Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandoms:
Relationship:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2016-10-13
Completed:
2016-10-13
Words:
12,834
Chapters:
3/3
Comments:
11
Kudos:
483
Bookmarks:
91
Hits:
6,555

sorry isn't good enough

Summary:

It's hard being a young adult who is suddenly some equivalent of an ambassador between Earth and a robotic alien civilization. It's hard and nobody understands.

Or, Sam has PTSD and Bumblebee helps him cope.

Notes:

Old fic circa 2011, decided to post it here. Will have 3 chapters.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

 

He was exhausted. He had never felt so exhausted before in his life. Not even the events in Mission City and Egypt had made him feel this completely zapped of energy- taking death defying tumbles and falls in a collapsing skyscraper could do that to you apparently. Sam relentlessly picked at the hem of his shirt, his fingers gouging into the fabric as he scratched at the skin on his hip. For some reason, that place seemed to be incredibly itchy. He roved his fingers underneath his shirt and continued to scratch directly at his skin, wincing when he felt a sharp pinch. His fingers came back red.

Confused, and more or less a bit panicked, Sam picked at his skin again and almost yelped when his fingers caught hold of something small and sharp. He bunched his shirt up and looked down at his stomach, grimacing. There was a small piece of silver shrapnel embedded in the skin along his hip. Wincing, Sam closed his eyes shut and quickly tore the metal from his skin, his blood, warm and sticky, trickled down his side. He brought his hand to his face; fingertips dyed dark red, and flung the piece of metal away. He sighed and closed his eyes, swiping the pads of his fingers along his jeans. He hadn't had a chance to shower properly since Chicago.

It'd only been a couple of hours since their plane flight had touched down at LAX. He still couldn't believe that their planet had been in peril from a complete Decepticon invasion only two days ago. Chicago was utterly destroyed and the death toll was steadily rising; a historic disaster quoted by Obama, and the people who had survived were later evacuated to surrounding cities around Chicago, which had received the brunt of the damage. The state of Illinois later issued an intensive rebuilding project that would cost the state billions of dollars.

It had taken a lot of persuasion on his part to get Mearing to produce a private jet out of Chicago to California. When she refused and said she had more important things to do than to procure a VIP plane ride for a kid and his family, he only had to mention that he managed to help save the world again, and for the third time at that. She had quickly clammed up, at a loss for words, and reluctantly acquiesced to his wishes, which is how he acquired four Presidential plane tickets stamped with an embossed seal from the Director of US National Intelligence: a ticket for him, two for his parents, and another one for Carly, who would be staying at a friend's house in California. There was no way he was going back to their fancy mansion-loft. He needed rest, he needed to be alone, he needed his family, and most importantly, he needed to have his best friend by his side again. He wanted to be in a place that he felt most comfortable, and that was his home, the home he had grown up in for 18 years of his life.

Once they had finally made it home, Sam immediately went to the garage, even though he knew he wouldn't find Bumblebee there. Carly and his parents meandered into the house and immediately set to unpacking. Carly would spend the first three days at his house, and would then venture over to her friend's house for a week while they stayed in California—for how long, not even he knew just yet. Two days ago, he had feared for her life. She had been so close to getting killed herself, but now she was alive and well and he knew she'd be safer at a friend's house than with him. He didn't want her to see him like this, in an almost catatonic state. He had been close to the brink of tears more than once, and he didn't want her to see what a blubbering, pathetic fool he could be.

They both needed to settle their nerves, and Sam didn't think he'd be able to reach a sense of calm if Carly was there. She too, was a reminder of the things he could have lost forever. He wanted to be alone just for a little while. Knowing she was safe and out of harm's way elsewhere would lessen the stress.

However, he would be lonely once she left. Sure, he'd have her for three days, but after that, what would he do? Who could he talk to? His parents? No. They wouldn't understand the turmoil that was coiling inside him, ready to spring into something terrible and nasty. He didn't want to worry his parents or Carly for that matter. They had been through enough. He was so desperate that he even thought about calling up Mikaela, but then thought better of it. Although she would understand his pain, he knew he couldn't talk to her just yet. It was best he left things in the past where they should be. Sam hunched his shoulders and let out a breathy sigh. He was already missing Bumblebee.

The Autobots were busy in Diego Garcia taking part in a two week long NEST debriefing, and on top of that, they were also mourning the loss of their fallen comrade Ironhide. Sam still couldn't believe that another one of their own had fallen. Sure, Ironhide had been a bit difficult to get along with, but he was still a good guy…alien, whatever. He briefly wondered how Lennox was taking the news.

And here Sam was, still in the garage, resembling a zombie as he swayed about on his feet and fought to stay awake. Sam felt like sinking into the earth, his muscles crying out with a soreness so intense that he almost, almost gave in and let himself collapse. The garage floor looked welcoming right now, speckled with blue, white and yellow epoxy—a new touch. It seemed his dad had taken his advice after all and spruced up the garage. Sam blearily blinked his eyes and stretched his neck, earning him a wince when he found the movement to be incredibly painful. He'd have to take a couple of days off to recuperate. At the moment, all he wanted to do was feel the cool press of floor tile against his skin. Better yet, the cool surface of Bumblebee's hood, however, he knew that was quite impossible right now. He couldn't call up Bee and tell him to come home just for his own selfish reasons. The Autobot had just lost a comrade, and was most likely very busy.

'Sleep,' his brain told him as he stifled yet another yawn. He could think about everything else once he had some sleep in his system, but before he even had time to set foot out of the garage, his knees buckled and he found himself falling, the floor growing closer and closer. The last thing he heard was the shrill scream of his mother.

There was nothing he could do. He knew that something about this situation seemed off, as if he had experienced it before, telling him that something bad was going to happen, something horrible and terrifying and all things dreadful, but his brain didn't allow himself to think of it any longer.

His fingers curled around the corroded railing, fingernails coming away scuffed and dirty. He could see the trailing plume of smoke as the shuttle ascended into the bright Texan sky, fire and dust and smolder raging from the shuttle's burners so fiercely that the colors looked distorted. He tilted his head higher as he followed the shuttle's path, tears falling down his cheeks, pooling between the indents of his nose, running over the curves of his lips. His tears felt hot, his face felt hot, his entire body was burning with a rage so fierce that he found it hard to keep himself upright, using the railing as his only support.

They were leaving.

The Autobots were leaving and they were never coming back. They had basically been kicked off of Earth and forced never to return, and worst of all, Bumblebee was on that shuttle. His first car, his best friend—he would never get to see him again. Sam knew he should be worried and focused on the safety of his planet, Sentinel's betrayal, and the impending doom that Earth was going to endure, yet he couldn't get his mind off the feeling of his heart being torn in two. His best friend was leaving him. Bee was leaving. He wasn't coming back. And just when things couldn't possibly get any worse, the shuttle exploded.

Sam watched the sky with wide, quivering eyes, dread taking hold of his entire body. He stood stock still as he stared up into the sky, watching as fire and coagulated smoke danced a ring around the now plummeting bits of debris that raced towards the earth, bits of the Autobots—bits and pieces of Bumblebee. He felt himself fall to his knees, wondering briefly why he didn't seem to register the pain, and clutched at the railing, shrieks and sobs ripping from his mouth as he shuddered and trembled. He could taste the saltiness of his tears, could feel the pain of fear clutching at his legs as it raced straight towards his heart. Bumblebee was dead, he was dead , he was dead , he was dead . Sam had just watched him die .

