Chapter warning: Mental torture, mental manipulation, unwanted touching, forced stripping.
Sam flinched at the possessiveness in Megatron's tone, pulling away to press against the wall. Megatron regarded him for a long moment, amusement evident in the quirk of his mouthplates, before he rose to his full height.
"Come."
The warlord turned and strode towards the opposite end of the hangar, pausing as he deactivated the energy barrier to glance over his shoulder expectantly. Sam hesitated, uncertainty and fear curdling in the pit of his stomach, until he became aware of Megatron's impatience across their bond. Seeing no alternative, Sam pushed himself to his feet and made his way after the Decepticon leader. Megatron waited until he approached, and then he continued towards the large doors on the far side of the hangar.
The doors hissed open as they approached, and Sam squinted as bright light flooded the dim room. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw that the hallway was made of the same silver metal as the hangar, etched with whorls and eddies, and latticed with thick cables. The air in the corridor was noticeably colder and thinner than that of the hangar, and the hum of distant machinery was more pronounced.
"This way." Megatron rumbled, turning left as he walked down the long passage. Sam followed after him, trepidation mounting with every step. Megatron walked slowly, allowing Sam to stay close to him with only minimal effort. Sam was thankful for the consideration, as the thinner atmosphere in the corridor was already making him lightheaded.
They turned a corner, and an unknown mechanoid glanced up at them in surprise. The purple and gray Decepticon was standing in front of a control panel set into the wall, his servos resting on a complicated-looking touchpad. Curiously, Sam turned his attention inwards. The stranger's spark signature was unlike anything that he had encountered before—it was yellow-gray, like ambergris, and constantly shifting.
As Megatron drew nearer, the purple and gray mechanoid dipped his helm in greeting.
"Master."
Megaton rumbled in response, "Blitzwing."
Blitzwing glanced down at Sam, his expression openly intrigued. Megatron did not deign to assuage the mechanoid's curiosity, however, and walked passed him without another word. As Sam made to follow the warlord, he felt Blitzwing's mental presence brush against him. It was an inquisitive gesture, almost like a greeting, but Sam pulled away from it.
"Don't." He snapped, aware that Megatron had paused to glance back at him. Sam reached once again for the egress filter, and once again, he recoiled away as pain seared across his mind.
Blitzwing stared down at him, his head tilted to one side.
"Not real friendly, are you?"
The question took Sam so completely by surprise that he glanced at Megatron uncertainly. The warlord was regarding him with an inscrutable expression, but Sam could feel a strange sort of curious anticipation across their bond. Baffled, Sam looked back at Blitzwing and answered him truthfully.
"Under the circumstances, not particularly."
Blitzwing's mouthplates shifted abruptly, stretching into a manic grin that was almost feral in its intensity. Sam took an instinctive step backwards.
"How un-Prime-like of you."
The mechanoid's mental presence surged forward, crowding into Sam's mind with focused intent. Immediately, Megatron slammed the larger mechanoid against the work terminal, sending sparks and bits of metal flying into the air. Blitzwing shouted in surprise, but he did not fight against the arm that was crushing him into the wall.
"Manners, Blitzwing." Megatron chided mildly, his tone at odds with his rigid posture.
After a long moment, Blitzwing pulled out of Sam's mind. The Decepticon's mental presence was unfocused and strange, a miasma of emotion and impression that Sam found impossible to interpret. Sam made to pull the egress filter over his mind again, regardless of the pain that it would cause, when Megatron slapped it away. Sam bristled in response, but a warning pulse from the warlord stilled any protest that he might have made.
"Of course, Master. We apologize." Blitzwing replied, voice strangled. After a long moment, Megatron released him and stepped back. The soldier slumped against the wall, his optics lowered deferentially, and he made no sound of protest or complaint. Without another word, the Decepticon leader turned on his heel and continued walking. Sam glanced once at Blitzwing, who was nursing a sparking servo and muttering to himself, before turning to follow him.
