Archive of Our Own

there is a version of this story
where the ending is unbloodied and forgiving
(even if the ending is not happy)
and we learn peace
or at least stillness and quiet.
but my love,
we are not
the gentle version
of this story.
(j.p.)

It had been the easiest decision he ever made.

Throughout the years, Sam had been forced to take many difficult decisions. Maybe more than the average person. He wasn’t talking about the kind of difficult decisions that normal people had to make, like what kind of job offer to accept, when to propose to their partners, or something equally mundane. The kind of decisions Sam made had changed a lot since the very moment he’d laid eyes on an old yellow Camaro.

Ages had passed since that day and Sam was forever indebted to whatever entity was in charge of his destiny for making him brave enough to make the decision to get in the car.

Because it had been thanks to that decision that he’d met Bee.

Bumblebee was his best friend. The two of them had been through hell and back together and had formed a bond that wasn’t so easily broken. They had bled and suffered together; they had laughed and shared joy. They were intertwined by something that was almost divine. Sam knew they would’ve to drag him kicking and screaming if they wanted to separate him from his guardian, just as he knew that Bee was more than willing to destroy on a molecular level anything that dared to stand between him and his charge. They were both extremely protective of each other and, although his parents had sometimes called them codependent, Sam thought that was an exaggeration, they both had a relatively healthy attachment considering the things they had been through, thank you very much.

So, it truly was the easiest decision of his life, get back in that car.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the life he’d built with Carly. Of course, he did. He loved her with a sincerity and devotion that had grown deeper since what had happened in Chicago. He loved her the same way he’d loved Mikaela, both of them clinging to each other for a little stability amid so much chaos. Both of them would forever hold a part of his heart in their hands and Sam hoped they both knew that.

But, the thing was, he loved Bee more.

“You don’t have to do this,” Carly muttered softly, her voice with the kind of defeat of someone who knows they’re fighting a losing cause. “They would understand.”

“I know they would,” Sam agreed, not looking up and continued packing.

“Haven’t you done enough?”

Sam sighed heavily.

“It’s not about that, baby,” Sam said, turning to face the woman who had given him wonderful years of contentment. The one who had saved him from sinking into apathy and despair. A piece of wood in the middle of the sea. “You know it’s not about that.”

“Then stay,” Carly said, tears in her eyes and resignation on her face. “Stay with me.”

“I can’t,” Sam whispered, leaning in to kiss her one last time.

When the world had decided that the beings that had saved them over and over again were dangerous and should be exterminated like cockroaches, Sam had been furious. A hot and flowing anger had taken over his veins like lava. It had made him tremble to hold back the urge to attack and gouge out the eyes of the person who had dared to call his friends —his family— the villains of the story.

And while hiding Bumblebee in his house had worked for the first few months, the attacks on the Autobots had increased in intensity and Sam knew it was only a matter of time before they came looking for him to try and find Bee or Optimus or any of the others. When he’d brought up the subject with Bee, his guardian had said he’d go and that way he wouldn’t put him at risk.

It was almost funny, the way Sam had so fervently refused that.

But in the end, something had to give. Sam knew that Bee couldn’t stay. It was too dangerous. After all, he and Bee were aware that the most appropriate way to avoid the people who were hunting you down was to be constantly on the move.

Bumblebee had to go.

And it was the easiest thing in the world, when Sam decided to go with him.

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Being on the run sucked.

Sam was aware that things could be so much worse, but he didn’t know how dependent he’d become on the comforts of home until he was forced to leave them behind. Being a fugitive from the law wasn’t exactly the future Sam had imagined he would have, being constantly alert and having to live based on crappy motels and restaurants because they had the least security was horrible. All of that without counting the lack of hot showers and fluffy beds.

But if you asked Sam if he’d come back, he’d seriously consider punching you in the face for even daring to suggest it.

Because he would sacrifice anything to stay with Bee.

“You don’t mind the company, do you?” Sam asked with an insecure tone that he couldn’t quite mask with indifference.

More often than not, Sam found himself spending the nights sleeping with Bee in some secluded spot. It was much safer for the two of them to stay together and away from other human beings who could see and identify them. They usually only ventured to some roadside motel when Sam was in dire need of a regular shower instead of his quick gas station bathrooms cleanups. And while Sam wasn’t all that bothered by having to sleep in his car —feeling safe, protected, and even held— he wasn’t sure if Bumblebee had any objections to that. If maybe he’d rather be on his own or with the other Autobots.

“You belong with me, you belong with me,” the radio sang cheerfully.

Sam laughed.

“I was being serious, Bee.”

Bee hummed softly and Sam laughed again as he felt the soft touch of the seatbelt wrap around him like a hug.

“So was I,” Bee eventually answered, when Sam was already more asleep than awake, his voice soft and gentle.

Sam smiled, snuggling into the seat and letting his lips lightly touch the seatbelt that was still wrapped around him, unaware of the way Bumblebee’s engine seemed to choke.

They belonged together.

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They both had to change their appearances.

Because as much as Bee adored his trademark yellow and black colors, it was certainly something very distinctive about him, which is why, after several close calls, he found it necessary to change his alt form’s appearance. The black color that Bee had chosen as a replacement was harmless enough even though he’d refused to use an older car model.

Sam, for his part, knew that he had an ordinary face. His appearance had never been outstanding and that worked in his favor. The only small, minuscule, practically non-existent inconvenience lay in the fact that his face had been on absolutely every electronic and telecommunication device for weeks because of the Fallen. So, ordinary as it was, his face was still recognizable. However, it was nothing growing a beard and hair dye couldn’t fix.

“We look ridiculous,” Sam complained with an amused smile.

“Could be worse,” Bee replied.

“How?”

“You could’ve been a redhead.”

The involuntary sound of offense that escaped Sam’s lips made Bee chuckle.

“Yeah, well,” Sam exclaimed, crossing his arms and trying not to show the smile that wanted to take over his lips. “You’d look awful in red, too.”

It was Bee’s turn to sputter in offense.

Everything was changing a lot and they were uncertain of many things. They lived knowing that each passing day could be their last, but it was moments like these that made Sam feel at home in a way he had never felt before.

The corny and pathetic saying “Home is where the heart is” had always seemed like bullshit to him. It had seemed impossible to the high school version of Sam to feel something so intense for someone. Something so deep and pure that made everything else irrelevant. A devotion that was warm and gentle, and a passion that was hot and overwhelming. It was a feeling —a kind of love— that Sam never thought someone like him would experience. The kind of love that didn’t make people start wars, but end them.

“I’d always like you better in yellow, anyway,” Sam eventually admitted, his hand on the steering wheel gently stroking the leather.

"When I see your face, there’s not a thing that I would change," the radio sang and Sam felt his cheeks flush. “‘Cause you’re amazing just the way you are.”

The warm feeling that was born in his chest felt like home too.

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The aftermath of a battle was hard.

After Mission City, after Egypt, and after Chicago, Sam had been plagued by nightmares. His mind torturing him every night and showing him all the different ways he could have lost the people he loved. Usually those nights, Sam would end up jumping out of bed, leaving his house and heading towards the garage where Bee always greeted him with an open door.

This was no different.

