TITLE: The Next Level
Imperfection Deviation
SERIES: Imperfection
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: R for violent images
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money
Author's Voice of Warning (aka Author's Note):
English is not my first language; it's German. This is the best I can do. Any mistakes you find in here, collect them and you might win a prize The spell-checker said everything's okay, but you know how trustworthy those thingies are...
FEEDBACK: Loved

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The space around Cybertron was filled with laser fire, debris and the exhaust trails of fighters. The planet as such was partly on fire.

Screams echoed in the silence of the destruction; screams of the dying.

Sam was surrounded by suffocating blackness. There wasn't a single point of light and he wasn't so sure if he was coming or going. He thought he was walking somewhere, but he could also be standing rooted to the spot. His sense of direction was shot, his eyes, though wide open, were of no use, and his feet were definitely not on solid ground. He gasped for air that wasn't there, feeling the blackness close around him, bringing an inhuman coldness. He had the sudden feeling of falling down and screamed in surprise. His hands flailed out for something solid to hold on, all the time thinking he was rushing down to his certain death on very solid ground.

Then light washed over him, blinding him and he averted his eyes with a groan. When he looked up again to try and make out his surroundings a wave of dizziness washed over him and the world tilted sideways. Instinctively, Sam stretched out a hand, searching for support and coming down hard against a solid, metal surface. His knees were like jelly and his head was spinning. When the feeling of dizziness finally diminished to a bearable level he blinked and tried a second time to get his bearings.

Something rumbled close by, then exploded, shaking the ground.

Sam turned his head to see what had gone up now. It was a bad idea, because now nausea hit him and he slid to the ground with a moan, supporting his back against a wall. Suddenly his damage control kicked in and he was presented with his condition. Now he knew why he felt the way he did... He was in a catastrophic condition! He was suffering from massive energon loss, torn transformation circuits, muscle cables and wires, as well as multiple abrasions, deep cuts and lacerations, and blistered skin. His paint job was close to non-existent, the dark colors burned and blackened.

Sam tried to get back to his feet, finding it hard to do so. Another wave of dizziness washed over him and he stumbled, his hands flailing out to catch some support. He was in a pretty bad shape and any other robot would have already shut down, but not him.

Sam shuddered and tore himself out of that memory, confused and definitely off kilter as he tried to step back from the mind he was currently in.

He hadn't expected the violence to come so suddenly, nor had he thought about the desperation, the need to survive, the sheer primal instinct to protect his spark. He had become the one whose mind he was technopathically invading. He was Barricade. And he had been in severe pain, looking at ruins, seeing dead comrades.

Sam had no idea who had inflicted the wounds, only that it had been sudden. He had no bearing on whether it was because of the war, had been before that, had been somewhere else completely.

He felt like moving through quicksand. He was sinking and sinking, and the mind around him was both trying to push him away and draw him in closer, swallowing him.

Sam gritted his teeth. He had to take control. He knew he could do it. He was in charge, he was the invader, he had a mission… he could choose where to go.

From one second to the next three drones shot out of the tunnel he had come from. They were rather squat, with no legs and six spindly arms, giving them the look of flying spiders.

Autobot spies, he thought with grim satisfaction. He had found the last refugees.

The drones never hesitated and homed right in on him.

Barricade jumped to one side, drawing his gun and taking out the first with a precision shot between where the round head was connected to the body. The drone gave a screech as it was severed in two and fell to the ground, smoking and sparking. The two other drones began to attack immediately. One was smashed into the wall, but the other one got through. Its legs curled around Barricade and as the shock trooper raised his arm to tear it off, it bit him. He felt a dull pain as the sharp mandibles perforated his skin, but ignored it. His hand came down on the head and split it open. The spider drone let go and dropped to the floor where it fell victim to a blast.

Barricade regarded the debris with disgust. That was all the Autobots had to give? Weak. Pitiful.

His arm ached and he discovered acid damage that was eating away deeper into his muscle cables. It stung a little and was bothersome, but it wouldn't stop him from killing the last of the resistance.

Sam fell back as more memories swamped him, of dead and broken Autobot bodies, of triumph, of brief satisfaction. He was encased in the cold logic of a hunter who didn't see individuals, only targets. Barricade didn't know the names of his victims, only their faction: Autobots. He received orders and he followed them. Not blindly; never blindly. But he was a soldier and he was good. One of the best.

Ky-Alexa. A battleground. A field of death. So many dying.

Barricade had taken care of that, too. It had been an Autobot stronghold and he had infiltrated it, killed the resistance. It was what shock troopers did.

Something else flitted past and when it touched him, Sam was torn along.

