Whistling in the Dark
Whistling in the Dark
Author: BlueLunacy7
Summary: Transformers Movie-verse AU, the Great War is over but neither the Autobots nor Decepticons emerge victorious. With the death of the last Prime, Sam Witwicky awakens in the past…with a chance to change the future.
Title: Whistling in the Dark
Author: BlueLunacy7
Chapter Warnings: Bad language, angst
Pairings: None at the moment but future Sam/Bee (of course)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of Transformers live action-movies, novels of said movies, Transformers: Exodus or Transformers Prime or any quotes or lyrics, or song titles in anyway, shape, or form. Basically, nothing you recognize is mine.
Author’s notes: Very brief glimpses of Sam’s life growing up.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Prime Directive 2: Past Forward
The future is all around us, waiting, in moments of transition, to be born in moments of revelation. No one knows the shape of that future or where it will take us. We know only that it is always born in pain. -Citizen G'kar, Babylon 5, "Z'ha'dum"
1990…
Judy had insisted that if she was going to have to stay in the hospital that Sam’s bassinet be kept in the same room with her. This show of parental concern meant nothing to Sam, who had spent the first few hours of his ‘life’ in a type of shock, thoroughly convinced that this all was a great mind fuck brought on by dark Energon and that he would soon wake up back in his tiny cell worse for wear. In reaction, he withdrew mentally, becoming passive, quiet, making no sound as he was fed and changed regularly. His listlessness distressed his parents so much that they had asked for the doctor to look him over again. The doctor found nothing physically wrong with him and seemed mildly put out at having to deal with parents who were complaining that their child wasn’t screaming for food and attention.
Everything changed later that night while Sam was lying in his bassinet, staring at the mobile dangling above him, trying not to think or sleep for fear that this was only a dream, afraid he would awaken to his nightmare once again. Distantly he noted that the people in the neighboring room were playing their radio loudly enough for him to hear but not to truly disturb him at least until one particular song came on. The station was a bit staticy but the melody and the vocalist came through clearly to Sam.
“Who's gonna drive you home….tonight?”
The sound of that soulful, crooning voice was like falling through the ice on a winter-frozen pond, shocking and painful. It was one of the first songs Bee had ever ‘sung’ to him, hinting that Sam should give his then-crush Mikaela a ride home from the lake. Those memories of innocence, untroubled times before everything had gone to hell shattered his safe cocoon of apathy, throwing him into a tempest of emotions as a feeling he hadn’t experienced in what felt like forever blazed to life so brightly he should have spontaneously combusted with it power: Hope. For the first time in so long he felt hope for the future. Bee, Optimus, Ratchet, Will, Mikaela, Seymour….he would see them all again, whole and alive, he had a chance to save everyone from a needless death or a dark Energon-tainted life. He could fix things-
‘But how?’ The cold voice of doubt whispered inside his mind, cutting through the hope burning inside him, ‘How can you save them when you couldn’t even save yourself?’
Dread suddenly gripped his heart in its icy fist so tightly he could barely breathe. If he actively changed things now, even little things, big events would probably play out differently later in ways he couldn’t predict and people would die. Hell, his even being here and knowing what he did changed things. If he tried to keep things on the same path, those big events might stay the same but there was no guarantee… How could he make the knowledge work for him without ruining everything, without making things worse if that was even possible?
A piece of memory suddenly came forward, Sentinel’s powerful voice echoing through his mind, “How doomed you are, Autobots. You simply fail to understand, that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few...”
Did he have the right to play God like that, to manipulate things for he thought was the benefit of others simply because he had the knowledge to do so? How could he be so arrogant to think he knew what was best for them? It would make him no better than Sentinel…but how could he live with himself if he didn’t use the knowledge he had? Thrashing his tiny body as frustration bubbled through him, he mentally wailed, ‘What do I do? How do save them?’ It was up to him, he was the only one who could do this. Devastating loneliness and misery settled its crushing weight on his mind as he realized that he was without Optimus, the Matrix or even Bee to look to for guidance, for help, that he was completely, utterly alone in this.
Maybe because he was physically a child but suddenly, it was all simply too much, too overwhelming that he began to cry, to howl his agony to the world. Why did it fall to him to save the world, alone? To fight the same war again, a war he had lost. To watch he all he had ever loved, and who ever loved him die, knowing it was his fault this time because he had this knowledge, because he wasn’t smart enough, because he wasn’t strong enough. ‘It’s not fair,’ he screamed inside his mind as he let out a screech of pure anguish, ‘It was over. I was done. I can’t do this again, I can’t. Please…not again, not again! It’s not fair! It’s not fucking fair slag it!’
