Chapter 11- Before We Go

Okay, so I'm not dead. At least on the outside. On the inside, maybe. But whatever. I updated after fully intending to leave these in the past. I had to re-read the entire story a few times to get myself re-acquainted with my own fic again. I made it nice and long to compensate for the fact that it has been 300+ days since I last updated, so please enjoy this chapter.

Anyway, some warnings: brief mentions of non-con, violence, swearing. If you'd like to skip the non-con altogether, it's the very last section of this chapter. I'll put another warning when it comes around, just in case.

In the last 48 hours, Sam had experienced a rollercoaster of emotions. First, he was tossed out of the front seat of his alien friend, flailing and screeching as if that would prevent him from splattering on the ground. Then, he watched his sister die at the hands of a defecting Autobot, the one who Optimus called his father. As if that wasn't enough, he had to endure their deaths in the Xantium, still reeling after having to tell his best friends goodbye and having to come to terms with the fact that the world would soon end. And after that, he came close to the edge of death himself, narrowly dodging a Decepticon warship that had only just effortlessly slaughtered dozens of humans in a single blow in front of him. Again, the ease in which the human race would be wiped out flashed in his mind as he lay on his belly on the destroyed roads of Chicago. Now, his friends were alive and well, prepared to die in what may be their final battle together. Needless to say, the young Witwicky's head was spinning.

But once again, the Autobots were standing around him, livid and determined to right the wrongs that the Decepticons had infringed upon them. He took comfort in their defensive stances around him and the rest of his human comrades, a sense of familiarity calming him in those trying times. A few glances around the area told him that he was hardly the only one to feel that way. He saw that Epps and his buddies immediately drifted back towards Ironhide who knelt down to give the lot of them a rare smile. Chromia rolled up beside him, gazing down on them with warmth. To his left was Mikaela who was unsurprisingly wrapped in Ratchet's arms, her head resting on the holoform's shoulder. As he held her, Ratchet used a hand to run his fingers through her hair and calm her. She visibly deflated and his hold on her tightened.

Sam's gaze turned to Bumblebee, who was watching him warily. Bumblebee had taken his own departure especially hard. The two had easily become best friends in the four years they'd spent together. Saying goodbye was perhaps one of the hardest things the young mech had ever had to do. Despite knowing that it wasn't his own fault, Bumblebee found himself wracked with guilt at having to abandon his human friend, even if only for a short period of time. The torn, pained look in Sam's eyes as he spoke to him before boarding the Xantium would likely haunt him as long as he lived. With that in mind, he hesitantly stepped forward and sighed in relief when Sam approached him readily. The young mech leaned down, chirping quietly when Sam did his best to wrap his arms around his neck in his best attempt at a hug.

On the outside, Sam managed to keep a relatively straight face. On the inside, he had fallen apart as if a dam had burst within him. Bumblebee ran a finger up and down his back gently, calming the distraught man. No words were exchanged between the two of them, but there was still a clear understanding. Neither of them was to blame. Carly will be saved. There's still a chance to make things right. And Sentinel will pay, one way or another.

After his moment with Bee, Sam pulled back and approached Optimus, hesitantly and slowly as if nearing an angered, rabid animal. He mentally kicked himself for viewing the Prime this way, but that dangerous red tint in his optics was unmistakable. Glancing around at the other 'Bots around him, Sam could see that to some degree, they shared the same fear. Regardless, the young Witwicky needed to talk to him about some things and understood that, given the current circumstances, it may be his last chance to do so. As he got closer to Optimus, the mech in question looked down with a surprisingly welcoming look in his optics. He knelt down in front of him expectantly.

"Optimus… Is it alright if I ride with you? I need to talk to you," Sam said shakily.

He cleared his throat to hide his fear of the angry Prime, which Optimus noticed right away. When the mech nodded his approval, Sam noticeably deflated and gently patted Optimus's leg.

A few more minutes passed before Optimus gave the order to transform and proceed to enter the ruined city of Chicago. Epps and his friends piled into Ironhide while Mikaela rode with Ratchet. Wheelie and Brains loaded up with Bumblebee and Sam had been granted permission to ride with Optimus. When the Autobot leader transformed into that signature semi-truck, he opened his door and allowed Sam to climb in, closing it and strapping the seatbelt around him once he was settled. He silently wondered what it was that Sam had to tell him and almost felt nervous when the first few minutes passed without him speaking. Sam's gaze on his steering wheel seemed to want to burn through until it reached his spark chamber.

