Ta-dah! New chapter! Enjoying this story more and more, peoples! And be sure to thank Tora Marikama for all the wonderful ideas! Enjoy!
"We need to talk," Optimus said sternly, his optics blazing.
He had managed to calm everybody down, noticing Sam was missing again in the process, and now they were all sitting there in strained, angry silence. There were two clear sides on this, and then there was a line that only two mechs were treading. On the one side, there was the Prime himself, Ratchet, Ironhide, Bumblebee, and Jazz. On the other, there were most of the newcomers. On the thin line between them was First Aid and Beachcomber.
"Optimus, you're not just going to sit by and let them insult Sam like that, are you?!" Ironhide demanded.
"Yeah, mech. I can tolerate a lot, but that's crossin' the line!" Jazz snapped.
Bumblebee just was deathly silent, his optics glued on Prowl. There was a fierce hatred in those normally kind optics. Prowl glanced nervously at him before he spoke up.
"You must see the point, Ironhide," he said. "Sam is a human and their life spans are so much shorter than ours it's laudable! You don't honestly think he'll make a difference in our lives, do you?"
"I know he has," Ironhide said emphatically. "And he will continue to. You just need to give him a chance."
Prowl snorted and was about to reply when Optimus held up his hand.
"Prowl, as, well, logically based as your opinion is, it is wrong. And even if you keep that viewpoint, does that mean he doesn't have emotions? Feelings that can get hurt as you and I do?"
Prowl shifted uncomfortably. "I…well…He does, but it cannot matter that much, can it? You say he is sensitive, but I do not see why you indulge him every time he wants it."
"It isn't that he wants it, Prowl. It's that he needs it," Ratchet said.
"'Sides, that's not true. We don't indulge him in everything," Jazz put in. "He does have rules that he must abide by."
"Yes," Optimus said. "He has restrictions, though they are toned down as he is human."
"The rule about sweets comes to mind," Ratchet muttered, crossing his arms and looking annoyed. "I swear that boy eats too much sugar."
"Sugar?" First Aid asked.
"It's an ingredient in many of the foods he consumes. He eats too much of it. It's very sweet an appealing to humans. Some is alright, but too much is unhealthy. Human sparklings tend to want it more than healthier foods."
"I'd like to know more about human nutrition," First Aid said.
Ratchet smiled at him. "Later."
"I still don't understand!" Prowl exclaimed. "What sets this boy apart from other humans?"
"Tell them," Bumblebee said suddenly.
Optimus, Ironhide, Jazz, and Ratchet looked wary.
"Are you sure?" Optimus asked.
"I want to see their guilt-ridden faces as they realize the damage they can do, and have done, to my boy through ignoring him and insulting him when they thought he wasn't listening."
"What has this boy gone through?" Beachcomber asked quietly. "You've been reluctant to tell us. Maybe it would be better if you did."
"Very well then," Optimus sighed. "Sam was born into a family who didn't care about him. He was verbally, emotionally, and physically abused throughout his entire life. He has many scars, which is why he wears that make-up on his face and why you haven't given him a medical exam, First Aid. He's very shy about them in front of mechs he doesn't know or trust. He was nearly beaten to death by his father, which was what prompted us to allow him to lodge here with us. He is very emotionally naïve and sensitive, and if we don't provide him with the comfort he needs, he might resort to drastic means to escape the pain."
"And by drastic you mean?" Prowl asked in a bored tone of voice.
"Suicide. He might try to kill himself."
There was silence as the mechs contemplated this. Prowl looked startled at that. In Cybertronian culture, suicide was pretty much unheard of. The fact that humans took their own lives was something that bothered the new arrival, including Prowl.
"I…maybe I can relax a little bit," the mech mumbled. "But I still see no point for us to worry so much about him. He's only human."
"He's a friend," Bumblebee said coldly. "And if you ever say such a thing about Sam again, I will personally rip you to shreds."
"Can I watch?" a quiet voice asked.
"Sam! How long have you been there?" Bumblebee asked, hurrying over and scooping him up tenderly.
"Long enough," Sam replied, pressing into the yellow mech's chest and hiding his face. "Thanks."
He didn't tell Bumblebee about the cuts that now covered his forearms from his wrists to his elbows. He didn't tell him that even the old ones were still hurting and were starting to redden and swell. He simply lay there, too embarrassed and ashamed to show him how much he'd been hurting.
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He could feel the mech watching him. Even though he was used to being stared at by the Autobots, Sam was rather annoyed because every time he turned around, the mech was 'busy'. After over two hours of this game Sam spun around and swore.
"Damn it, Hound, if you're going to stare at me, at least be bold about it! Stop this silly game! If you have something to say to me, say it!"
He could feel the new mechs staring at him in shock; they still were confused by him. Hound looked embarrassed, his optics a faint pink. He shifted then took a large intake of air and walked over to him, kneeling down to see him better.