In the desolation that was left, among the rubble and destruction, Sam clung to Bumblebee with all his might. His little arms trying to wrap around Bee’s neck, while he was trembling from head to toe from the fading adrenaline. Bee was holding him in equal parts gently and fiercely, pressing him against his chestplate, close to the warm, brilliant light of his Spark.

“We’re okay,” Sam muttered in a choked voice. “We’re okay, Bee.”

“Sam, Sam, Sam,” Bee said, the only word he still wanted or could say.

He knew they weren’t taking a road trip; he knew that they were on the run from an organization that was looking to murder and sell them for parts. But still, he’d been taken by surprise by the attack. It had been a chaos of explosions, gunshots, and fire that was over as quickly as it began. Sam and Bumblebee had escaped relatively unscathed, but the shock that their fragile calm had been so easily destroyed had hit both of them hard.

“We have to move, Bee,” Sam said after a few minutes. It wouldn’t be long before the reinforcements arrived and they had to get as much advantage of them as they could. “Bee, love, we have to move.”

Bee whimpered and pulled him closer, almost as if he wanted to hide Sam inside his chassis, protected next to his Spark.

“Bee,” Sam insisted. “Bumblebee.”

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Bee pulled back slightly and nodded. Without letting him go, he quickly transformed and in less than a few seconds Sam found himself blinking inside the Camaro. Not saying another word, Bee sped up and they were off.

Sam only relaxed when night fell and they’d moved away considerably from the place where they’d ambush them. The moment he released the tension that had kept him alert, exhaustion washed over his body and he felt his head a little dizzy. His eyes went unfocused and Sam had to fight to stay awake. He didn’t want to leave Bee alone. Not after something like this.

“Sleep, Sam.”

Sam shook his head.

“I’m fine.”

A few minutes passed in complete silence until the sweet notes of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star began to sound on the radio. Sam was too tired to laugh, but his lips curved into a fond smile.

“Dork.”

Bee reclined the seat and turned on the heater.

The last thing Sam heard before succumbing to sleep were the soft words: “Sleep, love.”

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The seaside sun was something Sam missed after growing up in California.

It had been almost two years since they were forced to be on the run. Sam felt old and tired. He felt like he was middle-aged despite just being in his mid-twenties. The fact that every time they seemed to gain some ground against the government, they retaliated by pushing them twice as hard, was disheartening. Sam wondered if they would’ve to spend the rest of their lives like this, constantly on the run and without a single moment of peace and safety.

It was unfair. So damn unfair.

“I can still recall our last summer,” blasted from Bee’s radio. “I still see it all, walks along the Seine, laughing in the rain.”

They were on the beach. A little stolen moment of serenity. It was late and it wasn’t long before nightfall. They were on a shoreline inaccessible to tourists who didn’t have an alien robot as their best friend, so Bee had remained in his bipedal form. They were both sitting on the sand, listening to the waves crash against the rocks and watching the sunset.

“When all of this is over, we should move somewhere like this,” Sam commented. “Someplace quiet and where we’re not disturbed.”

“Sweet home Alabama,” the radio changed the song. “Where the skies are so blue.”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed. “Maybe we could get something big enough for you to be inside the house. Something for both of us.”

“We could get a cat.”

“We’re absolutely not getting a cat.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m more of a dog person, Bee.”

Bee seemed to consider this for a second.

“A dog, then.”

Sam could picture it so clearly it hurt. Mornings, afternoons and nights in the comfort of a house that was as much his as it was Bumblebee’s. Without having to be alert at every moment. Being able to just take time to stop and breathe. With a dog or two running around and demanding food. Bee complaining that things are too small for him and Sam complaining that things are too big for him. Arguing about what color paint to use or the merits of Sam including spinach in his diet. Panicking at a surprise visit from the other Autobots.

Calm, peace.

It was a nice dream.

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.

Eventually, they ran out of luck.

It had been a true miracle that they avoided this for as long as they did. Humans, for better or worse, were intelligent and resourceful, and they quickly found a way to track them down and finish them off once and for all. Being stubborn and spiteful, Sam knew humanity was never going to leave them alone.

At first, it looked like they were going to win. It all started as an attack like any other and, despite the numerous soldiers, Bee and Sam managed to get the upper hand. They were about to make a run for it, deciding that they had defeated enough men to escape without difficulty, when it happened.

Their good luck ran out the moment a group of soldiers snuck up behind them and took Sam.

“Run!” Sam yelled, panicking and ignoring the voices ordering him to shut up. “Get out of here, Bee!”

Sam felt tears of helplessness and despair fill his eyes. The hold the Cemetery Wind soldiers had on him was strong and painful. As much as he was fighting, he couldn’t get away and Sam knew, as intrinsically as he knew the sun rose on the horizon every morning, that this had been their plan from the beginning. They knew there was no way Bee was going to leave him behind. His guardian would rather extinguish his Spark than let them hurt Sam.

And that was something Sam wasn’t going to allow.

He wasn’t going to let them use their bond as a weapon.

“G-Get out of here, Bee,” Sam said again, knowing that Bee would hear him even through all the uproar around him. “Save yourself. Please.”

That wasn’t enough. Bumblebee was still fighting to get to him.

Sam had to pull out the heavy weapons.

“Do it for me, Bee,” Sam begged, not caring about the disgusted looks the soldiers were shooting his way or the way he could feel the barrel of a gun on his back. His life depended on how useful he could be, and if Sam could get Bumblebee to leave him here and run, then his usefulness was over. “Get out of here, love. For me.”

They said that Autobots didn’t have the same emotions as humans.

Looking at Bee, Sam didn’t know how they could think something so wrong.

“I love you,” he finally confessed. The killing shot. “I love you and that’s why you have to go. Please, Bee.”

But Bumblebee didn’t go.

The realization that Bee wouldn’t abandon him warmed him as much as it terrified him.

It was the price of devotion.

When Lockdown showed up, Sam was at least glad that his last words had been of love.

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His lungs were collapsing.

His heart was slowing down.

The last thing he heard was a sweet and familiar melody about love.

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There were colors he couldn’t name dancing before his eyes. Sam felt trapped in a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors. His body felt weightless and he felt perfectly fine even though he couldn’t feel his lungs taking in oxygen or his heartbeat. Sam looked down at his hands, vaguely wondering if he’d always had those glowing blue veins or if it was something new.

Sam thought the color was similar to Bee’s optics.

Bee.

Bumblebee.

Oh.

He had to go back. He couldn’t leave Bee. He couldn’t.

“This is your last gift, child,” a voice said, the same voice that Sam had once heard in a dream. “Do not waste it.”

Just like that, Sam opened his eyes and breathed.

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Waking up when you didn’t expect to do it again was disconcerting. Sam had already experienced that. Twice.

The realization that, unlike Egypt, it now took him much longer to wake up came with the fact that he was locked in a small metal box that his mind refused to accept as a coffin. It was mere instinct that led him to hit the box with all his might in the hope of breaking it. His fast breathing and trembling hands reminded him to calm down, he didn’t want to run out of oxygen and die a third time.

Where was Bee? Was he okay?

