Notes: Like Signature, this story will be a bit of a slow burn. Megatron is playing the long game with Sam. Chapter Warning - Canon typical violence
The red mechanoid glanced down at him with a grimace.
"Come on, get up."
He hooked his servos under Sam's armpits and pulled him into a sitting position. Sam's head fell forward as he struggled to breathe through the pain in his head and the blood in his sinuses. His tears made tracks through the grime and sweat on his cheeks, but he did not make a sound.
"That was bad, no point in denying it. Name's Knock Out, by the way." The red mechanoid introduced himself, pulling the cloth away from Sam's face. His optics narrowed considerately as he tipped Sam's head back, tilting his face this way and that, "You'll live, but you'll probably wish that you hadn't for a while."
"Don't touch me." Sam rasped, jerking his head away.
"Sorry, Lord Megatron's orders." Knock Out replied. Sam narrowed his eyes at the mechanoid's sardonic tone.
"Fuck Megatron and fuck you too." He hissed. Knock Out's optics widened noticeably before he glanced towards the doors at the opposite end of the hangar.
"Primus, kid. Do you have a death wish?"
Sam tried to shove the red mechanoid away from him, but he may as well have been shoving at a block of granite for all the good that it did him.
"What can I say? Excruciating pain makes me bold."
Knock Out huffed a disbelieving laugh, shaking his helm minutely. "You got pistons, kid."
Sam pinched the cloth against his nose, his head pitched forward as he waited for the bleeding to stop. Knock Out made a thoughtful noise and subspaced a bottle of water, which he handed to Sam without comment. Sam grabbed it, holding it between his knees as he twisted the cap off with one hand. He took a swig, swishing out his mouth, before spitting the water on the floor.
Knock Out made a moue of distaste.
"You are very… organic."
Something about the Decepticon's tone reminded Sam painfully of Roddy, and he squeezed his eyes shut. The red and yellow scout had been frequently taken aback by Sam's humanisms when he had first arrived on base. Add to that Knock Out's paint job and his effusive manner, and Sam found himself feeling abruptly homesick.
"Hot Rod, huh? I'll take that. He's a fine looking mechanoid."
Sam glanced up at Knock Out in surprise, before he realized that his mind was completely exposed. He grimaced, reaching for an egress filter before recoiling away in pain. The simple action had caused agony to lash across his mind like a bullwhip.
"Easy, kid. Your neural connections got a real once-over. Give yourself some time to heal."
"Don't call me kid," Sam ground out harshly, "and stay out of my head."
Knock Out shrugged, "Not a lot of privacy to be had on a warship, I'm afraid."
Sam glared at him balefully, before pulling the cloth away from his face. The bleeding had reduced to a trickle, he noticed, before pinching the cloth back over his nose. He continued to breathe shallowly in and out of his mouth, willing the blinding pain in his head to recede. Abruptly, Sam felt Knock Out's mental presence brush against him. Before he could protest, the Decepticon pushed forward and smoothed over his spark signature. The touch felt pleasant, like a cool hand on a feverish brow, and Sam glanced up at him in surprise.
Knock Out lifted a pauldron in a shrug, "I'm a medic."
The words were like a slap in the face, and Sam flinched back in both body and mind.
"Get out of my head." He repeated through gritted teeth. He felt the mental equivalent of a shrug.
"Suit yourself, but that's the best I can do I'm afraid."
"Next time, just give me an aspirin."
Knock Out's expression sharpened minutely, his optics roving over Sam's face.
"You don't get it, do you?" He asked after a long moment, his voice equal parts surprised and sympathetic, "There's no pain relief here. Megatron believes that pain is an effective teacher, and the longer that you suffer its presence, the more likely you are to learn your lesson."
Sam flinched, his eyes dropping to the floor. If Megatron thought that pain was an effective teacher, then he had just given Sam a fucking education. He heard Knock Out chuckle quietly, and Sam took a tentative drink of water. When his stomach didn't protest, he took a longer drink as he pulled the cloth away from his face. The bleeding had finally stopped. He made to hand the cloth back to Knock Out, but the medic held up his servos restrainingly.