And then Sam was suddenly transported to a different place, a different scene- they were in the heart of Chicago, buildings and debris tumbling down all around them, Bumblebee's hulking body bent over, head cast towards the ground as he waited for the finishing blow- .

Same woke up with a start, a sob escaping his throat as tears flowed softly down his face. He shot straight up from his bed and frantically began dabbing at his face with the hem of his t-shirt, willing the tears to stop. Sam halted, mind racing. Funny, he hadn't remembered changing…or putting himself to bed, or even entering his room for that matter. He looked about him, licking the tears from his lips, as he surveyed his room. The room was covered in a layer of darkness, shadows dancing across the room in patterns as the light from the moon streamed in through the blinds. Everything still looked the same—his parents hadn't changed a thing, however it was as still as empty as it had been the day he had packed up his things for college and left for the opposite side of the country. If it had been up to his father, his former room would have been turned into an office or a gym or something, or whatever dads did when their sons left for college.

Sam pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat thump frantically against his palm. His legs felt like lead, and there was a numbing pain that started from his ankles and sprouted up to his thighs, the type of pain you get when you're so frightened that your entire body starts to ache. Sam wasn't sure how he got there or what time it was, but all he knew was that he was terrified. He realized that he'd just woken up from a nightmare. He brought his fingers to his face and traced his digits fleetingly around his eyes, the skin there puffy and moist. He was no longer crying, but his nose felt stuffy and once in a while his chest would flutter and he was forced to take a shuddering breath to calm himself.

Sam shimmied out of the blankets and threw his legs over the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his thighs as he hunched forward and held his head in his hands. He never wanted to dream of that moment again. There were two instances, two for crying out loud, where Bee had come so close to dying, and during those two instances, all Sam could do was watch.

The reminder only made him more miserable. He had been so helpless. Sam always prided himself on being the only human he knew of that wasn't as helpless as the rest—he wasn't a bystander or some distressed citizen, and he had helped save the planet on more than one occasion, but in Chicago…he had been reduced to a weak, pathetic human being. He could have at least called out and distracted that Decepticon, he could have devised an escape plan when Charlotte Mearing gave the okay to begin expelling Optimus and the other Autobots off Earth. He could have done so many things, it could have been different, and now he was stuck having nightmares.

Sam drew in a shuddering breath and glimpsed to his right, where his cell phone sat upon the dresser drawer near his bed. He had half a mind to call Bee, or perhaps text him, to know whether he was alright or not, but then Sam realized what a stupid notion that would be. Of course Bee was alright, he was a giant alien robot with an arsenal of weapons and technology at his disposal. The question was, was Sam alright?

The nightmares continued to plague Sam's thoughts for the next four days, and each night, Sam would wake up in his bed in a panic and covered in sweat. Sometimes he'd wake up trembling and shaking, sometimes he was crying, his shrieks of terror and blubbering sobs waking up his parents on more than one occasion. For the first three days, Carly would be there at his bedside no matter what time of night, running lithe fingers through his hair as she whispered soothing words in his ear, and then when the time had come, she had reluctantly packed up her belongings and left to stay at her friend's house, his parents promising her they'd have things under control. It was a good thing she had left though; he wanted it that way. Now she wouldn't have to see how much of a coward he really was.

As each day passed, the nightmares seemed to get worse, his mind imagining grotesque images, images of a dead and broken Bumblebee lying in pile of metal and shrapnel, energon leaking from gaping wounds along his chassis. Sometimes he'd dream of life without Bee, a depressing, morbid life, one with guilt so stagnant that Sam could still feel it even when he was awake.

"But Bee's alive," he'd tell himself in the night, his legs tucked neatly beneath the coverlet. "Bee survived and he's alright. He's with Optimus, and everything's fine."

These words did little to quell the night terrors.

Finally, on the sixth day, after waking up from a particularly nasty dream, Sam scrambled for his phone and quickly searched through his contacts for Bee's number, punching out a quick text message as his fingers flew over the touch screen keyboard.

S: How are you?

It was a simple message, but it would do. All he needed was a response—he just needed to know if Bee was okay. He then pressed send and set his phone on the empty pillow beside him, twiddling his thumbs about his lap. Within the next thirty seconds, his phone rang with an incoming text, and Sam felt a swell of relief course through him, although he wasn't in the clear yet. He needed to read Bee's response first to feel even remotely better.

B: I am fine Sam.

And as an afterthought, another text from Bee rang in.

B: It is late where you are. Shouldn't you be in bed?

Sam smiled a little at that, the first smile to grace his lips since he set foot in California. He didn't know that he'd been crying when he felt a tear drop splash against his hand; he rubbed at his eyes. Bee was okay, he could breath now; Bee was alright.

S: I couldn't sleep. Just wanted to know how ur doing. When ya comin home?

B: In another week. When I get home, I'll perform a scan on you.

Sam laughed. Only Bee would say something like that. He found it endearing that Bee still labeled his parent's house as "home". For some reason, it warmed him from the inside. This was their original home.

He reread the text and frowned: Bee wouldn't be coming home in another week. How long could Sam last with the nightmares? He'd have to put up a strong front for the rest of the week, if only it would make Bee come home sooner. He wanted to be as cheerful and happy and carefree as he possibly could when Bee came home. He didn't want the bot to worry, which he always did wherever Sam was concerned.

S: I'd like that. Well, I'm gonna go back to sleep. Ttyl Bee. Night.

He waited patiently for Bee's response, which was almost instantaneous.

B: Goodnight Sam. Sleep well.

Sam slept a little better that night.

Sam .

"Bee," he whispered shakily, running trembling fingers down the worn metal that served as Bee's faceplates. They slid aside at his touch, revealing slate colored metal underneath, still warm and gleaming.

I am sorry Sam.

Blue optics dimmed until the light seemed to snuff out entirely, and that massive metal head went limp and thunked against the pavement. Sam stared down at the downed Autobot, eyes wide and quivering. He quickly snapped his hands away, as though burned, and he scuttled back, staring at Bee's comatose body with dread.

No.

No. No, no, no , no, no, no.

This wasn't real.

This couldn't be real.

Oh fuck.

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

Bee. What the hell—Bee.

God dammit Bee, wake the hell up. This isn't funny.

Wake up. Get up.

Yet the bot didn't respond. The hulking yellow body was spread eagled and motionless, surrounded by debris and twisted reams of metal. A puddle of copper colored energon surrounded the robot's body like a small pool.

No, not like Jazz, not like Optimus, not like Ironhide, not like this- .

Sam jerked himself awake, and by doing so, took a tumble off the bed, thudding against the floor so harshly that he was momentarily winded. His chest tightened as he gulped for air, running his hands down his chest as he fought free of his blankets. In a matter of moments, he was able to catch his breath once more, and gulped down huge breaths, relishing the way his lungs expanded, oxygen leaking into him like water.

He pushed at the floor and heaved himself up, turning himself around so that he now rested on his bottom, his knees pressed to his chest. He knocked his foreheard against his knees, slowly breathing in and out, in and out. Sweat beaded down his temples, catching in his hair and pooling along the collar of his sleeping shirt. He needed air, he needed fresh air—he needed to go outside.

Sam quickly picked himself up from the floor and trudged across his room, ending up at his closet. He pried the door open and shifted inside for a zip-up sweater and a pair of shoes. Once he was done, he meandered back towards his dresser and snatched his phone, shoving it into his sweater pocket.