"Optimus told us that you have scars, yet I have seen no marring of your skin. They mentioned you wear make-up. I looked up what it was on the internet. I take it that it is why your face does not look like a human's should?"
Sam's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"The black around your eyes and on your lips. Humans do not generally have that, yes?"
"Oh. No, they don't. It's just…my thing."
"And the scars?"
"What about them?" Sam snapped angrily, looking away.
"So you do have scars?"
"Yes, I have scars. No you're not going to see them. No I don't care if you get pissier than Ironhide about it. Get over it. Anymore questions?"
"Why are you so sensitive about them?"
Sam paused and thought about that. "Well, they just remind me of…dark things. I don't like being reminded of them, and it seems as if Cybertronians have a sick fascination with them. Ironhide used to refuse to let me cover them or wear make-up around them until you all came along and I rather forcefully asserted that I was not going to let you all see them."
"But you truly seem ashamed of them, and I see no reason for that shame. I have scars as well. Even First Aid has scars, but we aren't ashamed of them."
"You got yours from battle, from enemies. I got mine from somebody who was supposed to protect me and love me. There's a big difference."
Hound was rendered speechless by that and stood up looking troubled. Sam could tell he really didn't understand, but there was no way for him to actually convey what it felt like. The markings on his skin reminded him of humiliation and fear, pain and loneliness. It made him feel broken and worthless.
As he settled into his depressing thoughts, his attention was drawn back to his arms, which were still hurting. The last time he'd looked, his arms were an angry red and swollen badly. He was starting to fear what was happening to him. It was increasingly painful to touch them, or have anything touch them for that matter, and some of the cuts leaked a strange pus. Despite this, he had added to the cuts just that morning. It still made him feel ashamed, so he didn't mention it to anybody, not even Bumblebee.
"Sam!"
The boy jerked his head up. "Yes Ratchet?"
"Time for your midday sustenance intake."
Sam made a face as he stood and walked over to the medic. "Can't you just say 'Time for lunch'?"
"I most certainly could," the green mech replied.
"Would you?" Sam asked.
"I most certainly won't. I enjoy the look on your face when I say it my way," Ratchet said with a mischievous smile.
"What's for lunch?" Sam asked, giving up that battle.
"Elbow pasta cooked with white sauce and smothered in cheese."
"So…macaroni and cheese?" Sam said with a raised eyebrow. "What's the catch?"
"Green beans," Ratchet said with a laugh. "But you do get sweet tea."
Sam groaned. "Gee, thanks."
Ratchet sighed. "Why do you fight me like this Sammy? I'm only looking out for your health."
"I know, Ratchet," Sam replied. "You just can't imagine the tastes of some of the vegetables you have me eat."
"I'm sorry Sam, but you need to intake the proper nutrition in order to remain healthy."
"Again, Ratch, I know. I'll eat it."
Sam was carried in and set down beside the little kitchen in the corner of the base where the others wouldn't mess with it and he served himself and began eating. He felt even guiltier about his cutting now since Ratchet was so concerned about his health, but he didn't have the courage to tell the medic about his problem. Ratchet would be so upset, so angry with him, and then he would be disappointed, which Sam most certainly didn't want. His appetite had fled, but he ate a healthy portion to satisfy the medic, who had been meticulously watching what he ate since he got there.
When Sam moved to do the dishes he realized he had two choices: get his sleeves wet or pull them up to reveal his scars. To his relief, Ratchet told him to go and try to make more friends with the new mechs. After a sharp stab of pain shot through his arms, Sam rushed outside to the forest, hid in the shade and pulled up his sleeves. A frightened whimper left him. They were even worse now than they had been before. They were so swollen and red that Sam was sure they were infected, but fear paralyzed him.
He knew he would have to tell somebody, but who? Ratchet would be angry and disappointed, so not him. Optimus and Bumblebee would be the same. There was Jazz and Ironhide, or First Aid, or even Beachcomber, but he wasn't sure. The choices ran through his head even as he pulled his sleeves down, hissing as they rubbed his swollen flesh, and walked calmly out into the sunshine. He looked around and began weighing his options.
One by one he checked them off his list, starting with the obvious one. By the time he was done mentally listing the Autobots he realized that no matter who he turned to, he would eventually have to face all of them. He most certainly wasn't going to tell all of them at once, however; that kind of influx of emotion would probably make him sick. He already knew he was going to cry no matter who he told, so he wanted it to be a trusted friend.
He went back through the list of the five Autobots he knew the best, weighing the pros and cons of telling each of them. This time, he had an answer and he headed to where he knew the mech would be. His stomach had butterflies in it, but he shoved it down. He had to tell. Even if they were angry at him. Or hated him. His stomach clenched, but he kept walking. Soon the mech he wanted to talk to was in sight, off alone in one of the more open areas of the forest. Sam stood there for a moment then took a deep breath and stepped over to him.
*laughs* Evil Cliffhanger!