FIC: Moments of Forgiveness (Human Series)
Moments of Forgiveness
By Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Bumblebee/Sam, Others
Rated NC-17
Summary: A continuation of the ‘human’ series, which are in order:
Forms of Life
Too Human
Experiments in Human Nature
Public Education
Knee-Jerk Reaction
Nervous System Hypothesis
Different Applications of Moral Support
This Body Electric
The Unconscious Mind
Subliminal Messages
Greeks Bearing Gifts
In a Dark Ruby Stain
Interruptions in the Key of C
Half to Rise, Half to Fall
Also the AU Attention Getting Device
Notes: Hey, I did it! Sat down and finally finished this segment. Enjoy!
~~*~~
Waking up to suckage was starting to get to be a very bad habit and one that Sam would be very happy to break. It couldn't have been more than an hour since the last time he'd been rudely awakened by angry shouts. This time it was to Ratchet's dour face and a steaming bowl of soup that smelled less than appealing, like it was cream of dirty socks or something.
It was almost a relief that Ratchet didn't offer it to him, instead setting the tray, absurdly small in his enormous hand, on the little table next to the bed.
His relief was short-lived. "You need to eat something but I'd like to run a scan on you first. Just hold still for a moment."
"Yeah, sure," Sam mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. The bed next to him was conspicuously empty, not even a hint of warmth to the sheets. It made him wonder just how implied Ratchet's permission had been for Bee's little afternoon delight.
The sweeping red light of Ratchet's scanner flared gently over him and Sam fought the urge to squirm. Now that he'd had almost too much sleep, he was more than ready to get the hell out of here and back into the real world.
"Ratchet, I don't think I can stay here anymore. This is going to drive me nuts."
"You haven't been conscious long enough to be stir crazy."
"I'm serious, I am so over this, Ratchet!" Sam exclaimed. "Can't I go back to my own place, at least?"
Ratchet didn't even look up. "No."
"Oh, come on!"
"You can't go back to your quarters because I know exactly what you will do," Ratchet said tersely. "You will disobey every order I give you because you have no motivation to obey them. You will do something foolish, overexert yourself, and you will end up back here and I will have to begin the tedious project of overseeing your recovery once again. So, the answer is no!" He ended sharply as Sam opened his mouth to protest.
"If you're so concerned about me overexerting myself, why did you turn Bee's holographic...uh...thing back on?" Because even if he hadn't given Bumblebee permission for any hands on activities, he had to have known what Bee would do. It wasn't like any great mystery of the universe. He might as well have just left a tube of KY in the side table.
"Bumblebee is foolish, inconsiderate, and careless where his own health is concerned. Your health, on the other hand, he would never consider risking. It also does him some good to have contact with you. His short term memory processors aren't recovering as quickly as I would like and the stimulation is good for them."
A chill went through Sam. "Wha--his memory is messed up?"
It was beyond disconcerting to see Ratchet immediately switch from grouchy and obstinate to gently soothing. "That isn't at all what I said. It's difficult for me to describe this in terms you will understand." He considered it for a long moment. "We have numerous processors for a variety of functions and when one is damaged, another takes over its duties until such a time as repairs can be made. At the moment, I am allowing his internal repair functions to handle it because replacing them is a very invasive procedure and I would like to avoid it if at all possible. Consider it similar to organ transplanting but without the human possibility of rejection."
"Okay," Sam said numbly, sitting with his hands loose in his lap, his fingers twisting into the rough cotton hospital sheets. White against his hands, pale crisp cotton broken by the red flare of Ratchet's scanner as it continued on its path, and a flash of memory flittered in front of Sam's eyes, of Sunstreaker, wet darkness creeping down his face, dripping onto the yellow of Bee's armoring.
"How's Sunstreaker?" Sam asked, belatedly. He was sure they'd have told him if Sunstreaker had died or something. Pretty sure, anyway. Still, considering that he'd saved Bumblebee, hurting himself pretty badly in the process, it seemed like a good thing to ask about him.
"Cranky," Ratchet said dryly, his optics flickering in a way that was probably the Autobot version of an eye roll. It made him remember the argument earlier, staticky words that he'd sort of understood but--
"You seem to be recovering expeditiously," Ratchet announced, stepping back with the faint hum of hydraulics as he poked buttons on his arm, studying whatever readings his scanner had given him.
"Does that mean I'm getting better?"
"You're fine." Much to his dismay, Ratchet finished whatever he was doing and picked up the tray again, depositing it firmly on Sam's lap. "I'll make you a deal. If you can eat properly today and demonstrate your mobility in terms of avoiding a bedpan, I will allow you to return to your own quarters. Provided that Bumblebee and your mother check in on you frequently."
"Sounds like a plan," Sam agreed hastily. Stuck in bed with Bumblebee...and his mom. Suddenly, moving to his quarters didn't sound quite as appealing as it had before.
He fished the spoon out of the soup anyway and licked the handle clean, making a face at the taste. "It would be easier to eat properly if this soup wasn't so disgusting."
"Do you see a chef's hat on my head?" Ratchet asked mildly. "You'll have to complain to the supply sergeant if the quality is lacking. All I do is open the can and use an infrared beam to warm it."
Sam paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. "You're feeding me radiated soup?"
"Of course not. Do you have any idea how much extra work that would involve for me? Now eat."
Another half pause to consider the effects of radiated soup on human beings, brief thoughts leaning in the direction of the Hulk, before Sam shrugged and started eating again. At least if he was enormous and green he'd be on a level playing field with giant robots.
Weirder was Ratchet standing there and watching him eat. Apparently table manners weren't something that a species who didn't eat would find important. "Your father will be here soon," Ratchet observed. "It's almost time for his shift to begin."
"Mm," Sam mumbled, sucking sock-flavored soup off his spoon. Yeah, a long chat with his father was just what he needed. That would help with the digestion.
As if just thinking about him was enough to summon him forth like a middle-aged balding genie with ugly sandals, Sam's dad stepped into the doorway, hands buried deep in the pockets of his khaki shorts.
"Knock, knock," he said, his eyes on Ratchet.
"Mr. Witwicky," Ratchet replied, ever cordial so long as he wasn't talking to Sam. "I'm sure you'll be glad to know he's doing much better."
"He'd have to be after last week," his dad grumbled, cementing his kinship to Ratchet as a grumpy old curmudgeon. He still hadn't looked at Sam, who had quietly set his spoon into his bowl and pushed the tray aside. His appetite had fled at the first mention of his dad. The memory of his anger -- perfectly righteous anger, Sam had deserved every word of it, he knew -- but still, he was young enough that parental disapproval cut far deeper than any other could.
