Author's Note: We are starting to get somewhere. I wanted to showcase some of the things that are going on around Sam even though the primary focus is on him and Sunny. I love delving into other Autobots though and their relationships.

Honestly, I do write these chapters in about a day or two (I have been working a lot of mandatory overtime so it makes my window to write short), so I apologize for any mistakes you might find. I see them as I go back through my own work, and it makes me cringe every time. Ah, the price I pay for not having a beta reader.

I also wanted to thank all of you for your support of this fanfiction. Reading your comments always proves to put a smile on my face and makes my day that much brighter knowing you all like to read it just as much as I love to write it. Thank you!

I own nothing and will put the characters back when I am done, except Gregory Witwicky who I made exclusively for this story.

…

Hound sat with his shoulders hunched, like he was trying to make himself look smaller than he was, watching the ice swirl in his whiskey as he idly played with the glass. He couldn't drink it, but it looked odd not to have something in his hand. Bars in small towns at twelve in the afternoon were calm and quiet, more a place to read than to hook up or party. His mind was on his conversation with Sam, which hadn't gone quite the way he wanted. He'd gotten soft during his time here. Back on Cybertron he would have been on the road with the protesting boy already. It would be safter for him, sure, but it was Sam's reluctance to go back that stayed his hand. He was afraid of being locked away by his own people and Hound didn't want to make that fear a reality with the Autobots. He needed to contact Ratchet and get another opinion.

Harris didn't look over as he felt someone come and sit next to him. The newcomer waved away the bartender before turning their attention to Harris-Hound.

"It was the Witwicky boy." The man said simply. His voice was smooth as ever, but with noticeable cracks, cracks that one would only notice if they'd known the man…the Autobot. He used to be known for his endless patience, but something had happened to it. It was easier to upset him, anger him. Hound looked over at the man who didn't work near as hard as he did to fit in.

"What do you want Prowl?" Hound asked, cutting to the chase. Prowl was dressed in a police uniform, neat and crisp, but his short cut hair was pure white with two streaks of red that mimicked his chevron in his true form. It was marred, though, by black jagged lines streaking through it. From time to time Harris thought he could see them move, either thinning or thickening depending on Prowl's behavior. He stuck out, but not near as much as one would expect. His 'to the point' and professional demeanor usually detracted from anyone wanting to engage with him very long. Hound wished he could say it was an act, but the aft had been like that as long as he had known him. Logical. Unyielding. Firm to protocol. Jazz used to smooth those rough edges, remind the mech to not take things so seriously.

"I thought you were going to take him to Prime."

"I was." Hound admitted before he sighed. "It isn't our place to make him."

Prowl rose an elegant brow high. "It's clear the boy is a danger to himself and others. It isn't logical to just let him wander around shorting out the town's electricity."

Hound leveled him with a hard stare. "He didn't do it on purpose! He's scared! And was it logical for me to not hand your sorry aft over to Prime as soon as I saw you?"

Prowl looked indignant at the comment. "That's different, Hound."

"No it isn't." He hissed. He didn't know the full story, but he did know that Prowl's processor was scrambled. To have such an advance processor act on the fritz was a major risk, especially if Prowl's logic circuit shorted out. "Something happened to the kid that has him so spooked that he came all the way out here so that he DIDN'T hurt anyone. Sounds exactly like you." Hound lowered his voice, glancing at the bartender to ensure the human wasn't listening to their conversation. "You don't want him here because you think you'll hurt him."

Prowl went rigid, fist clenching, and for a moment Hound thought he would hit him. The moment passed and he didn't. The look in his eyes was chilling, though. "I am more than capable of controlling myself, Harris, is he?" They both knew the answer to that. "What if the others catch wind of him? Sense him? What then? Will you and I be enough? His uncle? It's laughable security at best." He was right, of course. He always was. Prowl had been the best strategist in the war and while he wasn't operating at full capacity, Hound didn't doubt for a moment that had changed. Prowl had probably mapped the entire town, Sam's house and all possibilities of attack and escape.

"We were the best Prowl! Chief Security Officer and the best Millitary Tactician Cybertron had ever seen! We can buy him a little time, surely." Hound pressed.

"Time to what?" Prowl asked, sounding defeated.

"To pull himself together. To figure out what's wrong with him."

"Do you intend to help him with this? Time is a precious resource humans have very little of." Hound nodded his affirmation. "Fine. He's your responsibility Hound. However, the moment a Decepticon finds him is the moment you take him to Autobot base." Prowl stood and straightened his shirt. "A new signal has appeared over the last few weeks, but its weak and difficult to pinpoint. It could be nothing." Hound heard the 'but' loud and clear. Nothing was nothing to them until proven otherwise. Earth was full of so many signals that it was easy to hide among the noise and that was dangerous.

"I'll keep an eye out. Keep safe old friend."

Prowl nodded wordlessly before exiting and leaving Hound to his thoughts.

His conversations with Prowl were very much like that anymore. Short. Concise. To the point. Prowl had never been much of a socialite, but it had been exacerbated. He knew Prowl landed before himself. What he didn't know was what happened to him. Prowl didn't offer the information and Hound didn't ask.

