Someone was calling his name. Frantic and repetitive.

Sam grimaced, keeping his eyes squeezed shut as a deep ache wracked his body, affecting every fiber, every nerve. Hell, even his bones felt as if they had been torn out, shaken, and then shoved back into place.

What happened?

His hands cramped from their death grip on the wheel and he released it, hearing his knuckles crack in protest. He heard his name again as well as Alex's and Mikaela's.

"Yeah?" His voice shook.

The radio crackled as Bumblebee spoke. "Are you okay?" The bot sounded worried.

The crash.

Everything came rushing back; something big and loud had slammed into Bee's side, pushing them across the road into a nauseating spin.

Sam patted his body. Wiggled his fingers and toes. Felt his head. Everything seemed accounted for and working. "I-I'm okay, I think. What about you?"

"I'm fine."

A lie. There was strain in Bee's voice and besides, no one could get hit by a force of that magnitude and come out completely unscathed.

Oh god…

"Mikaela! Alex!" Sam wrenched around in his seat, seeking them, but stopped with a cry as pain shot down his neck.

Fuck that hurt.

Something was pulled somewhere—maybe everywhere by the feel of it. His breath blew out slowly through clenched teeth and the pain settled from intolerable to simmering angrily just below the skin. He struggled in his seat, trying to move his body as a whole, but the belt was tight across his torso and lap. The buckle released on its own despite Sam's ineffective fumbles for it and he gasped, the aching back in full force from the loss of the belt's supportive pressure.

"Mikaela?" he gritted out, swallowing his pain. He could see her now, hunched over and head bowed, a curtain of hair obscuring her face. She clutched one arm protectively against her chest.

Bee called her name. Alex's too.

Mikalea answered first.

"I was holding onto the door when we were hit," she said through the veil. "I think something's broken." As if trying to prove her point, she released her hand. The pull of gravity alone had her crying out and bracing it again quickly.

There was silence from the backseat. Fear gripped his chest and Sam used the center console to pull himself around, his neck spasming from the movement.

"Alex?" She should have said something by now. Why wasn't she answering?

She was slumped against the side of the car, her eyes closed.

"Alex!" He grabbed her leg, shaking her roughly and she jerked awake.

Oh thank god…

"Nngh… Sam?" She looked around slowly, gaze taking a moment to fixate on his. "What's going on?"

"We were in an accident. Are you hurt?" The hair on the side of her head looked matted and dark. "You're bleeding!"

She gingerly probed the area he pointed to and winced. The tips of her fingers came back red. "It's not that bad, just a cut on my scalp."

"Not that bad… you were unconscious!"

She ignored his concern, wiping her hand clean against her shirt. "What about you guys? You okay?"

"Broke something here and pretty sure Sam has whiplash the way he keeps yelping," Mikaela spoke up. "All thanks to some asshole running the red."

Sam tried to make out the truck through the windows. Its one headlight was dark while the other was cracked and illuminating the pieces of glass and blue metal littered on the ground. The massive grill and hood were crumpled inward but even with all of the damage it looked familiar. He'd seen that truck before but where?

A Decepticon?

No.

There was no way a Decepticon would ram them and not follow with a hail of bullets. It was just a plain old truck.

Sam adjusted his position but couldn't get a good angle to see its passengers. "We need to get to them," he said. "They could be seriously hurt."

Mikaela struggled with her purse, rooting around in it, as he grabbed for the door.

"Go," she ordered, pulling out her cellphone. "I'll call for help."

He was one foot out when a rage filled roar made them all freeze.

"What the…" Sam's eyes darted around for the source.

Mikalea's voice trembled as she found it first, her words breathless as if she couldn't believe what she saw. "Oh my god, it's Trent."

Now Sam remembered where he'd seen that truck: parked in the school lot beside the football field, taking up two prime spaces; on the crest overlooking the lake, surrounded by jocks and cheerleaders; driving past him as he walked home from school, its driver hurdling obscene insults from an open window.

It was the baby of South Gate High's biggest bully and asshole.

Trent DeMarco.

Sam got out on shaky legs. He could see Trent now, standing in the intersection staring open mouthed as he took in the damage to his beloved Hummer. Dust coated him in a fine film. Skin, clothing, hair, all of it white as if he'd been hit by a flurry of snow. It would have been almost comical considering the effort Trent put into his appearance.

Sam didn't laugh.

"My truck!" Trent's hands gripped into fists and a scowl, dark and full of hatred and accusation, turned to where Sam hovered next to Bee. "Look what you did to my fucking truck!"

"Hey, Trent, man, common." Sam took a few cautious steps his way. "Let's not focus on who's at fault. You took a massive hit. Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm not okay," Trent snarled, one hand pulling at his shirt sending powder falling in a cloud around him.

Bee's passenger door opened and Mikaela got out, her right arm still supported protectively against her torso and ear to the phone. Alex followed, hovering behind her like a shadow. Trent's gaze swung to Mikaela and his unbridled fury only seemed to grow at her appearance. Sam edged around Bee's front, closing the gap between the four of them.

Trent jabbed a finger at Bee. "Look at your car! There isn't a scratch on it!" Spittle flew from his lips as he sputted, "And—and look at my fucking truck!"

"Trent, you need to calm down," Mikaela hissed at him between the broken sentences she relayed to the person on the other end of the line.

"Calm down? Don't tell me to calm down you fucking cunt!"

"Don't talk to her like that!" Sam thundered, the hard edge to his tone cutting through the air like a knife. He'd be damned if he was going to let Mikaela take the brunt of Trent's anger. Not after the chauvinistic bullshit she put up with while dating him.

Not usually being on the receiving end of veiled threats, Trent's attention snapped back to Sam and he stomped up to him, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. Sam held up a hand as he approached; not to ward off the asshole bearing down on him, but rather as a signal to Bee to continue standing down. He knew his friend was watching the situation intently and would break cover the moment he felt Sam was in distress.