"True," Ratchet conceded, then went out of his way to prove the theory of life being unfair by adding. "I'm sure you and Sam have a great deal you'd like to discuss, I'll just leave you to it."
It was sort of amazing how having several tons of machinery leaving the room didn't seem to empty it. Instead, the very air between them seemed heavy, pregnant with words that hadn't been spoken and ones that had, and Sam couldn't think of a thing to say. Giant alien robots, dad, and oh, yeah, sort of gay for one, too, might want to kiss those dreams about grandkids goodbye. Oh, and did I mention those other alien robots that might be trying to kill you, wouldn't want to forget that detail--
Somehow, there didn't seem to be enough words in the English language to express all that.
His father hadn't moved from the doorway, hands still in his pockets as he studied the floor.
"Dad-" Sam started, choking a little on the words and he wished Bumblebee were there even if it made him a wuss for needing the support.
His father interrupted with a loud, world-weary sigh. "Son, there are times I wish I'd just sprung for the Porsche."
Just like that the tension evaporated. Laughter welled inside him like a leak had sprung and he was giggling helplessly, almost a sob, and Sam could feel he was shaking a little, maybe not quite as well as he'd tried to convince Ratchet. His father's answering chuckle was remarkably soothing and when he stepped into the room, close enough to ruffle Sam's hair the same way he'd done it since Sam was old enough to have hair, he knew it was all right. His mom might have needed to share some verbal bonding but a dad was one who just needed a little roughhousing.
"All right, kid, I've taken the ten-cent tour of this place enough times to know my way around. Ratchet said you might be able to go mobile today. Let's get you into your own bed. God knows you have to have better sheets than this place."
~~*~~
Somehow, getting out of the infirmary was a lot easier with his dad on his side of the escape party. Years of middle management had taught Ron Witwicky how to bulldoze his way through all obstacles, be they vegetable, mineral, or robotic, and he had soon commandeered a wheelchair and Ratchet's impatient voice was chasing them out the door.
It was a different experience to trek across the compound in a wheelchair and even the small amount of gravel made him grateful that most of Autobot City was paved. Surprising how lying around in bed for a week made a person pretty damned sore and every jarring bump brought those aches into sharp relief.
He drew the line at his father helping him into bed though. How he was supposed to get better if he was never allowed to do anything? It wasn't like he'd had a lot of muscle mass before, considering that the only exercise he got lately was from running for his life. At the very least he was capable of transferring himself a foot and a half from a chair to a bed.
His dad proved he was at the limit of his helpfulness by saying, "Get some rest. Your mom will come in a couple hours to check on you."
"What about--" Bumblebee, he almost said, biting it back at the last second because, okay, his parents knew, he knew they knew, but he wasn't quite sure he was ready to talk about it just yet. It was less about the alien robot boyfriend thing and more about the fact that there was a boyfriend at all. "Never mind," Sam mumbled, settling back into the pillows.
Unfortunately, his dad had never been as stupid as Sam had wished he was. "Your car is going to be here later. Ratchet said something about calibration." Ron frowned a little, tugging up the blanket over Sam's shoulders even though the room was warm. "Actually, he said a lot about calibration and some of the words he used would have given your mother a stroke if she'd heard them. Wish I knew what website he learned those from."
"Bumblebee has a flair for creative swearing, too," Sam ventured. Even if he wasn't willing to open the door on this conversation just yet, it didn't hurt to crack it open enough to peer outside.
His father gave him an answering smile and if it was a little tight around the edges, neither of them commented on it. "I'll bet. Get some sleep, kiddo."
"Sure thing. Night, dad." Sam flopped over, cramming his pillow under his head as his father slipped out the door. A little nap and Bumblebee would probably be here soon, and maybe there would be a little bit of fooling around of the slightly kinky variety, if Bee could be trusted enough to keep track of his mom, anyway. A little sleep and a little sex, all a guy needed for contentment.
Abruptly, his stomach rumbled noisily, calling outward to all things edible and tasty. All it'd had to eat was the sweaty sock soup and it was announcing its displeasure about that to anyone in a twenty foot radius. Okay, so maybe there was at least one other thing a guy needed. Sam sighed loudly and sat up, considering. It could be hours before his mom or Bumblebee showed up and how was he supposed to sleep when he was starving? Ratchet himself had wanted him to eat more. It wasn't like this place had room service.
That only meant one thing. He'd have to go get it himself. Ratchet hadn’t specifically ordered him to stay in bed, and besides, he'd said himself that he fully expected Sam to disobey any orders, anyway. How could he get mad when Sam only proved him right?
Gingerly, Sam pushed himself to his feet, feeling a little wobbly and sore but on the whole, not so bad. Certainly not like he'd needed the wheelchair earlier to make the short trek to his quarters but in that case, it hadn't been worth arguing. Covert operations to the canteen needed to be sans wheels, unless you'd been born with them.
A quick sandwich and then back to bed, he decided, skinning quickly into jeans and a t-shirt, tying his shoes. That was the plan.
The sun was just slipping past the horizon as he sneaked outside, closing the door carefully behind him like the entire city would hear it shut, and turned around to immediately plow into a man walking past his quarters.
"Ooof," Sam grunted, stumbling to a stop. Soldiers here must be made tough, that had been remarkably similar to walking into a brick wall. A brick wall on steroids.
"You all right, Sam?" Familiar voice and Sam blinked, looking up into an unfamiliar crew-cut head.
"Ironhide?" Sam asked, hesitantly. A rather hideous grin spread over that broad face.
"Yeah, it's me. Not bad, eh?" He made a gesture that managed to indicate his entire body and head.
"Yeah," Sam agreed, staring. Good god, it was like looking at the birth of the word ugly. Like Ironhide had found pictures of all the toughest, ugliest humans that had ever lived and had made a sort of holographic Voltron of ugliness out of them.
Ironhide was beaming at him in stunning unattractiveness and pride.
"It's great," Sam told him promptly. Knowing Ironhide, this was just the sort of look he was going for. If he wanted flowers to collapse in his passing, he'd certainly succeeded.
"I hadn't heard you'd been released," Ironhide said, tilting his head curiously. Just wonderful. File this little escape plan on the very opposite side of covert.
"Yeah, yeah, just today," Sam hedged, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.
Suddenly, getting food seemed like a bad idea. Like everyone there wouldn't know exactly who he was? Ratchet would know he was out of bed in ten seconds. Asking Ironhide was out, he'd want to know why Sam couldn't do it himself.
Inspiration struck. "Hey, do you have any idea where Sideswipe is?" Sideswipe would nab him some food and he probably wouldn't tattle on him.
"Probably in his berth. He's off active duty until Sunstreaker gets his act together."