The planet was one of the stranger ones, not born out of a cooling mass of molten, super-heated stone but artificially constructed. Its heart wasn't a liquid core of still boiling natural energy but metal. Artificial and cool. The surface was a thin metal skin stretched over a support structure that was crisscrossed by tunnels and corridors, honeycombed by rooms, chambers and storage areas, large empty spaces dominating one sector, another packed full of machinery. It was not of a natural origin. It had been built. It was an artificial world.

It was Cybertron.

The planet was millions of years old and had brought forth its own races, civilizations, empires and wars. It had changed profoundly from the world it had been at its birth to what it was now. War had changed it most visibly. The silver skin that was its surface was scarred by these wars, changed forever, some damage irreparable even if the surface wounds were now closed. Blackened and charred, it was a witness and silent reminder of the climatic battle for the planet's survival, as well as that of its inhabitants.

Circled by only one artificial moon, the planet Cybertron had no sun, called no planetary system its home. It was a lonely world, a world of artificial life. It had grown into its own, independent planet but wars had never allowed many trade alliances to foster and bloom. Few alien races knew about these giant alien machines, the Cybertronians. A robot race.

Sam gazed at the planet as it underwent those massive changes, but like a tape rewinding, his images changed from the dying world to one that was prospering and still whole. It was beautiful in a very alien way, and he felt proud of it.

His home.

He had been born into this world, serving the Lord Protector of Cybertron. He had proven his loyalty, he had risen in the ranks, belonged to the small circle of personal guards. He was a shock trooper. He protected his leaders.

Sam was stunned by the softness of these memories, the pride of being who he was, where he came from. This had been kept away from prying eyes, had only accidentally touched his perceptive senses, and while he felt the mind he was in fight him over the access, it hadn't been too hard. Unlike the war memories, they were easier to access, though a lot more… private.

Maybe it was his mind being able to cope with them better, with beauty and warmth.

And Jazz. A different Jazz, looking unlike the form he had taken on here on Earth. His protoform had configured his outer shell in another way, but Barricade recognized him whatever his outside looked like – and through Barricade so did Sam.

He had known the other mechanoid for some time now, but had only ever seen him from afar. He was young, but he already had quite a reputation. You needed something, anything, you went to him. There was this saying that whatever you wanted, Jazz would get it for you.

That had been the first time Barricade had heard of him.

He had watched, strangely fascinated by the other mechanoid for no reason. No logical reason. It was as if he knew him from somewhere, had met him before, but Barricade didn't. He had never met Jazz in person or otherwise.

Still…

So he observed the other. He saw him interact with his friends, saw the interest the Head of State, Optimus Prime, had in the promising talents. Barricade discovered Jazz's fascination with other cultures, how he seemed to absorb information at a breathtaking speed. The same speed with which he travelled. He was a speed junkie. Always the fastest, beating others in challenges and races.

Barricade couldn't turn away, was riveted to the spot when he watched the sleek racer. It was becoming an obsession.

Personal obsessions were unhealthy in these times. They usually were unhealthy for mechanoids in his position, the shock troopers. Something was happening on a political level and the rift between Megatron and Optimus Prime was growing. Politics would soon become more than just words, Barricade knew. He felt it in his very spark, as did other soldiers.

War was looming on the horizon.

And in the middle of this rising conflict had stepped this mech.

"Hey."

The voice belonged to the mechanoid that had approached behind his back. Barricade wouldn't be the shock trooper he was – an excellent one – if he hadn't heard the other. Light treads, smooth, easy.

He turned and met the blue optics of the very one he had been thinking about. Jazz was watching him with a curious expression. They were about the same size, but their colors opposed.

"You're one of the Lord Protector's shock troopers, right? You need something?"

An answer, Barricade thought. An answer as to why I keep following you. Why you interest me so much.

His spark seemed to fizz a little as Jazz came closer. Blue optics suddenly narrowed, then widened.

"Uh…" Jazz started, then broke off.

The feeling got stronger. It was warm and nice and Barricade had a sudden inkling as to what was happening.

No way. No. That was almost like… a billion in one chance… an impossibility.

"Listen," Jazz tried again, one hand unconsciously touching his chest. The cover above his spark.

"I know you," Barricade heard himself say.

More than you think. More than I ever thought. I know your spark…

Another fizz, then something like a crackle. Cybertron's Pits…!

A strong hand clamped around his wrist and he was unceremoniously yanked into a small storage room, the door sliding shut behind him. Barricade attributed it to his confusion and the pressure on his spark that he hadn't just fought back, pinning Jazz to the floor and showing him just what it meant to manhandle a shock trooper.

But the thoughts faded with the yearning inside him.

Jazz was in his face, blue optics brighter now, meeting equally bright red ones.

"It's you I felt," Jazz said softly, wondrously.

Spark bond, part of Barricade informed him. Great Cybertron! It was so rare, so mystical almost. It was something many talked about, but rarely if ever achieved. Barricade knew no one who had, or knew someone who was bonded.

