Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait! Enjoy!
Sam jolts awake, hands shaking. His whole-body throbs alongside his heartbeat. He looks over next to him on the bed. Wheelie is snoring away. According to Bumblebee - and reaffirmed later by Wheelie himself - Wheelie and Brains would sleep with Sam in his room so that no matter what, he was never alone. It rings true, it feels familiar. Wheelie's soft snoring and mumbling in his sleep - recharge - feels familiar to Sam. And without windows in the room to help dictate the time of day, it's pitch black in here, so Sam is thankful for the little bot being here. It feels less lonely. There isn't anything that casts any sort of light too, to assuage him of his fears. Maybe he should invest in a nightlight or something. He's not scared of the dark, necessarily, but he is starting to grow weary of what could be hiding in it. Sam takes a few shaking breathes. He rubs his forehead as he reaches over to grab his phone right as it lights up with a text from an unfamiliar number.
"Are you okay, Sammy?"
Sam blinks, surprised. He rubs his eyes, seeing spots from the harsh light of his phone in the darkness of the room. He lowers the brightness on his phone before squinting at it. It's still late into the night, at almost two-thirty. Way too early for him to be up and about. He has to read the message three or four times before it finally makes sense to me. He responds, "I'm okay. Who is this?"
A second later, "Jazz, Sammy."
Jazz? Sam's eyebrows raise to his forehead. "How do you know something is wrong?"
"I can feel it." Sam stares at that, blinking a few times, trying to understand such a simple sentence. He must have waited too long to respond due to his confusion because Jazz elaborates, "You created me, Sammy. Recreated me, I guess. But either way, that forged a bond between us."
Sam sits up a bit, leaning on his elbow and turning away from Wheelie, hoping that the dim light won't wake him from his peaceful sleep. "It did?"
"Yep. Forged a creator bond between us. I can feel your emotions. Especially if they're strong ones. Like the panic that you were feeling just a few minutes ago. But I got strong enough sensors to keep track of you. Nice and safe in your room. Wheelie with you. So, unless someone broke in and are hidden from my sensors and didn't manage to wake Wheelie, I'm assuming that it wasn't an intruder."
"No," Sam admits. "It was a nightmare, I think. I don't... I don't really remember it."
/What are you?/ The voice had asked before he jolted awake. But every other part of the dream was fading away from his memory, slipping from it like water through his fingers.
"I see. You okay?"
Sam nods, curling up on his side. "I'm okay. Sorry I woke you with my... feelings?" He was learning a lot about bonds - at least the different types of them - these last few hours. Conjunx Endura bonds. Creator bonds. If he made one with Jazz when he brought him back, does that mean he made one with Earthquake too? Has it been like that this whole time? That might explain why he's so sensitive to Sam's feelings.
"Nah, Sammy, you're good. I'm just glad you're alright."
Sam sits in silence for a long while, long enough for his eyelids to start drooping once more. He shakes himself awake to respond. "I'm sorry I did that to you, Jazz. The bond thing. I don't feel anything but..." After almost a solid two minutes of typing and erasing, he decided to add, "...but hopefully it won't affect you too much."
He's not really sure what this bond does, but it's true that he hopes that it's at least not distracting. His own thoughts and feelings could be distracting, but the vague memories of Mission City - running for his life as the city is turned into a warzone, cube clutched to his chest. Its hard edges pressing into his sternum. His mind racing, heart pounding - is enough for him to not want to share his headspace with anyone else. Especially when they are the ones that are fighting in it. The last thing he would want is to be responsible for getting Jazz killed because his emotions are all over the place and distracting.
"It's all good, Sammy. Just try and get some more sleep." A pause. Then, "And don't worry about the bond. We will talk more about it later. Bonds are natural for us; we are used to mitigating it. Goodnight, Sam."
