After Bumblebee's realization about me not drinking energon, I asked Optimus in our bond dream that night, "Do you feel the same way?"

"It is difficult to put into words," he admitted. "But yes, to ingest energon is to encounter a glimmer of Primus."

I think we had the same idea at the exact same moment. "Maybe I should…"

"...experience one of my memories," Optimus finished for me, already stepping closer to rest his helm against my forehead.

We jumped back several years to when Ultra Magnus and the others sacrificed themselves to save Earth. Megatron had beaten the crap out of him, and so his energon levels were low. After Ratchet had fixed the worst of his injuries (and put Prowl's doorwing back on), my brother and Prowl had met in his office. Because the crew of the Iron Will had emptied their subspace pockets before beginning their mining runs, Prowl now had all of Cliffjumper's and Brawn's energon vessels. He set one from each of them on Optimus' desk.

Wordlessly, Optimus retrieved the Matrix and filled the vessels. The All Spark had a lot more energy after that battle and the energon flowed almost effortlessly, but Optimus' spark was still heavy with loss. I could feel it.

Holding the All Spark in his palm, he knew he should find hope and consolation that they had it again, but losing Ultra Magnus was too personal. His spark was still broken as he returned the Matrix to his frame.

Even though Prowl was himself recovering and lower on energon than Optimus, he lifted the vessel and extended it to his Prime. "The light of your optics is dim. Drink and receive power."

Optimus slowly sank to one knee, as much bowing to the amity of Prowl's actions as he was yielding to the grief that weighed him down. Despite that, he answered with the ritual words as he accepted the vessel, "Gladly and gratefully, and with good will to all within these walls."

I sensed it when he threw the bond wide-open for me like he had other times we'd shared experiences as brothers, and I accepted his invitation to step even deeper into his mind.

Except I couldn't. As he followed the path of memory and drank down the energon Prowl had offered, I could perceive what he felt, but I couldn't get close enough to experience it. It wasn't like a typical bond block, though. It was more like there was someone sticking their arm out in front of my chest, stopping me from stepping through an otherwise-open door. I tried to wrestle my way around it, but I was stopped at every turn.

Even being on the outside, though, I sensed the shift, the moment Optimus encountered that glimmer, as he put it. His grief was lifted by awe, consolation, and his own growing acceptance. As much as he still missed Ultra Magnus, there was life yet to live, and a swell of strength rolled through his frame. He wasn't so much moving on as he was getting his feet under him again.

Setting the now-empty vessel on the desk, Optimus hefted the full one and offered it to Prowl. "The light of your optics is dim…"

After they'd both drunk their fill, Optimus followed the path of memory, again topping off the energon vessels, and Prowl solemnly left to take them to the med bay. Then Optimus turned to me expectantly.

"I couldn't get in," I said. "I tried but…something blocked me."

His wry amusement rolled over the bond. "Or Someone. It seems Primus is determined for you to encounter him for yourself."

I grimaced, but he placed an encouraging hand on my shoulder. "We are on the right track, as you said. We know this from Elita."

"Stay the course," I translated.

"By day, stay the course," he replied. "By night, we can go wherever you like."

…

Before I started my next lunch-hour meditation attempt, I texted both 'Bee and Optimus first. /Okay you two, let me feel what you feel when you drink energon./

Their awe, adoration, and hope swept through me, and I closed my eyes. This time, I was able to hit the right brain patterns for a few minutes again.

Saturday, the whole family went on a road trip. Annabelle and Hound led us to a more rural area where she thought her parents could be happy, and we explored both the town and recreation in the area. It was actually kind of fun, getting hot cocoa and sugar cookies and shopping for hand-crafted presents at the local holiday fair.

But as we headed home, I remembered again my conversation with Bumblebee and had another question pop into my mind. It was too complicated to ask via text, and Optimus was probably the better one to answer it, so I waited until I could talk to him alone.

When we got back, the kids both crashed for a bit, Mikaela headed out with RaFly to do some more Christmas shopping, and Annabelle started on homework, so took the opportunity to lay down for a bit myself.

As soon as I was settled in, I called Optimus. "Okay, so what about Decepticons? What do they feel when they drink energon?"

I could feel his confusion all the way from the other side of the planet. "I don't know of any reports that they feel anything different."

