FIC: Safety of Illusions (Human Series)
Title: Safety of Illusions
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: TF: Bayverse
Series: Human Series: Chapter: 50
~~*~~
It was the second time in one day that Sam had woken up to a warm body pressed against his own. This time, though, it was spooned around him and Sam sighed, snuggling back into it. Still sleepy, he was debating on whether to just burrow back into the blankets when his stomach growled, a loud gonging sound that drew a low chuckle from the body behind him.
"I think you might be hungry," Bumblebee mock-whispered against Sam's ear.
"Yeah, maybe," Sam yawned, stretching. He rolled over enough to look into green eyes, smiling up at Bumblebee. Almost, he could pretend that this was a vacation, of sorts, hide in this hotel room and pretend that horrible things weren't happening back at their home. "Hi, there."
"Hi yourself," Bee smiled, pressed a soft, tender kiss to Sam's lips. He drew back before Sam could deepen it, ignoring his scowl. "I think you need solid food more than a living Duracell. The others are still asleep. Why don't we get some food for the road and then wake them. I'd rather not stay here too much longer."
"Mmkay," Sam bit back another yawn. "How long were we out?"
"Only three hours, but that's already pushing the limit to the amount of time I like to stay in one place. Come on, food, then drive."
"Yes sir," Sam sassed, earning a swat on the ass that only made him laugh as he pulled on his shirt, cramming his feet into his tennis shoes before following Bumblebee down.
The little restaurant they'd gone to before was on lunch specials now and Bumblebee was waiting for a chance to place a large to-go order when Sam's bladder informed him that there were other issues than food that needed to be taken care of.
"What do you think we should get?" Bee asked, studying the menu with the kind of intensity usually reserved for disarming bombs. "Nothing too messy, I'd rather not have that…well, in the car."
"Just get everyone a cheeseburger and fries," Sam said absently, eyes scanning for the bathroom. At the back, of course. "I'll be right back."
"What? Where are you going?" Sharply, green eyes boring into him.
"Just the bathroom," Sam said, laughing a little nervously. "I'm not running out on you."
"I would never suggest you might, I…all right. Bathroom. Cheeseburger."
"In that order," Sam teased, before he made his way through the maze of tables to the restroom. It was relatively clean, at least, white tile and a little bouquet of plastic flowers in a little vase sitting on the sink next to the hand soap.
Sam stepped up to one of the urinals, sighing in relief as he relieved himself. Yeah, he needed a guardian but he still had to at least be able to take a leak from time to time. Finished, he slapped the flush button and was still zipping his pants when he heard it. Not the creak of the door, not footsteps. It was a voice, soft and deep, crackling with inhumanness.
"He's terribly fond of you, isn’t he?" Echoing queerly, the tone oily with false concern. An oddly sweet, husky voice that sent gooseflesh prickling up Sam's arms, down his back. "It took him ever so long to let you out of his sight."
His bladder felt heavy and if Sam hadn't just emptied it, he'd have been afraid he would wet his pants. God, he was about to die, horribly, he was sure, right here, in a tiny bathroom in a town whose name he couldn't remember. Closing his eyes, Sam didn't move, didn't dare, but when the expected pain didn't come, he opened them again and turned towards the being he could feel standing behind him.
No one could ever mistake him for human. It was something in the way he stood, too still, his eyes flickering almost bird-like around the room. Pale eyes, so light that they were almost colorless. It gave him the disturbing appearance of only having pupils. His hair was an odd, tangled mass around his head, a strange, deep red that was nothing like Sideswipe's. It made Sam think of dried blood, the splatter that was left on the highway after a trucker hit a deer. It was the only spot of color on his body, skin and eyes pale, his clothes dark.
He was beautiful in the way all holoforms seemed to be, the way all mechs seemed to be, choosing gorgeous cars and bodies to model themselves after. This form was no exception, his beauty ghastly, terrifying in its unearthliness and his eyes literally sparkled with profane glee. With a jolt of the purest fear, Sam realized dimly that this being, holoform, alien, whatever he was, was completely insane. There was a wrongness about him that had nothing to do with not being human. Sam had spent enough time around Autobot holoforms that he could feel it, that horrible wrongness prickling over him.
The man, not a man, no, not at all, smiled at him gently, his voice a harsh, inhuman whisper of mocking sincerity, "If you scream, I will personally kill every other human in this pit-forsaken little town."
Sam believed him, utterly. His mouth was sandpaper dry and he wet his lips the best he could, tasting the sweat beading on his upper lip before croaking out, "Who are you?"
"That’s very forward of you," the Decepticon tutted, tapping one long, pale finger against his equally colorless lips. "I think it might be best if we go without names, don't you?"
"Sure," Sam swallowed sharp, metallic fear thick in his mouth as his throat clicked dryly.
"You aren't begging for your life," he observed, tilting his head curiously. His long hair spilled over his shoulder, brilliant against the blackness of his shirt. "How quaint."
"Do you want me to?" Sam would do anything to keep this guy talking. It was a faint, desperate hope, but Bumblebee would have to get suspicious soon, have to come check on him. The smirk that curved his mouth made Sam's hopes fade. There was something about him, some light in his unnatural eyes and Sam wondered if he wasn't hoping for just that. Better then, maybe, if Bee didn't come, if he stayed away until this was…was over.
