Title: Sparks 15: System Restore
Pairing BeexSam, ProwlxJazz, RatchetxIronhide
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. Hasbro does and some others, but that's not the point. All characters are 18 or older with the exception of Annabelle.
Comments and Critiques welcome.
This chapter took longer that expected. I have been trying to get this out as fast as I could, but I wanted it to be done well. Overall I'm pleased with the final result.
Let me know what you think.
Enjoy!
So here it goes. This is the re-edited version of Sparks. Thanks to gracesolo for all of the wonderful beta work, hand holding and laughter. You're my hero hon!
151515151515151
Sparks 15
System Restore
151515151515151
It was official.
Samuel Witwicky was terrified.
It wasn't because he didn't know what was out there, lurking in the dark. No, he was afraid because in the darkness they all looked the same; the sharp angles, sloping curves, and bright optics. They were the same, all the same. He could never forget those eyes, those glowing, otherworldly eyes. It was those eyes that were so horrifying in the guise of man.
Sam craned his head to avoid looking at Bee.
No. Not Bee.
No matter what it sounded like, no matter what it said; it could not be Bumblebee.
The humanoid with cerulean eyes begged to differ. This manifestation of Bee had gone so far as to track Sam down to soothe the feelings and awkward interactions, much to the chagrin of the occupants of Tyger Pax. The nearly completed Autobot Base, with its updated security, twenty-four hour surveillance and Government sanction was the best place for his self-appointed guardians to watch over Samuel James Witwicky. And watch they did, despite his protests.
By Primus, did Sam protest.
He'd had enough. The torment he'd faced at the Decepticon hands had rattled him to the core, more than he ever dared to show. In the end, however, Sam's arguments were no match for his mother's. Even Judy had agreed that the safest place for him would be with the Autobots. So here he was, in the same place he'd been for the last three days and no, he didn't like it at all.
"Sam."
"I don't want to talk."
The brusque manner and clipped tones were the exact treatment Sam had been giving everyone since his prior rescue. It was as if he was a different person, but it was to be expected. Countless mechs had faced the horrors that Samuel had and died long before rescue, so there was no reason for anyone to believe that such an ordeal hadn't taken its toll. The real question, however, was how much.
He never spoke of what had happened, not that anyone tried to force him. They were a patient species, despite the implications that suggested otherwise. There was no super secret word or shared look of understanding that could banish his fears or stop the nightmares from coming. He was even refusing the company of Bumblebee. His guardian, Bumblebee, the scout who'd endangered himself time and time again to protect his charge. The very Autobot who Sam himself had admitted to loving.
Now, he wouldn't even acknowledge him.
It was something no one had expected, least of all Bumblebee himself.
"We need to talk Sam." The manifestation corrected, speaking as gently as he could, apprehension filling his hardly used voice.
The damage inflicted on the scout by Megatron's hand had long since been repaired, but since Samuel had reacted so violently when he'd used music Bumblebee had resorted to verbal communication.
"I told you I don't want to."
There, it was as obvious as those blues eyes Sam couldn't bring himself to look upon. Their relationship or rather the lack of was making more and more sense as they stood there in the middle of the corridor. A young man pushing away everything and an alien unsure how to approach his friend or whatever it was the teen was to him. Primus, Bumblebee wasn't even sure anymore.
The silence stretched on for a while between them before Sam finally moved. Stepping back, he looked down the hall, fingers half curled in his pockets as he tried to find something to say.
His voice was rough when he finally spoke, but he found himself saying the only thing on his mind.
"I can't. Not right now."
The words were as much as he could say, as much as he was willing to say. A hand brushed against his and Sam flinched. Lifting his head, he met the gaze of the dark haired humanoid that claimed to be his friend. He took a step back. The projected avatar followed, closing his fingers over Sam's. The fear twisted into anger, and Sam eyes narrowed dangerously before grasped that hand.
A buzz of power rolled through Sam, the physical contact allowing him contact to the mech's systems. It was part of what he'd become, because of the All Spark. Not only could he feel the energy of the Cybertronians, with a single touch, Sam could sway the currents that moved through them. He could loop that power into a cycle that magnified until the system overloaded or just interrupt its flow entirely.
Human eyes flashed silver, his pulse rising to match the current echoing through his body. The humanoid that called itself Bumblebee stumbled back and tried to pull away, its own unearthly eyes burning with that power, too much power.
