Conceptions - 3
Title: Conceptions of the Self - Home - Mei's Fanfic Master List
FIC Summary: [2007, AU] Sore throats, nightmares, and the differences between organics and Cybertronians - something is terribly wrong with Sam. To live is to evolve, and shape alone is not enough; think of it as a mutual learning experience. (Bot!Sam, PTSD, Mech/mech)
1, 2, 2.b, 3, 4, 4.b, 5, 6, 7, 7.b
Check out 2.B for a short Mikaela side-story. It fits before this chapter, chronologically, but is not required to understand this chapter.
--
Chapter Three: Can't Relate
He'd probably feel like crap if he wasn't drug out of his mind on various brands of pain pills.
If he was smart about it, the last place he would have went was outside at night while he as drugged as he was. But -- well, he was drugged. That sort of meant he wasn't at his analytical best. The really sad thing about it was that they didn't have pills powerful enough to take care of the worse of it, so he was mostly comfortable, as long as he didn't move much or inhale or ... you know, exist. Therefore, one would think he'd go to bed.
Not Sam. No, Sam went outside to sit on the front porch while a giant robot alien pretended to be a shiny new car in his driveway, and while he was at it, he might as well ogle the sky.
He would regret that. It took approximately fifteen minutes for him to stop looking at the soft blackness of the sky overhead and start seeing some of the brighter stars. After seeing those stars, he started to wonder about the aliens that had been in his back yard a few weeks ago. This, of course, lead him around to starting to get pretty paranoid. The sky started to look a lot less like a black fuzzy roof with some holes, and started looming overhead like gaping emptiness shot with threatening lights, like bullets frozen midair and waiting to rain down on his head.
Sam didn't know he'd become afraid of the dark one day. He used to love the night time. His mother used to wash laundry at night time while his father worked on the now optimal condition classic car (with a recently fresh coating of shiny green paint), and Sam used to sit on top of the washing machine. When he was lucky and his father didn't do something nearly-disastrous to the car, the three of them would go on a late night ride, and he'd get to lay on the back of the car and watch the stars. Sam used to love the night.
It gave him a head ache to think that somewhere out there was a dead planet ... an entire planet of massive robotic organisms, so very similar to humans. An entire intergalactic war.
"Disgusting," and that hollow metal thud and the short terrible scream.
He hated the sky at night. It was dark and he could see the stars and that only reminded him just how vulnerable his planet was, sitting there naively in space, as if metal hell demons couldn't rain down like vengeance fire from the night and it would be the end of everything they knew.
(If they were lucky, the Decepticons could kill them all quickly).
Sam hated the night sky. It was a truth of vulnerability he never wished to know.
---
It was Sunday, the day after Bumblebee cracked a few more of his ribs and zebra'd Optimus Prime's hand print in different colors with a seat belt, Sam was sitting outside of Mikaela's house with Bumblebee. He was a little nervous, though not for really all that usual of a reason. Few things were as daunting as the words "we need to talk" from a girl. It would have been worse, though, if Sam was like ... dating Mikaela. Or maybe he was; it was hard to tell.
Sam had a lot of things on his mind. Mikaela used to be the first thing he thought about when he woke up and the last before he fell asleep ... now it was pretty much 'Giant Robots from outer space' with mild variations like 'and one wants to be my friend' and 'my-car-is-so-awesome'. Which might explain why he wasn't sure if they were dating, nor was he sure if he should be disappointed if they weren't. It also might explain why they needed to talk, but seeing as how it was a girl who suggested it, and girls' minds worked in mysterious ways and he'd pretty much resigned himself to not understanding them ... ah, well.
The thing was, the crazy stuff they had been through in the last few weeks wasn't exactly something that was conducive to starting relationships other than the strange camaraderie they had. He thought it would be kind of nice to date Mikaela, maybe ... just not right now. Which was a supremely strange thing to think. It was just ... Sam had a lot of crap going on right now. He had giant alien robots, and ... nightmares, and his freaking out parents and all of that. He didn't have ... time. That was the pervading feeling he'd had since they'd arrived home: like there wasn't enough time.
So, anyway, he and Bee were riding over to find out what exactly it was that Mikaela needed to talk about. He'd figured out her home line from the phone book after talking to Miles, and gave her a call and left a message on her message machine (her cell phone had gone missing at some point, even though she swore she had it up until they were kidnapped by S-7). He hadn't tried to push her, of course, because he knew that he wouldn't have liked that too much. Thankfully, she called him back late the same day, and that was why they were sitting outside her house waiting for her to appear.
She did, finally, descending the short steps dressed in jeans and a sweater, hair pulled back into what even he could identify as a 'lazy' ponytail. Both of them were wearing copious amounts of long sleeves even in the heat to hide the horrendous amounts of bruises they both had. Granted, of the two, Sam had been the one who had been knocked around the most, but he had tackled her off her moped/vespa/whatever, they had fallen and been caught by Bumblebee, and he didn't know what all might have happened to her during Mission City.
The passenger door popped open invitingly, and she slid in with a small smile. "Thanks, Bumblebee," she said. "Now, if only all men were as chivalrous as you."
Sam smiled slightly; it was those little things that made Bumblebee so approachable. He was just a friendly car. "Hey, Mikaela."
"Hi, Sam," she said. "Could we go grab a bite to eat? Or did you not bring any money?"
"No, I've got it," he said, waving the issue off as he mocked driving. He glanced over at the girl in the passenger seat, hesitantly asked, "so is this like ... serious or something?"
"Nah -- no," she said, glancing over. "It's just ... weird. And kind of silly."
"You're not backing out of this, are you? I mean, the thing with the Autobots. They kind of own us now."
"Don't remind me," she said dryly. "Though I was thinking about talking to Ratchet, you know ..."
"Ah," he said lightly. "Like ... being an assistant or something?"
"Yeah. Its a lot more complex than anything I've touched -- cars really aren't all that hard to figure out, you know. It's just ... parts, gears ... but, I figured that there had to be something I could do. I know how to replace wires and tubes and stuff. I'm sure he'll know what I can handle and can't. There's no way it's easy for one guy to try to repair all of those parts in so many other 'bots." She shrugged. "If I can't help out that way, then maybe I can help out the new arrivals find alt forms, you know?"
He bit his lip. Mikaela had it all planned out, and he hadn't really thought beyond himself and Bumblebee. "Wow," he said. "You know -- that's why they say that girls ... mature quick ... more quickly than guys."
She smirked. "Don't worry about it, Sam. Besides, we are still going to school."
"Yeah," he said awkwardly, glancing away out the window. "Well, anyway, if it's not that, then what's this ... weird-silly thing you wanted to talk about?"
"Ah -- that, well ..." she settled back into the leather seat. "Could we wait until we get our food?"
