Tribulations

Arabis

Summary: Sam felt his stomach twist itself in knots, and something compelled him to state with stark sincerity, "I won't cooperate. Whatever it is you want, you aren't going to get it." To Sam's surprise, his words were met with dry amusement rather than the rage that he had expected. "I do not require your cooperation, only your submission." Megatron replied, "Whether I receive it willingly or take it by force is for you to decide." Notes: This part picks up immediately after Signature ended. Please be advised that this part will contain darker elements than its prequel, as it explores themes of captivity, torture, captor bonding, and survivor's guilt. Chapter 1

Notes: Chapter Warning: - Canon typical violence

The first thing that filtered through Sam's consciousness upon waking was the sound of a distant roar. He lifted his head slowly, blinking in disorientation at his surroundings. In front of him was a complicated control panel, with an assortment of gauges, switches, and blinking lights. Above the control panel, extending over and around him, was a clear canopy that provided an unobstructed view of the night's sky. He turned his head and felt hard plastic cut into his nose and cheeks. Sam raised his hands in confusion, his questing fingers coming to rest on a flight mask that was affixed to his face with heavy straps. Instinctively, he pulled at the buckles on the apparatus, trying to get it off.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you." Megatron rumbled dryly.

All at once, Sam's memories of the evening slammed into him. His heart lodged itself in his throat, his breath coming in shallow gasps as panic overtook him in an instant. Sam grabbed at the mask, fingers clawing at the straps on his face, as he bucked against the harness that restrained him. Megatron tolerated his panicked thrashing until Sam's nails drew blood, and then the chest harness tightened painfully, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

"Enough."

Megatron held him until Sam's movements slowed, and then the harness loosened to the point where he could breathe again. He gasped desperately, pulling air into his starving lungs as the spots in his vision faded away. After a long moment, Sam glanced around the cockpit of the fighter jet, struggling to control the panic twisting in his chest. Now that he was fully cognizant, Sam realized that he hurt. His body ached from the exertion of his abortive retreat into the jungle, but his head was the source of his misery. A headache pounded at his temples, and Sam recognized this particular brand of hell as the aftereffects of mental over-exertion.

"What's wrong with you?" Megatron asked matter-of-factly. Sam narrowed his eyes at the control panel in front of him, refusing to speak. After a long moment of tense silence, the harness tightened minutely, and Sam recognized the threat for what it was. He knew that he was hypoglycemic—could feel it in the weakness of his body and the clamminess of his skin—but he wouldn't tell Megatron anything.

Megatron rumbled thoughtfully, and then Sam felt himself pulled forward slightly as the jet slowed. He could see the stars shifting through the clear canopy, and then the horizon became visible in the distance as the jet descended abruptly. At the same time, the oxygen mask fell into his lap, released of its own accord.

"You need fast-acting sugars." Megatron said, and Sam grimaced deeply. If Sam knew that he was hypoglycemic, then of course, Megatron did too.

"Feel free to drop me off at the nearest 7-11." He rasped.

Rather than deigning to reply, a first-aid kit popped out of subspace and landed hard in Sam's lap. He grunted at the impact, staring at the white box in surprise. He made no move to open it.

"I can have Scalpel assist, if you prefer." Megatron rumbled lowly, irritation bleeding into his voice. Sam's heart lodged itself in his throat, panic threatening to overtake him again. Anything but that.

"No, thank-you." He managed to reply after a moment, prying open the lid of the first-aid kit with trembling hands. The kit contained standard items—gauze, bandages, antiseptic, adhesive tape—but it also contained a nondescript bottle of fluids. Upon inspection, he realized that it was an electrolyte beverage. He grimaced, pondering the implications of Megatron having a first-aid kit in his subspace in the first place, when he started to drink. It tasted awful, like salty lemonade, but Sam finished it without complaint.

He felt Megatron nudge him across their bond impatiently, and Sam flinched away from the unwelcome contact. The Decepticon leader was the antithesis of Ratchet's mental presence—cold and harsh, with a dangerous edge—but his spark signature was something else entirely. It shone like a crystal sculpture in his mind, striking and magnificent.

With a painful lurch, Sam realized that it reminded him of Optimus' spark signature.