"You should," For just a second, the pretense fell and those colorless eyes flared with hate, burning, vicious heat that Sam imagined was like looking into hell itself. Then he seemed to catch himself, dropping back into playing human as he said, boredly, "You have no idea how very lucky you are."
"Lucky?" Sam asked. He was barely aware of stepping back as the other stepped forward, pressing back into the narrowed space between the urinals, the tiled wall cool against his back.
"Oh yes," he assured him, stepping closer yet. His feet, bare, Sam realized, were disturbingly silent on the floor, like he was pretending to be human with the least amount of effort required. "It could have been Barricade who found you. I don't think he would have been very kind."
So this wasn't Barricade at least. That didn't surprise him. Barricade was a blunt tool, used to force, bludgeoning his way through every time he and Sam met. This, whoever he was, was a more subtle, deeper danger. Like a snake, waiting for him to look away before he struck. "Probably not," Sam agreed, desperately. Sweat was starting to sting in his eyes, his own fear a heavy, frantic throb in his pulse.
"But I shall," he breathed and Sam forced himself not to flinch when one long-fingered hand reached out, pressed lightly over his heart. Even through his shirt Sam felt an alien chill, one sharp point of cold. "Why, I'm even going to let you go."
"You are." Sam tried to keep the doubt from his voice, along with any tiny dregs of hope. Tried to keep his voice flat, uninteresting. He'd beg if he had to but better, maybe, to not say anything, to wait and see what he needed to do to get out of this alive.
"Of course," Just as quickly as he'd stepped in, the Decepticon moved back, leaving Sam an open path to the door. He flapped one hand in a careless, shooing gesture. "Scurry back, little insect, he'll be missing you soon."
Sam took a wary step, another, not daring to look away. He looked amused, unholy light dancing in those ghastly eyes. There were only three steps to the door and Sam managed one, two, before cold hands on his arms reminded him that it didn't matter if he watched. Holoforms weren't bound by the same constrictions as real humans. A hard, icy body pressed against his own and he shuddered in revulsion. He'd only thought Sunstreaker felt cold. This was like being held by a corpse, heavy, dead meat pressed against him.
"I nearly forgot, sweet," Freezing breath against his ear, damp coldness. "I do believe there is something I want from you, after all."
He couldn't scream, pain exploded at the back of his skull, thrust like a spike of pure agony into his head and then there was nothing.
~~*~~
The infirmary had been well designed, by both humans engineers and Ratchet. Split into two sides, one for soldiers and one for Autobots, and Ratchet wasn't naïve enough to believe that if he hadn't offered to care for the human soldiers that it would have been anywhere near as well-stocked.
He didn't resent that bit of xenophobia; all species had it in some form or another and he didn't pretend his own species wasn't included in that. All that mattered was that it was well-stocked, with nearly every item he had requisition supplied to him and while no medic on Cybertron would have been impressed by it, he had no doubt that not a few human hospitals would be. The builders had met and even exceeded a few of his expectations; aside from the main examination rooms there were a few smaller, private rooms as well as a lower level that served to store supplies. A Cybertronian's self-repair could heal wounds but it couldn't replace limbs or other parts, too many to name, and Ratchet kept a store of them, most of them collected from dead Decepticons.
It was in the lower levels that Ratchet also kept a few chemicals that he used in his work, drums of them neatly labeled and stored, and when he was finally finished with his myriad of tests, the expected results glaring up at him from his data pad, he went down to the storage rooms and selected one of them. A canister as large as an oil drum, marked carefully with the human skull and crossbones that indicated the contents were poisonous.
Ignoring the warning, Ratchet popped the lid off it as he settled himself on the floor and took a long, deep swig from it, cycling off his optics as he leaned back and relaxed. All his patients were stable at the moment; the humans receiving the fluids and antibiotics required before Ratchet could perform surgery on the internal injuries that were too complex for the nanites to repair. Frankly, most of them were in better shape than he would have expected after a battle like that, Sergeant Epps being one of the few exceptions. His leg was a concern, to be sure, but Ratchet wasn't finished yet. That little human was going to walk again, on his own legs, if Ratchet had anything to say about it.
Heavy steps registered in his audials, familiar ones, and Ratchet didn't move, only took another deep drink as Ironhide stalked up next to him, dropping the deactivated body of a small Decepticon at Ratchet's feet.
"Brought ya a present," Ironhide said, giving the body a kick. "Figured he's got a few parts he's not using anymore that you might like."
"You always bring the best gifts," Ratchet drawled, taking another long drink. "Not much of a sweet talker, though."
Ironhide snorted, "Mech as easy as you doesn't need his gears greased." He gave Ratchet a nudge with one large foot. "Comfortable?"
"Not uncomfortable enough to move."
Automatic protest rose as Ironhide plucked the canister away, sniffing it appreciatively. "Knew you'd have some high grade hidden away, somewhere, you old booze hound." He took a swig himself, coughing as heavy impurities caught at his intakes, "I know you aren't drinking just because you've got a few patients upstairs, so what's the occasion?"
"I'm pregnant. Soon Optimus and I will be knee-deep in little flame-emblazed sparklings."
Ratchet turned on his optics just in time to catch Ironhide staring at him with an expression that could only be classified as blank horror. Ratchet snorted a laugh and shook his head. "You're getting gullible in your old age. Rest assured, I haven't somehow managed to find a way to impregnate Autobots and I'm not looking for a way, either.
"You're older than me," Hide grumbled. "Going to tell me what's really going on?"