"Uh, you keep it."
Sam scoffed lightly, shoving the scrap of cloth into his pocket.
"How did you get saddled with me if you can't stand the sight of blood?" He asked, taking another drink of water. The water was room temperature and stale, but it tasted like heaven.
Knock Out crossed his arms over his chest, tossing his head in annoyance.
"Well, Megatron certainly wasn't about to hand you over to Hook, and Scalpel would be just as likely to try and disassemble you as to treat you."
At the name of the little symbiont, Sam shuddered from head to toe. He took another drink of water to try to disguise his discomfort, but of course, Knock Out could feel his fear and trepidation through the neural network.
"Oh, that's right. I forgot that the two of you are acquainted."
Sam narrowed his eyes at the medic's sardonic tone, irritation flashing through him in an instant.
"I'm glad I can be a source of amusement for you."
Knock Out shrugged again, gesturing around them vaguely, "There's not a lot of entertainment to be found on a warship, either."
Sam took another long drink of water, finishing the bottle. To his surprise, Knock Out held out his servo expectantly, and after a moment, Sam handed the bottle back to him. The medic subspaced the plastic, pushing to his feet as he stared down at him.
"Try to avoid any mental exertion for a while." He said at last, and his voice was not unkind.
"How long?" Sam asked, keenly aware of the constantly shifting mental presences on the neural network. Knock Out shrugged, already walking towards the large doors on the opposite side of the room. When he passed the deep groove lined into the floor, the transparent blue barrier shimmered back to life.
"I'm not a Creator mechanoid, so I can't say exactly. Avoid it until it stops hurting, would be my medical advice."
Sam snorted, wincing immediately as the gesture pulled at the blood drying in his sinuses. Knock Out crossed the room, pausing only long enough for the doors to open, and then he was gone. As soon as the medic disappeared from sight, Sam pushed himself to his feet and walked back to the wall. By the time that he sank to the floor, his head was pounding worse than any headache that he had had in his life. Sam leaned against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest, suddenly thankful for the coolness of the room. He sat there for a long while, breathing shallowly as his head throbbed in time to his heartbeat. Over time, the pounding in his head softened to a painful ache.
The whole while that he suffered, Sam was aware of Megatron's presence across their bond. He stayed as far away from the brilliant signature as he could manage, making himself as unobtrusive as possible. He was surprised that Megatron had not confined him to the Creator bond or separated their minds with a mental block. Neither of these facts fit with what he understood about the Decepticon leader. He was aware of Megatron's distraction, his attention directed elsewhere. Sam wondered briefly if his intense focus had anything to do with the confirmation that Sam was a Prime.
Suddenly, Sam became aware of two spark signatures that were rapidly approaching him. One shone like the North Star, glittering and cold, while the other was softer, wispy white as high-altitude cirrus clouds. He frowned, raising his head to stare across the room expectantly. A short while later, the doors at the opposite end of the hangar slid open, and two mechanoids strode into the room. Sam's heart rate kicked into double-time at the sight of Starscream and Thundercracker walking towards his cell.
"You look good in a cage, boy." Starscream chuckled darkly. Sam felt himself flush as he realized that Starscream had come there to gloat. All of his fear and dread evaporated in an instant, subsumed by cold anger. After all that he had lost and suffered, Sam would be damned before he would meekly endure the Seeker's smug satisfaction.
"Get fucked, Starscream." He hissed.
The Seeker jerked back slightly, his optics narrowing in tightly leashed indignation.
"I am a Prince of Vos, you little ape. Know your place."
"Pardon me. Get fucked, your majesty."
Starscream made a strangled sound of rage, but before he could reply, Thundercracker laughed loudly. The blue and silver mechanoid shoved jovially at Starscream, who glared at him in response.
"Knock Out said you had a mouth on you." Thundercracker chuckled, crouching down on the other side of the energy barrier. Sam tore his eyes away from Starscream to look at the Seeker, his eyes narrowed in contempt.