He felt Megatron's anger swell up through their bond and he cringed away. Sam was fully aware that he was at the whims of a capricious warlord with a penchant for torture.

"Then you would do well to remain silent."

Sam pulled away from Megatron's mental presence as far as the bond would allow, placing the empty bottle back in the first-aid kit and closing the lid securely. A moment later, the kit disappeared, tucked back into subspace. He sat quietly, trepidation and fear building steadily in his gut, until he could bear it no longer.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"I have considered it." Megatron replied.

The warlord's tone was strangely disinterested, as though he were trying to decide between tea or coffee. Sam felt his stomach twist itself in knots, and something compelled him to state with stark sincerity, "I won't cooperate. Whatever it is you want, you aren't going to get it."

To Sam's surprise, his words were met with dry amusement rather than the rage that he had expected.

"I do not require your cooperation, only your submission." Megatron replied, "Whether I receive it willingly or take it by force is for you to decide."

Before Sam could reply, he felt Megatron's mental presence shift forward with intent. He resisted as well as he was able, but it was only a moment later that he was plunged back into the depths of stasis.

The next time that Sam awoke, he was mind-numbingly cold.

He groaned softly, rolling onto his side as he squinted his eyes open. The room that he was in was large and empty, a cavernous space of alien design. Thick metal tubing snaked over the walls, twisting every so often to plunge into the floor or the ceiling. The interior structure of the room was made of dull metal that was etched with whorls and eddies. Pot lights were sunk into the walls at even intervals, bathing the room in weak orange light.

He pushed his hands underneath him, forcing himself unsteadily to his feet. He was at the far end of the room, opposite to the wall that contained a towering Transformer-sized door. As Sam stepped forward, he encountered a barrier of transparent blue energy, which extended all the way to the walls on either side of the room. He frowned deeply, reaching out a hand to brush against the barrier. It tingled unpleasantly and was as solid as steel. Sam followed the barrier to the wall, and then followed the wall around the space, until he came back to the energy barrier. His cell—and there was no doubt in Sam's mind that was exactly where he found himself—was large, perhaps a quarter of the size of the Hive's receiving room. It was also completely empty except for a strange well-like contraption in the far corner. Upon further inspection, Sam realized that it was a waste disposal system, and his face twisted in a grimace.

He wrapped his arms around his chest, rubbing his palms quickly over his skin. It was uncomfortably cold in the room, perhaps five or ten degrees Celsius, and Sam was dressed only in a button-down shirt and jeans. He glanced down at himself, noting the blood and grime all down the front of his clothes. Somehow, he doubted that Megatron would feel inclined to provide him with a change of clothing anytime soon.

After a moment, Sam turned his mind outwards, fully expecting to be trapped within the confines of a Creator bond. To his surprise, the neural network was fully accessible, although it was quiet and still. To the best of his ability, he could sense no spark signatures in his immediate vicinity. The realization made his heart start to beat harder in his chest. Since the time that he had on-lined after Ripcord's attack, he had never been truly alone. The sudden emptiness of the neural network was completely disconcerting.

Sam paced the large room for an interminable time—it must have been hours, but there was no way for him to tell. His watch and his cellphone had been taken while he was in stasis, and there were no windows in the room to help him gauge the passage of time. Sam's panic ebbed and flowed as he paced. He had no idea where he was. He was reasonably sure that he was on the Nemesis, but whether he was still on Earth was anyone's guess. He could hear the distant hum of machinery, which he assumed was the ship's engines, but he could not tell what their pitch and volume meant. They could have been parked on Diego Garcia or hurtling towards Cybertron at light speed, it was impossible to say.

He also did not know how long it had been since his capture. Megatron had forced him into stasis twice, and Sam had no recollection of his time spent unconscious. He was reasonably sure that it hadn't been very long, because his bladder was just starting to get uncomfortable. Perhaps four or five hours, maybe longer.

The memory of the beach made his throat close up in emotion, and he blinked rapidly to try to keep the tears at bay. In the moments before Megatron had forced him into stasis, he had felt Ratchet's rage and his abject powerlessness. Sam instinctively reached towards their connection, but the Creator bond was dark and still. What had happened after he had been taken? Had the Decepticons retreated? Or had they continued their assault? Were his friends all right? Were they even alive?