"Yeah, sure," he said quickly.
They ended up at the Whattaburger. Unlike the Burger King, it made a habit of being pretty empty inside so that they could talk comfortably.
"A soda and a milkshake? Is that some weird ... guy thing?" Mikaela asked, arching an eyebrow.
"No, no," he said absently, waving it off. "I've just been ... eating a lot since I got home. I think I lost weight during Mission city ... all that running around."
"Lucky," she grumbled, twisting off the cap of her water bottle.
The only conversation they made during the meal was idiotic small talk. It was ... strange that they had anything to make small talk about, but apparently he wasn't wrong when he said that there was more to Mikaela than meets the eye.
"No, no, no way," she laughed, waving her hands. "I'd sooner swallow motor oil than date Trent again. You know, I was only with him for his car, anyway."
"What?" he blurted out, laughing.
"Yeah," she said with a smirk. "That day I left and you picked me up? I was leaving because he didn't want me driving, and it was pretty obvious I probably wouldn't ever be driving."
"I can't believe it."
"You'd better believe it," Mikaela said with such a pleased expression it was like a lioness licking her chops. "There was a pretty good reason I got in your car, you know."
"Ouch," he said, holding a hand to his chest. "Well, I guess that's better than because you just needed a ride. I know how to pick a car."
"Really? Because I was under the impression that Bumblebee knew how to pick a car," she teased.
"Bumblebee knows how to pick a driver," he corrected with an overly serious face. He broke it with a smile. "And if I recall correctly, you called him a piece of crap."
"Yeah, but that means that it was because of me that you have that really hot Camaro," she said, pointing out the window at him.
"It was because of my grandfather that I know giant robot aliens exist," he corrected, taking a large bite out of his chicken sandwich thing.
"Ah --" she said, holding up her finger with a smug look, "but, Bumblebee could have easily been a vee-double-you Bug."
He choked on his sandwich and coughed roughly for several minutes. That was so unfair. "Would you believe that the he dented in the door of one when the guy I bought him from tried to sell me that instead?"
She shot him a look of disbelief. "You're not serious?"
"Deadly," he assured her, grinning. "It was yellow, too. Then he blew out all the windows of the other cars. I swear I don't know how it missed my Dad's windshield."
"Wow," she said slowly, arching both eyebrows high. "That's ... commitment. Rash, too."
"It was awesome," he laughed. "I really wanted that car." She made a noncommittal humming noise. Sensing the change in mood, he finished his Coke and started on the milkshake. "Ready to talk about that ... weird-silly thing now?"
"Yeah," Mikaela said, avoiding his eyes as she sipped her water. "Listen, Sam ... I just wanted to get it out in the open. What I said during our first ride -- well, actually that was a lie, but meaning holds the same. I just don't want to ... lead you on or anything."
Sucking on the straw, he was silent as he let that sink in. "Kay," he said finally.
"Really?" she said with some surprise. "Because, well -- um, you were pretty persistent."
"Yeah," he said dryly, "because no other teenaged boy is going to be persistent in trying to get your attention."
She laughed, mostly in relief. "Can you believe that I thought your awesome back flip off the bike was a stunt?"
He had to laugh, too. "Seriously? Because that was so not awesome."
Shrugging, she said, "you never know. I've seen some pretty stupid stuff. It wasn't until you totally blew me off that I thought maybe you were ... hurt or in trouble or something."
"Yeah, well," he said, "I think you're safe from me for the foreseeable future. I mean ... I don't think I'm going to even look at girls for a while. There's a lot of stuff going on, and ... injuries, and wow."
"Yeah," she agreed slowly. "That and ... you would be keeping secrets, you know? I'm pretty sure that no one else is going to get ... cleared to know about the Giant Walking Super Computers, and considering we ... 'belong' to them, or whatever ..."
He frowned. That had been something he hadn't even considered, yet -- but it was true, wasn't it? Not to mention that even if he could find some pretty girl who was cleared to know about the Autobots ... a lot of people had a hard time accepting that they actually had morals, and thoughts and feelings of their own. They could feel pain, and be scared and --
Sam had to set the milkshake down, and he rubbed his hands on his pants.
"Are you okay?"
He looked up sharply and saw Mikaela's face, soft with concern even as her dark blue eyes were intense, studying him. "Yeah," he rasped, and cleared his throat. "Fine. I was just -- well. I'm fine." Brushing a hand through his hair, he shook his head. "Yeah."
"Are you regretting it? This, I mean?" she asked, leaning forward a bit.
"Never," he said immediately. Was she kidding? The Autobots were -- he could never regret them and what he did for them. It was just -- "I just -- I hate those guys," he said, and the words were so venomous, so intense that he startled himself.
"The Decepticons?" she asked in confusion.
"No, no, not them."
Her face lit with comprehension. "Sector Seven."
"Yeah," he said, gripping the table. "Yeah."
"Oh, Sam," she sighed, leaning across the table. "I understand. What they did ... you can't forgive that sort of stuff. It's just ... it was wrong and immoral and if you ask me, they should be shot. But don't, okay? I know a lot about hatred, of being furious with someone because they hurt someone I care about. So, listen to me when I tell you that you would be a lot better off not being worked up about it. What they did -- that was horrible. I had nightmares about it. But all you're doing is hurting yourself when you hate them so much."
"I don't know," he said with frustration, "I just don't know. I don't know if I can let go. I tried to tell them -- I tried, and they wouldn't listen!"
"Hey, breathe," Mikaela advised. "I know, I understand. Just ... breathe."
He did. He had to. It wasn't because it was Mikaela telling him to, and it wasn't because the words were much more soothing than 'calm down' or 'chill out'. It was because -- well, there was something wrong with him. He knew it. A person like him didn't survive by being intense. His parents certainly didn't raise him to be intense. They were a relaxed family ... as hippy-ish as a family could be and still take showers every day (sometimes twice).
But ever since Sam had seen the human race lasso down Bumblebee and spray him with nitrogen and heard those wails ... there was a nuclear reactor in his chest. It burned and seethed, and the only thing preventing a meltdown was his blood as it rushed furiously through that Chernobyl in his chest and carried the heat away. It was a closed circuit, though, so if that nuclear reaction kept on ... if it went on for too long, the blood was too hot to cool it and --
-- and. Well. Chernobyl. Three Mile Island. It was over. He didn't know what would happen but -- it couldn't be good.
"I know," he said, picking up his milkshake. His hand still trembled a little but he glared past Mikaela and sucked on the melting treat and tried to think of anything else. "So, um, you like cars," he said awkwardly.
She laughed lightly and sat back with a gentle tolerant smile. "Yeah, I like cars. Its ... in my blood, I guess," she joked awkwardly, like she wasn't sure if she should be referencing her father that way.
