Chapter Text
Sam opened his eyes slowly, limbs feeling weighed down and sluggish. He felt weirdly overwarm, like he was on the verge of breaking a fever, desperately needing to sweat it out but unable to do so. Around him, everything was dark and quiet. For a long moment, all he did was look forward unseeingly, unable to muster the energy to even roll over. He struggled to remember how he had gotten here, thoughts heavy. It wasn't until text flooded his vision like a diagnostic screen that everything came crashing back. Egypt, Optimus, the battle, and the Primes. His parents. He had woken up in a new body, in a new place, with Megatron.
Grief and anger rolled over him like a tidal wave. Unbidden, his eyes started to well with tears. Even as the liquid obscured his vision, it didn’t do anything to blur the scrolling text in front of him. It was a part of him. Inside his head, because he wasn’t human anymore. It had been taken from him against his will. Some of the text was flashing in red, but without the means to read it, all it did was alert him to the possibility that something was wrong.
Distress racketing, his breath hitched. That only made everything worse. Breathing felt like someone had punched holes into his sides through his ribs, directly to his lungs, and left gaping holes with air constantly funneling through. Sam’s skin crawled. All he wanted to do was go home. To hug his parents and tell them how sorry he was about everything.
A horrifying thought occurred to him. Would he ever see them again? Would he ever get another hug from his mother? Another shoulder-slap from his Father?
Would he ever get to go home? To finish college? To live his life like he wanted? His emotions flared out of his control. Pitiful whimpers quickly became chest-shaking sobs.He was so deep into his spiral he didn’t notice the change in the atmosphere around him until a large hand was enclosing around him, pulling him toward bright light with a rush of air.
The sudden change in brightness had him blinking rapidly, trying to blink colorful static out of his vision. Thick tears rolled down his cheeks as he was manhandled out of the subspace into Megatron's arms once more. The chill of the cool air after being warm for so long was like a cold shock, sending him into full-body shivers. The metal parts of his new body clinked together as it tried to cool down. It was disturbing the way he could feel the metal flexing and shifting as he was moved. Every little thing that was happening only seemed to hammer in his loss of humanity over and over again.
He only had a split second to try and get his bearings before a second set of hands was hastily snatching him away. Shouting erupted above him, and Sam let out a surprised yelp, stomach swooping, as he was passed between hands in mid air. Sam immediately put up a fight, kicking out against whoever was holding him. It wasn’t until the unknown assailant got a good enough grip to stop Sam from moving that Sam got a good look at who it was, and his heart practically leapt from his chest in relief. It was Ratchet. Amazing, grumpy, infinitely low on patience, Ratchet.
He looked different than how Sam remembered him. Plating that was once bright yellow was now pristine white and bright red. His face was still twisted in his signature scowl, but now, above his eyes, was a bright red structure that almost made it seem like he had gigantic eyebrows. It was mind-boggling to see him in the same room as Megatron, not trying to kill each other.
In the bright light of the room, Sam could get a better look at Megatron as well. He was no longer so sharp and feral looking, his plating dull and smooth, but his size no less intimidating. The main difference Sam could see was the way he held himself, leaning down to make himself smaller rather than trying to loom and terrorize everyone around him.
Ratchet was barking angrily at Megatron, and Sam got to watch with great satisfaction as Ratchet gave Megatron a resounding slap on the side of his head, gesturing belligerently at Sam. Megatron looked guilty, and seeing the expression on his face made Sam’s stomach flip-flop for reasons he couldn’t describe.
Firmly encased in Ratchet's warm hands, the shivering wasn’t quite so bad now. And while watching the verbal beatdown Ratchet was giving Megatron of all people was fun, it wasn’t nearly as interesting when he didn’t know what they were saying. It was also a struggle to stay focused, inconsequential details like the lights and noises from outside the room distracting him repeatedly.
Given the ability to do nothing else, Sam looked around to get his bearings. He was in a small white room. The room itself smelled sterile and was filled with various sizes of complicated-looking equipment, tubes, and wires coiled up and carefully hung from them. Next to them was a series of drawers that reminded Sam vaguely of a toolbox. What took up most of the remaining wall space was a wide square door with the Cybertronian medical cross printed onto it and next to it a large metal platform that looked like an examination table. It was so cramped and packed full of stuff that it looks more like a storage closet than a hospital room to Sam.