“What’s wrong Sammie?” His mother’s soothing voice did nothing to interrupt his downward spiral as she picked him up out of his bassinet and held him close, “Its okay, I’ve got you. Shh… I’m sure it’s not bad as all that Shh...” She settled in the rocking chair her husband placed in the room and began to sing quietly; “Now it's time to say good night…Good night…”
With the calming sound of her voice, the comforting pulse of his mother’s heartbeat and in the warmth of her embrace, Sam’s grief and loneliness faded slightly as he began to slip into sleep, ‘Am I not supposed to have what I want? What I need? What am I supposed to do?’
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
1993…
The instinct born in all women the moment they become mothers awoke Judy before she could truly hear the faint sobs coming from Sam’s room. With an ease born from practice, she slid out from beneath the covers without disturbing her sleeping husband. Ron did try his best but for something like this, he was more of a hindrance than a help. She used the dim illumination from the nightlights she had in place so neither of them would trip over anything on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night to see as she hurried down the hall, the tile floor cool beneath her bare feet. She had just reached her son’s door when he began to wail.
‘God, not one of those.’ No parent should have to hear their child make such a sound, that keening wail so full of despair, misery and hopelessness. The sound made the hair on her neck stand up and her heart twist in her chest. Judy preferred the nightmares when Sam was drenched in sweat and screaming at the top of his lungs as he trashed as if fighting something off to the ones like this, where Sam whimpered in his sleep as he curled up into a trembling ball and cried as if his heart was broken.
“Sammie, wake up. You’re just dreaming. I’m here Sammie.” She sat on the edge of the bed and began stroking Sam’s hair soothingly, trying to awake him gently. Both she and Ron had learned the best way to wake him was gently; otherwise, he would unconsciously lash out at the one waking him while he was still trapped in the nightmare and Sam was very strong for someone his size, having broken Ron’s nose at one point.
Finally, the sobbing stopped; Sam’s voice was slurred and sleepy as his eyes fluttered opened. “M-mom?” Even in the dim light, those blue eyes were striking. She thought Sam had the prettiest eyes ever, even if she did have to put up with Milkman jokes because no one on Ron’s side had eyes like that.
“It’s okay,” Once she was sure he was awake, she took him into her arms and hugged him close, “I’ve got you; it was only a bad dream.”
“Sorry I woke you up.” Sam murmured as he wiped his eyes and tucked his head under her chin, hugging her back as he always did, not tightly but firmly as if afraid she would disappear if he didn’t hold on.
“It’s okay. You want to talk about it?” Rubbing his back in soothing circles, she inhaled the sweet scent of his hair, unsurprised when she felt him shake his head no. “Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?”
Another headshake and she could feel him begin to withdrawal, “You should go back to sleep. I’ll be okay.” He gave her a lopsided smile that was more heartbreaking than comforting as he nestled back under the covers. “After all, it was just a dream.”
“I don’t mind,” She replied as she tucked him in. Again, Sam shook his head, “Well, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” With a glance back at his small form, she quietly left and made her way silently back to her own room. She managed to get back into bed without disturbing Ron, but rather then going to sleep, she laid there in the semi-darkness with her husband’s warmth by her side, listening to him breathing as her mind wondered and worried.
It was a well-known fact that every mother in the world believed her baby was special but it wasn’t just a mother’s affection blinding her. For example, by the time they had left the hospital for home, Sammie had quite a vocabulary that included Mama, Daddy, Ron, Judy, (that he repeated when he wanted their attention and Mama/Daddy failed) nurse, doctor, up, down, hungry, sleepy, change, yes, no, and unfortunately, damn it.
That was something he had unfortunately picked up when Ron had dropped the baby carrier, (without Sam in it thankfully) on his foot.
As he grew, Sam made the child development books she been given by well-meaning relatives useless, learning faster than the books suggested was possible, at a pace that seemed almost miraculous at times. By 5 months old, he was not only speaking complete if short sentences, voicing an opinion of how he would like to dress, (“no more ducks please!”) choosing clothes in shades darker than what she would have chosen, he was starting to crawl. A fact she learned when she had left him for a moment on the play mat living room to answer the phone and came back to find the mat empty. Thankfully, it took only little searching for her to find him under the dining room table so she didn’t have a heart attack that day. Four months later, he was toddling and at 11 months, he was walking with a precision and grace that looked very strange on one so young.