"Kinda like 'giant walking super computers' is in mine, huh?" he asked wryly. If she could reference her father, he could reference old Archibald.
With a satisfied look, she practically beamed. "Yeah, like that."
---
After dropping Mikaela off, having parted on good terms with laughs and smiles, Bumblebee took him back home. The ride was just long enough for Sam to stumble upon the thought that maybe now that Bumblebee had actually gotten a taste of being a chauffeur, he'd change his mind. Then he couldn't bring himself to ask just a few days after the first time he brought it up, as that just seemed ... weird, and annoying. Thankfully, his father came out of the house while Sam was sitting behind the wheel and debating what to do. Seeing that it was pretty clear he wanted to talk to his son, Sam climbed out and shut the door lightly, leaning his hip against Bumblebee's side for a moment before it occurred to him that Bumblebee might not like that and he jerked away as if the metal had burned him.
"Hey, Sam," his father said with distracted smile before he returned to ogling Bee.
Sam watched with some trepidation. Surely his father --?
"Do you think I could get one of these?" Ron asked, looking at Sam hopefully.
"Dad," Sam said, jerking his head slightly and frowning softly. "They're not ... toys. They're people, you know -- or, ah, not people-people, they're aliens, but -- well, not toys."
"I know that," Ron said quickly, but continued to sort of eyeball Bumblebee as if he were a classic car model.
Without even thinking about it, Sam's hand snapped out and his fingers pressed into the seam where the windshield met rubber and metal. "You can't have this one," he blurted, "this one's mine."
"Oh, of course, I know that," his father said, making a shooing dismissive gesture but not taking his eyes off the sleek yellow curves.
Narrowing his eyes, Sam watched his father warily. "Well?"
"Well ... I was just wondering ... " Ron finally tore his eyes away from Bumblebee and cast a speculative look back to where Sam knew the convertible was hiding.
"No," Sam said fiercely. "It doesn't work like that -- God, Dad! Even if it did --"
"No need to get your lines crossed," he sniffed before looking back at Bumblebee.
"Stop ogling my car," Sam said, still trying to imagine what it would be like to have two giant alien robots hanging out around his house and only coming up with downed power lines and possibly fighting in the streets.
"You know," Ron said, a little seriously, "I paid for half of this car --"
"Yeah well -- a car chooses it's driver, so -- go eye up the convertible. That is your car, you leave mine alone!"
"Yeah, yeah ... you sure there isn't another one somewhere that needs a home --?"
"Dad. There's a ... a rescue hummer that tore down the power lines, a truck that wanted to use the cannon on the house or on Mojo, and a Mack truck that stepped on the fountain. Is there anyone you'd want at the house?"
Ron frowned. "I see what you mean." He threw a grievous look back at the house, remembering just how torn up everything had gotten. "At least the government reimburse us ..." Then he cast another longing look at the Camaro. "Be like Knight Rider ..."
Sam had never watched Knight Rider, but from what he understood from walking by the living room while his father watched it, it was like ... Batman without the tights. "No, Dad," he sighed, resisting the urge to thump his forehead off of the roof. "Not like Knight Rider at all ..."
Ron wasn't listening, walking back to the house and muttering to himself. "My son is living Knight Rider ..."
Incredulous, he stared after his father for a long moment. Was this some sort of weird mid-life crisis?
---
Going back to school on Monday was like ... well, it was a little like walking into the Twilight Zone, honestly. No one had any clue that just a week ago, they could have been enslaved by the Decepticons and all of the Earth Technology could have been turned into little killer bastards like the Nokiabot ... though, honestly, Sam did have to wonder what Megatron would have done if the 'bots hadn't been able to tell the difference between 'friend' and foe. As amusing as it was to envision little iPods and Nokias ninja'ing Megatron's wires like Chihuahuas on steroids and speed, things had probably worked out for the best.
Considering that Sam had those sorts of mental images, was there really any question why he wasn't exactly thrilled to be going back to school?
"How are we supposed to relate to these people?" Mikaela asked, sitting back heavily against Bumblebee's seat, staring at the other teens wandering in the general direction of the school doors.
"No joke," he said dryly. "You know ... I didn't have the greatest motivation to do homework to begin with. Now it's going to really be a joke."
"Tell me about it. And chemistry and physics? Please."
Sam patted the door and it obligingly popped open. "Thanks, Bee," he said, idly running a hand along the hood. "Here comes Miles."
Miles had a fairly obvious adverse reaction to seeing Mikaela slide out of Bumblebee. He actually stepped sideways about halfway to Sam, and very obviously avoided her like she had the plague as he sidled up next to Sam. "Dude," he hissed lowly. "You didn't mention the ee-jay-see! What's goin' on, dude?"
"Dude -- shut up," Sam said mildly. "Mikaela and I are friends now." Across the Camaro, Mikaela leaned forward and propped her arm on Bumblebee with a sarcastic little smile at Miles as he peered around Sam at her.
"Friends?" Miles demanded, straightening to stare at Sam incredulously. "No way -- how did that happen?"
Sam rolled his eyes, shutting the door and stepping around his friend. "You remember when I called you about Satan's Camaro? I ran into Mikaela while I was having problems with it, and I picked her up to take something to Mission City. You can't just ... go on road trips and not end up friends, Miles. Or be quarantined. Mikaela's actually pretty awesome, alright?"
"Dude, whatever!" Miles shot back, sending Mikaela suspicious looks. It was sort of like something on the discovery channel ... and the adolescent male is disturbed by the appearance of the strange female. He isn't sure whether or not to defend his turf ... first, he must find out what she wants ... or something like that.
Yeah, Sam's brain was batting a thousand this morning. Ninja Nokiabots and his friends on the Discovery Channel. Wow. Maybe the wrong Witwicky had been put in the Psych' ward? Well, if the nightmare about that evil cop Decepticon and his spastic little glitch continued for much longer, he would definitely belong there. Joy to the world -- and he'd been hanging out with Bumblebee too long, who still favored the radio unless they were having a serious discussion like they had on the way home.
The school day itself wasn't that bad. Nothing big happened. All he had to do was mention Mission City and "oh", everyone would say, "was it true that the clean up caused hallucinogenic fumes and made everyone think that their cars came to life?" and because it was The Rules, Sam nodded sheepishly and said, "Yeah, I totally thought this Mountain Dew machine grew legs." By lunch, no one cared any more. It just seemed so ... childish and unreal. He couldn't even be too terribly impressed with the football team or teachers or ... anything, really. His reality was giant sentient robots and intergalactic wars and the government and Mikaela and that Will guy who actually blew out one of them on his own, practically. High school ... with teachers and principals and councilors and jocks and idiots and the really gross food (but he was starving, so he ate it all anyway) was more like something out of some boring book that he read just to put him to sleep.