He couldn't let that happen. Better to let everything play out; after all, he'd dealt with the ire of the muscular blockhead in front of him before.

"And what are you going to do about it, Witwicky?" Trent sneared, his lip curling in contempt, as his face pressed in close.

Sam, about to shoot off a comment—something along the lines of how having Trent all to himself made him feel fuzzy inside—stopped short when he noticed a glassiness to Trent's eyes and a very distinctive odor on his breath.

Suddenly, the accident made sense.

"You're drunk." Sam gaped, unable to fathom the depth of stupidity that could have cost them all their lives. Rage replaced whatever sympathy he'd been entertaining and he bellowed, "You could have killed someone!"

"So I had a few beers, so what?" Trent slurred, obviously not giving half a fuck about the consequences of his actions and not appearing the least bit fazed by the change in Sam's demeanor. "You're still going to pay for fucking up my truck." He shoved Sam's shoulder, staggering him back into Bee. "Driving in my way with that piece of shit car."

Sam braced himself against the hood that heated up beneath his hands. A quick reassuring pat thankfully was all it took to settle Bee again, although he wasn't quite sure just how much more the bot would take. Especially as Trent went to shove him again.

This time Sam easily ducked out of the way. Trent's aim was off and the movement more sluggish than before, which could have been a good sign the fight was leaving him or a bad sign that the impact of the crash was starting to have an effect. Whatever the case, this had to stop.

"That's enough!" Sam yelled, shuffling around Trent, trying to find a sweet spot that kept Trent from focusing on the girls while maintaining a safe distance between the two of them. Luckily, Mikaela had remained glued to her phone in a protected area behind Bee and Sam could hear her pleading into the receiver for them to 'hurry up'.

But then Sam saw Alex approaching from over Trent's shoulder, her eyes trained solely on Trent, watching his every move. Coming to his defense no doubt. An admirable move, even though he wanted her nowhere near Trent, considering how unpredictable the situation was. But before he could tell her to back away and let him handle things, Trent decided to lunge at him for a third time.

"Leave him alone!" Alex grabbed Trent's shoulder, trying to hold him back.

Trent snarled at the touch, bearing his teeth like a feral dog. He brought up a heavily muscled arm and pushed her away as if she were an afterthought, completely catching her off guard. She yelped as her grip came loose and she stumbled back. Her foot caught the curb and she fell against the sidewalk with a pained cry.

"Alex!" Sam attempted to sidestep around Trent, reaching out to her, but was met with a wall of flesh and bone. Trent rounded on him, slamming a big meaty fist into his face with a wet crack.

Sam's head snapped back as bright light exploded across his vision in excruciating agony. He staggered and—surprisingly—remained on his feet as he braced his cheek.

Nearby, Mikaela screamed.

And there came a low growl beside him.

No stop, I'm okay, Sam tried to say but all that came out was a whimper. He held up a shaky hand, waving them off even as Trent bore down on him.

But Bumblebee had enough.

Like a beast out of the pits of hell, the Autobot roared to life. Trent froze, the remaining color draining out of his face and his eyes growing as wide as dinner plates. He gaped at the driverless Camaro whose grill hissed steam and headlights turned a deep bloody red, which captured him in their beams. Trent's mouth opened silently as if he were about to scream but nothing happened as if it got lodged on its way out.

And the growling that emanated from Bumblebee was terrifying.

The low pitched thrumming—that Sam could not only hear but feel—reminded him of every horror creature flick he'd ever seen mixed with something so completely alien that it sent chills shooting down his spine.

Especially as he'd heard the sound before.

From Barricade.

And Megatron.

He gulped back his own rising fear, sucking in a breath to relieve the vibrations in his chest.

Bee revved and lunged in Trent's direction, sending the boy stumbling back against the pavement in the attempt to get away from the metal monster bearing down on him. His hands smacked against the ground, shoes skidding and scraping along the asphalt as he tried to find his footing and, finally, he jerked to his feet as the friction caught. He tore off down the street, a terrified wail finally ripping from his throat.

Bumblebee stilled, lights blinking off and engine cutting into silence, which was only broken by the slaps of Trent's receding footsteps and his screams for help.

Sam watched the retreating form. He should have called out, urged him to come back. There was still the chance he was injured and Sam almost felt sorry for the guy.

But the words never came.

How could they when his head pounded and his face throbbed. His fingers traced his cheek and even the light touch drew a hiss of pain.

The wailing of sirens echoed in the distance, cresting and waning in mournful tones, growing louder as emergency vehicles approached. Red and blue lights flashed as they appeared over the top of a hill and one cruiser veering off in the direction Trent had taken. The police had seen him.

Motion from beyond the casted halos of light from the street lamps drew Sam's attention and he spotted several onlookers slowly gathering, spurred from their homes by the commotion. He took a weary note of each expression he came across. A few were curious, most concerned and, thankfully, none were panicked.

It didn't seem as if Bumblebee's actions had been witnessed.

But as he was about to heave a big sigh of relief, he froze as he remembered.

Fuck, Alex!

He dodged around Bee's front, practically leaping across the hood.

Maybe Alex had been too focused on Trent not to notice the growling Camaro moving under its own power.

But his hopefulness died as he saw her.

She lay where she'd fallen, palms scraped and fresh blood speckled across the raw skin, lighter than the reddish-brown smear matting her hair. Similar to Trent, her eyes were wide with panic and locked onto the car in front of her.

She didn't respond when he called her name. Only when he grabbed her arm did her gaze snap to him.

Of course he knew she wasn't but he still asked, "Are you okay?" A quick inspection didn't reveal any further wounds.