"Ironhide, you are looking at the proud owner of Cybertron's very first venereal disease."
He waited patiently while Ironhide's optics flicked to the left as he accessed his wi-fi, researching the term. After a long moment, Ironhide blew out an irritated vent of air. "Would you be serious?"
"Oh, I am quite serious," Ratchet assured him, "Although I suppose the term isn't an exact match. This one isn't transmitted during sex; rather, it's an infestation of receptors that makes the infected mech, that would be me, require physical stimulation similar to human sexual activity. It's currently making me want to throw Optimus down at any given time, even though I am perfectly capable of giving them the charge they require."
Ironhide promptly handed the canister back and deliberately wiped off his hand. "Sorry I asked."
"Mmm, yes. According to the time stamp they so helpfully provided, I acquired them when I was scanning the two of them after Sam's little incident. It would seem that since I wasn't an active participant, I appealed as a carrier." Carelessly, Ratchet took another long drink of high grade. A thin trickle missed his intake, dribbled down the front of his chassis and Ratchet wiped it away with the back of his hand, licking away the smear. Waste not, want not and all that human slag.
"You're communicating with them?" Ironhide perked up a little at that news.
"Only in the most rudimentary of ways," Ratchet assured him. "I'm embellishing a bit on their intentions. Truth be told, I have no idea why they'd want to infect me. "
"It sure as hell isn't for your charming personality," Ironhide snorted. He vented out a long, deep gust of air. "What are you going to do?"
"I have no idea," Ratchet admitted. "At best, this is an inconvenience, at worst? I would suggest quarantine if it weren't for the fact that I doubt it would help. Everyone has been exposed by now. And aside from it being inconvenient, we aren't being hurt by this."
"Sam seemed plenty hurt when he got that message," Ironhide scowled.
Ratchet flapped a hand carelessly, "Incidental. That was from the sudden boost he got from the shard, not from his personal receptors."
"Ratch-" Hesitantly, the lightest touch on his shoulder.
"Please, don't," Ratchet said calmly. "I'm not at my best right now and I don't want these little glitches to get the idea that you're on the energon buffet. Bad enough that Optimus is being forced into this."
That got him a rough shove that nearly knocked him over, his unsteady stabilizers kicking in almost too late.
"Yeah, it's tragic," Ironhide drawled, "Him having to frag you all hours of the day. Not sure how he goes on, knowing that's on the schedule for the foreseeable future. "
"Now who isn't being serious?"
"I'm being plenty serious. I can think of worse things than pinning you."
"I think you're pinning enough without adding me to your list," Ratchet shook his head. "Thanks for the vid, by the way. Stuff of nightmares, that was. I may never recharge again. I've got a permanent reminder flagged to never again ask you for research material."
Ironhide grinned proudly. "Not bad, eh? The breasts are great, you should get a set. Lotta fun."
"Yes, I'll just grow myself a set of breasts, why didn't I think of that? Oh, probably because it's moronic." Ratchet flickered his optics impatiently. "I'll leave the breasts to you and the good captain. Looks good when he overloads, though," Ratchet gave him a wolfish grin. "You just look stupid."
"Very good technical term there, doctor. So when do I get my vid?"
"Vid of what?" Ratchet frowned up at him, noting with bemusement the faint halos reflecting in his optics from the lights. High grade wasn't too bad a quality, then.
"Do we have an invisible mech on base that you've been interfacing with three times daily?" Ironhide said with great patience. "Unless Mirage showed up and hasn't bothered to check in, I doubt it. I want to see you and Optimus. 'Specially if you got one of you two enjoying your venereal disease."
"Oh, I don't think so. You got enough of a show spying on us just a few days ago."
Ironhide rubbed the back of his neck ruefully, his large fingers grating loudly against his armor. "Didn't think you noticed me."
"I didn't. The infirmary security cameras did and sent me the data on it." Ratchet gave him a sour look.
"Hey, you were in a public building with the door unlocked." Ironhide protested.
"That explains how you saw it. It does not explain why you stayed."
"Who wouldn't?" Ironhide said appreciatively. "Couldn't see much, though. Give an old mech a thrill and let me have a file."
"No," Ratchet replied with his own particular brand of surly succinctness, high grade be damned.
Ironhide shook his head sadly. "Getting to be a prude in your old age."
"On the contrary, I was just on the floor of the infirmary only a few hours ago and I can assure you that whatever you want to call what I was doing, prudish does not belong."
"In front of patients?" Ironhide mimicked a low whistle.
"Unconscious ones. Not that either of the Twins or Blaster would have turned down a free show." Ratchet took another long swig from the canister even as Ironhide raised an optic ridge at him.
"Planning on getting drunk?" Ironhide asked mildly, not a hint of reproach in his vocalizer.
Ratchet snorted. "This hasn't even dimmed my lights. Most of the humans are doing well enough that I'll be able to attempt a little surgery soon. Some of them have broken bones that I'll need to attend to directly to insure proper healing. Epps in particular."
Ironhide was already nodding, "Yeah, take good care of him for me, will you? Not that I think you wouldn't," he added hastily, as heated protest flared in Ratchet's optics, his armor ruffling with temper. "I'm just fond of that kid." He sighed, scratching at a healing scrape along his thigh armor until Ratchet reached out enough to slap his hand away. "The soldier boys took away the three that died. How are the rest? Not going to lose anymore?"
Again, Ratchet gave Ironhide a narrow glance, optics bright with his fluxing energy state. "For the sake of our friendship and your head, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."