"Okay. I'll talk to you later. Goodnight, Jazz." Sam clicks off his phone after saving Jazz's number in his contacts and lays it back down on the side table before rolling onto his other side, looking at Wheelie, still snoring lightly. He's sprawled on his back, one hand by his head, one resting on his stomach with his little legs splayed out. He's relaxed and content. Sam's happy to see it, even though he was a little forlorn earlier about missing his best friend, Brains.
Both of them had been underlings to the Decepticon's Third in Command, Soundwave. All that Wheelie would say about him was, "You don't get on ol' Soundwave's bad side. Megs will just deactivate ya. If Soundwave doesn't put ya into time out," a shiver, "then he'll turn ya over to Shockwave."
Wheelie did not want to talk about the mysterious Shockwave or his former master in Soundwave. Sam had enough good sense about him not to press further.
Sam curls up again, letting out a little sigh before letting his eyes droop closed and sleep to claim him.
Two weeks pass in a flurry of activity. After Earthquake checked in with him at an ungodly time the following morning to ensure that Sam was okay before he went out on his very first patrol run with Arcee and her sisters. It took a lot of coaxing from Sam and patient Elita-One rolling up next to the large, armored truck and offering her gentle two cents as to Sam's security before he was finally convinced to leave. Sam went back inside to get ready for the day after receiving a text from Mikaela. She had made plans with Bumblebee; they were going out into Diego Garcia.
The city attached to the base was two years into its growth. Probably less, considering whatever time was needed for logistics of the land being turned over to the Autobots, surveyors for the buildings and city layout, and the time it takes for the land to be cleared and the materials to be brought in. Contracts with the necessary people to make it all happen and such, but within the two years since the battle at Mission City, Sam can say that he's honestly impressed with how large and complex the framework for the city is. There are only a few buildings, recreation centers, supermarkets, a school for the children of NEST operatives, and apartment complexes for their families. It's not a whole lot, but it is definitely turning into something. There is plenty more buildings being built and a constant stream of supplies from the port up into the city.
There wasn't a whole lot to see, but they looked around at everything that they could. The buildings were all spaced out based on the overall image of the city, so not everything was all clustered together, but placed in a specific way that it made sense for when the rest of the city goes up around it. Sam could kind of see it, but Bumblebee assured them that Optimus was meticulous in his planning. And with Prowl here, it would all start running a lot smoother.
They end up at the beach after a long day. Bumblebee had rolled up onto the sand and let them out, but remained in his alt mode, as all the Autobots had when out in the city. They would reveal themselves in time, but even here, on their home on Earth, it wasn't safe for them to do so just yet. There were so many strangers - contractors from around that were fully vetted by NEST and the Autobots, but not brought into the fold as of yet. As far as the families of NEST are aware, this is a UN project, so not something specific to a single country, which would explain why there was people from all over the world. It was primarily Americans, but Optimus was open to the idea of recruiting any who wished to join them - after being properly vetted, that is.
Sam and Mikaela walked along the beach for a time. They talked, reminisced about more than he could remember, before sitting side-by-side staring out over the ocean. A different ocean, a different view, but the sound of the waves was the same. The warm breeze is the same.
"I talked to my dad," Mikaela says after a comfortable silence. "He's doing well."
"Good," Sam smiles, rolling up his sleeves from his flannel button up. Despite the warm air, he's still colder than he usually is.
"Do you think..." Mikaela trails off, pushing strands of long, dark hair over her shoulder as she turns to look at him. "Do you think there's a chance that Optimus might let me stay here? That my dad might be able to come here? I know we don't work for the Autobots, but we could? We could do... something?"
"I don't know," Sam admits, glancing over at her while squinting into the sun behind her. "I don't see why not. Economy and all that. I imagine people are going to bring actual cars here when it's not just a collection of a few buildings and not all within walking distance of each other. So, they'll probably need a garage opened for maintenance and stuff, right? That's normal."