That ability, however, didn't come without a price. Sam had learned that firsthand when the feedback of one reaction had left him half-conscious on the floor. He'd since modified that ability into a decent defense. Unfortunately, he didn't feel safe enough not to use this ability on those who would protect him.
He stood over the curled holoform of the usually cheery Autobot as energy flicked over him, the glow fading from his eyes. Unable to quite help himself Sam reached for Bee as he wailed, slumping against the wall as the agony intensified. At that second touch, things got worse, impossibly worse. The frequency expanded, catching its creator, twisting into a painful, yet effective reminder of just what he'd become.
All at once the power echoing between them died out with a flash. Sam was left blind and shaken groping for balance. The wall was cool and he leaned back against it, desperately hoping the throbbing in his head would stop, or at least let him drift into blissful unconsciousness. Somewhere in the middle of his pain, Sam heard tires.
Upon prying his eyes open, he was greeted with the blessed sight of crisp black lines over a golden hood, even if he was in no particular position to enjoy it. He managed to reach for the Camaro just before the sudden growl from Ratchet distracted him entirely. He didn't even flinch, he too was drained; all that bright energy had left him spent, leaving the All Spark weak and vulnerable.
The glaring medic dwarfed the pair easily; his voice cold as he addressed them. "Why in the name of Primus are you even out of bed?"
The question was rhetorical, and Sam didn't have an answer for it anyway. Looking to his hands he made no move even as Ratchet moved closer.
"Bumblebee, you're in no shape to be even moving around, much less transforming."
The scout made an elegant whine and Sam laughed weakly as large fingers pressed to his skin.
The ache in his head worsened and he groaned, the previous exhibition of his power having worn him out. By now he couldn't even make static, even if he'd wanted to.
"Go back to your quarters, I'll inspect the damage myself shortly. No arguments. Go."
As the well loved treads rolled back along the hall, Ratchet lifted Sam from the floor watching the human fold his hands into his lap as he struggled to stay upright
"I did it again."
He heard Ratchet snort. The medic didn't have any sympathy for him.
"Of course you did. That's why you were confined to you quarters for bed rest per my orders You keep this up and I'll have you tied down."
The resulting sound was a bitter laugh and the teen shook despite the temperature of his skin or the hands cradling him to the chartreuse form.
"That's what I'm afraid of."
The remark was startlingly serious; almost enough for the Autobot to inquire further, but it didn't matter.
Sam had already fallen asleep.
151515151515151
Stepping back from the pumping cables and sharp angles, Milton Lancaster sat down on the broad plating and surveyed his handy work. Contrary to popular belief, the scratch he'd caused the mech beneath him was practically invisible, much like the other signs of damage on the Autobot. Beneath him Sunstreaker raised an optical ridge. Despite looking away the blonde found that he was unable to keep silent.
"I'm sorry", he whispered softly.
Intrigued, the yellow tinted mechanoid queried his solemn admission. "What did you say?"
Used to such situations with his siblings, Miles repeated himself. It was the right thing to do after all. Apologize for the damage he'd caused, and endeavor to correct his mistake to the best of his ability.
The Cybertronian however was not satisfied. "What was that?"
"I'm sorry."
Lifting his head to look over the boy the mech spoke again, poking fun at the human on his chest.
"I'm sorry I didn't catch that."
"I said, I'm sorry," the human snapped in reply, bracing himself on the Autobot, looking into his eyes. Peering back Sunstreaker tipped his head in curiosity. Almost as if he didn't quite believe him.
"Are you?"
Tossing the airbrush aside, Miles tore the mask from his face and leaned down towards his patient. It was one thing not to be forgiven, but to be taunted as well? It was completely uncalled for.
"Just what the hell are you getting at? I've apologized and I meant it!"
"Do you Milton?"
Thumping the mech on the helm with a handy wrench, the human folded his arms in irritation. He almost laughed at himself; he was beginning to act like Ratchet.
Sighing, Miles tried again. "What more do you want me to do?"
Rising from his prone position Sunstreaker lifted his companion to eye level, smiling at his mild discomfort. "I want you to prove it."
Meeting the gaze of his patient, the blonde found himself replying to the proposition before he actually knew what was being said.
