At once, his mother's expression clouded with concern. She began to worry the towel that she was holding, twisting the blue terrycloth in her hands. The sight of her face, pale and drawn, settled like a weight in Sam's stomach.
/Would you like to be alone?/ Bumblebee asked, his mental presence brushing against him like a caress. Sam glanced sidelong at the holoform. He stood less than an arms-length away—close, but well within the bounds of propriety—with an open, understanding expression on his face.
"No," Sam replied, after a moment, "I'd like you to stay."
Bumblebee nodded slowly, "Then I'll stay."
Sam turned to look at his mother, steeling himself with grim determination as he gestured to the couch, "Sit with me."
His mother's eyes flicked to the sofa, before looking back to him. Her lips pulled up in a self-conscious, hesitant smile.
"Sammy, it's alright." She said, taking a step towards him, "It doesn't matter if you're… if you like boys or girls, your father and I love you."
Sam winced his eyes shut as he lowered himself onto the couch. He had never given much thought to his sexual orientation, either before or after he had bonded. Prior to the spark bond, Sam would have classified himself as exclusively heterosexual—or at least, all of his sexual experience and fantasies had revolved around women. Yet, he did not think it was accurate to say that he was gay, either. He had been first attracted to Bumblebee's bipedal mode, after all, and to his knowledge, there was no label for people attracted to genderless, asexual, autonomous robotic organisms.
Sam felt a warm pulse of amusement through the spark bond, and he glanced at the holoform in exasperation. Bumblebee's lips quirked up, although whether in humor or apology, Sam could not say. With effort, Sam turned to look at his mother and patted the cushion beside him.
"Please, Ma. It's a long story." Sam murmured, trying to marshal his thoughts, "I should have told you a while ago, but I didn't know how. I still don't."
His mother stepped around the couch, slowly sitting down beside him. She held the towel in her lap, like a talisman, as she looked at him entreatingly.
"You can tell me anything, Sammy. You know that."
Sam exhaled slowly, ducking his head. As he struggled to find the words to explain all that had happened over the last four years, Bumblebee moved to sit on the edge of the coffee table. The holoform was close enough that their knees could have brushed together, if Sam shifted his legs even slightly. The closeness that Bumblebee offered, while still respecting his personal space, gave him the confidence to begin speaking.
Sam started much as Optimus Prime had started, when they had first met in the alleyway in Tranquility. He spoke about the Allspark, its ability to generate new Cybertronian life, and its desperate ejection from Tyger Pax to avoid its seizure by Megatron. He spoke about the role that his grandfather had played in finding Megatron's body, which his mother had already known, and the role the Allspark had played in revolutionizing human technology for the last sixty years, which she had not. Then he told her about all that had happened in Mission City, including his abortive attempt to get the Allspark to safety and, with much hesitation, how he had pushed the Cube into Megatron's chest.
She stared at him as he spoke, pale but composed, as she finally asked, "How?"
He glanced at her in surprise. It was the first thing that she had said since he had begun talking.
"How what?"
"How did you push the Cube into his chest? He's thirty feet tall, Sammy."
Sam frowned, stymied by her question. He had no idea how it had happened—he had a vague memory of bright light and heat that bordered on pain crawling down his arms, but nothing else.
"I can't explain it, Ma, but that's what happened." He said at last.
She nodded faintly, accepting his meager explanation, and Sam continued. He jumped forward in his narrative, speaking next about getting ready for university and finding the Allspark shard in his clothing. His mother snorted expressively, rolling her eyes.
"I remember. I had a bald spot for two months before my hair grew out enough to hide it."
Sam's amusement at her wry tone was short-lived. He told her, hesitantly, about the fits that had resulted from his re-exposure to the Allspark—about his visual and auditory hallucinations, his breakdown in his astronomy lecture and then again in his dorm room, and how it had attracted the attention of Soundwave's Pretender. By the time that he paused to catch his breath, his mother's face was drawn tight.
"I can't believe you never said anything, Sam. We were there, we could have helped you."