"S-Sam, your car. Your car—did you see…" She grabbed him, fingers clutching his shirt and he could see her body trembling in the cool night air.

"Alex, I—" He was cut off by the high-pitched sound of the sirens as the emergency vehicles arrived. Uniformed personnel swarmed into the area, turning it into a hive of activity under a disco of lights. Two paramedics and a firefighter approached Sam, spouting off a barrage of questions that he struggled to respond to. On the far side of Bee he could hear Miakela answering similar ones of her own.

Gentle hands guided him away from Alex to the open doors of a waiting ambulance where penlights flashed across his vision and probing fingers palpated tender points along his neck. Alex disappeared behind a wall of first responders. He sought Mikaela but she had vanished as well. Bee remained silent and motionless.

The aching returned, his face tight as the flesh over his cheek bloated up fat and hot, and the adrenaline that had been pumping through his body drained away leaving him shaking. The paramedics took notice and even though he argued he was alright, their empathetic voices convinced him to settle onto the thin gurney with a defeated sigh.

The doors slammed closed and the sirens started up their echoing cry.

0-0-0-0-0

The emergency room bustled with activity. Staff wearing scrubs of white or green hurried about the different pods, wheeling carts of supplies and calling out to each other like a flock of restless birds. Occasionally a pained cry or agitated shout arose from one of the bed's occupants and a nurse would hurry over, the privacy curtains making a hissing sound as they were pulled to obscure what would happen next.

Sam shivered and readjusted the ice pack against his cheek.

The pain was still there but now nothing more than a low, dull throb thanks to morphine and its small favors.

Two men approached the bed, one holding a folder and looking barely out of his twenties. He introduced himself as Dr. Elijah and referred to his trailing associate as Mark, a nurse with a well seasoned face and grey speckling hair.

Sam eyed the folder.

"Not to worry," Dr. Elijah said, noticing the apprehensive look. "Everything came back normal. There was no evidence of a fracture or hemorrhage on your CT and your labs are as unremarkable as they come."

"That's good, right?"

"Very good, Mr. Witwicky."

"Does this mean I can go?" He slid off the bed. Mikaela and Alex were somewhere in the hospital but he'd lost track of them, each whisked away to different areas on arrival to the emergency department. Their injuries were worse than his and not knowing how they were was eating him up inside.

There was also the concerning matter of what to do about Alex.

Dr. Elijah held up a hand, halting him in his tracks.

"Technically yes, as long as your last set of vitals are stable." Dr. Elijah motioned to Mark, who grabbed the blood pressure cuff off the wall. "And this"—he retrieved a slip of paper from within the folder—"is a prescription for an analgesic. For your pain."

The chicken scratch was barely legible. "Naprosyn?"

"An anti inflammatory; it'll help reduce the swelling. Just be sure to take it with food."

"Wait—" Sam said as Dr. Elijah turned to leave. "My cousin and girlfriend were in the same accident. Do you know where they—" He trailed off as the physician didn't give pause, continuing down the ward and seeming to either not hear or purposefully ignore him.

"Aaand he's gone." Mark chuckled. He motioned for Sam to hop back up on the bed. At the slump of his shoulders, Mark explained. "The guy's like that with everyone. Got himself a one track mind. One patient done, off to the next. But don't worry, I can help you find your family."

"Thank you," Sam replied, relieved.

He waited patiently for the blood pressure cuff to finish and after a thermometer was stuck under his tongue and a clip momentarily attached to his finger, he was given a clean bill of health. He followed Mark over to the nurse's station where a few quick strokes were typed on the keyboard after he gave Mikaela and Alex's full names.

"Well, it says Ms. Banes' status has been upgraded to discharged." Mark scanned the room. "And it doesn't look like she's here. I would try down the hall." He pointed a finger toward a pair of double doors marked with a wide yellow stripe across their surface. "There's a small waiting area on your right. If that's a bust, the main reception at the entrance is a good bet. That is, unless she's already left."

Sam shook his head. "She wouldn't do that. Not without finding me first."

"As for Ms. Taylor…" There were a few more clicks. "It says she's currently awaiting a consult. That doesn't necessarily mean a bad thing," Mark quickly explained as the color drained from Sam's face. "It just means she's waiting for an in depth discussion with one of the team members. Likely a physician."

Oh thank god, Sam thought for the second time that night. "Does it say what it's about? She hit her head pretty hard."

Mark gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry but I can't reveal that information. Patient confidentiality."

"Oh…." Even though it made sense, it didn't stop Sam from hating the system at that moment.

"One sec." Mark grabbed the phone and punched in a few numbers. A grin split his face as the line connected. "Hey, Steph, it's Mark. Were you able to get in touch with Sam Witwicky's emergency contacts?"

Sam drummed his fingers on the desk.

Mark straightened the clipboard in front of him, finger tracing along a top line. "That's Witwicky. W...i...t...w… yeah, that's the one." There was a pause and then Mark thanked the person on the other end and hung up. "Our ward clerk was able to get in touch with your folks."

"My parents?" His throat constricted. He vaguely recalled being asked about them in the ambulance.

"Might want to hang around a bit longer," Mark said. "They're on their way."

Shit. His dad was going to hit the roof. And his mom… Oh god, he could already picture the tears. The many, many tears. He patted the back pocket of his jeans but came up empty.

Right… he'd left his phone in Bee's cupholder.

So much for calling off the calvary.

"I'm going to find my girlfriend," Sam said as Mark looked at him expectantly. "Thanks for all your help and stuff."

"You're welcome and good luck." Mark gave a wave.

To Sam's surprise, he didn't have to search for long, spotting Mikaela's raven locks and shapely curves coming his way. Her blue eyes widened as she caught sight of him. Apparently he wasn't the only one on a mission.

They fell into each other's arms, bodies pressed together tightly, his face nestled against her neck. The familiar scent of her skin and hair soothed the worry that wracked him.

