Combustion

Thank you again to all the wonderful people who reviewed and also those who don't review but are adding me to story alerts :) I see them come up!

Another huge thanks to DANIA for her second absolutely fantastic review. Who needs to read the story when you can synopsize it so well :) seriously – I enjoy reading the review comments that people post as much as I enjoy reading other fics… ok well not AS much but close! I also have to compliment you on managing to work the word 'minutiae' into your review. It was a nice touch :) I have to say after I got your brief review after you typed it at 3 in the morning I was hanging out for this one and it didn't disappoint :D

Secondly I want to make another mention of a review – DEMARCOS. Thanks for your review also. I appreciate that the grammar and spelling are an important part of literature and that's why I use them :) Being located in Australia we are still using the King's English (you know – colour not color and so on), though your note about the spelling of focussed caught me by surprise! I ran to the dictionary and also looked it up online, thinking I was a moron, and it is apparently one of those strange words that has 2 acceptable spellings. Both focused and focussed are acceptable (hence why spell check didn't fix it either), however they're phasing out the double 's' version, so I suppose you are technically correct :) From this chapter forward I will be using only 1 S. Considering I'm not long out of school it's interesting that I was still being taught the old way :)

I guess our teachers need to have a more 'focused' approach to keeping up to date ;)

Anyway, funnin' aside, this chapter was difficult to write. I'm suffering somewhat of a split personality about which way to take the story – both ways lead to the same destination, but have radically different paths. Personally I think the chapter turned out CRAP, so I just hope people will stick with me and not abandon the story :)

See what you think

Chapter 5

Darkness returned to the clearing as Mikaela's truck turned the corner and began it's descent down into the valley below. The only source of light was a faint blue glow that came from Bumblebee's optics, hovering far above him somewhere, casting an almost fey like pall across the ground. He unconsciously hugged himself, not sure what to do now or how to proceed from here. His autobot had returned alone, without Optimus Prime, and spoken only to ask Mikaela to leave so they could talk in private. He had silently pleaded with the girl's eyes not to abandon him. She had not been looking at him though, only staring above him at the form of the robot, as though reading his expression. She had been silent for almost a minute, but then looked back down and stated quietly that she had to get some sleep. He felt a stab of betrayal, as though everyone was in on something that no one would tell him, trying to force him into something he just wasn't ready for. And now he was stuck here, suffering from something he didn't understand, with the cause of that something looming over him.

"We have to talk Sam." Speak of the devil. There was a soft thump as Bumblebee sank to one knee behind him, one of the huge hands landing beside him in the dirt, holding the large robot up as he bent over.

"It's important." There was no force in B's voice, no pressure, only a quiet urgency that carried a hint of desperation in it. It was an unsettling sound to hear coming from his normally so ebullient partner, and that, as much as anything, made Sam not want to turn around. He really didn't want to hear any of this. There could only be one thing to talk about between them, and it was something he still didn't want to discuss. Oh he could accept that he was in love with Bumblebee, he could concede that he found B's personality attractive, and his attention and devotion equally as adorable. He could even, if he was brutally honest with himself, confess to finding both of B's forms acutely sexy. The problem wasn't that he couldn't feel those things for his guardian; the problem was that now he'd been made aware of them, he knew deep down he shouldn't. Didn't they understand what this would do to him?

"I told you I need time B." Unlike Bumblebee, his own voice was filled with a bitter depression that seemed to cut through the stillness around them like a knife. There was a pause, followed by a faint whirring as his companion moved. A second later he felt the touch of a large finger as it ran down his back, causing the now familiar electrical tingle that travelled straight through him. A pulse of light pushed at his thoughts and with a cry he wrenched himself away, before that brightness could draw him in. He ended up on the ground as his foot caught on a clump of grass, scrambling backwards in the dirt as the two blue glowing circles peered down at him.

"What the fuck B?" The head lowered until it was only a bare couple of feet away, the blue eyes looking like the nozzles at the rear of a turbojet engine, the glow seeming like nothing so much as intensely burning flame.