Sam stumbled back until he collided against the wall of his cell. His heart was pounding again, his breath coming in strangled gasps until dark spots crowded the edges of his vision. He was fucked, he was so completely fucked. He slid down the wall until he sat on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping his hair until his scalp ached.

He stayed like that for a long time, until the fire of his panic had burned itself out again, leaving numbness in its wake. Eventually he curled up against the wall of his cell, wrapping his arms around his torso and pulling his legs up to his chest to try to conserve his body heat. The temperature in the room was falling steadily, and eventually he could make out the faint puff of his breath in the air. Sam felt choked by sudden despair, and he wondered fleetingly whether he was going to freeze to death, alone in this room.

All of a sudden, he felt a flicker on the neural network. Sam lifted his head, narrowing his eyes as he turned his attention inwards. After a long moment, there was another flicker, and he frowned in confusion. It wasn't a spark signature as he understood it—it was smaller and less luminous, like a candle flame compared to a supernova—but it was definitely there, and moving steadily closer.

Abruptly, the door to the hangar slid open. For a brief moment, Sam could see outside of the room—the corridor was bright and similarly alien in appearance, with cables and tubing exposed on the walls—before the door slid shut. By the time that his eyes had re-adjusted to the dim light of the room, he was able to make out the lithe form of Ravage stalking towards his cell.

Sam stiffened from head to toe, familiar fear licking up his spine at the sight of the graceful predator. Its body gleamed in the low light of the large space, its silver panels glinting as it prowled closer to the energy barrier. Ravage's singular red optic focused on him as it approached, and Sam narrowed his eyes in return.

"I thought you were dead." Sam's voice was a dry rasp, barely more than a whisper, and Ravage flicked its tail in response.

"My Master retrieved me after the battle. He was able to prevent me from off-lining."

Sam jerked back in surprise. He had never heard the symbiont speak before, and her smooth, feminine register took him aback. It was completely at odds with the vicious personality that he had come to associate with the large cat.

Sam felt, rather than heard, Ravage's quiet chuckle.

"I have not had cause to speak to you before." She said, responding to his thoughts. Sam grimaced and pulled the egress filter over his mind, too exhausted to attempt a firewall.

"Well, feel free to keep the tradition alive."

She tilted her head at him, as a cat might regard a mouse, before stepping towards the energy barrier. As Sam watched, the blue blockade shimmered and then disappeared. Ravage stepped across the threshold of his cell, and once she had passed, the barrier snapped back to life. He sat up straighter, tensing nervously as she approached.

"What do you want?" He demanded, fear making his voice sharp.

"I have been tasked by my Master to ensure that you are well."

Sam narrowed his eyes at her, anger replacing his fear in an instant.

"If Megatron was concerned about my well-being, then he wouldn't have dumped me in a goddamn freezer."

Ravage tilted her head considerately as she approached, her visage one of curious contemplation. Sam pressed back against the wall, trying unsuccessfully to hide his apprehension.

"Megatron is not my Master, human. I serve Soundwave."

Ravage stopped directly in front of him, her feline face with its single red optic only inches away. Sam knew that his vital signs were betraying his fear and anxiety, but he swallowed dryly before pinning her with a flat stare.

"Well, you can tell Soundwave that I'm not buying whatever it is that he's selling."

This time, Ravage laughed softly.

"The other cassettes will be amused by you, I think." She rumbled, "Except perhaps Laserbeak, but she is loathe not to be the center of our Master's attention."

Without warning, Ravage stepped forward and curled herself around Sam's body. He cried out in surprise, jerking back as his hands flew out to push against her flanks. She lowered herself down, leaning against him as her head came to rest by his side. Sam's heart was pounding in his throat by the time that she settled, but then he realized all at once that she was warm. His breath stuttered out of him in surprise as heat soaked into his numb body.

For a moment, he had a mind to push her off him—to fight, to protest, to do anything other than sit there passively—but he was too cold and the warmth felt too nice. So he stayed where he was, neither leaning forward nor pulling away, and allowed the heat of her chassis to soak into him. It was not long before the aches in his body were soothed away, replaced with a leaden tiredness. He blinked hard, trying to keep a grip on himself, but there was no helping it. He was exhausted in body and mind, and it was not long before he nodded off to the sound of Ravage's rumbling purr.