Sam stared at Megatron's back as he walked, trying to marshal his whirling thoughts. The warlord had allowed the strange interaction with Blitzwing to occur, although he could have easily prevented it. So why had he allowed Blitzwing to invade Sam's mind only to immediately punish him? Why prevent Sam from firewalling himself? And what the hell was wrong with Blitzwing, anyway?
"Blitzwing is a triple-changer. They are useful in battle, but unbalanced." Megatron said, answering Sam's unspoken question.
Sam frowned, taken aback by the warlord's uncharacteristically tolerant tone. He walked another half a dozen steps before his curiosity beat out his trepidation.
"What's a triple-changer?" Sam asked hesitantly.
Megatron glanced down at him, something like surprise flickering across his faceplates before it was replaced with irritation.
"Has Optimus taught you so little about our kind?"
Sam resisted the urge to flinch at the caustic tone, but Megatron continued speaking before he could reply.
"A triple-changer is a frame type that has two alt-modes. Blitzwing can transform into both a tank and a jet."
Despite himself, Sam felt a twinge of impressed surprise. He could imagine the benefits of having a solider that could transform into a ground mode or a flight mode, as the situation required it. It was not long before they came upon a large double door, which opened after Megatron pressed a complicated code into the touchpad set into the wall. At once, brilliant sunlight flooded the corridor and Sam winced his eyes shut in response. Megatron strode through the doors, and after a long moment, Sam followed him.
The room within was of middling size, filled with an assortment of control panels and large monitors that were scrolling with Cybertronian text. Sam recognized Skywarp and Soundwave standing at workstations arranged about the room, which he knew instinctively was the bridge. He paid them no mind, however, for his attention was focused wholly on the large paneled view screens that lined the entire back wall. He stepped forward reflexively, one foot after the other, until he stood just meters away from the transparent paneling. Far below them, extending all the way to the horizon, was a magnificent mountain range. Craggy gray rocks rose into the troposphere, blanketed with pristine white snow. The sky was blindingly blue, and from their altitude, Sam could just make out the curvature of the Earth.
He was not sure how long he stood there, staring, but eventually he became aware of Megatron's presence behind him. Sam swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak about the lump in his throat.
"Where are we?"
"Chile." Megatron replied.
Hope swelled in his chest, warm and bright. As long as they were on Earth, he still had a chance.
Megatron chuckled quietly, stepping forward to run the tip of his claw-like digit across Sam's shoulders. Sam shuddered in response, curling away from the unwelcome caress.
"You would do well to disabuse yourself of that notion, little one. There is no hope of rescue."
Sam set his jaw, staring steadfastly out the view screen in silence. Megatron could say whatever he wanted. Sam knew that so long as he was alive, the Autobots would never stop looking for him.
"Perhaps, but the Trion and the Ark were destroyed in the attack. The Autobots are not coming for you."
Sam blinked hard as the full weight of Megatron's words became apparent. Without the Trion or the Ark, and without any airframes in their army, there was no way for Autobots to get to him. It took a long while before Sam was able to reply around the emotion that choked him.
"I don't believe you."
Megatron chuckled again, mental fingers brushing over Sam's mind.
/We both know that's not true./
The words were a silken purr, confident and amused, and Sam bristled in response. He shoved at Megatron's mental presence at the same time that he stepped away from the Decepticon's servo.
"Don't touch me." He spat.
Megatron tilted his helm, staring at him considerately.
"Don't?" He rumbled, stepping forward, "You don't give the orders on this ship, little one."
Sam struggled not to flinch, "I'm not afraid of you."
Megatron chuckled, "We both know that's not true, either."
The Decepticon leader's smug condescension inflamed something within Sam, who turned to glare at him in response.
"You're right, I am afraid," Sam snapped, "but my fear is all that you'll ever get from me. Not my cooperation and not my obedience."
Sam was distantly aware that Skywarp had stopped working, turning in his chair to look at them in shocked surprise. Megatron's smile slowly vanished as Sam spoke, his frame tensing in tightly leashed anger.