"So how exactly am I gonna do that?"
151515151515151
Ironhide moved stiffly through Tyger Pax, a layer of dust and debris covering his form. He wasn't bothered by it; these things came with the terrain of the planet. As a soldier, it was just a matter of adapting to or ignoring the situation. Unfortunately, neither course of action was working out so well with his current predicament. A twenty-six foot femme who wouldn't even acknowledge him while off-duty and was remarkably clipped when she was on duty. Chromia, his former bond mate.
Her new form was odd, but not unpleasant; the curves of the plating matching well with her coloring. Due to the nature of their alternate modes, she bore a passing resemblance to Ratchet, but that was the only thing the pair had in common. Except for himself, but that wasn't making things any easier.
She had changed. She was brusque, no longer as soft spoken and gentle as she used to be. Time had changed her. He could see it in her optics, she was no longer the femme he'd fallen in love with. Even so, he found himself seeking her company. He wanted to see her, to get close and find out just how different she was from his memories.
The wash racks, or what was to be the wash racks, consisted of little more than large showerheads attached to the ceiling and hooked up to the lines that piped solvent and water through the base. It wasn't much but it was infinitely better than a hose or waiting for rain. As the old mech stepped inside, he found it was also currently occupied. The thick partition of sheet metal was barely tall enough to hide their forms from view, but it performed its purpose, offering privacy and shelter. Even so, the transformed Topkick found himself facing a familiar face.
The very femme that was on his mind.
Her optics widened slightly before the shutters about them creased into a scathing look. A glance over his form and her lips twisted into a grimace. He returned the expression and arched an optic ridge. She turned away just as suddenly, ducking her head under the water.
"I'll be finished shortly." Her voice was soft as she replied, wiping water from her joints.
Snorting, Ironhide picked a few rocks from his shoulder before responding, his voice however wasn't nearly as emotionless as he hoped it would be."Take your time. We need to talk anyway."
"What about?" She queried offhandedly, her voice cold and disinterested. The sound of water changed as she moved, hinged digits smoothing over curved panels. Settling back against the wall, he addressed the femme again, optics focused on anything but her. Even dripping wet and indifferent, his spark swelled. It had been a long time, but it was impossible to forget the effect she had on him.
"Us"
Chromia gave a hollow laugh and turned to him. Ironhide looked at her then, matched her gaze and just barely managed not to wince as she scoffed. Their liaison, it seemed wouldn't even be of a professional nature.
"There is no us, Ironhide."
Anger struck him harder than any physical attack and he circled the partition and moved closer, staring her down. Settling his hands on her shoulders, he ignored the glare. For their relationship to be dismissed so easily, it was unforgivable.
"What happened, Chromia?"
In that moment her optics flickered in surprise but she looked away, lip components creasing just before she voiced her incredulous reply. "You're asking me what happened."
Drawing her close Ironhide held her tightly, almost as if it could make up for what he didn't know. Even so, it didn't seem to be enough.
His voice was rough as he repeated his question, needlessly harsh in near silence. "What happened to us, Chromia?"
Snarling at him the blue femme pulled away, water bouncing off her chassis. "Don't take that tone with me, Ironhide, my rank is equal to yours."
He lifted a hand and she pushed him away.
"Don't like it? Fine, but don't you dare try forcing me to do anything. By Primus you wouldn't survive."
Her words bore the ring of truth; she was a better marksman where he specialized in physical combat and massive destruction. All the same this was not a battle he wanted to fight.
Not now.
.
"I'd never force you to do anything, Chromia." His reply was hard, but he had a point to make.
The slap he received in return, however, was enough to give him pause.
Leaning close, the azure femme pulled him down to face her, as she whispered roughly. "You forced me to watch you walk away."
With scarred hands Ironhide cradled her face, unable to resist her. "I said I was coming back."
She sighed in return, laying her hands over his. It was too late to even be talking about it, but still he pushed. Unfortunately for them both, she pushed back.
"You broke that promise, just as you broke our bond."
The words were what William Lennox referred to as 'a bitter pill', but he had to know more. There were things missing from his memory, especially of that time. He could still, however, remember the glow of her spark under his own.
"How?"
She was taken aback now, noting the sincerity in his features and the intent in his query. "You don't know?"
He remained silent, optics hard as she stared.
