By Tomorrow's Grace

Chapter II: Revive

The night had gone from bad to one of the worst of Sam's life.

Granted, he supposed a few others might have compared—the day Megatron had impaled Optimus through the spark came to mind—but in the wake of his current situation, Sam was hard pressed to call any shots. Currently, he had another issue demanding his attention.

"Hey hey, let's not get too hasty here, alright? You, me, I'm sure we got a lot in common, maybe we should, you know, both calm down a little, get to—"

Sam didn't suppose the robo-bird circling him quite agreed with this sentiment, as it merely looked over at him coolly and responded with a rather menacing half-mechanical-half-feral squawk, flaring the odd spiky appendages lining its neck in an unmistakable show of aggression.

"…alright, you want me to shut up, I guess? I'll shut up." Sam backed up a little until he was met with the wall, hands raised in a defensive gesture of surrender.

The bird Decepticon, roughly his height but probably a hundred times his weight and strength, leveled him with a calculating stare, then turned his back as though to dismiss Sam as something unworthy of his attention.

Slowly, the exhausted boy sank into a sitting position. The only exit was at the other end of the hangar, a football stadium's length away, and Sam had no delusions as to which of them would win in a foot race. He cast a discrete look at the Decepticon's cruelly curved talons and sharp beak, serrated like a saw. No, he would rather not take his chances.

It wasn't as though he had anyplace to run either. The jet Decepticon who had transported them here was no doubt waiting somewhere outside, and given the amount of time they'd been flying, he could be anywhere in the country—heck, the continent, even.

Pulling his hoodie tighter to himself, he tried to still the tremors wracking his body, ones that he couldn't blame on the chilly night air alone.

Sam wasn't stupid. He knew exactly how dire his situation was.

He was lost, held captive by two Decepticons and awaiting more to arrive. No one knew where he was, or even that he was missing. Leo wouldn't return to the dorm until the early hours of the morning if at all, and even then he could be too tired or intoxicated to notice Sam's absence. Bumblebee wasn't expected to arrive until morning, and Mikaela and his parents had no reason to suspect anything might be amiss.

As to why he was here…a terrible lead weight settled in his stomach as he contemplated that question. Barring the fact that the Decepticons needed no reason to despise humans, Sam personally had caused more than his fair share of trouble for their faction. They could want him for any number of things: ransom, leverage…the possibility of simple vengeance by way of torture or death had not escaped his mind either.

The panic-rat squirmed like a living thing inside him. A shuddery breath left his lungs, fear constricting his chest in an icy, vise-like grip. I should have stayed in my dorm and moped all night, he thought bitterly.

A deafening roar of engines approached their location and the ground trembled as the sound cut off into silence. Sam rose to his feet warily, feeling almost numb with apprehension as the drum in his chest quickened in a steady crescendo.

The hangar doors flew off their hinges in a horrible shriek of shredding metal. Even as huge as they were, they were just barely high enough to admit the creatures now entering. Megatron was every bit as huge and terrifying as Sam remembered him, all sharp planes and unforgiving edges in cold silver, red optics glinting in the dim lighting. Trailing behind him were two almost identical jets, and half a dozen other mechs.

Suddenly, the hangar didn't seem so massively empty heavy footstep reverberated through the floor and deep in Sam's chest, and the boy unconsciously pressed himself closer to his wall, wishing—praying perhaps, that the wall might just open and swallow him up. Anything to hide him from those terrifying red optics, anything at all—

"Are you proud of your accomplishments, fleshbag?" Megatron's voice was laced with venom, the words low and crooning, mocking him in his fear. "Few of your kind have been such nuisances to us, after all."

Please God, please please please I don't want to die. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a steady mantra had begun, a prayer for someone—anyone—to come rushing in, guns blazing to defend him. Just like the last time he'd been trapped. He'd been so sure he was going to die, and then Optimus and Bumblebee had come crashing in at the last minute. Surely they'd do it again…wouldn't they?

The bird Decepticon had retreated, jumping on and taking shelter in one of the larger mech's chassis. Megatron continued, and Sam tried not to look at the cruel talon-like fingers hanging at the leader's side.