Finally, however, after what felt like hours, Sam spoke. "Optimus," he said quietly.

The Prime made a sound like clearing his throat and replied, "Yes, Sam?"

The young Witwicky paused briefly. "You've probably heard this a million times, but I hope it means more coming from me."

Optimus remained quiet, prompting Sam to continue.

"I don't blame you at all for what happened to Spade."

"Sam."

The young man paused mid-conversation to turn and look back at Spade's holoform. Upon noticing the grave look in her eyes, her hands tucked into her pockets, the tension in her shoulders, his smile faltered as he rose from his seat on the couch next to Carly. Spade turned and exited the room, knowing that her brother would be right behind her. When she didn't say anything as they walked, Sam's nervousness increased tenfold. There was no context, no clue or hint as to what she wanted to discuss. He had only felt this serious a demeanor when Optimus had died two years prior and she gave her all to have him revived. A moment as intense as that one usually didn't mean that there was good news in store for him.

While lost in his thoughts, Sam didn't notice that Spade had stopped walking until he ran into the back of her holoform. He wanted to say something, but when he opened his mouth, his voice pathetically croaked and any words he attempted to say were unintelligible. He moved to stand off to the side of her and noticed the look of concentration in her eyes. Suddenly, the door to the left of them slid open, revealing Spade's true form sitting down in a Cybertronian-sized chair at a desk. The holoform dispersed then, leaving Sam alone in the hallway. He turned to face her and she inclined her head, silently telling him to come into the room. Sam tensed and walked inside, nearly jumping when the door slid closed behind him.

"What's wrong, Spade?" he asked.

Spade sighed and lowered her hand down to him, prompting him to step forward onto it. She brought her hand up slowly so as to not give him whiplash and sat him down on the large table next to her. From that standpoint, Sam then noticed that he was standing in Spade's office. The room was dimly lit just as Spade liked it with minimal decoration and a framed photo of her, Sam, Mikaela, the NEST soldiers, and all the 'Bots posing together in front of the Diego Garcia base. If it weren't for the tenseness lingering in the atmosphere, Sam would have felt comfortable in the room with her.

"It's been two days."

Sam frowned at this, knowing full well what she was referring to. Spade's evaluation of Carly was finished. In the past, Sam had hardly been worried about what Spade would say about his girlfriends. He knew better than to get too invested with any one of them, afraid that Spade would find something incriminating or threatening about them and encourage him to break up with them. Carly was different in his eyes, however. He had made the mistake of dating her for a full six months before finally telling Spade about her existence. His attachment to her was almost palpable. Sam knew he would be crushed if Spade had something bad to report and could only hope that the news she had for him would be good. However, that same grave look was still present in her eyes. Sam now had a bad feeling about the conversation that was about to take place.

"What do you think?" he asked in response. A bead of sweat formed above his brow in his nervousness.

Spade gave him a hard look. Sam was unsure at this point if she just wanted to scare him to get back at him for keeping Carly a secret or if she found something that should concern him.

"She comes from a pristine military family. Her mother served as a British ambassador for ten years, her father a sergeant in the U.S. army for twelve, and her brother a valued war hero. She herself served as a British ambassador and has successfully aided in mending otherwise strained relations between the United States and Britain."

Sam deflated slightly. "Yeah…"

"Her background check was the cleanest out of all your past girlfriends. She's done no wrong, probably doesn't intend to do wrong in the future, and that aside, she is gorgeous," Spade continued.

Sam almost grinned at this. Spade hadn't found anything troubling and gave him a glowing report of her and her past. Why did something still feel off?

"She's not good for you, Sam."

Almost recoiling, Sam's grin faltered as confusion settled in his expression. Spade was frowning at him, as serious as she could ever be. It was unfamiliar and suffocating. As hardened as she appeared to be about the subject matter, Sam knew that he had to take her word for it. But he loved Carly and would likely never meet someone else like her. He wanted to argue with Spade over it, but he knew that he would lose. He always did.

"You… You just said—"

"I know. Legally, she passes the test. I don't expect her to suddenly develop a criminal record, but I'm not talking about that."

"Then what the hell are you talking about? A few days ago, things were fine. You loved her!"