"Time is not something that humans have in abundance Sam." The urgency was stronger this time, seeming to almost emphasise the intensity of B's stare, and their proximity to each other. He couldn't help it as he got angry, feeling a rush as adrenaline pumped into his system. He pushed himself back to his feet, standing rigid before the blue gaze, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"What the fuck do you care B? You're probably older than the entirety of human civilisation. It's not like you're being asked to commit your entire life to a person. I'm sure there have been people before me, and there'll be more to come after me." There seemed to be a flash of hurt cross the alien face before him, and he heard a scrape as metallic fingers sank into the ground. Guilt smothered him and he took a small step back, some of the anger leaching out of him as his eyes fell to the ground.

"Yes, I have feelings for you B, like nothing I've ever felt before, and what we did together was, amazing." Fresh tears darkened his cheeks and his voice dropped into something more resembling resignation than anger.

"But we can't have a future together. Do you understand that?" He looked for some glimpse of comprehension from the autobot, but encountering nothing but that same fiery gaze. He sighed and turned away again, still speaking in the same dull, level tone.

"You live for a long time B. If this thing between us works out I'll grow up, live my life and eventually I'll die. Humans live for eighty, maybe a hundred years tops. That would probably seem like the blink of an eye to you, but for me, it would consume my entire life." He scuffed his shoe in the dirt, stirring up a small cloud of dust as he did so.

"I'd lose everything B. I mean, what sort of relationship could we hope to have?" The tears were flowing more freely now and he sniffed as he tried to wipe them away, just smearing the moisture more.

"I'd never be able to take you out to a restaurant, or introduce you at a family barbeque. I'd never be able to take a date anywhere I went, every major event in my life I'd be by myself." He looked over his shoulder, the fire in those glowing blue eyes seeming dimmer than it had been moments ago. He turned, raised a hand and gently touched the metal of B's face, feeling the connection that seemed to haunt them every time they made contact now. The throb of Bumblebee's spark was there too, calling to him like the siren's song of legend. His voice became even softer, filled with a sadness that he somehow knew he'd never get over.

"It would mean the rest of my life waking up in an empty bed, living in an empty house, the neighbourhood weirdo that everyone whispered about behind his back." He pulled his hand away, feeling the instant sense of loss as flesh parted with metal, Bumblebee shuddering, while a small whimper escaped him.

"Try to understand B, please. For you it will be an instant, a flash of memory so brief it probably won't even bare thinking about. You can start over. For me, it will mean everything." He scrubbed at his tears again, feeling a grittiness that meant he'd probably smeared some dirt there.

"I need time B. A thousand years from now, for you, it will all just seem like a brief fling, but for me it's much more serious." He thought he saw his autobot tense in front of him at his words, a spark of anger igniting in those eyes, the effect like a fighter jet soaring off a carrier. It appeared that he was going to say something to rebut his comment, but then it was gone and the head was pulling away from him.

"I understand Sam. I will wait until you're ready." The familiar sound of transformation echoed as the robot form disappeared, replaced by the yellow Camaro. The driver's door popped open, waiting for him.

"Thank you." He meant it, and the interior lighting flashed at him in understanding and acknowledgement. He eased himself into the driver's seat, feeling an almost imperceptible shake of the car around him as he did so, the electric tingle travelling across his skin. He felt tired now. Not tired as one feels when they're up till 2am, but a deep weariness that seemed to drain his body. He just wanted to sleep and forget about everything for a while.

Things were always better in the morning.

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The house was eerily silent when Sam stirred to wakefulness late on Sunday. It was more than just a normal quiet, a sort of heaviness that seemed to actively seek out and smother the sounds that were normally there. There was no noise coming from the TV downstairs, though his dad never missed the Sunday morning current affairs program. The sounds of cooking could not be heard from the kitchen either; even when he knew his mother considered Sunday morning breakfast important family time. He wondered if maybe his parents had simply gone out somewhere, but they would never have done something without letting him know, especially not since Bumblebee and the other Autobots had come into their lives.