Sam openly grimaced, but he found the fortitude to look her in the eye and reply with sincere conviction, "No one could have helped me, Ma. The Allspark was in my head and in my body, there was nothing to be done about it."
"What do you mean, 'in your body'?" She demanded, sharply, and Sam winced internally at her astuteness. His eyes dropped to his hands as he took a moment to consider his response. As he stared down at himself, he realized that he had worried the skin of his knuckles until his skin was chapped and bleeding. After a long moment, he forced himself to reply to her.
"The Allspark energy is in my cells, Ma."
His mother stared at him, uncomprehendingly.
"What, still?"
Sam could not keep the grimace off his face, "Yeah, still."
"I don't understand. What does that mean?"
Sam scrubbed his hands over his face, ignoring the way that the motion pulled uncomfortably at his stiches.
"We don't know what it means, Ma." He replied, tiredly, "We just know that it's happening."
"Oh my god, Sammy." She whispered, her voice stricken, "Are you… are you dying?"
Sam was unable to prevent the sharp bark of laughter that burst from him. Her question threatened the tenuous control that he had wrangled over his emotions, leaving him feeling peeled open and laid bare. Suddenly completely out of his depth and desperate for purchase, Sam dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. The pain was centering, grounding.
Through their bond, Sam could feel Bumblebee's uncertainty deepen to stark concern.
"No, Ma," He replied at last, hating the vulnerability that he could hear in his voice, "I'm not dying—but the Allspark energy has changed me."
His mother did not speak. Instead, she shifted forward on the couch, taking his hand into her lap. With gentle touches, she brushed over his knuckles, coaxing him to unclench his fingers. When the tension finally released, she turned his hand over and murmured disapprovingly at the shallow crescents marring the flesh of his palms.
"Bumblebee, could you be a dear and get me a wet cloth?" She murmured, without looking up. The holoform pushed to his feet, stepping around the couch and walking into the bedroom without a word. When he returned a short while later, his mother accepted the folded facecloth and dabbed at the traces of blood.
"I'm here Sammy. Take all the time you need."
Slowly, in fits and starts, Sam told his mother about the Allspark energy regenerating within his body. His voice was quiet and flat as he told her about its effects on his aging and on his ability to recover from injury. Although his mother did not interrupt him with questions or exclamations, her grip on his hand tightened to the point of pain. He hesitated for a long moment before he broached the subject of Ripcord. He softened the story as much as he was able, omitting the details about how he suffered on the hangar floor as he bled to death. His effort to spare her grief was for naught, however, and he flinched when he looked up to see tears welling in her eyes.
"Aww, Ma." Sam murmured, unable to keep the waver out of his voice, "Please don't cry."
Judy brushed the moisture away with her thumbs, clearing her throat as she struggled to get herself under control. The visible strain on her face made Sam's stomach twist with guilt. He gripped her hands as tightly as he could, willing her to understand and to be okay.
"I'm alright, Sammy." She replied, her voice rough but composed, "Go on."
Sam flinched, something like panic crawling up his throat to choke him. How could he possibly explain to his mother what had happened, when he barely understood it himself? How could he find the words to express the fact that her son—the one she had raised, and loved, and fussed over—was no longer the same person that she had kissed good-bye after Egypt?
How did he explain to her that he was other?
Bumblebee's mental presence brushed against him, soothing and concerned. Sam glanced at the holoform to see that he was staring at Sam with an intensity of expression that he could not readily interpret. His body was tense, leaning forward slightly to transfer some of his weight onto the balls of his feet, but his face was a study of control. Sam leaned into his mental presence, grateful beyond words for his support.
The whole time that Sam struggled to pull himself together, his mother watched him quietly. Her thumb stroked over the back of his hand, again and again, as steady as a metronome. Sam sighed softly, resigning himself to the task. He took a deep breath, letting it out between clenched teeth, before he slowly, awkwardly, explained about the experience of on-lining. He told her about stasis, about Ratchet's diligent care, and about waking up in the medical bay nineteen days later with the ability to access the neural network. His explanation about spark signatures and the neural-net was clumsy, even to his own ears, but his mother listened with rapt attention.