"No, I didn't," Spade replied, her frown deepening even more.

Sam began pacing on the desk, still maintaining eye contact with his sister. He was confused and angry and downright wounded about the thought of breaking up with her. He still wanted to argue, but she clearly had a point to make about Carly and so he waited.

When Spade spoke again, her words were slow and careful as if she were still deliberating about what to say. "She...does not have...your best interest at heart."

"What…" Sam shook his head at her, defeated.

"Before you shit yourself, let me explain what I mean. I heard the two of you arguing the night you first came to base."

The young man paled at this thought. He knew exactly what she was referring to. It became obvious that Sam was excited to be around the 'Bots and NEST soldiers again. When Carly picked up on his reluctance to leave, she became angry. She had a feeling that he would never want to leave and pulled him aside to tell him that she refused to stay. Sam knew how attached he was to his alien friends. Likewise, he knew that visiting them would be dangerous because it would be immensely difficult to let go. What began as a heated discussion exploded into a screaming match, both people red in the face with anger. No one seemed awkward around Sam or Carly the next day, so he figured that the argument went unnoticed. Spade, apparently, had witnessed the whole thing.

"She wanted you to leave the base. More than that, she wants you to leave us behind. The Autobots, this lifestyle. Maybe even me. I think she means well, but she doesn't know what would make you happy."

"Of course she knows what makes me happy! I've been with her for six months, Spade!" Sam yelled, his voice cracking slightly.

"And I've known you for well over ten years, Sam. I know you. I know that being with us makes you feel important like you matter and like you're contributing something more to the world than stapling papers and organizing binders at some desk in a corporate building somewhere. But she would much rather see you there than here, and that's going to become a problem in the future unless you nip this in the bud here and now."

"She wants me to be safe! She cares about me, Spade!"

"I care about you. If I didn't, this discussion would never have happened. She wants you to be safe more so than she wants you to be happy."

"What the hell is wrong with that? It means she doesn't wanna see me in a coffin anytime soon," Sam spat.

"As if we would ever let that happen anyway," Spade shot back.

Sam's fists were tightly balled at his sides, the vein in his forehead looking ready to burst. Spade noticed this and had a feeling that the conversation wouldn't go anywhere she needed it to.

"Sam. You might disagree with me, but I would want you to be happy, even if it didn't mean you were as safe as you could be."

Sam's jaw dropped, his hands unclenching at his sides.

"What meaning does your life have if you stay cooped up in a bubble in your house without venturing out to do more? You love taking chances. You love the danger. I want that for you. Of course, I don't want you to jump off of buildings to see if you can fly like I do, but above all, I want you to be happy."

In his shock, Sam stood quietly on the table, trying and failing to process the information. At the very, very back of his mind, a voice was screaming at him that Spade was right. But the rest of him longed for Carly, envisioning a long life with her and routine visits to the Autobot base. He was sure that if she spent enough time there that they would grow on her. It seemed as if Spade picked up on his thought process and shook her head in disapproval at him.

"No, Sam. You're getting caught up. I'm gonna be honest with you. I don't care how long you live. I don't. I'm gonna outlive you regardless. How much time we get to spend together… I think it's moot. And if you think that's harsh, I'm sorry, but… I only care that if you die a day from now or six months from now, or six decades from now that you die either doing what you love or die after having already done it. Being here with us—you love that. Because, again, it makes you happy. Carly doesn't need to be as extreme as I am about this, but she at least needs to understand the shitty situation she's putting you in. You shouldn't have to choose between her and your family, and ultimately, she's gonna make you do that. And it'll probably be soon."

Sam shook his head in furious denial, walking over to the edge of the table and beginning to climb down. There was no ledge for him to jump onto, the ground being the only surface waiting for him. Once he was dangling with just his hands grasping the edge of the table, Sam let go, knowing Spade would be fast enough to catch him. Just as expected, she lurched forward with her hands cupped beneath him, allowing him to fall without harming himself. Her anger peaked then, and she opened her mouth fully intent on chewing him out for doing that, but he stopped her in her tracks.

"You know what, Spade? Fuck this. Fuck your evaluation. Fuck you. You wanna hate her because you've hated all of my girlfriends. You're still stuck on me and Mikaela being a thing or you just don't want me to be in a relationship with anybody at all or something, but you don't know what you're talking about. Put me down."