"You're okay," he murmured, squeezing briefly before holding her at arm's length. His gaze landed on the white cast she wore. "Your arm—"

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "They said I fractured my radius. Nothing serious." Sam admired her resolve, dismissing the injury as if it were nothing more than an inconvenience. "I only need to wear this thing for a month or so." Her good hand rose to his cheek and he withheld a wince. "Your face…"

"You should see the other guy." He gave a wry grin. He hadn't seen his reflection yet but he figured he looked rougher than dirt given how he felt and MIkaela's worried expression. He pulled her fingers away, lips brushing across her knuckles. "Seriously though I'm fine. Some bruising of the skin and well, maybe my pride."

Thanks again for the sucker punch, Trent.

"Have you seen Alex?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not since the accident. Do you know if she's okay?"

"No." He sighed, exasperated. "They wouldn't tell me much other than she's somewhere upstairs waiting for a consult with a specialist or something."

Her voice wavered slightly. "I'm sure it's nothing—"

"Mikaela… she saw Bee."

"I know…" She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes darting off to the side.

The gravity of the situation hung over them like a dark cloud. Or maybe an axe about to fall... Whatever it was, it was definitely a bad position to be in.

"What are you going to tell her?" she asked and it was his turn to shrug.

"I don't know. Nothing… Everything?" A corner of his mouth twitched. "Think she'll believe me if I tell her my car was possessed?"

"Sam…"

"Yeah, you're right. It would probably raise as many questions as 'hey Alex, meet the alien robot who has been living with me for the past two years'." He rubbed his brow. "I'm royally fucked."

"We will figure it out, Sam."

"I sure hope so. I really don't feel like going to jail for revealing government intel." He sighed again and looked around. A sign for the elevators glowed neon yellow down the hall. "Listen, I'm going to go find her but my parents are en route—"

"I'll wait for them." Mikaela said. "I'll try to deescalate the situation a bit before they find you."

Sam caught her lips in a kiss, his relief palatable, and she giggled.

"You're the best, you know that?" he murmured. Her taste was sweet against his mouth and he dragged himself away with a reluctant grunt, squeezing her hand briefly before hurrying upstairs.

The second floor was a maze of turns and long corridors. After running back and forth and studying every plaque of directions he came across, Sam finally ended up in the area designated 'Consultations'. Five doors lined a hallway decorated with donated artwork that mostly consisted of campy flowers in 1980's brass frames; something you'd expect to see in your grandmother's house and not a hospital that boasted state of the art status in its ads. Through one of the open doors, he spotted Alex sitting on an examination bed. Her gaze was unfocused and fixated on the fall wall, she wore a neutral expression, and her hands were relaxed and open in her lap. Honestly, she didn't look any worse for wear. The blood that had discolored her hair and skin had been scrubbed clean and, as he stepped into the room, he could make out the beginning trail of stiff blue stitches just above her temple.

His heart beat a little less erratically at the hope blooming in his chest. Maybe he had overestimated the situation's severity.

"Alex?" He announced his presence with a knock. Her gaze fluttered over to him and he heard a sharp inhale.

"Sam."

He crossed the room and was enveloped in the second hug that night that had him awash with relief.

Unfortunately it was short lived.

Alex grabbed his shoulders, pushing him away enough so as to hold his gaze. His shirt twisted in her grip and he knew what she was going to ask.

"Did you see it?" she whispered, even though they were the only ones in the room. "Your car moved on its own. You saw it, right? Please tell me you saw it."

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Her blue eyes searched him for that spark of recognition that would prove she wasn't going crazy… That she hadn't imagined his car coming to their defense and threatening the living shit out of the asshole responsible for the crash and their pain.

She noticed his hesitation and asked again, desperation in her eyes. Her voice. "Please…"

Sam held his breath, wracking his brain for something. Anything. The blue stitches caught his attention again—sticking out against the pale skin they held together—and he exhaled slowly as an idea flickered to life. "Alex… you hit your head pretty hard…"

She flinched as if he'd physically struck her. A mix of hurt and betrayal contorted her features.

"B-but—" she stammered.

"I didn't see anything."

He knew a bit about her hallucinations from his mother and playing this off as one of them seemed reasonable. It beat the alternative—him on the chopping block of a pissed off military official.

Just, why did it make him feel like scum?

"But he ran—" she said.

The lie grew much easier than expected. "Because the cops arrived, remember? The sirens. The lights. The guy almost killed us because he ran a red while driving drunk. The police were coming and he knew he was in some deep shit." Sam cringed as he continued, "He was a coward."

They both were…

He stepped back as she released him—her hands falling back into her lap—and he tried to ignore the wetness forming in the corners of her eyes.

So far the night was batting one hundred on the shitty factor and he couldn't wait for it to end.

"Sam!"

His parents burst into the room with Mikaela trailing behind. Sam winced as he was swept up in a crushing hug by two pairs of arms and gasped, "I'm okay, I'm okay." Some relief came when his mother switched her death grip to Alex.

"They were just arriving by the time I got to the lobby," Miaela said. "I already gave a rundown of the accident."

Ron's face was a furious scowl. "If that little shit thinks he's going to get away with this"—his dad uttered, turning Sam's injured side toward him—"then he's sorely mistaken."

"Dad, stop. I'm fine," Sam repeated. "We're fine," he said with less certainty.

"Like hell you are." Ron fumed but stepped back giving Sam some breathing room. Judy continued to fuss over a silent Alex

A polite knock interrupted them much to his relief. His father needed to come back from his boiling point. It was much too late at night to witness a Witwicky meltdown.