"All right," Ironhide said agreeably, surrendering. He settled his bulk next to Ratchet with a sigh, ignoring the glare that Ratchet sent his way. "S'matter, you big sparkling, don't want to share your toys?"
"Not these toys!" Ratchet squirmed uncomfortable, "You’re sitting too close. Humans are very tactile, ergo, Sam is very tactile and so-"
"The receptors are very tactile. That's interesting." He reached over and drew one finger down Ratchet's arm and the medic yelped.
"I told you not to do that!"
"Sorry," Ironhide said unapologetically. "It was an experiment. In the interest of science."
"I have no interest in being your interest so knock it off!"
"Uh huh," Ironhide shook his head and stood back up. "Well, that's enough of a break for me. I'm gonna head back out."
Ratchet's terse farewell surged into static as Ironhide reached down again and ran a finger down his arm. He jerked away with a low curse. "Ironhide, I swear if you do that again, I am going to hand you your own arm."
Ironhide made a tching sound, "You’d think someone who gets off on something so little would be in a better mood."
"It hasn’t worked for Optimus yet, I can't imagine why you think it would work for you," Ratchet snarled.
"Amusing as this has been, I'm going to see if I can get a few minutes of squelching noises out of someone short, dark, and human, before he drops on his feet." Ironhide made his way to the stairs, before he called back, "I'll just tell Optimus you're looking for him."
"Bastard piece of junk metal," Ratchet muttered. He tipped back his canister, consuming the last, thickened dregs and hoped that Optimus didn't take too long getting there.
~~*~~
"Sam?"
Sam groaned, his cheek pressed firmly against something hard and cold. Blinking, he saw white tile beneath him, speckled with flecks of dark crimson. In his daze, it took him a moment to recognize it and when he did, Sam scrambled away, his eyes glued on the blood-spattered floor. Cold porcelain stopped his backwards flight and he looked around wildly.
A bathroom stall, he realized, not even caring that he'd been lying face first on the probably not very clean floor. From underneath the stall he could see feet, these ones encased in tennis shoes, moving warily across the tile. With clumsy, shaking hands, Sam managed to open the stall door, stumbled out and nearly into Bumblebee, falling gratefully into his strong arms.
"Sam?" Bee gasped, his hands moving over Sam, feeling for injuries. His whole body ached but the only real pain was at the back of his neck. He reached back with nerveless fingers, touched wetness and when he drew his hand back, his fingertips came back bloody.
"Sam, are you all right? I shouldn't have let you come alone, I should have--"
"We need to go now," Sam whispered, his mouth dry, his voice cracking.
"Yes," Bee said, firmly interrupting his own spat of horrified words. "Come on, let's go. What happened?"
Frantically, Sam shook his head, felt wetness trailing down his face. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and saw shiny lines of sweat trailing from his temples, a small trickle of blood down the side of his neck. His eyes were too-wide, fearful. "We need to go. Please!"
"Come on," Bumblebee half-carried him out of bathroom, ignoring the exclamations and horrified looks of the other patrons. He never let Sam go again, even as he paid their bill to the startled waitress who was only just bringing their food.
"What happened, oh, good lord, you all right, honey?" she babbled, shocked, her hands twisting the bills that Bumblebee had just pressed into them. He didn't even bother grabbing the grease-stained sacks, only held Sam as they made their way to the door.
"He's fine," Bee said shortly. "He tripped in the bathroom, hit his head."
"Oh, but, we should call an ambulance, get some paperwork-"
"I'll take him to the hospital," Bee was almost dragging Sam outside, the waitress following, ignored by them both as they made their way over to where Bumblebee was parked.
"But, sir-"
"Fuck off," Bee snarled back at her, eyes blazing. She flinched back, eyes wide and her cheeks flushed.
"I…I just…I'm calling the police," she yelled after them, whirling around and darting back into the restaurant, presumably to do just that.
"Now we really need to get out of here," Bumblebee muttered. His door swung open and he lowered Sam carefully into the passenger seat, heedless of the blood still seeping down his neck, into the collar of his shirt. "Let's get your parents and Mikaela."
"No!" Sam croaked out, grabbing Bee's wrist and holding him with more desperation than strength.
"What?" Startled, Bee paused, not even trying to pull away from Sam's frantic grasp.
"No. They're after me, right? I don't even think they know the others are with us." Maybe. A horrible thought rose, refusing to be dismissed. "Are they okay?"
"Yes," Bee said, instantly. "I was scanning them when you dropped off my radar." Anguish filled his green eyes, "I should never have let you out of my sight, it was only for a two minutes and this-"
Sam shook his head, "Later, okay, we can do the guilt thing later. We need to get out of here, though. My parents, Mikaela, I think…I think if they were going to snag them, they would have already gotten them. It would have been easy, we were far enough away. They'll be safer if I'm not with them."
Expecting protests, Sam was startled when Bee agreed instantly. "All right."
The engine purred to life, Bee's holoform jerking away from Sam's grasp and closing the door tightly before he loped around and climbed into the driver's side. His own door wasn't even shut before Bee was backing out and there was no squeal of tires, no cloud of dust. Only the sensation of movement, and Sam leaned back in his seat, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to still his shaking that still wracked his whole body.
