A/N: I have to admit that I was so nervous writing this story. But I guess I did something right as the reviews seem to tell me. :D Thank you all for reviewing and adding this to your favorites and alerts! ::Bounces around in happy circles:: I was worried that I couldn't capture Mikaela at all, which is one of the reasons I normally write OC fics. So thank you all so much for reading this story and reviewing it. It really helps to keep the ideas flowing and fresh! :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I can't even begin to wish that I did. I am not making any money from this. Just borrowing the characters for fun. Please do not sue.

It was summer again in that horrible unreality of her dreams, and she nothing but a slip of a girl. She couldn't have been more than four at the time, and yet, in that way that all unpleasant dreams possessed, she held the maturity of her real self within her tiny dream-given body.

They were in the massive hedge maze behind the main manor house on the Ravenswood plantation, she and her mother. The image of her mother's dancing purple eyes and swirling multi-colored skirts filled her with a kind of light-hearted joy she had not thought possible in so young a child. It was a feeling she had only encountered after the battle of Mission City, curled up on 'Bee's hood with Sam, watching the sun set behind Optimus Prime. He stood in his bi-pedal mode, sending out the signal to all surviving Autobots that a home had been found for their kind. Ratchet and Ironhide sat a few paces away in their alt modes, chatting softly in Cybertronian.

She had felt so safe, so loved and protected and… and like she had been part of a true family again. It seemed like only now, now that she was trapped in her dreams and within the physical foundation of the source of her nightmares, that she would recognize that feeling for what it was. Being there with them had been like dancing in the summer breeze with her mother. It had given her such amazing carefree joy.

"Mikaela…" her mother sang, twirling in the balmy summer air. She danced across the flagstones in too-fast and yet super-slow motion, twisting ever closer to the entrance of that scary maze. "Mikaela… come find your mommy. Mikaela…"

Mikaela's laughter died in her little throat, chubby hands and legs reaching outward as she ran towards her mother. She didn't want to go into that scary place, knowing that anyone could be lurking around the plant walls, that it was too easy to get lost for hours there. Her mother knew that, too. Knew that her daughter always cried every time they approached the maze. And still the source of her love moved closer and closer to that scary place.

The air began to grow chill the closer she got to the maze, the leaves of the trees dying in moments and turning into what should have taken them months to become. They fell like dry husks, smelling of decay and badness instead of like the soothing spices of autumn. And when they touched the ground at her tiny bare feet, they disintegrated to dust. Rough sharp dust that blew against her unprotected legs and arms where her summer dress didn't quite cover.

"Momma!" she cried, delicate fingers closing and opening against her palms, reaching with all her might for the warm and safe embrace that would never come.

"Mikaela, come find me…" the sing-song lilting melody of her mother's words faded slowly, and the woman herself disappeared into the thorny maze walls. "Mikaela…"

She ran, though her adult mind told her that she wouldn't make it in time, that she would never see her mother's beautiful face again. Never touch those lustrous ebony locks, or watch with wonder when her mother sat at the vanity table, applying tiny bits of makeup to make herself pretty for her husband. These thoughts were foreign to a childlike mind, alien and scary and all her little four-year-old self could do was run. Run towards the last place she had seen her mother.

Run… and cry.

The falling leaves and splintering dust turned into icy needles of snow, the normally soft ivy of the hedge maze into holly bushes to prick little fingers. Red dots of blood showed up on those too-green leaves like a mockery of holiday berries. And still her mother's voice called, the delighted laughter somehow more horrible against the terror of the darkening sky. Gone was the bright and unending summer blue, instead replaced with the grey-black of death-giving winter.