Sam hoped he was. He had fallen before he could tell if his guardian had fallen with him or survived to fight another day. His heart clenched painfully in his chest at the thought that Bumblebee might be dead. It was a burning and corrosive grief; the pain of his soul screaming in agony at the thought that he had lost the most important person in his life. Sam refused to accept that reality.

Although the alternative wasn’t that much better.

Because, if Bee was alive, that meant he had seen Sam die.

That the pain that Sam was imagining was something that Bee was feeling.

His desperate hitting seemed to attract the attention of the people outside, for the box was flung open and Sam found himself face to face with the barrel of a gun. The gasp of surprise that escaped the soldier who had opened the box at seeing him uninjured made Sam know he had to take advantage of that shock. Before the man could react, Sam rushed forward and fought his way out.

He was in some kind of basement. Around him were more of the metal boxes that had been containing him. A couple of security guards advanced on him due to the commotion and Sam, acting more on instinct than logical thinking, quickly managed to outrun them and made a dash for the exit.

He had absolutely no idea where he was going, the only two things he was fully aware of were that he had to find the exit and that he had to find Bumblebee.

The booming alarm blaring directly above his head and the red emergency lights let him know that getting out of here would be far more difficult than he’d thought it would be.

Knowing that it was probably a futile attempt, but at the same time being too stubborn to give up, Sam continued to tour the facility that seemed to be a strange mix of an underground military base and a science lab. The whole place gave him the creeps and he felt something heavy in the back of his mind screaming at him that he was in the same place as something far more dangerous than just human soldiers.

His entire body ached and Sam was hit with a powerful surge of longing to be able to sleep for two days straight in Bee. Surrounded by safety and belonging. Home.

“There he is!” they yelled behind him and Sam began to run faster, begging whoever was willing to listen to let him get away.

Nobody was listening. They got him anyway.

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“Sam Witwicky,” said a bald man with a pair of the most ridiculous glasses Sam had ever seen. “Back from the dead. Again.”

After beating him until he stopped fighting back, the guards had dragged him to a lab. Or at least that was the word they used, because Sam, seeing the remains of what seemed to be dozens of Transformers, Autobots and Decepticons alike, knew that there was only one word to refer to the massacre and disrespect in which they were: Graveyard.

Sam would be lying if the fact that he saw absolutely no hint of yellow didn’t fill him with such profound relief that he felt his knees go weak.

“Asshole of the day,” Sam spat.

The man laughed; it was arrogant and full of disdain.

Sam really wanted to punch this guy.

“I don’t think you understand the position you’re in,” he told him. “How useful you still are to me.”

“They’re not stupid,” Sam replied, trying with all his might to kill him with his eyes. It had never worked before, but there was nothing to lose by trying it now. “You can’t use me as bait. They won’t fall for it.”

The man smiled.

It wasn’t a pretty smile.

“Who said anything about using you as bait?”

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They threw him in a cell.

It was a glass cell. Sam had the urge to laugh hysterically at the fact that he had been locked in a glass cage as if he was an exotic exhibit. A Hannibal Lecter type of thing. Not wanting to give them the satisfaction of reacting like they were probably expecting him to, Sam blew out a deep breath and sat up on the bed. He sat there, motionless, for a few minutes, simply trying to regulate his breathing and calm his racing heart. His entire body ached from the fact that he’d spent what seemed like several hours in rigor mortis and then from the beating the soldiers had given him none too gently.

Sam wanted to sleep.

But his mind refused to stop spinning his situation like food in a microwave. Despite the numerous dangerous situations he’d found himself in over the years, he’d never been captured like this. Of course, he’d been arrested and handcuffed several times, but he’d never been locked up like this. Sam had never been a prisoner of war.

Because that was what he was.

Sam had chosen a side, and humans didn’t like being betrayed.

At least Bumblebee was safe.

When Sam finally collapsed from exhaustion, he dreamed of laughter in his home in Tranquility and the happiness that a specific shade of yellow brought him.

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He was rudely awakened by a couple of men entering his cell.

More asleep than awake and still utterly exhausted, Sam tried to resist the way they were manhandling him, stripping him of his dirty clothes and forcefully dressing him in what appeared to be a cotton shirt and pants set. It was completely white and Sam began to fight harder when he realized that these weren’t the clothes that prisoners usually wore.

It looked more like the clothes a patient would be given in a hospital.

When he felt a sting in his neck and almost immediately the world blurred, Sam knew he’d been drugged.

Then, the men left and, behind them, two more entered. But this time, instead of military uniforms, they both had white coats.

“Hello,” greeted one, the braver of the two, watching him apprehensively. Sam would have smiled if he still had the motility to do it. “My name is Gill.”

Even if he could, Sam wouldn’t have replied.

“I’m just here to run a couple of tests,” he went on to explain. “I’m going to take some samples.”

Unable to refuse, Sam just watched as he approached to take a sample of blood, saliva and hair. It was such a cliché collection of DNA samples that Sam wanted to roll his eyes in exasperation.

“We have orders to find out what makes you so special,” the man continued. “It’s really extraordinary, you know, what you did. There is no record in history of someone coming back from the dead after thirteen hours.”

He’d been dead for thirteen hours.

That sounded ominous.

“That and the fact that when you woke up…” the man closed his mouth with an audible click. Clearly, he hadn’t planned on revealing so much. “We’re just going to run a couple of tests,” he repeated.

As they left, Sam couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trouble he got himself into.

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Eventually, they brought him food.

His internal clock told him that it hadn’t been more than a couple of hours since he’d woken up, the effects of the drug having worn off long ago. However, he couldn’t be entirely sure, since, locked up as he was, he had no reference to keep track of time.

It was a mediocre meal and Sam almost refused to eat it before realizing that if he really wanted to escape he would need all the energy he could get. The taste was bland and the texture was odd, but Sam fought off his disgust and kept eating, trying as hard as he could avoiding feeling like an exhibit at the zoo.

A couple of hours later, the man with the stupid glasses showed up.

“Sam,” he greeted. “I’m afraid we haven’t been formally introduced.”

Sam didn’t answer.

“My name is Joshua Joyce,” he said. “I am the CEO of KSI Industries.”

“Good for you,” Sam finally replied when it was obvious the guy wasn’t going to leave or continue until he got an answer.

“Indeed,” Joshua smiled. “At our company, we aim to create a better future for humanity. To use the gifts that the invaders of our planet brought us.”

“They’re not gifts,” Sam whispered, tense and completely still. Anger overwhelming him from head to toe. “They’re spoils of war.”

“Call it what you want,” Joshua shrugged. “The result will be the same.”

Sam laughed.

“It’s always the same with you guys,” he said, still laughing and only growing more hysterical when he saw Joshua’s look of utter confusion. “You never learn.”

“We are the future, son,” Joshua hissed. “We’re more powerful than you imagine.”

Sam had seen true power.

He had seen Megatron and felt the power of the AllSpark in his hands as he pushed it into the Spark in the Decepticon leader’s chassis. He had been in the presence of the ancient gods of Cybertron and felt the gift of life they had given him, both for himself and for Optimus. He had witnessed true power at the hands of the Fallen, of Sentinel Prime. In Optimus himself, who, despite always treating him with the greatest care and kindness, continued to be a formidable and fearsome opponent.