"Sammy, that's… unbelievable." She breathed, "How does it—what does it feel like?"
Sam's lips quirked in a faint smile. He was familiar with the awed disbelief that he could hear in her voice.
"It's… nice. It's beautiful. Their spark signatures are as unique as thumbprints. Some glow, others shine. They communicate with much more than words—their messages are overlaid with impression and emotion and feeling. It's more honest than the way we communicate with one another."
His mother tilted her head, "The neural-net, that's different than the… Creator bond?"
Sam nodded faintly, "The Creator bond exists between a Creator and a newspark. No one else can access the bond without the Creator's approval."
"And Ratchet is your Creator." She said, only just keeping the upward inflection out of her voice.
"He is." Sam agreed, smiling faintly, "He was a Creator long before the war began. I'm in good hands."
"I can see that." His mother murmured, before she asked apropos of nothing, "What does Ratchet's spark signature look like?"
Sam's eyebrows rose of their own accord, but he answered her readily, "It's difficult to describe. He's pale and light and warm—he's old, too. I don't know how light can look old, but he looks ancient."
In the back of his mind, Sam felt Ratchet's presence brighten with fond exasperation. As Sam shifted his attention towards him, the medic brushed against him contritely, almost regretfully. He understood at once that Ratchet was apologizing for the interruption. Sam pushed appreciation and affection towards him, mindful of his volume, before turning his attention back towards his mother. She was regarding him seriously, her expression intense and searching.
"I don't know whether to be thankful or angry." She said at last, laughing softly, "It's a lot to take in."
"I know." Sam replied.
"It certainly changes my perspective on things." His mother admitted, "When you were taken, I was so angry. We had sent you here for your protection, and the Decepticons found you anyway. I guess there really was no way for us to hide you."
"No Ma, there wasn't." He replied simply, "Megatron killed thirty-one people to get to me—there was no hiding from him."
His mother hummed softly at his response, her eyes narrowed in thoughtful consideration. After a long moment, she glanced towards Bumblebee's holoform.
"I suppose your relationship should come as no surprise, after everything I've learned. You two were always a package deal."
Sam's lips quirked in fond amusement, "Yeah, we are."
"It'll be a long time before I fully process everything that you've told me, but I suppose I should be grateful. At the very least, you'll have Bumblebee and Ratchet, long after we're dead and gone."
The soft regret in her tone caused him to glance at her in alarm. Although her tears had long since abated, her face was pale and drawn. When she noticed his stare, she turned a tremulous smile on him before reaching out to grasp his knee.
"Nothing you've said makes me think any differently of you, Sammy. I'm just worried—there's a lot of uncertainty in your future."
"I know, Ma."
"Come here." She said abruptly, raising her arms up towards him. Without protest, Sam shuffled closer to her, pressing against her chest as she wrapped her arms around him. They embraced each other for a long while, her hands smoothing up and down his back. By the time that his mother pulled away, grasping him by his shoulders, Sam felt wrung out and exhausted.
"I'm going back to the apartment so I can get some sleep and think about everything you've said. I think you should get some rest yourself, it's late."
"Yeah, sure." He agreed quietly.
His mother smiled at him approvingly as she rose to her feet. Sam followed suit a moment later, and together they walked towards his door. She hugged him again, her thin arms squeezing him until his ribs protested. When she stepped away, she visibly hesitated before turning an apologetic smile on him.
"Sam… don't say anything about this to your father. Let me speak to him first."
Sam blinked at her, taken aback by the way that her words caused pain to needle deeply into his chest. This was the standard operating procedure in their household—he took bad news to his mother first, and his mother played interference with his father. Despite this, her words stung like a denial—like a rejection—and Sam had to struggle to keep the hurt that it caused from showing on his expression.