"I have nothing to say to you." He managed, voice low and tight. Thundercracker tilted his head considerately, as though in surprise.
"Is this about the beach? It was nothing personal."
Sam flushed crimson in anger, leaning forward slightly from his seated position.
"You almost killed Hot Rod and I was in the hospital ward for days. That feels pretty personal to me."
Starscream scoffed, folding his arms across his chassis, "It wouldn't have been 'almost' if Ripcord was worth his weight in scrap metal."
Sam frowned at the mention of the analyst. All at once, he realized what it was that the former priest had been attempting to do when he had invaded Sam's mind—Ripcord had been trying to establish a Creator bond. Not for the first time, Sam felt a swell of relief that Ironhide had put him down.
Starscream scoffed again.
"I never thought that towering waste of tin could do anything worthwhile, but he has my thanks for off-lining that useless sycophant."
Sam glanced back at Starscream, anger burning through him as he realized that the Seeker was following his train of thought. Sam shoved at his mental presence, wincing in pain as he did so.
"It's not like you have any room to criticize someone for being a sycophant, Starscream."
The Seeker regarded him for a long moment, disdain written all over his faceplates. Rather then return the insult, however, he stared at Sam as though in consideration.
"I'm going to enjoy watching Megatron break you, human. I'll cherish the memory files for eons to come."
To his surprise, Thundercracker glanced sidelong at Starscream in disapproval. He warbled something to the other Seeker in clipped Cybertronian, before turning back to Sam. Starscream rolled his optics, but he did not reply.
"It's war, little Prime. Battles happen, causalities happen, but circumstances can change."
Sam's eyes snapped to the blue and silver Seeker, his breath freezing in his lungs.
"Don't call me that."
Sensing his vulnerability, Starscream's faceplates shifted into a cruel pantomime of concern.
"Does that title not sit well with you, little Prime? Would you prefer Allspark, perhaps? Human? Fleshbag? Filthy little organic? Stop me when I get warm."
Sam narrowed his eyes at the Seeker.
"Primus himself couldn't stop you once you get going, Starscream."
Thundercracker laughed again, his expression openly amused. Sam felt the Seeker reach forward, brushing against Sam's mental presence with soft fingers. Sam flinched in response, the gentleness of the touch so disconcerting that it felt like an attack. Thundercracker's expression stilled, a frown pulling at his faceplates.
"No one is going to hurt you." He said carefully, looking at Sam as one might regard a wild animal. Sam barked a harsh laugh, but there was no amusement in it. His head still pounded from Megatron's earlier assault.
"That was a punishment." Thundercracker said, his tone suggesting that the fact was self-evident. Sam did not reply—he could not reply over the emotion that choked him. Thundercracker stared at him for a moment longer, before straightening and pulling some items from subspace. The energy barrier between them shimmered and disappeared, but Sam did not react. The Seeker stepped forward, crouching down in front of him as he pushed a bottle of water and a small, flat package towards him.
"You do not need to believe me, Sam. In time, you'll see."
At the sound of his name, Sam flinched as though he had been struck. Somehow, it was far worse than the various titles and slurs that had been directed his way since he had awoken here. It was too familiar—too real.
Thundercracker regarded him, his expression closed off and serious, before straightening to his full height. As he walked over the groove etched into the floor, the energy barrier snapped back to life. He looked at Starscream, warbling something in Cybertronian. The Vosian prince scoffed lightly, but turned on his heel and followed his trinemate. Sam sat perfectly still, watching them leave. Only after the doors had slid shut behind them, did Sam glance down at the floor. Thundercracker had left a non-descript bottle of water and an individually package meal ration. Sam stared down at the MRE in surprise—it looked the same as the ones he had seen on base, right down to the bold lettering across the front that read "Meal, Ready-to-Eat, Individual".