This was nothing. Nothing.

“You can’t win this,” Sam finally exclaimed. His eyes growing distant with memories of the past and ignoring the way the lights around him seemed to shine brighter. The way in which, a couple of doors away, all the remnants of Transformers seemed to react to his anger. A wake-up call for all who could hear it. “You won’t.”

Joshua returned his gaze. Something dancing in his eyes, greed or fear. Maybe both.

“I already did.”

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The tests started the next day.

Sam tried to resist at first. The fire inside him causing him to attack, be uncooperative and generally be a real pain in the ass for everyone. It didn’t matter when he was mistreated, threatened or hurt. Every test they did, every analysis and every study was a war of wills between Sam and the asshole with the glasses. The pain was nothing compared to the anger Sam felt; the fact that they were using the remains of his family to make weapons for an army that didn’t know what they were messing with.

But everyone had a breaking point.

For Sam, that breaking point was Brains.

“Kid!” the minibot shrieked, and Sam, for the first time since the day he had returned from the dead, felt fear replace his anger. “How dare they keep you here?” the soldiers who were carrying him had him wrapped in some kind of metal ties, which at those words gave him an electric shock. Brains squeaked in pain and Sam felt his stomach drop. “Mess with someone your size, assholes!”

“Let him go,” Sam demanded. “Let him go!”

Joshua was laughing.

“It’s fascinating,” he sighed with what seemed to be genuine interest. “The way you can simulate empathy.”

There were so many things wrong with that statement that Sam didn’t even know where to start.

“You lived with this Decepticon for years, didn’t you?” Joshua continued, raising one of his eyebrows like a disappointed parent. “You sided with the enemy from the start, Sam.”

“I’m not a Decepticon!” Brains yelled. “Not anymore!”

“Am I supposed to believe that?” Joshua scoffed, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. “You’re not capable of change. Always so predictable.”

Brains continued to scream obscenities and whatever came into his head, but Sam had stopped listening, his ears filled with static. Joshua was dead wrong on every statement he had about the Autobots except one: they would always choose to protect someone they love over themselves. It was the same thing that had made Sam show up in Chicago to save Carly, drive across the Egyptian desert to bring Optimus back to life, and what had made him refuse to help save the world until they brought Bumblebee back to him.

It was the same tactic they had used to trap him here.

“It’s very simple, Sam,” Joshua murmured with a false sympathy that made him feel as if he had ants under his skin. “We really need your cooperation.”

Brains fell silent, his optics moving toward him in intense terror and apprehension that Sam longed to erase. Brains had been a nuisance from the moment he and Wheelie decided they wanted to stay with Sam. More often than not, Sam himself was the one who wanted to throw them out the nearest window for a moment of peace and quiet.

But they had also been the ones who had sneaked into his room and woken him from a nightmare, keeping him company when Bee had been busy. They had been the ones who tried their best to make him laugh when he had a bad day. They had never abandoned him despite all his complaints about the supposed bad life they led in their program for witness protection.

Brains was his friend.

Sam couldn’t let them hurt him.

“Do you understand, Sam?” Joshua asked.

Selling his soul to the devil, Sam nodded.

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His permission seemed to be all they needed for the tests to escalate until they were close to torture.

As far as Sam could guess, they had the strange idea that he couldn’t die, so they were trying to push his body to the limit, just to bring him back, which was no fun. For some reason, they also loved to monitor his brain waves for different stimuli, both good and bad (Sam didn’t know if he was more annoyed at the violation of his body’s autonomy when his head and beard were shaved, or if he was mortally offended that they made him look ridiculous as a result). Finally, they seemed really interested in studying the reaction of his cells to different radiations, luckily, they seemed to have enough morality to take samples for those tests and not subject him to it.

They seemed to believe that spending so much time alongside the Autobots had made him stop being human. Their stupid little minds couldn’t grasp that Sam was fully human and yet he had decided to not turn his back on those who had saved him from countless threats. Those with whom he had shared battles, with whom he had shared happiness.

Sam was as human as he could be and he had still chosen the Autobots.

But things were… bad now.

Sam had lost count of the days. He didn’t know when it was day or night. He didn’t know if it was winter or summer. Time was a blur in which he was constantly in pain, tired and numb. His grip on reality was slipping, and Sam was dimly aware that the only reason he hadn’t fully slipped into a dissociative state was because of Brains’ presence.

The minibot had been placed in a small glass cage next to him. Whether it was an attempt at comfort or a reminder of why Sam couldn’t refuse to do what they wanted, he wasn’t entirely sure, but he also wasn’t going to complain. They usually didn’t talk much, both aware that they were being monitored 24/7.

But sometimes, Brains would whisper stories about Cybertron, usually myths and legends, fairy tales of an alien race. Stories they used to tell their sparklings.

And on his nights of weakness, when the pain was too much and he felt like he would explode if he didn’t get away from those four glass walls, Sam talked about Bee.

“He was ridiculous,” Sam whispered softly, trying to ignore how his arms and legs looked like they’d been run through a blender. “Did you know that for one of my birthdays he tried to bake me a cake?” the memory was so sweet that Sam felt his eyes fill with tears. “It was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen and my mom almost had a heart attack when she saw the state of the kitchen.”

“Your Honeybee’s crazy,” Brains told him. “How did he manage to get into the house?”

“He didn’t,” Sam replied. “He thought it would be easy to manipulate the electrodomestics from a distance.”

It hurt.

At the risk of sounding as codependent as his parents had always accused him of being, this was the longest he’d gone without Bee. It was pure agony. Sam felt like a piece of his soul had been ripped out. His mind constantly screaming at him that he needed to get out of here, and see his guardian at least one last time before these idiots who called themselves scientists ended up actually killing him by accident.

“He’ll come for us, kid,” Brains whispered. “I know he will.”

“He thinks I’m dead, Brains,” Sam contradicted.

“He knows you’re still here,” Brains replied. “Your Honeybee won’t abandon you.”

“How can you be so sure?” Sam asked, hopeless and defeated.

“I just am.”

Hope was dangerous.

It made you think that things were going to change.

But Sam knew there was only one way he could get out of here.

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Sam dreamed a lot more than he used to.

Most of the time they were good dreams. Glimpses of past and happy memories. He remembered spending time with his family; his mother laughing at a silly show on TV while his father gently scolded him to do something useful. Sometimes he dreamed of Mikaela, good times under the summer sun. Other times he dreamed of the stability he had with Carly.

He almost always dreamed of Bee.

Dreams where Sam took Bee’s face in his hands and lifted his face to rest their foreheads together. Sunlight peeking over the horizon. Yellow flowers —as beautiful as the color of Bee’s paint— enveloping them in a bubble of joy and peace.

Dreams that were yellow like hope, yellow like happiness.

Yellow like love.

But sometimes Sam didn’t have dreams.

Sometimes, he had nightmares.

In his mind, surrounded by darkness, Sam could hear a disembodied voice whispering secrets he wasn’t prepared to hear. Stories of an endless war and the true meaning of sacrifice. He saw red eyes hunting him, needing something from him that Sam didn’t know how to give. Invisible hands digging into his chest, breaking his ribs and searching for something that Sam kept safe jealously in his heart.