"That sucks." It did. Sideswipe was probably going nuts.
"Say it again," Ironhide said agreeably. "It's the third building that way."
Sam thanked him and made a hasty exit before he saw anyone else who wanted to stop and chat. Like Mikaela or his mom, or geez, maybe even Ratchet although he seemed to stay pretty close to the infirmary. Better to not take chances.
The third building that way turned out to be a small, squat little thing that looked more like a warehouse than living quarters. Then again, Autobots often spent a great deal of time in the shape of a car, maybe being housed in a garage was preferable? It wasn't like they had a CD collection to haul around.
There was a human sized door on one side and a much larger garage-style door on another, both closed. Sam decided on the one that was more his height and a light touch on the knob revealed that it wasn't locked. He pushed it open a little, poking his head inside. "Sideswipe?"
"Look who's stopped in for a visit." Cool, silken voice rose from the shadows. Sam instinctively took a half-step backwards, the unpleasant associations with that voice almost enough to make him forget hunger.
His more rational mind pushed against it, demanding sustenance. He hesitated at the doorway, squinting against the shadows enough to see a figure in the darkness, no, two, one undeniably human and the other lower to the ground, gleaming a rich yellow. Sunstreaker in both of his forms. "What are you doing here?"
"Yes, I am fine, thank you. Recovering quite well from my ordeal."
Sam ground his teeth and reminded himself that Bumblebee was only here because of this jackass.
"Good to hear it," Sam said, striving for politeness. "Ratchet said you were doing all right." He'd also said something about Sunstreaker being cranky but it seemed churlish to point that out.
"I'm sure he did," There was a wealth of dryness to Sunstreaker's tone, Sahara-like proportions of it. "I'm delighted to hear that he's sharing information about me with the underlings."
Underlings? Jesus, he'd heard better jibes in a George Lucas script. "You realize that you sound like a vaudeville villain when you talk like that, don't you."
That earned him a blank look. "Vaude--" Sunstreaker broke off, his eyes flicking to the right in that way that Sam had come to associate with Autobots accessing their wifi. It was sort of interesting the way they did it both as robots and holograms.
He'd never noticed the faint glow in any of their eyes before though, the softest sheen of blue shining out of the dimness. Sam couldn't recall if he'd ever seen Bumblebee access his wifi in the dark before, maybe it was--
The glow flared briefly and then vanished, Sunstreaker's eyes cutting back to meet his. "Mm, vaudeville, yes. So am I in the freakshow or perhaps just a male impersonator?"
Sam realized he'd stepped further inside without paying attention to it. He was close enough now to see Sunstreaker was sitting on his own hood, legs curled so that one was beneath him, the other drawn up so he could rest his chin on his knee. His face, so much like Sideswipe's but it was the eyes that held the difference, none of the easy warmth that Sideswipe exuded.
"Look, I didn't come here to argue with you--"
"I doubt you came here for me at all."
"--but I really wanted to thank you for helping Bee," Sam gritted out, doggedly. If he could get the gratitude out of the way then his own conscience would be clear and free. Then he might just forgo a sandwich and head back to bed. Suddenly, he felt pretty damned tired again.
Sunstreaker looked at him for a long moment, his head tipped to the side so that his long, dark hair fell over his shoulder, dangling down so that the tips brushed his hood. Black against yellow...like Bumblebee. Except not like him at all.
"Do you really want to thank me?" Sunstreaker asked, so softly.
"Yes..." Warily.
A faint smile, nothing like sweetness in it. "You could give me a kiss."
"You-"
"It's only a kiss." Softly mocking, that little smile widening. Sam had been wrong, nothing about this fucker resembled Sideswipe, nothing at all.
"You're just an asshole all the way around, aren't you."
"Strange, I'd heard that humans honored their debts." Sunstreaker said smoothly. "My mistake."
It was done to deliberately prick at Sam's pride, Sunstreaker unsurprisingly adept at finding just the right chink in armor to shove in a laser knife. Deliberately done, yes, but it didn’t mean he wasn't right. Sam chewed on his lower lip, hardly daring to consider that he was actually thinking--
Dark fluid sliding down metallic cheeks, dripping onto the bright yellow of Bumblebee's armor, blood, so much blood.
"If I...do...this," Sam stumbled over the words, not even wanting to think about the one that started with a K. "Will you call us even? And not say anything to Bumblebee...or anybody...or...or record it, or send it wifi or--"
"It will never leave this room, I swear it." Darkly solemn.
"Deal," Sam said, lips barely forming the words. He could feel the tremor in his hands, overexertion maybe, like Ratchet had said.
In one fluid movement, Sunstreaker slid off the hood to the ground, bare feet padding silently over to where Sam was standing, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. A little taller than him, like Sideswipe, like Bumblebee, and didn't it suck to be a short human in this place.
Cold hands cupped his cheeks, tipping his head up. Sunstreaker leaned in, their faces almost touching. So close that Sam could see the unnatural smoothness to his skin, porcelain-pale and nowhere near as fragile.
"Relax," Sunstreaker breathed softly, almost into his mouth. "I'll consider a poor attempt to be a forfeit of our bargain."
Sam took a shuddering breath and let it out, closing his eyes. He didn't think of Bumblebee, not a chance. Trying to pretend Sunstreaker was Bee seemed like the worst kind of betrayal. He tried not to think of anything, just leaned up and let his lips touch the ones above him.
Barely touch, lightest butterfly brush against him for the first moment, fear pushing adrenaline into his bloodstream making him part his lips recklessly, pressing his tongue into Sunstreaker's mouth before he could take the lead.
Soft noise of surprise from deep in Sunstreaker's throat and suddenly arms like steel were around him, too-tight grip and hard lips moving brutally against his own.
His mouth was cold, icy wet, and made delirious thoughts of Mikaela's ice cream cold lips but the taste...Bumblebee was hot, electric purple and this was a wintry indigo, felt sharp enough to cut the inside of his mouth. The sudden blossom of coppery warmth made his dimly believe that it had, technicolor wash of flavors in one simple kiss.
It took him a moment to realize his hands had knotted themselves into Sunstreaker's hair, cold strands tangled in his fingers and he was pulling Sunstreaker against him, wanting it harder, wanting more, wanting, oh, please--
"Please," he whimpered, a choked sound.
Sunstreaker was the one who pulled away, almost wrestling himself from Sam's grip, eyes wide as he looked down at Sam.
Sam felt...used. Lips sore and swollen, panting in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. Hotness in his cheeks, humiliation rising, and was there a way out of this, could there be?