He wasn't going to go anywhere far; all he was going to do was sit outside in the backyard, maybe lay down in the grass or chill next to the fountain, however, he felt that he needed to keep his phone with him in case Bee called or texted, or whatever. After trekking about the house, he finally managed to make it outside. He slid the glass door closed behind him and stepped out into the grass.

Bee hadn't texted him since that one night three days ago, and it unnerved Sam. Logically, he knew he couldn't be on his Autobot's mind all the time, right? Bumblebee still had a responsibility to his team mates, and an obligation to the safety of Earth, which was now their permanent home—the bot's time was completely taken up. He had more important things to do than to babysit a human adult. Sam really needed to stop being so selfish.

But he couldn't help it. He desperately needed to see Bee in person.

"Stupid," Sam said aloud, digging through his pocket for his phone. If Bee wouldn't text, then Sam would! It was as simple as that.

S: Bee? He hit send, and waited for approximately 25 seconds to receive a response.

B: Hello Sam.

Sam exhaled in relief.

S: How are you? Are you okay? He winced; he could have come up with something a little more creative than that.

B: I am fine Sam. Are you alright?

S: I'm fine. Are you sure you're ok?

This time, Sam waited for nearly a minute and a half for the Autobot's response.

B: Is something wrong? Is everything alright?

S: Please just answer me. I need this, he thought.

B: Why are you up this late? Should you not be in bed?

S: Bee.

Two minutes this time.

B: Are you able to video chat at the moment?

Sam hovered his fingers over the keyboard. Unfortunately, his phone wasn't the latest model, which meant it didn't have the capability to perform video chat, and he really didn't want to hike all the way back upstairs and turn on the family computer.

S: I can't.

B: Why not?

Sam hesitated.

S: I'm outside.

After sending the text, he waited for a bit, twiddling his phone within his hands until a series of beeps resounded from his phone. When he looked down at the screen, he gasped, nearly dropping the phone on the grass beneath his feet. His entire phone screen was black and blank, it looked like it was turned off, but Sam could still see a faint glow emanate from the black screen, meaning it was still on.

Sam continued to stare at his phone, quirking his brow in confusion, until a flash of movement caught his attention. A wide screen suddenly popped up on his phone, revealing an image of himself with a small red dot situated on the top right corner of the screen—the phone was recording.

"Sam."

Sam nearly screamed. He recoiled and ended up dropping his phone, using the water fountain beside him to balance himself.

"Sam, are you hurt? What's wrong?"

It was his voice. Bee. It was Bee's voice. If he had known that Bee's voice would make him this relieved and unbelievably giddy, he would have tried calling the Autobot a long time ago instead of texting, but he hadn't wanted to bother the alien. But now…now, all he wanted to do was press his ear against his phone and listen to that voice all day long. Had Ratchet repaired Bee's voice receptors again? Didn't he know that Bee would find some way to mess them up again within a month's time?

Tentatively, Sam sat himself down upon the grass and picked up his phone, holding it gingerly within the palm of his hand. His own face stared back up at him, looking entirely weary and lack-luster. Dark smudges rimmed a ring around his eyes and his hair was messy an unkempt, brown curls sticking up all over the place. He looked worse for wear. Did that mean Bee had somehow managed to hack his phone, and was now seeing him via webcam? Sam's heart fluttered at the thought, but he quickly changed his mind and aimed the camera away from him. He looked so disheveled and sickly—he didn't want Bee to see him like that. He was sort of disheartened that he couldn't actually see Bee on the screen as well, but he would suffice with just his voice.

"Sam. Where did you go?"

"I…I don't want you to see me," Sam responded quietly, still aiming the camera away from his face.

"Sam. You're being unreasonable. Please get back on the camera."

"No."

"Sam."

"No," Sam whispered, staring at the fountain beside him.

"I want to see you."

Sam was so shocked that he nearly dropped his phone yet again, but managed to catch it just in time before it hit the grass. He turned his head to the side to hide his flushed face, although he didn't know why he'd done it; it wasn't like Bee could see him anyway. Now, how was he supposed to respond to that? Easy of course: obey.

Sam reluctantly turned the phone towards him, where he could once again see himself on the webcam displayed across his screen. God, he really needed one of those facial treatments that Carly was always going on about, he looked positively grimy. His heart pounded in his chest.

"Hello Sam."

Sam let out a laugh. "Heya' Bee."

Sam averted his gaze. Although he couldn't see Bumblebee, he just knew the Autobot was observing him. He could practically feel Bee's searing blue optics roving across the expanse of his face. What would Bee say? Would he say that Sam looked awful? Would he say something else about his appearance?

"Why are you outside?"

Sam was caught off guard. He was so sure that Bee would have commented on his appearance, not his whereabouts. "I couldn't sleep."

"I see."

Oh no, that tone. Bumblebee wasn't buying it, but the bot wasn't saying anything else. Bee really did know Sam well enough not to pry and make him feel uncomfortable, which made Sam love him even more.

"I'm sorry for texting you so late, or so early, or whatever the time is over there," Sam blundered, averting his eyes.

"Forgive me."

Sam piqued his head, drawing the phone even closer to his face. "What?"

"I am sorry for not calling sooner. I apologize."

Sam felt the words leave him. His heart felt like leaping out his mouth, his mind was fuzzy and tight, his chest constricting as he fought the nervous little flutters flipping about in his stomach. Goosebumps raised along his skin, making the tiny hairs behind his neck and along his arms stand on end.

Bumblebee was apologizing. What reason did Bee have to apologize for? Sam clutched the phone within his hand, his fingers tightening around the sleek edges of the device. Sam was the one who was supposed to be apologizing; Sam was the one that felt so incredibly guilty.

Bumblebee could have died. The Autobot would have been a heaping pile of scrap metal if things had gone for the worse. It had been Sam who had just stood there and watched the shuttle explode, Sam who had been hiding under that pile of debris as Bumblebee stood hunched over in front of that despicable Decepticon, waiting for the fatal blow.

Sam was the one who was supposed to be sorry, and he was so, so incredibly sorry. Sorry for being a coward, sorry for being selfish all these years, sorry for not being a better friend. Why…why was Bee…why was he…?

Sam waited for that familiar cloying sensation that clawed its way up his throat, releasing a series of choked sobs that escaped his mouth. He blinked and blinked his eyes, trying to quell the swell of tears that were already stinging at the corners of his eyes, but alas, to no avail. They tumbled forth and spilled across his cheeks, fat, salty globs running rivulets across his face. Fuck, why was this so hard?

"Sam?" Bumblebee's tone was worried now, a bit frantic, so realistic for such a synthetic sounding voice, all digital and pitched. "Are those tears? Why are you crying? Sam? Sam. Sam?"

The young adult in question still held his phone aloft, his hands shaking as he tried to steady the webcam over his face. He stared into the recorder, wiping the tears from his face with his arm. He felt like such a teenager.

"I'm sorry Bee," he rasped, licking the salt from his lips. "I…I just miss you. I miss you so much. I…" Sam didn't care that he was acting like a moronic, bumbling fool. He didn't care if he was having a totally gay moment; didn't care that he was making so much noise with his croaking sobs and hushed sniffles.

"…I want you here, with me."

And Sam turned the phone over, powering it off with a press of a button.