Sam twisted the cap off the bottle of water, drinking slowly, before he tore the top off the MRE. Tonight's meal was meatloaf and mashed potatoes, he noted with a grimace. Although MREs were a nutritionally and calorically complete meal, they were generally intended to be heated prior to eating. Sam took a tentative bite, surprised that it was somewhat less repulsive than he was anticipating. He huffed a quiet laugh as he took another bite. Lennox and Epps had shared their opinions about MREs often and at great volume over the years. In all the time that he had spent around military types, only Killian Anderson had ever expressed any sort of fondness for the rations.
Sam's smile faded away as he realized that he didn't know whether they were dead or alive. The last time that he had seen Will, the Major had ordered Wheeljack to take him into the depths of the forest. The last time that he had seen Killian, the Lieutenant had been kneeling over Dave Carter's prone form as he stemmed the flow of blood from the agent's chest.
Abruptly, Sam dropped the MRE as though he had been burned. He glanced reflexively down at his hands and noticed the dried blood embedded under his fingernails and around his cuticles. With a sickening lurch, he realized that he did not know whether the blood was his or Dave's. The room seemed to pan away as he stared at his hands, his breath coming in fast, shallow gasps. He grabbed the bottle of water, heedless of his thirst, and poured it over his hands. He scrubbed his fingers against his shirt, his jeans, frantically trying to clean the blood away.
He didn't know how long he sat there, rubbing his hands against the fabric of his clothing and gasping desperately. Eventually, Sam noticed movement in his field of vision and he flinched violently as Ravage butted her head against his chest.
"Stop, you injure yourself."
"Don't touch me." He managed, his voice strangled and tense. Ravage butted against him again, gentler this time, as she rubbed her head over his chest. He glanced down at his hands only to realize that the skin of his fingers had been chafed raw.
"The agent was alive, last we heard." She rumbled, sitting on her haunches at his side with her head tucked against his neck. He flinched away, but she leaned into him.
"He could be dead." He accused, hating the weakness in his voice. He wanted to rally against her, to scream and to fight, but he was too exhausted. Physically and emotionally.
"He fired on Reedman first. The microcon was under orders to take you without engaging the enemy."
Sam laughed harshly, moving away from the symbiont. This time, she did not follow, merely staring at him with her ruby optic.
"Of course he did. He was protecting me."
Ravage rumbled quietly, lowering onto her underchassis.
"An unwise decision. You were Megatron's to claim."
Sam's head snapped towards her, his eyes narrowing in rage.
"Get this through your processor, Ravage. I'm not Megatron's—not now, not ever."
Ravage made a soft sound, not a scoff exactly, but certainly a sound of disapproval. Rather than press the issue, however, the large cyber cat rolled onto her side, curling her lower body around Sam's legs.
"You should eat. It's been too long since you've refueled."
Sam narrowed his eyes at her again, opening his mouth to tell her to fuck off, when his heart clenched painfully at a sudden realization. The last time that he had eaten had been with Ratchet in the mess hall, before everything had gone to shit. His breath stuttered out of him, as he turned his head to the side and struggled to get himself under control.
"What time is it?" He managed, after a long moment.
Ravage did not need to ask for clarification, "It is midnight on Diego Garcia."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut. It had been almost one full day since he had been in Megatron's control. Bumblebee would be frantic by now, he knew. Ratchet, on the other hand, would be in an awful temper, unable to express himself in any other way. Instinctively, he reached for his bond with Bumblebee. It was quiet and still, and now that the pain in his head had receded to an uncomfortable throbbing, he was fully aware of the ache of their bond. It was like pressing against a bruise, painful and fruitless.
All at once, Sam knew a terrible feeling of despair. The days without Bumblebee on Diego Garcia had been awful, a colorless void of anxiety and longing. Now he was onboard the Nemesis, surrounded by enemies and uncertain when he would see Bumblebee or the others again. Ravage rumbled lowly, leaning down to rest her head in his lap. It was a pleasant weight, warm and grounding. She ex-vented a shuddering huff, and warmth washed over his legs.
"You would do well to focus on the present. You need to eat."