And then there was only the other spark, the sudden realization what he had stumbled into – and what he wouldn't give up again, ever.

The political conflict erupted into a full blown war not much later, tearing them apart. Jazz allied himself with Optimus Prime, became his first lieutenant, was the enemy now. Barricade swore loyalty to Megatron.

Their meetings became hurried and secretive.

The sharing was quick and sometimes unsatisfactory.

It was all they could get and it was what each one took and cherished.

Sam gasped for air, feeling his lungs constrict with the rush of what could only be alien emotions. They enveloped him, surrounded him, teased his technopathic mind with beauty and longing, and he reached for them, wanting more.

The spark bond was like a drug, so pretty and beautiful and perfect. He forgot to exist when he touched it, forgot himself, forgot…

His hand tore into the throat of a dying Autobot, ripping out his voice box, crushing it. Blue optics died in an unknown face, but he didn't care. The last survivor was dead and Megatron was interrogating the prisoners. From the screams it was almost over.

Barricade turned and walked away from the corpses. He passed several of the drones and ignored them. They had done their job and he still had to do his. The Autobots knew about the Allspark's location and Megatron wanted to find it, no matter the cost.

His feet crushed a severed hand, but he didn't care.

The screaming died all of a sudden.

Another crushed voice box, most likely.

Sam screamed.

All the warmth and beauty was viciously destroyed, evaporated in face of this much violence.
Terror, pain, horror, fear and revulsion made it out in this one scream and he lashed out. It tore into the darkness, the cruelty and the inflicted pain. He wanted to destroy it as badly as Barricade had killed so many in his wake.

Something tried to catch him, tear him away, but he wouldn't let himself get captured. He felt his mind… ripple. Like something was about to break out, and he heard the tortured cry of the very one he had just witnessed killing an Autobot.

Still, Barricade wouldn't go down. He was retreating, protecting something more valuable than his own life, and Sam stopped as trickles of the spark bond touched him. It was a trembling caress, like a request to stop the madness, to calm down.

Memories.

Different ones. Of loss. Of a different pain…

The evening was peaceful and quiet, Crickets chirped and assorted small night animals awakened to go hunting or feeding. Into the peace and quiet came an intruder, a loud noise, an angry sound of a strained and tortured engine... strained beyond its normal capability by the owner

A car raced like mad along the deserted street, taking bends recklessly and skidding along the narrow line between solid ground and an endless seeming valley. To anyone watching it was just a mad streak of black and white color, trailing a large cloud of dust. A Saleen Mustang, a police car, the lights flashing, no, pulsing. It rarely used its brakes, sometimes losing traction, but always able to keep from getting out control, though the maneuvers got more and more suicidal.

Barricade was furious. His fuel pump raced, barely able to supply him with the energy he requested, though he felt like he had the world to burn. He felt like burning everything he had just to go faster, to leave everything behind.

Another narrow bend threw him off the track and he transformed in mid-fall, landing in a crouch. His audio system was ringing with the sound of the racing fuel pump and his hands clenched and unclenched, digging into the soft ground. Rage and anger burned through him like a fire, consuming everything. Rational thought was far away and he reacted to his temper outburst like everyone who had been pushed too far by the events around him. And he hadn't just been pushed a few inches over the line... it felt like lightyears!

He climbed back to the street and transformed, his tires burning rubber as he sped away again. Everything hurt. And in a way he had been wounded. He was missing a part that couldn't be replaced with spare parts or melded together. There wasn't a physical wound to be treated at all. There was emptiness because he was missing something that could not be replaced.

He was missing Jazz.

A silent scream echoed through him and he spun out of control, finally colliding with a boulder. Barricade sat there for just a second, his engine steaming, smoke curling into the darkening sky. Then he transformed. His eyes glowed in a bright red as he surveyed his surroundings, the peacefulness around him. Inside, he still felt the rage and the emptiness.

Sam shivered as the echoes of the despair washed over him. He had seen memories. Terrible, terrible memories of someone who was…

A soldier. A murderer. A cold-blooded hunter and killer.

Sam stumbled back, trying to shake off the vile taste of it. Not all had been bad. He had looked into the mind of a… shock trooper… and he had seen something else there, too. Memories from before the war. Jazz. The first time touching the other spark.

Those memories he had felt. Soft and warm and filled with emotions that were beyond what his human mind could put into words. He knew them already, smiled each time he remembered them. He had shared something with Barricade that wasn't really meant for him, but something that gave him such strength and warmth, and was still so very much alien.

The technopath drew a steadying breath, shaking so hard he had to be sending out tremors that registered on a Richter scale. He faced the steel ball that was Barricade's core, wrapped tightly around the very center of his being. He knew he was being watched from wary eyes. He knew that despite the way it looked now, Barricade could harm him quite badly.