 

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

The sun was out, the air warm and humid, and they were all sitting at the top of the overlook. The tree above them swished and swayed its branches, and the valley below ruffled as the breeze rang through. A blanket was spread out underneath them, along with various snacks and beverages. The Witwicky's were having a picnic, and it only seemed fitting for them to be here, at this spot. Sam had missed this spot—it washis. He couldn't even recount the many times he'd spent here with Bee, just the two of them chilling out under the stars or relaxing after a hard day at school.

The only thing missing was Bee himself.

Judy was propped back on her hands, sunglasses perched atop her nose as she gazed into the horizon. His father was busy pouring himself a glass of wine, and Sam briefly wondered if it was really appropriate to bring WINE, of all things, to a sunny, afternoon picnic—this wasn't a romantic endeavor now. Carly was beside him, her arm linked with his, her fingers combing through the dense, curly strands of his hair, and she looked so beautiful in the sunlight, flaxen hair glittering in—wait.

Wait.

Wasn't Carly supposed to be in San Diego with Lindsay, Linnie, Lia- whatsername? The trip was at least a good 12 hour drive from where he lived; she couldn't have possibly…

"How are you here?" he was saying. It felt as if he had no control over his mouth. Carly looked at him in confusion as she quirked a thin eyebrow, luscious lips puckering into a tiny frown.

"What?" she asked him, rubbing his arm with her fingers. Her lilting British accent was light and heady- intoxicating, maybe a little too intoxicating. Was she supposed to be this calm? Hadn't they been in danger of dying just a couple of days ago?

"Didn't you leave to your friend's house?" Sam continued, now gaining attention from his parents. They both looked at him like he had grown another head.

"I don't…what are you talking about Sam?" Carly replied, tilting her head.

"But you- ."

"Sam, honey, are you okay?" Judy cut in, sitting forward. Her expression was worried as she leaned across the blanket, staring at her son warily. And then, quite suddenly, even though it was completely off tangent, he remembered that his phone was out of commission.

"Has Bee tried calling the house phone?" he blurted, surprised at the anxiousness in his voice. What reason did he have to be apprehensive? He felt some foreign, benign feeling cloying at his insides, causing the acids in his stomach to churn and broil, and oh God, something didn't feel right.

"What's that?" Ron Witwicky asked as he took a sip from his wine glass.

"What's what?" Sam blubbered.

"Bee, sweety, what's Bee? Like, a bumblebee? The insect? Why would it be calling you?" Judy queried, furrowing her brow. She had a bemused expression on her face.

"You know, Bumblebee! Bee—come on! Don't play dumb you guys," Sam laughed exasperatedly, waving his arms in the air. "Has he called yet?"

"Sam, we have no idea what you're talking about," Carly said calmly, easing away from him. "Is that a nickname for one of your friends?" Sam stared at them all, flabbergasted. They each had a look of utter confusion on their faces, staring at him strangely as if he had gone insane.

"Bumblebee! The Autobots, aliens, robots—you know!" Sam found that his voice had risen to a frantic level. Were they playing dumb or what? They knew what he was talking about—they knew! They had all been under a Decepticon invasion a couple of days ago! Couldn't they see that he didn't want to play games right now? He had just asked a simple question, all he wanted was a response. What was so hard about that!

Judy snorted through her nose. "I think you're a little too old to believe in aliens hun."

And that statement right there was what triggered the alarm. However at first it wasn't an actual alarm, just a figurative one, a metaphorical ache in his entire being that caused his limbs to tremble and his mind to start racing. What were they saying? What were they saying?

But then he could hear it; could feel the vibrations. It was a steady thunk, thunk, thunk that grew in volume as it progressed, and soon the sound was ringing in his ears, incessant and annoying, and why couldn't it just stop -?

Sam awoke to a pounding on his door, his mother's voice fierce and firm behind the wooden barrier. He immediately shot up in his bed, bunching the coverlet around his legs.

"Sam, it's nearly 12 o'clock, get your ass up!" Judy Witwicky snapped, banging his door hard this time for good measure. Sam replied with a groggy, "okay, okay", and rolled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stretched and yawned, groaning as he pivoted his head and flexed his muscles. He tried forming his hand into a fist, but the joints in his fingers were far too weak. He hated that feeling.

Sam warily stood up from his bed and trudged over towards his dresser drawer, sliding the drawer open as he shuffled his hand inside. Since he hadn't planned on staying in California, his mother had to buy him some clothes from the local WalMart, not that it was a bad thing, or maybe it was? He pulled out a red baseball jersey shirt, a pair of jeans, and some boxers. He shut the drawer closed and opened another, grabbing a fresh towel and draping it over his shoulder. He really needed a shower, he thought, rubbing his hand over his face. He pulled his hand back, grimacing at the amount of grease and sweat that had collected over the night. Disgusting.

Maybe he'd feel better with a nice, hot shower. After all, it wasn't like he could simply forget the events that had transpired last night out in the backyard, or the nightmare that was still so fresh in his brain, and he really needed to clear his mind. It had been a particularly scary dream, a dream where no one knew who the Autobots were, a dream where Bumblebee hadn't even existed. He really, really needed that shower.

After showering and donning a new set of clothes, Sam clambered downstairs in a hurry, eager to get some sort of nourishment in his stomach. His stomach was aching and growling, and he thought if he didn't get some food inside his system quick, his stomach would turn on him and eat him from the inside out.

As he passed the living room, he noticed his mother was sitting on the couch with the remote in one hand, flipping through the various noontime satellite channels, a glass of lemonade propped on the coffee table. As he passed her, he waved- she merely scoffed at him and rolled her eyes. He then proceeded to the kitchen.

Once in front of the fridge, he pried the door open and stuck his head inside, sighing contentedly when the cold air fanned against his face. Since he wasn't a very good cook, he settled on making a sandwich and promptly gathered all the necessary ingredients. He took out the mayo, mustard, bologna, and cheese, and when he was about to close the fridge door, good luck seemed to strike him as he spotted a can of Arizona hiding behind a bottle of ketchup. Mucho Mango was a particular favorite of his.

He set the sandwich stuff on the granite countertop, the can of Arizona still in his hand as he popped it open and took a long swig. The frigid, sweet flavor of the beverage tickled his taste buds and slid down his throat, causing him to flutter his eyes. Who knew ice cold Arizona could taste this amazing after waking up from a long, long sleep.

An amount of time passed as he sat at the countertop, munching away on his sandwich. Once in a while, he'd busy himself with dusting the bread crumbs off the counter, scooting them over the ledge where they tumbled to the floor- Frankie and Mojo hungrily licked them up. Kind of gross, but he managed not to look down and continued eating until he licked the remaining mustard off his fingertips. He put the condiments back in the fridge and downed the last bit of his Arizona, chucking the can in the trash. He was far too lazy to put it in the recycling bin.

Deciding that a bit of fresh air was in order, Sam slid open the glass doors leading to the backyard and stepped out onto the grass, hovering his arm over his forehead as the glare of the sun beamed down on him. Since waking up, everything had been incredibly mundane, from showering to eating his sandwich, but as soon as he stepped outside, his mind seemed to snap and he suddenly remembered what had transpired out here last night, which caused a small flush to spread across his cheeks.

Absentmindedly, he wandered over to the fountain. He dipped his fingers into the water basin, the water quickly cooling his fingertips. It felt good, he decided, on such a hot day, and just when he was about to move away towards the garage, his foot meandered over something solid and he heard the sickening crunch of glass giving way. He lifted his leg and realized with horror that he had stepped on his…phone?