Mikaela smiles, appreciatively. She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, nodding to herself. "Yeah, maybe not now, but sometime. And maybe that's what we need. A fresh start."
Sam nods, agreeing whole-heartedly. He wished he could talk to her, explain that he did lover her, just not the way that he did. And now he knows why. That beautiful yellow Camero silently sitting up the beach behind them was the reason. Sam followed down the plotline to a bunch of romance novels. He fell in love with his best friend. He fell in love with his guardian. His protector. And yet even with that truth filling his chest, he couldn't help but feel like something else was missing. He has no idea what, but he knows that there is.
They go back to Bumblebee not long after and he brings them back to base. There is a large cafeteria that displays an incredible amount of food choices for them. Cards are laid out with all major food allergies and content information. It doesn't surprise Sam with how monitored his diet has been that the chief medical officer wouldn't see to each and every one of their individual health. Or at least keep their options open and give them the chance to be informed about what's going into their bodies.
Sam manages to fall into a routine over those two weeks. He stays almost primarily in base, but once he got his I.D badge, he felt a lot better traveling without Bumblebee as his escort. He recognizes how busy everyone is so he felt bad for making Bumblebee his escort all the time, despite the yellow bot's insistence that he didn't mind. In his own voice, too, in his own body. Three days after getting his vocalizer fixed, Ratchet finally gave him the 'Ok' to speak regularly, but just to... take it easy in the beginning. In his holoform, his voice is very much human, but it is slightly different from his actual voice. There is the subtle hint of a synthesizer in every word. It's so subtle, that if Sam wasn't paying perhaps too much attention, he wouldn't have noticed it. But all the Autobots have it. Just very, very faintly.
He has only seen Optimus twice, and both of those times were in passing. The Autobot leader was going from one side of the base, through the main central chamber, and into another corridor, respectfully going through the checkpoints without complaint, even as the NEST forces tried to quickly push him along without holding him up for long. Sam didn't want to bother him, seeing as he's been so busy. But it was interesting to see him in that position. The polished to shine red and blue flamed Peterbilt rolling to a stop at each checkpoint, powerful engine rumbling in the massive space, as he patiently waited for them to scramble through their procedures, before opening the gate and he rolls forward, disappearing down the tunnel until even the thunderous engine is swallowed in the din of the space around him.
The second time, after he got his official I.D, Sam stopped in his queue when he heard the throating roar of Optimus's engine, a few days later. Sam had been surrounded by others trying to make their way through the checkpoint that, he could hear the Autobot leader but not see him. Not aside from a bit of his cab. He had his trailer pulling behind him - he was transporting materials further into the base that was still being constructed, and nothing was below his attention, it seemed. Sam felt Optimus' fields brush against him. It was welcoming, loving, gentle. Sam shivered, but smiled, wondering how the bot could have known that he was there. He had grabbed out his phone and sent of a quick text to the Autobot leader - thankfully Bumblebee had gotten him everyone's numbers, just in case he needed them.
"Hello to you too."
Half a second later, there was another affectionate brush against him that made Sam's spine tingle, before Optimus was waved through the checkpoint and disappearing once more.
Bumblebee told him later that his I.D had a tracker in it - all of them did. It was another way for the Autobots to keep track of all their little humans. Both for safety and security.
Sam's I.D was special, even beyond that, he guesses. It had a clearance level a lot higher than Mikaela's. It didn't really seem like there was much where Sam couldn't go. He didn't go to a lot of restricted areas, but one of his favorite places, was The Hive. It's where Prowl spent the majority of his time. It's there that he organized... everything. He planned out the construction across the island, organizing schedules for Autobots and NEST operatives, as well working on mission briefs from incoming and outgoing agents, Autobots and NEST operatives. And... and...
Well, Prowl oversees a lot. A lot of logistics. A lot of day-to-day. A lot of security and planning. And a lot of... a lot.