"Oh darlin'," she drew back, pressing a hand to his chest as she spoke; the sympathy was evident in he vocal inflections. "No one told you did they?"
Regarding her again, Ironhide frowned at this line of questioning. "No one needed to tell me anything. I knew the bond broke, I felt it."
This time she leaned against him, listening to the slight creak of his joints and the almost imperceptible hum of his cannons as he shifted.
"I felt it too baby, worst pain I ever felt in my life." A shudder rolled through her as she remembered it. "It nearly killed me."
A growl issued forth and he shook his head in disbelief. "Ifelt that pain too, Chromi."
She looked at him sadly, pulling back as she uttered the last thing he ever expected to hear. "Of course you did handsome, that's because you died."
Her footsteps sounded against the floor as she walked away, leaving him alone in the spray of water as it turned cold.
151515151515151
Optimus Prime stood firm in the cool stretch of Nevada desert, his form bright against the horizon as he looked up, way up. Clouds of swirling sand buffeted his legs as the largest seeker he'd ever seen landed. Silhouetted against the sky with starlight on his wings. the large mech bowed, offering a hand to the leader of the Autobots.
Clasping it in his own, Optimus inclined his head greeting the other as he broke the silence.
"Bah weep granah wheep ni ni bong."
As soon as the words left his vocal processors, the taller neutral responded to the universal greeting in kind, covering the Prime's hands with his own. "Skyfire, sir. It is an honor"
Optimus Prime looked over the flier, a mech whose reputation preceded him almost as much as his choice in friends. A brilliant scientist, the seeker had disappeared nearly a century before the war ever began. "I know your designation; you've been missing for some time. Tell me Skyfire, how is it you came to earth?"
"Long before life began on this planet, I was an explorer. My assistant and I stumbled upon this galaxy. Through our travels, however, we became separated and lost. It was in my attempts to regain my bearings that I crashed into the far northern reaches of this planet."
Pausing in his speech, the mech knelt before Optimus, bringing himself down almost to eye level.
It wasn't much, but it was enough to break up the stringency of their interaction.
"It was only recently due to irregular weather patterns that I was released to resume my exploration. For the last four lunar cycles I have been investigating unusual phenomena and strange energy readings in this region of the Earth. It was quite possible the predominating factors of the recent activity at Mission City and Nellis Air Force Base are what have brought me to you."
"Samuel."
All at once their focus shifted with that three syllable word. It was only a name. It was the name of a young man drawn into a war that could spell the end of not only his life, but the loss of his people. Optimus looked to the sky again, almost as if the stars held an answer.
The mech before him however had a different approach entirely. "The All Spark, yes. It's quite interesting to think that a higher order organism of this planet has assimilated an artifact that supposedly gave life to our kind."
Looking back to the dark form Optimus resisted the urge to correct his assumptions. It was not his place to. Not all Cybertronians believed in the mythos of the Primus as the creator or in the power of divinity of the line of Primes. Most neutrals fell into that category, unwilling to fight or die for something they didn't believe in. He held no ill will towards the seeker and others who made that choice; he only hoped to retain the freedom that allowed them to. To do that however he had to save a young man first.
"It was an unexpected occurrence that is now affecting the boy beyond anything we've known."
"He is changing, becoming something else. Not quite human, but not yet Cybertronian. Unusual yes, but quite appropriate," responded Skyfire softly, earning a look of complete surprise from the Prime. So taken aback was he that his reply was less magnanimous than usual.
"Come again?"
Skyfire seem to smile for a moment before responding to the smaller Autobot leader.
"So long ago the All Spark was lost to our people. Somehow, it came across the universe to a galaxy with an unimpressive planet. Over time that planet has changed and sustained the life of evolving creatures; notably, a species like ourselves. What's more, one of the inhabitants of Earth not only found the body of Megatron, but his descendant now bears the All Spark in a way we never could."
Having summed up his thoughts the seeker turned back to his companion, curious if he actually understood. "Isn't that fascinating?"
Looking back to the scientist, Optimus Prime was speechless. Skyfire had a point to be sure, but how could he possibly respond? Settling a hand to the other's shoulder Optimus settled for honesty. "I appreciate your insight Skyfire, but at this juncture I need to know. Is it possible to remove the All Spark from Samuel's body?"