"Fuck!" he cursed, immediately scooping the phone up from the grass. Had he accidentally left it out here last night? "Argh, I'm such an idiot." Seriously, how could he have forgotten his phone? He really must have been out of it. He visibly flushed as he remembered the vast amount of tears he had shed.

The glass screen on the phone was splintered, and the shards formed a sort of spider web pattern across the display. The phone was also severely water logged, and Sam realized with dread that the sprinkler system must have gotten to it. He tried powering the device on, but it wouldn't budge and remained dead in his hands, utterly useless now. In a fit of anger, he threw the phone into the fountain, watching it plop into the water and drift to the bottom. He then thought better of it and plucked it out—his dad would probably get pissed if he ever found it in there. The phone had been a gift from his father, after all.

This was just great. Bumblebee wasn't here, and now he was phoneless. Great, great, great, great. Sam clenched his fingers and grit his teeth, snorting out his nose. How was he supposed to call Bumblebee now after he had been so rude and "hung up" on the bot last night? Why did he even do that in the first place? Sam mentally cursed himself for not memorizing Bee's number by heart….because that was what phones were for- dammit!

"No big deal, maybe he'll call the house phone or something," Sam muttered to himself. The thought seemed to quell his nerves a bit, but he found the prospect of waiting for Bee to call very taxing and aggravating. He didn't want to wait! He guessed this is what he deserved for being so cowardly and selfish. He could have continued video chatting with Bee last night, he could have spent all night conversing with the Autobot and maybe then he would have felt more at ease, but no! He just had to hang up because he was too cowardly to hear Bee's response after he so blatantly professed something so embarrassing. Oh God. And to top that off like the sickeningly sweet cherry that it was, he had another nightmare last night.

"Sammy!"

Sam whirled around and stashed the broken (and sopping wet) phone inside his pocket, grimacing when he felt his jeans soak up the water. Judy was half outside the door, fanning herself with a napkin. She looked down at his pants and quirked an eyebrow.

"Uhh…did you piss yourself sweety?" she snorted, a small giggle escaping her throat. She took a sip from her lemonade. Even from here, he could hear the clink of ice cubes.

"Oh my god, no! Ma, why—why would you even ask that?" Sam groaned, shifting around awkwardly on his feet. He self-consciously folded his hands over his crotch, where the water had seeped into.

"Oh, lighten up! It was just a joke! Well anyway, I came out here to tell you that you can't keep yourself cooped up in here all day," she began, leaning against the door frame. Her expression softened. "After all that's happened, I think you need some time away from home. Go to the park or the mall or something."

"Ma, I don't have a CAR. You know that old gilapee I had back at Carly's? Well yeah, it's kinda' not here right now," he emphasized, rolling his eyes when she just waved a hand at him.

"Take the bus!" she replied. "Lots of people take the bus!"

"That's lame," he sighed, rubbing at his forehead. After learning how to drive, he had vowed to never take the bus again. It was pathetic anyway! If he did ride the bus, people would think he was some 20-something-year-old who still didn't know how to drive. Couldn't his mom understand that? He'd be humiliated!

As his mother stuck her tongue out at him and hurriedly went back inside, Sam sighed and resigned himself to a day of utter boredom.

He sat awake on his bed, fiddling with his dead phone, tracing the pads of his fingers over the splintered shards across the display screen. It was nighttime and the breeze from outside rushed in through his window and washed over him like a wave. His day had gone by slow and dull, despite waking up so late, and now that it was night, he still felt the same, although cooler. The scorching sun earlier on in the day had done nothing to lessen his boredom, only making him more frustrated than he already was.

His mother had suggested taking out the old kiddie pool in the garage and filling it up with water, and he had actually listened to her and done just that, and despite how wonderful it had been to feel the ice cold prickle of water against his skin, it still did nothing to brighten his mood.

He knew he still looked less than wonderful as well. His mother kept on commenting on his eyes, which were wrung red and hung dark underneath. His father had told him he desperately needed a tan, though Sam was a pretty tan person naturally, so he must have been incredibly pale to warrant such a bizarre comment from his father.

Sam flopped back onto his mattress, splaying his arms out beside him as he stared up at the ceiling. He began counting the numerous tapered white spokes dotting the expanse of the ceiling, but quickly grew bored and averted his eyes. He could always surf the internet, but the thought of spending all his time sitting down in front of a monitor depressed him.

So what could he do?

And then, a thought hit him. He could go outside. Going outside during the day kind of sucked, and it was hot and sticky and humid, but going outside during the night was totally different. The air was crisp and cool, the stars (what little he could see) were mesmerizing, and everything else seemed so much better at night. It was decided then.

Sam didn't know how long he sat out in the backyard beside his father's fountain, but he did know that he was feeling ten times more at ease than he had ever felt since arriving here. During this time, he was allowed to think about everything that had been plaguing his mind, and not just the most recent events either. He thought about the way life had been before discovering that, yes, aliens in fact did exist, and he thought about Mikaela and his parents, the Autobots, Carly…and Bumblebee. For some strange reason, he didn't particularly care to group Bumblebee in with the rest of the Autobots. When it was just Bee and him, there were no labels. Sam wasn't the pathetically weak, mortal human and Bumblebee wasn't the 16 foot tall giant alien robot—they just were.

They were best friends.

Sam didn't realize that he had been holding his breath. He released it quickly, his lungs burning as oxygen rushed in, and that's when he heard the familiar slide of the door slide open behind him.

"Sammy, pizza's here…"

His mother's voice trailed away, leaving behind only silence as Sam desperately tried to blink his eyes, willing away the glossiness that was sure to be there. He then quickly heaved himself up and turned around, dipping his fingers in the fountain water as if he hadn't just had a sentimental moment.

The look on his mother's face caused him to grimace. She had a hand placed over her mouth, her brow furrowed and her expression worried and concerned. She stepped outside onto the concrete pathway and slid the door shut behind her, walking the little ways across the yard to Sam.

"Are you okay sweetie?" she asked softly, placing a hand on his arm. When he didn't answer her immediately, she pulled him in for a hug, his chest thumping awkwardly against hers. He was taller than her, so he had to bend slightly on his knees. Her arms wrapped around his back as she cradled his head to her chest, her fingers gliding through his hair. There was something so nostalgic about the motion that it made his chest ache.

"I tried not to pry these past couple of days, but I can't wait anymore," Judy whispered softly, still stroking his hair. She released him, but only enough so that she could still hold onto his arms. "Sammy—honey, look at me." Sam did as he was told and raised his eyes from the ground, staring into his mom's wide, serious ones.

"You can tell me anything, Sam, anything," she continued, never once losing eye contact. "We've been through this before, we know what's it like, and even though no one should ever have to go through the shit you've gone through, just know that we're in this together, Sammy, whether you like it or not."

Sam nodded minutely, his mind too distant to respond.

"My baby boy," she crooned, bringing him in for another hug. She stood on her tiptoes, rocking him back and forth. "I wish I could turn back time, but I can't. We're here for you though. Me, your father, Carly, and Bumblebee- we're here. We're alive and together and somewhat happy, okay?"

Sam could vaguely register the goosebumps trailing up and down his arms.