Spade recoiled but lowered her hands to allow him to jump down safely. Sam had never taken that kind of tone with her in the past, and in spite of herself, she let his words cut into her. He stormed off in the direction of the door, stopping in front of it to wait for it to open.

"Sam—"

"You are the only. One. You are the only who has a problem with her."

"Sam, I can't make you do anything, but consider it. That'll hardly be the only time you fight over this," she pleaded. "You know that I'm right."

He said nothing in response and made his leave. The next day, Sam went out of his way to avoid her. He knew how much it hurt her. He could see it from the corner of his eye whenever she crossed his line of sight. She appeared defeated and heartbroken. Sam wanted to forget everything that she said so he could be happy with Carly, but he found that the more he actively tried to let it go, the more it stuck in his brain. The events of the next few days did nothing to ease that. It was the last real conversation that Sam had had with her before she died.

He would regret it for the rest of his life.

"I…" Sam trailed off, his stare redirecting to the windshield where he could see the cataclysmic destruction brought on by the Decepticons.

That final conversation with Spade replayed in his mind over and over and over again. Incessant, even in his dreams, and seemed almost content with being the last thing he saw before he was killed in combat. Sam would have told Optimus in more detail about that talk, but he knew he didn't have the time. And yet, he felt the obligation to do so, considering the looming feeling that the flashback brought him. The anger and the pain and the gut-wrenching sadness, but most of all, the inescapable thought of guilt. Of course, since Sentinel's betrayal, Sam has traced back all the moments leading up to Spade's death. Their argument, his rendezvous with the Russians… No matter how much he tried to convince himself of otherwise, he would likely feel guilty in some capacity until his own death. Those thoughts brought him to Optimus. If Sam felt guilty, then Optimus certainly took full responsibility for it.

He could feel Optimus lurch slightly when he told him how he felt, noticed the tightening of the seatbelt around his torso. He imagined that if the Prime were in his bipedal mode that his servos would be clenched tightly, his optics awash with unbridled pain. Sam knew that look. He knew that feeling all too well. The lot of them had probably experienced the same bundle of emotions over the last two days. But he knew more so that Optimus would feel it more so than any one of them. He had likely already taken the pain that Spade felt as she rusted away, internalized it and let it brew within him until this moment. It was a horrible feeling to live with. And Sam wouldn't wish that on anybody.

"Spade was… Well, she was crazy about you. And I'm sure you knew that. You and music—those are the only things she would really talk about. Before you and the other 'Bots came around, it really was only music. I think she really had you figured out, big guy."

Optimus tried to find the strength to reply to Sam, but he was afraid of what his voice box would do if he spoke. He instead remained silent, hoping Sam would take this as an invitation to go on.

Fortunately, Sam took the cue and continued, "Like, of course she knew everything we knew about you. Your unhealthy work habits and the little things people did that annoyed you a bit. But, um… A few days after Egypt, the soldiers had snuck her a few drinks while we celebrated getting you back and saving the world again. And she pulled me aside to talk about you. She wasn't drunk enough to tell me your deepest, darkest secrets or anything, but she did tell me about why you tended to keep to yourself whenever we did have a party or some other… social gathering or whatever."

Sam paused, as if hesitant to tell him. Optimus found himself desperate and finally forced his voice box to work properly.

"Sam, please. What did she tell you?" he said, his voice almost pleading.

The young Witwicky, gripped either side of his steering wheel, resting his head in between his hands. Optimus felt his body shaking in his seat, worried that he had startled him. But after about a minute passed, Sam lifted his head, his eyes red and puffy with unshed moisture lingering in them. On his cheeks were two streaks running down his face where tears had already fallen. His grip on the steering wheel tightened even more, but he spoke again, his voice filled with pain and barely contained anger.

"She told me that you have the tendency to, you know… Blame yourself for shit that maybe you had something to do with and then shit you literally could not have prevented, that you blame yourself for the war and the fact that it's here on Earth and for Cybertron and even your fucking brother going bad is somehow all your fault."

Sam tried to calm himself down, but he had yet to truly mourn. And everything he had held onto since Egypt, combined with recent events, finally spilled out at once. He needed for Optimus to hear this.