Sam took a few steps away from that most private of areas, faltering, feeling himself weaken.

His head was starting to hurt.

He had to sever the uplink.

This'll be bad, was his last thought before he slipped out, dazed and confused.

He found himself standing in the small side hangar of the abandoned Airforce base, the one he and Barricade had started to use for the next level of training.

He wasn't alone.

Sam's eyes fell on the still form of his 'instructor'. Barricade's optics were dark, his body in full stasis lock. Sam's technopathic mind automatically scanned over him, found no damage, just a lot of stressed-out circuits and the need to fully recharge.

What shocked him more were the two other mechanoids.

"B-bee?" he stuttered.

Bumblebee was equally knocked out, optics dark, and while he didn't appear to be in such a run-down state as Barricade, he showed circuit stress. Just like the largest of the three unconscious Cybertronians: Ironhide.

What had he done?!

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He was aware.

He existed.

He knew he existed. He just wasn't sure where he was, what exactly had happened. Memories leaked into his confusion. His proessor fired up and events just before he ahd been forcefully off-lined came back.

Bumblebee's sudden alarm. Following the other mech. Entering the hangar designated as Sam's training area.

Nothingness.

"Ow, my head," Ironhide moaned as his optics came online.

Above him hovered a misgiving expression.

"Hey, Ratchet."

"Don't give me 'hey', you stupid slag head!" the medic growled. "It's a miracle you survived all the millennia until today!"

Pissed off Ratchet. What a way to wake up, Ironhide mused.

He sat up gingerly. All his servos were working and his damage report detected nothing extra-ordinary. His processor was a little stressed and he found he had been in stasis lock for three hours, but aside from that there had been no major injuries.

"I can understand Bumblebee racing off after he feels the uplink from Sam! I don't understand you waltzing into a potentially dangerous situation!" Ratchet snapped at him.

Ironhide frowned. "Now wait a minute…"

"No, I won't! Barricade told us, and that includes you, quite clearly that with each new level Sam's abilities will grow. He told us that what he expects, he can handle. He also said any intrusion into the training would result in potential injury of third parties!"

Ironhide looked into the dangerously narrowed optics. "You trust in the word of a Con?" he challenged.

"In matters concerning technopathy training, yes!"

"I don't."

Ratchet groaned in annoyance and shook his head. "I think you have a faulty circuit throwing you into those loops!"

"I don't trust Cons. Bumblebee said Sam was being afraid. You think I'd ignore that when the boy is, in that precise moment, in the company of a Con?"

"You charged into that room, guns out! Of course Sam would react to you as enemies!"

Ironhide slid off the table. "And he kicks quite a punch." He grinned.

Ratchet slapped a hand in front of his face and turned around. "Hopeless!" he muttered. "Utterly hopeless. Prime wants to have a word with you, too. And in case Sam tries to apologize, and you know he will, you better get there first. You owe him one!"

"Next you tell me I owe one to the Deceptiscum!"

"Actually, you do. Now get out of here before I find something big and nasty to stick up your exhaust!"

Ironhide beat a hast retreat, aware that Ratchet's warnings were to be taken seriously. He flexed his shoulder joints, working out some stiffness.

He had reacted on instinct when Bumblebee had bolted from the base and raced over to the smaller hangar where Sam and Barricade held their training sessions. The smaller mech had only said something about Sam being afraid, actually terrified, and Ironhide had followed immediately.

Next thing he knew he woke up in the med area with Ratchet tearing him a new one.

Ironhide shook his head and walked into the main area where Optimus was talking to Major Lennox. As the weapons specialist drew nearer, the Autobot leader rose from his kneeling position. Lennox shot Ironhide a knowing grin and gave him a sloppy salute, then withdrew.

Coward, the Autobot grumbled to himself.

"Optimus," he said out loud.

"Ironhide."

"Ratchet said you wanted to talk to me?"

The expression in the other's blue optics was unreadable. Then Optimus smiled wryly. "I think he said it all already, am I correct?"

"If you mean that he ripped my head off over getting knocked out by Sam, yeah."

"Good. Then nothing else needs to be said."

Ironhide rumbled softly, then walked out of the base, feeling more sour than before. He discovered Lennox, sitting on the hood of an Army jeep. He was smiling.

"Want some friendly company?" the Major asked.

"You got anyone in mind?"

Lennox spread his arms. "Me?"

"I thought you said friendly, not sarcastic."

The human grinned. "Compared to you, Mr. Grumpy, everyone's the nicest, friendliest person on the planet. So how about it?"

Ironhide hesitated a second longer, then transformed and opened the door. Lennox jumped off the hood and climbed inside.