Almost immediately the scientist began to respond, all the marvel and wonder absent from his tone. "I would have to thoroughly examine the boy, something that is quite impossible at this point; but no. I do not believe it is possible to remove it. The attempt would most likely destroy them both."
Prime turned to the stars then, lost to his thoughts as he watching the heavens. Following the line of his gaze, Skyfire was silent too, keeping vigil until the first rays of sunlight spread over the horizon. Shifting on the sand as the temperature rose with the sun, Optimus addressed the scientist once more, summing the breadth of his mind. "Will this change - the All Spark and what its doing- hurt Sam?"
Turning from his calculations, the black mech considered the question for a few moments before answering. "He's changing, evolving if you will, but I do believe he is adapting to it."
"Adapting," the word was bitter as Optimus spoke, optics practically glowing in the fading light of the stars.
"Yes, but don't let his conversion distract you from what's most important. In this most trying time, he'll need your guidance more than anything else, Optimus Prime."
Standing to his full height Skyfire turned, his chassis catching the light as he spoke. "You know better than any what it's like; the burden of such power on one's spark."
Rising into the sky, the Cybertronian moved off, transforming as he veered away from the planet's surface. There he left the thoughtful form of the Autobot leader, clouds of sand settling over his frame as he considered the truth of the seeker's words.
151515151515151
It was late in the afternoon when Ratchet finally returned to his medbay. It was blessedly peaceful save for the hum of machinery and the annoying click of a flickering light overhead. It wasn't so bad as to be a nuisance to his work, but it was irritating enough to sour his mood.
The fluorescent bulb was in need of replacement but Ratchet was alone, his junior officer having disappeared some point earlier that morning. The medic could easily handle changing the bulb himself, but he didn't. He was too lost in his thoughts to think about something so menial, a dangerous practice to be sure, but one that was at that moment, strictly unavoidable.
It had almost been a week, and Samuel Witwicky still wasn't talking about what had happened. He also wasn't talking about his nightmares. In fact, Sam wasn't talking much at all. Four days prior a battered and beaten Bumblebee had rolled to a stop before Prowl shuddering as he practically begged for the mech to save the boy. Without a word the officer had taken the pale teen from the scout, who only brushed a finger over the human before dropping offline where he'd stayed until quite recently.
Samuel hadn't slept much in the past few days. He awoke frequently; plagued by nightmares and flashbacks. There was in fact, a difference between them, one that Ratchet had come to know intimately. With the nightmares, Samuel would toss and wail, clinging to the sheets, cringing from things he couldn't see. The flashbacks however had him upright and wobbling on his feet, eyes wide and sightless as he screamed and fought, unable to be calmed. Since his unexpected arrival the medical staff had experienced the latter three times and had, for the protection of not only their patient but themselves, resorted to sedation. It was only then that they faced the nightmares.
He was harder to treat than ever, but that was to be expected. He wouldn't look the Autobot's in the eye, shied away from humans in the strictest sense and wouldn't even bear the touch of a holoform. That fact was making it increasingly hard for his guardians to even interact with him. The scout was still completely restricted from any extraneous movement; he had been since he'd rebooted.
The medic had even gone so far as to have his assistant remove the mech's transformation cog. It hadn't pleased him in the slightest, but it was necessary to ensure Bumblebee's systems repaired themselves. He knew from extensive experience that the Camaro simply couldn't be trusted to let himself heal. He was almost as bad as his superior had been. Jazz's body however, taken from Hoover Dam by the Decepticon forces, had yet to be found. It was particularly difficult on Prowl, who only blamed himself. Even so, they were no closer in locating the missing Cybertronian, than before Sam was recovered.
What they had found, particulates upon Samuel's body bore the saboteurs particular carbon based code. It was imbedded so much under his nails and in the hollow of his ports that it was quite possible that the saboteur was alive. In his nightmares, boy certainly called his name often enough. It was their assumption that Jazz was still in the clutches of the Decepticon forces. Unfortunately, until Sam decided to talk about what happened, they would never know.
Through the basic examinations that they'd managed managed, Ratchet he had discovered just what had been done to Sam. With all the bruising, lacerations and fractures he found, the medic knew there was extensive system damage as well. Despite the pressing need to know, he wasn't quite ready to uplink with the boy. Not just yet. To make such a contact, he wanted; no needed implicit trust. Sam certainly didn't trust anyone at the moment, especially due to his recent experiences.