Sam wanted to push her away, to strike out at her, but he was too tired. Too lost.
"I'm not hungry."
Ravage nipped his upper thigh, not hard enough to break skin but hard enough to send a message.
"Your bonded and your medic would want you to eat."
Sam flinched at her words. It was a low blow, but he knew that she was right. Bumblebee and Ratchet would want him to eat—to stay strong, to fight.
He twisted his torso, moving out from under the symbiont's heavy head as he reached for the MRE. Without looking at her, he worked through the pre-packed meal methodically, chewing and swallowing without tasting a thing. When he was finished, he tossed the package aside, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth as his head fell back against the wall.
Ravage rumbled lowly in her chassis, a sound strangely reminiscent of a purr as she moved to lean against him. Sam lifted a knee up to block her, narrowing his eyes in anger.
"Don't."
Ravage stared at him for a long moment, her head tilted considerately, before she pushed up into a standing position. The large symbiont turned, stalking towards the energy barrier in perfect silence. It was not long before the double doors at the end of the hangar hissed closed behind her, and Sam found himself alone in the dim light of his cell.
In the hours that followed, Sam struggled to control the grief and despair that threatened to choke him. His mind turned inwards towards his bond with Bumblebee, pressing against the empty connection again and again. It did nothing to comfort him. The room grew colder as the night dragged on, and it was not long before Sam was curled against the wall of his cell, wrung out and miserable.
It was a long time before he drifted into a restless sleep.
Sam's dreams were troubled, fleeting flashes of images and emotion.
There was fire and smoke, acrid in the air, as someone barked terse commands. A dizzying shift, and then there was the remnants of a building with soldiers swarming over the debris. The formed loose chains as they shifted the rubble aside, looking for survivors. Another blur of motion, and then trees were flashing by him on either side, the throaty roar of an engine shattering the false calm of pre-dawn.
Through it all, his grief burned brightly—
Sam jerked awake, blinking his eyes open in disorientation before making a strangled noise of surprise. Megatron was crouched in front of him, his arms resting loosely on his leg struts as the warlord stared down at him. As the remnants of Sam's dream faded, Megatron's presence filled his mind. There was nothing cruel or painful about the action, but the invasion was unwelcome. The silver mechanoid tilted his helm, his optics bright as he regarded the boy in front of him.
Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, shrinking back against the wall. He had only ever been this close to Megatron a handful of times, and it had never ended well for him. The Decepticon leader rumbled lowly, something like consideration flickering across his faceplates, before he reached out a single sharp talon to hook under Sam's chin. Sam made a strangled sound of fear as the Decepticon tilted his head up, the clawed digit pressing uncomfortably into the tender flesh of his underjaw.
"Your grief for your bonded is profound indeed, little one."
Sam flinched minutely at the epithet, trying his best to stay perfectly still. When he did not reply, the tip of the clawed digit pressed deeper into his skin.
"Y—yeah." He stuttered, hating the naked distress in his voice. Megatron rumbled thoughtfully, his mental presence reaching towards Sam's bond with Bumblebee. In an instant, Sam surged forward to resist him, in both body and mind.
"No."
"No?"
Sam narrowed his eyes at Megatron. He must have hit his threshold for panic and despair, because he was suddenly feeling very unafraid.
"No. Not ever."
Megatron's mental presence shifted, and suddenly the warlord's will pressed itself against Sam's mind. Sam flinched as oily thoughts slipped into his consciousness, worming their way deep into his brain. He grit his teeth, his eyes watering under the assault.
Oblige me, little one.
Sam wavered, every instinct in his body urging him to relent, to submit, to obey his Master—
He gasped, and with monumental effort, Sam pushed Megatron's mental presence away.
"Never." He hissed, glaring at the Decepticon, "You are not my Master."
Megatron's optics narrowed slightly, his presence restless and agitated, as though it wanted to lash out. After a breathless moment, the digit under his chin moved to stroke down the side of his face. Sam flinched at the caress, expecting it to turn violent any moment, but it did not.