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Sam thankfully took the mug of hot tea from Epps and curled his fingers around it. He felt terrible. His head was pounding, his shoulders were tightly knotted, his stomach was a cold pit, and he was freezing. All of him hurt. Deeply. His very mind and soul felt raw, like someone had raked claws over it. He was vulnerable and open and, much to his again rising distress, almost fragile.

But Samuel James Witwicky wasn't a fragile doll! He was a man. He could handle this. Still, even the slightest spike from any machine had him on the edge and he was fighting the urge to run and puke.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

"Sam?"

There was a careful question in the sergeant's eyes. Since Will was taking care of Ironhide, Robert Epps had decided to keep an eye on their resident technopath. None of the others were here. 'Here' was a storage area at the far side of the base, away from the others, from electronics and other stuff, and only Epps was here with him. Because everything hurt.

Like he had hurt his friends.

It took all Sam had not to want to bury himself in some deep, dark hole.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"You have nothing to apologize for. From what I heard, Ironhide had no place being where he was. Neither had Bumblebee."

Sam sighed, rubbing his forehead. He was so hellishly perceptive, it frightened him. He felt… weak. Depleted. Empty. Painful. All of him was so open and sore, and for the first time since he had realized his powers, he knew what it meant to attack.

"I must have called for him."

"Bumblebee?"

Sam nodded. "It was an accident. And he thought I was in danger."

He had probably been so terrified, even for a second, that he had reached for the only anchor he knew. Bumblebee had misinterpreted that momentary lapse of control and come to his rescue.

"Everyone knew you and Barricade were training, and we know the results can be quite… strong sometimes." Epps grinned. "You knocked him out before."

Sam sighed, wishing he could catch a clearer thought. "I never called for help."

"Must have been a whammy then. How are you?" Epps asked quietly.

While he had had a little trouble wrapping his mind around Sam's 'mutation', he had been nothing but a really good friend. Like most of the unit under Major Lennox. Those who knew Sam from the Mission City fight respected him. He knew them all, hung out with them to play video games – and sometimes beat their asses – and he trusted them. The newer additions, those transferred under Lennox's command after the Autobots had set up base, were still getting to know Sam. For them he was a civilian

"Sore," Sam now answered.

And he wanted to reach out and touch Bumblebee, his anchor, his best friend. He wanted contact so badly. He needed some support, but right now Epps was the only one there, and he couldn't help at all.

There was a sound. Sam knew it, had come to associate it with the movement of giant alien robots, and his eyes snapped up in rising panic.

"Sam…" Epps cautioned him.

"Bumblebee?!" he blurted as he recognized the individual signature of his friend.

The yellow robot stepped into view, blue optics on Sam. "Hello, Sam."

Sam wanted him to leave, wanted him away from his hurting mind, but another part was so glad to see the familiar form, he felt like crying. He yearned to touch Bumblebee.

::I'm fine:: he heard the mechanoid say.

And he hadn't even been aware of allowing the uplink. Then again, it was something he did automatically each day and Bumblebee had never refused it.

::I'm sorry, Bee. For hurting you:: Sam tried to apologize.

::It was backwash. I was careless::

::W-what?::

::Barricade said not to interrupt when you two are training, but something… I heard you calling, Sam:: Bumblebee tried to explain, sounding a little distressed himself. ::You were terrified of something and you reached for me and I just… acted. And Ironhide came along. We both got caught when you lashed out. It was out mistake::

Sam stared at him, speechless. He caught fragments of Optimus Prime's misgiving about the situation from the upper layers of Bumblebee's mind. Mainly because Ironhide had decided to barge in after Bumblebee as well, thinking Barricade was hurting Sam. The former Decepticon had made it crystal clear that training the next level would be intense and dangerous. Bumblebee and Ironhide had ignored the warning.

::Jazz almost read us the riot act as well:: was the Camaro's sheepish addition.

Sam clung to the uplink, letting his anchor soothe his aching mind. ::I saw… memories. Some not so… nice.::

Bumblebee didn't pry, didn't ask any questions. He just let Sam hold on to him.

::I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I just… it was…::

::We're fine. Barricade, too. He actually got out of the stasis a lot faster than us. Seems to be used to it:: The last was said with a sliver of humor and Sam smiled wryly.

::It's not like I knock him out on a regular basis:: he muttered, almost defensive.

::No?:: Bumblebee teased.

Sam shot him a dark look. The Camaro had by now sat down beside him and Sam was aware of gentle fingers brushing over his back in a calming manner. His head still ached, but the touch was welcome and familiar, and it did calm him down somewhat.

Of Epps there was no trace.

::He left:: Bumblebee informed him.

::Oh. He didn't have to sit with me::

::He's your friend::

Simple as that.

"I should talk to Optimus," Sam said out loud.

"Why?"