He was lucky he was able to resist the urge. His desire to sleep forever hadn't faded with time. Even though he'd easily slept nearly sixteen hours the first day he was back, he continued to be exhausted and hot and tired and achy all over. At least his sore throat had abated after being home and allowed to drink as much water as he wanted ... even if his mother did force multi-vitamins on him, certain that he had some cold or flu he need to fight off. Taking three daily-MVs wasn't his idea of a good breakfast, but the soup was nice to settle his stomach. His dad was sure that anyone with his appetite couldn't be sick, but Mom thought that it was a sure sign something was wrong since he hadn't had such a 'teenage boy' appetite since he was fifteen and going through a growth spurt.
He figured the fussing was their way of dealing with the stress of their run-in with the government, and he didn't mind, either, so ...
So really, the only honestly interesting part of his day came after school, which was when Trent finally made a play for 'his' girl. He was waiting right in the way for the parking lot with his shiny new blue Hummer, propped against it like he was the most awesome thing since awesome was awesome. Which he obviously wasn't, since Sam had met awesome and he came in yellow and black.
"Hey, Bunny," he said with a cloyingly over-friendly tone, grinning at her that way that still made Sam want to knee him in the groin. Which was saying something, because he no longer wanted to date Mikaela and Sam was a firm believer in not striking below the belt when fighting a guy. "Where've you been?"
"God, Trent," Mikaela groaned in frustrated aggravation. "Seriously. Hasn't me ... not calling you told you anything?"
"Come on," he cajoled. "Don't tell me you want to hang out with some loser?"
"You know -- you're right," she said earnestly. "I don't. So, I'm going to go hang out with Sam. And Miles," she added as an after thought. Miles looked scandalized and Sam shrugged, indicating that he wasn't going to object.
"Is this because I wouldn't let you drive my babe?" he demanded, frowning deeply now before trying to smooth it over. "Bunny, this is a very powerful vehicle. Does Wittiker let you drive his car, is that it?"
Mikaela and Sam exchanged a look. Not even Sam drove Sam's car. "You know, yes," she said, "the car has something to do with it -- but my main problem with you, Trent? You just don't understand that I'm - not - your - little - bunny. It's not even that I'm objecting to! I object to you, Trent. You and your willingness to just fall into some stereotype that everyone expects out of you, and your attitude toward women in general! I might have even understood it a little if you didn't treat me that way when we're alone, too! But -- whatever, you know? I'm not going to waste my time on you."
Sam let out a low whistle as she stormed by Trent and the Hummer, then figured he'd better hurry after before Trent came out of his stupor of disbelief. "Geez, preach it, sister," he said when he caught up.
"Ugh," she said, shivering a little and glancing over her shoulder. When she turned back, her expression was worried. "He's not going to take that lying down, Sam -- and he'll probably go after you, instead of me. And your car."
Mindful of Miles, he didn't spout about how his car could kick Trent's ass -- then realized that would probably be the exact wrong way to go ... what with that secrecy thing. "I'll look into some alarms and insurance," he said, instead. "Maybe some that would make dogs howl and burst some ear drums or something." He glanced back only to see Miles eyeballing Mikaela with something not unlike respect. Apparently, she was looking less like an Evil Jock Concubine and more like an Amazon Warrior Princess. Welcome to the Real Mikaela, Sam thought with humor.
"Guess what," Sam said brightly as they arrived at the Camaro. "Miles -- in the back. You can have shotgun after we drop off Mikaela."
"What!" he protested. "Dude, she can get in the back, especially if she's not going to be riding with us for a long time!"
"Miles," Sam said, leaning against Bumblebee a little. "It's my car. Back seat, or the bus -- it's your decision."
Miles visibly weighed the bus against the Camaro and decided that even the cramped back seat was better than the hot, sweaty school bus. "Fine, fine," he grumbled. "But we're hitting Sonic before home."
"Fine with me," Mikaela said slyly, smirking over the roof, sharp and predatory and her eyes dark and challenging. "Besides, with Sam's new appetite, he's probably starving anyway," she threw out before the door popped open and she slid sleekly in like she belonged there. Miles glowered angrily.
Sam scratched the back of his head and glanced back at the bus, trying to figure out if it was too late to back out of this weird turf-dispute that was going on. He decided to worry about it later, when his stomach wasn't gurgling greedily.
---
After having an extremely tense after-school meal with his friends, which Sam survived by doing nothing but eating and ignoring all of the subtle by-play going on between Miles and Mikaela, he discovered that it was a fairly good thing that he wasn't having to drive. Thankfully, when he discovered this, his friends were too busy with growling over the Sam-bone to notice that the Sam-bone was having vision problems.
That wasn't even really it, he mused as he stepped very carefully across the lawn toward the front porch. He could see fine. There was no blurriness, no black spots, or anything.
He was just ... having depth-perception problems. Like his brain couldn't properly measure that the step was four inches high and six inches deep. His head certainly didn't hurt. His vision didn't look skewed -- other than being strangely flat. Both eyes were working identical.
He'd just lost depth perception.
Sam worried over that for a while. Just around the time that his sore throat had eased with the help of his mother's strange hot teas and plenty of vitamin C (she swore by the stuff, Sam didn't know why, science explained that it only worked for athletes), his vision started going all wonky.
It wasn't that bad. Sam was pretty familiar with everything -- his house, the school, Bumblebee -- so as long as he didn't try to move at his usual speed and concentrated, no one should even notice that he wasn't sure about distances. Which was why it was a good thing that Bumblebee could drive himself, and usually did.
Maybe his nightmares were messing up his brain. If it wasn't something wrong with his eyes, or his reflexes, if the world looked flat -- that had to be his brain, right? What if they couldn't find anything wrong with his throat because there hadn't been anything wrong with his throat? What if it had all been in his head? He shouldn't be surprised, what if he was radiated, he'd been having those really fucked up nightmares, and he was sleeping a lot --
What if there was a tumor in his head?
Sam scrubbed his skin feverishly -- not because he thought it was going to help with whatever was wrong with his brain, but because he didn't know what he was supposed to do. The burning hot water made his flesh tender, and the steam was thick and made it hard to breathe, and Sam scrubbed and scrubbed and then just crouched under the water and wrapped his arms over his head.
Was he crazy? Was there even a tumor, or had he dreamed it all?
The insane certainly didn't think they were crazy. There was something wrong with his brain and he wanted it to stop.
-- To Be Continued --
GENERAL FORMATING NOTE: if you guys stumble across a locked entry, that's because I like to do all of my linking and formating before I'm even finished writing a chapter. HTML is a pain in teh behind ;__;'
I also canabalize my old entries, so any 'back dating' is due to me deleting what I originally posted that day (usually inane rambling) and putting it to use holding chapters and things.