A slim, warm hand touched the back of his fingers lightly and Sam grabbed it, threaded their fingers together desperately as Bee drove them to the outskirts of a little town called Perfection and past, back out into the yawning desert.
tbc
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: TF: Bayverse
Series: Human Series: Chapter: 50
~~*~~
It was the second time in one day that Sam had woken up to a warm body pressed against his own. This time, though, it was spooned around him and Sam sighed, snuggling back into it. Still sleepy, he was debating on whether to just burrow back into the blankets when his stomach growled, a loud gonging sound that drew a low chuckle from the body behind him.
"I think you might be hungry," Bumblebee mock-whispered against Sam's ear.
"Yeah, maybe," Sam yawned, stretching. He rolled over enough to look into green eyes, smiling up at Bumblebee. Almost, he could pretend that this was a vacation, of sorts, hide in this hotel room and pretend that horrible things weren't happening back at their home. "Hi, there."
"Hi yourself," Bee smiled, pressed a soft, tender kiss to Sam's lips. He drew back before Sam could deepen it, ignoring his scowl. "I think you need solid food more than a living Duracell. The others are still asleep. Why don't we get some food for the road and then wake them. I'd rather not stay here too much longer."
"Mmkay," Sam bit back another yawn. "How long were we out?"
"Only three hours, but that's already pushing the limit to the amount of time I like to stay in one place. Come on, food, then drive."
"Yes sir," Sam sassed, earning a swat on the ass that only made him laugh as he pulled on his shirt, cramming his feet into his tennis shoes before following Bumblebee down.
The little restaurant they'd gone to before was on lunch specials now and Bumblebee was waiting for a chance to place a large to-go order when Sam's bladder informed him that there were other issues than food that needed to be taken care of.
"What do you think we should get?" Bee asked, studying the menu with the kind of intensity usually reserved for disarming bombs. "Nothing too messy, I'd rather not have that…well, in the car."
"Just get everyone a cheeseburger and fries," Sam said absently, eyes scanning for the bathroom. At the back, of course. "I'll be right back."
"What? Where are you going?" Sharply, green eyes boring into him.
"Just the bathroom," Sam said, laughing a little nervously. "I'm not running out on you."
"I would never suggest you might, I…all right. Bathroom. Cheeseburger."
"In that order," Sam teased, before he made his way through the maze of tables to the restroom. It was relatively clean, at least, white tile and a little bouquet of plastic flowers in a little vase sitting on the sink next to the hand soap.
Sam stepped up to one of the urinals, sighing in relief as he relieved himself. Yeah, he needed a guardian but he still had to at least be able to take a leak from time to time. Finished, he slapped the flush button and was still zipping his pants when he heard it. Not the creak of the door, not footsteps. It was a voice, soft and deep, crackling with inhumanness.
"He's terribly fond of you, isn’t he?" Echoing queerly, the tone oily with false concern. An oddly sweet, husky voice that sent gooseflesh prickling up Sam's arms, down his back. "It took him ever so long to let you out of his sight."
His bladder felt heavy and if Sam hadn't just emptied it, he'd have been afraid he would wet his pants. God, he was about to die, horribly, he was sure, right here, in a tiny bathroom in a town whose name he couldn't remember. Closing his eyes, Sam didn't move, didn't dare, but when the expected pain didn't come, he opened them again and turned towards the being he could feel standing behind him.
No one could ever mistake him for human. It was something in the way he stood, too still, his eyes flickering almost bird-like around the room. Pale eyes, so light that they were almost colorless. It gave him the disturbing appearance of only having pupils. His hair was an odd, tangled mass around his head, a strange, deep red that was nothing like Sideswipe's. It made Sam think of dried blood, the splatter that was left on the highway after a trucker hit a deer. It was the only spot of color on his body, skin and eyes pale, his clothes dark.
He was beautiful in the way all holoforms seemed to be, the way all mechs seemed to be, choosing gorgeous cars and bodies to model themselves after. This form was no exception, his beauty ghastly, terrifying in its unearthliness and his eyes literally sparkled with profane glee. With a jolt of the purest fear, Sam realized dimly that this being, holoform, alien, whatever he was, was completely insane. There was a wrongness about him that had nothing to do with not being human. Sam had spent enough time around Autobot holoforms that he could feel it, that horrible wrongness prickling over him.
The man, not a man, no, not at all, smiled at him gently, his voice a harsh, inhuman whisper of mocking sincerity, "If you scream, I will personally kill every other human in this pit-forsaken little town."
Sam believed him, utterly. His mouth was sandpaper dry and he wet his lips the best he could, tasting the sweat beading on his upper lip before croaking out, "Who are you?"
"That’s very forward of you," the Decepticon tutted, tapping one long, pale finger against his equally colorless lips. "I think it might be best if we go without names, don't you?"
"Sure," Sam swallowed sharp, metallic fear thick in his mouth as his throat clicked dryly.
"You aren't begging for your life," he observed, tilting his head curiously. His long hair spilled over his shoulder, brilliant against the blackness of his shirt. "How quaint."
"Do you want me to?" Sam would do anything to keep this guy talking. It was a faint, desperate hope, but Bumblebee would have to get suspicious soon, have to come check on him. The smirk that curved his mouth made Sam's hopes fade. There was something about him, some light in his unnatural eyes and Sam wondered if he wasn't hoping for just that. Better then, maybe, if Bee didn't come, if he stayed away until this was…was over.
"You should," For just a second, the pretense fell and those colorless eyes flared with hate, burning, vicious heat that Sam imagined was like looking into hell itself. Then he seemed to catch himself, dropping back into playing human as he said, boredly, "You have no idea how very lucky you are."