"We shall see how you feel in a thousand years." He growled softly, "Time and perspective have a way of softening loyalties."
Sam stared up at him without flinching, "One year or a thousand, it doesn't matter. I will always be loyal to Optimus Prime."
White hot rage flooded through their bond in an instant, followed immediately by blinding agony as Megatron sank his mental fingers deep into the recesses of Sam's mind. The warlord twisted, and Sam's eyes rolled back into his head as he hit the floor. Distantly, Sam was aware of his own frantic screaming, his hands clutching his temples as he writhed on the ground. Nothing that he did helped to alleviate the pain in his mind, which crashed over him in nauseating waves.
The whole time that he screamed, Sam was aware of Megatron's silent scrutiny across their bond. Eventually, something broke within Sam and his screaming turned into agonized pleading, words tumbling mindlessly from his mouth.
"I'm sorry! Megatron, please, I'm sorry!"
The pain in his mind receded as Megatron withdrew his mental presence. Sam sobbed, curling into a ball as he struggled to pull air into his spasming lungs. He retched hard, and Megatron's mental presence soothed across Sam's mind.
/If you vomit, you will be cleaning it up./
Sam sucked in a breath through his mouth, and then another, as he tried to get his roiling stomach under control. After a long moment, he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against the cold, metal floor. Megatron's mental touch lingered, stroking lightly over Sam's mind as he shook from head to toe. Unable to move or to speak, Sam submitted to the unwanted caress without protest.
From across their bond, Sam felt a flicker of satisfaction.
It was a long time before Sam's nausea faded and his heartrate returned to something resembling normal. All that remained was a blinding headache and the taste of blood in his mouth from where he had bitten his tongue during his frantic flailing. When he managed to open his eyes, Sam was greeted with the sight of Megatron crouching down in front of him, his optics focused on his face.
"The next time that you speak such insolence, I will tear your tongue from your mouth. Do you understand?"
Megatron's voice was mild, but Sam did not doubt his sincerity. He nodded slowly, blinking tears out of his eyes.
"That's good, little one. Now, I have work to do. Can you stay silent and unobtrusive until I am finished?"
Sam nodded again, squeezing his eyes shut against the despair that flooded through him. Megatron rumbled in response before walking towards the opposite end of the room. Sam heard the sound of voices, but they spoke in clipped Cybertronian and he did not understand a word that they said. When his nausea retreated to a periphery annoyance, he pushed himself into a sitting position and leaned against the wall. He was shivering violently in cold and in pain, and he wrapped his arms around his torso as he pulled his knees to his chest.
He closed his eyes, retreating into the stillness of his bond with Bumblebee. When the splitting pain in his skull dulled to a harsh throbbing, Sam began to watch the Decepticons as they worked. Skywarp had left shortly after Sam's punishment, only to be replaced by Starscream. The Seeker had glanced at him with an inscrutable expression on his faceplates, before taking his position at a terminal a short distance away. The Decepticons were largely quiet, speaking only to issue commands or to answer questions. Soundwave, who worked at a large monitor that displayed a confusing array of Cybertronian glyphs, did not speak at all. His cables were plugged into his control panel as his servos flew over the keyboard in front of him.
By the time that Megatron stepped away from the terminal that had occupied his attention for what seemed like hours, Sam's bladder was uncomfortable and his stomach ached with hunger. The Decepticon leader stopped in front of him, his mental presence reaching forward to stroke against Sam's mind. The caress was warm and approving, and Sam understood that he had pleased Megatron with his obedience.
Sam swallowed hard against the bile that rose in his throat.
"Can you walk?" Megatron asked.
Sam nodded faintly, before pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. The warlord considered him for a long moment, and then he gestured with a large servo towards the doors on the opposite end of the room. Without looking at any of the Decepticons that he passed, Sam made his way across the bridge. His shirt was damp with sweat, clinging uncomfortably to his torso, and he was shivering in earnest now. Megatron keyed open the door and nodded for Sam to step into the hall. Sam did as he was bid, and together they made their way through the depths of the ship.