"Okay?" Judy repeated, placing a hand tenderly to the side of Sam's face. Sam closed his eyes and placed his own hand over his mother's, nodding against her palm. He saw her let a sad smile grace her lips, before she leaned over and pecked him on the cheek, drawing away from him.

"You should probably eat some pizza before your dad wolfs it down," she laughed softly. At that, she patted his shoulder and turned around, heading towards the door. He watched as she slid it open and stepped inside, her voice trailing away as she began scolding Ron about having too many slices of pizza on his plate.

Sam knew he should be bawling on the grass right now, but he couldn't, at least not right now. Maybe later when he was in the private sanctity of his room. Somehow, his mother's words sounded so comforting, as if they had wrapped around his mind like a safety blanket.

With a weary sigh, Sam followed after his mother.

He was feeling sick.

Something was burning inside him, twisting his insides as he writhed atop his bed, his feet tangling in the sheets. Sam's eyes were shut tight, still lost in the throes of another nightmare as he squirmed and thrashed, willing for himself to wake up. It was as if something were keeping him there, refusing to let him wake up and step back into reality once more. With one final mental tug, Sam managed to do just that. He snapped his eyes open, a guttural gasp escaping his lips as he stared up at the ceiling, his fingers gouging into the mattress on either side of him. Sweat ran in rivulets down the sides of his face, his legs twisted and tangled about the bed sheets. God, his heart was pumping so fast that he could nearly feel it against his chest.

Shakily, Sam pulled himself up and placed the palm of his hand over his heart, rubbing his fingers up and down the fabric of his shirt. He then realized that he was still dressed in his day clothes. After eating pizza with his parents downstairs, he had immediately went to straight to his bedroom and had probably fallen asleep while lying on his bed—he had been so full at the time, positively stuffed with pepperoni pizza and fizzy Strawberry Fanta.

As he sat up in bed, he threw his legs over the edge of the mattress and let his feet dangle right above the floor, his fingers gripping the bed so tight that his knuckles turned white. He could still feel the residual remnants of his nightmare, bits and pieces floating about his brain, too scattered for him to decipher. It had been a horrible dream, something that left his mind and body positively exhausted and wracked with anxiety and hopelessness, but thankfully (and fuck, was he glad for this) it had been one of those dreams that he couldn't recollect upon waking up. He could tell that the dream was horrible in nature, but he couldn't remember the details. Sam closed his eyes and tilted his head to the floor, breathing heavily through his nose as his shoulders trembled.

Whatever that dream had been, he had no doubts that it was Bumblebee related.

Bumblebee.

"Shit," he whispered through his teeth, running shaky fingers through his hair. He had been waiting all day for Bumblebee to call. Had something happened? Bumblebee was okay, right? "Stupid, stupid, stupid." He should have never hung up on him! He wished he could turn back time to stop himself from being such a cowardly little…he couldn't even finish that sentence he was so mad. And he could feel it too.

It was one of those moments when you look back at a particular situation, wishing you could have done something different, but no matter how much you wish you could change the outcome, you knew that you couldn't, and that frustrated him even more so. This is what happened when you were a coward, he thought, this is what happened when you…just sat back and did nothing. He was doing a lot of that, he realized. He had just stood and watched when that shuttle took off, had sat and cowered underneath a bit of debris while Bumblebee was on the verge of getting executed. There was more he could've done. There was so much more.

He knew he was small and weak, after all, he wasn't exactly a 16 foot alien robot with power cannons and a bunch of other shit, but he had proved his worth before, right? However…only at the critical point, when all else failed. The Matrix fiasco proved how much of a selfish person he could be. He had turned the Autobots away when they had asked him for help. It was beside the point that he eventually caved in and helped save the world again. He had actually refused to help them in order to be a normal boy with a normal girlfriend going to a normal college. Why couldn't he have been more like Lennox and Epps? They proved their worth and courage by fighting valiantly on the front lines of whatever intergalactic war they had been in. They hadn't shied away. They hadn't stayed put. Why couldn't he have been more like them?

Before he had time to calm himself down, a burst of energy—anger, pulsed through him. In the next instant, he grabbed his comatose phone and hurled it across the room, where it crashed against the wall and landed with a shattering thud against the floor. He could see bits and pieces of glass riddled here and there about the ground, but he paid no mind to the glittering shards. He kicked at his bed and wrestled with the blankets, growing frustrated when his legs wouldn't untangle.

He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take this overwhelming guilt. It was eventually going to consume him at some point later on in the future, he just knew it. But he couldn't do a God damn thing about it. He briefly thought of checking himself in to see a psychiatrist, but he couldn't exactly go to a public one. He'd have to go to a government mandated shrink, and he was not going to go through all the trouble just so he could talk about his feelings with some stranger.

Feeling helpless, Sam grabbed for his pillow and pressed it flush against his chest, his fingernails digging into the fluffy material. His face felt hot as the prickle of tears formed at his eye ducts, yet they didn't spill forth. He held them at bay. He knew this wasn't going to go well. He knew that he was going to cave in someday, and then everyone would think he was some mentally ill buffoon spouting nonsense about aliens and robots. He grit his teeth and leaned forward, the pillow now crushed between his legs and chest.

A tapping at his window made him still.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Sam jerked upright, snapping his neck upwards as he tentatively ghosted his eyes towards his window. From the angle he was seated in, he couldn't exactly see anything from his vantage point. Before he had time to think about getting up, light sieved through the glass of his window, igniting the room with vivid cobalt light. There wasn't anything else around him that could produce such a potent beam of light, and who would be retarded enough to shine a light into his second story window, or be tall enough for that matter, unless it was…

His eyes enlarged, a cold shock surging through his body so fast that he could feel his legs turning numb. It suddenly felt like the walls of his room were closing in on him, sucking the air right out of his lungs, forcing him to take long jerky breaths as he tried to get a grip on his surroundings. He sat there on his bed, stunned, his stomach doing somersaults inside him. Another tap at the window sent him rigid.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Sam pried himself from his mattress and tiptoed across the room, the window getting closer with each step. He could feel the cold wooden floorboards at his feet, cool to the touch and slightly calming, but his nerves ceased to die down. His fingers, glued fast to his sides, were restless and itching to touch something, hold something, anything to get the adrenaline in his system to dissipate.

Sam fluttered his eyes close, tilting his head towards the ground as he tried to taking calming gulps of air. He didn't want to be disappointed; he didn't want to find out that it had been the wind merely playing tricks on him. He didn't want to face an empty backyard where his father's grass lay still untouched and pristine.

Nearly bumping into the windowsill, he opened his eyes, dread washing over him when he not only found nothing on the other end of his window, but the blue light had vanished altogether. In a panic, he frantically undid the window clasp and pushed the pane up as far as it could go.

"No, no, no," he whispered zealously, a gust of cool night wind tingling across his skin. He hadn't been imagining things had he? Was he going crazy? Oh god, he was going crazy wasn't he? Fuck, fuck. This was not something he wanted to deal with—now he was hallucinating? And just when he was about to officially flip the fuck out; the blue light was back again.

"Ah!" he cried out, shutting his eyes and shielding himself from the blaring luminescence with his forearms. The light washed over his body, tingling faintly over his flesh as it dusted down his body from head to toe. It was an acquainted feeling, a pleasant one, a sensation that reminded him of the times when Bee would randomly scan his vitals out of nowhere simply because he could. Bee had always been worried about him to the point of acting like a mother hen, but not in an overbearing sense. He hadn't appreciated it before, just how much his friend had cared for him, and he should have god dammit he should have. It took tragedies like the world almost ending to remind Sam of just how much he took Bumblebee for granted.