"You're a curious creature, Sam Witwicky." Megatron rumbled, and Sam's stomach twisted at the realization that his tone was almost fond, "Very few have defied me and lived to tell the tale."
"I thought you hadn't decided whether to kill me." He whispered boldly, his eyes locked unmovingly on Megatron's optics. The warlord chuckled, but rather than deigning to reply, his mental presence pressed against his bond with Bumblebee once again. It was like massaging a wound, and Sam winced in response, but found himself unable to move against the warlord.
"The pain of separation is most unpleasant." Megatron rumbled, his voice oddly reflective.
Sam bristled, as though he had been personally insulted.
"If the sensation doesn't sit well with you, you're welcome to drop of me off at Diego Garcia at your earliest convenience."
The tip of Megatron's taloned digit caressed down the side of Sam's face once again, not leaving so much as a red mark in its wake.
"I think not." He rumbled, staring down at Sam as though trying to solve a particularly vexing puzzle, "I will bring your bonded here instead."
Sam's heart stuttered in his chest, horror seizing him all at once.
"No. Megatron—no."
He knew with certainty that Megatron would use Bumblebee against him. That he would abuse the scout in an effort to control Sam, and Sam knew that it would work. He would do anything to keep Bumblebee from the warlord's cruelty. Megatron's clawed digit moved to stroke down Sam's back, and he realized that the gesture wasn't gentle—it was possessive. Dominating.
All at once, Sam hoped that he never saw Bumblebee again. Not so long as he remained at Megatron's mercy.
"You've done enough to him." Sam said, managing to keep the tremor out of his voice. To his surprise, the warlord laughed, a quiet sound deep in his chassis.
"He told you about Tyger Pax."
It was not a question, but a statement. Sam took great satisfaction in replying, "No, Optimus did."
The clawed digit that was stroking up and down his back stilled, the tip digging painfully into Sam's ribs.
"What else has Optimus Prime told you?"
The question was deceptively mild, and Sam could feel Megatron's mental presence focusing on him intently. Keenly aware of the precariousness of his situation, Sam chose his words with care.
"A lot." He murmured, around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, "We talked often about Cybertron—about the Golden Age and the Great War."
For a moment, Megatron seemed taken aback, as though he could not fathom why Optimus would share anything of their history with a human child. The surprise faded quickly, however, replaced by something like disdain.
"Of course he would. You're a Prime—it is his duty to indoctrinate you."
Sam jerked back, his eyes narrowing in anger.
"He wasn't indoctrinating me."
The claw pressing into his back turned sharp, and Sam made a soft noise in pain.
"Oh? What did he tell you about my 'rebellion'?"
Sam hesitated. They had not spent a great deal of time talking about Megatron before the Great War, due largely in part to Sam's reluctance to discuss the warlord. He knew that Megatron had been a gladiator who had risen through the ranks before launching his insurrection, but that was most of his knowledge.
Sam felt a swell of rage from the Decepticon leader, and he made a soft sound of fear in response. Rather than the expected pain, however, Megatron's presence slowly turned thoughtful. Considering.
"That you are ignorant of the truth is Optimus' fault, not your own. I will take steps to rectify that immediately."
Sam narrowed his eyes at the Decepticon leader, offended he would imply that Optimus had been anything other than truthful with his recollection of events. His anger made him bold, and he pinned the Decepticon with an openly hostile glare.
"Was he wrong when he said that you ripped out Bumblebee's voice modulator? That you tortured him?"
Megatron tilted his head, regarding Sam for a long moment before replying.
"No, he was not wrong. I used the scout to teach Optimus a lesson."
Sam felt his anger burn brighter at the Decepticon's plain tone. He tried to shift away from the talon that had resumed stroking down his back, but Megatron moved his servo to maintain contact between them.
"Is that what you're doing with me?" He hissed, hatred in every syllable, "Teaching Optimus a lesson?"
Megatron chuckled lowly, as though amused by Sam's naivety.
"No, little one. You are not a lesson. You're mine, now and always."