Chapter Eleven

AN: Sorry its quick! But I wanted to get the next chapter done so I can work on the next one. Apologies if its not up to standard. It's a bit rushed in places. Please excuse any typos or errors.

THANK YOU for all reviews and encouragement~ Not only is it appreciated but it helps to fuel the muse and hopefully, I can get this beast done!

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Party.

A celebration of a life.

A stranger wanted to celebrate their birth and in doing so, ended the life of someone precious and dear whose lives had been touched by his gentle presence. A life that had saved the world and sacrificed much, just for the sake of those faceless strangers. Now, that same stranger lived to see more memorable occasions and mark them with such callous disregard, while the life of a hero lay cold and forgotten.

Sam was gone. His body ashen and decaying, his shell spent as the life was robbed from his organic frame.

A party.

That's what ended Sam's life. Someone wanted to mark a special occasion, and instead, destroyed lives of not only the one who perished, but those who suffered with the emptiness in their lives.

Who could be so cruel? Thoughtless?

Bumblebee withdrew, staring into nothingness, his spark faltering.

The heat of the pain threaten to overwhelm him again. Error messages scrolled red across his internal displays. He wanted to rant and rage and demand to know why such an atrocity was allowed to be committed.

Where was the justice? Where was the peace? How did this balance the universe?

Bumblebee shook his helm, trying to dispel the anguish in his processor, raw and bleeding, just as easily as Sam had done all those weeks ago in his interior. He had experienced pain and torment that ruined by Megatron's lust for power. Peace had not come easy to the young spark, which was too pure to be tainted with such hatred and sadness. It took a long time for Bee to come to terms with what he had witnessed. The cold isolation of space during his travels to find the All Spark had helped ease his processor, but what really brought him tranquility, was Sam.

How fitting Bumblebee find his solace in Tranquility, with a human who ended their war?

Sam could have made this pain better. When Bumblebee spent long nights rocking on his tires lost in memories long past, Sam would slip into the driver's seat, hold the steering wheel and allow the war torn spark to center on his presence. He held wisdom in his tiny, warm presence.

When words were needed, Sam found a way to speak them, though they seemed awkward and clumsy from the teen's lips. But no matter how insecure Sam was about his comfort, he always found the right thing to say. The right expression to calm Bee's spark.

Other times, the words weren't necessary. Sam would just hold the steering wheel or rest his hand on the hood and Bee could feel the warmth of his human skin. A pulse of life beat in that organic shell. The physical warmth was only surpassed by the human's organic spark dwarfing all other attempts at solace and beating in perfect time to a scared, lost spark.

It was soothing, like a lullaby that transcended the barriers of time and space. A song that both beings could share, though they hailed from different worlds.

Now, Bumblebee would never again feel that comfort. Feel that drumming of life. Hear the words spoken in the darkness from a friend, an ally, a brother who could understand and somehow, just by his very presence, take the pain away.

Bee emitted a soft electronic keen, unable to find peace in the world. Sam has suffered in the darkness, thinking his best friend had terminated, and that he was to blame. He had been cold, and thought himself alone, his last vestige of life begging forgiveness for a crime that was not committed.

The keen became a pitching whine as Bee tried to find another way to express his grief, but the pain only worsened.

Sam was gone.

It would have been one thing to have him to perish in a war, fighting for what he believed in. To perish in the darkness, feeling his life slip away and feeling like he caused the termination of his friend… that was inexcusable. There could be no words of comfort or gestures that would ease the torment twisting Bee's spark so cruelly, his chassis hurt.

He rubbed the place over his spark chamber, feeling the mocking beat of his life. Sam had been fascinated by the spark of life that beat in the metal bodies. Many times he had sought the soothing pulse along Bee's hood. When he was in root mode, Sam would lay his head against the scarred and pitted chest plates, Bumblebee holding the small human to him as if a parent consoling a child. The gentle thrum of life always greeted Sam's inquiry, and he would gasp in awe at such a thing. It was hard to imagine life existed in such a fashion.

Life.

Sam was gone. All because someone wanted to celebrate a minuscule achievement of their life.

A teenager, just like Sam, had turned eighteen. Such a thing was considered a milestone for human culture and as most milestones went, it had to be celebrated in grand style. Bumblebee just didn't understand why someone's joyous occasion meant the termination of his best friend.

Sam would never see his eighteenth birthday. He and his family were now denied that luxury. Sam would never celebrate another birthday, nor any other holiday or triumph. His dreams of going to college were gone. Any life beyond high school, possibly involving Mikaela and a family of his own, were deleted without memory from those who took that life away.

Eighteen, and according to the police records, legally drunk. How an eighteen year old had managed to obtain liquor had been omitted from the police file, but the report was quiet clear. As were the pictures, and those burned themselves into Bumblebee's core memory banks.