"Mikaela… Come to your Mommy. Come find me…"

"Momma!" she sobbed, sitting down on the frigid flagstones, tiny fists pressed to her eyes as she wailed. "Momma…"

~*~*~*~*~*~

Mikaela bolted upright, a scream on her lips that was part adult outrage and part childish fear. Outrage for the mother that was gone, that had left her daughter in the hands of a cold bitch of a grandmother, and fear from the remembered horrors of knowing that wonderful, kind mother was never coming home again. She would be alone forever in this terrible place, lost without knowing that warm love. Mikaela buried her face in her hands and wept, crying as if her heart had broken. As if her mother had run out on her all over again.

"I hate this place," she sobbed, wiping at her tears with the backs of her hands. "I hate this place. I hate it. I don't want to be here anymore. Oh god, why can't I just go home?"

But this was her home now, her memory taunted. Gramma Lori had ensured that every bit of Ravenswood was given to her granddaughter, that she would never truly be free of her heritage. To some that might have sounded like a kind and generous thing to do for a granddaughter. To anyone that knew the truth of the Banes Family Legacy, that would have rang out as the curse it was meant to be. This was her home now, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Bile rose up in her throat at the thought, so much so that she leaned over the edge of the bed and threw up until there was nothing left in her to expel. And then she just lay there dry-heaving and crying and dry-heaving all over again. Never had she felt so helpless. Even in Mission City or in Cairo, save for when she thought Sam had died forever, she had always felt like there was at least some measure of control. Here, she felt there was none.

Nothing but this endlessly large house filled with dark antiques and even darker secrets.

"Warrior goddess?" a small voice asked. There was a heavy thump on the bed, followed by a stream of clicks and chirps that she knew to be Cybertronian. "What kind of house of horrors is this? This isn't a bed, it's a rock that's pretending to be a bed. Who the frag sleeps on this?"

She knew the voice, knew that the creature making the sounds wasn't human and therefore should have found it amusing that he chose to sound like a third-rate New Jersey mobster. In her agony, her helplessness, she could not muster the slightest smile for Wheelie, the pint-sized former Decepticon-turned-Autobot drone that was always never far from her side.

"I-I do," she whispered, pushing herself into a sitting position with arms that felt like rubber. "At least, I did when I was a child. My grandmother insisted on it."

Wheelie crawled his way up over the lacy duvet, squeaking or cursing here and there when the lace caught in his gears or his armor and he had to take the time to delicately disengage himself. "You slept on a rock and used this detection net as a cover? You sure this broad wasn't a Decepticon torture drone?"

That finally brought a bit of a smile to her lips, and she reached down to pluck him from the covers and sit him on the pillow beside her. "There were times I wondered that myself," she admitted, fighting the impulse to grab the little guy and hug him for all she was worth. She needed the affection right now. And part of her found it utterly depressing that, sitting in a house filled with her own blood relations, it was an alien that offered her the most comfort.

"How did you get here? I thought I told you to wait with Bumblebee?"

Wheelie tilted his head to one side, his blue optics—freshly replaced by Ratchet—narrowing as he did so. "I heard the humans say you fainted, but are you sure you didn't hit your head on the way down?"

The smile vanished. "Why do you ask that?"

"Warrior goddess, the yellow one and I have been here for ten of your Earth hours. You were supposed to meet us at the gate at six o'clock by human time. When you didn't show up, he sent me in to find out what happened."

Mikaela's bottom lip trembled, and the tears fell again. "I've been unconscious for ten hours and nobody called anybody?"

"Woah, woah, easy on the waterworks, hot stuff," Wheelie held out his hands in an imploring way, optics wide with his terror. He hated to see her cry, and like the human males on the planet, he had absolutely no idea what to do when the femme's eyes leaked fluid like that. "'Bee called someone, a local doctor I think, to check you out. He prescribed rest and fluids, so this femme designated Beatrice had you brought back here. Said this was the room you preferred."

She couldn't stop the flow of tears, hating herself for it. Wheelie had meant to be comforting with his words, but the fact that—again—an alien had to call for a doctor instead of her own family drove home the point of how truly alone she was. Those jealous people down stairs had probably hoped that she h ad died, too. That way they could carve up the Banes Fortune into slices like fat bastards staring at a pie. No one had come to see her, to offer to help her. She was fairly certain that one of the funeral home ushers had carried her up the stairs to her room.