Sam dreamed in flashes of memory and emotion.

Ratchet huffing at him exasperatedly, their bond swelling with tender affection.

Sunstreaker crouched in front of him, solemn and serious, as he offered Sam a shoulder to lean on.

Optimus' disapproval, as Doval rambled on about the unknown mechanoid.

Bumblebee's keening wail, anguished and mournful. Sam, please come back to me—

Sam jerked awake, his heart in his throat. He blinked blearily for the space of several seconds, confused and disoriented, before his memories came back to him. He swallowed hard, despair taking the place of the frenzied panic that had been his constant companion since he awoke in Megatron's cockpit. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, glancing over his shoulder at Ravage's prone form. Sometime during his restless slumber, he had slid down the wall to curl against the symbiont, drawn to her pleasant warmth. He sat up, pressing back against the wall with a grimace.

Ravage raised her head to regard him with her singular red optic.

"You feel things keenly, human."

Sam narrowed his eyes at her, flushing hotly as he drew the egress filter back over his mind.

"Mind your business."

Ravage's tail flicked from where it lay curled around his hip. He pushed away until he was no longer touching any part of the symbiont.

"Until my Master tells me otherwise, you are my business."

Sam's flush deepened in anger and he pushed himself to his feet, stepping around the symbiont. Ravage rolled onto her side as she watched him walk stiffly away, her tail flicking lazily.

"What time is it?" Sam demanded, eventually. Ravage tilted her head, and he clarified without prompting, "On Diego Garcia. What time is it?"

Ravage seemed to consider his question before she replied, "It is fifteen hundred hours local time on the Autobot base." Sam did the math and realized that, if Ravage was telling the truth, then it was three o'clock in the afternoon. The base had been attacked just after midnight. He scrubbed a hand roughly over his face, his stomach twisting in knots.

"What happened? During the attack?"

Ravage's optic narrowed minutely, as the flicking of her tail becoming more pronounced.

"If you wish to know what happened to the Autobots, you will have to ask your Master."

Sam bristled from head to toe, spinning on his heel to glare at her, "Megatron is not my Master."

Ravage's visage seemed to soften—in pity, Sam realized abruptly.

"Megatron breaks all of his servants to his will eventually. Your defiance will only prolong and deepen your suffering."

Sam's heart was beating hard against his ribs now, the familiar sense of panic threatening to overwhelm him. Eventually, he managed to hiss, "Get out."

Rather than ignore him, as he had expected, Ravage dipped her head in acquiescence and padded towards the energy barrier at the forefront of his cell. After she slipped through, and the barrier had re-established itself, she glanced at him over her shoulder.

"Reflect on my words, human."

Sam narrowed his eyes at her, but the symbiont merely turned and walked towards the large doors at the end of the hangar. The doors opened of their own accord, spilling bright light into the dim room, before closing and leaving Sam alone once again.

Sam breathed out a shaky sigh, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. The room was warmer now, although he was still uncomfortably cold. It was not long before his bodily imperatives began to make themselves felt. With a deep grimace, Sam used (what he hoped was) the waste disposal system in the far corner, and then settled back against the wall of his cell. His stomach rumbled uncomfortably, but it was his thirst that was on the forefront of his mind. His mouth was bone dry, and his throat clicked every time that he swallowed.

In the silence of the empty hangar, with nothing but his thoughts and the hum of distant machinery for company, Sam's mind inevitably turned back to his companions. His throat closed up at the memory of his last words to Bumblebee. He couldn't imagine what the yellow scout was going through right now. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would blame himself for Sam's capture, especially after Sam had pleaded for him to stay. He took a shaky breath, pressing his forehead into his arms as he struggled to get himself under control. With a conscious effort, Sam pushed the thoughts of Bumblebee and Ratchet aside. He couldn't shoulder their devastation and his own as well if he wanted to make it out of this in one piece.

He had to be smart.