When Sam opened his eyes once more, he had to keep himself from flying out the window. What peered in through his window was a single gleaming blue optic, vibrant in every sense of the word. In a quick second, the scanner vanished and Sam was left to stare at Bee's hulking body as the alien crouched down as best as he could from outside.

"Sam."

Sam felt it then. His eyes were stinging, his throat was closing up and his nose was plugging and this was going to be very embarrassing in the next couple of seconds, but he couldn't stop it. He whimpered and all the horrible guilt-laden feelings he'd been dealing with all this time suddenly amassed and broke through every single emotional dam he had thought to erect. Tears streamed down his ruddy face, trickling over his lips and dripping down his chin where it collected along his neck rather unpleasantly. A filmy membrane of mucus clotted in his throat and he sniffled and coughed, trying to breathe through it, but his body was having nothing of it. Through his tears, he could see a blurry image of Bee flinching away from the window, a low whine emanating from the autobot as he looked from side to side in alarm, the car doors that served as his wings lowering against his back.

"Shit, I'm crying," Sam sobbed, frantically rubbing at his face with his arms and fingers and the back of his hands. "Fuck." He breathed in and exhaled, sighing pathetically as he ran the palms of his hands down his wet face. "Sorry, Jesus, sorry. Just give me a m-minute Bee." He turned to the side and hastily rubbed at his eyes, the pads of his fingers coming away sticky and wet. He used the hem of his t-shirt and brought it up to his face, trying to wipe away as much as the guilty evidence as he could. His shirt came away blotted and damp.

"Sam," Bee's lilting voice echoed about his room, soothing as warm water. There was unease in the autobot's voice, that much Sam could discern, and once again he felt a metaphysical stab of pain at his chest knowing he was the one who had caused it. "You're leaking."

A burble of laughter slipped past Sam's lips, still swiping at the last residual remnants of tears on his face. "Yeah," he merely breathed, dropping his arms to his sides. He just stood there staring across at the open window, eyes trained on the eye that was still staring back at him. There were so many things that he wanted to say and all of them were at the tip of his tongue. He felt like telling Bee all the things he had realized during the time spent at home, all the terrible things he'd dreamed of while Bee was away, of the crippling depression that had clouded over him like a murky gray storm cloud that made him recount every single thing he had done wrong to jeopardize not only their entire planet, but their friendship as well. Before he could think of even letting his mouth wander, a sudden instinct to move far outweighed any other feeling in his body and he found himself vaulting out the window and plopping into Bee's awaiting hand.

He stared up at the alien, transfixed on the hulking figure made up of metal parts and cables and energon fluid that was so very alien, so very different from himself. Bee flexed his machinelike figures playfully against Sam's back, the human rocking against the metal digits until Sam broke his brief silent tryst and whispered, "The overlook."

Sam sat cross-legged on the warm hood of his car, feeling Bee's engine rev underneath him. The pleasant vibrations traveled up his body and warmed him from the inside out, the sensation trailing all the way to the tip of his fingers.

"What is wrong?"

"Uh," Sam floundered, running his fingers absentmindedly along the smooth surface of Bee's hood. The car purred under the ministrations of Sam's fingers, sending vibrations shooting up the adult's spine. Sam smiled, the first genuine smile to grace his lips since Chicago, and he wondered if smiling had always felt so damn good. It seemed as if it had been forever since he last felt even remotely happy.

"Hey, Bee?" he began, his voice strangely quiet. He felt as if he talked any longer, the wonderful feeling inside him would shatter; this image, this entire encounter would fade away. He couldn't let it disappear. Bee's engine roared in response.

"Are there any people here right now?" the human queried, going silent when Bee didn't respond instantaneously. He knew the alien was probably executing radar sensors throughout the entire vicinity.

"No, there are not. Why?" the alien finally responded.

Sam nodded and jumped off Bee's hood, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets as he swiveled around and looked at Bee's front bumper head on. "Would you mind transforming?"

The autobot didn't respond, and for a second or two, Sam thought maybe Bee wouldn't comply and he'd be left to stand there awkwardly with his hands in his pockets as he gawked at him, but then the tell-tale sound of shifting gears and whirring pewter plates made Sam look up. Bee was already in the first stages of transforming into his alt mode. Every single part of the alien fit together perfectly as parts moved and clunked into place. Where was once a parked car now stood a 16 foot tall colossal metal machine that stood erect amidst the backdrop of the night sky. Bee's massive hands were at his hips and he struck a gallant pose. Sam snickered.

"Lame," he jeered, finding it so much easier to just let the laughter drift through him. Bumblebee droned and shifted his faceplates, an aggravated expression clearly evident on his face, and fuck if that didn't amaze Sam even more. Bumblebee was probably the only autobot out of the entire lot that had the most emotive facial features he'd ever seen. The alien let out a cardinal whine, a kind of keen that strained through his speakers and sounded highly amalgamated in tone. It was a lot like the synthesized chirrups Bee used to make when his voice processors had still been defunct. Back then it had been his only form of communication besides the radio.

Sam was brought out of his brief spell when a large hand thudded on the ground in front of him. He stared down at the splayed digits, looking up to find Bee gazing at him rather intensely. It was sort of unnerving having that bright blue stare directed solely on him, but it wasn't anything he hadn't experienced before. Sam had been on the receiving end of that stare one too many times. He nodded once and gingerly climbed onto the appendage, wrapping his arms around a large finger as he was raised from the ground.

"You're sad." It was a statement, and suddenly Sam was dreading having to talk about anything.

"I don't know," he answered blithely, wrapping his arms tighter around Bee's finger when the autobot shifted and began lowering himself to the ground until he was seated amid the grass and Sam was pressed securely to his chest. The gleaming yellow metal thrummed beneath his skin, warm and alive and surreal, and he found himself pressing closer to it, letting his face lean against Bee's metal frame as he let his body sag beneath him. There was a comfortable silence that followed after, enveloping the both of them.

"Are you Googling it or something?" Sam spoke up, thunking his head against Bee's chest.

"I was, yes," Bee replied somewhat sheepishly. Sam looked up and found that the autobot was staring down at him with his massive head tilted. "Humans are rather difficult when it comes to emotions. There is such a large breadth to it that it is quite frustrating to know where to begin."

"That's because there are different levels," Sam responded, running his fingers through his hair. "We use one word to describe a general feeling, but most people aren't that general really. It can mean so many different things sometimes."

"So you are not merely sad I presume," Bee thought aloud.

Sam sighed. It was a loud and breathy one, exasperated. "Bingo."

"This Bingo is a game?" the autobot queried, the steady thrum and hum of his processors whirring to life. Sam merely shook his head, his shoulders shaking as he laughed softly to himself.

"You're laughing," Bee observed, craning his head lower so that it hovered just a foot away. "Yet you're still sad?"

Sam flinched and edged back, feeling unnerved at being studied so intimately. Sometimes Bee didn't have a sense of personal space, which was actually quite hilarious most times, but right now, it was like having God looming over you.

"Your species is a conundrum," Bee finally concluded, the fan of his internal processors going dim. It seemed he had given up trying to Google for knowledge.

"That we are," Sam agreed, a sad smile on his face. "We're kind of a burden aren't we?"