"So Megatron feels all sunshine and roses every time he drinks energon?"

"As far as I know."

"See, this goes back to what I mean about Primus not caring. Why doesn't Megatron feel guilt or embarrassment or shame? Why does Primus reward him even though he's the reason so many have died?"

"It's possible Primus does guilt and shame Megatron, but I don't believe he does. We are the children of Primus, Sam. Do you love Beatrice any less even though she's not your heir?"

"She hasn't killed anybody," I pointedly reminded him.

"And if she had?"

The question hung there as I tried to wrap my mind around my seven-year-old daughter growing into someone as cruel and hardened as Megatron. "I don't know."

"I do."

I half-smiled. "Yeah, you probably do." That mech knew me better than I knew myself. "It's just…I know you and Megatron were brothers once, but loving him…I just can't imagine anything good coming from that."

"Fortunately, he's no longer in a position to harm Primus, and so our Creator has the luxury of pouring out the same gifts. But as I said, that's my assumption. It has never come up in interrogation reports of captured Decepticons."

I sighed. It was easier for me to imagine a wrathful Primus at least making energon bitter in Megatron's tanks. But Optimus being Optimus, he was probably right. So could I trust a god that was as loving to Optimus – diligent, wise, humble Optimus – as he was to Megatron, the mech who was responsible for so much hate and destruction?

No, I couldn't trust a god who did that.

But what about a father who did?

Frag it all.

…

Sunday afternoon, I slipped into a meditative state faster than I had so far. When Optimus got to the part where I stood up and looked around the vision-space, I was in the living room still. It was daylight again, but I could hear an odd, staccato sound coming from the kitchen.

Following the sound, I entered the kitchen and saw a man with his back to me – my father. I could see a corner of the cutting mat in front of him and figured he must be chopping something. This was really weird, though admittedly not as weird as a constellation stepping into my living room.

I walked around the island he was working at so I could greet him, but instead of my dad's face, the person had the head of a mech. It wasn't any mech I knew, but he had massive horns on either side of his helm. He narrowed his optics at me, and I jumped awake.

"Sam?" Optimus asked over the phone line that was still open. "What did you see?"

"Primus! I saw him. He was in the kitchen chopping something."

"You saw Primus in your kitchen preparing a meal?" It wasn't often Optimus got that baffled.

"Kind of. He had my dad's body, but his head was a mech's head with these huge horns. It was almost like cattle horns."

Dread weighed down Optimus' spark.

"What?" I demanded.

"That is not how Primus is depicted in our art and iconography, Sam. It is, however, how Unicron is depicted."

"With a human body and a mech's head?"

"No, as a mech with horns."

"Oh…that makes more sense."

"Did you speak with him or interact with him in any way?"

"Not really. He just looked up from his cutting mat and narrowed his optics at me. I was so surprised that it knocked me out of my meditation."

Come to think of it, the hostility in the mech's optics was what had really unnerved me. Optimus' deepening dread didn't help me now, either.

"I am reluctant to continue your meditations, Sam, if it puts you in proximity to Unicron."

Puzzled, I answered, "But it's just a meditation. This is all coming from my subconscious or whatever."

"Not entirely. Elita and her interactions with me were not a figment of your imagination. Nor of mine. There are elements of reality – of a deeper reality – woven into these meditations. I am concerned we are sending you into real danger."

I sighed, kind of seeing where he was coming from. Still… "It's less dangerous than sending you alone with Shockwave and his goons to replenish the All Spark. And that can't happen without this."

I felt his resigned worry when he said, "Agreed." I could also feel how it cut against the grain for him to let me run risks all on my own, and he added, "It was well Elita warned me against accompanying you."

…

Mikaela and the kids got back from brunch, but I was surprised when just the three of them came into the living room. "Where's Annabelle?"

Mikeala hung up her coat and nudged the kids to do the same. "She went house-hunting again with Hound and Trailbreaker."

"Ah."

"Today's her lucky day!" 'Trice crowed on her way to her room, no doubt echoing Annabelle's enthusiasm.

"Is she going to live somewhere else?" Daemon asked.

"No," I assured him, "this is for her parents. She'll probably spend time with them, too, especially on the weekends, but I expect she'll stay here as long as she's in school. Or at least, for a year or two."

"Good," Daemon said, picking up his gaming console. "She's an awesome cook."

