Author's Note: It's felt good shaking off the cobwebs and getting into this story again. I'd like to extend a heartfelt thanks to those who had read the original iteration of this story and have come around to read this one. It makes me feel amazing considering it's been over ten years since I first tried writing out this story.
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Sam may not be too happy because I've actually exacerbated his issues in this one from the previous, but it's all for the happy end right?
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Please enjoy the second chapter.
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I own nothing except Gregory Witwicky who I made exclusively for this story.+

…

Sunstreaker couldn't remember the last time he dreamed. Or was conscious. He thought in the never-ending blackness, he remembered things he wishes he could forget. He'd committed great crimes and this, apparently, was his penance. Floating within the black nothingness forever with no hope of death or release. Sometimes he got flashes of feeling. Of pain. Of worry. Of madness. Of war. Of death. He longed to reach out to the other half of his spark, to the other half of his being, but his connection to consciousness was so faint that all he could do was suffer and wither away in disrepair.

Then there was a spark. It was faint at first. Tiny. But it went through his system like a fire, and it was the first time in a long time he felt something corporeal. Like a fire it burned hot and fast and then he was left colder than before.

Sideswipe, his subconsciousness offered.

The only thing in this universe brighter than himself.

It was silent and cold for a while after that and he thought that, maybe, it would never happen again.

Then it did.

A bright spark thrummed through his consciousness encouraging him to shake off the cobwebs and pull out of the darkness. He began to crave it and reach for it, chasing that bright warmth in the ceaseless cold. It happened again. And again. Each time pulling him closer and closer to the surface until he could string together coherent thought and feel the planet humming under his body. The foreign substance under his wheels. His systems were badly damaged and he couldn't activate the self-repair as it was knocked offline, but he was foggily aware of his surroundings.

Sunstreaker did NOT consider this an improvement. He almost wished he was in the endless black again. He could feel things crawling or hopping on his back, squirming underneath him, he would've shuddered if he could.

Gross.

Disgusting.

He could feel the heat of the foreign planet's sun bearing down on his prone form and given relief only when it set for the day and gave way to what he assumed was night.

He hated it.

It felt like a prison of his own design.

Then he noticed another creature would crawl onto him, but just stay there. Larger and heavier than the other creatures, but instead of the odd noises the others made, this creature spoke. Not any language he was aware of and because he was in such a severe state that he couldn't connect to any local language data base. It spoke softly, sometimes sadly and sometimes with hints of frustration, he wondered at times if the creature knew who he was. Or what he was. But the creature never stayed too long when the sun was beating hot. It stayed longer when the temperature was cooler and giving his poor abused form a break, sometimes for hours.

Sometimes it liked to poke its little fingers into him, messing with his inner workings, but it was oddly gentle and delicate for something that could have been trying to tear him apart. He didn't like it on principle, he loathed the idea of things touching him, but slowly he started to feel better.

What are you little thing? He wondered.

…

Sam's phone vibrated in his pocket while he was wrist deep in the Lamborghini. It was relentless so he pulled it out gingerly, holding it with he tips of his fingers, heart sinking at the name on the screen.

'B'

With a little picture of a cartoon bumblebee beneath it.

He stared at it, watching as it rang long enough to just go to voicemail. His heart pounded in his chest as guilt washed over him anew. If he'd pressed ignore Bumblebee would know he was intentionally ignoring his calls rather than just being in a sort of void state where he registered nothing. Even in the half year he had been gone, his guardian hadn't given up on trying to reach out despite Sam telling him he just needed time to himself. Time to think. He slid the phone back into his pocket numbly.

He didn't have to look to know the marks had reappeared again nor did he care. He threw the socket wrench he'd been using into the dirt, frustrated at himself more than anything.

"Why did you choose me? All I've ever done is try and help." He ground out, frowning at his arms. "I don't want this! I didn't choose this!" The marks began to dance frantically on his skin turning a startling red. Like Megatron's eyes. Sam let out a frustrated scream and kicked the deflated tire of the car. The rage built up inside of him, burning him, and he wanted to release it.