"We don't forget those that cross us. I know your species' kind. Resistance leads by example; it's better to squash such ideas before they can propagate. You will learn that soon enough." A terrifying smile twisted the plates of Megatron's face, and Sam felt his stomach drop. "Just as your procreators and mate already have."

Time slowed and ground to a jolting halt.

"No…"

"You would have done well to keep out of this conflict, fleshbag."

A splotch of color on Megatron's otherwise monochrome armor, out of place and oddly incongruous, drew Sam's eye. It was a rusty red-brown color, but once it might have been—

"No!" All the fear of his situation evaporated in an instant, replaced by a mind-numbing sensation that the world had stopped turning, that fate itself had frozen in its tracks. Everything around him blurred, the floor tilted—Sam fell onto hands and knees, reeling from this terrible, terrible lie.

His parents, Mikaela—it couldn't be—it was utterly impossible! It was a lie, Sam thought. It had to be. They were Decepticons, after all, and lying was what they did best. It was a lie, because the world couldn't possibly go this wrong. It simply wasn't possible that Mikaela—beautiful, brassy Mikaela—might be—

Sam lifted his head, but it wasn't fear twisting his face this time. He wasn't even aware that he was moving until he'd hit Megatron's foot, pounding uselessly at the heavy armor, heedless of the pain in his fists. He was screaming something, nothing coherent, just maddened shrieks of rage and grief and aching despair. Megatron's optics narrowed in cruel mirth, until Sam's hand reached through a tiny gap between plating and came away with a handful of delicate looking wires.

Retribution was swift and merciless.

Suddenly Sam was airborne, and he hadn't even the time to scream before the breath was knocked out of him as he impacted something hard. Cold metal fingers closed around him, lifting him high up against the wall.

"Disgusting insect."

And then white pain split across his torso. A hoarse, strangled scream tore loose from his throat. Sam squirmed, kicking and flailing, but there was nothing but open air beneath his feet. Something hot, wet, and smelling of copper poured down his sides, sticking his clothes to his skin as the struggles lit his nerves alight.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

Megatron was almost at eye-level, strangely enough. Sam dared to look down, and his stomach lurched. The ground had to be at least twenty feet below him, and the only thing keeping him up was…

Oh God.

Two lengths of metal rebar were impaled under each shoulder, supporting all his weight. Dark red blood oozed lazily from the wounds, and Sam almost wretched from the heavy smell of his own life fluids.

The pain was atrocious, worse than anything he'd ever experienced in his short life. He was pretty sure dying in Egypt hadn't been this painful. It burned like the most caustic acid, biting and cutting and he was sure he might just go mad from it. But just as potent was an entirely different pain, so sharp and pungent in his chest it was almost physical.

Mikaela…When was the last time he'd seen her? Two weeks—three, perhaps? And his parents…was that their blood on Megatron's armor?

Why them? Why—they hadn't done anything. He could understand why the Decepticons might want him dead, but them? They'd been innocent, guilty of nothing other than their association with him.

He didn't know he'd been screaming these questions out loud until Megatron chuckled. The Decepticon's answer lit Sam's blood alight in helpless rage.

"Because, insect, we can."

A few of the other Decepticons had stepped closer by now, a predatory anticipation in their stance and optics. Megatron turned his back on Sam dismissively to address them.

"Make him scream, make it long. I want this to be a lesson the Autobots won't forget."

Back on base, more bad news was awaiting Bumblebee.

"Mikaela…is gone?"

As he had countless times before in this accursed war, Optimus prayed for strength. "Sam's procreators as well."

Bumblebee's expression of utter despair could have broken Optimus, but the Prime steeled himself for the final blow.

"Their bodies were found early this morning."

The wail from his scout's half-repaired vocalizer nearly undid him. He cycled a tired breath through his intakes, knowing his next words would sound hollow but he had nothing else to offer. "I'm sorry, Bumblebee."

"…how?" When no answer was forthcoming, Bumblebee shook his head as though in denial. "We will find Sam, though."

Optimus had no doubt they would find Sam. In a way, his foes were predictable. The Decepticons would no doubt want to flaunt this victory by leaving behind the evidence of their vengeance to be found. It was an age-old tactic to crush Autobot morale, and a familiar anger rose up within him to remember the many comrades they'd lost over the vorns in this manner. And now Sam, the boy who he had died for and who had died for him in return, had disappeared, and Optimus dreaded to consider how they might find him.

