Sparks 1: Burnt Out

Pairing BeexSam

Rating PG-13 for now, but it will most likely change.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. Hasbro does. All characters are 18 or older with the exception of Annabelle.

AN: This is something I've been working on for a bit, and I realized it bears some elements of snowflakespeech's plot bunny. So I've finally decided to post here. Please take a look and tell me what you think. Thanks!

Summary: As with life, not everything is going to go the way you want it to. Not everyone is just going to lay down and die. For the Autobots and their companions this lesson is just beginning. An AU with mature themes and oft ignored characters.

So here it goes. This is the re-edited version of Sparks. Thanks to gracesolo for all of the wonderful beta work, hand holding and laughter.

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Sparks 1: Burnt Out

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Blood pounded in his ears and Samuel James Witwicky gritted his teeth, lifting the cube of metal towards the robotic creature looming over him. The blue energy crackled along his palms, sharp bolts of pain stinging his fingertips. Despite it, he held on. Stretching tall, he shoved the alien cube toward the glowing cavity within Megatron's chest. Determined brown eyes focused hard on the brilliant glow emanating from the Decepticon towering over him.

As the damned cube burned fingers the spark's very pulse matched the beat of his heart. Sucking in air, he held tight to the thing, only faintly aware of silvered claws reaching down towards him. As the sharpened digits descended they eclipsed everything; hitting him hard knocking him to the road. In those precious seconds he didn't even have a chance to scream.

The leader of the Decepticons rose away, inspecting his dripping claws coated in human blood. A foolish effort from one so small, it was quite a pity. The boy had bearings alright, he really would have made the most amusing pet. A cruel chuckle echoed across the ravaged street, soon to become a testament to the victory of the Decepticons. The red splattered appendage moved again, reaching for the All Spark cradled to the boy's chest. This haste however, proved to be Megatron's undoing, for the instant he touched the broken body Optimus Prime intervened.

The wicked blade protruding from his arm caught Megatron as he turned, carving away the silver metal from his chest. Driven deep into the wide frame, the blade stopped just before the Decepticon's vulnerable spark. A movement from either Mech would end his life, already his systems were beginning to fail and bright warnings flashed across his optics. Rerouting the subroutines in his neural net he strained to hear just what Prime was saying as Energon leaked from the painful wound.

"Freedom is not the only right of sentient beings. Take your forces and go. Your actions here may have doomed us all, brother."

The word was spat with such vehemence and Prime hauled his sword from the sparking chest, splattering blue over his frame and the street far below. The Mech shuddered with unsheathing and staggered back, momentarily defeated. He would live, but would not be fighting anytime soon. The formerly trapped mech shifted into his alternate mode and tore into the sky, leaving the shattered wreckage in his wake.

Turning from his old friend, the Autobot knelt to examine the tiny body lying in the street. Broken and battered Sam barely moved as the massive shadow fell over him. Exceedingly careful Prime reached for the boy, lifting him and the All Spark from the blooded stone. He cradled Sam in his hands, cursory scans identifying the worst of his injuries.

He had broken bones, multiple lacerations and second-degree burns all over his body. The worst wound by far was the slicked All Spark just beneath his folded arms imbedded in his chest. Curling his fingers over the fading youth Prime called to Ratchet. It was painfully obvious the possible outcomes to the precarious situation. He muttered a prayer to Primus calculating any other solutions; even so, precious few could result in the boy's survival.

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Mikaela cut the engine on the tow truck once the sound of gunfire and explosions stopped. No Decepticons came barreling through the glass so she deemed it safe enough. Sparing a glance back at her passenger Mikeala slipped from the truck's cab and looked around. Bumblebee shifted as best he could, pushing at his battle mask as he was still suspended by the crane.

"Pit slagging…" Ironhide began, raising his cannons, "They're running!"

The gruff voice caught her by surprise and Mikeala leapt for the quasi-safety of Sam's car. His observation, she realized huddling against the transformed Camaro, held more anger than confusion. Taking aim at the tank known as Brawl, he charged the extended cannons. Unfortunately for the home team, he was briefly surprised by the massive figure of Blackout nearly dropping down on top of him. A sudden kick to the Topkick's chest and Ironhide rocked backward scrabbling at the much abused building for support. Dust and debris rained down on the street as the Deceptions made a less than dignified or honorable retreat.

With the opportunity wasted, the weapon's specialist swore viscously in his native tongue. Retracting his beloved weapons he turned to his filthy companions. Bumblebee moved slowly, bits of glass and concrete dropping from his chassis. Lying there squashed against his chest, protected from the debris lay the tiny human who had been responsible for their timely support. Her parking needed work, but from what he'd seen she a competent driver.

"Are you damaged?"