Startled when strong hands caught the front of his shirt, swinging him around and pushed him backwards, Sam stumbling along until the backs of his knees hit Sunstreaker's front bumper and folded under him. Sunstreaker followed him down, his mouth shades too cold and hard enough to bruise. One knee insinuated itself between Sam's legs, pressing into the firmness of his crotch.
"Wait..." Sam moaned, barely recognizing his own voice and what was wrong with him. "Wait...I don't...I don't even like you!"
"I know," Wetly against his mouth, the slick rub of a tongue over his lips before Sunstreaker pulled away enough to smile at him, glass-sharp. "But I can be very persuasive."
Sam wasn't even sure how his pants came to be open, only that a cold hand was suddenly surrounding his cock, the icy bite making him gasp. His other hand was tight around one of Sam's wrists, holding him down like Sam might struggle, like he should struggle. The thought of it vanished when a cool thumb rubbed hard over the head of his cock, sliding easy through the sudden, wet rush of pre-come.
Sunstreaker's tongue was painting damp lines down his face, his voice rasping out harsh, staticky words and somehow Sam knew he'd just called him something like beautiful, not quite, but something--
"Sunstreaker, let him go." Sharply, from somewhere behind them. Sam knew that voice, he knew it. Couldn't focus on anything but that stroking hand, tightening and loosening with sweet preciseness, hard weight pressing him into the warming metal beneath him.
Sunstreaker didn't look back, his gaze avid on Sam's face, watching him. His thumb swept lightly over Sam's wrist, resting lightly on his pulse. "No."
Sam let out a moan that was nearly a sob, trying to arch up, Sunstreaker's weight holding him down. Close, so, so close.
"Sunstreaker, enough! You promised me you'd leave him alone!"
Sharp laugh, gust of cool breath against Sam's hot cheeks. "He wants it. He knows it's me and he wants it. We never made any promises about that."
"He wants it but that doesn't mean he wants it from you. Let him go." Sideswipe's voice-- Sideswipe, it was Sideswipe, God,-- filled with scorn of the like Sam had never heard from him, brittle cold. "You're raping him. Is that what you really want?"
His hand stilled, ignoring Sam's cry of protest.
Sideswipe was next to them, gently drawing Sunstreaker's hand out of Sam's pants and holding it between his own. Sam could smell his own sex, thick in the air. "Let him go."
"I want him," Sunstreaker said, his voice mod raspy, desperate.
"I know," Sideswipe said, soothing. "Let him go, anyway."
Fever-bright eyes and for a moment, Sam truly believed he wouldn't. That Sunstreaker would just flip him over and fuck him right here on the smooth coolness of his own hood and oh, god, he wanted him to, arching his hips up in helpless little movements, encouraging.
Every little writhe was glittering in Sunstreaker's eyes, the hard pressure of his hand around Sam's wrist tightening into pain and sudden, white-hot agony seared through Sam's arm, hitting him like an iceberg. His scream was choked but Sunstreaker let him go as if his skin had begun leaking acid, backing away with his hands raised pleadingly.
"Sam, get out of here." Sideswipe didn't look at him, his gaze locked on his brother.
It was difficult to do, cradling his injured wrist with his other arm. He slid off the hood, knees almost buckling under him and if he'd collapsed Sam wasn't sure what would have happened. He managed to stay upright, staggering towards the door, his opened pants sliding awkwardly down his hips. It felt like insanity was leaking out of him, leaving cold reality in its wake and Sam could barely even conceive of what he'd been doing. It was like being on some kind of drug or a hallucination, the need of it, and he hadn't even cared if it was someone he hated.
Sunstreaker hadn't moved, clenched his hands into fists and didn't try to stop him. Just before the door closed behind him, Sam heard the sound of transformation, of metal screeching against metal.
"Come on, Sam, I have you," Sideswipe's voice directly next to him, gentle hands on his shoulders.
Sam startled violently, the fresh surge of adrenaline finally too much for his system.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Sam said clearly, and promptly did so. Sideswipe held him gently, his expression betraying no emotion about this very human activity. Long moments passed before he stopped heaving, the pavement hard beneath his knees.
"We need to get you to the infirmary," Sideswipe said.
"Yeah," Sam wiped his mouth with the back of the hand that wasn't currently screaming with pain. "I bet Ratchet will be happy to see me."
Sideswipe didn't respond to that feeble joke, only helped Sam get to his feet, careful to not jar his hurt arm as he tugged Sam's pants up and fastened them. They needed to go, his wrist was sending out hot pulses of pain but Sam didn't move, the enormity of all this was swarming in, horrifying enough to make black dots waver in his vision.
"God, what did I do?" Sam whispered.
"It's not your fault, Sam," Sideswipe's grip had taken on a bit of urgency, tugging him forward a step, then another, until Sam finally started walking on his own.
"Then whose fault is it?" he snapped out.
"I..." Sideswipe fell silent, matching his steps to Sam's faltering ones. "Perhaps this isn't the best time to be discussing this."
"No, it helps." Sam licked his upper lip, tasted the sweat beading there. "Distracting."
"Sunstreaker is...fractured, I suppose would be the word for it. It's difficult for me to explain."
"He's mental, is what you're saying."
"No, I...I'm not explaining it well. We're two sides of the same coin. Positive and negative energy...attract each other." Sideswipe stumbled--no, flickered. There was no better way to describe it and they both nearly fell.
"Are you all right?"
Pale, almost faded, "Yes, I'm fine."
Realization dawned. "You...you're with him, too, aren’t you."
"He needs me."
"Bullshit. What's he doing to you?"
Wan smile. "Nothing that he hasn't done before."
He could see the infirmary now, the glow of light in the windows further reinforced his belief that Autobots didn't sleep. Certainly Ratchet didn't.
"I can't go any further, Sam," The barest wisp of voice and Sam looked at Sideswipe, could see the outline of buildings through him.
"Tell Ratchet--" Sideswipe hesitated and Sam suddenly knew what Sideswipe wanted him to say, what he wouldn't ask.
"I won't tell him," Sam said, softly, "It wasn't...it wasn't all Sunstreaker's fault." Not by a long shot, not when Sam had been trying to shove his tongue down his throat. You couldn't expect anyone, human or Autobot, to get 'no' out of that. He couldn't think about that now, shoved the memory of his own reaction completely out of his head. Later, when agony wasn't first and foremost in his brain.
He saw the doubt on Sideswipe's face before he faded completely and the faint screaming sound of metal against metal had to be Sam's imagination, he was way too far away to hear what was going on in that too-small room. He hoped.
The stairs seemed almost too much to climb, but Sam managed it, steeling himself for Ratchet's reaction. Not even half a day out of here and he was right back, with all new injuries and pain.
He liked it a lot better when he only came to the infirmary for information, that was fucking well for sure.