FIC Summary: [2007, AU] Sore throats, nightmares, and the differences between organics and Cybertronians - something is terribly wrong with Sam. To live is to evolve, and shape alone is not enough; think of it as a mutual learning experience. (Bot!Sam, PTSD, Mech/mech)
1, 2, 2.b, 3, 4, 4.b, 5, 6, 7, 7.b
Check out 2.B for a short Mikaela side-story. It fits before this chapter, chronologically, but is not required to understand this chapter.
--
Chapter Three: Can't Relate
He'd probably feel like crap if he wasn't drug out of his mind on various brands of pain pills.
If he was smart about it, the last place he would have went was outside at night while he as drugged as he was. But -- well, he was drugged. That sort of meant he wasn't at his analytical best. The really sad thing about it was that they didn't have pills powerful enough to take care of the worse of it, so he was mostly comfortable, as long as he didn't move much or inhale or ... you know, exist. Therefore, one would think he'd go to bed.
Not Sam. No, Sam went outside to sit on the front porch while a giant robot alien pretended to be a shiny new car in his driveway, and while he was at it, he might as well ogle the sky.
He would regret that. It took approximately fifteen minutes for him to stop looking at the soft blackness of the sky overhead and start seeing some of the brighter stars. After seeing those stars, he started to wonder about the aliens that had been in his back yard a few weeks ago. This, of course, lead him around to starting to get pretty paranoid. The sky started to look a lot less like a black fuzzy roof with some holes, and started looming overhead like gaping emptiness shot with threatening lights, like bullets frozen midair and waiting to rain down on his head.
Sam didn't know he'd become afraid of the dark one day. He used to love the night time. His mother used to wash laundry at night time while his father worked on the now optimal condition classic car (with a recently fresh coating of shiny green paint), and Sam used to sit on top of the washing machine. When he was lucky and his father didn't do something nearly-disastrous to the car, the three of them would go on a late night ride, and he'd get to lay on the back of the car and watch the stars. Sam used to love the night.
It gave him a head ache to think that somewhere out there was a dead planet ... an entire planet of massive robotic organisms, so very similar to humans. An entire intergalactic war.
"Disgusting," and that hollow metal thud and the short terrible scream.
He hated the sky at night. It was dark and he could see the stars and that only reminded him just how vulnerable his planet was, sitting there naively in space, as if metal hell demons couldn't rain down like vengeance fire from the night and it would be the end of everything they knew.
(If they were lucky, the Decepticons could kill them all quickly).
Sam hated the night sky. It was a truth of vulnerability he never wished to know.
---
It was Sunday, the day after Bumblebee cracked a few more of his ribs and zebra'd Optimus Prime's hand print in different colors with a seat belt, Sam was sitting outside of Mikaela's house with Bumblebee. He was a little nervous, though not for really all that usual of a reason. Few things were as daunting as the words "we need to talk" from a girl. It would have been worse, though, if Sam was like ... dating Mikaela. Or maybe he was; it was hard to tell.
Sam had a lot of things on his mind. Mikaela used to be the first thing he thought about when he woke up and the last before he fell asleep ... now it was pretty much 'Giant Robots from outer space' with mild variations like 'and one wants to be my friend' and 'my-car-is-so-awesome'. Which might explain why he wasn't sure if they were dating, nor was he sure if he should be disappointed if they weren't. It also might explain why they needed to talk, but seeing as how it was a girl who suggested it, and girls' minds worked in mysterious ways and he'd pretty much resigned himself to not understanding them ... ah, well.
The thing was, the crazy stuff they had been through in the last few weeks wasn't exactly something that was conducive to starting relationships other than the strange camaraderie they had. He thought it would be kind of nice to date Mikaela, maybe ... just not right now. Which was a supremely strange thing to think. It was just ... Sam had a lot of crap going on right now. He had giant alien robots, and ... nightmares, and his freaking out parents and all of that. He didn't have ... time. That was the pervading feeling he'd had since they'd arrived home: like there wasn't enough time.
So, anyway, he and Bee were riding over to find out what exactly it was that Mikaela needed to talk about. He'd figured out her home line from the phone book after talking to Miles, and gave her a call and left a message on her message machine (her cell phone had gone missing at some point, even though she swore she had it up until they were kidnapped by S-7). He hadn't tried to push her, of course, because he knew that he wouldn't have liked that too much. Thankfully, she called him back late the same day, and that was why they were sitting outside her house waiting for her to appear.
She did, finally, descending the short steps dressed in jeans and a sweater, hair pulled back into what even he could identify as a 'lazy' ponytail. Both of them were wearing copious amounts of long sleeves even in the heat to hide the horrendous amounts of bruises they both had. Granted, of the two, Sam had been the one who had been knocked around the most, but he had tackled her off her moped/vespa/whatever, they had fallen and been caught by Bumblebee, and he didn't know what all might have happened to her during Mission City.
The passenger door popped open invitingly, and she slid in with a small smile. "Thanks, Bumblebee," she said. "Now, if only all men were as chivalrous as you."
Sam smiled slightly; it was those little things that made Bumblebee so approachable. He was just a friendly car. "Hey, Mikaela."
"Hi, Sam," she said. "Could we go grab a bite to eat? Or did you not bring any money?"
"No, I've got it," he said, waving the issue off as he mocked driving. He glanced over at the girl in the passenger seat, hesitantly asked, "so is this like ... serious or something?"
"Nah -- no," she said, glancing over. "It's just ... weird. And kind of silly."
"You're not backing out of this, are you? I mean, the thing with the Autobots. They kind of own us now."
"Don't remind me," she said dryly. "Though I was thinking about talking to Ratchet, you know ..."
"Ah," he said lightly. "Like ... being an assistant or something?"
"Yeah. Its a lot more complex than anything I've touched -- cars really aren't all that hard to figure out, you know. It's just ... parts, gears ... but, I figured that there had to be something I could do. I know how to replace wires and tubes and stuff. I'm sure he'll know what I can handle and can't. There's no way it's easy for one guy to try to repair all of those parts in so many other 'bots." She shrugged. "If I can't help out that way, then maybe I can help out the new arrivals find alt forms, you know?"
He bit his lip. Mikaela had it all planned out, and he hadn't really thought beyond himself and Bumblebee. "Wow," he said. "You know -- that's why they say that girls ... mature quick ... more quickly than guys."
She smirked. "Don't worry about it, Sam. Besides, we are still going to school."
"Yeah," he said awkwardly, glancing away out the window. "Well, anyway, if it's not that, then what's this ... weird-silly thing you wanted to talk about?"
"Ah -- that, well ..." she settled back into the leather seat. "Could we wait until we get our food?"
"Yeah, sure," he said quickly.