Hound huffed and slapped some currency on the bar top before heading out himself. He had an auto mechanic to see.

…

Gregory Witwicky cursed and fumed as he struggled with a rusted nut, trying and failing to get it loose so that he could change the damn tire. He really needed to start up-charging for cars being brought in that had clearly not been taken care of or had been sitting out in someone's yard for God knows how long.

"Damn it!" he cursed again when he hurt his thumb in the process this time. He almost stuck it in his mouth but thought better of it when he saw the grease and grime and wrapped it in his towel instead.

"Sounds like a bad day." Harris called out as he strolled into the auto garage. Harris stood up straight so that he could be seen from behind the car he was working on. Harris had no such difficulties, being so tall himself, Gregory could pick him out of a crowd.

"Something like that." He answered. "Something wrong?" While it wasn't unusual to see Harris stop by, usually there was warning, and the man never brought his car around because he did all the work himself. Or so he claimed.

Harris' brows furrowed as he slid his hands into his pockets, appearing to mull over his next words carefully. Gregory put down the towel, his throbbing thumb forgotten, and gave the other man his full attention. "Have you talked to Sam since the block party?" Harris asked.

"Not in so many words." Gregory admitted. He figured Harris would want to talk about his nephew's melt down sooner or later. "I wanted to give him his space. I could tell something was wrong, but Sam…you know…the kid shuts down when something is wrong. You push too hard and he-well-he runs." He was alluding to the fall out his brother and Sam had. He didn't want Sam to think he had nowhere to go, he didn't want to corner the kid, no matter how much he wanted answers. "Why? Did you?"

"A little," Harris hummed. "I was concerned."

"What did he say?" Gregory wasn't thrilled that Harris had gone behind his back, but he could push that to the back burner for now.

"Not much more than he tells you I imagine."

Gregory sighed and leaned against his work bench, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what to do with him. How to help. My brother won't tell me anything and Judy is vague at best. I thought he would come to me in his own time after being away for a while, but over a year now….."

Harris came to stand next to Gregory. A strong comforting presence. "Send him home." He suggested.

"Oh yes, that will help." Gregory deadpanned.

"He would be with his parents, around friends."

"That wasn't helping him the first time and I don't want to see-" Gregory was raising his voice then suddenly cut off sharply. Softer, "I don't want to see him end up like Archibald Witwicky."

"The explorer?"

"Yes. The man went utterly insane, muttering nonsense, after he lost his eyesight in that accident. And Sam, I just feel like he's headed down a path none of us can follow." Harris looked at Gregory with an upset expression. His lips drawn tight and stance rigid. Like he had something to say, and he couldn't, or wouldn't, say it. Gregory continued, "I want to help my nephew any way I can. Maybe even help repair what damage there's been done between him and my brother." Harris put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Be there for him and when the time comes, he will open up, I'm sure."

Gregory leaned into the strength. "I don't know. Sam's stubborn, thinks he can take the weight of the world alone. He's suffering, but he won't let anyone else shoulder it with him. His parents I can understand because who tells their parents everything, but his friends? Me? I think he's losing it and he's drowning and all I can do is watch!" Gregory threw the towel in frustration. Harris watched him, something unreadable in his eyes. "He's going to wind up in a mental institution or-" He was cut off as Harris pulled him into a rough hug. While Harris was always friendly and open with affection, this was new. Gregory didn't fight it and sagged into him as he tried to let his despair ebb away. It was warm, safe, though not like any embrace Gregory had before. He couldn't put his finger on why though.

"You're doing your best. I'm certain he appreciates it." Harris murmured gently.

"Thanks." Gregory breathed. He stepped away after another long second and rubbed his hands over his eyes. "Maybe I'll close up shop early today. Order a pizza, rent a movie Sam would like. I think he thinks I'm mad about what happened that night. I'm not, but I never said I wasn't either."

"Sounds like a good idea," Harris approved. "But don't people stream movies now?"

Gregory shot him an annoyed look, feeling aged. Harris laughed. "Quit it. I live in a small town in the middle of nowhere, I don't have to keep up." Gregory defended.

"Even though most of your neighbors use Netflix and Disney prime?" Harris chortled.

"Out!" Gregory pointed.

"Aww, come on, I'll let you use mine!" Gregory continued to point towards the entrance of his garage but couldn't stop the small smile on his face or ignore the fact that he felt better after talking to Harris. "Alright, I get it, I'm not wanted." Harris held up his hands in defeat. "I'll see you later. Let me know how it goes." Gregory watched him depart in his military green jeep until he turned the corner and then stared a little longer before going back to the stubborn nut.

…

Sam wanted to sit on the mech's hood, but he had to constantly remind himself that this wasn't Bumblebee and that the behavior may not be appreciated. Ironhide didn't mind Will leaning against him, but strongly discouraged the practice from anyone else. Sam suspected he only tolerated Sam doing it because Will convinced him to. So, he sat on a fold out chair in front of the hood with a can of soda in hand. He was old enough to seek out the beer in his uncle's fridge, but he honestly thought it tasted like piss water. He chewed his lower lip as he wandered in thought.