He carefully set both feet on the carpet and lifted himself out of bed, quickly throwing a pair of jeans on over his boxers, and a shirt that he grabbed off the pile in the corner. In spite of the noise he made moving around no one called out to him or knocked on the door, in fact it wasn't until he cracked the door open that the first sound of habitation reached him. It was the clink of a teacup and saucer touching as someone set them on the table. In the silence, the sound seemed out of proportion with the small size of the objects. His mother only ever made tea when they had company, something about a chance to show off the matching tea set that sat on a shelf for the rest of the time. There should have been the sound of talking or laughing if they'd had guests however, and no such disturbance could be heard. He had a bad feeling about this that had nothing to do with the fact he'd come in very late last night, well after curfew. For a brief moment he wondered if maybe they'd found something out about him and Bumblebee, that Mikaela had run over here first thing this morning and confessed everything. From the landing the stairs stretched down before him, and he almost wanted to call out and ask if anyone was there, a legacy of late nights watching slasher flicks coming back to haunt him.

He crept down them a little tentatively, peering around the corner and into the kitchen when he reached the bottom, not wanting to disturb whatever was going on. It was clean and spotless as it always was, with everything in its precise spot, but there was no smell of cooking, no steam rising from pans or the stove. The microwave was silent and dim, the toaster clean and up on the shelf. His mother and father sat at one corner of the kitchen table, his mothers right hand grasped in his father's left, both their faces pale and nervous. A tea cup sat in front of his mother, steam rising off it creating patterns in the light that streamed in through the window, the saucer was stained pale brown, evidently by a spill. Across from them, looking over the top of the proudly displayed tea set was Captain Lennox, his face as grim as theirs were scared. None of them were looking at each other, sitting there silently, staring at the tablecloth.

"Will?" All three of them jerked at the sound of his voice, his mother's hand pulling free of his father's, slapping the delicate cup and saucer off the table, sending them to the tiled floor with a crash. The spinning and flipping pieces sprayed across the floor towards him, the brown tea seeping into the mortar cracks and flowing through them like a river. His mother didn't even look at them. She didn't scream, didn't apologise, didn't rush to grab a sponge or exclaim over the loss. That, more than anything, made his hair stand on end. B transforming in the street and not even drawing a stare would have been less strange. He looked up from the broken mess to find the three sets of eyes fixed on him, one looking ready to cry, one weary and sad, the third shaken but firm.

"What's going on?" He wished he could have sounded less terrified, especially with the Special Forces captain sitting there, but the entire scene was so surreal that he couldn't help it. His hand had a death grip on the doorframe, as though it would somehow return him to reality if he just squeezed hard enough. He felt himself start to hyperventilate a little, his heart rate increasing, as his mother let out a small cry before turning and burying her face in his father's shoulder. Will stood slowly from his seat, coming around the table to pull out a chair for him.

"You should sit down Sam, there's something you need to know." He didn't want to sit in the chair. Definitely didn't want to see whatever had upset his parents so much. But just as he hadn't been able to deny Bumblebee and his 'talk' last night, he slowly sank down, feeling the hard wood underneath him, and grabbed hold of his mother's hand when she held it out to him.

Things were meant to be better this morning.

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Seven months.

Sam was alone in the backyard, sitting on the grass and staring at the repaired landscaping, noticing that his father hadn't reminded him about staying on the path. He guessed it all seemed rather trivial to them now. His hands were wrapped around his knees, one of them letting go so he could run his palm across the green blades, surprised at the softness. His dad really worked hard to maintain the gardens, his blood sweat and tears going into creating something worthwhile, all that effort suddenly seeming far more important to Sam as he looked around. He could understand wanting to create something so pleasant to have as a reminder. All he'd ever done was laugh at it and belittle it. Now he understood. This would stay behind, this was a record; something to show that Ron Witwicky had existed. It was no wonder his dad went so mental when someone stood on them. He couldn't help wondering what record he'd leave, realising sadly that there probably wasn't much of anything really. Some faded school pictures, obviously some clothes and books, his grade three art project made of plaster. Eventually as time passed his parents would sell or dispose of most of it, maybe keeping a few of the photos or a couple of small souvenirs. And when they finally passed away and some distant aunt or cousin inherited everything, even they would probably be sold or lost.