They ended up at the Whattaburger. Unlike the Burger King, it made a habit of being pretty empty inside so that they could talk comfortably.
"A soda and a milkshake? Is that some weird ... guy thing?" Mikaela asked, arching an eyebrow.
"No, no," he said absently, waving it off. "I've just been ... eating a lot since I got home. I think I lost weight during Mission city ... all that running around."
"Lucky," she grumbled, twisting off the cap of her water bottle.
The only conversation they made during the meal was idiotic small talk. It was ... strange that they had anything to make small talk about, but apparently he wasn't wrong when he said that there was more to Mikaela than meets the eye.
"No, no, no way," she laughed, waving her hands. "I'd sooner swallow motor oil than date Trent again. You know, I was only with him for his car, anyway."
"What?" he blurted out, laughing.
"Yeah," she said with a smirk. "That day I left and you picked me up? I was leaving because he didn't want me driving, and it was pretty obvious I probably wouldn't ever be driving."
"I can't believe it."
"You'd better believe it," Mikaela said with such a pleased expression it was like a lioness licking her chops. "There was a pretty good reason I got in your car, you know."
"Ouch," he said, holding a hand to his chest. "Well, I guess that's better than because you just needed a ride. I know how to pick a car."
"Really? Because I was under the impression that Bumblebee knew how to pick a car," she teased.
"Bumblebee knows how to pick a driver," he corrected with an overly serious face. He broke it with a smile. "And if I recall correctly, you called him a piece of crap."
"Yeah, but that means that it was because of me that you have that really hot Camaro," she said, pointing out the window at him.
"It was because of my grandfather that I know giant robot aliens exist," he corrected, taking a large bite out of his chicken sandwich thing.
"Ah --" she said, holding up her finger with a smug look, "but, Bumblebee could have easily been a vee-double-you Bug."
He choked on his sandwich and coughed roughly for several minutes. That was so unfair. "Would you believe that the he dented in the door of one when the guy I bought him from tried to sell me that instead?"
She shot him a look of disbelief. "You're not serious?"
"Deadly," he assured her, grinning. "It was yellow, too. Then he blew out all the windows of the other cars. I swear I don't know how it missed my Dad's windshield."
"Wow," she said slowly, arching both eyebrows high. "That's ... commitment. Rash, too."
"It was awesome," he laughed. "I really wanted that car." She made a noncommittal humming noise. Sensing the change in mood, he finished his Coke and started on the milkshake. "Ready to talk about that ... weird-silly thing now?"
"Yeah," Mikaela said, avoiding his eyes as she sipped her water. "Listen, Sam ... I just wanted to get it out in the open. What I said during our first ride -- well, actually that was a lie, but meaning holds the same. I just don't want to ... lead you on or anything."
Sucking on the straw, he was silent as he let that sink in. "Kay," he said finally.
"Really?" she said with some surprise. "Because, well -- um, you were pretty persistent."
"Yeah," he said dryly, "because no other teenaged boy is going to be persistent in trying to get your attention."
She laughed, mostly in relief. "Can you believe that I thought your awesome back flip off the bike was a stunt?"
He had to laugh, too. "Seriously? Because that was so not awesome."
Shrugging, she said, "you never know. I've seen some pretty stupid stuff. It wasn't until you totally blew me off that I thought maybe you were ... hurt or in trouble or something."
"Yeah, well," he said, "I think you're safe from me for the foreseeable future. I mean ... I don't think I'm going to even look at girls for a while. There's a lot of stuff going on, and ... injuries, and wow."
"Yeah," she agreed slowly. "That and ... you would be keeping secrets, you know? I'm pretty sure that no one else is going to get ... cleared to know about the Giant Walking Super Computers, and considering we ... 'belong' to them, or whatever ..."
He frowned. That had been something he hadn't even considered, yet -- but it was true, wasn't it? Not to mention that even if he could find some pretty girl who was cleared to know about the Autobots ... a lot of people had a hard time accepting that they actually had morals, and thoughts and feelings of their own. They could feel pain, and be scared and --
Sam had to set the milkshake down, and he rubbed his hands on his pants.
"Are you okay?"
He looked up sharply and saw Mikaela's face, soft with concern even as her dark blue eyes were intense, studying him. "Yeah," he rasped, and cleared his throat. "Fine. I was just -- well. I'm fine." Brushing a hand through his hair, he shook his head. "Yeah."
"Are you regretting it? This, I mean?" she asked, leaning forward a bit.
"Never," he said immediately. Was she kidding? The Autobots were -- he could never regret them and what he did for them. It was just -- "I just -- I hate those guys," he said, and the words were so venomous, so intense that he startled himself.
"The Decepticons?" she asked in confusion.
"No, no, not them."
Her face lit with comprehension. "Sector Seven."
"Yeah," he said, gripping the table. "Yeah."
"Oh, Sam," she sighed, leaning across the table. "I understand. What they did ... you can't forgive that sort of stuff. It's just ... it was wrong and immoral and if you ask me, they should be shot. But don't, okay? I know a lot about hatred, of being furious with someone because they hurt someone I care about. So, listen to me when I tell you that you would be a lot better off not being worked up about it. What they did -- that was horrible. I had nightmares about it. But all you're doing is hurting yourself when you hate them so much."
"I don't know," he said with frustration, "I just don't know. I don't know if I can let go. I tried to tell them -- I tried, and they wouldn't listen!"
"Hey, breathe," Mikaela advised. "I know, I understand. Just ... breathe."
He did. He had to. It wasn't because it was Mikaela telling him to, and it wasn't because the words were much more soothing than 'calm down' or 'chill out'. It was because -- well, there was something wrong with him. He knew it. A person like him didn't survive by being intense. His parents certainly didn't raise him to be intense. They were a relaxed family ... as hippy-ish as a family could be and still take showers every day (sometimes twice).
But ever since Sam had seen the human race lasso down Bumblebee and spray him with nitrogen and heard those wails ... there was a nuclear reactor in his chest. It burned and seethed, and the only thing preventing a meltdown was his blood as it rushed furiously through that Chernobyl in his chest and carried the heat away. It was a closed circuit, though, so if that nuclear reaction kept on ... if it went on for too long, the blood was too hot to cool it and --
-- and. Well. Chernobyl. Three Mile Island. It was over. He didn't know what would happen but -- it couldn't be good.
"I know," he said, picking up his milkshake. His hand still trembled a little but he glared past Mikaela and sucked on the melting treat and tried to think of anything else. "So, um, you like cars," he said awkwardly.
She laughed lightly and sat back with a gentle tolerant smile. "Yeah, I like cars. Its ... in my blood, I guess," she joked awkwardly, like she wasn't sure if she should be referencing her father that way.
