Content warning - Forced nudity, non-consensual touching, edging very slightly into non-con territory (if you squint).
Sam stood by the energy barrier, his head pitched forward and his eyes closed. The sound of his own harsh breathing was loud in the stillness of the hangar, but he barely noticed. His attention was focused inwards towards the Creator bond, which was alight with sensation for the first time in his long isolation. Megatron's presence filled his mind, still and purposeful—a soothing counterbalance to the turmoil of relief and shame and despair that burned through him. It felt good and centering. Calming.
He swallowed hard, hating himself. It was Megatron's fault that he had suffered alone. He should be resisting him, he should be angry—
Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, it was washed away by a pacifying pulse from across their bond. Sam's breath stuttered out of him, and he instinctively leaned into the feather-soft sensation.
"Sam."
Sam flinched violently, his eyes snapping open in surprise. Megatron stood directly in front of him, his red optics preternaturally bright in the dimness of the hangar. Somehow, the Decepticon had approached and deactivated the energy barrier of his cell without Sam noticing. Sam stared up at him, torn by conflicting but equally intense emotions—hatred and appreciation, resentment and relief. Once again, Megatron's presence brushed across his mind.
Unable to prevent it, Sam made a soft sound in response.
Megatron's optics sharpened knowingly. He crouched down, extending a servo towards him, "Come along, little one."
Sam hesitated for only a moment before he stepped forward, allowing Megatron to pick him up. The Decepticon brought Sam close to his chest as he straightened and strode from the hangar. Sam's eyes fluttered shut as he was pressed against Megatron's chest armor. The metal was warm against him, radiating a pleasant heat that soaked into his body.
It was the first time in weeks that Sam didn't ache with cold.
Megatron walked purposefully into the corridor and through the Nemesis. Sam was only peripherally aware of their route, distracted as he was by the warmth around him and the pleasant sensation of their bond-space. Eventually, Megatron stopped outside of the familiar nondescript door of his personal quarters, pausing only long enough to press the passcode into the keypad set into the wall. The doors hissed openly and Megatron walked into the spartan apartment, making his way across the space into the small, interior room. Sam raised his head, uncertainty and apprehension blooming in the pit of his stomach. Megatron crouched, placing Sam down beside the large metal grate set into the floor, before rising to turn on the flow of solvent. The liquid streamed from the ceiling, steaming in the chilly room. Sam glanced up at Megatron to find the Decepticon leader looking down at him expectantly. The uncertainty and apprehension in his stomach sharpened into fear in an instant. Before he could open his mouth to plead, he felt Megatron's mental presence wrap around him. It was a heavy sensation, but it was not at all unpleasant.
"You will feel better after you have bathed."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut against the sincerity that he felt across their bond. It was true that it had been weeks since he had showered, but that did little to abate his humiliation and fear. After a long moment, he opened his eyes and stared at the steady stream of solvent in front of him. Megatron stood a short distance away, regarding him without so much as a flicker of impatience or irritation.
Eventually, Sam's shoulders curled forward in resignation. He reached down, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. As soon as the material was off, he broke out into gooseflesh in the cool air of the room. Shivering, he unfastened his fly and slid his pants down over hips that jutted more prominently than they did when he had first arrived. A blush stole up his neck and across his face as he removed the last of his clothing. Without waiting to be told, Sam stepped forward into the stream of solvent. He ducked his head into the fluid, scrubbing at his scalp with raw fingertips, determined to finish as quickly as possible. Suddenly, a large servo came to rest against his back. Sam startled violently, jerking away, but Megatron pressed forward. After a panicked moment, Sam realized that the Decepticon held a square of metalmesh material in his servo, which he drew over Sam's back and shoulders. Sam went very still, his heart hammering in his throat.
"I can do that." Sam managed, his voice low and strangled.
Megatron did not reply, drawing the cloth up his back again, before nudging meaningfully against his side.
"Don't." Sam whispered, but it was a request more than a demand. He felt Megatron's mental presence sharpen in displeasure, and Sam flinched in response. "Please don't." He tried instead.