Sam liked to hang around the Hive. It was an inverted dome accessible by five descending staircases, one definitely designed for Autobots. On each level there was computers. So many computers. All the motion, all the rows upon rows of computers and many different workstations with someone sitting at every desk, made it seem like there was a perpetual din hanging over the room. There was a constant flurry of movement. There is a massive set of screens high up on the wall and a few large terminals definitely built for Autobots at the back of the Hive. This is the place where they gather information. It all funnels through here before being separated out and into other areas. Sam's understanding is that they currently don't have the staff - both human and Autobot - to perform accurate operations for each section individually as of yet. As well as the base is still under its own construction. But day by day, more of the base finishes, and the promise of Autobots drawing closer increases. If Prowl and his crew regained their memories of the future, then other Autobots might have as well.
Jazz told Sam that the consensus between Optimus, Ratchet, Ironhide and Prowl, was that any Autobot that was within the Allspark's influence when they were brought back got their memories. So Autobots like him, that were dead, or not alive, like Earthquake, or not close enough, like the majority of their forces, are all going without this ten-year glimpse into their future. Those that managed to make it here within the next ten years will no doubt be high tailing it here as they speak.
It sounds like they will be having more Autobots appearing in the near future. Which is probably why Optimus is killing himself trying to detangle the Autobots from the lordship of the U.S Government. His people are going to need him to be able to speak solely on their behalf without going through a filter. If they intend to make this place - Diego Garcia, Earth - their home, then it has to be theirs. Not on loan or borrowed. But theirs.
If Sam thought that he could do anything to help, he would, but even as his life from before the ten years comes back to him, those ten years are much more elusive. Mostly feelings. Sometimes, a flash of something like a vision, or whispers of ghostly conversations without context will bleed into his mind, but it's the first eighteen years of his life that come in far clearer. And much easier.
Sam likes it at the Hive. He doesn't want to bother Prowl while he's working so hard, but a lot of bots pass through here and if Sam is ever looking for Jazz, this is usually the sure-fire place to find him.
Outside of the rows of computers is scaffolding that allows Sam to walk up to a higher level so that he can speak to Autobots closer to their level. They have these scaffoldings in pretty much all of the areas where humans and Cybertronians occupy the same space. The scaffolding here is temporary, though, according to Bumblebee. Once more sections of the base are available for the work that needs to get done, then the Hive's purpose will alter more and more until it becomes as it was intended to. What that is, exactly, Bumblebee didn't say.
Jazz is playing a stringed instrument behind Prowl, singing softly enough that Sam can just barely hear it. Prowl's wings dip low and press to his back, facing Jazz with the flat panels. Bumblebee had told him that it was the sound of Jazz's singing. Their sensor wings are sensitive to it.
"Prowl is tense," Bumblebee had softly murmured to him, casting a look over at the SIC. "He's under a lot of stress right now. Without some of the others to help take over some of these positions, he's stuck doing all of them."
"Can we help?" Sam asked, frowning. He looked to the black and white winged bot, his bright blue eyes intensely focused on the screens in front of him.
"Jazz is trying," Bumblebee admitted. "Just do what he says and... pray that Blaster or Red Alert, or even Inferno get here soon to help alleviate some of the pressure. Oh, and... well, let Jazz sing to him." Bumblebee sends Sam a look he doesn't understand. "It's easing his nerves a bit."
Sam blinks, drawing his focus back to the present. He looks over to see Prowl standing at the top of the Hive, like a lord overseeing his workers, wings pressed flat as Jazz, who was sitting about fifteen or so feet back in one of the chairs he stole from the empty workstation to Prowl's left, sings away softly. He strums and sings, head tilted back a bit with his visor dark. Prowl typically works in absolute silence. He stands there monitoring, working, speaking only when someone comes up to him or he needs to address someone or something. Otherwise, he doesn't say anything and hardly even moves.
"Hey, Sam."
