Author's Note: This is the revised chapter 9.


Chapter 9

"Primus." Sam gaped, feeling as if he was not really there. "No way… This… This is not happening. I'm dreaming." He tried his hardest to assure himself that this was not true. It could not be.

"It is, though. It is happening, right now. While the autobots fight their brothers and that little scout you are so fond of tries his best to revive you, you are here," The voice sounded almost malicious, scaring Sam. "With me. And, here you shall stay until I decide otherwise."

Sam's spark rate quickened and he spun about, trying desperately to pinpoint a tangible source for the voice. "What do you mean? You can't just keep me here! Bee won't let you!" He yelled in rage at the voice of the Transformers creator, trying to fight down the fear in his gut. There was no way this was really Primus; why would the 'god' keep him hostage here? Why Sam?

"Watch me, Samuel," The voice hissed, and immediately the stars surrounding him disappeared. It was suddenly cold and lonely, terribly so. "I will do what I want with you, Samuel. And you will have no choice but to do as I say. All good children listen to their parents, isn't that right?" The darkness began to envelope Sam, wrapping tightly around him like a hug that he could not escape. His mind started to panic, body thrashing to find a way out. "Is that not right, Samuel?" The grip on him tightened more, and Sam let out a strangled yelp. "Answer me."

"Yes!" He cried out, struggling to pull in air as he began to hyperventilate. The pressure disappeared immediately and he collapsed to his hands and knees, drawing in several ragged breaths. This… This tormenting presence was Primus? Sam did not want to believe it, but there was no other explanation.

A deep chuckle resounded around him, "Good boy. Now, all you have to do is wait like a good boy, and then I will set you free again. Just be patient." It seemed the Supreme Being had returned to a normal state of mind, although still his words scared Sam. He wanted to ask why he had to wait, what he was to do, but he did not have to.

Just as suddenly as the stars were gone, they were back. Sam called out to the voice for a little bit, still feeling that terrible loneliness deep in his soul. There was no answer, though, and Sam gave up. He looked back on his astronomy lessons, all five of them he had been allowed to attend at college before he had apparently gone suicidal. He remembered the names of several of the constellations he could now see right before him, and those he could not he gave nicknames so he could remember them to find out their name later. He made map upon map of the stars, always seeming to find a way to make a whole new one. He listed each one of in his mind, trying keep count of them, trying to occupy himself. And it worked.

For a long time, it worked. He catalogued stars in silence, hoping and praying that Bee and the others were alright. Sam was a 'good boy'; he was patient and did not protest. But, he was only made to wait longer in the silence. And it was torture.

. . .

"Any news, Ratchet?" Optimus' voice was a welcomed break in the silence that was filled by the ever beeping life support machines. Ratchet looked up from the frail form on the table before him, optics seemingly hollow as they focused on his leader.

"Just as I have told you once a day for the past month, Optimus, no. He is still there, his spark still beating… But nothing I do is rousing him." His gaze moved from the Autobot leader back to the comatose techno-organic. Ratchet had been trying everything he could, everything, yet nothing was working. Bumblebee had given up on him being able to help Sam and had completely stopped visiting, sulking about the base in complete silence. The Whitwickys no longer came around either, although Ratchet worked much better without Judy's blubbering and Ron's constant berating of how he was going about treating Samuel. Sam had stayed in this state for thirty-two days. Ever since Red Alert had been killed, Samuel had been in an unresponsive state that was starting to seem unshakable. And it killed Ratchet to have to admit it, to admit that there was nothing he could do.

"What about Inferno?" Optimus moved about the infirmary looking to his comrade who was in quite noticeably diminishing condition. "Is there any way to save him with a severed bond, or…?" Is going to die as well? He looked over to his most trusted friend, light blue optics sad.

"I fear the worst for him. That puts a lot of strain on one's spark, and even if he were to come out of it, to have to face the rest of his existence without his sparkmate… I cannot even fathom the pain he would be in." Ratchet turned his gaze away from Sam and moved across the large room to check on the machines that were keeping Inferno's spark online. He adjusted the settings a bit, trying to keep the other's sparkrate to an average level.

It was all in vain, though. He knew it, Optimus knew it, everyone knew it. It hurt so much to know that no one could do anything about this situation. Ratchet was giving his all, and nothing good was coming from it. "Why did I become a medic if I can't save anyone?!" He yelled suddenly in exasperation, throwing his servos up in the air. "What is the point?" He turned his anger-filled, hollow optics to the leader. "Why am I still doing this Optimus? There isn't a point anymore! We're low on Energon, the Decepticons still insist upon attacking us, and don't try and claim that everything is alright with the whole Megatron situation! Ever since he came back, the attacks have gotten worse and everything has gone further south!"

The leader gave him a sad look, accepting the yelling and slight verbal abuse being thrown at him without letting as much as a hint of pain shown in his optics. Optimus gave a small nod, letting one of his large servos rest on Ratchet's shoulder. "I can understand that you may feel terrible about this, Ratchet. You are correct to say that things are not looking good for us, but it has been awhile since things have. We just have to make the best of what we've got for the moment. We cannot give up. We are stronger than this." His words were vague as ever, although he prayed they offered enough comfort for the other. There was not really much else he could say.

Ratchet brushed his servo off, and Optimus could not help but flinch a bit at the offended look he was given. "Maybe you are. But, Optimus, I can't. I just can't anymore. I'm becoming everyone's mortal enemy because I can't do my job properly anymore. Bumblebee won't even look at me! I cannot keep doing this anymore." With an apologetic look, he stormed out of the infirmary. And Optimus just let him go.

"Always so dramatic, that one."

Optimus groaned, letting his walls fall for the moment. "I am not in the mood right now, Brother." He felt Megatron's presence behind him, looming over him that way that his brother did so well. He waved one of his servos behind him to try and dismiss the other. "Just… go. Allow me a moment."

"Is that what you really want, Orion?" Megatron's voice was low, a tone Optimus had not heard in so long. It had not been since before the movement they started together all those vorns ago that Optimus had heard him speak like that. "To be left alone in all of this?" He made a broad gesture to the infirmary in which he stood so solemnly.

"Just leave me." He snapped at the other over his shoulder. "Why would you want to help now, of all times? You did not come when we needed you during the raid, why should you now?"

There was a series of footsteps, heading in the other direction from where Optimus remained standing, his frame shaking slightly. The door on the opposite side of the infirmary opened, but did not close for a moment and the beeping of machines was the only sound left. "Because you cared for me, Orion, when you did not need to. You helped me get better after I caused you so much grief, helped me recover to a better mental state, and I feel I owe you the favor. If not that, then simply because you are my brother and I love you." The door finally shut once more and Optimus was left utterly alone, in the room and in his spark. And it seemed too late to do anything to fix it.