Ratchet’s focus on Megatron didn’t last long, however, and Sam froze when that scowl was suddenly directed at him. He shrank back without thinking, but within Ratchet's grip, there wasn’t any way to truly move. As if sensing Sam’s disquiet, Ratchet schooled his expression into something more neutral. It was bewildering. Sam had never seen the doctor do that before. Ratchet spared no one from his feelings, regardless of whether they were patients or not. He must truly be off the deep end if he was getting the special treatment.
Ratchet loosened his grip slightly, as if testing to see if Sam would fight him again, and when he didn’t, Ratchet adjusted Sam until he was firmly squished against Ratchet's chest. Ratchet was talking to him in a low tone, reaching around Sam to fiddle with something on the side of Sam’s leg. It sounded a little like how a doctor would explain his movements to a patient, but filtered through twenty low-quality radio stations until all that was left was static-filled gibberish. Still, it was nice that he was trying.
It wasn’t until whatever Ratchet had been messing with on his thigh popped open that Sam started to pay attention to what he was doing. Sam’s stomach dropped as he looked down at himself to see that Ratchet had opened some kind of port on his leg. Sam watched, eyes wide with horror, as Ratchet unspooled a wire from his wrist and brought it up to the now open port. Sam jerked, trying to kick Ratchet's hand away. “No!” He yelped. Or at least he tried to. It sounded more like a microwave beeping than anything close to what Sam had been expecting. A sudden panic gripped him as he came to a new realization he desperately hoped wasn’t true. Trying again, Sam continued shouting, each word rising in pitch as his panic grew. “No! Don’t! I don’t want that.” It didn’t matter. No matter what he said, it all came out in a garbled mess of beeps, chirps, and yelps. Devastated, he sounded like a very angry-sounding mechanical bird.
Despite his protests, all Ratchet did was gripe at him before tightening his grip until Sam couldn’t kick him anymore. Unable to communicate, all Sam could do was whine as Ratchet jacked himself into Sam’s thigh. Feeling sick, tears once again sprang to Sam’s eyes. Disgusted with his helplessness, Sam whined with frustration. It seemed all he could do in this new robot body was cry.
Sam froze as he felt a new presence in the back of his mind. Like, there was a worm digging around in his brain. He had a scant moment of hope that Ratchet might see that he wasn’t normal. That he was Sam. That he was a human. But before that hope could go anywhere, it felt like a switch had been flipped in his head, and he was helpless as he suddenly went limp in Ratchet’s arms. One moment, he had been sick with distress; the next, it was like his head had been filled with cotton, everything down to his toes going fuzzy all at once. He was so disoriented and barely noticed as Ratchet unplugged from his leg and laid him out on the examination table. It was so much worse than whatever Megatron had done to him that all Sam could feel was an overwhelming sense of disappointment and betrayal.
But whatever Ratchet had done wasn’t without reason. As the cotton started to filter itself out, so did the overheated, sickly feeling he had been having since he was pulled from Megatron's subspace. As it cleared out, other things began to filter in.
“-eally necessary?” That was Megatron's voice, low and gravelly, and uncomfortably close. Just the sound of it made Sam’s heart rate pick up in fear. Wait. Did he still have a heart? Oh god. What did he have now? A Spark? Before he could get too deep into his spiral, another voice pitched in.
“Relax. All I did was give him a soft reset. Some of his coding wasn’t activating correctly.” That was Ratchet, just as gruff as Sam remembered. “Which I wouldn’t have had to do if he hadn’t been overheating.” Sam fluttered his eyes open, not realizing he had closed them. Ratchet loomed above him, but he wasn’t looking at Sam; he was glaring at Megatron like he was the densest person he’d ever seen.
“I didn’t kn-” Megatron started to defend himself, putting his hands up in defense like it would save him from Ratchet’s ire, but was quickly cut off.
“How could you possibly think it's okay to stick a Sparkling into your subspace? That he wouldn’t overheat in a place with no air?” Ratchet snapped, fully rounding on Megatron once again. “Were you thinking at all? Seriously!”
There was a long pause before Megatron spoke again, a tentative excitement in his tone. “He?”
Ratchet rolled his eyes, turning away once more. “Yes, he. Now, are you going to let me do my exam now, or did you come to harass me at my own clinic for fun?”