Rather than responding, Megatron nudged him again, more purposefully this time. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, burning with humiliation, and turned around obediently. Megatron drew the cloth over Sam's shoulders and down his chest, causing the muscles of Sam's stomach to tighten uncomfortably. Megatron was thorough in his ministrations, washing his arms and torso before moving the cloth between Sam's legs. Sam went very still, closing his eyes as though that would prevent what was happening to him. Mercifully, Megatron did not linger. When he finished, Sam felt the warlord shift away, and then a single clawed digit ran down the length of Sam's spine as a warm pulse of approval flooded his mind. A moment later, the solvent cut off and then Sam found himself wrapped in a large square of metalmesh. Megatron dried him off with the same care that he had bathed him, and then he subspaced a pile of clothing.
Sam took the pile without a word, moving to get dressed, before Megatron hooked the tip of a digit under Sam's chin and raised his head.
"You did well."
He flinched at the compliment and all that it signified, but he did not protest or pull away. After a long moment, he felt Megatron's mental presence shift forward. It was a familiar gesture, the same that he felt before Megatron punished him, and Sam stiffened in panic. Before he could react, however, pleasant heat blossomed through his mind and he gasped in surprise. The sensation was the antithesis of the agony that he usually felt, all lightness and warmth, and Sam found himself leaning against Megatron's mental presence in response. Megatron rumbled in approval, stroking gently across Sam's mind. The enjoyable sensation lingered for a long moment, before Megatron's mental presence shifted away.
"Get dressed."
Sam swayed, unbalanced by his abrupt absence, before moving to comply. He was surprised to see that the clothing, a flannel-fleece blend, was appreciably warmer than the previous clothing that Megatron had afforded him. He pulled the pants on first, fastening them quickly. Although they were his size, they fit loosely around his hips. The long-sleeved shirt was next and then he crouched to pull on his socks and shoes.
When he straightened, he turned to look at Megatron. The warlord stared down at him, as though deep in thought, before reaching forward to pick him up. Although Sam stiffened in surprise, he did not protest or struggle. Megatron strode out of the wash racks and into the main room, heading towards the berth against the far wall. With surprising care, the warlord deposited Sam onto the large metal surface before stepping away.
"Rest now. We will speak later."
Sam watched as Megatron turned and walked towards the desk in the center of the room. The warlord sat, his back mostly towards the berth, before picking up one of the datapads in front of him. Megatron turned it on with a press of a tensor, flicking through the digital file. When it became clear that Megatron was focused on his work, Sam moved to sit with his back against the wall. He watched the Decepticon for a long while, his thoughts skipping over everything that had happened since he had woken up. He was familiar with the shame and anger that burned through him—those emotions had been his constant companions since he had been captured—but the relief and appreciation were new. Sam understood that it was just his brain chemistry fucking with him, but that in no way assuaged the bitter confusion he felt.
Eventually, Megatron ex-vented a soft snort.
"I am trying to work, and you are very loud."
Sam was blindsided by the grief that rocked through him, reminded all at once of Ratchet's fond exasperation as he spoke the same words. His breath shuddered out of him as he squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to get ahold of himself, but it was too soon and he was too raw. Sam didn't realize that he was crying until he felt the wetness on his cheeks, and he scrubbed a hand over his face in mortification. He wouldn't let Megatron see him like this, he couldn't let the warlord know where it hurt to push—
All at once, Megatron's presence was in his mind. Sam recoiled away, to no avail, and Megatron brushed against him. The Decepticon's presence was gruffly sympathetic and his touch was comforting for the first time in Sam's captivity.
"Do all humans feel so intensely?"
Sam refused to answer, staring steadfastly at the berth in front of him. He felt rather than heard Megatron's thoughtful rumble, and then the warlord pressed into his mind once again. Sam flinched away instinctively but sudden exhaustion flooded through him with all the force of a storm surge. He tried to pull away, to push at Megatron's mental presence, but it was barely the space of moments before he was swallowed by the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness.