Sam jolts, heart leaping into his throat. He looks over at the young woman next to him, surprised he didn't hear her walking up the scaffolding to get to him. Her curly blond hair pulled up into a messy bun, with strands dangling around her face. Her lips glossy in a grin and blue eyes bright.
"Hi Maggie," Sam says, smiling.
Maggie. A friend of Optimus's who died. Killed in an accident. Sam has been watching the Autobots around her, and most seemed pretty fond. Bumblebee is always quick to offer her attention and even Prowl, who is respectful, but stern, treated her with more...impersonal kindness. Just slightly less business professional. And that's coming from a bot that had his emotions turned off last time. Nowhere near as friendly as Jazz, who despite knowing anyone other than Lennox's team peripherally, who was welcoming to everyone he came across. But decidedly more friendly.
According to Bumblebee, Maggie worked very closely with Prowl. She did a lot for NEST. She helped plan and run operations for Spec-ops. She's intelligence. So that means that everything she touches is classified. And even though Sam has only met her a handful of times but really likes her. She's nice with a thick Australian accent.
Maggie places her sunglasses in her hair at the top of her head, grinning as she sips her coffee. Her nose ring catches the light as she waggles her fingers at him. "You should really see about doing something in intelligence since you seem to like it around here."
Sam shrugs. "Maybe, although I doubt that I'm actually smart enough to do what you guys do."
She shakes her head. "No way. I'm sure you'll be fine." She sips at her coffee again, considering. "Unless Prime doesn't want you working here."
Sam casts her a long look, curiously. She seemed so... in the know. Something about the way she so casually said it. Not so much that she's fishing, but more like she already either knows the answer, or suspects it.
"I don't really know what Optimus wants," Sam admits. It was mostly the truth. Optimus had told him once upon a time that he had wanted Sam to be their human ambassador, but there wasn't a whole lot that he could do while he was still relearning the life that he lived. He wasn't even in school anymore. He's not necessarily opposed to the idea of it, but he's just not sure where to start or what to do. Not about that position, or how to even go about it. He's still just trying to scavenge his own life - or at least what he's lived of it - to worry about his future just yet.
"Fair enough," Maggie acquiesces with a shrug. "I'm sure he'll talk to you about it once you've settled in. To be honest, I was pretty surprised when I saw that you were on the manifest coming here. I had thought Prime wanted to keep you as far out of this as possible."
Sam nods, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I think he did. But the truth is, I'm where I belong. Maybe not where I'm needed just yet, but where I belong."
Maggie smiles, and it's beautiful. Mikaela's smile is like that. "It's good you're here, Sam. Don't worry about the rest. It'll sort itself out on its own."
Sam feels himself smile. "Thanks. So," his eyes flicker over to the large black and white Praxian, then back to Maggie, "like working with Prowl?"
Her eyes brighten. "Yeah, he's brilliant. A lot of my other bosses were, well, incompetent. Not him. In just one week he's already getting stuff organized and running streamline. Efficiency and all that. I mean, it's only been a week, but I'm already impressed with the improvements. Never liked my bosses, but I already like him. A little stiff but," she shrugs. "Anyway. It's also good to know that he's the Autobots Second-in-Command. He's got his shit together, which is good. And now there is some real structure here for the Autobots, which just makes my life easier."
Sam frowns, head tilting. "How so? More people to report to?"
Maggie shifts her weight from one hip to the other. "Yes, but it also helps when things start to bottleneck. When NEST was formed the head of the division was the Prime, which it still is, but then there a lot of bureaucrats in the middle from the U.S government, then Major Lennox, and a pile of people trailing after. The chain of command - the clear division between the military both human and Autobot - and then the more civilian applicable stations was a lot more... um... unclear. No one really knew who they were reporting to exactly. Just that ultimately, it all ended up on Prime's desk. But if he was out dealing with Decepticon threats, some of those reports would be left untouched for days, weeks even, depending."
"That... sounds like a logistical nightmare," Sam admits.
