Author's Note: And here is where I start hating Sam and him being a puss. 8C It's okay. You can hate him too. Forgive me, Shia Labeouf. .w.

DISCLAIMER: Of course, I don't own any of the Transformers or Mikaela or Sam. :/

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It didn't take long for Ratchet to find out what exactly had happened that dark night in the woods. After a few days, it didn't become so unbearable to talk about although Sam only remembered bits and pieces from the time where he was unconscious. Ratchet also determined that the autobots found it difficult to assume their human qualities when experiencing strong emotions of any kind--that possibly explained the so-called red eyes that Sam recalled. About two weeks later, Sam became well enough to move around again. His wounds were healing very nicely and Ratchet believed that Sam would be able to return to school in no time. Every time Optimus' name was spoken or he came around, Sam's face went blank and cold. At one point, Optimus had attempted to talk to him in the hall but he simply ignored him and continued on his way. Megatron and Starscream were unheard from for a long while, causing Prime to become frustrated. He couldn't wait until his brother showed his face again--he'd make sure that it got ripped off completely this time.

On the final day Sam spent inside the aircraft hangar recovering, Optimus decided he needed to address the problem he had with Sam. It was better than--what was the phrase--beating around the bush? He wasn't sure how long it would be until the next time he saw the boy either; it had to be now or never.

Sam was sitting in a chair beside the bed he was supposed to be laying in, drawing something on the back of a result sheet Ratchet had run off. Those bright red eyes that could never be Optimus', but that face that looked so very much like his. Now that he'd been sane for the past couple of days, his mind began to fill with doubt. The things that Ratchet tried explain to him were starting to make so much sense but his stubborn memory could only bring up the once beautiful face as the perpetrator. One day, as he was returning to his room, he overheard the Twins talking to one another.

"So you tink Prime actually did all that to 'da kid?" Mudflap asked with uncertainty to his voice. They were in their normal forms; it must've been annoying to look identical with the exception of their color coded clothing as humans.

Skids didn't seem to have a single doubt, "No. I know it could'na been Prime. He was here 'da whole time. You and I both know dat."

"So then, why da' Sam think it's him?" Mudflap questioned. Ironhide must've overheard them as well and became involved because his deep voice boomed compared to the squeaks of the other two.

"It has to be Megatron. Remember, the Decepticons had the sythoplasm technology before we ever did. If Starscream saw Optimus transform, he'd know that we had it. Megatron could've used sythoplasm to look just like Optimus and confuse Sam. Humans trust their eyes too much and not the logic of the situation. Megatron could've done something while looking like Optimus, although why he'd go out of his way to do such a thing I'm not sure." His voice sounded full of contemplation.

Sam was around the corner, listening to the three of them. What Ironhide said made sense; it was hard to argue with that logic. But Sam was incredibly stubborn for a human which was probably one of his worst traits. Unless he had undeniable proof that Optimus WASN'T the one who did those things, perhaps he'd consider that it was someone else entirely simply posing as Prime.

He continued to doodle on the paper, BOSE headphones around his neck playing "New Divide" by Linkin Park (Bee had been so kind as to loan him his iPod). There was a creak of the door opening and he looked up, his eyes narrowing at the sight of who had wandered inside.

"What do you want?" Sam said, his tone full of accusation. Optimus looked unhappy and it also seemed like he hadn't slept for days.

"Sam, I need to talk to you," Optimus pleaded. He approached Sam with little hesitation although he showed much discomfort.

Sam Witwicky didn't look at him--he just stared at the piece of paper in his lap. "I'm listening."

"It wasn't me. You have to believe me. I wouldn't have done those things to you, Sam. I...value our friendship too much to hurt you. I've been having these odd human feelings of guilt and regret for things I have not done. Please, you must understand what I'm saying to you. My brother is at fault, not me. Please listen to what I'm saying and stop believing what your eyes saw. Everyone has told you that I was here the whole time so why do you insist it was me? Is that honestly something I would do to anybody? TO YOU? Sam." Optimus reached out and grabbed ahold of Sam's sleeve.

He retaliated, "LET GO OF ME!" His other hand swirled up in a fist and struck Optimus' cheek. Prime instinctively let go of his sleeve and stumbled back. He'd never felt such a thing before; pain in human form was more unbearable to his circuitry than in his natural state. His hand lifted to the pulsing red mark on his face in shock. Sam had punched him. Sam had used his strength to hit him.

"I hate you," Sam said, his fists clenched in his lap. He didn't watch Optimus' reaction. "I hate you, Optimus Prime. Stop protecting me. I don't need you anymore. You're dead to me."

"Sam..." Prime extended another arm towards him.

"No! Just leave me alone!" Sam yelled again, striking Optimus' hand back. He glared at him for what seemed like hours and, without saying another word, ran out and slammed the door behind him. Optimus looked at the piece of paper Sam had been working on; it was his human form's face only the piercing red eyes were the only things colored on the entire page. Megatron was his human doppleganger. He sat down in the chair Sam had previously been sitting in and sighed, his head hung over. Why wouldn't he listen?

Mikaela had sent him a text message that read "I think we should take a break. I can't deal with all these robots all the time. I'm sorry." She had incredibly perfect timing. As if Sam didn't have enough spiraling around in his head. He had no idea why he was being so stubborn. No idea why he couldn't just listen to everybody and forget what he saw. Sam wandered along the south side of Lake Carnegie as he thought to himself. He didn't want to venture too far from the university but he needed some time away from any alien robot, including Bumblebee. He stood on the Harrison Street Bridge, overlooking the privately owned manmade lake. It was midday, with the sun high overhead but Sam didn't pay any attention to the beads of sweat forming on his face. Perhaps being by himself for a little while would be good for his head, although he was fully aware that the Autobots were patiently awaiting his return back on campus. Everyone except Prime. Sam wasn't sure where he'd gone off to. He felt a twinge of guilt for saying those things he'd said. Maybe, Sam thought spitefully, he was gone for good. What was he talking about? Optimus was a friend of his; Sam knew deep in his heart that he'd be devastated if he disappeared. Yet another side of him kept spewing the idea that everything would be better if Optimus was out of his life forever.

He was so confused. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore! It could've been Megatron--it most certainly could've been Megatron. That would explain the metal Ratchet found in his wounds used only in the construction of Cybertronian Jets. But what would Megatron get out of doing that to him? It's just as Ironhide suggested; why would he go out of his way to harm Sam? For what purpose? All these thoughts began welling up inside, making it hard for him to even see. He shut his eyes, put his hands over his ears and screamed, "What the hell is going on here?!"

His voice became lost as the whizzing sound of cars zoomed past him. He opened his eyes again and stared out over the horizon. Sam was still as lost as before, only now he was getting odd glances from people walking past him. The answer wasn't going to come to him--he had to figure it out himself. He still had Bumblebee's headphones around his neck. Sam pulled them up onto his ears and began to play deafening music, hoping to drown out the realities he faced. He leaned on the railing of the bridge and stared until he became lost in the alt rock being pounded into his eardrums.