The older he got, more idiosyncrasies surfaced. Many of the other mothers in the family would comment about how well behaved and polite her son he was, how he smart was. Judy was proud of her son, really she was, but there were things, little things that troubled her. He was unusually quiet for a child his age, unlike his cousins who seemed to babble nonsense constantly without stopping to breathe. When she did arrange play-dates with other children his age, he didn’t play with them but rather acted like a young man entertaining a young child. She and Ron had quickly learned to give him books rather than toys for he would leave them in their boxes un-played with.
However, he did have a several toy-cars he played with constantly and when he thought no one was around, he spoke to them in entire one side conversations, especially one yellow car with black stripes and what looked like a blue semi-truck with red flames. Talking to toys wasn’t unusual for kids his age and that sign of normal childlike play should have made her happy. God knew he was a solemn little guy, so quiet and watchful it was easy to forget he was in the room, not standoffish but introverted, reticent as if afraid to show more of himself to the world. Nevertheless, some of the subjects he spoke to them about were so odd. On one rare occasion, she had managed to eavesdrop on one of those ‘conversations’, the subject boggled her mind.
She had been in the kitchen washing dishes she had heard Sam start speaking in the other room, “A man travels back in time and kills his biological grandfather before the traveler's father was born, which resulted in the traveler's never being born so he couldn’t have traveled back in time and killed his grandfather in the first place. Meaning his grandfather would still be alive, and the traveler would have been born and able to travel back in time and kill his grandfather.”
There was a moment of silence before he continued, “Of course, you could also say the fact that the time traveler is alive in the present means that he failed to kill his grandfather, showing that past cannot change the present because its repercussions have already been felt.”
Judy abandoned her dishes to see whom Sam was talking too. Peeking around the corner, all she was her son at the dining room table, appearing to draw on one of the large coloring pads for kids with his crayons as he addressed his two favorite toys sitting on the table surface, “So why bother if nothing could be changed?”
He was quiet for a moment, deep in thought as he bit his bottom lip. Suddenly he smiled as he quickly made notes on his pad, “Because you would in effect create a splintered timeline. Okay, so a man travels back in time and killed his biological grandfather before the traveler's father was born, this would result in a timeline where the traveler's counterpart never exists but the traveler's prior existence in the original timeline is unchanged.”
“What do you guys think?” He looked at his toys before nodding, “Yeah sounds as good an explanation as anything else.”
At first, she had simply assumed he had been repeating something he had heard or had a vivid imagination. Now, she wasn’t so sure. There were times he would stare off into space….
‘Almost as if…’ She thought drowsily as she started drifting into sleep, ‘he’s seeing another world.’
As he listened to the sounds of his mother’s retreating footsteps, Sam laid there in the semi-darkness of his room, eyes wide opened as memories crawled around his mind, both bittersweet and painful, of people he had loved or hated, people he had lost or never had and people he’d left dead for both good and bad reasons. Not a day went by that he didn't reflect on the memories of his past that might one day be the future, working out every possible scenario, trying to determine what he could do to prevent the worse of it but his knowledge of the future was imperfect.
Human recall was faulty, memories fading with age. He had been old by human standards when he became Paradox Prime and memories were lost during the conversion from flesh to metal.
Once he heard the telltale click of his parents’ room door closing, he quietly crept out of bed and began systematically stretching every part of his body carefully. The day would come where his plans and counter-plans would needed, whether to be set in motion or revised once again, but until that day Sam would train his body the best he could to create the strength and speed he would need for the trials coming his way.
Most of the time, he found such workouts soothing, bringing to mind the training sessions with Sideswipe and later Prowl. At first, both had refused to train him and, strangely enough, citied the same reason-that the Cybertronian martial arts like Circuit-Su and Metallikato would take many vorns to master and that was time they didn’t have. Instead, Sideswipe taught the young Prime a simple, effective form of his fighting style. Prowl, however, turn out to be more stubborn, taking all of Sam’s stubbornness and determination to convince the ‘bot to teach him.
Tonight, however, the workout failed to chase away the bad thoughts and memories, instead bringing them to the surface: Prowl’s sacrifice and Darken Sideswipe. Add to that trying to adapt techniques culled from what he knew of Cybertronian martial arts into a unique fighting style for a fleshling body, Sam was far from calm instead becoming extremely frustrated. As his skin glisten with sweat and muscles burned, he could feel his frustration bubbling, boiling inside him.
When he pulled a muscle making the wrong move, his temper snapped. “Damn it!”
Crinch.
In the silence of the room, the high, crystalline report sounded as aloud as a rifle shot. Sam whirled around to face where the sound had come from; finding himself staring at the small hanging mirror his mother had placed on the wall. The glass of mirror was cracked and oddly. There was no point of impact as if something had hit it with the line of shattering spreading outward. Instead, it was cracked from top to bottom, the shattering running from side to side as the entire surface was covered with a web of delicate lines.