Nightmares in which Sam had a taste of anger and grief. Something dark that had been twisted in a way that was practically unrecognizable. The bitter memory that victory was so close and at the same time so far away. Hate replacing every little glimpse of love. Haunted by something that couldn’t —that didn’t want to— be saved.

Those nights, when he woke up, Brains’ voice screaming that he was safe, Sam couldn’t bring himself to believe him.

.

.

.

The day Ratchet was brought in, Sam kind of lost it.

He would probably never be able to explain how he got to know that one of his closest friends was in the building. It was a morning like any other, the security guards were escorting Gill and the other guy that Sam had never caught his name, when it was like his whole body energized. His mind screamed friend, hurt and danger. Brains, reacting to his sudden state of distress, went completely still, his optics fixed on him.

Then two words, both permission and forgiveness, reached Sam’s ears: “Do it.”

Sam rushed forward, pushing the security guards back into the scientists so that they all ended up on the ground in a tangle of limbs. Sam gave Brains one last look before running as fast as he could for the door that Gill and the other came through every day. On the other side was a long hallway that Sam walked through in less than a few seconds, throwing open the doors at the other end.

It was the lab where he had been taken the first day he had been captured.

And there, motionless on a table, was Ratchet.

Sam screamed.

He probably didn’t paint a pretty picture: half-delusional with anger, in hospital scrubs, and with arms bleeding from the samples taken less than three minutes ago. Terrified, all the technicians and scientists moved out of his way and Sam found himself positioned in front of the body of the Autobot medic fully prepared to defend him with his life if necessary. When no one seemed willing to move, not even to call security, Sam turned and scrambled up onto the table so he could look into his friend’s face.

They had taken his Spark.

“Ratchet,” Sam sobbed, his shaking hands cradling the Autobot’s faceplates. “Buddy, you will be okay.”

(“I’m fine, Ratchet,” Sam complained with all the annoyance an eighteen-year-old could conjure up. “I don’t even have a scratch.”

“You went into cardiac arrest,” Ratchet growled in his direction. “Do you know how delicate your stupid human heart is? You can still die!”

“But I feel fine!” Sam insisted.

“Just shut up and let me do my job!” Ratchet scolded him.

Sam gave an exasperated snort, but nodded. He immediately felt the tickling sensation that he was being scanned. Ratchet was much more thorough than Bumblebee and that was saying a lot in terms of who was more overprotective because of what had happened. Several minutes later, the medic let out a suspiciously human sigh that brought a fond smile to Sam’s lips.

“You’re okay,” Ratchet exhaled, more to himself than to Sam.

“I told you so,” Sam smiled.

“Insufferable creature,” Ratchet said, one of his fingers brushing over his head, soft and affectionate.)

His tears fell against Ratchet’s face, but Sam was unable to command his body to stop. A sob caught in his throat and Sam had to bite his lip until he tasted the metallic taste of his blood to keep all the prayers he wanted to say from spilling out of his mouth.

How many more people he loved was he going to have to lose before it was enough?

“That was a very stupid move, Mr. Witwicky.”

“He was my friend,” was all Sam answered.

“It was a machine,” Joshua replied. “An invader one, at that.”

Sam shook his head.

“He was my friend,” he repeated. “He was my friend and you killed him.”

“Sam…”

“You killed him!” Sam interrupted, wondering if he would ever stop feeling so angry at the utter unfairness that was this world he was living in. The injustice, the nerve.

His heart ached; his stupid human heart.

Sam only realized that the military behind Joshua had been pointing their weapons at him when he felt the first shot send him flying backwards. He collapsed against Ratchet’s chestplates, in the empty spot where his Spark had been. The pain was surprisingly familiar and manageable even though he had never been shot before. Sam guessed that after everything he’d been through and the multiple injuries he’d acquired in the past few months, being shot was relatively mundane.

He could feel his warm blood soaking into his clothes and Sam knew he had to get up and do something, anything. After everything that had happened, he couldn’t let things end up like this.

Sam was completely unprepared for the way he felt the metal under him move.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” he heard Ratchet’s voice say before a gigantic arm curled around him, pulling him closer to the medic’s chassis and covering him from enemy fire. Sam felt whiplash from how quickly the situation had changed and was about to tell Ratchet that they both had to get out of there as fast as they could when he felt a powerful electric shock that made him lose his grip on his consciousness far more quickly than the blood loss could.

The last thing Sam heard before falling into the darkness was Joshua’s amazed voice:

“His blood. The key is in his blood.”

.

.

.

They took Brains away from him.

Sam tried and failed to not feel too guilty about that.

He didn’t know what had happened to Ratchet either.

In fact, he knew practically nothing.

At first, Sam had screamed and screamed at them, demanding to tell him what had happened to his friends. It had gone on until his throat had given out and his mouth had filled with the coppery taste of his own blood. Nobody ever answered him.

Then came the silence.

A sepulchral silence that almost made him lose his mind.

They had left him alone, the only contact Sam had with anyone other than his shadow was when a security guard came to deliver his food twice a day. The isolation was wearing him down faster than all the torture he had been subjected to before. Especially since some part of his mind was screaming at him that these crazy people had already gotten what they needed from him and now they didn’t need him.

His gunshot wound seemed to have healed well, although it still hurt to move in certain directions, Sam knew things could be worse.

If he had learned anything, it was that things could always be so much worse.

That’s why, when he heard the door open just a couple of minutes after he’d been given his first meal of the day, Sam didn’t even bother to lift his head from where it was resting on his knees.

“Human,” gasped a voice he had never heard before. “They have a human locked up here.”

It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened.

It usually took several weeks for new hires to get enough clearance to know all of KSI Industries’ secrets. Because of that, more than once Sam had found himself the focus of various horrified scientists who hadn’t quite known what they had gotten themselves into, but by then it had been too late to back out. Even if any of them empathized enough with him to try and help him, the reality was that humans weren’t selfless enough to stick their necks out for a stranger.

This new guy would be no exception.

Sam was proven right when the next thing to break the silence was the sound of the door opening and closing.

.

.

.

Not more than ten minutes later, Sam was proven wrong.

When the wall where the door was in was abruptly destroyed, Sam jerked horribly, looking up only to immediately freeze.

Bumblebee.

It was as if his world had finally straightened out. Sam had spent so much time lost in the darkness that he was already beginning to forget what it felt like to be in the light. His soul was singing with ecstasy; the part of his heart that had remained with his guardian finally coming back to him, making him whole. Suddenly all the pain and suffering, all the torture, terror and uncertainty stopped matter, stopped haunting him. Even if it was an illusion, a vision of his delusional mind, it was the best gift the gods could have given him, this chance to see Bee again.

Sam wanted to speak, but was afraid that the illusion would be broken when the words left his lips. His throat was completely worn from the abuse he had subjected it to and the subsequent disuse, and Sam knew he must look absolutely pathetic, sitting on the floor with barely any hair on his head and tears running down his cheeks.

But Bee...

Bee was looking at him like he was the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen in his life. As if Cybertron in all its glory paled in comparison to Sam now.