"To explain. And apologize to Ironhide. I didn't mean all that, Bee."

"We know that. No one's holding it against you. Barricade's instructions were clear. I forgot and Ironhide chose to ignore it."

Sam leaned into the palm of his friend and sighed. He closed his eyes, wishing the headache was gone.

He needed a clear head to go back to college on Monday. He had to study, cram a lot of theoretical stuff into his already aching head, and he had several exams by the end of the month. Due to his outstanding understanding of the practical subjects, as his advisor had lauded, Sam had been on an advanced study course for the past months. By the end of the year his advisor hoped that he would have his finals in energy conversion, fluid mechanics and dynamics, hydraulics and pneumatics, and drafting. Sam's head was spinning with it, but he was determined and talking to Ratchet helped a lot when it came to understanding certain things.

"I need an aspirin," he muttered and tried to get up, failing miserably.

"You need rest," Bumblebee said. "What happened left a huge impact on your brain, Sam. Give it time to reset."

Sam chuckled at the word 'reset'. He wished it was that easy. Barricade had told him the next level would be harder and it had been. On all of them.

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By the evening, with three Tylenol and more tea, he was feeling a little better. It wasn't perfect, but he could at least read some of his books. Sam had found a tutor of sorts when it came to mathematics in the shape of Will Lennox. It had been a surprise to find out the man had a bachelors in technical math.

"They don't just hand out ranks, kid," Lennox had grinned. "You gotta work for it."

Sam had never figured Lennox to be an applied math guy, but who knew? So he got a few pointers and discovered a rather sharp, scientific mind behind the Army Ranger façade.

Tonight, though, Lennox and the team were outside, running a simulation with Jazz, Ironhide and Bumblebee. It had been Lennox's idea, backed up by Jazz. Optimus had agreed that to take the stress level down a little, the men would run a simulation in the dark. Barricade was nowhere to be found, though Jazz probably knew where he was. And if Sam put his aching mind to it, he could single him out as well, but he was too tired.

Sam would have loved to backseat-ride, see what Bumblebee saw, feel the rush and the thrill, but he had other problems, most of them with school and his headache. Bumblebee had stayed with him the whole day and Sam had actually dozed off once or twice.

"You should be resting," a deep voice jerked him out of his studies and he almost yelped.

"Optimus! Give me a heart attack, will ya!"

The massive Autobot knelt down, a frown on his mobile features. "You didn't hear me," he stated.

No, he hadn't. At least not consciously. Sam looked a little sheepish and pushed the heavy book on fluid mechanics and dynamics away. He hadn't finished the chapter, mainly because he had been fighting with exhaustion and the throb in his head.

"You need your rest, Sam," Prime now repeated.

"I also need to finish some school things."

"Today was a tough day for you. You should give your mind the necessary time to recover."

"I know. It's just… I should be able to handle this better by now. Instead of learning more, I keep botching it up."

"You did no such thing."

Sam pushed away from the desk and paced a little. "Then maybe I imagined off-lining Ironhide and Bumblebee?" he asked acidly. "Because I think I did just that!"

"I already have everyone's statement on the accident, Sam."

"You never asked me!"

"Because I know what happened. Ironhide and Bumblebee entered a dangerous situation and it could have severely backfired on them. I talked to Barricade… and I also know that his instructions and advise to keep away from the training area is to be taken seriously. They didn't listen."

"And I struck out at them."

"Yes, you did. In doing so, you exerted yourself. Sam, no one expects you to rebound and shake it off, except yourself."

Sam sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. His head was starting to ache miserably again. He felt so helpless and useless sometimes, then was proud of himself the next moment for achieving so much. Barricade wasn't the one for pep-talk or lauding, but in his own way he had told Sam that he was doing pretty well. Otherwise, if Sam would have proven to be some massive pain in the ass and overall loser, he wouldn't have continued. That had been Jazz's words once.

"Go to sleep," Optimus suggested.

A very sound suggestion, too.

"Bumblebee and the others won't be back for a while. I think Ironhide is having too much fun," the Autobot leader added with a smile.

"I bet he does," Sam replied and gathered his books. "I'll just…" He made a general waving motion toward the unit's quarters, "y'know… bunk down here. Good night, Optimus."

The large Autobot rose. "Good night, Sam. Sleep well."

And he did. Deeply, almost without dreams. There were some teasing memories of what he had seen inside Barricade, mainly the good times, but nothing definite.

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Ironhide had waited out the worst of Sam's backlash before looking for the young human. Bumblebee had told him about the consequences of overusing technopathy and the past months had shown Ironhide what happened to both technopath and victim. Now he had become one himself. He had never experienced the abilities Sam had been given by the Allspark.

They were remarkable.