"Yeah, okay. Thanks, Ma." He said instead, pushing his hands into his pockets. Her eyes roved across his face, soft and fathomless, before she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. A moment later, the door closed quietly behind her.
Sam stood there for an interminable time, staring at the front door as he tried to get his emotions under control. Eventually, he became aware of Bumblebee's mental presence, hesitant and concerned, at the edge of his mind. He glanced towards him, tired brown eyes meeting sympathetic blue-gray.
"Do you want to be alone?" Bumblebee asked, quietly, stepping close.
"No." Sam replied, hating how raw he sounded. In lieu of a response, Bumblebee's mental presence pressed against him, a soothing wash of affection. Rather than reassuring him, however, it settled like an itch in his mind, an unwelcome reminder of his changed nature. No matter how much he might wish it, he was neither fully human nor Cybertronian. He was something distinct and separate from all of the people that he loved. The reminder was almost claustrophobic in its intensity.
"Sam." Bumblebee murmured, grasping his elbow with the tips of his fingers, "It's okay."
Sam scoffed, but there was no heat in it.
"It doesn't feel okay, Bee." He replied, flatly.
"I know. Come here." The holoform said, tugging lightly on his arm. He led Sam across the room, maneuvering him down onto the couch, before he sat beside him. Bee reached out, pulling the remote control off the coffee table, and handed it towards him, "Find something. Anything."
Sam glanced at him, something like mild exasperation playing at the corners of his mouth, "I'm not in the mood to watch television."
"So don't watch it, but you still have to find something."
Sam huffed quietly, but he pressed the power button all the same. As he began to flip through 200 channels of cable television, Bumblebee shifted against him, settling back against the arm of the couch. Once the holoform was comfortable, he tugged at Sam insistently. Sam glanced sidelong at him, the exasperation on his face softening into something closer to affection.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
Sam rolled his eyes, but he settled down against Bumblebee all the same. With some shifting and adjustment, they found themselves lying side by side, Sam pressed against the back of the couch and Bumblebee with one leg braced against the floor. He continued flipping through channels as he moved to lay his head against Bumblebee's chest. The holoform's arm settled over him, his hand coming to rest against Sam's bicep.
Sam paused for a minute on a re-run of Brooklyn-99, before he continued through the channels. As Sam flipped onto the block of sports networks, he became aware of the pattern that Bumblebee was lazily tracing into his arm. The holoform's touch was feather-light, almost ticklish, causing pleasant goosebumps to spread over Sam's skin. He angled his head up at the holoform, squinting at him in curiosity.
"What is that? You do it a lot."
Bee glanced down at him, something like embarrassment coloring his mental presence.
"It's a glyph." He replied, vaguely.
"A glyph? Of what?"
"There's no direct translation."
Sam pushed up slightly onto his elbow, his curiosity deepening at the strangely enigmatic edge to the holoform's answers.
"So give me a rough translation."
Bumblebee's embarrassment brightened, mingling with signifiers of mild exasperation and affection.
"I suppose it would roughly translate to 'beloved'." He replied, at last.
Sam blinked up at him, taken by surprise, "Beloved?"
"Yes."
Sam settled back down against Bumblebee's chest, warmed as much by the admission as he was by the uncharacteristic shyness of Bee's tone. He flipped through another dozen channels before he nudged against his bonded's mental presence, equal parts insistent and impatient.
"I didn't say you had to stop."
Bumblebee chuckled softly, his forefinger moving to trace the invisible pattern into Sam's flesh again. The touch was pleasant, causing Sam to shiver lightly. By the time that Sam had made his way into the pay-per-view channels, he was feeling warm and relaxed. The conversation with his mother receded to the back of his mind—the sting of her departure still painful, but manageable. By the time that he made it back to the Brooklyn-99 episode, Sam's eyes had started to droop. He let the remote fall onto the floor, tucking his nose into Bumblebee's chest as he shut his eyes.
"You should go to bed." Bumblebee murmured, his voice openly affectionate.