The garden was more than that though, it would last, or at least continue on in the memories of the neighbours around them. They would remember the Witwicky's, the family who had lost their son to some horrible disease. At least he supposed he could leave that much of a legacy. Maybe one sunny day someone would look over the fence and remember the young Witwicky boy, who they'd seen last on a day like that. There were worse places to be remembered. The whole yard was bathed in beautiful warm sunlight; yet another perfect summer day. The weather report promised more to come this week and possibly even the one after that. It was a forecast that didn't suit his mood now.

At the far end of the garden he could see the last of the bulbs his mother had planted last year dying, the stalk withering away, while under the earth the plant would go back into hibernation, ready to flower again next spring.

He wouldn't see it.

His eyes flicked away at the sudden, bitter thought. He didn't know why it upset him so much; he couldn't even remember what the flowers had looked like now, just that Aunt Jude had sent them and his mother had been ecstatic when they flowered so quickly. He thought they'd been yellow, but he might have been confusing them with the ones his Aunt had sent the year before last. They were now in the other corner. He remembered running past as his mother tenderly transplanted them, his father's voice in the background yelling at him to stay on the path. Had they been orange then? He thought he remembered a burst of orange somewhere. It was amazing the things you wondered about when you realised it would be the last of everything. Summer was well underway now, most of the spring flowering around him dying or already dead, pruned back by one of his parents to keep the plants in good health. Maybe there was a photo somewhere he could look at.

Seven months.

Under normal circumstances it would have been far too long a time. If his dad had told him he had to wait seven months to get his car he would have gone rabid. If Mikaela had told him they couldn't kiss for seven months he'd have killed someone. God, when you ordered something online and had to wait 'six to eight weeks' for delivery it seemed like an eternity. But now it shrank to the infinitesimally short period of time it really was. It wouldn't just be the flowers he'd be seeing for the last time. There'd be so many things. His last Christmas, last birthday. Would he make it to Easter? That was more than seven months away. Could he hold on for that long? Seven months had been at the outside edge of Ratchet's predictions according to Will; there were simply too many variables not even the supercomputing power of an Autobot could calculate it anymore accurately. There would be no way to tell for sure until things progressed. The odds were good he'd see the first day of winter, but unlikely that he'd see the last. That was as specific as they could get.

Optimus had been waiting in the driveway when he'd come outside, Bumblebee parked in his shadow, almost trying to hide.

He'd screamed at them both in the morning sunlight, ignoring the curious faces peering at him from neighbours windows. He'd accused the larger bot of planning it and the younger one for hiding it from him. No one had said anything, nor tried to stop him as he vented, furious at his situation and furious because he'd done it to himself. He'd eventually run out of energy, reduced to sobs and tears that brought him to his knees on the hard gravel. Will and Optimus had both been vocal in their praise and sympathy, reminding him again and again that he had saved not only the Autobots and his world, but countless others as well. They had pointed out to him that his was not a death in vain as so many were. They were both soldiers. They couldn't understand. For them it was expected that you could leave one day and not come back.

He had blankly accepted their thanks and understanding, their promises to visit him frequently as it progressed and keep him updated on Ratchet's progress. The Secretary of Defence had even passed on his sincere thanks and regrets in a letter, on non-descript paper in a plain white envelope, no signature or name. Apparently there were those who were unhappy about the dissolution of Section 7, who would be most keen to get a hold of him to learn what they could. That was what Will said anyway. He wondered if the guy would come to his funeral. It was too late for Section 7 to do anything to him then. That would be one for the gossip columns.