Mikaela chuckled and caught my eye. "Like mother, like daughter."

…

It was approaching dinnertime before we heard from Annabelle. She called and, when I picked up, she said, "Did you see my text?"

"Um, no, I guess not," I answered and, putting her on speaker, pulled up the messaging app so I could read it. /I found the PERFECT place but it's going to be under contract tomorrow if we don't swoop the other buyer. COME NOW!/ It had been sent ten minutes before.

"You sure?" I asked.

"Trust me," she said. "Even Trailbreaker likes it. Hound will send you the link so you can check it out on your drive here. It's almost an hour from the Tower, though, so hurry!"

"Okay," I answered. "See you soon." Hanging up, I called out, "Mikaela, Annabelle's found a place. You want to come see?"

"Why not!" she called as she emerged from our bedroom. "Kids?"

"Can I bring my Switch?" Daemon asked.

I chuckled. "Sure! And you can bring your phone, 'Trice!"

Since we had the kids and Wheelie with us, we rode with RaFly, but Bumblebee and Bluestreak tagged along out of curiosity. (Tracks wanted nothing to do with the countryside and offered to stay behind and keep Evac company in the command center.)

Hound sent us the link to the listing, and I pulled it up on my phone while Mikaela "drove." Reading over the specs, I whistled in surprise.

"What?" Mikaela asked.

"Historic 4-bedroom, 3-bathroom home on over 100 acres of land on a working farm. It's got three houses on the property – the historic home, plus another 3-bedroom place that's more than a hundred years newer and a one-bedroom, one-bathroom cottage, too."

"So the Lennoxes could live there and they'd have two guesthouses."

"We'd have two guesthouses," I pointed out, "plus a permanent home for the Lennoxes."

Mikeala tossed me a grin. "A weekend get-away place in the country? I like the sound of that."

"With Sarah Lennox's kitchen a quarter-mile away."

"Annabelle's right, this is the perfect place!"

I laughed and kept scrolling. "It's got a huge barn, too. Great place to park a car out of the weather. And it's wooded enough that some people could easily stay out of sight."

Mikaela affectionately tapped RaFly's steering wheel. "Some cars might need the barn more than others, but yeah, that does sweeten the deal even more."

When we arrived, the home owners met us by the front door. Apologetically, they said that they'd already decided to accept an offer and that we'd driven all this way for nothing.

"We'd still love a tour and to hear all about the history," I said, "I'll make it worth your while." When they saw me pulling a couple of hundred-dollar bills from my wallet, they gladly agreed. As they walked us through the formal dining room lined with built-in shelves and the elegant bedrooms complete with fireplaces, I had to agree with Annabelle. This seemed exactly like the kind of place Sarah Lennox would enjoy.

I got a text from Trailbreaker half-way through the tour. /I just checked out the barn with Optimus' input, and it's structurally solid. It's also spacious and could hold everyone who's here right now./

/What about the guesthouses?/ I texted back and then focused again on the tour.

A few minutes later, I got a reply text. /Structurally, they look good, too. Couldn't tell you how YOU might feel about them, though./

In other words, he wasn't comfortable offering an opinion about what human "creature comforts" they might or might not have. /Understood./

As the tour ended, I said, "Have you already signed?"

The wife shook her head. "Not yet. The buyers were going to deposit the earnest money in the morning."

"Whatever their offer, I'll up it by $100,000," I said. "We've been looking for a property just like this, and I'm prepared to pay cash within the week, if you're in a hurry to sell."

The husband gave me an unreadable look. "This is a historic farm, mister. I don't want to see it developed into a bunch of townhomes or something."

"It won't be," I promised him. "We are looking for someplace with elbow-room, where we can get away from the city. We're after the opposite of tightly-packed."

"And we love the historic artistry of it all," Annabelle added. "It's beautiful in a way that they just don't make anymore."

The owners exchanged a look and then the husband nodded and stuck out his hand to me. "Alright."

I shook on it, and Annabelle clapped her hands for joy.

…

During my next meditation, I heard that staccato chopping sound again and, more cautiously this time, I made my way to the kitchen. The same mech-faced human was there – Unicron, probably – and he was furiously cutting up a random assortment of fruits and vegetables. Without looking up, he said, "Why do you resist me?"