"Where's 'Bee now?" she choked out, curling up on her side on the bed and huddling beneath the blankets.

Wheelie looked on with helplessness written all over his face plates. He did the only thing he could. He risked the dreaded lace duvet to curl up against her, tucking his head under her chin and placing one clawed hand gently on her shoulder. The slight purring sound he made, the only way he knew how to express comfort, was rewarded by the warm feel of her hands holding him in return.

"Easy there," he soothed as best as he could. "He's on his way back here now, I'd suspect. Had to go to the airport to pick up Sam."

She froze. "Sam?"

"Yeah," the concern returned to his voice. "Remember, warrior goddess? The three of us and a road trip to that college once you were done here? When we learned what had happened, 'Bee contacted Sam and Sam told us to stay put. He was jumping on the first flight to Mississippi. Should be here any minute now."

::Tell me you are on your way back here pronto!:: Wheelie sent across the subspace to 'Bee's specific frequency.

::Just picked up Sam and his luggage. ETA is an hour.::

::An HOUR?!:: somehow Wheelie managed to squeal even across subspace. ::Something tells me the warrior goddess doesn't have an hour.::

There was a pause, followed by Sam's voice coming across the channel. ::What do you mean she doesn't have an hour? Tell me what the hell's going on!::

::Is she in danger?:: Bumblebee sent through right after.

Wheelie had the impression that 'Bee had just opened a channel inside the cab of his alt mode, transmitting everything the human within was saying. Which was fine with him. The more advice he got in dealing with a sobbing Mikaela, the better. This just wasn't like her at all. His warrior goddess was strong and determined and never showed any kind of weakness. She even kicked the verbal aft of Sam time and again over a webcam, which was impressive to Wheelie's way of thinking. Any femme that could subdue her mate across a subspace channel—nevertheless right in front of him—was a femme worthy of respect and fear.

Sobbing in a fetal position didn't fit into that image of respect.

It was faster to just send the entire conversation to them in one data burst than try to reason it out. He'd let Bumblebee find a way to explain it to Sam.

::Tell her I'm coming:: Sam replied, his voice a mix of upset and comfort all at the same time. ::Tell her that she's not alone, and that 'Bee and I will be there to see her through this whole thing. And all those so-called relatives in there better pray that they don't get in my way. They're already on my shit list for all this.::

::Pray that they don't get in OUR way:: 'Bee corrected. ::If you think I'm sitting this one out, you need to have Ratchet scan your processors. I'll holo-form my way into the place if I have to.::

::I thought Ratchet said not to use your holo-form if you have to interact in a verbal situation. You're vocal processors still aren't working right:: This, from Sam.

::I don't need to use my voice to get my point across:: 'Bee interjected grimly. ::You'll just introduce me as a mute friend. I'll work on the story behind it if they ask. Though it sounds like these people care more about themselves than anyone around them. I doubt I'll get so much as a second glance.::

::Well, whatever you do, make it quick:: Wheelie cut in. ::She needs more than just me right now. And the sooner we get through with this, the sooner we can get the frag out of this place. Something about it gives me the creeps.::

::Understood. ETA in thirty:: 'Bee replied, revving up the RPMs as he kicked up the speed. ::I'll pay the tickets if we get caught and Optimus can yell at me later. Mikaela is our main concern right now::

Wheelie closed the channel, continuing to pat Mikaela's shoulder. "You're not alone, warrior goddess. We're with you. Sam will be here before you can blink, and, uh, so will 'Bee. Hang in there."

She tried to believe his words, tried to push aside her nightmares. As the silence settled in, though, she thought she could detect the faint whiff of Gramma Lori's perfume or hear the slight whisper of her slippered feet on the hall outside her door…