‘By the Allspark…how did that happen?’
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
1996…
‘Why do I get the feeling recess is more for the teachers than for the students?’ Sam watched from the top of the jungle gym as the other children ran around the playground, shrieking and laughing like a bunch of hyperactive little monsters. But then again, Sam wondered why anyone in his or her right mind would want to become a teacher in the first place.
Ms. Beauchamps certainly was a certifiable pain in the ass; she was always expressing concerned that he was ‘too precocious’ and couldn’t adequately explain why being intelligent was a bad thing, wanting him to ‘socialize’ more, going so far as to confiscate his books so he couldn’t read during recess. However, the other kids were sabotaging her plans, wanting nothing to do with the weird kid of the neighborhood even at the direction of an adult.
One of the most exasperating things about being a child again was that the adults around him had a tenancy to speak over him as if he was the dog and couldn’t understand what they were saying. However, it worked for his advance at times for if he stayed quite, Sam learned a great deal about how others saw him. He knew he made people feel uneasy just looking at them and that was his own fault because sometimes he slipped up and said things that scared people, things he shouldn’t have known, things that people didn’t others want know.
Of course, this ‘access to hidden knowledge’ lead one particular disturbed individual on his street to think he was the child of Satan, especially in combination with his eye color and the strange birthmarks. Ms. Spivey went so far as to throw balloon full of holy water on him while screeching “Be gone Demon!” Of course, Judy had taken exception to that and had tried to bitch slap Spivey to death before Sam interceded, giving the woman yet another reason to believe he was demon possessed for he was much stronger than any kid should be. The problem solved itself when she was sent to a very nice sanitarium up state.
‘Nobody wants to be friends with a freak, especially a smart freak.’ He thought as a slight breeze cooled the sweat on his skin as he adjusted his seating so the bar wasn’t digging so hard into his ass. It would also mean that he would miss the chance to start his friendship with Miles.
It was something he had always regretted, not being a better friend to Miles. After Mission City, he had been so focused on Mikaela and ignoring the strange feelings for Bee that had started blossoming even then that he had let their friendship dissolve. He never knew what had happen to his once friend after high school and had been afraid to find out later.
A high-pitched squeal of joy broke his thoughts. On the lower levels of the jungle gym, Miles was hanging up side down, giggling hysterically as his shirt covered his face. This was his chance, at this age kids were desperate for friends, especially during the first weeks of school. It would be so easy; all Sam had to do was climb down, introduce himself, and ask if Miles wanted to be friends.
Sam stayed where he was, moving his gaze away from another ghost of his past. It would be better this way, better for Miles, if he never became one of Sam’s friends, he’d never become a target for the Decepticons like Mikaela, Leo and Carly eventually became. ‘One less thing to worry about…’
“Hi!”
Startled, Sam looked down were the voice had come from. One level below where he was sitting was Miles, who was making his way up as Sam watched. Just as he got to the top most level with Sam, his hand slipped. He would have gone face first into one of the metal bars but Sam grabbed one of his shoulders to stabilize him, scolding lightly, “Careful.”
“Thanks.” Miles gave Sam a big smile that showed off a missing tooth, “Wanna be friends?”
A hundred different responses ran through his head, each one guaranteed to make Miles regret his offer and assure he would never make it again. Instead, Sam found himself smiling back and nodding, “Sure.”
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
2000…
Hacking into the database of Hotchkiss Gould Investments was harder than Sam thought it was going to be, no matter how he had upgraded his computer (and violated the warranty in a hundred different ways) human technology was fragging slow, at least in getting the good stuff like proof that the bastards were working with the Decepticons.
Right now, the information was nearly useless and dangerous to have but later he could use even a shred of proof to have the firm investigate by the would-be NEST. If he could find that proof, not only was the information very well hidden in encryptions and guarded by security measures that did not originate from earth, also he had to be very careful not to leave trail for any one (human or not) to follow.
In the original timeline, after the death of their CEO many of the higher-ups in Hotchkiss Gould Investments had decided to “Burn it down and salt the Earth” according to one of the few surviving shareholders that hadn’t opted for suicide rather than face trial for their crimes against humanity. Most of the records concerning their involvement with Decepticons had been destroyed, so Sam didn’t know when Dylan had betrayed his race. Right now, he could just be an heir to a business with a dark secret he didn’t know about.