Maggie laughs, eyes bright. "You have no idea. But thankfully, as soon as Prowl came in, by the end of the first workday, a mass email was sent out over all NEST forces, military and civilian branches, dedicating chain of command, operations managers, and solidified job positions. Who reports to who, what is our exacting positions, parameters of operations, etc. It's nice. It's organized and it's crystal clear. Little room for interpretation."
"I'm glad," Sam admits. "This is a good thing. I know it."
Maggie grins. "Yep. Me too."
Down the path he goes. He can hear it again - the voices. Like whispers from far away. As he continues down the path, in the darkness ahead, he knows that the intersection awaits him. He can't see it yet, but he knows that it's there. The more he does this, the clearer this place becomes. More of it sticks with him. Like the smell of moisture in the air. But it's old, stale. Like distilled water.
He looks down at his feet, at the concrete floor, to see that he was bare footed, and not in the socks he fell asleep in. He couldn't feel the concrete or the cold, yet when he breathes out, a puff of mist surrounds his mouth. Like this place is cold, yet he still feels warm and content, like how he was when he went to sleep earlier. Bumblebee had come to visit him for a few hours before bed, walking in with dinner as Sam was in the middle of talking his mom off a ledge. She had just learned that he wasn't in school and was losing her mind. He managed to - tentatively - convince her that he had to take the semester off and that he would start again the next one. At the rate his memories were returning to him, he should hopefully be ready to take classes by then.
Bumblebee already offered to talk to Optimus about finding a way for him to take online classes, seeing as he wasn't on the same continent as the school anymore. So hopefully they can work something out with that.
Surely, he'll be ready by then.
Down the path he goes, towards the sounds of whispers, apprehension of that choking sensation from last time spiking in his gut. Yes, he... he remembers. There was something else in here last time. Something else that was reaching for him. How could he have forgotten?
"..."
Sam stops, suddenly chilled. Like all the warmth has drained from his body. He feels... was that...? He doesn't know, but it almost felt like something just happened. Like within the whispers that has steadily increased, there was something else but... but...
"..."
Sam looks behind himself, to absolutely nothingness just three paces back. He's walked further than that, so it's almost like everything is disappearing behind him. With a shiver, Sam turns forward once more. With his arms wrapping around himself he pushes onward. He can hear his feet slapping against the concrete but there is such a strange disconnect from it. He doesn't feel it. Like he's listening to someone else walking right in his own footsteps. He keeps going, trying not to get distracted every time the feeling strikes him.
There was something else here. If he keeps pushing onward, he'll find it again. Something... yes, something spoke to him the last time. What was it? What else is in here?
"..m."
His breath catches. In the din of voices steadily growing louder, there was something... something else. Or maybe it was the same thing from last time? He doesn't know.
"Hello?" He dares to call out, tensing once more. The last time he did this, whatever it was that was down here with him just about squeezed the life right out of him. But nothing this time. The din of voices is still laid over them in a blanket of sound. He dares again, just slightly louder, "Hello?"
Still nothing. Sam pushes onward. More and more. The further he goes, the louder the din gets. But there are no words - at least none that he understands. He finds the split in the path. One way into a suffocating darkness, the other, towards the voices. A flicker of light impossibly far in the distance. Sam heads for the light, calling out again and again, until the whispers fall silent. Until the presence of consciousness focuses in on him. Instead of attacking like last time. The feeling wraps around him like a caress, running up and along the length of his body, as if trying to picture him. Trying to see him.
/What are you?/ The voiceless question seems to stretch out across forever.
Sam's heart gallops in his chest, eyes searching the darkness ahead for something. Anything that could alert him of who, or what, is speaking to him. But he can't see anything.
"I'm..." Sam swallows, mouth dry. "My name is - "
A vice around his upper arms. "Sam!"