I blinked in confusion then jumped when a door closed behind me.

A woman was there, bent over and examining a basket on the floor full of fruits and vegetables. In the way of dreams, I knew this was my Aunt Shelly. When she straightened, though, she had the face of a mech, just like Unicron, except instead of horns, this 'bot had a blue-and-gold helm that reminded me of Optimus' and panels that looked almost like a feather headdress streaming back to blend with Aunt Shelly's curls. Lifting the basket, she carried it to the counter, walking right past me like I wasn't even there, like this was a memory someone was sharing with me.

Setting the basket on the counter, she said to Unicron, "We are both in Fate's orbit – why are you not content?"

Then she turned and the bright blue optics met my gaze. It was a piercing, questioning look. I realized she was expecting me to answer, and I again startled awake.

"Sam?" Optimus asked over the open phone line, his worry pouring into our bond.

"I'm okay," I assured him. "Just…" I rubbed my forehead, trying to make sense of what I'd seen. "That was weird."

"Explain."

"Unicron was there again, chopping up food like last time, but then a different person came in. It was another half-and-half person-thing, except this time it was my dad's sister Aunt Shelly but she had a Cybertronian face. I'm pretty sure it was a mech's face though. It was blue and gold and the helm looked a lot like yours. She? He? They had plates that almost looked like feathers radiating from their face."

"Primus," Optimus interrupted. "That is how we sometimes depict Primus."

"But I thought Primus was a mech."

"Only our most… speculative works of art have depicted him otherwise," Optimus diplomatically said. "Perhaps your subconscious was utilizing the sibling pair you're most familiar with."

That made a certain amount of sense. "But why not make my dad Primus?"

My brother's amusement rolled over the bond from the other side of the globe. "It's your brain, Sam. How would I know if you do not?"

…

In my next Sunday meditation, I again followed the staccato sound to the kitchen where my mech-faced dad and Aunt Shelly were standing opposite each other over the granite counter-topped island.

Unicron furiously finished chopping the food in front of him and threw it in the garbage can at the end of the island. "Everything you create I destroy," he snarled.

But Primus simply unloaded the items from the basket onto the island's countertop. "Everything you destroy becomes a new creation. Why do you resist me?"

Face contorting with fury, Unicron raised his knife and swung it at Primus, who raised the now-empty basket defensively.

Sparks erupted from the blow like when Optimus fought Ironhide in a sparring match, and I jolted awake, my heart in my throat.

"Sam?" Optimus asked over the open phone line.

"That…" I squinted, trying to make sense of my emotions. "I felt like I was running away from an erupting volcano, but it was just… All Unicron did was take a swing at Primus, and then Primus blocked him with his basket."

"It was a battle between two gods," Optimus pointed out. "Discretion was the better part of valor. Prime you might be, but you've apparently retained at least some human survival instincts."

I snorted in amusement.

"Was there anything else?" Optimus asked.

"Just discussion about creation and destruction. It's like segments in a TV show or something and each one is building on the last. They've both accused the other of resisting their brother. Oh! And last time Primus said something about being in Fate's orbit and Unicron resisting her, too. Is Fate even bigger than Unicron and Primus?"

"Fate is… transcendent, yes."

"I'd better start writing all this down."

"Not electronically," Optimus said, sudden misgiving filling him. "It's too easily hacked, and this is knowledge that should be closely-held."

I sighed. It would be annoying to try to put this all to paper, but… "You're right."

…

In the next week's meditation, there was a change of scenery. Instead of hearing chopping in the kitchen, I heard voices on the roof. Since I was in a hurry, I took the stairs instead of the elevator and threw open the door that led to the sunroom upstairs. I fleetingly noticed that it was lush with ripe fruits and vegetables as I strode into the sunroom – more so than Hound had ever made it. Primus turned, still holding the basket defensively, and I realized it was just me and him in here. I was the one holding the knife and brandishing it at Primus.

His expression was calm. "Why are you not content?"

My senses were swarmed again – taste of rust, reek of carrion, feel of decaying slime – and horrified, I dropped the knife.

It hit the floor with a sound like a tomb closing, and I again jumped awake. I gulped air, feeling thoroughly creeped out.

"That was a short meditation," Optimus observed in his not-question way.

I swallowed hard, my skin still crawling from the remembered sensations.