Properly chastised, Megatron stayed silent as Ratchet turned back to Sam. Ratchet rolled him this way and that, poking and prodding at different places Sam couldn’t see. He stretched out Sam’s limbs one at a time, giving Sam the unwanted view of each thick grey metal appendage as he did so. It was nauseating as Sam watched Ratchet articulate his “hands” and “feet” and felt it. He didn’t have toes anymore. What remained of his feet were flat, dull grey interlocking plates. Unintentionally, Sam let out a whine of distress as he tried to pull away, too sick to his stomach to watch any longer. Misinterpreting Sam’s reaction, Ratchet just patted his leg sympathetically and continued on. Sam turned his head away until he could no longer see what Ratchet was doing, trying to just pretend it wasn’t happening at all. Tragically, he only got a few solid minutes of staring at the ceiling in anguish before Ratchet forced him into a sitting position.
“He looks upset,” Megatron muttered from the end of the examination table, expression drawn in concern.
Ratchet just huffed before replying dryly. “Yes. He’s a Sparkling. They do that.”
“Always? He was… extremely upset when I pulled him from the energon.”
“I’m still not sure I believe that story,” Ratchet muttered, rotating Sam’s shoulder carefully. “But If I were pulled from Primus’ core and the first face I saw was yours, I’d cry too. Now let me focus on this before I kick you out.”
Megatron frowned, giving Ratchet a dirty look, but didn’t interrupt him again.
“Articulation looks good.” Sam remained stiff as Ratchet rolled him over and started poking at his back with an interested hum. “These are definitely wings. I saw a mix of flight and ground coding when I took a look earlier. It might mean he has a little bit of mixed coding, but it’s more likely that he will be a triple-changer of some kind. We won’t know for sure until his t-cog activates the full coding.”
Megatron leaned forward with excitement. “A triple-changer? Really?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Ratchet snapped, scooping Sam off the table and weighing him awkwardly in his hands. “That’s why he’s a little on the heavier side, but that should straighten itself out as his frame fully develops.”
“I see,” Megatron nodded. “Is there anything else I need to know about Sparklings?”
Ratchet barked a laugh. “Oh, absolutely! But even if I told you everything there is to know about them, it still wouldn’t be enough to prepare you.” Putting Sam back down on the examination table, Ratchet turned away with a quick “watch him” to Megatron before pulling out a small basin and a couple of large bottles of different chemicals and sitting them on the table. “We can start with something small, like, don't touch him with your hands covered in dirt! Sparklings have delicate joints and armor that can be easily damaged by clogging them with all the guck you pick up in the mines.”
Megatron looked down at himself with a frown, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that he was filthy. Eyes narrowed, he responded to Ratchet tersely. “I apologize if I’m not at my most presentable. I’ll make sure to wash up before coming over here the next time I pull a sparkling from the core.”
“See that you do.” Ratchet griped back. “You’re both filthy. I don’t want you dumping raw energon all over my clinic the next time you come in here.” Ratchet poured the unknown liquid into the basin carefully before gesturing for Megatron to come closer. As Megatron leaned over into Ratchet’s space, he explained. “This is heated solvent. This is what you’re going to bathe him in. Notice that I said heated. Sparklings are too small to properly regulate their own temperatures. It's up to you to make sure he doesn’t get too hot or too cold. Stick your servo in there so you know what temperature it needs to be.”
Sam, who had been drifting perfectly in an imaginary world where none of this was happening, and he was home with his parents, zeroed in on the world ‘bathe’ like a dog hearing the word ‘vet’. Oh god, they wanted to bathe him.
With previously unshown urgency, Sam did his best to escape while they were both distracted. Clumsily, he rolled himself onto his stomach and tried to push himself up onto his hands and knees. It was a serious struggle. Moving his new limbs had been much easier when all he’d been doing was trying to hit Megatron with them. Getting his body to move with any kind of coordination that wasn’t wild swinging was nearly impossible. Quickly giving up on the effort crawling, Sam went to just scooching, sliding his hands forward before dragging his knees to follow. He felt like a particularly slow inchworm as he made his way to the edge of the table. He had no plan for what he would do once he got there. Not that it mattered, though, as the moment he was close enough to see the massive distance between himself and the floor, a large hand slid around his midsection and lifted him. With a screech of fury, Sam tried to kick at whoever had lifted him and was thoroughly disappointed when nothing connected.