Sam was running out of ideas to help the mech. He had to be helping because the mech was able to get out two words where as before they could only speak like a garbage disposal. He wasn't sure if the mech's self-repair was kick started enough or if he would have to break down and call Ratchet. He really should. It should have been the first thing he did the moment he knew his uncle's old car was really a Cybertronian. Was he being selfish by not reaching out?

"I should call Ratchet." Sam said as he took a sip of his drink. "I don't know what else to do for you. Honestly, I barely know what I'm doing. My ex knew everything about cars, all I know is from what my Uncle is teaching me."

"No."

Sam sat straighter in his chair. There it was again, the voice, English words accented with a distinctly alien language. He was interested in conversing then.

"He's a doctor, he can help."

"I know. No."

Sam frowned as he leaned back again. "Are you afraid of him?"

A pause.

Then, "No."

So Sam chanced, "Are you a Decepticon?"

"NO!" That one wasn't quite human sounding or in English, but Sam understood it nevertheless.

"Hey hey, calm down." Sam hushed. "Just had to ask." He tapped his fingers on his soda can more for the noise than anything. "You're still hurt. You need help." He turned the conversation back around to the mech's care.

"You." Was the response.

"I'm not good enough."

"You." Again, firmer this time, leaving no room for argument. "Allspark."

Sam just stared at the Lamborghini fully aware they probably couldn't see him. "You want to end up a piece of roasted metal then? Because that's all I do when that energy comes out. I hurt. Destroy. I nearly hurt my friend the last time I decided to help someone." He could feel his stress rising and tried to stamp it out, not really desiring to deal with those blasted marks right now.

"Life."

"Death." Sam countered.

The hood popped up of its own accord and Sam could hear the straining of gears trying to move and shift. It sounded awful. And painful. Sam leapt up in alarm, he didn't know what he could do to stop the mech without getting smushed fingers in the process. "Hey now! That doesn't sound good!" Parts shifted and shook as though the mech was just holding them out of the way rather than being able to adjust their inner workings. It appeared to take a lot of effort. There was a piece, a smooth silver box in the right corner, that the adjusting revealed. He wasn't sure what it was, but was sure that's what the mech wanted him to see.

"Try."

"I could hurt you." Sam shook his head.

There was a sound akin to a snort. Self-depreciating in nature. "Try." They said again. Sam understood then. The mech was barely able to talk, completely unable to move, to transform. What did they have to lose?

"Okay." Sam gave in. "Okay. But if it doesn't go right….." His nerves were alight, and his heart thundered in his chest. He wasn't sure if it was from fear or…excitement. Sam took a deep breath then slowly released it to steady himself before sticking his hand through the opening created. He didn't even have to think about those marks long before they were lighting up the dark crevice with a wash of electric blue. He had to fight to steady himself, keep his heart rate down, and keep from panicking so he didn't hurt this mech. He reached deep within himself to find that energy and bring it out, but just a little. He wanted to will just a tiny little bit to hit that box and, hopefully, kickstart something. Anything.

Sam closed his eyes, breathing steadily. He was surprised to find he could feel the mech he was trying to help, feel their energy, their spark. It was weak, but something about it too stubborn to die, though it felt incomplete in way. Like if he followed the energy he could go much further, like it extended beyond the backyard like a bright beacon. Warm. Comforting. He reached towards it, but found the energy coil around him firmly and ground him and prevent him from going down that path. As he started to panic the markings started bouncing around frantically on his arm in reaction.

"No." He felt more than heard the word, alarm lacing the tone. "Leave him."

The energy directed him back to the damaged mech and away from path. He was tempted to struggle but reminded himself what he was doing. It was just so easy to get lost in these waves. He clung to the energy then, using it like a tether rather than viewing it as chains. Sam turned his attention back to the mech. He could feel how damaged he was, how broken. While Sam had helped begin to ease the pain, there was so much more keeping him down.

He felt his own energy rising quickly, like a tide meeting a tsunami and Sam was attempting to funnel it down a small riverbank. He was quickly losing all control. Bright blue bolts started to spark from his fingers, electrifying everything they could touch. Sam wanted to pull back, but that other energy kept him there firmly in his mind. They were momentarily connected.

"I'm hurting you!" Sam gritted out. He could almost feel the mechs discomfort and could hear small electrical whines. It was too much. He had to stop.

"No. Not yet." He got back in return.

"You're a fucking idiot!" Sam gasped.

"Don't stop." Was his only response. He could feel an impression upon him. 'I'm practically slagged anyway.' Sam realized the mech wasn't going to quit until he was repaired….or dead.

With a yell Sam thrust his hand forward, pressing his whole palm against the small box. It was cold at first, then it bloomed with heat as it took the brunt of his energy. There was a high pitch whine all around him and he was certain he was screaming as well.

There was pain in his hand, his arm, his whole body. His mind screamed at him to stop. Blue electricity lit up the inside of the Cybertronian and he could smell something sharp.

Then he felt as though he had stuck a fork in a socket and was thrown back and away from the Lamborghini.

He landed hard.

Then he blacked out.