Another physician, this time looking like he just stepped out of a Wall Street office, strode confidently into the room. "Hello again, Alex." He greeted her like an old friend but when it wasn't reciprocated his expression grew concerned. Sam tensed, knowing the change in her disposition was his fault. The physician addressed Sam's parents. "I'm Dr. Richard McLachlan, with the neurology team."

"We're Alex's next of kin, Ron and Judy Witwicky," his dad said. "This is Sam, our son, and his girlfriend, Mikaela."

"It's a pleasure. I was hoping to review Alex's case with you," Dr. McLauchlan cast another kind smile her way. "With Alex's consent of course."

"I'm going to step outside and give you guys some privacy." Mikaela motioned toward the door.

"I'll go with you." Sam was already at her side, drawing her out of the room gently by her good arm. There was no way he was going to hang around and listen to the doctor spout off what was wrong with Alex. Not after what he'd done. He didn't need to know how much worse he possibly made things. Enough guilt wormed around his gut as it was.

In the quiet of the hallway and with the door firmly closed behind them, Sam asked Mikaela, "What do you think happened to Bee?" He wished he could contact the bot but the military had kiboshed any idea of communication between them on non secure networks. Aside from Bee screening messages left on the house voicemail, Sam really had no way of letting him know what was going on.

"Actually, your dad mentioned seeing Bee parked out front of the hospital. He was going to be my next stop to make sure he was alright." Her gaze flickered briefly over to the closed door. "What did you say to Alex anyway?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, about that…"

One perfectly shaped brow rose. "Sam. What did you do?"

"I might have played the situation off as being part of her head injury," he said in a whoosh. "Well that and her mental illness."

"Excuse me?"

"Alex has schizophrenia," he explained. "She's been having hallucinations for years so I kind of just let her believe what Bee did was one of them."

"And you thought that was a good idea?" He didn't miss the low tone to her voice or the way her gaze turned to frost.

"Well.. in that moment, yeah," he said. She crossed her arms and continued to look at him as if he was something she'd dragged in off the street on the heel of her shoe. His shoulders slumped, "Ugh, I fucked up didn't I?"

"That was really low, Sam."

"I know…"

They stood in silence for several long moments before Mikaela sighed.

"Well, there's nothing you can do about it now. Any damage has already been done." She poked a manicured nail against his chest. "But you are going to make it up to her."

He gently brushed her hand away and rubbed at the spot. "Yeah, of course I will," he muttered as if it were the most obvious thing ever.

He just wasn't sure how.

0-0-0-0-0

Alex sat quietly in the examination room as the adults talked between themselves, every sentence nothing but incoherent noise. She only heard Sam's words, as clear as day, repeating over and over.

You hit your head really hard... I didn't see anything…

She stared listlessly at the floor.

How could this have happened?

She hadn't faltered with her medications, still taking them religiously, exactly how her psychiatrist ordered her to. The voices were as muffled as ever at night and were still easy to silence completely if she wanted. She didn't feel sick. She was getting out of the house. Meeting new people. Eating well… Sure, her stress was definitely higher than usual but that came with the territory of starting a new school. And her mood definitely wasn't the most stable, especially when she thought of her mother, but she hadn't dissolved into tears for at least a week now.

So how was she suddenly seeing a car moving on its own, acting as if it were alive? And for that matter she'd never had hallucinations while she was awake. Why now?

That just didn't happen to sane people.

Or to adjusted, well-medicated people.

Which only meant she was becoming unstable… again.

A choked sob threatened to tear itself from her throat and it took immense effort to force it back. A breakdown here wouldn't help. Not in front of her family.

Not in front of a doctor.

She shut her eyes and counted to ten, matching each number with a slow deep breath.

One… two… three…

Dr. McLauchlan continued to talk in the background. The medical jargon he spewed reminded her of a cicada's droning and the hospital an uncomfortable hot afternoon.

Four… five… six…

"—with the concussion and her health history as well as the classes of medications she's on, I would like to admit Alex for overnight observation."

What? Her head snapped up. "Wait… I thought I was okay. I thought we were going home after this," she blurted out. "I don't want to stay here, I want to go home."

A sympathetic smile was Ron's initial response. It was obvious who he sided with even without opening his mouth. "Alex, honey, we should listen to the specialist. It would be for your own good."

No, this could not be happening. Being in the hospital for an hour or two? Fine, she could handle that. But overnight? That was a firm hell no.

Alex turned to Judy, her aunt probably the only one left in her life who understood the reasoning behind her alarm. She only hoped it was enough. She pleaded with her in a shaking voice, "Please. I can't stay here. Don't make me stay here…"

Judy regarded her for several torturous moments—each an eternity in itself—before finally taking her hand to give it a squeeze.

"Tell us what we need to watch out for tonight," Judy addressed Dr. McLauchlan. "We'll make sure she's well taken care of. And if by chance something comes up, she'll be whisked back here in a jiffy."

"But Judy—"

"Ron"—she halted any further discussion over the matter—"she's coming with us."

He looked confused and was rightfully so. Alex didn't blame him. He simply didn't know.

"Alright," he agreed.

Alex breathed a sigh of relief.

One small victory for the night.

Now, if only the sour thoughts spinning in her head were as easily dealt with.

0-0-0-0-0

"Are you sure you don't want to stay at my place?" Sam asked Miakela as her house sat nearby. This time one of the windows was lit by a faint yellow glow and, if he listened hard enough, he could hear the twang of some country oldie coming through the thin glass panes. Bumblebee was silent, cutting his engine after pulling up to her property. In fact, all three of them had remained reserved since leaving the hospital. Mikaela had fallen asleep, head rolling against the headrest, Bee lowering the seat as she snored softly. Sam's own eyes drooped and one yawn followed the other like a never ending train. He suspected the morphine they'd both received was partially to blame. And, aside from questions regarding how they were and where Alex was, Bee kept to himself during the drive.