“What’s wrong with him?” Megatron asked worriedly from somewhere behind him, anxiously watching as Ratchet expertly maneuvered Sam to hover above the solvent bath. As Ratchet lowered him down, Sam curled up tighter, trying to avoid touching the liquid.
“There’s nothing wrong with him.” Ratchet snipped. “He’s probably just hungry.” He lowered Sam into the basin, paying no mind to Sam's attempts at avoiding it. “Sparklings will fuss about just about anything and everything until their vocalizers develop enough for them to talk, and then they’ll still fuss.”
The solvent was warm as Sam was lowered in, sinking so deeply into his joints and metal plating that it was genuinely distressing. Ratchet lowered Sam until he was sitting in the bottom of the basin with his legs spread out in front of him, keeping one hand against Sam’s back for support, like he thought Sam was going to fall backwards at any moment. The solvent only went up to his waist, stopping just below where his ribs used to be. It was then, sitting in the makeshift bath, staring down at his new stumpy metal legs, that Sam registered something new. His reflection.
Looking right back at him were a set of shining blue optics set in a rounded grey face. It was spine-chilling. His reflection was a complete and total stranger. Gone was his beautiful hair and brown eyes, replaced by an oversized, heavy helmet and puffed-out cheeks. Behind him, small wing-like appendages were twitching in tandem with his emotions. Apparently, the All Spark couldn’t have even been bothered with at least making him… not ugly. With the way his face and body were proportioned, he almost looked like a…. Wait.
A new kind of horror started to dawn on him as several things clicked together at once. He couldn’t communicate; he was significantly smaller than the Cybertronians, and he hadn’t even been given the opportunity to walk. They called him a Sparkling, not a ‘mech’ like Optimus referred to his comrades, but a Sparkling. Sam’s stomach sank through the floor. Not only had he been snatched away from everything and everyone he had ever known and loved, but he also had to be turned into a robot baby? He could feel tears welling in his eyes for what felt like the one-hundredth time, but this time he couldn’t even bring himself to care. He was admitting defeat. There was no reasonable way for him to deal with this.
Desperately overwhelmed and on the verge of a meltdown, the last thing Sam wanted was to be touched. He pushed away Ratchet's hands with a pitiful whine, doing his best to ignore the way the solvent sloshed through the mechanical systems of his new body. Without a modicum of mercy, Ratchet pulled something that looked like a washcloth out of nowhere and started attacking him with it, scrubbing it over Sam’s metal skin with clinical precision. The touch of the washcloth felt like wildfire, the sensation so foreign that the only way Sam could categorize the feeling was that it burned.
With all the ease of someone who has spent many years fighting their patients, Ratchet dodged Sam’s hands, held him a little tighter, and got right back to what he was doing. “Oh, relax. I know I’m not hurting you.”
Sam would very much like to beg to differ, but given his inability to do so, all he could do instead was cry. He felt stupidly pathetic, sitting in a tub of... whatever, being bathed against his will, after being turned into some twisted version of a Cybertronian baby. He didn’t even know that Cybertronians had babies!
The unwanted sensation of the liquid seeping into his joints felt like needles; every splash of fluid against his metal skin repulsive. Despite Sam still actively fighting Ratchet, all Ratchet did was continue his work, giving Sam the most intimate scrubdown of his life. It was awful. Ratchet was meticulous in making sure every nook and cranny of Sam’s body was pristine. Megatron hovered in the corner of his vision, blurry and barely visible through watery eyes, but looking very much like he wanted to intervene.
“Don’t interrupt.” Ratched piped up, as if sensing the same thing as Sam, “He needs to learn what a bath is, that's it’s perfectly safe, and not something that he needs to be rescued from.” With an annoyed grumble, he added, “over-dramatic scraplet.”
Genuinely insulted, Sam’s misery morphed into anguished fury at lightning speed. He would like to know how Ratchet would react if everything he had was ripped away and he was swapped into another species against his will. Not only that, but as that species version of an infant, with no ability to communicate or have his own autonomy. If anything, Sam was handling this very well. He was freaking out a lot less than would be reasonable in this scenario, actually. He hadn’t even bitten Megatron… yet.
He sat there for what felt like forever, crying so hard he started to choke and cough, flinching each time he could feel air puff out from the sides of his body. Sam wished that Megatron would intervene. That he would scoop Sam up, finish what he started, and put him back into this subspace and leave him there forever. Then at least all of this would be over, and maybe he would get to see his parents again.