-finis-
Read Next Chapter
By Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Bumblebee/Sam, Others
Rated NC-17
Summary: A continuation of the ‘human’ series, which are in order:
Forms of Life
Too Human
Experiments in Human Nature
Public Education
Knee-Jerk Reaction
Nervous System Hypothesis
Different Applications of Moral Support
This Body Electric
The Unconscious Mind
Subliminal Messages
Greeks Bearing Gifts
In a Dark Ruby Stain
Interruptions in the Key of C
Half to Rise, Half to Fall
Also the AU Attention Getting Device
Notes: Hey, I did it! Sat down and finally finished this segment. Enjoy!
~~*~~
Waking up to suckage was starting to get to be a very bad habit and one that Sam would be very happy to break. It couldn't have been more than an hour since the last time he'd been rudely awakened by angry shouts. This time it was to Ratchet's dour face and a steaming bowl of soup that smelled less than appealing, like it was cream of dirty socks or something.
It was almost a relief that Ratchet didn't offer it to him, instead setting the tray, absurdly small in his enormous hand, on the little table next to the bed.
His relief was short-lived. "You need to eat something but I'd like to run a scan on you first. Just hold still for a moment."
"Yeah, sure," Sam mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. The bed next to him was conspicuously empty, not even a hint of warmth to the sheets. It made him wonder just how implied Ratchet's permission had been for Bee's little afternoon delight.
The sweeping red light of Ratchet's scanner flared gently over him and Sam fought the urge to squirm. Now that he'd had almost too much sleep, he was more than ready to get the hell out of here and back into the real world.
"Ratchet, I don't think I can stay here anymore. This is going to drive me nuts."
"You haven't been conscious long enough to be stir crazy."
"I'm serious, I am so over this, Ratchet!" Sam exclaimed. "Can't I go back to my own place, at least?"
Ratchet didn't even look up. "No."
"Oh, come on!"
"You can't go back to your quarters because I know exactly what you will do," Ratchet said tersely. "You will disobey every order I give you because you have no motivation to obey them. You will do something foolish, overexert yourself, and you will end up back here and I will have to begin the tedious project of overseeing your recovery once again. So, the answer is no!" He ended sharply as Sam opened his mouth to protest.
"If you're so concerned about me overexerting myself, why did you turn Bee's holographic...uh...thing back on?" Because even if he hadn't given Bumblebee permission for any hands on activities, he had to have known what Bee would do. It wasn't like any great mystery of the universe. He might as well have just left a tube of KY in the side table.
"Bumblebee is foolish, inconsiderate, and careless where his own health is concerned. Your health, on the other hand, he would never consider risking. It also does him some good to have contact with you. His short term memory processors aren't recovering as quickly as I would like and the stimulation is good for them."
A chill went through Sam. "Wha--his memory is messed up?"
It was beyond disconcerting to see Ratchet immediately switch from grouchy and obstinate to gently soothing. "That isn't at all what I said. It's difficult for me to describe this in terms you will understand." He considered it for a long moment. "We have numerous processors for a variety of functions and when one is damaged, another takes over its duties until such a time as repairs can be made. At the moment, I am allowing his internal repair functions to handle it because replacing them is a very invasive procedure and I would like to avoid it if at all possible. Consider it similar to organ transplanting but without the human possibility of rejection."
"Okay," Sam said numbly, sitting with his hands loose in his lap, his fingers twisting into the rough cotton hospital sheets. White against his hands, pale crisp cotton broken by the red flare of Ratchet's scanner as it continued on its path, and a flash of memory flittered in front of Sam's eyes, of Sunstreaker, wet darkness creeping down his face, dripping onto the yellow of Bee's armoring.
"How's Sunstreaker?" Sam asked, belatedly. He was sure they'd have told him if Sunstreaker had died or something. Pretty sure, anyway. Still, considering that he'd saved Bumblebee, hurting himself pretty badly in the process, it seemed like a good thing to ask about him.
"Cranky," Ratchet said dryly, his optics flickering in a way that was probably the Autobot version of an eye roll. It made him remember the argument earlier, staticky words that he'd sort of understood but--
"You seem to be recovering expeditiously," Ratchet announced, stepping back with the faint hum of hydraulics as he poked buttons on his arm, studying whatever readings his scanner had given him.
"Does that mean I'm getting better?"
"You're fine." Much to his dismay, Ratchet finished whatever he was doing and picked up the tray again, depositing it firmly on Sam's lap. "I'll make you a deal. If you can eat properly today and demonstrate your mobility in terms of avoiding a bedpan, I will allow you to return to your own quarters. Provided that Bumblebee and your mother check in on you frequently."
"Sounds like a plan," Sam agreed hastily. Stuck in bed with Bumblebee...and his mom. Suddenly, moving to his quarters didn't sound quite as appealing as it had before.
He fished the spoon out of the soup anyway and licked the handle clean, making a face at the taste. "It would be easier to eat properly if this soup wasn't so disgusting."
"Do you see a chef's hat on my head?" Ratchet asked mildly. "You'll have to complain to the supply sergeant if the quality is lacking. All I do is open the can and use an infrared beam to warm it."
Sam paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. "You're feeding me radiated soup?"
"Of course not. Do you have any idea how much extra work that would involve for me? Now eat."
Another half pause to consider the effects of radiated soup on human beings, brief thoughts leaning in the direction of the Hulk, before Sam shrugged and started eating again. At least if he was enormous and green he'd be on a level playing field with giant robots.
Weirder was Ratchet standing there and watching him eat. Apparently table manners weren't something that a species who didn't eat would find important. "Your father will be here soon," Ratchet observed. "It's almost time for his shift to begin."
"Mm," Sam mumbled, sucking sock-flavored soup off his spoon. Yeah, a long chat with his father was just what he needed. That would help with the digestion.
As if just thinking about him was enough to summon him forth like a middle-aged balding genie with ugly sandals, Sam's dad stepped into the doorway, hands buried deep in the pockets of his khaki shorts.
"Knock, knock," he said, his eyes on Ratchet.
"Mr. Witwicky," Ratchet replied, ever cordial so long as he wasn't talking to Sam. "I'm sure you'll be glad to know he's doing much better."
"He'd have to be after last week," his dad grumbled, cementing his kinship to Ratchet as a grumpy old curmudgeon. He still hadn't looked at Sam, who had quietly set his spoon into his bowl and pushed the tray aside. His appetite had fled at the first mention of his dad. The memory of his anger -- perfectly righteous anger, Sam had deserved every word of it, he knew -- but still, he was young enough that parental disapproval cut far deeper than any other could.