It would take time, but his injuries would all heal. What really concerned the medic was the trauma that Samuel would ultimately have to work through. His recent attitude and early reactions to Cybertronians were not inspiring in the least. In truth, the teen was displaying textbook case symptoms of Post-traumatic stress disorder, a disheartening fact to be sure; but one that only served to underscore the necessity of having someone for Sam to talk to, not that he was willing to talk.
The facts were clear. No matter what they decided, to help Sam, they had their work cut out for them.
151515151515151
Soft sneakers barely made a sound as Milton Lancaster moved through the halls of Tyger Pax. The Autobot base wasn't inherently flashy or dynamic, still a work in progress. From what he'd seen so far, the young medic certainly liked it.
The base itself was like an extreme first person shooter; it had endless hallways, wide open hangers and massive aliens wandering the premises. It was epic, his inclusion among the Autobots, or so he claimed at least twice a week. He paused in his line of thought to peer into one of the aforementioned hangers. It was empty so he shrugged and resumed his search.
Working with the aforementioned aliens was definitely a bonus if nothing else, sure it was tough, but how many people could claim to have laid their hands on a living sentient machine and lived to tell the tale?
Well, Sam could.
That in itself was another thing entirely. Sam, his best friend since they were six, was in a slump. A trauma induced, seclusion invoking, changed for the rest of my life, this is hell slump and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do. Well not quite, but he wasn't responding to anyone or anything; best friends, humans and Cybertonians included. There was no use in trying to talk to Sam until he was ready. Besides, the junior medic had other problems to deal with; if only he could find them.
Peering into another room, the teen grimaced. The halls of Tyger Pax were nowhere as endless as the human on the base liked to believe; even so Miles Lancaster found it incredibly easy to get lost. He didn't have the best sense of direction in the first place and the nondescript hallways weren't helping. He'd stumbled into the garage twice, having gotten turned around in what could have very well been a storage shed, but he wasn't too worried, he'd been lost before. It was for that very reason he'd suggested making a map for the site, and so far everyone was inclined to agree with him.
He was sure Sam would have too.
It was a real shame, what had happened to him. Witwicky was as easy going as the next person, a bit high strung sometimes, but still he'd been a normal guy. At least he had been until he'd gotten caught up in an alien war perpetrated by the last remaining factions of a lost alien planet. Poking his head into yet another room, the lanky blond frowned, his frustration growing just a bit more.
The Autobots were trying to help, but none of them were sure what Sam needed. The teen was practically their freakin' messiah condensed into a fat free easy to squish carbon life form. No wonder they were so tense. With Sam in his current state, one minor mishap and their holy son would be so much sanctified jelly.
"Definitely not kosher."
The last room of the hall was silent and lightless, but there was no mistaking the form of the Autobot he'd been looking for. Allowing the humansized door behind him to swing shut, Miles moved forward towards the silent car.
Palatable by those of the Jewish faith or not, Miles had his own problems to deal with, the first and foremost, the mech recharging in the corner. Closing the distance Miles pressed his fingertips to the smooth surface of the car waiting for any response. When none came, he laid his palm flat over the hood. Headlights flickered on at once; casting shadows of his form as he blinked back, half blind.
"Hello Milton."
"Hi Sideswipe, are you busy?"
The lights dimmed as the car eased forward, purring as he replied. "Of course not. I always have time for you."
Nodding at the statement, Miles didn't take long to consider it, before he found himself crawling up the Lamborghinini that had just been nudging at his knees. The hood was warm underneath him and he lay back, preferring not to have to look at anything while he said what he had to.
"I came to say I'm sorry."
The ridiculously expensive car shook beneath him as Sideswipe didn't bother to smother the less than polite laugh echoing from his speakers. "I know. Sunstreaker told me you would."
Half turning to face the empty interior, Miles felt himself flush. "He put you up to this."
"No, he put you up to this."
At that the teen sagged back against the hood, a pout forming on his lips.
"You felt guilty and wouldn't have come on your own."
"Yeah," he nodded recognizing the truth in the words.
Sideswipe seemed warmer still, his emotion reflected in his voice. "It's alright I forgive you."