"Lucky?" Sam asked. He was barely aware of stepping back as the other stepped forward, pressing back into the narrowed space between the urinals, the tiled wall cool against his back.
"Oh yes," he assured him, stepping closer yet. His feet, bare, Sam realized, were disturbingly silent on the floor, like he was pretending to be human with the least amount of effort required. "It could have been Barricade who found you. I don't think he would have been very kind."
So this wasn't Barricade at least. That didn't surprise him. Barricade was a blunt tool, used to force, bludgeoning his way through every time he and Sam met. This, whoever he was, was a more subtle, deeper danger. Like a snake, waiting for him to look away before he struck. "Probably not," Sam agreed, desperately. Sweat was starting to sting in his eyes, his own fear a heavy, frantic throb in his pulse.
"But I shall," he breathed and Sam forced himself not to flinch when one long-fingered hand reached out, pressed lightly over his heart. Even through his shirt Sam felt an alien chill, one sharp point of cold. "Why, I'm even going to let you go."
"You are." Sam tried to keep the doubt from his voice, along with any tiny dregs of hope. Tried to keep his voice flat, uninteresting. He'd beg if he had to but better, maybe, to not say anything, to wait and see what he needed to do to get out of this alive.
"Of course," Just as quickly as he'd stepped in, the Decepticon moved back, leaving Sam an open path to the door. He flapped one hand in a careless, shooing gesture. "Scurry back, little insect, he'll be missing you soon."
Sam took a wary step, another, not daring to look away. He looked amused, unholy light dancing in those ghastly eyes. There were only three steps to the door and Sam managed one, two, before cold hands on his arms reminded him that it didn't matter if he watched. Holoforms weren't bound by the same constrictions as real humans. A hard, icy body pressed against his own and he shuddered in revulsion. He'd only thought Sunstreaker felt cold. This was like being held by a corpse, heavy, dead meat pressed against him.
"I nearly forgot, sweet," Freezing breath against his ear, damp coldness. "I do believe there is something I want from you, after all."
He couldn't scream, pain exploded at the back of his skull, thrust like a spike of pure agony into his head and then there was nothing.
~~*~~
The infirmary had been well designed, by both humans engineers and Ratchet. Split into two sides, one for soldiers and one for Autobots, and Ratchet wasn't naïve enough to believe that if he hadn't offered to care for the human soldiers that it would have been anywhere near as well-stocked.
He didn't resent that bit of xenophobia; all species had it in some form or another and he didn't pretend his own species wasn't included in that. All that mattered was that it was well-stocked, with nearly every item he had requisition supplied to him and while no medic on Cybertron would have been impressed by it, he had no doubt that not a few human hospitals would be. The builders had met and even exceeded a few of his expectations; aside from the main examination rooms there were a few smaller, private rooms as well as a lower level that served to store supplies. A Cybertronian's self-repair could heal wounds but it couldn't replace limbs or other parts, too many to name, and Ratchet kept a store of them, most of them collected from dead Decepticons.
It was in the lower levels that Ratchet also kept a few chemicals that he used in his work, drums of them neatly labeled and stored, and when he was finally finished with his myriad of tests, the expected results glaring up at him from his data pad, he went down to the storage rooms and selected one of them. A canister as large as an oil drum, marked carefully with the human skull and crossbones that indicated the contents were poisonous.
Ignoring the warning, Ratchet popped the lid off it as he settled himself on the floor and took a long, deep swig from it, cycling off his optics as he leaned back and relaxed. All his patients were stable at the moment; the humans receiving the fluids and antibiotics required before Ratchet could perform surgery on the internal injuries that were too complex for the nanites to repair. Frankly, most of them were in better shape than he would have expected after a battle like that, Sergeant Epps being one of the few exceptions. His leg was a concern, to be sure, but Ratchet wasn't finished yet. That little human was going to walk again, on his own legs, if Ratchet had anything to say about it.
Heavy steps registered in his audials, familiar ones, and Ratchet didn't move, only took another deep drink as Ironhide stalked up next to him, dropping the deactivated body of a small Decepticon at Ratchet's feet.
"Brought ya a present," Ironhide said, giving the body a kick. "Figured he's got a few parts he's not using anymore that you might like."
"You always bring the best gifts," Ratchet drawled, taking another long drink. "Not much of a sweet talker, though."
Ironhide snorted, "Mech as easy as you doesn't need his gears greased." He gave Ratchet a nudge with one large foot. "Comfortable?"
"Not uncomfortable enough to move."
Automatic protest rose as Ironhide plucked the canister away, sniffing it appreciatively. "Knew you'd have some high grade hidden away, somewhere, you old booze hound." He took a swig himself, coughing as heavy impurities caught at his intakes, "I know you aren't drinking just because you've got a few patients upstairs, so what's the occasion?"
"I'm pregnant. Soon Optimus and I will be knee-deep in little flame-emblazed sparklings."
Ratchet turned on his optics just in time to catch Ironhide staring at him with an expression that could only be classified as blank horror. Ratchet snorted a laugh and shook his head. "You're getting gullible in your old age. Rest assured, I haven't somehow managed to find a way to impregnate Autobots and I'm not looking for a way, either.
"You're older than me," Hide grumbled. "Going to tell me what's really going on?"
"Ironhide, you are looking at the proud owner of Cybertron's very first venereal disease."