As it was, Hotchkiss Gould Investments was simply too big, too powerful and as a result, was well beyond any really retribution that Sam wanted to dish out at the moment. He accepted that. However, it didn’t stop him from taking tiny little revenges against the company such as skimming the interest from the accounts of investors he knew had dealings with the Decepticons and manipulating the price of their stocks. Nothing big mind and he was careful, but it did make him feel better about not being able to do something about them now rather than later.
Most of the proceeds of his ventures were donated to various charities. However, some of the money did make it to an offshore bank account he had under the alias Ethan Shaw. While he wasn’t rich, he did have quite a bit of cash squirrel away for later, say when he needed to purchase a certain car. He just had to be very careful to the point of paranoia when he spent it as Sam; otherwise, it would raise uncomfortable questions though he got around this mostly by telling people that he ‘won’ a lot of online contests.
‘Hmmm…Dad’s birthday is coming up.’ Sam as he checked ‘Ethan’s’ account, ‘It wouldn’t hurt for him ‘win’ something nice…’
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
2003….
At first, when Sam had established the guise of ‘Agent X’ it was simply to make it appear to Sector Seven that a disgruntled ex-agent was taunting them by leaking information to several well-known conspiracy websites (nothing truly sensitive mind, but still enough to make Sector Seven uncomfortable). While S7 scrambled to deal with the leaks, Sam secretly accessed the special files like Project: Black Knife, Dark side and Ghost 1.
However as time went by he learned to his surprise that there was a schism within Sector Seven, between those who believed that all the ‘N.B.Es’ were monsters bent on destruction and those who thought there were some that could be allies, a side needless to say that he supported. Sam soon found himself not exactly correcting some of the misinformation but poking holes in flawed arguments and actually presenting his own point of view to Seymour-
‘Simmons!’ He snapped at himself mentally as his danced over the keys, ‘Think of him as Simmons!’ It was too dangerous right now to think of him as Seymour, as the man Sam came to respect in another lifetime. This wasn’t the same man he’d fought along side with against the Decepticons and he could not afford to forget that. This Simmons might never become the brave hero who had died so that others could live, not that it mattered really in the end.
Nevertheless, it was hard, so hard because he could see that man under Simmons’ rants and ravings about Sam’s leaking such sensitive information to the public.
Under all the paranoia, eccentricities and snark was a good man who wanted to do the right thing. He was also a stubborn ass, throwing everything he was into what he believed. That had been Sam’s mistake with Simmons the first time around. After dealing with Megatron, the experiments with the Cube, and seeing the devastation that Blackout had wreaked on Qatar, Simmons had no reason to believe that any of the transformers would be less than vicious. However once he had proof otherwise, he’d embraced the idea with the zeal of the newly converted when he was done pouting about being wrong.
Furthermore, Simmons was a smart man (he wasn’t chief agent of Sector Seven's Field Agents for nothing). His arguments against N.B.E were not just rantings of xenophobic mind but were well-written and well thought out objections. Sam had a suspicion that Simmons enjoyed these ‘conversations’ with Agent-X as much as he did, even though Simmons had most likely been ordered by his superiors to unmasked Agent X, not that Sam had any worries that he actually would. If his light flirting was any indication, he believed Sam to be female and to muddy the waters even more, Sam had created a female alias Miko Nakadai, so if Sector did manage to backtrack ‘Agent X,’ it would lead to a woman who didn’t exist.
As Sam began shifting through the latest data for something interesting, a file caught his eye. ‘Beagle Two Rover Transmissions. Didn’t that crash?’ Now curious, he opened the file. A somewhat pixilated video appeared, a bit blurry but watchable, of a field of sand and rocks that were shades of rust-red. Abruptly, a moving shadow darkened the scene as the view whipped around sharply as if absorbing a heavy blow. There was a brief but unmistakable glimpse of something large as the image then gave way to static.
Heart in his throat, he tapped a few keys to back the video up and freeze it; additional keystrokes refined the outline and then Sam took his shaking hands away from the keyboard lest he hit a wrong key as he stared at the image. The sun was at the figure’s back, casting deep shadows over the features but he knew that form, excitement and terror bubbling inside him. ‘Bee, Bee is on Mars.’ He glanced at calendar on the wall, ‘Four years. Four more years before all the pieces come together.’
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Prime Directive 1: Same as it Never Was: http://beexsam.livejournal.com/470260.html#cutid1
Author’s notes:
*Sighs* I live but I’m going to kill this chapter. I’m not really happy with it but I’ve re-written it so many times figured I’d go ahead a post it before it drove me crazy. Any suggestions would be appreciated.
Hopefully, the next chapter will be better.
Thank for reading.