He'd still been kneeling in the driveway when Optimus pulled out, Will with him, to return first the Captain to the airport before rejoining the other autobots nearby. He'd stayed there as his father had carefully helped his mother up off the floor and led her inside, her sobs still filling the air, and then somehow he'd ended up in the garden. Thinking of all the things he'd miss.

The colour of the flowers continued to elude him, and it bugged him more than it should. It seemed suddenly important, like if you're going to die you should at least be able to remember what your garden looked like. There seemed like so many little things that had previously just been in the way, now highlighting that he had never taken the time to really look around him. How long had Mrs Constantine had a dog? And when had her son grown so big? How long ago had the Restins down the street cut down the huge tree that kept cracking their pool? He couldn't see it towering into the sky now, the physical proof of tree forts and Peter Pan adventures lost to the ages.

Behind him B remained as his only company. Bumblebee, who had been his friend through some of the worst things he'd imagined and who was still there now.

At least now he knew what was causing this thing between them. The horror of knowing that Megatron had done this to him was only balanced by the fact that it had allowed him to get closer to his autobot than he would have ever imagined otherwise. It seemed like poetic justice that the energy the dying Decepticon had tried to create for himself, to re-energise his spark, had instead gone to the human boy killing him. Of course it was equally poetic that the boy responsible for his death would now die himself because of it. Without the physical spark crystal to regulate it, the energy would continue to run rampant through his body. And with the allspark destroyed, there would be no more crystals, even if they had somehow found a way to graft one into him and control its energy.

No, in retrospect Bumblebee's behaviour last night had told him all he needed to know. The urgency and the suddenness of his actions after his meeting with the Autobot leader explained more than words ever could. There would be no last minute solution from Ratchet, no brilliant idea. No reprieve from his sentence. Nothing in the world, no drug, no doctor or treatment could stop what was already going on inside him. Energy was coruscating along his cells and membranes, severing the critical bonds that held everything together, breaking them down.

It had been hard to listen as Optimus had told him how it would progress. It had been torture as that sympathetic, deep voice had carefully and systematically explained to him how he would die. He had heard the warnings, to watch for when fatigue and nausea would start to set in. To be aware that he would start to suffer occasional bruising or bleeding as blood vessels ruptured below the skin. To monitor his eyesight so they would know when the decay of his optic nerves had started. In the background his mother had begun sobbing, almost drowning out the facts about the headaches and dizziness, and then his father had blanched at the vomiting and black outs. Eventually they had reached the end, the irreversible memory loss, almost a dementia, which would set in and deprive him of lucidity for the final few days, as his systems began shutting down one by one, kidneys, liver… lungs, heart. His mother had sunk to the floor by then, screaming hysterically as his father crouched next to her, pressing a kiss to her head as his own tears appeared.

The seven month estimate had seemed hopelessly optimistic at that point. By the time some of the symptoms had set in he wouldn't be able to do much of anything but crawl around the house. It seemed even the short time he'd been given was shortened yet again.

He looked over at the yellow Camaro sitting patiently in the driveway. Now, above everything else, was not the time to pass up on something because it might affect his future. Now was not the time to look back and have regrets.

"B. I want to go for a drive."

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The gates to the race track they had used just the day before flew off their hinges as B's weight slammed into them, sending them soaring through the air to land a hundred feet in the distance. The pit was empty as they flew through onto the track, not even a cleaner or security guard keeping an eye on the place. The checker paint that marked the start and finish line flashed past beneath them, and then they were off. With no witnesses and no one to restrain them they flew through the first S bend as though Megatron himself was on their tail, Bumblebee's tyres squealing against the blacktop, and plumes of smoke rising behind them as they powered out of the turn. Sam gripped the wheel like a life preserver, ignoring the tingling and buzzing that filled him and focusing only on the road ahead. A grin filled his face, not quite one of joy, but not quite anticipation either. There was no hiding or suppressing between them now and he could feel the pulse of B's spark already pressed against him, cocooning him like a comforting embrace. It seemed to hold him in safety, as they traversed the course at speeds that normal cars would have flown apart at.