Sam grunted a negative. He was warm and comfortable, he wasn't about to go anywhere.
"It's almost eleven." Bee chided.
"You got somewhere to be?" Sam asked without opening his eyes.
"No, not at the moment. I am scheduled for re-charge at midnight."
"Then I'll go to bed at midnight."
Bumblebee's chest shook with a quiet laugh, "Alright then."
Sam hummed approvingly, swinging a knee over Bumblebee's legs as he burrowed closer against him. The holoform shifted to accommodate him, before he continued tracing glyphs into the flesh of Sam's arm. Sam drifted comfortably to the sound of theme music and the feeling of Bumblebee's hands on his body, the anguish of his mother's departure a distant concern.
Thundercracker strode towards the flight deck, his expression and his electromagnetic fields betraying nothing of his inner turmoil. He nodded at the mechanoids that he passed, grounders and airframes patrolling the ship in pairs and trios, but he paid them little mind. His attention was focused inwards, towards the connection with his trine. He could feel Starscream's haughtiness, the same flippant eagerness that he always projected prior to flying. Skywarp also emanated anticipation, but his signature was far more mellow. His trinemate's calm made Thundercracker clench his jaw until the plates protested in strain.
Less than a klik later, Thundercracker stepped through the large doors onto the open air hangar. He could see his trine at the other end of the flight deck, standing in their bipedal modes. Acid Storm and Dirge stood a short distance away, engaging them in conversation. Thundercracker could tell by the way that Starscream was gesturing expressively—and by Skywarp's tolerant amusement—that it was a benign conversation. That realization agitated him further still.
As he approached the group of Seekers, Skywarp waved in welcome. Thundercracker nodded once, stopping in front of Starscream.
"Air Commander, we've been advised to depart for patrol as soon as possible."
Starscream stopped mid-sentence, turning to pin Thundercracker with a disapproving scowl.
"Advised? By whom?"
Thundercracker carefully schooled his expression. Starscream was intensely territorial about his role as Air Commander, and he did not tolerant anyone superseding his commands.
"Soundwave has reason to believe that the Autobots may be mobilizing in the Atacama Desert."
Starscream shoulders relaxed, something like malicious delight brightening his optics.
"Is Prime looking to escalate?"
"Perhaps. There is evidence of ground bridge activity in the region."
Starscream gestured towards the open air with a servo, "Well then, let's not keep our guests waiting."
Thundercracker nodded tersely, initiating his transformation sequence without another word. A moment later, the three of them streaked out of the hangar, banking sharply to head west. As soon as they were clear of the Nemesis, Thundercracker pinged Starscream.
/Take right flank, I'm assuming point./
There was a brief thrum of surprise-suspicion-condescension, but Starscream pulled up and barrel-rolled without complaint, allowing Thundercracker to assume his position. Immediately thereafter, Starscream fell into place just behind his right stabilizer. As soon as his sensors confirmed that they were flying in perfect Vic formation, Thundercracker poured all of his available reserves into his thrusters. His primary visual display erupted in a cascade of notifications as he passed Mach-2 and Mach-3, but he shunted them to his secondary processor. As they approached Mach-4, he felt Starscream's amusement wash over their connection.
/Trying to compensate for your abysmal performance yesterday?/
Thundercracker did not reply to the jibe, although it rankled him more than Starscream's usual insults. Once he reached Mach-4, he leveled out his telemetry and activated a continuously looping sub-routine to scan for air traffic within 40 miles in any direction. He had no desire for their patrol to be interrupted by uninvited guests.
As the craggy rocks of the Andes Mountains transitioned into the high, flat plain of the Altiplano, Thundercracker steeled himself with grim determination. He ran through his systems checks for a third time since taking off, and then he veered 20 degrees west-southwest.