"I'm fine." she admitted after a cursory check. Flicking hair from her face, Mikaela slid down Bumblebee's armature. The resulting shudder earned another look from the weapons specialist. The girl didn't seem to notice, but then they had bigger problems to worry about. Another scan confirmed the complete lack of Deceptions, even worse glaring lack of their First Lieutenant. Pavement cracked somewhere close by and Ironhide turned, sidelining those particular feelings for a more opportune moment. He took a defensive position only to relax as the Autobot Medic appeared from the dust.

Ratchet moved to meet them with a long-suffering sigh. He knelt briefly to Bumblebee's side. The once-again injured scout lowered his optics as the CMO silently reattached his limbs. Confused, he signaled the medic inquiring of the status of the rest of their team.

Brushing aside the inquisitive signal the "emergency vehicle" focused on repairing the battle inflicted damage as fast and efficiently as he could. As the telltale splatter of energon covered his hands however, he realized he'd clenched them to keep them from shaking. His instability went unnoticed by his kind and humans alike ,as Will Lennox tore across the mangled street. His team moved with him, their weapons raised high, scanning the darkened streets and sky. The reason was soon terribly clear as Optimus Prime; battle scarred, but online, followed them silently. Head bowed towards his outstretched hands, he moved with deliberate care.

Ratchet was on his feet faster than even he believed possible, moving to meet his commander. In his hands lay the last holder of the All Spark, motionless and damaged.

Samuel Witwicky.

One look from those optics and he scanned the still figure, waiting for Optimus to speak.

"Can you save him?"

His voice crackled from his Audio processors, tinged with fear and worry. It wasn't an order, but a request and another scan confirmed his reasoning. The boy was close to death, any mistake or hesitation on their part would kill him for sure. As a leader Optimus Prime knew how and when to make sacrifices, but by the pit, he'd do anything to make sure Samuel wasn't one of them.

Out there, in the open removing the All Spark would be the proverbial final nail for the boy. To be honest the medical officer wasn't even sure he could do it. With the gaping chest wound, the boy was loosing oxygen fast and once deprived he wouldn't recover. Blood from his limp arms splattered on the pavement far below. Time was running out for him.

Shaking his head Ratchet finally answered. "No, but I can get him to someone who can."

Mikaela watched as Ratchet shifted back into his alternate mode, the spiraling lights dispelling the shadows over the street. Optimus Prime went down on bended knee allowing the remaining rangers to load the dying boy into the back of the idling Hummer. Shaking she clung to the robotic alien by her side; Ironhide didn't seem to mind, touching her gently with his fingers in an affectionate gesture. Struggling to rise, Bumblebee could only watch as his brothers attempted to save the only thing he'd been assigned to protect. Remorse washed over him, chilling him to the very spark.

As his sirens wailed, Ratchet accelerated over the burnt and blacked pavement carrying away the human. Bumblebee the produced the most mournful, dejected sound a creature in his position could ever make. While the remaining humans scrambled from the shattering glass and covered their injured ears, only the Autobots present could understand the cry for what it was a single name.

"Sam."

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It had to have been the weirdest emergency situation any of the doctors at any Mission City General Hospital had ever faced. Every time they attempted to stabilize the man on the operating table, their equipment went haywire. They couldn't be sure of the circumstances surrounding his injuries, but they were certainly wondering if the terrorist attack had had something to do with it. It wasn't every day a boy came in with a cube of metal imbedded in his chest.

On all accounts the young man, Sam shouldn't have even been alive. It was unbelievable he'd even made it to the Hospital, much less to the ER. With perforated lungs, shredded veins and massive trauma it was unlikely he'd survive no matter what they did. That fact didn't stop them from doing everything in their power. There was no way they were going to give up on him. He was a fighter, so they supported him as best they could.

Three times they'd spoken with the man who'd brought him in, a Mr. William Lennox. Obviously injured himself, the man refused treatment, worrying over his charge instead. Every time he'd taken their news, the extent of his damage, and how they were trying to keep his heart stable. All he asked was if Sam would live. The last time he'd been taking to a sullen young woman on the verge of tears. She'd fled at the sight of their bloodied white coats, and as far as they knew hadn't returned. It had had been confirmed at that point, Sam's parents were on their way. Determined now more than ever the medical team continued, strived with all they had, just to keep the boy alive. No one wanted to tell a parent they'd out lived their son.

Not that any one of them knew how to begin. His arms required stitches, his lungs needed patching and they absolutely had to do something about the chunk of metal entombed in his chest cavity. X-rays were out of the question and the possibility of infection doubled by the second. To survive that, Sam was going to need a miracle.

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Under the haze of light he felt awful, everything hurt. It was like Megatron had pounded him flat into the ground. As a hazy memories drifted back to him, he realized that yeah, he kinda had. Too dazed to criticize himself, actually he was too tired to do a lot of things. Everything seemed to sway before his eyes as if the life was drifting out of him. Struggling to focus on something anything but the pain, the lights above him blazed in their intensity until they were all he could see. It hurt; everything hurt and burned through him, leaving nothing but sparks behind.