"True," Ratchet conceded, then went out of his way to prove the theory of life being unfair by adding. "I'm sure you and Sam have a great deal you'd like to discuss, I'll just leave you to it."
It was sort of amazing how having several tons of machinery leaving the room didn't seem to empty it. Instead, the very air between them seemed heavy, pregnant with words that hadn't been spoken and ones that had, and Sam couldn't think of a thing to say. Giant alien robots, dad, and oh, yeah, sort of gay for one, too, might want to kiss those dreams about grandkids goodbye. Oh, and did I mention those other alien robots that might be trying to kill you, wouldn't want to forget that detail--
Somehow, there didn't seem to be enough words in the English language to express all that.
His father hadn't moved from the doorway, hands still in his pockets as he studied the floor.
"Dad-" Sam started, choking a little on the words and he wished Bumblebee were there even if it made him a wuss for needing the support.
His father interrupted with a loud, world-weary sigh. "Son, there are times I wish I'd just sprung for the Porsche."
Just like that the tension evaporated. Laughter welled inside him like a leak had sprung and he was giggling helplessly, almost a sob, and Sam could feel he was shaking a little, maybe not quite as well as he'd tried to convince Ratchet. His father's answering chuckle was remarkably soothing and when he stepped into the room, close enough to ruffle Sam's hair the same way he'd done it since Sam was old enough to have hair, he knew it was all right. His mom might have needed to share some verbal bonding but a dad was one who just needed a little roughhousing.
"All right, kid, I've taken the ten-cent tour of this place enough times to know my way around. Ratchet said you might be able to go mobile today. Let's get you into your own bed. God knows you have to have better sheets than this place."
~~*~~
Somehow, getting out of the infirmary was a lot easier with his dad on his side of the escape party. Years of middle management had taught Ron Witwicky how to bulldoze his way through all obstacles, be they vegetable, mineral, or robotic, and he had soon commandeered a wheelchair and Ratchet's impatient voice was chasing them out the door.
It was a different experience to trek across the compound in a wheelchair and even the small amount of gravel made him grateful that most of Autobot City was paved. Surprising how lying around in bed for a week made a person pretty damned sore and every jarring bump brought those aches into sharp relief.
He drew the line at his father helping him into bed though. How he was supposed to get better if he was never allowed to do anything? It wasn't like he'd had a lot of muscle mass before, considering that the only exercise he got lately was from running for his life. At the very least he was capable of transferring himself a foot and a half from a chair to a bed.
His dad proved he was at the limit of his helpfulness by saying, "Get some rest. Your mom will come in a couple hours to check on you."
"What about--" Bumblebee, he almost said, biting it back at the last second because, okay, his parents knew, he knew they knew, but he wasn't quite sure he was ready to talk about it just yet. It was less about the alien robot boyfriend thing and more about the fact that there was a boyfriend at all. "Never mind," Sam mumbled, settling back into the pillows.
Unfortunately, his dad had never been as stupid as Sam had wished he was. "Your car is going to be here later. Ratchet said something about calibration." Ron frowned a little, tugging up the blanket over Sam's shoulders even though the room was warm. "Actually, he said a lot about calibration and some of the words he used would have given your mother a stroke if she'd heard them. Wish I knew what website he learned those from."
"Bumblebee has a flair for creative swearing, too," Sam ventured. Even if he wasn't willing to open the door on this conversation just yet, it didn't hurt to crack it open enough to peer outside.
His father gave him an answering smile and if it was a little tight around the edges, neither of them commented on it. "I'll bet. Get some sleep, kiddo."
"Sure thing. Night, dad." Sam flopped over, cramming his pillow under his head as his father slipped out the door. A little nap and Bumblebee would probably be here soon, and maybe there would be a little bit of fooling around of the slightly kinky variety, if Bee could be trusted enough to keep track of his mom, anyway. A little sleep and a little sex, all a guy needed for contentment.
Abruptly, his stomach rumbled noisily, calling outward to all things edible and tasty. All it'd had to eat was the sweaty sock soup and it was announcing its displeasure about that to anyone in a twenty foot radius. Okay, so maybe there was at least one other thing a guy needed. Sam sighed loudly and sat up, considering. It could be hours before his mom or Bumblebee showed up and how was he supposed to sleep when he was starving? Ratchet himself had wanted him to eat more. It wasn't like this place had room service.
That only meant one thing. He'd have to go get it himself. Ratchet hadn’t specifically ordered him to stay in bed, and besides, he'd said himself that he fully expected Sam to disobey any orders, anyway. How could he get mad when Sam only proved him right?
Gingerly, Sam pushed himself to his feet, feeling a little wobbly and sore but on the whole, not so bad. Certainly not like he'd needed the wheelchair earlier to make the short trek to his quarters but in that case, it hadn't been worth arguing. Covert operations to the canteen needed to be sans wheels, unless you'd been born with them.
A quick sandwich and then back to bed, he decided, skinning quickly into jeans and a t-shirt, tying his shoes. That was the plan.
The sun was just slipping past the horizon as he sneaked outside, closing the door carefully behind him like the entire city would hear it shut, and turned around to immediately plow into a man walking past his quarters.
"Ooof," Sam grunted, stumbling to a stop. Soldiers here must be made tough, that had been remarkably similar to walking into a brick wall. A brick wall on steroids.
"You all right, Sam?" Familiar voice and Sam blinked, looking up into an unfamiliar crew-cut head.
"Ironhide?" Sam asked, hesitantly. A rather hideous grin spread over that broad face.
"Yeah, it's me. Not bad, eh?" He made a gesture that managed to indicate his entire body and head.
"Yeah," Sam agreed, staring. Good god, it was like looking at the birth of the word ugly. Like Ironhide had found pictures of all the toughest, ugliest humans that had ever lived and had made a sort of holographic Voltron of ugliness out of them.
Ironhide was beaming at him in stunning unattractiveness and pride.
"It's great," Sam told him promptly. Knowing Ironhide, this was just the sort of look he was going for. If he wanted flowers to collapse in his passing, he'd certainly succeeded.
"I hadn't heard you'd been released," Ironhide said, tilting his head curiously. Just wonderful. File this little escape plan on the very opposite side of covert.
"Yeah, yeah, just today," Sam hedged, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.
Suddenly, getting food seemed like a bad idea. Like everyone there wouldn't know exactly who he was? Ratchet would know he was out of bed in ten seconds. Asking Ironhide was out, he'd want to know why Sam couldn't do it himself.
Inspiration struck. "Hey, do you have any idea where Sideswipe is?" Sideswipe would nab him some food and he probably wouldn't tattle on him.
"Probably in his berth. He's off active duty until Sunstreaker gets his act together."