“Sam,” Bumblebee cried, static and multiple incomprehensible sounds being expelled from his voice modulator in what seemed to be an involuntary action.

And that was enough for Sam to spring into action.

“Bee!” Sam screamed, fear and joy mingling in his heart and making it pound wildly. His shaky legs barely supported his body as he got up and practically threw himself against the glass that separated him from his best friend. “My god, Bee!”

The conditions he was in finally seemed to have registered in Bee’s mind, for his blue optics (so, so blue and oh, how Sam had missed them) hardened with an anger Sam had never seen in his gentle, loving guardian. With a powerful grip, Bee ripped the door of his cell and Sam quickly made a dash for the exit.

He hadn’t fully come out when he found himself in Bee’s hands, who drew him to his chestplates. The whimpers and wails that Bee was making only made Sam join him in starting to sob in earnest. The world could well be ending around them, since the only thing that mattered to him was the fact that he was together with Bumblebee again. This was everything.

Not even heaven or eternal glory could compare to feeling the soft, sweet tinkle of Bumblebee’s Spark against his body.

“Bee,” Sam sighed, the only word that still made sense in his mind. His throat hurt like hell, but Sam couldn’t force himself to stop. “Bee, oh Bumblebee.”

Not that Bumblebee was much better.

Bee pulled away slightly and Sam was quite ready to whimper until he let him hide again against his guardian’s Spark when Bee leaned down and, with a care and delicacy that made Sam’s heart skip a beat, nuzzled his head. Then, Bee gently touched Sam’s entire face with his mouthpiece. Sam was confused for half a second before the realization of what Bee was doing hit him so hard that new tears welled up in his eyes.

Bee was kissing him.

All those gentle pokes were kisses. Soft little kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his head and his temple. Even his nose and chin. Bee was exuding affection, warmth and love in a gesture that was simultaneously as human as Cybertronian.

The love he felt threatened to make his chest explode, Sam raised his arms and Bee immediately pulled him up until they were face to face. Sam smiled, the biggest, brightest smile he’d shown in years before leaning down to brush his lips against the Autobots symbol in between Bee’s optics.

“Come home, come home,” the radio played softly, and Sam would have laughed with delight if he could. “‘Cause I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”

He didn’t have to tell him twice.

.

.

.

Sam was able to pinpoint the moment Optimus saw him.

The momentary relief in his optics when he saw Bumblebee turned to surprise and regret the moment his gaze fell on him, sitting on his guardian’s shoulder and hugging his faceplates with all his might. Optimus’ entire frame tensed as if he were about to enter a violent battle and when Sam managed to send a shaky smile his way, it only made the situation worse.

“Sam,” Optimus said, and Sam had never seen him so angry.

Sam wanted to talk back, he really did, but his throat felt raw and when he tried it all he got was a coughing fit that made Bee squeal with concern and Optimus’ face to harden.

He didn’t have to ask why.

(“They took his voice, Sam,” Optimus said, regret and guilt making him look vastly older than he usually looked. “I sent him down to Earth alone and they took his voice.”)

It happened again.

If it wasn’t so horrible, Sam would say it was almost poetic.

“Burn everything to the ground,” Optimus finally said.

Joshua Joyce chose that moment to appear.

“Stop!” he screamed, brave or stupid. Probably the last one. “You’re destroying company property!”

“They’re not your property,” Optimus spat. “They were and are my friends.”

“Not so brave now that you’re in front of all of us, huh?” Brains said, who, like him, was perched on the arm of an Autobot. Sam was so relieved to see him again that he felt lightheaded.

Joshua stared at them until his eyes met Sam’s. Something ugly twisted his expression. Bumblebee didn’t hesitate to activate one of his arm cannons. The threat was clear.

“You’ve no idea what I can do,” he hissed, cheeky and arrogant. “The opportunities that your homeboy opened up for me.”

Sam unconsciously tensed. Remembering experiments and an amazed voice saying something about his blood. Electricity running through his body and voices in his head. Strange dreams and the feeling that there was something terribly wrong with this place beyond the stupid humans who were biting off more than they could chew.

Bee lighted up the cannon, a growl echoing from his voice modulator.

“Kill him,” Brains said, with the same seriousness that only came out in those moments when he had to ground Sam down to reality. The same seriousness reserved only for the moments that truly mattered.

Bumblebee seemed to be in complete agreement.

“Do it,” Joshua replied. “Show the world your true colors.”

Optimus raised his arm, stopping Bee.

“He’s one of you,” Optimus murmured. “How could you do this to him?”

Joshua frowned.

“He’s not one of us,” Joshua denied, and Sam’s stomach knotted. “I’m not even sure if he ever was. But we no longer need him, the same way that we don’t need you.”

In a final act of mercy, Optimus let him live.

Sam tried to pretend that decision didn’t leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

.

.

.

Being in a car chase was strangely nostalgic and comforting in a way that Sam wasn’t going to explore too deeply.

It had been a long time since Sam had been behind Bee’s wheel, and despite the clear threat to their lives and the fact that there were three strangers in the car with him, he couldn’t contain the grin that curved his lips. The speed, the dodge maneuvers. It was all like an addictive adrenaline rush that he didn’t know he’d missed.

Even when Bee was forced to throw him into the air in the middle of his transformation to avoid being hit by a collision made him want to laugh hysterically and terribly inappropriate for the moment. Sam was vaguely aware that he probably wasn’t quite right in the head after what he’d been through, but dealing with it would be Future Sam’s problem. Present Sam was too busy hanging around Bee’s neck as his guardian fired missiles at the thing that was chasing them.

His strange joy vanished the moment this thing —this Transformer— disintegrated into particles, passing around them like dust on the wind. As soon as he compacted back into a truck that was a cheap copy of Optimus, Sam froze.

He knew that thing. He had never seen it, but Sam knew it. He knew him.

A whisper in the back of his mind told him that he couldn’t let this man-made Transformer move any further. He couldn’t let it get to Optimus. Something like disappointment, something like sorrow overwhelmed his mind. A Transformer born from something stolen; something evil born of anger and grief.

The key was in his blood.

A touch to Bee’s chin and a nod was all Sam needed for his guardian to get his message. Quickly transforming, they set off in pursuit.

Of course, that was the moment when the spaceship appeared.

.

.

.

Sam didn’t know who was being more clingy and stupid, him or Bee.

Because infiltrating a spaceship together —filled with so many different things that could easily kill them— when Sam was in such a deplorable condition was one of the stupidest decisions they’d ever made. Even more stupid than the time they decided to change Ironhide’s paint to pastel pink.

The other Autobots certainly thought so.

Not that Sam could blame them.

“We’re all aware that the kid’s a liability, right?” Crosshairs muttered, or at least Sam was pretty sure the green Autobot was Crosshairs. “He would be better off with the other two humans.”

“Don’t be insensitive,” Drift replied. “You can’t separate them now, not after they just met again.”

“Real life’s not a fairy tale,” Crosshairs protested. “They need to grow up.”

“Will you both shut up?” Hound hissed, who was so far becoming Sam’s favorite. “Focus on finding the boss.”

Bee looked like he was begging the heavens for patience.

Sam smiled softly.