"Never a burden," Bee interjected. Blue eyes stared down at him, intense and vivid, the plates above his eyes lifted in sincerity. Sam's face flushed red and he found himself looking down at Bee's palm, eyes running over the many ridges and indents situated along the metalwork. Sam always wondered why Bee even bothered to stay with him, why he even bothered to protect him when the alien really didn't need to. Another Autobot would always be there for the job, or if not, he was sure a Government mandated agent surely would.

"Pfft, we're a really difficult species Bee," Sam huffed, twiddling his fingers. "You guys have seen it firsthand. We're assholes when it comes to the unknown."

"Not every human. I've read about your species concerning that topic. It's a natural human instinct," the autobot countered. "Many of you have proven valiant though—your soldiers, your comrades, even yourself."

Sam felt as if a thousand needles were suddenly pricking into his skin. He wrenched his head up and stared wide-eyed at Bee, suddenly at a loss for words. It felt as if Bee had dug underneath his skin and unveiled all the hidden turmoil that had accumulated within him. The autobot didn't even know how untrue his statement really was. Valiant? Him?

"Bullshit," he said before he could think. Bee hummed, winged doors shifting along his back. "That's a lie and you totally know it." There was a whirling inferno steadily building up inside him, Sam's mind swirling in a chaotic emotional whirlwind. He could feel his throat constricting, his temples throbbing with pressure as his eyes glossed over. He wasn't valiant; he was the farthest thing from it.

"Bee, I turned you guys away before," Sam started, not caring that his voice was hoarse or that his face was flushed a muddy red color. "You were my friend and I left you guys behind. I left you behind Bee. I went to go live my life elsewhere and I totally fucking forgot that shit—you're my best friend."

His breathing was ragged by now, chest heaving as the war inside him bubbled over and released through nearly every pore on his body. "To tell you the truth, these past couple of weeks haven't been good at all. I can't stop thinking about how I was this close to not being able to see you again Bee. Every night the only thing I ever thought about was you and I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am. I'm sorry for being such a shitty friend when all you've ever done is protect me. I'm sorry for acting like such an idiot and not realizing that I've only been taking you for granted. Shit, I tried to distance myself from you before; how can you say that I'm valiant? Me? I've only ever wanted a normal life, but it wasn't until now that I realize that that's a completely selfish wish and one I don't want anymore."

"You guys have proven time and time again that you've only ever wanted to be my friends, my protectors, and I used your friendship only when it benefitted me. What kind of friend does that? What kind of person am I?"

Sam heaved himself up, using Bee's finger as support as he stood on wobbly legs. He looked up at the autobot whose gaze had never faltered, still genuine and caring as it had always been. By this point in time, Sam's cheeks were coated in a thin layer of tears, not enough to reduce him to a blubbering mess of snot and mucus, but enough to make his cheeks shine with saline. His eyes were red veined and lidded, and it was only now that he felt incredibly tired. His whole body ached and throbbed.

" I just- I just really fucking love you Bee and I'm so, so sorry."

Sam went quiet after that, balling his fists at his sides as his shoulders shook. He blinked his tears away and swiped at the remaining layer of wetness on his face with his arm, sniffling as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. He was no longer crying, but with each breath he took, it felt like it was wracking through his body like his last. When his face no longer felt as if it were on fire, Sam hesitantly picked his head up; however, before he could even see the autobot's face, Sam was suddenly forced to clutch onto Bee's finger for dear life as he was lifted even higher.

He looked down at Bee's palm when the metal started to warm into a soothing temperature, his body warming up as it absorbed the heat, and then suddenly he felt something smooth and heavy on his head. When he looked up, he found that Bee's other hand had risen as well, fingers gently stroking the dense mass of curls that sat atop Sam's head. He couldn't believe a being this massive and menacing-looking could be this gentle, and soon he found himself leaning back into the feather-light touch, heated metal shifting through his hair and occasionally brushing across his skin.

"You think far too much," he heard Bee say from above him. "Over the years, I have had time to directly study mortal behavior and it continues to confuse me every day."

"Confuse?" Sam quipped, arms tightening around Bee's finger. "You guys are freaking robots with the internet at your fingertips. How can you be confused?"

"We are not faultless Sam," Bee went on, continuing to softly stroke and pet Sam's hair. "We have our flaws as well. Just look at Mudflap and Skids."

This actually made Sam bust out a laugh. "That's mean."

"It is true. They are annoying," the autobot grumbled, shaking his head. "But I'm going off tangent. I have come to know that humans thrive on making mistakes…"

Sam recoiled.

"…and also learning from them," Bee ended, silently scanning his charge's vitals. "Your species matures by making these errors, and in order to grow, humans learn from their faults. You have grown Sam."

"It's not an excuse though," Sam sighed, palming his temples. He couldn't believe he was being given a lesson on humanity from an extraterrestrial.

"No, it isn't," Bee responded soundly. "All the burdens you think you have are trivial, and you don't give yourself nearly enough credit. You have given me your friendship, have given me a home, and have fought alongside me in a war that should have never happened. A war that, yes, shouldn't have involved you, and though you were sometimes reluctant, time and time again you were always there alongside me. You have saved the world many times Sam Witwicky." Sam was lifted higher once more, to the point where he was sitting directly across from Bee's metal face, blinding blue optics pulsing.

"When we first met face to face, in the form that I am now, you had done something that no regular human would have done: you put your trust in me. You got in the car."

Sam froze, his rigid body nearly sagging against Bee's fingers. The heated metal palm underneath him throbbed.

"Your friendship means more to me than anything else Sam," the autobot continued, his fingers halting their ministrations on Sam's hair. "Your protection and well-being is my first priority and I would like to continue being by your side as long as you will allow me."

"Jesus Bee, you don't need my permission," Sam found himself saying, eager to stress that YES. Yes he would always, always want Bee right by his side forever and ever. "I want to live here again. I want to be with you, here, again."

"And Carly?"

Sam remained silent, gulping as images of Carly floated through his mind. He liked her, probably didn't love her as much as he had loved Mikaela, and he wanted to make sure she was safe and sound and happy, but right now she was the last thing on his mind. Bee was back and by his side and all he wanted to do was just be with him, even though he didn't know what that exactly connoted. There was something stirring inside him that was really, really starting to confuse him, but he could delve into that later.

"She can stay or go, whatever she wants. I just know I'm staying here."

Sam gasped when there was a loud whirring sound that signaled from below him. He peered over the autobot's large hand and craned his neck, eyes anchoring on Bee's chassis where a strange white light emanated through the metal grooves.

"You're glowing dude," Sam breathed, looking back at his friend.

"I'm aware," Bee returned. Sam cocked an eyebrow, once again peering over Bee's hand to take another look at the bizarre light. Maybe he should tell Ratchet to have a look at it. He picked himself up and stood straight, one arm draped lazily around one of the autobot's fingers.

"Sooo, how about a road trip to 'Frisco tomorrow?" Sam probed delicately, voice still a little shaky and scattered, clasping his hands behind his back. Bumblebee's eyes shined even brighter, if that could be possible. The autobot chirped in response and for the first time in a while, Sam smiled the most genuine smile he could muster.

It was going to take some time to get himself back to normal, and it wasn't going to be a cakewalk, but he knew if Bee was there beside him, he would be able to take on the world again.

Right now, he very much felt like he could do anything.

Fin.