"That sucks." It did. Sideswipe was probably going nuts.
"Say it again," Ironhide said agreeably. "It's the third building that way."
Sam thanked him and made a hasty exit before he saw anyone else who wanted to stop and chat. Like Mikaela or his mom, or geez, maybe even Ratchet although he seemed to stay pretty close to the infirmary. Better to not take chances.
The third building that way turned out to be a small, squat little thing that looked more like a warehouse than living quarters. Then again, Autobots often spent a great deal of time in the shape of a car, maybe being housed in a garage was preferable? It wasn't like they had a CD collection to haul around.
There was a human sized door on one side and a much larger garage-style door on another, both closed. Sam decided on the one that was more his height and a light touch on the knob revealed that it wasn't locked. He pushed it open a little, poking his head inside. "Sideswipe?"
"Look who's stopped in for a visit." Cool, silken voice rose from the shadows. Sam instinctively took a half-step backwards, the unpleasant associations with that voice almost enough to make him forget hunger.
His more rational mind pushed against it, demanding sustenance. He hesitated at the doorway, squinting against the shadows enough to see a figure in the darkness, no, two, one undeniably human and the other lower to the ground, gleaming a rich yellow. Sunstreaker in both of his forms. "What are you doing here?"
"Yes, I am fine, thank you. Recovering quite well from my ordeal."
Sam ground his teeth and reminded himself that Bumblebee was only here because of this jackass.
"Good to hear it," Sam said, striving for politeness. "Ratchet said you were doing all right." He'd also said something about Sunstreaker being cranky but it seemed churlish to point that out.
"I'm sure he did," There was a wealth of dryness to Sunstreaker's tone, Sahara-like proportions of it. "I'm delighted to hear that he's sharing information about me with the underlings."
Underlings? Jesus, he'd heard better jibes in a George Lucas script. "You realize that you sound like a vaudeville villain when you talk like that, don't you."
That earned him a blank look. "Vaude--" Sunstreaker broke off, his eyes flicking to the right in that way that Sam had come to associate with Autobots accessing their wifi. It was sort of interesting the way they did it both as robots and holograms.
He'd never noticed the faint glow in any of their eyes before though, the softest sheen of blue shining out of the dimness. Sam couldn't recall if he'd ever seen Bumblebee access his wifi in the dark before, maybe it was--
The glow flared briefly and then vanished, Sunstreaker's eyes cutting back to meet his. "Mm, vaudeville, yes. So am I in the freakshow or perhaps just a male impersonator?"
Sam realized he'd stepped further inside without paying attention to it. He was close enough now to see Sunstreaker was sitting on his own hood, legs curled so that one was beneath him, the other drawn up so he could rest his chin on his knee. His face, so much like Sideswipe's but it was the eyes that held the difference, none of the easy warmth that Sideswipe exuded.
"Look, I didn't come here to argue with you--"
"I doubt you came here for me at all."
"--but I really wanted to thank you for helping Bee," Sam gritted out, doggedly. If he could get the gratitude out of the way then his own conscience would be clear and free. Then he might just forgo a sandwich and head back to bed. Suddenly, he felt pretty damned tired again.
Sunstreaker looked at him for a long moment, his head tipped to the side so that his long, dark hair fell over his shoulder, dangling down so that the tips brushed his hood. Black against yellow...like Bumblebee. Except not like him at all.
"Do you really want to thank me?" Sunstreaker asked, so softly.
"Yes..." Warily.
A faint smile, nothing like sweetness in it. "You could give me a kiss."
"You-"
"It's only a kiss." Softly mocking, that little smile widening. Sam had been wrong, nothing about this fucker resembled Sideswipe, nothing at all.
"You're just an asshole all the way around, aren't you."
"Strange, I'd heard that humans honored their debts." Sunstreaker said smoothly. "My mistake."
It was done to deliberately prick at Sam's pride, Sunstreaker unsurprisingly adept at finding just the right chink in armor to shove in a laser knife. Deliberately done, yes, but it didn’t mean he wasn't right. Sam chewed on his lower lip, hardly daring to consider that he was actually thinking--
Dark fluid sliding down metallic cheeks, dripping onto the bright yellow of Bumblebee's armor, blood, so much blood.
"If I...do...this," Sam stumbled over the words, not even wanting to think about the one that started with a K. "Will you call us even? And not say anything to Bumblebee...or anybody...or...or record it, or send it wifi or--"
"It will never leave this room, I swear it." Darkly solemn.
"Deal," Sam said, lips barely forming the words. He could feel the tremor in his hands, overexertion maybe, like Ratchet had said.
In one fluid movement, Sunstreaker slid off the hood to the ground, bare feet padding silently over to where Sam was standing, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. A little taller than him, like Sideswipe, like Bumblebee, and didn't it suck to be a short human in this place.
Cold hands cupped his cheeks, tipping his head up. Sunstreaker leaned in, their faces almost touching. So close that Sam could see the unnatural smoothness to his skin, porcelain-pale and nowhere near as fragile.
"Relax," Sunstreaker breathed softly, almost into his mouth. "I'll consider a poor attempt to be a forfeit of our bargain."
Sam took a shuddering breath and let it out, closing his eyes. He didn't think of Bumblebee, not a chance. Trying to pretend Sunstreaker was Bee seemed like the worst kind of betrayal. He tried not to think of anything, just leaned up and let his lips touch the ones above him.
Barely touch, lightest butterfly brush against him for the first moment, fear pushing adrenaline into his bloodstream making him part his lips recklessly, pressing his tongue into Sunstreaker's mouth before he could take the lead.
Soft noise of surprise from deep in Sunstreaker's throat and suddenly arms like steel were around him, too-tight grip and hard lips moving brutally against his own.
His mouth was cold, icy wet, and made delirious thoughts of Mikaela's ice cream cold lips but the taste...Bumblebee was hot, electric purple and this was a wintry indigo, felt sharp enough to cut the inside of his mouth. The sudden blossom of coppery warmth made his dimly believe that it had, technicolor wash of flavors in one simple kiss.
It took him a moment to realize his hands had knotted themselves into Sunstreaker's hair, cold strands tangled in his fingers and he was pulling Sunstreaker against him, wanting it harder, wanting more, wanting, oh, please--
"Please," he whimpered, a choked sound.
Sunstreaker was the one who pulled away, almost wrestling himself from Sam's grip, eyes wide as he looked down at Sam.
Sam felt...used. Lips sore and swollen, panting in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. Hotness in his cheeks, humiliation rising, and was there a way out of this, could there be?