Bumblebee was silent, but it was an expectant silence, tense with the unspoken plea for Optimus to agree with him. Tell me he'll be safe, Optimus, the scout seemed to be begging with his optics. Tell me we'll find him alive.

But Optimus couldn't bear to be the deliverer of false hope, not when one probability calculation after another pointed towards the same terrible outcome. He looked to Bumblebee, trying not to imagine the young scout coming apart when that likelihood became cold reality, and at last settled for the only truth he could afford.

"We will do all we can."

The mech was a tall, stately figure, regal in his bearing and commanding an air of quiet strength. It filled him with a fond pride to see the magnificent creature this particular spark had become, a leader and a protector in his own right. He wished he could convey something of his thoughts to the mech, but alas, his current embodiment was incapable of such a thing.

But the mech was not here for the purpose of a happy reunion, that much was clear. The All Spark was not blind to the escalation of events in the outside world, events that filled him with dread and fear for his creations.

In the quiet sanctity of the All Spark's chamber, the visitor lowered himself to his knees, proud head bowed in deference and shoulders slumping imperceptibly as though burdened by the entire weight of Cybertron. "Kaon is mobilizing as I speak," the mech began. "Sentinel has done his best to organize the city's defenses, but they will not be enough." He shook his head tiredly, optics shuttering in a brief but bitter gesture of despair. "These mechs are civilians, not warriors. They know nothing of warfare and fighting. All Spark…I fear they all face certain termination."

Come tomorrow, so many of his creations would be sent back to him before their time. The thought filled him with a wrenching grief, but as always, he could do nothing but watch.

"What must I do?" The mech gazed up at the cube, features steady but wrought with uncertainty, and the All Spark could feel the turmoil in his spark as surely as if it were his own. "I cannot allow the city to fall, but how can I send so many mechs to their deaths?"

There was no answering voice. A moment passed in silence, and then another. At last, the mech sighed and rose to his full height again; whatever he had been seeking would not be found here.

With one last glance at the inanimate, silent cube, he turned back the way he'd come, back towards his duties and a war that threatened to consume his entire world. "I would ask that you protect us all," he murmured. "But are you even listening?"

The All Spark watched him leave sadly, and these were the words he would have said, if only he'd had a voice to speak them with:

I am not one to let my creations fall, Optimus Prime. 'Til all are one.

For the first time, Sam wished his memory lapse had lasted longer. But reality soon cleared away the last threads of that dream-like state with a merciless onslaught of agony. How long had it been? Sam wasn't sure, and at this point it hardly mattered beyond a vague inane curiosity in the back of his mind. Time hardly existed to him now. He had stopped screaming at some point, his throat raw and burning as though someone had scraped sandpaper against the inside.

"What's the matter, fleshbag? Disappointed that your Autobots didn't come for you?"

Megatron's voice was grating, but had an odd quality of distance to it, as though he was speaking from a mile away and through a wall of cotton. Though Sam could not see him, he could feel the monster's presence a scant few inches from his face. A moment later, the Decepticon lord retreated to a more manageable distance, seemingly content with the boy's silence.

"Soundwave, contact the Autobots and send them our coordinates. We are finished here, Decepticons."

Sam's entire world was pain. An agonizing, relentless fire danced across his body, nerves alight and screaming for relief. He supposed it was a mercy that he was blinded—he did not think he could bear to see himself right now.

He barely had the presence of mind to recognize the sound of transformations for what they were, and almost sobbed with relief when the rumbling booms of jets taking off met his ears. Finally—finally, it was over.

It was so, so quiet. The only sound in the hangar was his own rattling breaths and the faint drip of fluids flowing down his body to land somewhere below him. A cool draft cut through his thin clothes, chilling him to the bone. He did not have even the strength to shiver.

There was no hope for him, Sam knew. Though it was hard to ascertain the amount of damage done to his body, he knew it had to be severe, and the Autobots would certainly not arrive in time to save him. He wasn't sure he wanted them to.

It was better this way, wasn't it? His parents were gone—Mikaela was gone, and soon he'd be joining them. Dying was easier than living on without them.