“Isn’t there something we can do to calm him down?” Megatron asked sympathetically, leaning close enough now to be considered hovering.
“He’s fine.” Looking considerate, Ratchet paused his scrub-down and flipped Sam around to get at his back. “Look here,” Ratchet directed as Sam felt Ratchet start poking around on his back. “Wings have a lot of sensors, more than any other part of the body, which means you need to be extra delicate with them.”
Before Sam could start to panic too much about what Ratchet was showing him back there, he was suddenly going loose and floppy in Ratchet’s hands.
“Pressing right here can trigger a pressure point that can help him calm down.” Ratchet’s hands moved up to just below his neck. “Right here is his scruff bar. These can be helpful if there is any reason that you would need to grab him fast or get him still.”
Sam felt like he was going to be sick, his stomach aching from stress. How many built-in off switches did he have? What was the point of even emoting if everyone had one-hundred and one ways to calm him down against his will?
It went on like that forever, Ratchet pointing out and explaining different things to Megatron, who just nodded attentively, only ever interrupting to ask for clarification. Sam hated him. Hated them both for putting him through this. Hated Ratchet for digging around his head and not even noticing that he wasn’t a Cybertronian. Was it because Ratchet hadn’t been looking, or was it because he was so far changed that he was indistinguishable to even Ratchet’s trained eye? Feeling more sick by the second, Sam refused to think about it any further.
By the time the bath was over, Sam was fully cried out, feeling hollowed out and exhausted. His mind was in a totally different place. Far, far away from here. Back in California, maybe, with his Parents, Mikeala, Mojo, and Bee. Ratchet pulled him out of the bath and dried Sam with a towel he pulled from who knows where. Whatever, Sam didn’t care. He was gone. He refused to pay attention. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and stop existing. He refused to feel the chill of the air as it closed in around sensitive wings, making them shiver, or the repulsive sensation of Ratchet sliding the towel through the small gaps of his metal plating to the pudgy metal skin underneath.
“Make sure that you get him completely dry. If any solvent stays under his plating, it could damage his protoform or give him a rust infection.” Ratchet said as he demonstrated to Megatron the best drying techniques.
Sam shuddered as Ratchet began to dry his wings. It was one of the most bizarre sensations he had ever experienced. He could feel his… wings twitching as Ratchet dried them. The sensation was not wholly unpleasant though. It felt like the kind of back rub his mom used to give him when he was little and had refused to go to bed. Sam couldn’t help but relax into the touch, closing his eyes and trying to pretend it was her instead. Sam did his best to keep up the delusion, even as Ratchet scooped him off the table.
“Okay, now it's your turn,” Ratchet said, turning towards Megatron with Sam in his arms. “Hold him while I get his food ready.”
Sam quickly snapped out of his daydream, looking at Ratchet in utter betrayal as he scrambled to find some way to hold on to him. Right as Megatron’s hands closed around his middle, something clicked, and when he tried to tug Sam away, Sam didn't budge. It was like Sam glued himself to Ratchet. There was a long moment where Megatron and Ratchet looked down at Sam in obvious puzzlement before Ratchet filled in. “Ah. The magnets. I forgot about those”
“The what?” Megatron questioned, looking down at Sam like he was a bomb about to go off.
“Sparklings have magnets in their hands and feet. They’re supposed to use them to hold on to their caretakers. The only thing I’ve ever seen them used for is troublemaking.” Ratchet muttered, trying to peel Sam’s hands off his plating and failing.
“I am his caretaker.” Megatron insisted, frowning.
“Tell him that.” Ratchet rasped with annoyance. “Lucky for you, I definitely don’t want him.”
The pure elation that Sam had gotten from successfully resisting was somewhat tempered by Ratchet’s repeated betrayals. Narrowing his eyes at Ratchet’s neck cabling, Sam briefly wondered if it would be worth it to try and strangle him. Before Sam could finish debating the merits of an attack, Megatron’s presence flared out behind him, curling around him, and Sam found himself unlatching from Ratchet without a conscious thought.