/What are you doing?/ Starscream demanded immediately, /You're going off-course./
/I am in point position, Starscream. It is on course if I say it is on course./ Thundercracker bit back immediately, letting cold disapproval leak into his fields. To his immense relief, Starscream did not reply beyond a terse, wordless acknowledgement. They flew in silence for several breems, as the scrubby tundra beneath them transitioned into the vast, empty expanse of sand known as the Atacama Desert. As soon as his visual display flashed a notification that they had reached the dead zone, Thundercracker spiraled into a dramatic nosedive, plummeting towards the Earth like a stone.
He could feel the surprise and confusion of his trinemates, but as any highly trained and disciplined Seeker unit, they followed suit less than an astrosecond later. Thundercracker's wings flared widely as he pulled up just meters from the ground, his aft thrusters blowing up a cloud of dust and sand. He landed in his bipedal form a moment later, turning to watch as Starscream and Skywarp touched down.
"Are you glitched?" Starscream shrieked, as soon as he transformed, "First yesterday and then this? If you weren't my trinemate—"
"Be quiet, Starscream." Thundercracker interrupted him.
Starscream's optics widened in shock, before they narrowed into crimson slits, "How dare you?"
Thundercracker could feel Skywarp's anxious concern, but he did not spare his trinemate a glance. Instead, he returned Starscream's furious glare, allowing the rage and disgust that he had been harboring for the last solar cycle to bleed into his fields.
"I know what Megatron is keeping from you, Air Commander." Thundercracker replied coldly.
His words caused Starscream to pause, before he pinned Thundercracker with an unimpressed glower.
"That's what this is all about? You've been making a fool of yourself and our trine because—"
"He shared charge with the boy."
Starscream bit off his words, staring at Thundercracker in open derision.
"What?"
"After Blitzwing was injured, Megatron used the Creator bond to initiate an overload—"
"I heard you the first time." Starscream hissed, his faceplates contorting with fury, "It is not like you to share baseless conjecture, Thundercracker."
Thundercracker's wings flared at the insult. To suggest that he would listen to petty gossip, that he would believe tawdry speculation without evidence was almost beyond the pale, even for his trine leader.
"My information comes directly from Soundwave." He spat, venom in his voice, "I do not bring this to you lightly."
His words caused Starscream to still, his fields flaring with undisguised shock.
"Soundwave would never betray Lord Megatron's confidence."
"Lord Megatron did not confide in him, Soundwave was inside Sam's head throughout his captivity." Thundercracker replied, "Megatron inflicted his abuses while the boy was inside the Creator bond."
Starscream stared at him with narrowed optics, his gaze darting over Thundercracker's face. He returned his trine leader's look directly, without attempting to disguise his fields or shield his mind. When Starscream's expression tightened, as though in denial, Thundercracker felt his temper flare. He stepped forward, grabbing Starscream's wing and giving him a sharp shake.
"Megatron initiated charge with a newspark, Screamer." Thundercracker snapped, his anger getting the better of him, "A youth by Autobot laws and our own."
Starscream wrenched himself out of Thundercracker's grip, his expression apoplectic.
"He is a human, you soft-sparked moron!"
Thundercracker could feel Skywarp's surprise and disapproval, but once again, his attention was focused solely on his Air Commander.
"He is human." Thundercracker agreed, coldly, "But he has a spark signature, the same as you or I. His neural network, his fields, his comm channel, they are all the same. Megatron used your Creator protocols to abuse a sparkling, Starscream. Have you ever heard of such a thing?"
Starscream's frame was so stiff that his wings practically vibrated from the tension. After a long, weighted moment, the Air Commander ground out harshly, "No. I have never heard of such a thing."
"Nor have I, nor Soundwave, nor Prime, judging by his reaction." Thundercracker replied.
Starscream was silent for a long moment, his fields undulating violently with flashes of disgust and rage and proprietary fury. Then, all at once, Starscream pulled his fields close to his frame and separated his mental presence from their bond with a heavy firewall. He drew himself up to his full height, looking first at Thundercracker and then at Skywarp.
"I will hear this from Soundwave myself." He spat. Without another word, he transformed into his alt mode and streaked back towards theNemesis, without waiting for Thundercracker or Skywarp to follow.