Unsure how to respond, Milton shifted uncomfortably he was saved by a more pressing matter. He was stuck. All of his movement had caused his hair to tangle in the windshield wipers of his guardian. It was awkward, painful and from the angle there was no way to free himself.
"Oh damn it."
More laughter greeted his ears as hands covered his own pushing them aside in effort to salvage the blond locks. The holoform kneeling over him working out the tangles of his hair was a blond with shaggy hair hanging just into his bright eyes. As unassuming as Sideswipe's holo was it passed remarkably for a human, even at such close inspection.
Wincing faintly Miles spoke up, looking to his rescuer as he tried to keep still. "What did Sunstreaker mean when he said I was the piece you were missing?"
Rolling his eyes the humanoid kept to his work, muttering softly before replying. "A flair for the dramatic he has."
"Swipe?"
Pausing in his work the Autobot's holo looked to the young human. "There is nothing concrete to prove our theory. It's an unconventional assumption."
"Tell me."
Slipping his fingers back into the teen's hair Sideswipe sighed, tugging gently on the ensnared strands. It was slow work, but he had the time and absolutely required the distraction. "Within humans there is energy comparable to our own, a minor radiation if you will. It has been a part of your kind since before you began evolving."
"How does that-? Why hasn't anyone noticed?"
Pressing a hand to his mouth Sideswipe silenced him effectively. "All humans bear that radiation. It's something so small you'd probably never notice it. Some humans possess more of that energy and our kind is drawn to it."
Removing his hands, the holo awaited the next query.
Miles in truth was never one to disappoint. "All Cybertronians are attracted to it? "
A simple nod sufficed as Sideswipe worked the last few wisps from his windshield wipers. "Then why did he say me?"
Despite his extraordinary reflexes, the holoform was unable to mask the sudden look of surprise passing over his face. "It's complicated."
"Sunstreaker obviously didn't think so."
A crease formed between the elegant brows and Sideswipe scoffed at the reply. "Sunstreaker is an idiot."
"Don't talk about me when I'm not around-" a silken purr pervaded the momentary silence as another holoform appeared within the hanger.
Settling in next to Milton Sunstreaker leaned back eyeing his twin as he smoothed his hands over the red hood. "-you know I don't like it."
Sputtering brilliantly, Sideswipe managed an effective manifestation of a blush as his sibling leaned closer to Miles.
"Your frequency-" he smirked bringing a hand up across the teen's chin "-possesses a certain allure to us."
"Frequency?"
"The vestiges from the All Spark energy permeating your planet, it has been passed through your relations for generations. It's especially prominent in those who've interacted with Cybertronians."
Blinking back from twin to twin Miles was absolutely dumbfounded. "Whoa, whoa back up. You're saying we-" he waved a finger about for emphasis, "have radiation from your-" he paused to point, "Alien artifact; and now that radiation is making you attracted to us?"
Wrapping an arm about his back the holo of Sunstreaker drew him close nuzzling his hair and whispering in his ear. "Like I said, the piece we've been looking for."
Reaching up to grasp the humanoid's collar, the fairly pink teen turned toward Sunstreaker absolutely silent. The smirking holo returned his gaze leaning that much closer. In return, Miles yanked on the fabric and slammed Sunstreaker's representation into Sideswipe's hood beneath them. The holo sputtered as Sideswipe honked in response to the pain. Releasing his grip on the shirt the sole human turned to catch the man falling forward into his arms.
"This is all because of radiation? You guys have been aggravating me because you like me? How old are you? Six?" Patting Sideswipe's head gently, Miles shot a glare at Sunstreaker who was still holding his injured nose. "Don't answer that."
151515151515151
Red, in his mind everything was red.
Suddenly awake, Samuel Witwicky found himself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. The soft, heavy blankets hampering his movements were covered in sweat and his wrist was itching again.
Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he could feel the last bits of the dream fading from his consciousness. Phantom pain gripped at his heart and he shivered despite himself.
It had been a bad one, but then they all had been bad, ever since he'd met Soundwave. Screwing his eyes shut he couldn't escape the shadows lurking within himself or the fear taking over his life.
It was more than a nightmare, it was hell.
He couldn't eat and when he did he was always nauseated. Scents seemed to set him off almost as much as sound, but the reaction was always the same. He'd cringe and shudder, backing away like a kicked puppy; but that's exactly what he was, a bruised and beaten puppy.