"Kinda like 'giant walking super computers' is in mine, huh?" he asked wryly. If she could reference her father, he could reference old Archibald.
With a satisfied look, she practically beamed. "Yeah, like that."
---
After dropping Mikaela off, having parted on good terms with laughs and smiles, Bumblebee took him back home. The ride was just long enough for Sam to stumble upon the thought that maybe now that Bumblebee had actually gotten a taste of being a chauffeur, he'd change his mind. Then he couldn't bring himself to ask just a few days after the first time he brought it up, as that just seemed ... weird, and annoying. Thankfully, his father came out of the house while Sam was sitting behind the wheel and debating what to do. Seeing that it was pretty clear he wanted to talk to his son, Sam climbed out and shut the door lightly, leaning his hip against Bumblebee's side for a moment before it occurred to him that Bumblebee might not like that and he jerked away as if the metal had burned him.
"Hey, Sam," his father said with distracted smile before he returned to ogling Bee.
Sam watched with some trepidation. Surely his father --?
"Do you think I could get one of these?" Ron asked, looking at Sam hopefully.
"Dad," Sam said, jerking his head slightly and frowning softly. "They're not ... toys. They're people, you know -- or, ah, not people-people, they're aliens, but -- well, not toys."
"I know that," Ron said quickly, but continued to sort of eyeball Bumblebee as if he were a classic car model.
Without even thinking about it, Sam's hand snapped out and his fingers pressed into the seam where the windshield met rubber and metal. "You can't have this one," he blurted, "this one's mine."
"Oh, of course, I know that," his father said, making a shooing dismissive gesture but not taking his eyes off the sleek yellow curves.
Narrowing his eyes, Sam watched his father warily. "Well?"
"Well ... I was just wondering ... " Ron finally tore his eyes away from Bumblebee and cast a speculative look back to where Sam knew the convertible was hiding.
"No," Sam said fiercely. "It doesn't work like that -- God, Dad! Even if it did --"
"No need to get your lines crossed," he sniffed before looking back at Bumblebee.
"Stop ogling my car," Sam said, still trying to imagine what it would be like to have two giant alien robots hanging out around his house and only coming up with downed power lines and possibly fighting in the streets.
"You know," Ron said, a little seriously, "I paid for half of this car --"
"Yeah well -- a car chooses it's driver, so -- go eye up the convertible. That is your car, you leave mine alone!"
"Yeah, yeah ... you sure there isn't another one somewhere that needs a home --?"
"Dad. There's a ... a rescue hummer that tore down the power lines, a truck that wanted to use the cannon on the house or on Mojo, and a Mack truck that stepped on the fountain. Is there anyone you'd want at the house?"
Ron frowned. "I see what you mean." He threw a grievous look back at the house, remembering just how torn up everything had gotten. "At least the government reimburse us ..." Then he cast another longing look at the Camaro. "Be like Knight Rider ..."
Sam had never watched Knight Rider, but from what he understood from walking by the living room while his father watched it, it was like ... Batman without the tights. "No, Dad," he sighed, resisting the urge to thump his forehead off of the roof. "Not like Knight Rider at all ..."
Ron wasn't listening, walking back to the house and muttering to himself. "My son is living Knight Rider ..."
Incredulous, he stared after his father for a long moment. Was this some sort of weird mid-life crisis?
---
Going back to school on Monday was like ... well, it was a little like walking into the Twilight Zone, honestly. No one had any clue that just a week ago, they could have been enslaved by the Decepticons and all of the Earth Technology could have been turned into little killer bastards like the Nokiabot ... though, honestly, Sam did have to wonder what Megatron would have done if the 'bots hadn't been able to tell the difference between 'friend' and foe. As amusing as it was to envision little iPods and Nokias ninja'ing Megatron's wires like Chihuahuas on steroids and speed, things had probably worked out for the best.
Considering that Sam had those sorts of mental images, was there really any question why he wasn't exactly thrilled to be going back to school?
"How are we supposed to relate to these people?" Mikaela asked, sitting back heavily against Bumblebee's seat, staring at the other teens wandering in the general direction of the school doors.
"No joke," he said dryly. "You know ... I didn't have the greatest motivation to do homework to begin with. Now it's going to really be a joke."
"Tell me about it. And chemistry and physics? Please."
Sam patted the door and it obligingly popped open. "Thanks, Bee," he said, idly running a hand along the hood. "Here comes Miles."
Miles had a fairly obvious adverse reaction to seeing Mikaela slide out of Bumblebee. He actually stepped sideways about halfway to Sam, and very obviously avoided her like she had the plague as he sidled up next to Sam. "Dude," he hissed lowly. "You didn't mention the ee-jay-see! What's goin' on, dude?"
"Dude -- shut up," Sam said mildly. "Mikaela and I are friends now." Across the Camaro, Mikaela leaned forward and propped her arm on Bumblebee with a sarcastic little smile at Miles as he peered around Sam at her.
"Friends?" Miles demanded, straightening to stare at Sam incredulously. "No way -- how did that happen?"
Sam rolled his eyes, shutting the door and stepping around his friend. "You remember when I called you about Satan's Camaro? I ran into Mikaela while I was having problems with it, and I picked her up to take something to Mission City. You can't just ... go on road trips and not end up friends, Miles. Or be quarantined. Mikaela's actually pretty awesome, alright?"
"Dude, whatever!" Miles shot back, sending Mikaela suspicious looks. It was sort of like something on the discovery channel ... and the adolescent male is disturbed by the appearance of the strange female. He isn't sure whether or not to defend his turf ... first, he must find out what she wants ... or something like that.
Yeah, Sam's brain was batting a thousand this morning. Ninja Nokiabots and his friends on the Discovery Channel. Wow. Maybe the wrong Witwicky had been put in the Psych' ward? Well, if the nightmare about that evil cop Decepticon and his spastic little glitch continued for much longer, he would definitely belong there. Joy to the world -- and he'd been hanging out with Bumblebee too long, who still favored the radio unless they were having a serious discussion like they had on the way home.
The school day itself wasn't that bad. Nothing big happened. All he had to do was mention Mission City and "oh", everyone would say, "was it true that the clean up caused hallucinogenic fumes and made everyone think that their cars came to life?" and because it was The Rules, Sam nodded sheepishly and said, "Yeah, I totally thought this Mountain Dew machine grew legs." By lunch, no one cared any more. It just seemed so ... childish and unreal. He couldn't even be too terribly impressed with the football team or teachers or ... anything, really. His reality was giant sentient robots and intergalactic wars and the government and Mikaela and that Will guy who actually blew out one of them on his own, practically. High school ... with teachers and principals and councilors and jocks and idiots and the really gross food (but he was starving, so he ate it all anyway) was more like something out of some boring book that he read just to put him to sleep.