He waited patiently while Ironhide's optics flicked to the left as he accessed his wi-fi, researching the term. After a long moment, Ironhide blew out an irritated vent of air. "Would you be serious?"
"Oh, I am quite serious," Ratchet assured him, "Although I suppose the term isn't an exact match. This one isn't transmitted during sex; rather, it's an infestation of receptors that makes the infected mech, that would be me, require physical stimulation similar to human sexual activity. It's currently making me want to throw Optimus down at any given time, even though I am perfectly capable of giving them the charge they require."
Ironhide promptly handed the canister back and deliberately wiped off his hand. "Sorry I asked."
"Mmm, yes. According to the time stamp they so helpfully provided, I acquired them when I was scanning the two of them after Sam's little incident. It would seem that since I wasn't an active participant, I appealed as a carrier." Carelessly, Ratchet took another long drink of high grade. A thin trickle missed his intake, dribbled down the front of his chassis and Ratchet wiped it away with the back of his hand, licking away the smear. Waste not, want not and all that human slag.
"You're communicating with them?" Ironhide perked up a little at that news.
"Only in the most rudimentary of ways," Ratchet assured him. "I'm embellishing a bit on their intentions. Truth be told, I have no idea why they'd want to infect me. "
"It sure as hell isn't for your charming personality," Ironhide snorted. He vented out a long, deep gust of air. "What are you going to do?"
"I have no idea," Ratchet admitted. "At best, this is an inconvenience, at worst? I would suggest quarantine if it weren't for the fact that I doubt it would help. Everyone has been exposed by now. And aside from it being inconvenient, we aren't being hurt by this."
"Sam seemed plenty hurt when he got that message," Ironhide scowled.
Ratchet flapped a hand carelessly, "Incidental. That was from the sudden boost he got from the shard, not from his personal receptors."
"Ratch-" Hesitantly, the lightest touch on his shoulder.
"Please, don't," Ratchet said calmly. "I'm not at my best right now and I don't want these little glitches to get the idea that you're on the energon buffet. Bad enough that Optimus is being forced into this."
That got him a rough shove that nearly knocked him over, his unsteady stabilizers kicking in almost too late.
"Yeah, it's tragic," Ironhide drawled, "Him having to frag you all hours of the day. Not sure how he goes on, knowing that's on the schedule for the foreseeable future. "
"Now who isn't being serious?"
"I'm being plenty serious. I can think of worse things than pinning you."
"I think you're pinning enough without adding me to your list," Ratchet shook his head. "Thanks for the vid, by the way. Stuff of nightmares, that was. I may never recharge again. I've got a permanent reminder flagged to never again ask you for research material."
Ironhide grinned proudly. "Not bad, eh? The breasts are great, you should get a set. Lotta fun."
"Yes, I'll just grow myself a set of breasts, why didn't I think of that? Oh, probably because it's moronic." Ratchet flickered his optics impatiently. "I'll leave the breasts to you and the good captain. Looks good when he overloads, though," Ratchet gave him a wolfish grin. "You just look stupid."
"Very good technical term there, doctor. So when do I get my vid?"
"Vid of what?" Ratchet frowned up at him, noting with bemusement the faint halos reflecting in his optics from the lights. High grade wasn't too bad a quality, then.
"Do we have an invisible mech on base that you've been interfacing with three times daily?" Ironhide said with great patience. "Unless Mirage showed up and hasn't bothered to check in, I doubt it. I want to see you and Optimus. 'Specially if you got one of you two enjoying your venereal disease."
"Oh, I don't think so. You got enough of a show spying on us just a few days ago."
Ironhide rubbed the back of his neck ruefully, his large fingers grating loudly against his armor. "Didn't think you noticed me."
"I didn't. The infirmary security cameras did and sent me the data on it." Ratchet gave him a sour look.
"Hey, you were in a public building with the door unlocked." Ironhide protested.
"That explains how you saw it. It does not explain why you stayed."
"Who wouldn't?" Ironhide said appreciatively. "Couldn't see much, though. Give an old mech a thrill and let me have a file."
"No," Ratchet replied with his own particular brand of surly succinctness, high grade be damned.
Ironhide shook his head sadly. "Getting to be a prude in your old age."
"On the contrary, I was just on the floor of the infirmary only a few hours ago and I can assure you that whatever you want to call what I was doing, prudish does not belong."
"In front of patients?" Ironhide mimicked a low whistle.
"Unconscious ones. Not that either of the Twins or Blaster would have turned down a free show." Ratchet took another long swig from the canister even as Ironhide raised an optic ridge at him.
"Planning on getting drunk?" Ironhide asked mildly, not a hint of reproach in his vocalizer.
Ratchet snorted. "This hasn't even dimmed my lights. Most of the humans are doing well enough that I'll be able to attempt a little surgery soon. Some of them have broken bones that I'll need to attend to directly to insure proper healing. Epps in particular."
Ironhide was already nodding, "Yeah, take good care of him for me, will you? Not that I think you wouldn't," he added hastily, as heated protest flared in Ratchet's optics, his armor ruffling with temper. "I'm just fond of that kid." He sighed, scratching at a healing scrape along his thigh armor until Ratchet reached out enough to slap his hand away. "The soldier boys took away the three that died. How are the rest? Not going to lose anymore?"
Again, Ratchet gave Ironhide a narrow glance, optics bright with his fluxing energy state. "For the sake of our friendship and your head, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."