At the moment Sam looked like he could need a bottle of Tylenol and then some to battle the headache he was experiencing. Lennox had checked in on their only civilian on base and Sam had tried to appear okay, but he was far from it. Will had also cautioned his larger friend, told him to take it easy.

Sam's expression showed wariness and guilt as Ironhide walked over to him.

"Hello, Sam."

"Uh, hi."

"You seem to be better than yesterday."

Sam shrugged. "Still headachy. It's normal."

Ironhide tilted his head. "It seems to be. A drawback for your abilities."

Another shrug.

"Not much of a weapon then."

Sam glared at him. "I'm not a weapon!"

"Taught by a Con? Able to knock out a mechanoid by though alone? I'd say it's one hell of a weapon. In a battle you'd be very dangerous. I know some mechs who could be a challenge for you. Soundwave comes to mind."

"I'm not a weapon, Ironhide!" Sam repeated angrily. "I just want to know how to handle my abilities!"

"Which are truly amazing, kid. I'm impressed that you caught me so unawares."

"And I'm sorry it happened, but I'm not training this as a weapon!" the human insisted.

Ironhide regarded him silently. He didn't like the fact that Barricade was the one training Sam, but it was as it was. And Optimus Prime wasn't objecting to it.

"But you'd still be a good addition to our forces."

Sam looked long and hard at him, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Thanks, I think. But I'm not looking forward to battles of any kind. Life as it is is hard enough."

Ironhide chuckled. "You betcha. None of us wanted to fight. We all had different ideas for our futures, for our lives. But it happened. We adjusted. Your kind does it all the time. I've watched your news channels from around the world. There is conflict or war everywhere."

"Yeah." Sam sounded subdued. "I sometimes wonder why the Allspark did what it did to me. There was no reason."

Ironhide had no answer to the hidden question and it was far from his forte to analyze an emotional situation. Sam's changes had surprised and even shocked them all. No one had thought the Allspark capable of affecting organic life.

"Oh well," Sam suddenly said, looking forcibly cheerful. "Nothing can be changed now. I better get back to studying. Exams coming up, y'know."

Ironhide nodded. Ratchet had told him that Sam's first serious tests were looming on the horizon and while the human was good when it came to understanding the intricate workings of all kinds of machines, the theoretical side was still hard.

"See you around," Sam said with a little wave, then hurried back to the human quarters.

Ironhide watched him thoughtfully. He had meant what he had said: Sam would make a formidable weapon. He also understood the reluctance to accept it. Those not born as warriors usually fought the very notion of becoming one.

Sam was no different in that regard.

And maybe it was better that way.

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The red optics looking down at him were slightly more frightening than three days ago. That was the amount of time it had taken Sam to battle the headache and be more than a vegetable most of the time. Bumblebee had been with him, but the others had given him the requested distance to get his brain into order once more. Aside from studying or hanging out with Bee, Sam had done little else.

Now he was looking at the very being whose memories were filled with terrible deaths and war.
And the recollections of before, he reminded himself. Of another Cybertron, before the war, before he had made a decision: to join the Lord Protector of Cybertron, to join Megatron. Barricade was such a multi-layered personality, it was hard not to come into touch with death and still see the affection he held for Jazz, and vice versa.

Is this what Jazz also touches? Sam wondered.

"You've come far, human," Barricade now remarked, sounding almost proud.

"What?" he blurted. "I didn't come anywhere, Barricade! All I did was stumble around in your mind and… get flooded."

"You were uncoordinated," the former Decepticon agreed. "But you managed to breach personal walls."

"I managed to knock you and two of my friends out!"

There was a smirk in the dark face, the optics glowing a deeper red. "It's easier to attack an enemy you hate than the ones you love, Sam Witwicky. You achieved both."

"I don't hate you!" Sam protested immediately.

"You saw what I did. In that moment your emotions took control and had you react according to the stimuli you were receiving."

It sounded so… clinically analytical.

"Yeah. It was… a lot," Sam murmured. He looked at Barricade, pushing away the echoes of the terror he had felt.

The mechanoid regarded him steadily, emotionlessly. "I did what I was trained for to do. I chose my commander and I served him. I killed. I don't regret any of those deaths. It was them or me. I chose to survive."

Sam swallowed. "I know."

He had killed, too. He had killed Megatron. It had been a matter of survival as well. And he would do it again.

Barricade knelt down, looking at him on face level. It was frightening, but Sam didn't allow himself to flinch away.

"To attack a friend and knock him out is far more than breaching my walls," the shock trooper informed him. "In that very moment you didn't think. You followed your instinct. You protected yourself and you eliminated possible danger – without killing. That is the skill you need to hone, Sam. That is what technopathy means as a weapon. Extract information, subdue the target, get away safely."

"Uh, okay. But I don't know what I did."