Punch. Kick. Scream. Destroy.

Then, as he spotted the wrench on the ground and entertained the idea of going through with the feeling, it went out of him like a gust of wind. Sam felt breathless. The marks turned blue again and settled back to their gentle bobbing about. He fell to his knees. He wanted to cry.

What was that?

His hands trembled, but the marks were still a tranquil blue. Everything was normal.

Sort of.

There was an awful noise then, like someone had put nails in a blender. His head whipped around as he looked for the source, but everything was still.

That's enough for today, Sam decided. He braced a hand on the car and got up, feeling oddly weak, and started to clean up what he'd been doing. That's when he noticed one of the headlights was on. He stared for a moment then at his hand.

"Did I do that?" He wondered. Did he damage the car on accident or, somehow, jolt the battery? The sound came again, nails in a blender, this time he realized it was coming from the car. Suddenly he was excited. Then dread washed over him. A car wouldn't try and turn itself over. He didn't have the key in the ignition. "Oh no. Oh fuck."

It all stopped at once. The light went out and the sound died out and once more the car was silent.

"Nope." Sam went inside and didn't look back.

…

Slag.

Slag.

SLAG!

Stupid puny idiotic creature!

Sunstreaker wanted to kick himself as he felt the creature retreat. He'd felt that spark, that glorious spark that had brought him back to consciousness, he'd chased the warmth as it buried itself into his gears and gotten greedy. When the creature kicked him, he did as any Cybertronian would have done and tried to yell at him, but to his surprise his vocals actually tried to respond. It was an awful sound, and no actual words could be formed, but it was music to him because it was the first time his body showed signs of repair!

It had scared the creature though and it fled, taking its warmth and spark with it.

Now he was alone and cold again.

Slag.

He didn't know much about the creature, but he knew that spark was part of it. It came and went as it did. It possessed the means to bring him back online, or at least enough so that he could activate his self-repair. But he'd gotten impatient and now had potentially blown it.

'Great job Sunstreaker. What a sorry state you've found yourself in.'

…

Sam didn't go into the backyard again after that. He kept to his room or the living room, drawn back in on himself as though he had first walked through the door duffle bag in hand. Uncle Gregory obviously sensed the change as he kept shooting his nephew worrying looks, but every attempt to try and pull it out of him was thwarted.

He laid on his back on his bed staring up at the ceiling. Sam was losing control again. He could feel it. It was the same as when he'd been around Bumblebee that first time, not long after the marks had started showing up, and given his guardian a nasty shock to the system that had nearly shut him down. Even though Bumblebee had reached out to try and calm his panicking human, assuring Sam he was fine, Sam blamed himself for hurting him.

Whenever he came close to the Autobots those marks started to really act up. It's like the energy within him was trying to leap from his body to get to them. He couldn't risk hurting any of the others. Not Ironhide. Not Ratchet. Certainly not Prime himself.

Sam groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars.

"Okay, this doesn't have to be a problem." He told himself. "Just avoid the backyard. Whatever side its on, it can't move right now otherwise I'd be splatter on the ground." He could justify it all he wanted, but if the car was indeed sentient…. he couldn't just leave it….him….her…. out there. Could he?

'Yes you can.' He told himself sharply. 'Better than off lining the mech yourself through an accident. How would you explain that to the autoboots?'

"Sam?" Uncle Gregory's voice sounded from the other side of the bedroom door following a soft knock.

"Yeah?" He answered, sitting up on his elbows.

Uncle Gregory entered the room looking clean cut and nice with a V-neck shirt that didn't have any holes in it.

"You going somewhere?" Sam asked. His uncle was a bit of a loner even though he enjoyed porch sitting and talking with the neighbors, so this was the first time he'd seen him all dressed up to go out somewhere that wasn't the grocery store or gas station.