Pulled back into Megatron’s arms with a delighted, “Hello again, little one.” Sam immediately fought back, but tired from the emotional torment that was their entire situation, it was less of a fight and closer to tired grumbling and wiggling. Looking up at Megatron to give him the dirtiest glare he could muster, Sam froze to see that Megatron was looking down at him with an earnestly soft expression on his face. It was deeply uncomfortable to see such an expression on a face that Sam had seen so often chasing him in his nightmares. Stomach flipping, Sam turned away to look for Ratchet, only to find him on the other end of the room, digging through the drawers.
Megatron bounced him, drawing Sam’s attention back to him as Ratchet muttered behind them. He was doing something weird with his… aura? The same thing he had done to get Sam to let go of Ratchet. Sam wasn’t sure what to call it. It was like emotions given tangibility. Megatron coated him in feelings of warmth and safety. It was as alluring as it was deeply alarming, and all the compounding feelings made something deep inside Sam’s chest feel restless. Whining unhappily, Sam tried to squirm away, but just like before, all his attempts at freedom were futile. Just as Sam started debating the merits of trying to throw himself to the floor, Ratchet turned back towards them with an armful of various items.
“Okay, here we go,” Ratchet said as he approached, depositing his pile of stuff onto the table. “Lay him back.”
Megatron readjusted him into a proper baby cradle. Not liking where this was going at all, Sam immediately tried to right himself, pushing at Megatron’s arms in distress. Ratchet handed something blue and glowing to Megatron, who immediately brought it down Sam’s level. It was energon. Pristine and bright in a glass cube, the clear seal on the top had just one small corner peeled up. There was no way he was going to eat that. Expressing just that, Sam kicked at the cube with an angry growl. Megatron managed to pull it out of Sam’s range before he actually made contact, but only just. Megatron looked up at Ratchet skeptically. “I thought you said he was hungry?”
“He is,” Ratchet said with irritation, grabbing something off the table before snatching Sam out of Megatron's arms. “It's like I said before. Sparklings like to fuss.”
It all happened so quickly that there was no chance for Sam to fight back before he was rendered immobile, tightly swaddled in a blue and white blanket, and handed back to Megatron. Sam was getting very sick of this. He was really starting to empathize with babies. No wonder they cried all the time; if they were constantly manhandled like this, he couldn’t blame them.
“I didn’t know you stocked such small blankets here.” Megatron said in surprise, looking down at a now imprisoned Sam.
“I don’t,” Ratchet deadpanned. “That’s a pillowcase”
Once again cradled into Megatron’s arms as Ratchet situated the rest of what could only be torture devices on the table, the energon was brought back to his mouth. Despite the way his stomach ached, Sam turned his face away. This was too much. Because drinking energon meant accepting that he could, and he couldn’t because he’s supposed to be human. He still wanted to be human.
“Are you sure he’s hungry?” Megatron asks, expression furrowed in concern.
“Positive.” Ratchet snapped, not looking up from what he was doing. “I saw his fuel levels when I was checking his coding. He’s hungry. Plus, he needs that medigrade.”
Trying again, Megatron brought the energon to his mouth once more, but didn’t accept Sam turning his head away. Instead, he held Sam tighter and continued his efforts until he successfully negotiated the corner of the cube into Sam’s mouth. Unable to wiggle his arms free from the makeshift blanket, Sam was helpless as Megatron tipped the cube up and energon flooded into Sam’s mouth. Sam flinched as soon as the energon touched his tongue. It tasted like… absolutely nothing, like he was being force-fed liquid static. It made his whole mouth tingle uncomfortably. He tried to refuse drinking it, but once his mouth was full, he swallowed on instinct. It tingled uncomfortably the whole way down and settled heavily in his stomach, and the aftertaste was horrible. How had the Cybertrons gone to war over this? It sucked. It wasn’t even a little bit refreshing.
Held captive and unable to move, it didn’t take long for that heavy feeling in his stomach to spread to the rest of his body. Exhausted from his emotional and physical torture, he struggled to keep his eyes open, even as he tried to listen to the rest of Ratchet and Megatron's conversation. It was something about nutrient packs, wake-windows, subspace reformats, caste system, and pulling Sparklings from the core, whatever that meant. It was all in one ear and out the other. He was so out of it that he didn’t even notice when the energon was finished and pulled away. Megatron’s calm emotions wafted over him like an incorporeal blanket, lulling him closer and closer to the call of sleep. Fed and rested, Sam promised himself that he would surely take his revenge the next time he woke up, but for now, he was curled up and warm, held securely in impenetrable arms.