"Sam?"

"I was him," I whispered.

"Primus?"

"No." I swallowed hard again. "I was Unicron."

Optimus' dread added to my own. I could feel what he was about to suggest and quickly said, "I can't stop. I have to keep going."

His reluctant acceptance drowned out the dread, and he asked, "What did you do as Unicron?"

"Nothing, really. Primus asked why I was resisting him, why I wasn't content."

"Content to do what?"

"I don't know, Optimus," I burst out, lunging to my feet and pacing the living room. "I touched the knife again – I was holding it – and those…ugh!" I shuddered.

"Sam, I do not understand."

"Every time I touch the knife, I feel… death. Rust. Rot. Decay. It scares me," I quietly admitted. "I don't want to touch it."

"Is it the same knife Elita held?"

I frowned thoughtfully, trying to remember. "Maybe? I mean, it could be. They looked pretty much the same. I wasn't paying all that close attention."

"She gave me a whetstone for a reason, Sam," he gently pointed out. "This is not my task; it is yours. I am to assist you, but you…"

"I have to be the one to wield the knife."

"You are the knife. I am the stone."

A wave of nausea hit me, and I had a hunch my subconscious had already figured this all out but wasn't happy about it. "Frag Primus to the Pit," I grumbled.

"Just don't tell him that next time," Optimus said. While his voice was solemn, there was a hint of amusement over the bond.

…

The next Sunday we had to go through the meditation twice before I was able to settle down enough to hit the right brainwaves.

When we got to the part where I was supposed to look around, my subconscious had taken me straight up to the sunroom on the roof. I was again brandishing the blade, and Primus was shielding himself with the basket. This time I managed to hang on to the knife when the sensations of death swarmed me. I shuddered and gasped, shaking them off as best I could, and when I was able to focus again, I saw that my hand had lowered. I was no longer threatening Primus.

For a long moment, we just looked at each other as I tried to gather my thoughts again.

Finally, Primus lowered the basket to the ground and said, "You are in Fate's orbit – why do you resist Her?"

When I didn't answer, he went over to the kitchen garbage can. I'd expected it to be full of the chopped food from earlier, but instead it was almost overflowing with what looked like compost-rich soil. Primus picked up a hand trowel and, half-filling a pot with the soil, transplanted a seedling.

As he gently pressed some additional soil around the transplanted root ball, Primus said, "You are Hunted to the Hunter, flesh more enduring than steel, creator and destroyer. I thought a human would understand even better than my metal children. Why are you not content?"

I realized my jaw was hanging open, and I said, "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

Primus looked directly at me. "Because you choose not to."

"Dad!"

I winced as Daemon shook my shoulder, pulling me out of the meditation.

"Dad!" he repeated. "Mom doesn't want to go out – Evac says he thinks she's coming down with something. Can we order some pizza instead?"

I blinked, my brain trying to catch up with the abrupt change. "Um…sure. Whatever you and 'Trice can agree on. I just need to go write something down first."

While Trailbreaker and Hound helped them order some food for us, I wrote down everything I could remember of what Primus had said. The words rang over and over in my mind. Hunted to the Hunter. Flesh more enduring than steel. Creator and Destroyer.

By the time I finished writing it out, I'd decided it just didn't make any sense. Maybe pizza would help.

That night, I met Optimus in my dreams like usual.

"You have been troubled all day."

"I wasn't Unicron this time – I was myself. I mean, I still held the knife, but Primus talked to me. He said he thought a human would understand better than you guys what he was trying to tell me."

I could feel Optimus' hunger to know, to understand, what I'd experienced followed by a flash of frustration.

Sympathetically, I said, "Too bad Elita didn't explain why I can't show you my visions or whatever they are."

"Whatever her reasoning, I'm sure it was sound," he answered. "Tell me what you remember."

I described being in the sunroom, the compost that had replaced the chopped food, the seedling transplant. Then I repeated what Primus had said, (as best I could remember). "You are Hunted to the Hunter, flesh more enduring than steel, creator and destroyer. I thought a human would understand even better than my metal children. Why are you not content?"

"And then what happened?" Optimus asked.

"I said I didn't understand, Primus said it was because I chose not to, and then Daemon woke me up."

He bowed his helm, considering.