Sam distracted himself as best he could, playing word association games and talking quietly to himself. It helped to take the edge off his panic, but the fear and anxiety were omnipresent at the edge of his mind. His thirst had become painful, a constant burning in the back of his throat. Combined with the chill of the room, he was both physically and emotionally miserable. He must have fallen asleep eventually, for all of a sudden the neural network flared brightly in his mind, startling him awake.

He hastily drew the egress filter over his mind, wrapping it around himself as tightly as he was able. As he watched, spark signatures flared to life on the neural network, one after the other. He recognized Megatron's icy glow, but the others were unfamiliar to him. He felt leaden fear settle into his gut as he realized that the Decepticons had returned.

He sat perfectly still and in complete silence, the egress filter drawn closely over his mental presence. The spark signatures dispersed in pairs and trios, making their way through the depths of the Nemesis. After a long while, Megatron's spark signature separated from the others and began to approach. It was joined shortly by a copper-red signature, which fell into place beside him. Sam's heart lodged itself in his throat, but he didn't move an inch.

After an agonizing wait, which was likely only the better part of ten minutes, the large doors on the opposite end of the hangar hissed open. Megatron stepped into the room, followed closely by two mechanoids that Sam had never seen before. The first was a shorter mech, lithe and slender, with bright red plating and yellow-rimmed wheels. He walked with a swagger, one hand on his hip and the other motioning expressively to his companion. With a start, Sam realized that he could not feel the third mechanoid's spark signature on the neural network. This mechanoid was taller and broad-framed, plated entirely in silver with a single red optic burning brightly over a solid visor that covered the lower portion of its face.

Sam's stomach bottomed out as he recognized the silver mechanoid from data files that he had read about Cybertron. Soundwave.

The three Decepticons approached the energy barrier, which shimmered and then disappeared of its own accord. Sam forced himself to stand as Megatron approached, his entire body tense and wary. The Decepticon leader stopped just meters away from him, staring down with an unnervingly calculating expression on his faceplates.

"I need something from you, boy." He said without preamble, "The extent that it causes you damage will depend on how much you resist me."

Sam's heart lodged itself in his throat in an instant, "Wh—what?"

Rather than reply, Megatron rumbled towards Soundwave, who stepped forward as Sam took a hasty step back. All of a sudden, the Decepticon leader's presence flared brightly along their bond and Sam cried out in surprise as his mental presence forced its way into Sam's mind. It was an incredibly intense and invasive sensation, far beyond anything that he had experienced when Ratchet entered his mind.

/Be still, boy./ Megatron commanded, but the voice came from inside his head, and Sam struggled in response. It was a violation of the basest nature, and though he writhed in Megatron's mental grip, the warlord held him easily. Sam could feel a spike of intent from across their bond, and then Megatron twisted—

It was as though he were flaying Sam's mind apart, prying it open and holding it there. Panic and desperation flooded through him in an instant, and he twisted in an attempt to escape the pain.

/Submit to me, and the pain will cease./ Megatron's harsh voice cut through his mind, and Sam struggled to obey. After a long moment, he was able to force himself to relax, and the pain receded in response. He felt a spike of satisfaction from Megatron, and then another presence entered his mind. Sam cried out, in shock and in fear, as Soundwave ran mental fingers over every inch of him. Suddenly, the surveillance chief pulled back as though in surprise.

/Observation: the human has spark bonded./

Megatron's mental presence swelled in incandescent rage at the pronouncement, and his mental fingers sank painfully into Sam's mind.

/Who?/ The Decepticon leader demanded, and Sam was confused by the possessive jealousy in his tone.

/Autobot: Designation, Bumblebee./

Sam felt himself go cold all over. Heedless of the potential consequences of his actions, he drew himself up and lashed out Soundwave with all of his mental strength. His attack landed, to their combined surprise, before Megatron pinned Sam beneath his mental weight. Sam struggled, fear and rage lending him strength.

/Don't you dare—don't you fucking dare touch him!/

Over his abject rage, Sam could feel Megatron's thoughtful consideration across their bond. There was a touch in his mind, too impartial to be considered a caress, and then Megatron rumbled at him reassuringly.

/Be calm, boy. No one will harm your bonded./

The words—and the feeling of sincerity that accompanied them—pulled Sam up short. Before he could reply, however, he felt Megatron turn his attention back to Soundwave.