It was not long before Sam realized that they were not walking back towards the hangar. Fear bloomed in the pit of his stomach, and Sam glanced uncertainly at Megatron. There was nothing openly hostile about Megatron's countenance or his mental presence, but the fact did little to calm him. Eventually, Megatron stopped in front of a nondescript door in a quiet corridor. He keyed a passcode into the terminal set into the wall, and then gestured for Sam to enter after the door hissed open.
The room beyond was sparsely furnished and painfully utilitarian—there was no color or decoration anywhere to be seen. A minimalist desk dominated the center of the space, cluttered with an assortment of datapads and unfamiliar-looking technology. There was a large berth located on the back wall across from an interior door, which led into a second room. Megatron stepped into the room and Sam hesitantly followed. Once they passed the threshold, the door slid shut behind them and locked with an electronic-sounding clunk.
Sam was opening his mouth to ask where they were, when it abruptly occurred to him that these were Megatron's personal quarters. Uncertainty and confusion joined the fear that was twisting in the pit of Sam's stomach. Megatron paid him no mind, striding across the room towards the interior door.
"Come along, little one." Megatron said, and there was nothing malicious or impatient about his tone. Well aware of the consequences wrought by disobedience, Sam walked hesitantly towards him. Megatron stepped into the other room, and a moment later, bright light flooded through the doorway. Sam moved around the doorframe, glancing inside. The space was small, less than half of the size of the main room, and largely empty. There was a strange contraption affixed to the wall on their right, arranged over a heavy grate set in the floor, and a flat cabinet-like structure was situated against the back wall.
Sam frowned, his confusion and uncertainty deepening further still. The room certainly didn't look like a prison cell or a torture chamber, but he was at a loss for what else it could be. Sam couldn't imagine many other reasons for Megatron to bring him here. The Decepticon crossed the small space, fiddling with the contraption on the wall, and suddenly liquid streamed from a large nozzle set into the ceiling. Sam abruptly realized that they were standing in a shower.
"Take off your clothes."
Sam stiffened at Megatron's words, panic seizing him in an instant.
"Wh—what?"
The Decepticon turned to regard him, "Your garments, remove them."
Sam stood frozen to the spot, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to refuse, to tell Megatron to go fuck himself, but he didn't dare. The warlord had torn into his mind twice already, and Sam was sure that he couldn't bear another punishment with the remnants of the last one still pounding through his skull. Despite this, the idea of stripping naked in front of Megatron was abhorrent to the extreme, and Sam was caught between two conflicting impulses: defiance and submission.
Megatron regarded him silently, uncharacteristically patient in the face of Sam's internal struggle.
"Please don't make me." Sam whispered after a long moment, hating the piteous tone of his voice.
Megatron's mental presence brushed against him, a soothing caress that gentled the burning pain in his mind. Despite the comfort that the touch offered, Sam flinched away. Megatron ex-vented softly, tilting his helm to regard the frightened boy in front of him.
"You're filthy. Oblige me and you may return to your cell for the rest of the day."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding in his throat. Megatron nudged him through their bond, his mental presence gaining the slightest edge of impatience.
All at once, Sam disconnected from reality.
He watched, as though in a dream, as he reached down and pulled the hem of his shirt up and over his head. His pants were next, trembling fingers fumbling with the button and fly, before he pulled the cloth over his hips and down his legs. He toed off his shoes, and then stepped out of the pile of material.
Sam shivered violently, gooseflesh breaking out over his arms and legs, as he stood naked in the shower. The warlord pressed a servo against his back, cold metal against warm flesh, and pushed him gently towards the steaming liquid that poured from the ceiling. Sam gasped loudly as he stepped into the flow—the liquid was pleasantly warm, an enjoyable sensation after the cool air of the room.