"I'm going out to get beer with a friend." Uncle Gregory rubbed the back of his neck. "I've had this lined up for a little bit, but I noticed you haven't been acting much like yourself. Well I wonder if maybe I should-" Sam could see the hesitation in his eyes and the uncertainness in the line of his body. He wanted to go, but he was worried. Sam slid off the bed with an easy smile. He swallowed all of his anxiety and issues so that his uncle could see the clarity in his eyes.

"You go, have fun! I'm alright, really. Who are you going with?"

"I'm going with Harris, I owe him a beer or six for some favors he's done." Sam pretended not to notice the color dusting his uncle's cheeks. "If you're sure, but I don't want you getting into trouble while I'm gone, you hear?" He injected some assertiveness into his voice, likely to cover his nerves.

"I'll order a pizza and watch one of your old horror movies so I can laugh at the terrible acting."

His uncle gave him a withering stare then ruffled his hair. "Alright kid. I got my cell if you need anything."

"Won't need it." Sam promised. "Have fun and stay out late."

One last glance and his uncle went out the door, his shoulders more relaxed.

Sam kept to his word, ordering pizza and watching terrible horror movies. It would have been better with Miles there to joke about the awful acting and use of too much fake blood, but he hadn't really talked to his childhood friend since high school. He shoved the rest of a pizza crust in his mouth as the movie hit its climax, feeling more relaxed than he had in a while. Sam hadn't taken much time to just exist and do nothing, let his mind go blank, and he wished he'd done it sooner.

As the chainsaw in the movie started up so too did a noise from the outside, shrill and grinding, Sam screamed in perfect timing with the character in the movie. His heart pounded as he knocked the pizza box off the couch, but the sound from outside didn't stop.

'The car.' He thought. He'd KNOWN it. He was frozen to his spot on the couch unable to bring himself to move as he debated on what to do while the movie exploded with noise and shrieks and music.

Was it a call for help?

Or a warning to stay away?

Fuck it.

Sam tossed on his uncle's flip flops, the ones he used to go get the mail with, and went outback.

It was quiet when he got out there and the car was sitting in the same place it always did, not moving and dark. He crossed his arms and just stared at it. When he decided it wasn't going to suddenly get up and walk, he approached the car as his eyes really took in the body of it. It looked just like an old, beat up Lamborghini. There was no marker on it. No Autobot symbol. Nothing. Was he going nuts like his Grandfather Archibald Witwicky?

He stood right in front of the nose of the car, barely bumping the metal with his legs.

There it was again, the grinding. His brows furrowed. Was it trying…to talk?

Sam got an idea and ran back inside to get his phone then back out to the car. He flipped through his apps and pulled up YouTube, playing a song in his list that he didn't quite remember putting there.

Hooked on a Feeling blasted from his phone's speakers. He placed it on the hood of the car.

"I have a friend who couldn't talk either, but he used the radio to communicate. Can you do that?"

Silence.

Sam worried his lower lip then went to open the front passenger door. It didn't budge even though he had opened it before.

"Really?" He groused as he pulled at it again, but the door refused to swing up. This felt entirely intentional. The mech didn't want him getting in. "I can't help you if I can't get in. I want to see if the radio works." The door still didn't loosen up. He tried the other side just to see if maybe something was wrong with that side, but no. It didn't move either. He felt the sudden urge to kick the tire again. "Don't be stubborn."

One headlight flashed and he swore it was with attitude. When he tried to open the door again the headlight flashed again.

"Fine!" He threw his hands up. "See if I care." Sam sighed and leaned against the hood, pressing a palm against the warm metal. Warm. Like Bumblebee. His shoulders sagged as the frustration left him. "I just want to help you. I've helped your kind before, I'm friends with some of them. I know your leader, Optimus Prime. He's here."

Hopefully their leader, his mind supplied.

"It looks like you were hurt badly before. Let me help you. You've been out here a long time…alone. Aren't you tired of being alone?"

The car was silent and the headlight stayed dark. But he felt something that raised the hair on his arms, like something was reaching towards him that he couldn't see. He could feel his own energy react in kind, the marks on his arms glowing briefly before vanishing again. A smile graced his lips. He'd just been given permission.

Alright then.