Even a grumpy Bee was a balm to his soul.

Okay, fine.

He had to admit, maybe he was the clingy one.

.

.

.

It was only after everything, after the chaos of the battle, after they had managed to reach an isolated and relatively safe location, after Cade awkwardly handed him a couple of bottles of water, protein bars, and pain pills, and after he had huddled up to Bumblebee ready to sleep before they had to plan their next move, that Sam had the epiphany of his life.

Bee had saved him.

He was safe.

He was free.

“Are you okay?” Bee asked softly, clearly noticing the way his body had tensed.

“Not really,” Sam answered honestly, his voice barely higher than a whisper. “But I will be. You know, eventually.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Bee practically forced himself to say and Sam knew his guardian wasn’t ready to hear what had happened the same way he wasn’t ready to say it. Not now when this new reality seemed so fragile, this happiness so ephemeral.

“No,” Sam breathed out. “Not yet.”

Bee nodded.

Slowly, as if he didn’t want to scare him, Bee shakily raised his arms and encircled his body tentatively and gently. It was a juxtaposition of everything he’d been through the past few years, where every touch was specifically meant to hurt him, that Sam felt like he would break into a thousand little pieces if Bee ever let him go. His own hands were shaking as they clung to one of the arms encircling him.

“I missed you,” Sam whispered. “You don’t have any idea of how much I missed you.”

Bee released a wounded sound.

“I missed you,” Bee stammered. “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you.”

They would have to trade stories at some point. Sam knew he had to try to put everything he’d been through into words if he ever wanted to heal, just as he knew Bee had his own baggage that he’d accumulated in the years on the run believing he was dead. Both of them were perhaps more wounded and worn out than when they first met; that sixteen-year-old boy who had believed that all stories had a happy ending and the young scout who had wanted to prove himself, had disappeared.

But they were still them.

And they were together.

That was the only thing that mattered.

.

.

.

“Can I say I told you so?”

Sam smiled.

“Yes, yes you can, Brains.”

“I told you so!” Brains yelled, jumping into his arms and Sam barely kept from dropping the minibot. “I knew your Honeybee was coming for us!”

In a moment of weakness, Sam couldn’t help but clutch Brains to his chest, ignoring the minibot's surprised groan. This unbearable being that had been his lifeline in hell. Sam was sure that he wouldn’t have been able to survive everything those bastards did to him if he hadn’t had Brains by his side. They had kept each other sane.

“Thank you,” Sam whispered, pressing his face against his head, the blue fibers of his hair tickling his cheek.

Brains sighed and finally hugged him back.

“You’re welcome, kid.”

.

.

.

Megatron.

It was always Megatron.

“They thought they were building war machines,” Brains said. “But when they separated me from Sam and forced me to interpret the signals coming from that Decepticon’s head, I realized that everything, the entire operation, was being controlled by Megatron.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Cade exclaimed, folding his arms and generally looking very unimpressed with what he was hearing. Sam could more or less relate. “With only Transformium it isn’t possible to create life. Even with all his systems intact, without a power source...”

“A Spark,” Drift provided.

“Yes, thank you,” Cade continued. “Without a Spark, it’s impossible for a machine to have life.”

Brains looked at Sam.

(“I’m sorry, Sam,” Ratchet said.)

Ratchet.

Whose Spark had been taken away.

Who, in the midst of so much chaos, had protected him.

The key was in his blood.

“He has a Spark,” his voice echoed like a bomb in a church, everyone turned to look at him. “I gave him one.”

The silence that followed his words was tense and overwhelming.

“Sam?” Optimus murmured, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know how,” he quickly hastened to explain. “But I know that I did.”

“How can that be possible?” Crosshairs inquired, leaning toward him menacingly. “Did you betray us?”

Bumblebee reacted much faster than Sam, taking him in his arms and adopting a defensive position.

“I didn’t!” Sam shouted, more offended than scared. “Do you think I was giving a choice?” he hissed, ignoring the memories that began to flash through his mind. “They just took what they wanted from me!”

Crosshairs’ optics fell on the multiple bruises and marks on his body before looking away.

“It still doesn’t make sense,” Cade interjected tentatively. “There’s nothing you could have that is capable of something like this.”

Sam sighed.

“They said the key was in my blood,” Sam murmured. “Whatever they did, they used my blood to do it.”

Sam was vaguely comforted by the fact that everyone looked as confused as he felt.

“They didn’t know what he was, what he is,” Brains continued, letting out a bitter laugh. “They didn’t know they were playing with fire.”

“What else do you know?” Optimus asked.

“You know it too, Optimus,” Brains replied. “There’s only one thing that’s capable of doing something like this.”

“It’s impossible,” Optimus said.

“Is it?” Brains challenged.

“Do you want to clue us in?” Cade said, who, Sam was beginning to learn, had no patience for bullshit.

Optimus turned to look at him, something in his eyes exuding equal parts reverence and terror. Sam felt his heart pounding inside his chest and knew he wouldn’t like whatever the Autobot leader was about to reveal.

"It’s the AllSpark," he said. “Sam has the power of the AllSpark.”

.

.

.

The AllSpark.

A small cube that Sam had destroyed because it was the only way to save his world. To save his friends.

All the knowledge of Cybertron in the palms of his hands. The power of life and death running through his veins. Divinity contained in his fragile human body by mere chance; for being at the wrong time and place. History reforming around him because he had been forced to participate in a war that didn’t involve him. He had accidentally become the equivalent of a god for choosing to save his friends.

Sam wanted to throw up.

“No,” he gasped. “No, it can’t be.”

No one could look him in the eye.

“There has to be another explanation,” he insisted.

Bee knelt behind him and it was almost instinctive the way Sam backed away until he collided with his chestplates, practically hiding in his guardian’s arms.

“There isn’t, kid,” Brains murmured, not unkindly.

The worst part was that Sam knew. A part of him had always known.

(“I’m sorry, Sam.”)

“What do we do now?” his voice was shaking, but Sam felt determination fill every cell of his body. He wasn’t going to let his family’s sacrifice be in vain.

Brains was the only one who dared to look at him.

“We’re gonna give them hell.”

.

.

.

Optimus found him after a little while.

Sam was inside the ship, hiding now that Bee was busy organizing the attack they were going to launch against Megatron and Cemetery Wind. Although Sam was practically vibrating with the need to be close to Bumblebee, to feel his Spark close to him, and enjoy his presence, he wasn’t quite ready to face the rest of the Autobots who were looking at him as if he were simultaneously a blasphemy and a miracle. Brains had offered to stay by his side, but Sam knew that the minibot was eager to spend time with the others and he wasn’t going to take that freedom away from him, not after what they’d been through.

So, here was Sam, hiding.

“When I came to your planet, I was fascinated with how similar we were,” Optimus said. “Both fighting for freedom, for love.”

Sam couldn’t look him in the face.

“Sam,” Optimus continued, and Sam felt a light touch on his head. “This is not your fault.”

(“I’m sorry, Sam.”)

“Feels like it is,” Sam whispered, hugging his knees to his chest and trying to keep the tears that burned his eyes from running down his cheeks. “Since Mission City, everything that had happened has been because of me.”