/Find it for me./

Soundwave's mental fingers sank into the depths of Sam's mind. Restrained as he was by Megatron, there was nothing that Sam could do but suffer the invasion. After a long moment, he felt an uncomfortable rifling sensation, and then Sam found himself dropped into the depths of a memory.

Sam shifted as Ratchet completed his medical scans, anxious to learn about the Allspark energy that radiated from his cells.

"Well, give it to me straight. How bad is it?" Sam asked.

"You are in perfect health. I can find no signs that you ever had a concussion, let alone that you are supposedly suffering from the after-effects of one."

Sam huffed an exasperated sigh, "That's not what I meant."

"The Allspark signature is stronger." Ratchet confirmed to Sam's dismay, "There has been a 0.4 percent increase in its signal strength since my original scan on the Theodore Roosevelt."

There was a dizzying shift, a disorienting sensation of movement, and then Sam found himself in the brig of the Ark, staring as Ripcord's optics widened in fanatical devotion.

"I'm not the Allspark." Sam snapped, discomfort sharpening his words. Before Ripcord could reply, Optimus stepped in front of Sam and stared down at the analyst with narrowed optics.

"Fulfill your end of the bargain, Ripcord." Prime commanded, and Sam felt himself shiver at the steel in his tone. He stepped back, pressing close to Bumblebee who crouched down beside him. Ripcord regarded him with open curiosity, before glancing back to Optimus.

"Let me feel his spark signature." Ripcord said instead, apropos of nothing.

"Never." Ratchet growled.

"That was not a part of the bargain. Tell me what you know, or you will spend the remainder of your existence in stasis lock, as your systems slowly offline."

Sam was taken aback, both by Autobot leader's threat and by the promise in his tone. Ripcord seemed to consider his words, before he eventually lifted a pauldron in a weak shrug.

"Lord Megatron wants the boy."

"Why?"

"Why else would he want your human pet? For leverage, of course." Ripcord tilted his helm, purring smoothly, "Although, I imagine that he also suspects the boy is a Prime."

There was another dizzying shift, and memories flashed by too quickly for him to process. Sam staring at Ratchet in disbelief as the medic explained that he had stopped aging. Sam's indescribable joy as his spark bond flared to life, and Bumblebee's mental presence filled his mind. Optimus' quiet regret as he explained how Primes were chosen, and his vow to respect Sam's choice.

Sam felt Megatron's dark rumble, /Follow that memory back to Egypt./

And then Soundwave was taking him back, his memories flashing by in a dizzying kaleidoscope of image and emotion. Terror licked up his spine as he suddenly found himself in the strange dreamscape of the Primes.

"No!" He cried, fighting against Megatron's mental hold. He could feel Megatron's open interest as he watched the memory unfold, ignoring Sam's protests completely.

Sam stepped forward, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the blinding light in front of him.

"Where am I? Am I dead?"

As he watched, figures began to materialize out of the light—towering, and dignified, and indescribably ancient.

"We have been watching you, a long, long time. You have fought for Optimus, our last descendant, with courage and with sacrifice, the virtues of a leader—a leader worthy of our secret. The Matrix of Leadership is not found, it is earned. Return now, and bring the Matrix to Optimus. Merge it with his spark. It is, and always has been, your destiny."

Megatron's presence swelled in savage satisfaction as the memory faded away. Abruptly, Sam found himself back within the hangar, lying supine on the floor, choking on the blood that streamed from his nose. The red Decepticon knelt beside him, a grimace of distaste on his faceplates as he rolled Sam onto his side. Sam coughed wetly, splattering blood against the cold metal in front of him. The red Decepticon pulled a strange metallic-like cloth from subspace and held it against Sam's face. Sam raised a trembling hand, pressing the cloth against his nose as he breathed weakly through his mouth. He felt like he had been put through a meat grinder—every inch of his body hurt, and his mind burned like it had been scoured with acid.

"Tend to him." Megatron ordered the red mechanoid curtly, before turning and striding out of the hangar. Soundwave glanced down at Sam briefly before turning to follow his Master. As soon as the two Decepticons were gone from sight, Sam squeezed his eyes shut and gave in to the tears that had been threatening him since he had awoken in Megatron's cockpit.