Sam woke briefly, an interminable time later, to find that the room was dark and quiet. Fear surged through him in an instant, and he called out without thinking.
"Megatron?"
The berth shifted and then Megatron's red optics flared to life a short distance away. The weak light was enough for Sam to see that the warlord had taken his place barely a meter away from him. Sam's heartbeat calmed, slowly but surely, as he realized that he was not alone in the dark. Megatron lifted a servo, stroking a digit down Sam's back. The gentle touch caused the tension that had gathered in his shoulders to relax.
"I'm here, little one."
Sam nodded faintly, settling down and pillowing his hands under his face. Megatron regarded him for a long moment before he lay back against the berth, his optics closing in recharge.
This time, Sam did not cry out in the darkness.
Sam's days fell into a familiar routine. In the mornings, he ate and bathed as Megatron worked at his desk. Sometimes they spoke, but often they did not, orbiting one another in a sort of companionable silence. Megatron would leave shortly thereafter, attending to his duties on the bridge. The first few times that Sam had been left alone had been torture—a painful reminder of the isolation that he had endured. Now, however, Megatron's presence remained comfortingly close, settling the worst of Sam's anxiety.
Regardless of the closeness of his mental presence or duration of his absence, it was always a relief when Megatron returned.
In the evenings, Sam would fall asleep on the large berth before Megatron finished working. Sometimes he woke up to find the warlord in recharge beside him, other times Megatron was still sitting at his desk. One evening, after many days of this routine, Sam complained about his boredom. Megatron turned to look at him considerately before handing him a small datapad. At Sam's incredulous stare, Megatron's mouthplates quirked in a half-smile.
"What did I tell you about informing me of your needs?"
Sam spluttered indignantly, "I've been going out of my mind so that you could prove a point?"
Megatron lifted a pauldron in a half-shrug, "I am proving nothing. I set expectations that you chose not to follow, and your boredom was the result. It was a fitting punishment."
Sam scoffed softly before glancing down at the datapad in his hands. After a long moment, he asked, "What is it?"
Megatron turned around, resuming his work.
"Classified intelligence." He rumbled dryly.
Sam threw him a sarcastic look, "What is it really?"
"History text files, mostly. There is some poetry stored in there as well."
Sam's eyebrows rose of their own accord, "Poetry?"
Megatron made an exasperated noise, a sound with which Sam was becoming increasingly familiar, "Yes, poetry."
Sam stared at him incredulously for the space of a heartbeat before his mouth got the better of him, "What, do you think you're Sun Tzu or something?"
Megatron cuffed him sharply across their bond and Sam grunted in response. The Decepticon leader's admonishments were nothing like Ratchet's metal taps—they stung like hell and made his ears ring. Sam raised a hand to rub at his forehead, falling into a sullen silence. After a long moment, Sam thumbed on the datapad and saw, to his surprise, that the text files were written in Cybertronian.
He hesitated for a moment before brushing against Megatron's mental presence.
"I can't read Cybertronian."
The warlord did not look away from his work as he replied, "It is time that you learned. There's a rudimentary lexicon provided. You will have to puzzle out the rest."
Sam frowned faintly, staring down at the tablet in front of him. He knew that Cybertronian was a complicated language, with glyphs that had multiple meanings depending on their context. Glyphs also changed meaning depending on what came before and after them, and some glyphs had no set definition at all.
He glanced towards Megatron uncertainly, surprised to see that the warlord had turned to regard him expectantly.
"You had the Allspark in your mind. Surely you retained some of its knowledge?"
Sam's frown deepened at the reminder, "A little. It's sporadic."
To his surprise, Megatron nodded minutely, his expression openly thoughtful, "A little is better than nothing, which is what I had when I learned."
"When you learned?" Sam asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice.
Megatron chuckled lowly, "I was sparked as a gladiator-class mechanoid. My Creators did not deign to provide me with written language protocols. There was no need, after all. My function was to fight and to die."
Sam's eyes widened in surprise, "That's… horrible."
"The caste-system of Cybertron was indeed horrible." Megatron agreed, his voice dark, "Which is why I rallied the Decepticons and rebelled against it."