"I'll be fine, Sam," Mikaela said. "I'm sure Stacey will notice if I start bleeding profusely or stop breathing."

"Mikaela!"

She winced. "Sorry, bad joke?"

"You think?" Already worried enough as it was, he didn't need to imagine terrible things happening to her after he left.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'm tired and sore and I want to fall into bed and sleep for the next three days more than anything."

"Fuuuuck," he groaned into his palms, suddenly remembering what day it was, "school's tomorrow." Just the very thought of sitting through class was akin to torture. "And we have a quiz in history."

"Sam, I think we've got a free pass for tomorrow," Mikaela said, getting out of the car.

He dropped his hands and gave her a wry look. "Tell that to Mr. Hosney after our free pass for half of October."

"Stop worrying," she chided him, "and do what I'm going to do. Go home, go to bed, and get some much needed rest. Everything will look better in the morning."

"You won't be thinking that when we're repeating the eleventh grade," he called after her. She simply blew him a kiss.

As soon as she was gone, the worry on his face dropped off, replaced by a scowl. Anger still coiled in his chest. Anger at the situation, at Trent...

Anger at himself.

The steering wheel thudded as he brought his fist down against the hard leather only for him to gasp as he realized what he did.

"Fuck! I—I didn't mean… I'm… I'm sorry."

There was a pause before Bee replied. "That's okay. It didn't hurt."

"That's not the point." Sam hung his head, everything suddenly going from bad to worse. How could he have been so goddamn stupid? "You don't hit your friends…"

A gentle whir sounded from the dash. "If it makes you feel better, you can use me as a punching bag anytime you need. I'm tougher than I look," Bee said, his tone light.

Sam knew he meant well and probably would let him do exactly that but he couldn't help but balk at the suggestion. "That's a terrible thing to say."

The bot hummed, whether in amusement or thought, Sam wasn't sure. "Well, I guess if my right hook was like yours, I wouldn't want anyone seeing it either."

Amusement it was…

"Hey!" Sam exclaimed defensively even though the corners of his mouth lifted. "I'm not that bad."

Bee chuckled. "Common," he said, starting up and pulling away from the house. "Let's get you home."

0-0-0-0-0

The next morning Ron treaded silently down the hall making sure to avoid the floorboards that creaked. He slipped his tie around his neck and let it dangle loosely as he paused in front of Sam's room. The door was open a crack and he gazed at the blanket covered lump on the bed. He'd had done this several times throughout the night, peeking in on his son and reassuring himself everything was okay. Only the rise and fall of the linen and the occasional snore gave any indication the room was occupied. Sam had barely moved since he'd plummeted face first into the sheets and pillows the night before.

He closed the door and continued downstairs. Fresh coffee was percolating on the kitchen counter and he helped himself eagerly, hoping to chase away the remnants of a fraught sleep. As he sipped the piping hot liquid, he glanced into the living room where the couches had been shoved against the walls to make room for the two air mattresses he'd gotten out of storage. Judy and Alex lay undisturbed on them. The television was on and muted, early morning news playing on its screen. On the coffee table was a litter of nail polish, candies, and DVDs. The spoils of a slumber party that was Judy's idea as she had to wake up Alex every two hours as part of Dr. McLauchlan's concussion protocol.

After leaving a quick note on the kitchen table, Ron grabbed his briefcase and, instead of heading to his car, he detoured to the garage.

Even though it was his property, it didn't feel right barging in so he rapped his knuckles against the door letting the occupant know of his presence.

"Hello?" he said, entering after a moment's pause. Bumblebee was in his car form. He didn't move as Ron set down his briefcase and stood in front of him. "Can I talk to you?" He motioned toward the house. "Don't worry. The kids are still asleep."

The yellow and black panels shifted and twisted into a humanoid form. The first few times Ron saw the Autobots change their shapes had been both awe inspiring and terrifying. A process so completely alien it felt almost as if he were dreaming. But now, after seeing it so many times and getting to know the personalities behind each one—especially the young scout stationed with them—it seemed the most natural thing ever. Still amazing but no longer something to fear.

Bee knelt where he transformed, waiting for him to speak first. Ron wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a flicker of worry cross the alien's face. He cleared his throat. "I want to thank you."

Bee cocked his head, studying him. "Thank me?"

"For what you did." Ron swallowed thickly as his emotions got the better of him and his voice wavered. "The police sent me photos of the truck involved in the accident. If it weren't for you, I would have lost my son last night… the girls… They would have been killed if you hadn't been with them."

"They were still hurt… I should have done more—"

Ron shook his head. "They're alive because of you. That's what matters. Judy and I… we can't ever hope to begin to repay you." He smiled, coming to the end of the short speech he planned ever since he'd hugged the kids tight after getting to the hospital. "And because of all you've done, not just for us but for everyone on Earth, I want you to know that you've earned the trust of this family. You will always be welcome here in our home."

0-0-0-0-0

Sam snapped his phone shut and dangled his arm over the side of the bed, face still pressed against the mattress. He'd just finished checking in on Mikaela, who had sworn up and down she was no worse for wear than when he'd last seen her, even though he couldn't help but remain skeptical. Maybe it was because he felt a thousand times worse than yesterday. Almost like he'd been hit by a truck.

Oh wait… that actually happened.

He grunted, the room was much too bright for…. he stole a glance at his clock. Damn, it was already ten-thirty? He groaned and hid his face further into the sheets to block the overly cheery beams out. But soon it became hard to breathe and he flung the covers off, sitting up with another hefty groan as muscles he didn't even know he had, yelled at him for moving too fast.

Not bothering to worry about his appearance—way too much of an effort—he pulled on the first things out of the dresser. He actually considered wearing the stuff that lay on the floor from yesterday but scratched the idea as the clothes smelled like antiseptic and sick people. His empty stomach rolled at the thought of the hospital and he stumbled out of the room in search of sustenance.