He was lucky he was able to resist the urge. His desire to sleep forever hadn't faded with time. Even though he'd easily slept nearly sixteen hours the first day he was back, he continued to be exhausted and hot and tired and achy all over. At least his sore throat had abated after being home and allowed to drink as much water as he wanted ... even if his mother did force multi-vitamins on him, certain that he had some cold or flu he need to fight off. Taking three daily-MVs wasn't his idea of a good breakfast, but the soup was nice to settle his stomach. His dad was sure that anyone with his appetite couldn't be sick, but Mom thought that it was a sure sign something was wrong since he hadn't had such a 'teenage boy' appetite since he was fifteen and going through a growth spurt.
He figured the fussing was their way of dealing with the stress of their run-in with the government, and he didn't mind, either, so ...
So really, the only honestly interesting part of his day came after school, which was when Trent finally made a play for 'his' girl. He was waiting right in the way for the parking lot with his shiny new blue Hummer, propped against it like he was the most awesome thing since awesome was awesome. Which he obviously wasn't, since Sam had met awesome and he came in yellow and black.
"Hey, Bunny," he said with a cloyingly over-friendly tone, grinning at her that way that still made Sam want to knee him in the groin. Which was saying something, because he no longer wanted to date Mikaela and Sam was a firm believer in not striking below the belt when fighting a guy. "Where've you been?"
"God, Trent," Mikaela groaned in frustrated aggravation. "Seriously. Hasn't me ... not calling you told you anything?"
"Come on," he cajoled. "Don't tell me you want to hang out with some loser?"
"You know -- you're right," she said earnestly. "I don't. So, I'm going to go hang out with Sam. And Miles," she added as an after thought. Miles looked scandalized and Sam shrugged, indicating that he wasn't going to object.
"Is this because I wouldn't let you drive my babe?" he demanded, frowning deeply now before trying to smooth it over. "Bunny, this is a very powerful vehicle. Does Wittiker let you drive his car, is that it?"
Mikaela and Sam exchanged a look. Not even Sam drove Sam's car. "You know, yes," she said, "the car has something to do with it -- but my main problem with you, Trent? You just don't understand that I'm - not - your - little - bunny. It's not even that I'm objecting to! I object to you, Trent. You and your willingness to just fall into some stereotype that everyone expects out of you, and your attitude toward women in general! I might have even understood it a little if you didn't treat me that way when we're alone, too! But -- whatever, you know? I'm not going to waste my time on you."
Sam let out a low whistle as she stormed by Trent and the Hummer, then figured he'd better hurry after before Trent came out of his stupor of disbelief. "Geez, preach it, sister," he said when he caught up.
"Ugh," she said, shivering a little and glancing over her shoulder. When she turned back, her expression was worried. "He's not going to take that lying down, Sam -- and he'll probably go after you, instead of me. And your car."
Mindful of Miles, he didn't spout about how his car could kick Trent's ass -- then realized that would probably be the exact wrong way to go ... what with that secrecy thing. "I'll look into some alarms and insurance," he said, instead. "Maybe some that would make dogs howl and burst some ear drums or something." He glanced back only to see Miles eyeballing Mikaela with something not unlike respect. Apparently, she was looking less like an Evil Jock Concubine and more like an Amazon Warrior Princess. Welcome to the Real Mikaela, Sam thought with humor.
"Guess what," Sam said brightly as they arrived at the Camaro. "Miles -- in the back. You can have shotgun after we drop off Mikaela."
"What!" he protested. "Dude, she can get in the back, especially if she's not going to be riding with us for a long time!"
"Miles," Sam said, leaning against Bumblebee a little. "It's my car. Back seat, or the bus -- it's your decision."
Miles visibly weighed the bus against the Camaro and decided that even the cramped back seat was better than the hot, sweaty school bus. "Fine, fine," he grumbled. "But we're hitting Sonic before home."
"Fine with me," Mikaela said slyly, smirking over the roof, sharp and predatory and her eyes dark and challenging. "Besides, with Sam's new appetite, he's probably starving anyway," she threw out before the door popped open and she slid sleekly in like she belonged there. Miles glowered angrily.
Sam scratched the back of his head and glanced back at the bus, trying to figure out if it was too late to back out of this weird turf-dispute that was going on. He decided to worry about it later, when his stomach wasn't gurgling greedily.
---
After having an extremely tense after-school meal with his friends, which Sam survived by doing nothing but eating and ignoring all of the subtle by-play going on between Miles and Mikaela, he discovered that it was a fairly good thing that he wasn't having to drive. Thankfully, when he discovered this, his friends were too busy with growling over the Sam-bone to notice that the Sam-bone was having vision problems.
That wasn't even really it, he mused as he stepped very carefully across the lawn toward the front porch. He could see fine. There was no blurriness, no black spots, or anything.
He was just ... having depth-perception problems. Like his brain couldn't properly measure that the step was four inches high and six inches deep. His head certainly didn't hurt. His vision didn't look skewed -- other than being strangely flat. Both eyes were working identical.
He'd just lost depth perception.
Sam worried over that for a while. Just around the time that his sore throat had eased with the help of his mother's strange hot teas and plenty of vitamin C (she swore by the stuff, Sam didn't know why, science explained that it only worked for athletes), his vision started going all wonky.
It wasn't that bad. Sam was pretty familiar with everything -- his house, the school, Bumblebee -- so as long as he didn't try to move at his usual speed and concentrated, no one should even notice that he wasn't sure about distances. Which was why it was a good thing that Bumblebee could drive himself, and usually did.
Maybe his nightmares were messing up his brain. If it wasn't something wrong with his eyes, or his reflexes, if the world looked flat -- that had to be his brain, right? What if they couldn't find anything wrong with his throat because there hadn't been anything wrong with his throat? What if it had all been in his head? He shouldn't be surprised, what if he was radiated, he'd been having those really fucked up nightmares, and he was sleeping a lot --
What if there was a tumor in his head?
Sam scrubbed his skin feverishly -- not because he thought it was going to help with whatever was wrong with his brain, but because he didn't know what he was supposed to do. The burning hot water made his flesh tender, and the steam was thick and made it hard to breathe, and Sam scrubbed and scrubbed and then just crouched under the water and wrapped his arms over his head.
Was he crazy? Was there even a tumor, or had he dreamed it all?
The insane certainly didn't think they were crazy. There was something wrong with his brain and he wanted it to stop.
-- To Be Continued --
GENERAL FORMATING NOTE: if you guys stumble across a locked entry, that's because I like to do all of my linking and formating before I'm even finished writing a chapter. HTML is a pain in teh behind ;__;'
I also canabalize my old entries, so any 'back dating' is due to me deleting what I originally posted that day (usually inane rambling) and putting it to use holding chapters and things.