Author: I know it has been a while since my last update. I was struggling with my writing for a while and then fell out of the fandom for a time. But I found my way back over here and realized just how well recieved this fanfiction had been. It was far better than I expected! So I decided to brush the dust off and not abandon this work. As a writer, it bothers me to leave works unfinished. So for those who have been following this fic, thank you so much! Here is a new chapter.

"I'm walking on sunshine, oh whoa, and don't it feel good!" Gregory Witwicky was several notes off key, but either didn't notice or care. Sam groaned and rolled over, grasping for a pillow to cover his head with. When he found none, he buried his head further into the cushions. Hopefully the torture would soon end. "What are you doing on the couch?" Gregory asked as he spotted his nephew unsuccessfully trying to block out his singing. "Didn't you go to bed?"

"Yeah," Sam's voice was muffled. "Couldn't sleep, came out here."

"Well get your behind moving Sam!" He thumped Sam's shoulder. "Soon as I finish my coffee, we're heading to the shop."

Sam peeled himself off of the couch and to the guest room to get dressed. He felt tired, bone deep exhaustion that he was only familiar with after running for his life. When he glanced at his reflection in the mirror he was greeted with shadowed, bloodshot eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Splashing water on his face, and slapping his cheeks a few times, he deemed himself as ready as possible.

After breakfast, Sam and Gregory went to open the shop. Usually Sam was thankful for the busy work, but he found himself increasingly distracted. He wondered what damage he'd done to the inside of the Lamborghini and if it would ever run again. It would be such a shame if he'd ruined it before he ever got to hear the engine run. Not to mention he'd owe his uncle big time.

"Say, Uncle Greg," Sam asked during a lunch break. "What is that thing in your yard?"

"What thing?" Greg cocked an eyebrow.

"The, uh, the metal thing on the rock. For scaring crows? Visitors? Family?"

Greg laughed. "Oh, that thing! It's a car part that just wouldn't work. So I gave it what for and put it there as an example to all the other car parts. That's what happens when you mess with Gregory Witwicky!" A strange look had crossed his face, bordering on manic.

Sam swallowed his food hard, awkwardly shifting a little away suddenly feeling uncomfortable. His entire family was weird. Point blank.

The next few weeks were spent in a fuzzy lull. Sam would wake up, go to the garage and work, come home and work on the Lamborghini. He didn't think about Decepticons or NEST or Autobots at all. Okay, he thought about Bumblebee, but that was it. Anything else pertaining to aliens and their technology was purged from his mind.

Currently he was cleaning the Lamborghini inside and out, inspecting each piece as he pulled it out and fixing what he could. The deeper he went, however, the stranger things began to look. He wanted to compare it to Bumblebee's engine, but his mind rebelled and he quickly shoved the thought from mind. Great, he thought miserably, I'm seeing them everywhere.

It wasn't that he regretted knowing them or wanted them out of his life. But they had changed his and him, quite possibly beyond recognition. That is what scared him the most. Sam sighed and wiped his hands on the rag. He turned around to get something out of the toolbox. Behind him, Sam heard the hood slam shut. Sam jumped around, startled. No one was there. Shaking his head, he went to pop the hood again. It didn't budge. Frustrated, he pulled the knob harder, but still the hood stayed latched shut.

The door swung down across his back, sending Sam sprawling across the seats and in the floor well. Curses spewed out of his mouth in a string as his back screamed at the abuse. Sam scrambled out of the car, falling onto the dirt on his butt. The car was still and silent.

"Oh no, oh no no no no." Sam babbled. "You!" He pointed a finger at the unassuming Lamborghini. "Stop it!" He didn't know who he thought he was talking to. The door could have been loose and the hood stuck. "Okay, okay," Sam got up and brushed his pants off. "You've got it handled." Keeping one hand on the bottom of the door, Sam went to pop the hood again. This time it complied. Smiling to himself, Sam swung the door down and continued his work on the engine.

When his hands ghosted over the parts, the frame of the entire car shuddered. Sam pulled his hands back, confusedly. Autobot parts were sensitive and Bumblebee would often react like that when Sam gave him a nice deep clean. But this wasn't an Autobot. Right?

"I'm not going to hurt you," Sam found himself saying anyway. "I'm just fixing you up. You were one heck of a mess." The car shuddered again when he touched the engine, but it didn't do anything else, so Sam continued his work. As he did so, he talked. He missed his talks with Bumblebee and though the Autobot was just a phone call away, Sam had kept with his decision to keep his distance. "See, no harm done."

...

How he loathed sitting there, unable to move or speak or do anything. His life, he soon realized, was in the hands of a –a fleshling. The mere thought was repulsive. Since he had first on-lined, he'd spent much time falling in and out of consciousness, but he couldn't stand the fact that a fleshling was putting its fingers in every crevice it could get into. If he could, he would have let the creature know that touching him was not acceptable.

But along with the revulsion, there was something else. The creature brought with it a warm, electrified feeling that he craved to pull from its fingers. It was energy, pure energy that danced teasingly out of his reach. Why wouldn't the creature just shock his systems with the much desired reboot? Perhaps it could kick start his repair systems. But no, he was reduced to small amounts that found its way into his body through the curious fingers.

Then he felt his frame shudder as sensitive parts were touched, stroked and cleaned. He could move! At last! The small acts of defiance were all he was capable of, moving the hood and door, before he wore out. It frustrated him to no end. So close and yet so far. Soon he would be able to communicate with the creature and the sooner he could, the sooner he could be fixed and the sooner he could leave.