The glow of the Cybertronian glyphs upon his healing skin faded slowly, the lines of silver becoming black as he watched. It was amazing to think he was the last known hope of an alien race and he was scared of them. Terrified really, he'd even attacked Bee. Shock rolled through him and he sighed.
Bee.
His alien best friend, the one he was completely scared of and absolutely in love with.
Pushing back the blankets, Sam struggled to his feet and reached for the alarm clock. To his surprise his fingers encountered the smooth desk and nothing else; still wrapped in the fog of sleep he almost missed the sudden chirp of his phone. His phone, the one that had been in his pocket, when he'd been with Optimus, when he had been captured; that phone had survived just about everything he had.
The Decepticons had ignored it, but only because he'd taken out the SIM card. It had been a risky gamble, but on that had ultimately paid off. The very day he'd put the card back into his phone, was the day he'd been rescued. The phone chirped again and Sam stumbled to his feet. Shaky, the teen managed his retrieve his cell from the bathroom, but not before it fell silent.
Looking over the tiny screen, he found that he had unchecked voicemail. As he dispelled the note, he found his screensaver, a picture of golden yellow Camaro. Jazz had done it as they'd driven to his house the night before he died. It was last present the mech had ever given him.
A sudden twinge of guilt flashed through him and he sat down hard clutching his mobile to his chest.
Red.
He'd seen him there, persevering under such torture and found the last thing he'd ever expected.
Jazz's optics had been red too. Shutting his eyes, Sam tried to push the memories from his mind, but to no avail. Alone in the dark, it was like he'd never been rescued. His heart pounded in his chest, panic gripping him as the flashback started to take hold.
God, he was scared, they were coming. This time there was no escape. Heavy footsteps rocked the floor and Sam shuddered, curling in on himself as his eyes began to tear .All at once the sudden sound of ringing drew his consciousness, but it wasn't enough to pull him from the darkness.
The sound of his own voice however.
"MynameisSamWitwicky,whoeverfindsthis,mycarisalive."
Blinking in his confusion, he lifted the cell up to his line of sight, the tiny screen reflecting blue light across his face. Pressing a single digit, he saved the message and went on to the next.
"What do you mean, getting chased by your car?" Miles was nearly unintelligible on the phone, his voice ringing through the speaker."I'm coming over." Skipping that message, Sam found himself playing the date over in his head. That call had been placed the day after Mission City.
Soft and unsure, the next message was Mikaela's nearly a month ago. "Hey Sam, it's me. I don't know if you'll get this, but we need to talk-"
Deleting that message there, he sagged against his bed frame as if knowing she wanted to break up with him would change anything between them.
The third unchecked message was from a number he didn't recognize, but the speaker obviously knew him. "Witwicky there's something you need to know."
DeMarco. The message was from Trent?
Dropping the phone into his lap Sam could only listen.
"When they love, they go all out. It's not like a crush or something. It's bigger than that. Much bigger, and if Bumblebee loves you, well then… I dunno, but you'd better not hurt him…..
Because that love is real."
Depressing a key, he replayed the message once, twice; as he mulled over the words taking the statement for what it was.
He shivered suddenly as the words began to sink in.
Oh god.
Trent was right.
Sitting there on the floor, the glyph covered teen considered the words carefully.
It all came back to that didn't it?
Love, Bee had protected him for love, pushed him away for love, had nearly died for love, and he loved him in return.
Was that all there was to it? Why did everything have to be so difficult? Why couldn't love just bring people together? That was the point wasn't it?
"You'reallIeverwanted.You'reallIeverneeded,yeah-"thesudden burst of music pulling the teen from his thoughts, leaving him staring at the phone in his lap.
"-sotellmewhattodonow'CauseIwantyouback."
Lifting the phone Sam could only stare as the realization dawned on him. Only one person would do something so cheesy. Only one Cybertronian would consider leaving an N'SYNC song for a message. Standing once more, Sam moved for the door, heedless of his condition, of Ratchet's threats; heedless of his own fear. He paused briefly by his nightstand to retrieve something from a lower drawer and then he was off; the heavy door swinging shut behind him.
It was during that realization and subsequent escape that the final unheard message began to play from the cell abandoned on the bed.
"Witwicky, I'm on my way and I've got company. Jazz, rolling out."