"All right," Ironhide said agreeably, surrendering. He settled his bulk next to Ratchet with a sigh, ignoring the glare that Ratchet sent his way. "S'matter, you big sparkling, don't want to share your toys?"
"Not these toys!" Ratchet squirmed uncomfortable, "You’re sitting too close. Humans are very tactile, ergo, Sam is very tactile and so-"
"The receptors are very tactile. That's interesting." He reached over and drew one finger down Ratchet's arm and the medic yelped.
"I told you not to do that!"
"Sorry," Ironhide said unapologetically. "It was an experiment. In the interest of science."
"I have no interest in being your interest so knock it off!"
"Uh huh," Ironhide shook his head and stood back up. "Well, that's enough of a break for me. I'm gonna head back out."
Ratchet's terse farewell surged into static as Ironhide reached down again and ran a finger down his arm. He jerked away with a low curse. "Ironhide, I swear if you do that again, I am going to hand you your own arm."
Ironhide made a tching sound, "You’d think someone who gets off on something so little would be in a better mood."
"It hasn’t worked for Optimus yet, I can't imagine why you think it would work for you," Ratchet snarled.
"Amusing as this has been, I'm going to see if I can get a few minutes of squelching noises out of someone short, dark, and human, before he drops on his feet." Ironhide made his way to the stairs, before he called back, "I'll just tell Optimus you're looking for him."
"Bastard piece of junk metal," Ratchet muttered. He tipped back his canister, consuming the last, thickened dregs and hoped that Optimus didn't take too long getting there.
~~*~~
"Sam?"
Sam groaned, his cheek pressed firmly against something hard and cold. Blinking, he saw white tile beneath him, speckled with flecks of dark crimson. In his daze, it took him a moment to recognize it and when he did, Sam scrambled away, his eyes glued on the blood-spattered floor. Cold porcelain stopped his backwards flight and he looked around wildly.
A bathroom stall, he realized, not even caring that he'd been lying face first on the probably not very clean floor. From underneath the stall he could see feet, these ones encased in tennis shoes, moving warily across the tile. With clumsy, shaking hands, Sam managed to open the stall door, stumbled out and nearly into Bumblebee, falling gratefully into his strong arms.
"Sam?" Bee gasped, his hands moving over Sam, feeling for injuries. His whole body ached but the only real pain was at the back of his neck. He reached back with nerveless fingers, touched wetness and when he drew his hand back, his fingertips came back bloody.
"Sam, are you all right? I shouldn't have let you come alone, I should have--"
"We need to go now," Sam whispered, his mouth dry, his voice cracking.
"Yes," Bee said, firmly interrupting his own spat of horrified words. "Come on, let's go. What happened?"
Frantically, Sam shook his head, felt wetness trailing down his face. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and saw shiny lines of sweat trailing from his temples, a small trickle of blood down the side of his neck. His eyes were too-wide, fearful. "We need to go. Please!"
"Come on," Bumblebee half-carried him out of bathroom, ignoring the exclamations and horrified looks of the other patrons. He never let Sam go again, even as he paid their bill to the startled waitress who was only just bringing their food.
"What happened, oh, good lord, you all right, honey?" she babbled, shocked, her hands twisting the bills that Bumblebee had just pressed into them. He didn't even bother grabbing the grease-stained sacks, only held Sam as they made their way to the door.
"He's fine," Bee said shortly. "He tripped in the bathroom, hit his head."
"Oh, but, we should call an ambulance, get some paperwork-"
"I'll take him to the hospital," Bee was almost dragging Sam outside, the waitress following, ignored by them both as they made their way over to where Bumblebee was parked.
"But, sir-"
"Fuck off," Bee snarled back at her, eyes blazing. She flinched back, eyes wide and her cheeks flushed.
"I…I just…I'm calling the police," she yelled after them, whirling around and darting back into the restaurant, presumably to do just that.
"Now we really need to get out of here," Bumblebee muttered. His door swung open and he lowered Sam carefully into the passenger seat, heedless of the blood still seeping down his neck, into the collar of his shirt. "Let's get your parents and Mikaela."
"No!" Sam croaked out, grabbing Bee's wrist and holding him with more desperation than strength.
"What?" Startled, Bee paused, not even trying to pull away from Sam's frantic grasp.
"No. They're after me, right? I don't even think they know the others are with us." Maybe. A horrible thought rose, refusing to be dismissed. "Are they okay?"
"Yes," Bee said, instantly. "I was scanning them when you dropped off my radar." Anguish filled his green eyes, "I should never have let you out of my sight, it was only for a two minutes and this-"
Sam shook his head, "Later, okay, we can do the guilt thing later. We need to get out of here, though. My parents, Mikaela, I think…I think if they were going to snag them, they would have already gotten them. It would have been easy, we were far enough away. They'll be safer if I'm not with them."
Expecting protests, Sam was startled when Bee agreed instantly. "All right."
The engine purred to life, Bee's holoform jerking away from Sam's grasp and closing the door tightly before he loped around and climbed into the driver's side. His own door wasn't even shut before Bee was backing out and there was no squeal of tires, no cloud of dust. Only the sensation of movement, and Sam leaned back in his seat, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to still his shaking that still wracked his whole body.
A slim, warm hand touched the back of his fingers lightly and Sam grabbed it, threaded their fingers together desperately as Bee drove them to the outskirts of a little town called Perfection and past, back out into the yawning desert.
tbc