Sam's frown returned. He knew that Megatron had been a gladiator who had won his freedom, and he knew that Megatron started the civil war that tore Cybertron apart. He did not know, however, that a rebellion against the caste-system had been the cause for it all.
Megatron growled lowly, a sound thick with malice, "Of course Prime would not share that information with you. It is counterproductive to his narrative."
Sam bristled in response, offended on Optimus' behalf.
"He didn't tell me about it because I never asked. I avoided talking about you whenever possible."
Megatron's optics narrowed dangerously, "Then allow me to educate you. The caste-system on Cybertron was a barbaric relic of a defunct Golden Age. The wealthy upper class systematically oppressed and enslaved those unfortunate enough to be sparked into lower castes. When energon fell into short supply, the lowest castes were the first to be sacrificed for the Senate's glorious cause."
Sam shivered, unsettled to his core at the warlord's midnight black tone. After a moment he asked, tentatively, "What do you mean, sacrificed?"
Megatron had turned to face him fully now, something like long-suffering resentment in his expression, "When energon rationing began, do you think that the Senate went hungry? Do you think that the royal houses went hungry? Of course not. They diverted energon from the slums and the projects, leaving the poorest of their citizens to starve or to sell themselves into slavery."
Sam shifted uncomfortably. He had read enough about Cybertron's history during the end of the Golden Age to see the truth in Megatron's words.
"I know about the energon shortages and the rationing," Sam said, eventually, "But not that."
Megatron rumbled in consideration, "Gladiatorial combat was one type of enslavement, but there were others. When I won my freedom, I was a vocal opponent of social stratification. As I mentioned previously, it was how I met Orion Pax."
Sam stared at the Decepticon leader, uncertain and suspicious, but unable to quell his curiosity, "How did you meet him?"
"It was during the civil unrest caused by the energon rationing. There was a rally in Iacon, which we both attended. He introduced himself; he recognized me from my time in the arena."
Sam frowned again, skepticism lodging itself in his chest. He could not believe that Optimus would voluntarily attend an exhibition match wherein people fought to the death for the entertainment of the masses.
Megatron chuckled, but the sound was devoid of humor.
"Of course he did, both as Orion Pax and as Optimus Prime. Orion Pax was a data clerk who did as Alpha Trion bid him, and Optimus Prime was duty-bound to attend."
Sam leaned back against the wall, suspicion and confusion twisting up inside him. He wanted to argue, but he didn't dare. Megatron looked at him, inclining his helm slightly as he made a permissive gesture.
"By all means, say your piece."
Sam's frown returned, deepening in consternation, "There is no way that Optimus approved of gladiatorial combat. He believes that freedom is the right of all sentient beings."
Megatron tilted his head, something like amusement in his optics, "Is that how you ended up on Diego Garcia? As a free being?"
He flinched, the warlord's words hitting too close to home. Rather than concede the point, Sam snapped, "I ended up on Diego Garcia because you killed me, and Optimus knew you wouldn't rest until you finished the job."
Megatron waved his words away, "That is beside the point. If Optimus truly believed in the freedom of all sentient beings, then he would have given you the choice to stay or to go. We both know that he did not."
Sam flushed in anger, both at Megatron's words and at his inability to refute them. Megatron's optics sharpened knowingly and he inclined his helm, turning back towards the desk. Sam sat there for a long while, stewing over Megatron's words, before glancing down at the datapad in his lap. After a moment, Sam thumbed it on and started flipping through the text files, trying to find the lexicon.
Megatron is the great deceiver, He thought fiercely to himself, It's half-truths and obfuscation.
He tried not to dwell on the uncertainty that had lodged itself in his chest.
When Sam woke up an interminable time later, he groaned disapprovingly. The room was uncomfortably cold and he was alone on the berth. He rolled onto his side, pulling his knees up, as he cast his mind inwards. The bond-space was still and quiet for the first time since the hangar. Sam's eyes blinked open and he struggled into a sitting position as his heart lodged itself in his throat. He had a brief moment of panic—Megatron was not separated from him by a mental block, he was completely absent—before he heard a familiar rumble. The sound snapped him out of his anxiety-spiral, and he pushed himself to his feet.