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Outside in the eerily pleasant dusk, Mikaela sagged against a nearby truck. Clenching her fists, she finally broke down and cried. Pounding her fists uselessly against the black frame, she screamed once before sagging to her knees. Ironhide to his credit, didn't move, didn't speak. She obviously needed nothing more than to vent her frustration. He would have preferred, however for her take her vengeance out on something else. Much as he would have done to the Decepticons, had they not fled in fear.

Closer to the street, Optimus Prime was very much lost to his thoughts. A pang of guilt flickered through him lodging in his core before blooming into regret. This indeed had been his responsibility, He'd known what he'd had to do, but now it was too late and another was dying in his place. Worse yet, the War wasn't over.

Was one life, worth it?

Had Sam's life been worth it?

His self directed thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the squeal of tires and frantic screams. Mikaela stood suddenly as Ironhide blew his horn. Turning she found the yellow Camaro moving up the street. It was a temporary balm on her wounded heart. Speeding over the grass, he pulled up short before her, doors snapping open. Spilled out into the pavement were the disheveled figures of Ronald and Judy Witwicky, Sam's parents.

Helping them to their feet, she all but dragged them towards the building, fresh tears in her eyes. There wasn't really time for explanations, but they had to know how. They had to know why. He could already be. There had been so much blood. Sparing a glance to the solemn Autobots, she managed a reassuring smile. Holding tightly to their hands Mikeala crossed the threshold of the hospital and began her story.

The slamming of his doors echoed hollowly in the lot. Bumblebee didn't care. He didn't feel like moving from where he'd parked. Taking up almost two spaces, he sat across the median from his comrades in self-imposed exile. He almost expected Optimus to say something, anything. He would have welcomed a reprimand, but none came. Their leader, disguised in the impressive form of a Peterbilt Truck said nothing. The infernal silence stretched on, leaving the young Autobot to his own devices. Berating himself for his inability protect his own, Bumblebee wished desperately for the boy to live.

If only….

The scout turned his attention to the building and settled on his wheels to wait.

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He drifted with the pain and the loss of everything, the lights so bright, glowing almost golden as he shuttered his eyes.

"Am I dying?"

There was no reply, but he had not expected one. Not that he expected much; the endless pain seemed to fade a bit more, as the brilliant glow pulsed before him.

"I must be dying." At that acceptance, time seemed to slow and everything else began to fade. His rapidly diminishing consciousness however chose to object.

"Wait I can't go yet. This can't be over. What about my family, what about my friends: what about my life? I can't die. I've still got things to do."

The war wasn't over and he was still a part of it, glasses or no.

"I can't die."

His heart beat faltered, seeking to prove him wrong. He panicked then, the pain almost gone as the energy built up within himself.

"I really don't want to die."

The light seemed to explode before him as a faint touch brushed his scrabbling mind.

Clinging to it like a lifeline, he forced open his eyes.

The pain was back with a vengeance, it flared to the forefront of his mind and senses. It was a pain unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The heavy weight on his chest shifted forcing a half strangled gasp from his throat. Between his chapped lips, the tube supposedly aiding his breathing became more of a hindrance as he choked on the blood in his throat.. Blearily he struggled to focus on something, anything but the pain.

Crackling energy crossed the twitching body, halting everyone present in their tracks. The attached machines wailed in agony, and the boy jerked on the table. Writhing uncontrollably, he tore loose the electrodes and equipment attached to him. The rhythmic chirping of the heart monitor as per its programming settled into an ear-piercing whine.

As someone reached for the boy, an arc of blue lighting struck, knocking him out cold on the floor. Someone screamed, and all hell finally broke loose.

The unpredictable sparks, forced the medical staff present to back away from the table.

With each passing flicker they could only watch in horror as the glowing cube sunk deeper into the wound and cracked it open. Segments of the cube popped, slid and groaned; unfolding against one another as it rearranging its outer shapes. The pieces moved under invisible hands realigning themselves, compressing and rippled, stretching to fit in the exposed cavity of the boy's chest.

They each stood in sheer awe as the former points smoothed curling over pink flesh.

The flickering light and the once solid metal flowed like water over him, in him, it cascading over his body bathing the room in a brilliant blue glow. Then just as suddenly as it had begun it stopped. Sam flopped limply against the table, steam rising from his skin. Stunned into silence they cautiously approached.

When nothing else occurred, they hurriedly turned their attention to the apparently unexplainable situation before them. Sam however seemed no worse for wear. Aside from the appearance of blackened lines and symbols along his torso the skin was undamaged. Moving closer they examined the silvered flesh. Cool to the touch, it was just like the rest of him. Checking for breathing, the found nothing, not one heartbeat, what had seemed like a strange miracle from above was rapidly turning into a nightmare. So strange and still, he seemed fine, but they knew better. The entire room was silent, as a single man reached for the boy's hand.

His lips thinned, he looked towards the clock and in that instant time seemed to slow.

He checked once, looked to his superior who tried again before settling that pale glyphed wrist over the silver chest.

"Time of death."