"You listened to your instinct. You have the skill. It needs to be trained for you to take control whenever you need it. You need to learn to step back and watch, as an observer, take the information you want. You were overwhelmed again."

Anger flared up inside him. "Sue me for being terrified of something like this!" Sam snapped, furious. "I saw people getting killed! I'm not a machine! I can't just switch it off!"

"That's war," was the even answer.

"But it's not mine and I'm not some emotionless wreck who can just look and feel nothing!"

Barricade regarded him steadily. "The moment you stop feeling is the moment you will die," he stated.

Sam balled his hands into fists, looking away. He had seen people die in Mission City and he had suffered the nightmares for it. He had talked to Lennox and Epps once or twice, had even thought about taking Lennox up on the offer to see a psychologist, but his pride had gotten the better of him.

"I'm not a soldier. I'm not going to be some emotionless tool!" he whispered harshly.

Barricade chuckled, sharp claws taking his face and turning Sam to face the frightening countenance of the former Decepticon.

"You are what is needed, Sam Witwicky. You were a soldier, you were a weapon, you were a tool, and you will be again. But you can decide whether to be used and controlled, or be in control. That's what this is for."

Sam swallowed. "This…?"

"Your training. Your sacrifices. The Allspark has changed you. You have come far. Your level of training has risen." Again, Barricade sounded almost proud. "You can control what you see in my mind, just like I can control what to show you."

"You… wanted me to see this?" Sam asked, incredulous.

"Not everything, but most of it," was the cold reply. "You reacted remarkably well."

Sam's face was released and he shivered a little. "Why?"

"Because each and every one of your Autobot friends has the same memories, even Bumblebee. None of them are innocents. They all killed. All survived because of it."

Of course they had killed. Sam had Mission City as a prime example.

"When you face a possible friend, be prepared to see the enemy, too. Everyone has a dark side."

Barricade rose. Sam looked at him, as always surprised by the black mechanoid's actions. His mind reached out automatically, scanning over the robotic life form, but there was no more damage from the training to be found.

Red optics regarded him steadily, then Barricade transformed and opened the door. It was the usual, silent invitation and Sam took it. They drove back along the airstrip, the silence prevailing, and Sam got out when Barricade stopped in front of the main hangar. He felt little ripples along the incomplete uplink his mind still maintained with Barricade, then even those were gone as Barricade severed his side. Sam smiled briefly and unconsciously did something he usually did with Bumblebee: he gave the roof of the Saleen a pat before he walked away.

Barricade remained for two long seconds, then silently drove away.

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Sam had had a week to think about what he had seen and felt inside Barricade's mind. He remembered the names of the places, even names of Decepticons Barricade had worked with. He was still in awe about the sight of Cybertron as it had been. It was no comparison to the holo-projection of Optimus when he had explained to a shell-shocked Sam and Mikaela who they were and where they had come from.

He hadn't returned to the base the next weekend, actually staying in Mission City, and he had driven Bumblebee out to a lonely spot they had discovered in the beginning of Sam's move to the college town.

This was where he was now. Sitting on the ground, thinking back to those images, feeling goose bumps rise.

"Sam?"

"Hm?"

"You've been very… quiet," Bumblebee finally broke the silence.

He looked up into the so familiar face and smiled slightly. "Yeah. Lots of stuff going through my head."

"Do you want to share?"

"It's actually something I should ask you."

Bumblebee shot him a quizzical look.

"It's about your past. About your home."

Bumblebee hunched a little closer. "We talked about that before. You know you can ask me anything."

Sam nodded. "I just… saw some stuff in Barricade. Good and bad. Some things were… disturbing. He said you all have them. War memories. I just… I want to learn how to deal with them."

"Barricade's?"

"His, yours, whoever I touch."

Bumblebee studied him. "I would share with you," he eventually said, his voice very serious.

Sam felt something shiver through him for no apparent reason. The words seemed to touch another alien memory inside him.

"Bee…"

"You are my friend," the Autobot went on. "I trust you with a direct access into my mind already. I would be honored to share more."

Sam swallowed. He had never wanted to train his abilities, his fighting abilities, with the others. Barricade was the best possible candidate.

Him and Bumblebee were very close. The uplink was natural for Sam now, just like feeling the soft pulse at the other end. He had rarely gone deeply into Bumblebee's mind. It was a private place. Barricade was his training partner. Bumblebee was… a lot more.

"You never asked, Sam, but I would say yes."

He swallowed. "I might harm you," he tried his one and only repeated argument, his only defense.

He could almost feel Bumblebee smile. "No."

One finger touched his chest and Sam felt something ripple. It was as if his very body was no longer just human but something else, like a mass of circuits now finally starting to work, finding what they needed to be complete.

The uplink was like an afterthought.

And for the first time, he shared Bumblebee's memories.

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fin for this one! Hope you enjoyed :)