Sam jerks back, disoriented. He just about stumbles wildly, hands flailing as he shoves at the iron grip on him. His vision blurs, going from the dark, dimly lit hall with the smell of old water and the dripping and the concrete to something more brightly lit. Another hall, but with colors painted along them with directions and hanging lights impossibly high where stalagmites once were.
Then there is a roar in his ears. Something sharp and loud and unnatural. An engine - a loud one - roaring overhead. A jet, his mind tells him. Explosions that rattle his teeth, rocks pelting his skin, dust and dirt in his lungs.
"It's Starscream!"
Sam scrambles, crying out in fear as he backs up into something. His hand smacks against something hard enough to hurt. The smarting pulses with his racing heart. Something strong and unyielding curls around his back, keeping him upright, even as he panics. Three different places overlapping one another in his mind. The cityscape, the musty tunnel, the hallway in Diego Garcia.
"Sam! It's okay!"
Sam's wild eyes fly toward the soldier approaching him with purpose, blinking wildly as he tries to understand what's happening. "Bumblebee," he rasps, terrified. Where is Bumblebee? Bumblebee will help him.
The soldier tilts his head, blue eyes bright. "I'm here, Sam," he says softly.
Sam blinks rapidly, looking at the solider and finally seeing him. Shaved blond hair, unnaturally bright blue eyes. And then, just beyond, the bot in question. Hunched down, blue eyes focused intently on him, head tilted. Sam's rapidly pounding heart slows as he takes in the space around him. Bumblebee knelt in front of him, just passed his holoform. Jazz a few feet behind him with Prowl at the open doorway just behind him. Autobots down the hall beyond the SIC, all watching with bright eyes. Ratchet standing to Sam's left, also knelt down with a frown on his face. And Optimus is behind Sam, hand curled lightly around him to keep him from stumbling back any further. Ironhide standing just over Optimus's shoulder.
"You are in distress, Creator."
Sam blinks as Earthquake pushes passed Mudflap and Skids, ignoring their protest, as he comes closer. Jolt follows him closer, stopping him a few feet back from Bumblebee, running a hand down his arm, murmuring softly to the large bot. Earthquake's eyes flash red before returning to purple.
Bumblebee's holoform vanishes as Bumblebee presses closer, face contorting in worry. Sam hears Ratchet shift and when he looks over at him, he's momentarily blinded by the medical scanner. He sort of ragdolls into Optimus's hand in surprise, lucky to not have accidently tossed himself to the concrete.
"Ratchet," Optimus rumbles in disapproval as Sam rubs at his bleary eyes, trying to get the spots out of them.
"Sam," Ratchet says stiffly, studying the tab on his arm with a growing frown as Sam squints at him. "I apologize for startling you, but your blood sugar is tanked. You're outputting a lot of Allspark energy."
"Am I?" Sam asks a moment before he stumbles a bit, relieved to still be within the cage of Optimus's hand so that he didn't just fall over as fatigue hit him like a train. He watches blue arcs of lightning dance from his hands into Optimus's, sinking into his plates. Reassurance and calm press into him from all sides, stomping down the panic before it builds in him.
"Yes," Ratchet says blandly. "You are."
Sam rubs at his forehead, dizzy. He leans against the large silver thumb, trusting the Autobot leader to keep him upright. "How...did I get here?"
Bumblebee edges closer, chirping softly. He reaches out and very gently runs the back of his finger from Sam's thigh, over his hip and just under his arm in a soothing motion. Optimus closes his hand around Sam just a little bit. "You were sleepwalking, Sam."
"Yes, but it was scary as the pits," Sideswipe says from a few feet beyond Prowl. "It made my plates tingle; the base was flooding with the Allspark's power."
Jazz shifts closer, lowering down until he's balancing on the balls of his feet next to Bumblebee with his elbows resting on his thighs. He tilts his head to the side, his field pushing up against Sam's skin, calm and relaxed and in control. A slight tension in Sam's shoulders loosen as he rests more against Optimus. He watches as sparks jump from his finger tips to Optimus's hand.