There, sitting on her haunches beneath Megatron's desk, was Ravage. Sam could not prevent the smile that stretched his face at the sight of her. He crouched down at the edge of the berth, his arms resting loosely on his knees.
"Good morning."
Ravage pushed up onto all four paws, pacing forward to stand a short distance away. As Sam watched, she gathered her back legs underneath her, all coiled energy and grace, and then leapt onto the berth beside him. She stepped forward, butting her head roughly against his chest, causing Sam to fall back and land on his ass. He laughed lightly, stroking his hands over her face and neck.
"Hello to you, too."
Ravage rumbled at him in welcome, a low sound deep in her chassis that made Sam smile in response. She sat on her haunches beside him, her tail tucked over her large, metal paws.
"What are you doing here?" He asked curiously. Sam knew that Megatron had been keeping him isolated, with only the warlord for companionship. Megatron's sudden absence and Ravage's appearance were surely related to one another.
Ravage tilted her head, regarding him seriously.
"Our Masters have been called away. I was tasked with keeping watch over you."
Sam grimaced deeply but he did not correct her—it wasn't worth the effort.
"Called away?" He asked instead, apprehension twisting in his stomach, "Where?"
"You know I can't tell you that."
Sam frowned, anger flaring at her words, "That's bullshit. Are they attacking the Autobots?"
Ravage's expression was unusually strict, "If you want to know about the deployment, then you will have to ask your Master when he returns."
Sam shoved at her, moving away and pushing himself to his feet. He paced several steps, his heart hammering in his chest, before turning around to glare at her.
"I swear to God, Ravage. If they're attacking the base, you had better tell me."
Ravage's expression narrowed, her audial receptors flicking in disapproval.
"Your Master thought that you would enjoy my company. If you wish to be belligerent, then I will leave."
Sam's heart lodged itself in his throat, both at her words and at the unspoken implication. Anything other than a flat-out denial of Sam's question was certainly an affirmative. His breathing started to come faster, shallow pants that left him feeling lightheaded. If anything happened to Bumblebee or to Ratchet—Christ, if anything happened to any one of them—he didn't know what he would do.
That wasn't true, he realized abruptly. He knew exactly what he would do if Bumblebee died.
Sam was interrupted from his morose thoughts by Ravage's head rubbing across his chest. He startled in response—he hadn't realized that she had approached.
"Breathe, little Prime. You are becoming distressed."
Sam barked a harsh laugh, sucking in a great, gasping breath. He had been distressed for weeks—this was panic. The room wavered precariously and Sam lowered into a sitting position. His heart was beating against his ribs so hard that it physically hurt, and no matter how he gasped, it felt like his lungs were starving for air. He put his head between his knees, forcibly reminding himself of Karen's soothing words the last time that she had talked him through a panic attack. It had been December, just before everything had gone to shit. They had been talking about Christmas and his parents, and he had been a hyperventilating mess. She had tucked his head between his knees, her hand firm and grounding on the back of his neck.
"Take a deep breath. Good, Sam. Now another."
Sam shuddered in a long breath through his nose, exhaling slowly through his mouth.
"Good, you're doing so well. Now open your eyes. I want you tell me five things that you can see."
After a long moment, Sam struggled to slant his eyes open. He glanced around the room, his pulse thundering in his ears.
"Desk. Chair. Datapad. Door. Keypad."
Ravage tilted her head, watching him with the quiet intentness of a predator.
"That's good, Sam. Now pay attention to your body. Tell me four things that you can feel."
Sam sucked in another harsh breath, releasing it slowly through his mouth.
"I feel my heartbeat. I feel the berth beneath me. I feel my shoes. I feel the itch in my beard."
As he spoke, Sam scrubbed a hand over the uneven scruff that covered the lower half of his face. The hair was short and wiry, longer than he had ever grown it before.