It was hard to think straight through the pain, but some higher power must have heard his prayers because it was fading into blessed numbness. His head felt light, and Sam closed his ruined eyes in relief.

He hadn't wanted to die like this, pinned up in a grotesque display like some freakish lab dissection. And Bumblebee…he could only hope the others didn't allow his guardian to see his body. Bumblebee was going to blame himself for this, Sam thought miserably.

A minute dragged by, and then another.

He was fading now…breaths coming slow and shallow, heart struggling to keep flowing what little blood he had left. It was painful, suffocating, and Sam wondered why it was taking so long to just die already.

And then the world seemed to close in on itself, and his awareness faded, seemingly detaching itself from his shattered body. And then—there was no sight, no sound, no pain…it was darkness so complete it should have been terrifying, but Sam could only shudder in desperate, aching relief. Something warm and terribly familiar wrapped itself around him, cradling him like a bereaved parent, and Sam was struck by the sudden impression that someone was grieving.

My Creation…

Sam wasn't sure who had spoken, but he was aching in a way that went so much deeper than physical pain, and wanted nothing more than to sink into oblivion. "Just let me sleep," he pleaded. "Please."

How I wish I could. I would take you from this and never let you know pain again.

Who was this? Despite his exhaustion, Sam couldn't help but wonder. He sounded so…terribly sad, as though everything he held dear had just been cut down right before him.

But I cannot, my Creation. You will be most angry with me if I prevent you from finishing this task.

What was he talking about? Sam couldn't recall any task he had left to do. He'd saved the world—twice. Wasn't that enough for one lifetime?

"Who are you?" Sam wanted to know. "How do you know me?"

There was a pause, and then the other spoke, gently as though addressing a small child. You would not understand even if I were to tell you.

Again, there was a sense of sorrow, a familiarity—as though Sam should know this person, but no amount of wracking his brain could make the memories come forth. A strange feeling of regret bloomed in his heart, as though he had lost something terribly important yet could not mourn nor even remember it. "I…I'm sorry," he offered.

You will know me again one day. That comfortable presence covered him like a warm embrace, and Sam eased himself closer, inexplicably soothed. It was warmth and tenderness he could scarcely remember, and Sam clung to it like a small child to its mother's arms. Whoever this voice was, it didn't really matter, did it? He was safe here, he knew. Here, there were no Decepticons, no burning red optics, no cruel cutting metal nor mocking taunts.

Creation, you cannot stay here.

A thread of panic worked its way to the surface of Sam's composure; the illusion of security splintered, and the boy shuddered. "Why not?" He demanded. "I'm so tired. Can't I rest?"

It is not your time.

Sam whimpered.

Once, you asked that I guide you when you lose your way. Sam didn't remember having ever said such a thing.Your human body is beyond saving, but I shall remake you as you would have been had you been born as one of your creations.

"Don't make me go back…" Sam pleaded.

Next we meet, perhaps you will understand why.

And then the darkness lifted, and Sam was being wrenched away from that comfortable warmth and its protective presence. He flailed, near frantic with fear and dread, but something curled around him briefly before letting go as though in a farewell embrace.

Your Autobots are coming.

And then Sam was alone.

CORE PROCESSORS…online
PRIMARY FIREWALLS UPLOADING…100%
PRIMARY SENSOR NET…online

He could not see, he could not hear. Something was wild with panic in his chest—it was not a heart, but something that burned and flared in time with his chaotic emotions.

WEAPONS SYSTEMS…ERROR
MEMORY CACHE…ERROR
MOTOR FUNCTIONS…35%
MOTOR FUNCTIONS…75%
MOTOR FUNCTIONS…100%

What was happening? Where was he, who was he, why couldn't he open his eyes or move—? Things were shifting inside his body, clicking into place and preparing for something Sam couldn't understand. Fear consumed his mind as he fought and suddenly, alien limbs jerked in response to his distress. Sam froze in shock, momentarily distracted from the lines of symbols scrolling across his vision.

SECONDARY SENSOR NET…online
ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE
CHRONOMETER RECORD TIME OF ACTIVATION: 06:31 12/18/09

In the darkness of an abandoned hangar, blue optics flickered to life.