"But you can't keep doing that to yourself. You can't keep taking responsibility for that kind of shit because it's gonna fucking destroy you. And she never told you that and she should have told you that, but she never got the chance to and… Really, it's not even my fucking place. She didn't even mean to tell me, but I can't— I can't let you go into this fight thinking that she died because of you. I refuse to let you do that because I know Spade. And I know that she would hate it if you lived the rest of your life thinking that, and she'd kick your ass if you died that way."

Optimus began to slow down from his place at the back of the Autobot convoy. He tried his very hardest to hold it together at a time such as that one, but he found himself in Sam's place. Denied a chance to properly mourn, harboring emotions the millions of years spent fighting against his own people, trying and failing to protect his planet and his comrades from destruction. His sparkmate… Spade… And in spite of the repeated and futile attempts from his soldiers to convince him that he couldn't have saved her, he took comfort in Sam's words. Her brother, her friend. Next to him, Optimus knew that Sam would be the person that Spade would tell almost anything. And so he knew that everything that Sam said in his rage was true to what Spade believed. Of course, he wouldn't be able to altogether drop the feeling that he was responsible for Spade's death. But he would at least be able to face Sentinel soon, knowing that in defeating him that Spade would be avenged.

With that, he returned his attention the boy sobbing in his driver's seat. "Sam," he said quietly.

The human in question looked down at the Autobot insignia engraved in his steering wheel. "Yeah?" he asked shakily.

"Thank you. For this. I can't tell you how much it means to me, hearing it from you. I know that if you weren't here to say it, she would be the one to tell me herself."

Sam's gaze softened as his hands came up to wipe the tears out of his eyes and off of his face. Part of the weight that had settled in his gut disappeared. He nodded in response and leaned back in his seat as Optimus increased his speed to catch up with the rest of the Autobots.

-NON-CON WARNING-NON-CON WARNING-NON-CON WARNING-

Spade awakened with a gasp, jolting upwards in terror. She scrambled up, sliding against the surface of the berth until her backplates hit the wall. Her spark pulsed violently in its chamber as her optics darted around, searching for signs of life in the darkness of the unfamiliar quarters. For signs of Megatron.

"Now, now, Spade…"

Blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear her mind, the rise and fall of her chestplates increasing with every passing second. Upon realizing that she was still on Megatron's berth, she lurched forward, throwing herself off of it before standing on her unsteady legs. She reached for something, anything that would help her hold her balance.

"God…" she whimpered.

"I will take what I want one way or the other."

Spade sobbed as she walked, her pedes falling clumsily with every step. Even in the near pitch black darkness of the room, it seemed as if the walls were closing in on her, suffocating her until she could no longer cycle air through her vents. Memories of Megatron's servos around her neck flashed through her processors, squeezing and squeezing with every forceful thrust. The feeling of her valve stretching painfully, tearing while trying to accommodate his size. Somehow, Spade finally managed to stumble out of his quarters, collapsing against the wall opposite the door. In the light of the hallway, she could see the damage done to her frame. Scratches marred her chassis and pelvic plating. The glass of her cockpit was completely shattered. On her thighs were splotches of what looked to be dried energon and transfluid. She reached up and felt her neck plating where several finger-shaped dents were now located. Her breathing hitched as she surveyed herself in an attempt not to break down in the hallway where Decepticon soldiers would be lurking. She forced herself to move from her position in the direction of her quarters, which she now realized were hauntingly close to the Decepticon warlord's.

Her audial processors suddenly picked up on approaching pedesteps. Her spark sank in fear. No one could see her like this. Willing her legs to move, Spade jogged to her quarters, punching in the code furiously. Once the door opened, she ran inside and fell forward on her servos and knees, retching as her tanks emptied themselves onto the floor beneath her. Coolant poured from her optics as her body wracked with sobs and pain. Megatron's assault on her replayed in her processors unrelentingly. No matter how hard she tried to forget, she found that she could not. Her interface panel ached. She felt as if she had been ripped in two.

Dizzy and barely able to move, Spade rolled away from the contents of her tanks and laid down on her back, willing herself into recharge.

If this fic didn't become so difficult to write, I would update more often. Leave reviews if you want. I'm sensitive, so don't tear me apart. If there were any mistakes in here, I apologize for them. Also, I'll try to update again soon (which, in this case, means in less than a year from now).

On the bright side, I started having ideas again. I just hope they pan out in the form of updated chapters.

D.P. out.