"You're doing so well. Now tell me three things that you can hear."
Sam closed his eyes, listening for a long moment.
"I hear my breathing. I hear the ship's engines. I hear Ravage."
"Now tell me two things that you can smell."
"I smell myself. I smell recycled air."
"Almost done now, Sam. Tell me one thing that you can taste. If you can't taste anything, you can name a favorite thing to taste."
"Coffee."
Sam stayed there for a long time, his eyes closed, as he breathed in through his nose and out of his mouth. Eventually, his heartbeat settled into something approaching a normal rhythm. When he felt like he could face reality again, he opened his eyes and turned his head to regard the symbiont beside him.
"Can we get out of here?"
Ravage's body was tense and coiled, her expression shuttered but laser-focused. Sam understood then that he had unsettled her greatly with his outburst.
"I was not ordered to keep you in this room." She said at last, although her words were reluctant.
"Can we walk? Please?"
It was a torturous moment before Ravage nodded in acquiescence. The minute gesture caused the tension building in Sam's shoulders to release, and he sighed softly in relief. It was a careful undertaking getting off the berth, which was the better part of ten feet high, but he managed it. Ravage landed gracefully beside him, the sound of metal on metal ringing in the room. Together they walked towards the door, which opened of its own accord, before making their way into the corridor. Sam paused once he stepped into the passageway, suddenly aware that this was the first time that he had been outside of his cell or Megatron's quarters without the warlord's direct supervision. His heart started to beat faster in his chest.
"Are you going to give me any trouble, little Prime?" Ravage asked, and although her voice was mild, she was watching him intently.
Sam knew that he didn't stand a chance against the cyber cat, who had stalked him and taken him down once before. The memory of that night, his face pressed into the sandy loam of the forest floor with Ravage's teeth around his neck, was not something that he was keen to repeat.
He forced himself to look at her, "No, I'll behave."
Ravage rumbled quietly as she padded down the corridor, but judging by her unwavering focus, she did not fully believe his reassurances. Sam walked beside her, all tightly coiled anxious energy. Right now, somewhere, Megatron and Soundwave were either preparing to attack, or were already attacking, his friends. The knowledge made him sick to his stomach, and he was briefly thankful that he hadn't eaten anything that morning. Sam didn't know how he was going to react when Megatron returned. It was one thing to remain meek and obedient in the warlord's presence when it was the two of them—when it was just Sam's pride and personal integrity that were being compromised—but it was another thing entirely to do so when the Decepticon was actively attacking his Autobots.
His one consolation was the Optimus had assured Sam that he would no longer send Bumblebee to the front lines, but that was a bitter comfort. If not Bumblebee, then Megatron would be squaring off against one of the others that he loved—Hot Rod or Cliffjumper or Sunstreaker. If the battle was more than a hit-and-run, then Optimus and Ratchet would certainly join the fray.
Sam swallowed hard, pushing his hands into his pockets. He barely paid attention to their route, allowing himself to be pulled along in Ravage's wake. To his surprise, the symbiont took him to parts of the ship that he had never seen before—the mess hall (an actual mess hall, with trestle tables and everything), the labs (empty, but strongly reminiscent of Wheeljack's lab), and the flight deck (an expansive, open-air hangar for the Seekers to use for take-off and landing). The air of the flight deck was ice cold and thin, cutting through his clothing like a blade. They stayed only long enough for Sam to get a view of the massive mountain chain beneath them, sinuous and grand, before they returned to the interior of the ship.
It was a long while before he realized that he and Ravage had not spoken a word to one another. The symbiont seemed content to walk in silence, leaving him to his thoughts. It was a fact for which Sam was quietly thankful.
All of a sudden, the neural-net flared brightly in his mind as three spark signatures materialized out of the darkness. Sam immediately recognized them as Thundercracker, Knock Out, and Blitzwing, and he instinctively drew the egress filter more tightly over his mind. In front of him, Ravage stiffened before turning to regard him.
"We must return to Megatron's quarters at once, little Prime."
