player one weekend after the old one expired all of a sudden, and the blender in the kitchen shorted. Ratchet could never find a problem with Bumblebee, not even in his internal error reports, but something was not right. The problem was, he couldn't put his finger on what exactly wasn't what it should be. Sam was healthy, the headaches had apparently disappeared, and human household equipment malfunctioning wasn't really alarming.

With summer break coming up, Sam's work load eased, though he was getting more assignments, but he appeared less stressed-out.

Maybe it had all been some strange coincidence.

Ratchet was proven how wrong that was two days into summer break.

tbc...