"You alright, Sammy?" Jazz asks, tilting his head.
Sam nods. "I think so... I don't know what happened."
"Another dream?" Jazz guesses.
Ratchet casts him a look. "Dream?"
Sam looks between them before settling on Jazz. "I don't know. I think so." He squints. "Did you feel it again?"
"I was a little distracted," Jazz admits. It was so benign a comment, Sam wouldn't have thought twice about it had Prowl not scowled at the back of the TIC's head, wings hiked up high. "But with the output of the Allspark's power just about knocked Prowler and I offline." Sam's cheeks darken in realization of what he was implying. Ratchet scowls at Jazz next, opening his mouth no doubt armed with something scathing, but then something seems to occur to him. His jaw snaps shut, brow furrowing in confusion, seemingly thinking hard about something that confounds him.
Sam's cheeks are burning as Jazz's lips quirk into a grin before looking over his shoulder at Earthquake. "What about you? What are you getting from Sam? Before he woke up."
Earthquake tilts his helm, purple eyes burning bright. His cape of hands twitches at the bottom, fingers moving restlessly. He considers his words before admitting, "This construct does not know. The Creator's feelings were very strange. Whipping and whirling from one extreme to the next. This platform is unused to the Creator's emotions feeling like that. And is unsure of where they went."
Ratchet blinks, shaking his head as he looks over at Earthquake. "What do you mean?"
"The Creator's emotions were abnormal," Earthquake says. "When he felt them, they swirled around him, plucking away at the bond, but instead of traveling down it, as it usually does, it almost... went away." Earthquake scowls then, as if angry that he didn't know how to put it into words. Jolt pets down his arm a bit, trying to comfort him.
"It's alright, Earthquake," Optimus rumbles, still propping Sam up without complaint. "Try the best that you can."
Earthquake struggles, shifting uncomfortably. "His feelings weren't going down the bond fully. The Creator's feelings were... being swallowed up by something else. It was unnatural and swallowing up more just before he woke up." Baited moments of silence follow as they try to absorb this information. Earthquake still looks upset about not being able to say it right.
"I did notice that his feelings were muffled," Jazz offers carefully. "But that can also attribute to not feeling emotions very strongly."
"No," Earthquake says, finitely. "It does not." Jazz stares at him for a long moment before turning around back to Sam.
"Okay," Jazz says evenly. "Never mind."
Sam sags against Optimus's hand, rubbing at his forehead. His dizziness is starting to settle, but he still feels out of sorts. The sparks have lessened enough now where it looks to have stopped. Which is good, because Sam now feels like garbage.
"Ratchet," Optimus murmurs, softly. "We should table this for a different time, I think."
Ratchet turns to them, looking down at Sam before nodding. "Right. Okay, Sam, it's time to go back to the medbay."
"I'm sorry," Sam murmurs, looking up at Optimus. "I didn't mean to..." he waves his hand around, struggling to find the words, just like his creation. "...do whatever I did." He can't help but feel shame for once again uprooting everything that they were doing on account of not being able to control what's happening to him.
Optimus shakes his head. "We are all trying to adjust to this transition, Sam, and there will be growing pains. We just need to keep communication and our minds open. What we go through it will be together."
Sam nods, watching as Ratchet transforms into his alt mode. With his lips pressed tightly, Sam looks between Optimus, Jazz and Bumblebee, asking, "Why did I come down this way? What's down here?"
"We are," Bumblebee offers softly, running his finger down Sam's side one final time before pulling away. Optimus's hand hovers close as Sam slowly makes his way over to the back of the ambulance. "Maybe the Allspark is trying to get close to us?"
"Maybe," Sam murmurs, unsure as he climbs inside where Ratchet's holoform is waiting for him. He doesn't protest as he crawls into the gurney, curling up on his side, letting his eyes droop closed.