Sam had just been too selfish and self-centered to notice.

“Do you remember…” Optimus murmured softly. “Who was the person who launched the AllSpark to Earth?”

Sam fervently shook his head.

“You didn’t know….”

“You didn't either, Sam,” Optimus interrupted gently.

He finally raised his head, his eyes meeting Optimus’ optics. The Autobot leader was looking at him with understanding, perhaps even absolution and forgiveness. Sam knew that Optimus would never blame him for what had happened, he knew that of all the Transformers only he and Bee would be the ones that would stay by his side no matter what. He knew that they would be willing to give their lives to save him not because he was now the new vessel of the AllSpark, but simply because he was Sam.

Their friend.

(“I’m sorry, Sam.”)

“I was with Ratchet,” Sam confessed, still feeling the medic’s phantom touch, shielding him from danger. “At the end.”

Optimus, in a most human gesture, sighed.

“I’m glad,” he said. “That he wasn’t alone in the end.”

“Neither of us was,” Sam whispered.

Optimus didn’t smile, Sam wasn’t sure if his mouthpiece was capable of that, but he could feel warmth and something that wasn’t exactly happiness, but was close enough emanating from the leader. Sam smiled and, trying to ignore the embarrassment and discomfort of feeling like a little kid, raised his arms.

Not a single second of hesitation passed before Optimus picked him up.

It was different from Bee’s hugs. Something about this touch felt safe in the same way that Sam had felt when he jumped into his dad’s arms after a nightmare. It was a kind of fatherly love that brought a blush to Sam’s cheeks. Optimus might not be his parent, but he was certainly a mentor and a guide in this strange new world he had found himself in. The love he felt for the leader of the Autobots wasn’t romantic like the one he felt for Bee, but that didn’t make it any less significant.

“I never meant for this to happen to you,” Optimus said, leaning down to rest his forehead against the top of Sam’s head. “You have to know that.”

“I know, Optimus,” Sam sighed. “I know.”

“But…” Optimus paused, as if the words were escaping him. “I am happy.”

“About what?”

“That it is you.”

There was no human equivalent to the AllSpark, but if Sam were to step into Optimus’ shoes and be forced to imagine that such power was contained within the body of another race, he too would be glad that the new vessel was a friend.

That it was someone beloved.

.

.

.

Sam refused to leave Bee.

Now there was no doubt, he was the one who was being extremely stupid.

But Sam couldn’t bring himself to leave the scout alone. Not when the last time they had been separated—

No.

Sam couldn’t think about that now.

So here he was, in the middle of a battlefield in China, being more of a nuisance than support.

Cade had certainly told him numerous times that he needed to stay with them instead of running after Bumblebee like a lovesick puppy. Sam would be more offended if it weren’t for the fact that the inventor was right: he was being reckless. Putting both Bee and himself in danger. But Sam was stubborn, and he would die rather than be separated from Bee again.

Too bad the universe had other plans.

.

.

.

When a Decepticon looking similar to Bee but with an unflattering red color appeared, Sam was extremely offended on behalf of his guardian. That cheap copy might have that rare disarming and rearming technology, but it lacked any real battle experience.

It was a soulless piece of metal.

And Bee seemed to hate it to death.

It was the middle of a battlefield, they were being outnumbered and they would probably end up perishing if some miracle didn’t happen soon, but Sam still found the time to say:

“I told you red wouldn’t look good on you.”

The laughter Bee’s voice modulator emitted told him it was worth it.

.

.

.

Of course that, when the scales seemed to tip in their favor, was the moment when Lockdown showed up.

Faced with the threat of a giant magnet, Sam had no choice but to stay with Cade and the others, knowing that Bee would be more worried about him than himself and that in this situation, even the slightest distraction meant death.

But as usual, things didn’t work out for him and Sam was forced to break away from the group and run to avoid a group of Decepticons who seemed especially set on terminating him. He ran until his weak legs were about to give up, stumbling over the wreckage and vaguely wondering if this time his death was going to stick.

He didn’t have a chance to find out, as multiple cannon blasts destroyed the Decepticons that had been pursuing him.

Sam looked up, ready to thank whoever had saved him, and froze.

Oh.

.

.

.

Sam was dimly aware that Lockdown and Optimus were fighting somewhere, that Joshua had put on his big boy pants and was carrying the seed away from here, that Cade was dealing with that asshole from Cemetery Wind.

That Bumblebee was somewhere on the battlefield.

He knew all that.

But all his attention was on the Transformer in front of him. A new and at the same time old enemy. Someone Sam had once hated so much that he now felt bile rise in his throat. The reason they were fighting this war. The shadow that had haunted him in his nightmares. Red eyes full of anger trying to hide the pain of losing everything for nothing.

Megatron.

“Boy.”

Sam returned his gaze fearlessly. He couldn’t be afraid of someone who, no matter how unwilling, had a part of him. The glowing Spark behind his chestplates recognized him. They were brought together by the wrong circumstances, but Sam was sure Megatron couldn’t hurt him more than a planet could hurt a star. They had reached an impasse.

“Megatron.”

Was it worth it?

Sam wanted to ask, looking at the destruction around him, the lives that had been lost. But one look into Megatron’s optics was answer enough.

“This is what we’ve come to?” he said. “An insect believing itself to be a god?”

“I’m not a god,” Sam smiled. “I’m not even a hero.”

“Then what are you?” Megatron asked.

There was only one thing Sam could say.

“I’m just the messenger.”

Megatron almost smiled.

“I hope we never cross paths again, messenger,” Megatron said, disappearing into the crowd as if he had never been there. Sam felt a slight pang of sympathy. A thread of compassion.

Sam wondered if this was what peace tasted like.

.

.

.

Sam laughed, jumping at Bee and feeling the familiar exhilaration of having emerged victorious from an impossible situation. Bee squealed with happiness, wrapping his arms around him as he did a twirl that made Sam’s laugh grow louder. On the ground, Cade was hugging his family and the other Autobots were supporting each other.

They had done it.

They had survived.

.

.

.

The sun was shining down on his face.

“He’s coming back soon,” Bee murmured.

Sam hummed.

“He said he’s going to visit us,” Bee continued, and Sam could hear the smile in his voice. “I think he wants to see how well we're adjusting.”

“So, he’s being nosy.”

“I’d say he’s being protective.”

Bumblebee looked ethereal under the sun. It was a mirage of all the good things in this world and Sam was extremely grateful that they had this second chance. That, after so much suffering, they had finally been allowed to enjoy this quiet. They had supported each other throughout the war, so it was only fair that they supported each other during the peace.

“He’ll see we’re happy,” Sam murmured.

Bumblebee rose from where he was sprawled on the grass to nuzzle his hair.

“So happy,” he agreed.

There were still many things that needed to be fixed, the tentative peace they had achieved with the government was delicate at best and hanging by a thread at worse. Megatron was missing in action, and while Sam was relatively certain he wouldn’t cause trouble again, not everyone had the same faith. The road to the future looked dangerous and full of obstacles.

But now Sam was with Bee, in a home he never thought he’d have. His future was bright and exciting.

Sam lifted his head to kiss the Autobot symbol on Bee’s forehead.

They were finally home.