After a minute enjoying the feel of the race flow through him, he released the wheel to let Bumblebee take over, relaxing back into the leather to enjoy the ride. A hand ran gently over the centre console, smiling as B shuddered around him. Not even the incredible speeds they were at could cause that reaction from him, and Sam felt a sense of power at that knowledge. It was an invigorating sensation, that this incredibly powerful and extraordinary being, who could destroy a building or step on a man, could feel such pleasure at his simple touch. So what if he had fallen in love with his car, so what if they were both being reckless. He'd be dead within a few short months and no one would ever know. Except for B, and he would live forever. Maybe that was enough of a legacy to leave behind. There would always be something of Sam Witwicky to exist as long as Bumblebee remembered him. He wouldn't be forgotten.

Outside the windows the trees and grandstands flew past at a rate that turned them into blurs of colour, like an artist had wiped their hand across the world and streaked everything into a sea of shades. They were alone here in their own little pocket, away from the knowledge that he was dieing, away from the society that would probably frown on what they felt for each other. Here they were each other's world. And that was enough.

The hand that had been rubbing back and forth across B's console changed to a caress, his fingertips ghosting across the leather and metal with a very non-platonic stroke that he knew felt fantastic when he rubbed his own flesh the same way. The tachometer shot past the redline, the engine plummeting down into the bass rumble that so affected him every time. The shiver travelled straight up through his spine, setting his nerves on fire and causing him to release a moan that, to his own ears, sounded surprisingly wanton. He didn't care though, it was only B, and he wasn't going to die without just giving in and doing everything he wanted to. Why did it matter now if B knew he wanted him? What would it gain him if he held back? Who was going to find out?

He pressed himself back into the seat, removing his hand from its stroking only long enough to strip off his shirt and feel the leather against his naked skin. The engine screamed at that, shrieking wildly up and down the revs. More rumbles travelled up through the car to him and the hand that wasn't repeating its travels across B's sensitive interior gripped the headrest behind him. He threw his head back and cried out, pleasure scorching through him like lightning. The air grew thick, a sensation he remembered well and he embraced it, breathing deeply until he felt the tightness that had affected him so much, and he wanted so desperately to feel again.

With a flash the deep throb of B's spark filled his mind, the blinding light piercing through him until he could feel the brightness like a caress. Energy surged into him with a ferocity and voraciousness that threatened to devour him. It still terrified him, but now pushed him towards completion as well, feeling his sweat slick skin slide sensuously across the shuddering seat. He could feel B reaching out for him, like the feel of two magnets tugging at each other, trying to join, and he threw himself at it with a need he'd feared to accept. He felt his body strain against itself, every muscle tightening, one hand clenched achingly around the headrest, the other pressed firmly against the dash. He convulsed as another bass vibration passed through the cabin and arched against the seat, contorting within the confines of the car. He heard the squeal of tyres somewhere in the background, and felt a shudder pass through his autobot, only imagining how whorish his actions must look, his erection straining the jeans as he arched and slid across the seat, while his hands stroked everything within reach. His heart hammered at his chest like a jackhammer excited at being so free.

A spark flashed at his fingertips then, causing his eyelids to flutter uncontrollably as he moaned once again. Blue/white ribbons of energy started to spark everywhere he touched curling up from the dash into his arm, flowing over him like streams of water. More joined them from the floor and the seat until he felt himself encased in it, the light in his mind merging with the reality in front of him. They brushed up and down him, like the caress of a thousand lovers, touching every part of him and setting off his nervous system like a struck gong. Time seemed to stop then, suspended as though he was adrift in a cloud of frenzied euphoria; the pleasure threatening to drive him insane if it lasted any longer.

And then they joined.