Primus, there had been so much blood. Whoever had taken the pictures for the report had made sure to capture the faded spirit of Sam. It pained Bee's spark to see it, but he couldn't stop staring at Sam's visage, slumped over the steering wheel, one arm at rest against the column, his face lax, his lips pressed against the center of the wheel. One last gesture of farewell to his brother.

And the blood.

Sam's upper body was soaked in the fluid. The accident photographer had captured the inside of the Camaro after the wreck. The puddle formed under the teen after his body had been removed had nearly stopped Bumblebee's spark. The blood filled the seat, stained the shattered glass and dripped into a crimson pool on the floor.

Bumblebee turned his attention back to the pictures of SUV that had struck him and saw the drunken teenager extracted and placed on a backboard. His two friends were trussed in similar fashion; one sporting a wrapping around his wrist, an EMT leant over speaking to him. The pictures said a thousand words, the police report adding a dull cacophony that echoed in Bumblebee's spark.

The pictures flashed in order they were taken, the time stamp on them providing Bumblebee with a near movie-like quality that played on a never-ending loop.

Each of the three teens, two brothers and their friend, were extracted from the carnage and taken by ambulance to receive treatment. The officers in the pictures pointed to key interests like the two bottles of liquor that were on the passenger side of the SUV.

Bumblebee scanned the report, reading over the police findings and feeling his tank threaten to rebel. All three teens were classified as legally drunk. The one in the passenger seat had sustained a cracked wrist upon impact, but the other two had suffered only bumps and bruises.

All three had been discharged after treatment.

Pictures of Sam floated to the forefront, Bumblebee centering on the slumped figure before the next set of pictures showed his body placed on a gurney and a sheet pulled over his face. It was the type of pose Sam would have adopted had he wanted to sleep in and his mother was adamant about his removal from his bed.

But it wasn't that simple. It wasn't a serene, often occurring situation.

Sam's life was taken.

And just to celebrate eighteen years of a stranger's life.

Their foolishness had destroyed a talented life that had saved them from unimaginable pain and suffering at the hands of a deranged Decepticon. A cruel being who would have tortured, mutilated, or terminated the three teenage survivors had they been present.

That sacrifice was tossed aside. Sam's life lost, his victory against all odds, now forgotten. No one would know what he did or how he saved a lost race. Sam had defeated a tyrant that was bent on destroying not only his homeworld, but every planet in the galaxy.

Sam had been a hero.

And yet, the stupidity and recklessness by a stranger, sacrificed that precious life without a thought or care. The records showed that the driver of the SUV had been given a few hours of community service and suspended license, but no form of jail time or monetary compensation had been allotted.

Bee felt his spark flutter, his fists clenching as he felt hot waves of shame and grief crash over his emotional center. There would be no more rejoicing. Hope was gone. It was lost when a hero was taken from the world by such callous disregard.

Body aching from physical and emotional pain Bumblebee cried. The angry scream of his broken vocalizer was a pale comparison to the anguish in his spark.

'Bumblebee? I know you don't wish to communicate right now but I wanted to let you know that I have rebuilt your transformation cog,' Ratchet said over comms.

Unable to produce audio sound from his damaged vocalizer, Bumblebee answered back via comms.

'How long until I can transform and leave base?'

'I'm not sure that is such a good idea, not in your current emotional state,' Ratchet said, knowing the scout was still grieving for the loss of his friend.

'I just want to get away for awhile,' Bumblebee said, looking to an immobilized Prowl. 'I need to be alone.'

'Understood,' Ratchet said, knowing that the stages of grief affected everyone different. And Bumblebee wasn't known to display his grief to the general public. 'I can run some scans after the installation and if you maintain sufficient power levels you may leave.' Ratchet waited half a second before adding, 'But you must keep in radio contact with us and tell us if something is wrong.'

Something was wrong, but Bumblebee couldn't say that. In truth, he didn't know the name of the monster that had taken up residence in his spark and threatened to send him into a wild abandon. It coiled and twisted and made his internal workings seem foreign to him. It was disconcerting and unnerving, but it somehow felt right to feel this strange anomalous sensation.

There were several memory files of Sam's burial waiting in the data packets from the Autobots that had paid tribute to Sam's life, but Bumblebee was unable to open the files. If he saw….. if he witnessed Sam being put to rest… it would end him.

'I will be there in fifteen minutes,' Bumblebee said.

'I will be here,' Ratchet confirmed, ending the transmission.

Bee let out a whine, his engine running hot from where he had been holding back his grief while he spoke with Ratchet. But it was too much.

Hot anger bubbled up, erupting as grating whines and clicks from Bumblebee's form. His damaged vocalizer was unable to produce the sounds Bee longed to express. He leaned forward, resting his helm against Prowl's shoulder as he allowed the raging emotions to flow over him. The Second in Command was going to take some time to reboot, and until the time he woke, he would be an acceptable substitute for the brother that was missing.