"I mean, I'm trying to understand, but it's all nonsense!"

"No, Sam," he softly said, looking up again. "Each image, each word, is rich with meaning. Think! Why would your father be cast as Unicron instead of Primus?"

I gritted my teeth against the idea as soon as it popped into my head, but Optimus could feel I knew the answer. I ground out, "Because I'm supposed to be him. I'm the Destroyer."

"No, Sam," Optimus gently contradicted. "You are creator and destroyer. That's something I've never been. I've only ever been a destroyer."

"Flesh more enduring than steel?" I challenged, and I could tell from his feelings that we were both thinking about the dangers that still lay ahead, about him going alone with Shockwave and his goons to replenish the All Spark.

"The important question," he said, "the one Primus keeps asking, is why you aren't content. In the role of Unicron and caught in Fate's orbit, what are you not content to do?"

His words were trapping me, I could feel them closing in, and I all but shouted, "I don't want to be a destroyer!" Glaring at him, I said, "I don't want to be a killer. A murderer. I don't want to have to sacrifice you or anyone else, even if it means we can't pull off any more victories. I'm done with death!" I again shuddered as those awful sensations swarmed me.

Optimus vented a sigh, his spark heavy, and he stepped closer to place his helm to my forehead, brother-to-brother. "We are in Fate's orbit, Sam."

"So what!" I grumbled, bristling still but not willing to completely shrug off his brotherly affection. "She doesn't control me any more than Primus does."

"It is destruction that makes way for creation. For your creations."

I swear my heart stopped. "The Second Dynasty of the Primes."

"The kitchen scraps that become soil that nourishes the seedling," he reminded me. "That is what you are resisting, Sam."

The whole 'Circle of Life' thing. "I don't want to be Unicron. I don't want to kill anyone."

"That, I think, is a conversation for you and Primus."

…

In the next Sunday's meditation, I heard the staccato chopping again coming from the direction of the kitchen. When I stepped through the doorway, though, I was suddenly in front of the cutting mat, knife in hand. Primus was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen island and holding the basket.

"I'm not a killer," I defiantly declared.

Primus pulled a doll-sized Megatron from his basket and laid him on the chopping board in front of me. "No?"

The miniature Megatron crawled like he was wounded across the cutting mat, growling, "All Spark! Mine!" It was what he'd said at the end of the Battle of Mission City – I'd re-lived this moment so many times in my nightmares.

Looking up at Primus, I said, "I had no other choice."

"Correct."

I knew what was supposed to happen next – what did happen next, back in Mission City all those years ago – and I lifted the knife. Megatron cursed me as I cut him to bits, and sickened, I pushed the pieces into the garbage can.

Next, Primus opened his chest like a cupboard and pulled out The Cube. My eyes widened, and he placed it on the chopping board. I met Primus' gaze and asked, "Won't it hurt you?"

"Yes, it did."

I looked again at that Cube sitting on my cutting mat. "Do I have another choice?"

"We are in Fate's orbit," he simply said.

I took that to mean, "Not really." Despite the pain it visibly caused Primus, I hacked the Cube into pieces that oozed energon. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and pushed those pieces into the trash, too.

After taking a breath or two to recover, Primus then stooped and pulled a blue star about the size of a melon from the basket.

With stark clarity, I realized this was the knowledge I'd been seeking, and I drew a deep breath.

"It's the last ingredient," Primus reassured me. "Unicron was not content to do his part. He wanted to do more. He wanted to control. You don't have to be him. You just need to wield the knife."

Give up control, I realized. Stop trying to play God and to call the shots. Trust. Do the job that needs doing. Destroy to make way for creation. Destroy as part of the process of creation.

I raised the knife high with both hands, and it started to make a throbbing hum. I looked up and saw that the knife had become the Matrix of Leadership in my hands – and the brilliant spark within it was red. Focusing on the blue-glowing ball in front of me, I drove the Matrix into the star.

My hands tingled with the impact. In the waking world, my eyes flew wide, and I understood.

Looking at my hands, I could feel again in my spark that throbbing hum – the specific harmonics that would turn the Matrix of Creation into an instrument of destruction.

"Sam?" Optimus worriedly asked over the speaker-phone.

"It worked," I reassured him, somewhere between stunned and weirded out myself. "I know what to do and how to do it. I've got what we need now."