Alex and his mother were already awake and while his mom greeted him with a huge smile and hug, he could barely get a response out of Alex. She sat at the kitchen table, a bowl of Cheerios untouched in front of her. It was uncanny how similar it was to her first morning in their house—her expression, the emptiness of her gaze, the slump of her shoulders. The only difference was the orange and white pill bottle on the table near her, standing out like a sore thumb. He couldn't read the label from where he was but it didn't matter. It was the first time she'd had them out in the open and he took that as a bad sign.

Making it up to her weighed on him all that more and he mulled over his options as he took a chair across from her. His mom set a portion of the omelette she'd been making in front of him.

"Alex?" Judy asked, "Are you sure you don't want some?"

"No, thank you." Her eyes never strayed from the bowl.

"The protein is good for you. It'll help heal your cut."

"Maybe later."

With a dejected sigh, she scooped the rest onto Sam's plate. "Here you go, honey."

"Thanks, mom." He received a kiss on the top of his head.

It should have been delicious—his mother's cooking always was—but the eggs and cheese were bland on his tongue.

Funny… guilt apparently had a taste.

The food still disappeared into the black gullet of his stomach and he thought as he ate. Alex enjoyed the beach. Perhaps they could go to the boardwalk? He cast a critical eye her way and thought better of it as she didn't seem like she would be up to the rambunctious crowds.

Maybe something with art? It seemed to be important to her and she wasn't half bad, at least from what little he'd seen of her work. A smile tugged at his lips, the more he thought about it. Los Angeles was bursting with shopping districts and it never hurt to have a full stock of supplies. They could find the biggest store around and get something really cool, maybe something she'd always wanted but was never able to find while living in Meaford. His treat of course, unless his mother decided against an advance on his allowance.

With a fledgling plan in place and the last of the omelete shoveled into his mouth, he tossed the dishes into the dishwasher and headed for the garage to invite Bee along. Fresh air and an open road would do them all some good. Of course that was if Bee was up to it. The big guy had taken a truck to his side. Hopefully he wasn't feeling the effects too much this morning.

"Hey, buddy," Sam said as he entered the garage. Unsurprisingly, he was greeted by the sight of the Camaro. "You can transform if you want. Alex is busy with breakfast."

He locked the door though, just to be sure.

Bee changed into his bipedal mode and rested against the back wall.

"How are you feeling?"

"How are you?"

They both spoke at once and Sam chuckled. "Stiff and sore but nothing a couple of pain killers can't handle. You?"

"In need of a wax job." Bee gestured to his leg and Sam noticed one of his thigh plates was scuffed.

"My dad might have some," he offered.

Bee smiled and shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll be fine. It shouldn't take too long to heal and until then it'll just be a battle scar of the time I took on a Hummer."

Sam couldn't stop the laugh that burst from his lips. "I'm sorry," he said at Bee's questioning look. "It's just that totally came across as something else—er—you know what, nevermind."

"Well now I really want to know."

"I don't think you do." Sam tried but he could tell Bee was already looking up the answer.

It was Bee's turn to laugh. "Oh okay, no. I definitely didn't take on that. Is everything a sexual innuendo with humans?"

Sam shrugged. "Pretty much. Our minds are perpetually in the gutter."

"No wonder you haven't achieved interstellar travel yet."

"Hey!... It's on our list."

The familiar back-and-forth felt good; so much so that Sam almost forgot the reason why he was there in the first place.

"Oh yeah, want to go for a drive to an art store later?"

"Sure. What for?"

"I'm going to take Alex. Cheer her up and stuff."

The humor left Bee's face. "What's wrong with Alex? Did something else happen?"

"No… It's just…" He paused, running a hand through his hair as if scratching his scalp would help him say it eloquently. "Because of last night—of what she saw—I had to control the situation somehow."

"I had assumed you didn't tell her about me."

"Of course I didn't. I couldn't. You sat through the same confidentiality videos, remember?" He shuddered. So many hours wasted. "But I had to come up with some reason why my car suddenly came alive."

"So what was it?" Bee asked. "A mechanical failure? That I have advanced remote control access? I'm a prototype with new security features?"

For a moment, words failed Sam. All of those reasons—still far fetched as they were—sounded significantly better than what he'd done. "Um, not exactly."

Bee cocked his head. "Then, what did you say?"

"That she was crazy," he muttered.

Bee stared at him with disbelief. "Why?"

"Well, I didn't actually call her crazy. I just… implied it."

"Again, why?"

"Because Alex is sick—"

"What?" Bee knelt over him so rapidly that he took a step back in surprise. "What do you mean she's sick?"

Offset by the intensity of Bee's gaze, Sam fumbled through an explanation. "Well, maybe sick isn't the best word to describe it. More like she has a disorder of the brain. It causes her to hallucinate, which means she hears voices and sees things that aren't real." Sam continued, unaware Bee had become very still. "And I made her think you were just another one of her hallucinations but it just made everything so much worse."

"What do you mean?" Bee asked softly.

Sam thought back to the snippets of information he'd gathered from his mother after one of her private phone calls or solo trips to see his aunt and cousin. More often than not, his mom would glaze over the details, reporting everything was "just fine" but on the odd occasion he was able to get her in the sharing mood. His dad seemed to be in the same boat.

"I honestly don't know much about what happened but when Alex was having a lot of hallucinations a few years ago, she was really struggling. She couldn't sleep. She was failing at school. And she always seemed to be sick with colds and stuff. My mom was really worried about her," he explained. "Mary—Alex's mom—was always bringing her to different doctors and it took a ton of medications to sort her out. And now, when she's actually stable, I make her think she's not and I'm worried I've messed her up again because she's not eating and she's all quiet and withdrawn and—and why do you look like you're about to freak out?" Sam noticed Bee's distressed expression.