Startled when strong hands caught the front of his shirt, swinging him around and pushed him backwards, Sam stumbling along until the backs of his knees hit Sunstreaker's front bumper and folded under him. Sunstreaker followed him down, his mouth shades too cold and hard enough to bruise. One knee insinuated itself between Sam's legs, pressing into the firmness of his crotch.
"Wait..." Sam moaned, barely recognizing his own voice and what was wrong with him. "Wait...I don't...I don't even like you!"
"I know," Wetly against his mouth, the slick rub of a tongue over his lips before Sunstreaker pulled away enough to smile at him, glass-sharp. "But I can be very persuasive."
Sam wasn't even sure how his pants came to be open, only that a cold hand was suddenly surrounding his cock, the icy bite making him gasp. His other hand was tight around one of Sam's wrists, holding him down like Sam might struggle, like he should struggle. The thought of it vanished when a cool thumb rubbed hard over the head of his cock, sliding easy through the sudden, wet rush of pre-come.
Sunstreaker's tongue was painting damp lines down his face, his voice rasping out harsh, staticky words and somehow Sam knew he'd just called him something like beautiful, not quite, but something--
"Sunstreaker, let him go." Sharply, from somewhere behind them. Sam knew that voice, he knew it. Couldn't focus on anything but that stroking hand, tightening and loosening with sweet preciseness, hard weight pressing him into the warming metal beneath him.
Sunstreaker didn't look back, his gaze avid on Sam's face, watching him. His thumb swept lightly over Sam's wrist, resting lightly on his pulse. "No."
Sam let out a moan that was nearly a sob, trying to arch up, Sunstreaker's weight holding him down. Close, so, so close.
"Sunstreaker, enough! You promised me you'd leave him alone!"
Sharp laugh, gust of cool breath against Sam's hot cheeks. "He wants it. He knows it's me and he wants it. We never made any promises about that."
"He wants it but that doesn't mean he wants it from you. Let him go." Sideswipe's voice-- Sideswipe, it was Sideswipe, God,-- filled with scorn of the like Sam had never heard from him, brittle cold. "You're raping him. Is that what you really want?"
His hand stilled, ignoring Sam's cry of protest.
Sideswipe was next to them, gently drawing Sunstreaker's hand out of Sam's pants and holding it between his own. Sam could smell his own sex, thick in the air. "Let him go."
"I want him," Sunstreaker said, his voice mod raspy, desperate.
"I know," Sideswipe said, soothing. "Let him go, anyway."
Fever-bright eyes and for a moment, Sam truly believed he wouldn't. That Sunstreaker would just flip him over and fuck him right here on the smooth coolness of his own hood and oh, god, he wanted him to, arching his hips up in helpless little movements, encouraging.
Every little writhe was glittering in Sunstreaker's eyes, the hard pressure of his hand around Sam's wrist tightening into pain and sudden, white-hot agony seared through Sam's arm, hitting him like an iceberg. His scream was choked but Sunstreaker let him go as if his skin had begun leaking acid, backing away with his hands raised pleadingly.
"Sam, get out of here." Sideswipe didn't look at him, his gaze locked on his brother.
It was difficult to do, cradling his injured wrist with his other arm. He slid off the hood, knees almost buckling under him and if he'd collapsed Sam wasn't sure what would have happened. He managed to stay upright, staggering towards the door, his opened pants sliding awkwardly down his hips. It felt like insanity was leaking out of him, leaving cold reality in its wake and Sam could barely even conceive of what he'd been doing. It was like being on some kind of drug or a hallucination, the need of it, and he hadn't even cared if it was someone he hated.
Sunstreaker hadn't moved, clenched his hands into fists and didn't try to stop him. Just before the door closed behind him, Sam heard the sound of transformation, of metal screeching against metal.
"Come on, Sam, I have you," Sideswipe's voice directly next to him, gentle hands on his shoulders.
Sam startled violently, the fresh surge of adrenaline finally too much for his system.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Sam said clearly, and promptly did so. Sideswipe held him gently, his expression betraying no emotion about this very human activity. Long moments passed before he stopped heaving, the pavement hard beneath his knees.
"We need to get you to the infirmary," Sideswipe said.
"Yeah," Sam wiped his mouth with the back of the hand that wasn't currently screaming with pain. "I bet Ratchet will be happy to see me."
Sideswipe didn't respond to that feeble joke, only helped Sam get to his feet, careful to not jar his hurt arm as he tugged Sam's pants up and fastened them. They needed to go, his wrist was sending out hot pulses of pain but Sam didn't move, the enormity of all this was swarming in, horrifying enough to make black dots waver in his vision.
"God, what did I do?" Sam whispered.
"It's not your fault, Sam," Sideswipe's grip had taken on a bit of urgency, tugging him forward a step, then another, until Sam finally started walking on his own.
"Then whose fault is it?" he snapped out.
"I..." Sideswipe fell silent, matching his steps to Sam's faltering ones. "Perhaps this isn't the best time to be discussing this."
"No, it helps." Sam licked his upper lip, tasted the sweat beading there. "Distracting."
"Sunstreaker is...fractured, I suppose would be the word for it. It's difficult for me to explain."
"He's mental, is what you're saying."
"No, I...I'm not explaining it well. We're two sides of the same coin. Positive and negative energy...attract each other." Sideswipe stumbled--no, flickered. There was no better way to describe it and they both nearly fell.
"Are you all right?"
Pale, almost faded, "Yes, I'm fine."
Realization dawned. "You...you're with him, too, aren’t you."
"He needs me."
"Bullshit. What's he doing to you?"
Wan smile. "Nothing that he hasn't done before."
He could see the infirmary now, the glow of light in the windows further reinforced his belief that Autobots didn't sleep. Certainly Ratchet didn't.
"I can't go any further, Sam," The barest wisp of voice and Sam looked at Sideswipe, could see the outline of buildings through him.
"Tell Ratchet--" Sideswipe hesitated and Sam suddenly knew what Sideswipe wanted him to say, what he wouldn't ask.
"I won't tell him," Sam said, softly, "It wasn't...it wasn't all Sunstreaker's fault." Not by a long shot, not when Sam had been trying to shove his tongue down his throat. You couldn't expect anyone, human or Autobot, to get 'no' out of that. He couldn't think about that now, shoved the memory of his own reaction completely out of his head. Later, when agony wasn't first and foremost in his brain.
He saw the doubt on Sideswipe's face before he faded completely and the faint screaming sound of metal against metal had to be Sam's imagination, he was way too far away to hear what was going on in that too-small room. He hoped.
The stairs seemed almost too much to climb, but Sam managed it, steeling himself for Ratchet's reaction. Not even half a day out of here and he was right back, with all new injuries and pain.
He liked it a lot better when he only came to the infirmary for information, that was fucking well for sure.
-finis-
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