"Don't get any in your eyes or your mouth." Megatron warned, "The solvent won't corrode your flesh, but it is not potable."
Sam did not reply, standing silently under the warm spray as Megatron subspaced a square of fabric and handed it to him. Sam understood without being told what the warlord wanted, and he began to scrub the cloth over his body as Megatron watched with undisguised interest. Sam tried his best to empty his mind—he wasn't here, this wasn't happening to him—as he worked the cloth over his torso. Sweat and blood and grime sluiced off of him, swirling the tiled floor before disappearing down the thick grated drain. He closed his eyes to block out the disturbing sight, ducking his head under the warm stream and scrubbing his scalp with his fingernails. When he was finished, he stood silently under the spray with the square of fabric clenched tightly in his fist.
Megatron leaned forward, adjusting a value on the wall, and the spray of solvent abruptly cut off. The chill in the room was far more uncomfortable after the warmth of the shower, and Sam shook from head to toe as he stood dripping in the cool air. The Decepticon leader turned to regard him, but Sam did not meet his optics—he stared instead at the wall as he waited for Megatron to decide what to do with him. After a long moment, the warlord subspaced a large metallic-looking cloth, roughly the side of a bedsheet, and wrapped it around Sam's shivering body. The shimmery material was strange and rough, more like burlap than cotton, but it absorbed the strong-smelling solvent all the same.
Sam stood perfectly still as Megatron drew the cloth over his chest and shoulders. The warlord's mental presence was satisfied and content, and he brushed against Sam's mind as he toweled him off. It was a familiar gesture, filled with warm approval, and it took Sam a moment to realize why it was familiar. It was the same sort of affectionate petting that Sam often gave to Mojo and Frankie.
All at once, a memory slammed into the forefront of his mind.
Sam, running for his life across the roof in Mission City, the sound of gunfire and screaming in the distance. The Allspark tucked tightly against his side, warmth radiating from the alien metal as he approached the military helicopter. A loud explosion, a sinister laugh.
"It is fear or courage that compels you, boy?"
Desperate fingers scrabbling against unfeeling stone, struggling to get purchase on the weathered statue. The roof trembling with the force of alien footfalls, and then—
"Give me the Allspark, and you may live to be my pet."
Unable to prevent it, Sam stumbled forward and emptied the contents of his stomach all over the shower floor. He retched loudly, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as the taste of sour bile and over-seasoned meatloaf filled his mouth. Megatron watched him silently, never ceasing the gentle caresses in Sam's mind.
When Sam finally finished heaving, pale and sweating from the strain, he wiped his hand over his mouth and muttered, quietly, "I'm sorry."
Megatron crouched beside him, reaching out to stroke a single digit down the length of Sam's spine.
"You are not a pet, little one." He murmured, his voice serious and reassuring, "That I am your Master and that you are mine in no way devalues you."
Sam did not reply and Megatron did not press him. The Decepticon leader stayed there, stroking Sam's back until he stopped shaking, and then he subspaced fresh clothes for him. Sam dressed as quickly as he was able, relieved for the soft, thick fabric even though it was two sizes too large. When he was finished dressing, Megatron led him from the room without making him clean up his mess, despite his earlier threat.
Absurdly, Sam was grateful.
They walked together through the ship, neither of them speaking a word, until Sam was back within the confines of his cell. Megatron produced a bottle of water and an MRE from his subspace, handing them to Sam, who accepted the items without comment. After a long moment, Megatron subspaced another item—a large piece of fabric that was not unlike the one he had used to towel Sam off after the shower. The Decepticon leader draped the fabric around Sam's shoulders, his fingers lingering for a moment before he turned away.
"Rest and refuel. I will see you in the morning."
Sam stood there, one hand gripping the edges of the blanket, as Megatron strode purposefully from the hangar. Once the door slid closed behind him, Sam sank slowly to the floor of the cell. As he methodically opened the pre-packed meal, he did his best to think of nothing.