"She never told me it was hurting her…" Bee whispered.

"What?" It was Sam's turn to be confused.

Bee hesitated, almost as if he wasn't going elaborate on his comment, but then it was like a dam broke inside him and Sam listened in silent shock as the story rushed out of him in one giant release.

The lightning strike.

The Allspark shard.

Entering stasis.

Meeting the Autobots.

Visiting Bee every night for nearly a year.

Sam's mouth was agape by the time he was finished.

There was a moment of silence before Sam roared, "It was all you?"

Bee flinched.

Sam paced back and forth, pulling at his hair as he did so as his mind raced from the implications. "How… how is this even possible? Holy Christ…"

"Sam—"

"Don't!" He pointed an accusatory finger at his friend. "Just… don't say anything."

"I didn't know…"

"Didn't know what? That it was going to mess her up? Normal people don't hear voices in their head, Bee! What did you think was going to happen?" He groaned into his palms. "Fuck, they said she had schizophrenia. And if what you said is true, that means they've been treating her for a disease she doesn't even fucking have! You should see the shit she's taking."

Bee looked absolutely crestfallen. "I never meant to hurt her."

"Well you did," he snapped. He paused his pacing and looked toward the house. "We have to tell her."

"But Optimus—"

"I don't care! Let him get mad. Let the military punish us. Whatever. I'm done worrying about it. We're telling her about you. Today. Now." He headed toward the door, pausing briefly to shoot Bee a warning glare. "And you'd better not be a car when I get back!"

The door slammed behind him and Sam crossed the yard. Some of his anger dissipated once he was out in the peace and quiet of the garden and, honestly, he hadn't meant to yell but he was still so angry from the night before. Coupled with the new knowledge about Alex, he'd taken the brunt of his frustration out on his friend.

At this rate, he'd soon have a lineup of people to make things up to.

His mother was gone when he entered the kitchen. Alex still sat at the table, her Cheerio bowl replaced by the orange and while pill bottle. Sam couldn't figure out why but the way she was staring at it made him uneasy.

"Alex?"

"Yeah?"

He hesitated.

Just how many people had she told about Bumblebee?

One?

Ten?

All of the people she'd spoken to in depth about her hallucinations?

And had anyone believed even an ounce of what she was saying or was it simply chalked up as part of her illness?

Now that he thought about it, casually dropping 'oh by the way, there's an Autobot in our garage," sounded cruel, as if he were mocking her.

"I need you to come to the garage," he said, motioning in its direction. "There's something you need to see."

Her fingers traced along the edge of the cap. "Maybe later."

"But it's really important."

"The only thing I'm going to do today is go back to bed." She didn't budge, just continued to stare at the bottle.

Stepping closer, Sam could make out Lorazepam on the label. He'd Googled the drugs he'd seen at her place and knew this one was used as a sleeping pill.

He scowled. She didn't need to sleep more. She didn't need this medication—hell, she didn't need any of them. He grabbed it and held it behind his back.

That got her attention.

"What are you doing? Give those back," she demanded, thrusting an upturned hand at him.

"No."

Clearly thinking he was playing some sort of game, she sighed and tried the polite approach. "Sam, may I have my medication back, please?"

"No. You don't need them."

A scowl darkened her features. "You don't know what I need."

"I know you don't need these." He shook the bottle.

"Sam…" she groaned into her hands, "I'm not in the mood for this."

"Too bad. Come with me to the garage."

He jerked back as she lunged out of her seat, trying to snatch the pills from him.

"Give them back!"

"If you want them, come and get them."

"Sam!"

He ignored her angry shouts and ran into the backyard, shoving the pills into his pocket. The screen door whapped loudly behind him and he heard her footsteps on the deck.

It was working.

He flew into the garage moments before she came tearing through the door.

"Sam, just give me back my—" The words became strangled in a gasp, her hands clapping over her mouth as it dropped open. The whites of her eyes were so huge he was pretty sure they'd pop right out of her head.

The silence was deafening.

Sam's gaze flicked back and forth between the two; Alex standing frozen in her spot by the door and Bumblebee kneeling where he'd left him, optics focused on the stricken girl.

No one moved. No one spoke. A pin could drop and its sound would be like that of a gunshot compared to how quiet it was.

The seconds ticked by.

Worry began to clench its way up Sam's throat and the nervous smile twitching at his mouth corners started to fall away. Oh crap, he thought, his brain running amuck with doubt, Bumblebee was wrong. She's not the same Alex. There's some other girl out there who got zapped with Cube energy and dreams of giant robots. Why the hell did I push him to reveal himself? Mathews is going to lose her shit. Oh my god and Lennox. We're so very screwed.

He shifted his weight, preparing to bolt after Alex the moment she ran screaming from the garage. He would probably have to do something short of outright tackling her. Hopefully it wouldn't end with another punch to the face.

Bee still hadn't moved and Sam hoped the panic in his face would catch the bot's attention. One giant hand barring the door would help immensely in locking down the situation.

But Bee didn't avert his gaze. He remained calm… Waiting…

And slowly Alex's hands lowered from her mouth. She didn't run. Didn't scream. Her eyes remained wide but now there was something else mixed with the shock. Sam felt himself fade away into the background as it became obvious Bee was the only thing in her universe at that moment.

Bee leaned forward as she approached, her socked feet taking one tentative step and then another as if too sudden a movement would make him disappear into nothing more than another fragment of her psychosis.

Her hand reached out, hovering a breath's inch above the metal of his jaw. When nothing happened, she slid it along the smooth surface and it was then that the tears pooling in her eyes fell and something akin to a sob broke the silence. His name spilled from her lips.

"Bee."

He leaned into the touch, his voice echoing the longing in hers. "Hello, Angel."