Sam glanced down at her in surprise, taken aback by the seriousness of her tone. The tension in her body and the strain in her voice made dread twist in his gut like a knife.
"What is it? What's happened?"
Ravage's ruby optic narrowed dangerously, "Now."
Without waiting for Sam's reply, the cyber cat herded him down the corridor. In Sam's mind, the spark signatures drew closer, gaining much faster than they were retreating. Eventually, he could hear urgent talking echoing down the hall.
"Keep pressure on it." Thundercracker urged sharply.
"I know." Knock Out snapped back, "I'm the fragging medic."
Sam stopped in his tracks, turning his head around to look in the direction of the voices. Ravage's tail lashed in agitation as she growled impatiently. The sound caused Sam to look down and he was completely taken aback by the hostility in her lithe frame. He took a step away from her instinctively, but then movement at the end of the hall caught his attention. There, supported between Knock Out and Thundercracker, was Blitzwing. The triple-changer was badly damaged, with deep gouges across his chest plate and energon leaking down his frame in glowing rivulets. Knock Out glanced up, exasperation on his faceplates.
"You were supposed to get him out of here."
Ravage growled again in response, positioning herself between Sam and the three Decepticons.
"There was not enough time." She replied.
Knock Out rolled his optics expressively as they passed, "Tell that to the boss. He's on his way."
Sam felt the dread in his gut sharpen in an instant. Before he could react, however, his eyes settled on Blitzwing's chassis and he went cold all over. There, amongst the gouges and the sparking circuitry, was a long scrape of yellow paint. Sam's world narrowed to that one spot, his heart suddenly thundering in his ears. It could have been Sunstreaker's—it could have been—but Sam knew with a certainty that he could not explain that it was Bumblebee's.
"What did you do?" Sam hissed, tensing from head to toe, "You fucker, what did you do to him?"
Blitzwing looked down at him, his expression shuffling rapidly—confusion, feral glee, mania—before it settled into something like comprehension.
"Just a little fun—"
White-hot rage exploded in Sam's chest at the triple-changer's cavalier tone. In an instant, he had cast aside the egress filter and launched himself at the Decepticon's mental presence. He felt Blitzwing's flare of shock as he collided against his mind, the triple-changer scrabbling to erect a stronger firewall, but Sam was faster. His mental presence deftly slipped beneath Blitzwing's defenses, and then he attacked—tearing indiscriminately at the shifting yellow-gray spark signature in front of him.
Sam was distantly aware of the sound of shouting—voices raised in pain and disbelief and urgency—but he paid them no mind. Sam focused, lashing out with all of his mental strength. The answering shriek of pain was enormously satisfying, and he fucking reveled in it. Suddenly, Sam was slammed into the floor and pinned in place by a large servo.
"Sam, stop it!" Thundercracker commanded sharply.
Sam ignored the Seeker completely. He pushed his mental fingers as deep into Blitzwing's spark signature as he could manage, twisting in a too-familiar way. The triple-changer's shrieks rose in pitch and volume.
"Do something!" Knock Out snarled.
"I'm trying—!"
"Enough!"
Sam was wrenched violently out of Blitzwing's mind and back into his own so quickly that it left him reeling. Slowly, he became aware of the scene around him. Thundercracker knelt over his body, pinning Sam against the floor with more force than necessary. Blitzwing sagged heavily against Knock Out, who struggled to keep the larger Decepticon on his feet. The triple-changer's faceplates were drawn tight, his optics dim and pained.
Beside them stood Megatron, his servos curled into tight fists and a thunderous expression on his face. The Decepticon leader regarded Ravage for a long moment before he turned towards Blitzwing. He hooked an arm around the triple-changer's chassis, helping Knock Out to pull him to his feet.
Without looking at Sam, Megatron growled, "Take him to the hangar, I will deal with this later."
Thundercracker rumbled lowly in acknowledgement, holding Sam in place until Megatron and Knock Out helped Blitzwing struggle down the corridor and out of sight. Once they were gone, the Seeker inclined his helm to look down at him, his expression a strange combination of anger and pity.
"What have you done?"