He screamed B's name as it happened, feeling the energy that surrounded them flow through him like a wave. Ecstasy engulfed him with a power that threatened to flay his skin off the bone unless he excised it somehow. He heard the squeals of tortured metal as Bumblebee shook around him, every joint straining as his own were, until the shriek of tyres sliding across asphalt filled the air. He was vaguely aware of B calling his own name as he felt his completion nearing, the raw sexual tone of the cry causing his cock to twitch at the knowledge that he had caused it. He had no further time for thought after that though, as his eyes rolled back in his head. Like a lightning rod it seemed the energy slammed into him one more time, pushing him over the edge, and he climaxed. Warmth flooded into his pants as his mouth froze in an expression of exaltation, one hand clutching at the leather seat, while the other gripped B's gearshift. He felt the pulses as they flowed through him, each one stretching his orgasm out until it was almost painful. And then he went slack, and it was over.

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Somehow his head was resting against the window as he came down from his high, and he could see the track about a hundred feet away from where they'd stopped, tilted on a slight embankment. There was a fuzziness about his mind that seemed to blur his surroundings as well and an indefinable something was missing. A strange lethargy gripped him in its claws, numbing his muscles and senses like a plastic blanket, and though he tried to struggle against it, his energy was draining away from him with a swiftness that should have terrified but didn't.

It finally occurred to him then that he should have been breathing. Should have felt the regular in and out that defined a human existence. It was strange not to feel it and not to feel the need. Actually his body seemed to have stopped doing a few important things; he couldn't feel his heart beating either. His mind refused to pull itself together long enough to grasp exactly what that meant to him though, and he was suddenly so tired. It didn't seem as important as it should have.

"I love you Sam. I could never just find someone else." It was Bumblebee's voice coming gently into the cabin, his voice soothing and full of a warmth and caring that seemed impossible for a machine.

He wanted to respond, needed to explain to B that he hadn't meant the horrible things he'd said to him last night, and to tell him he'd just been afraid. He had to convey how much what they'd just done had meant to him, how amazing it had been, but he still couldn't manage to get a breath. It seemed like such a stupid thing to have trouble with, everyone did it, why was it all of a sudden so hard.

"Sam?" There was a slight tinge of worry to his love's voice then, a questioning tone that carried a hint of deep terror. He needed to ease that fear, but slack lips refused his commands and no air passed to give him voice. He tried again, desperately willing his lungs to work so he could pass on these important messages, and with slight success he felt them spasm, and he coughed.

Blood sprayed across the glass he was resting against, a crimson fan that almost immediately began to drip down towards the door trim. He wanted to wipe it off; to stop it from staining B's beautiful interior, but his arms were too heavy. It couldn't be that important anyway, no doubt there had been worse things smeared on B in his existence. He'd probably get chewed out for it later, but then again it seemed to be darkening and drying even as he watched. Or was that just the sun setting? Had it got that late already?

"Sam!?" His partner was beginning to sound frantic now and he really wanted to reassure him that everything would be fine. There was no need to worry so much, he had months to go yet, seven of them approximately, and it was getting dark outside. They still had plenty of time together. He could have a quick nap now and then they could go home. His dad wouldn't be that upset about breaking curfew, not with things the way they were. There was really no need for B to worry so much.

"SAM!?" This time the cry pierced his ears, filled with such fear and panic that he automatically knew that something must be wrong. Anything that got B that upset had to be dangerous. The sound seemed to lance through some of the confusion that encased him and he struggled against his body, desperately trying to get it to move, and obey him. It refused, and it felt like it was too late now. The darkness was everywhere, and he could feel the last of his strength leaving him, his struggles getting less and less.

Then the light was all gone, and he couldn't struggle anymore.

Fin

God wouldn't you hate it if I ended the story there :) I won't but wouldn't you hate it.

Yeah as I said I don't like this chapter, none of it would come together for me and I struggled with it for two days. Eventually I just had to decide this is all I can do with it and post it. If it loses me readers then so be it :)

Hopefully it will get better again after this.