A/N: Sorry it took me so damned long to write this chapter - I was at Comic Con all week, and also had to debate on whether or not to make it focus on one storyline or the other. I chose the other, so there's not a lot of Bee being human, but there's plenty of other interesting stuff! I'm so mean to my favorites.

---

According to his GPS, he is somewhere in the Washington state – Seattle. It is ten PM, July sixth, 2007. It is raining – just as it has been for the last few weeks – and he is alone. Still.

He had thought that being on his own would be... Beneficial for him. Not so. Instead of finding his own way, he is sitting on the side of the road, police scanner idly calling out random misdemeanors happening within a fifty-mile radius, and contemplating the rain. They had no rain on Cybertron; here, they have plenty. Though he is a little tired of it, the cool water feels good against his sensitive metal plating, dented and scuffed from his escape.

Alone. Still.

And then...

His com-link, long dead, flickers suddenly to life as it picks up...

“...Frenzy. Status and location.”

The frequency could very well be a jet passing overhead, for all he knows. Still, if his companion were to be –

“Mm. Mmmm. mMmm.”

“Frenzy, status and location.”

“Mmmm. Mmm.”

“It’s working.”

His engine revs suddenly in shock as a human’s voice enters the com-link. “Hello, Barricade,” the human says smoothly, voice overpowering the soft “mm” of his partner. His dead partner. Dead alive?

His mind is working at a strange, delayed pace. Has been. That last battle seriously damaged something. He’s tried to perform a diagnosis but those show nothing.

“Fleshy little being,” Barricade growls through the link, “I suggest you learn to hide coordinates fast.”

“No need. We want you to come to us.”

“...mmmm...”

“The little thing keeps making such strange noises,” the voice says dully, “And it doesn’t speak to us or have the capabilities we desire to study. And so, we are asking you to join us.”

They aren’t asking, Barricade knows.

“...barribarribarri...”

“Oh, look!” the voice says, sounding overly conniving, “It’s saying your name.”

“Frenzy, silence.”

“...mmm.”

“How did you gain access to this com-link, human?” Barricade asks, scanning for Frenzy’s electronic signature and finding nothing.

“We’re using your little buddy here. It’s only useful as a walkie-talkie, now, what with its head...”

“...mmm... nononono-”

Frenzy’s wailing fills the police car briefly, and then silence.

“But it’s a useful little thing nonetheless. So, Barricade – seems you’re awfully close to our transport plane. How coincidental.”

No coincidence, they know that. He knows it.

“Now, we can do this two ways.” The voice is content and pleased, as though no matter the way, it’ll have fun. Hate, hate, hate. “You can use our coordinates to rendezvous with our plane and allow us to use you as we see fit...”

“Filthy little – how dare you assume I would-!”

“-Or, you can just disconnect and I can kill your little buddy here, as it’s completely useless if you won’t listen to us.”

“As though I care what happens to Frenzy.”

Silence. He can only hope they don’t call his bluff.

“...Fine, then.”

He hears electricity crackle.

“Nonono barribarribarri-!”

Shrieks fill the car again but don’t stop as they did before. Barricade should close the com-link. Forget about it. Frenzy is probably useless, now, anyway.

The little bot screams and then falls into a gibbering mess over the com, and Barricade can’t close it. He’s alone. Still.

“I see you’re still listening. Can we assume you’ll be meeting us in... Oh, five minutes?”

Barricade has never gone so fast in his life – not on this planet, not in this form, not for something as stupid as a broken little robot he had been forced with under Starscream’s command.

Alone.

Not for long.

He skids against wet grass and slides almost parallel to the huge cargo plane on an abandoned airfield. Frenzy’s com is connected to the little bot’s stuttering that’s fueling the rage Barricade hasn’t felt in months. Hate, hate, hate.

He moves to transform and swipe away all the little humans now rushing towards him but –

click click click

He can’t?

“Oh, by the way, your little buddy was also useful in figuring out exactly what type of electronic waves to put out so that you would be... hindered. Just a little.”

Barricade feels a hook fasten to his rear fender.

Shit.

---

Sam wakes up to warm sunlight and heated skin against him. He looks over in confusion – Mikaela hadn’t spent the night – only to gasp a little at Bumblebee’s quiet presence. The other’s hair is the same length as last night – just framing his face – but those blue eyes are heavy and the skin below them is starting to darken, just a little.

“You didn’t sleep at all?” Sam asks worriedly.

“Told you,” the other mumbles sleepily, eyelids sagging a little, “Not sleeping. Don’t...”

“It’s cool, Bee, don’t worry about it. I guess this means I can introduce you to the greatest invention of humanity.”

The blonde blinks tiredly at Sam. “The internet?”

“No, no. Caffeine. Coffee. Monster. Redline.”

“...Oh.”

Sam frowns. His friend looks completely dazed and he’s obviously going to need sleep before long, but there’s nothing he can do for Bumblebee. He knows the other won’t sleep unless he wants to.

“So, want coffee?”

He climbs out of bed without getting an answer, stretching and wandering toward the door.

“...You aren’t asking me what I dreamed of.”

Sam winces slightly at the accusatory tone of Bumblebee’s voice, but he looks over and doesn’t avoid his friend’s eyes. “I’m not going to. You’d tell me if you wanted to. Now,” the boy opens the door, “Coffee?”

“...Please.”

Sam finds himself almost humming as he bounds down the stairs. He has this good feeling about today – short of someone blowing up the house, he doubts anything could put him down. It’s probably the fact that he’ll be able to hang out with Bumblebee and Mikaela all day for once – they can introduce the Camaro-turned-human to all the things he’s always questioned them about. The incident from the night before is looming in the back of his head but he’s decided to ignore it until it becomes important.

The television is tuned in on the morning lotto; it looks like 24, 60, and 1 are the lucky numbers for the 13th. Sam kind of wishes he bought lotto tickets – today feels lucky enough.

His mom and dad give him strange looks as he enters the kitchen – no doubt they’re surprised he’d be in such a good mood, with his car supposedly in the shop and all. He gives them an easy wave and grabs two mugs for coffee, going to the machine and removing the pot with a little flourish.

“Sam,” his dad begins, sounding as though he doesn’t know what to say. Sam ignores the tone and gives his dad a whistle and a wave as he fills a mug half-way full.

“...Sam,” his dad tries to continue, “I was... we were just wondering...”

He starts to fill the second mug when his mom blurts out, “We thought we heard you and Beau having - ...happy time together.”

Sam feels very suddenly cold – and then burning heat engulfs his hand as he spills coffee all over his arm. “Shit!” he swears, running to the sink and shoving the burn under cool water, glaring at his mother in shock. He can feel his face heat with a blush. “W-What in – why-!”

“We heard... noises, Sam,” his dad says guiltily.

Sam swears some more under his breath and then snaps, “Yeah, well – I don’t know what you heard but – I mean – Mikaela!” he exclaims, “I’m – how could you – he had a nightmare, that’s – why would you even-!”

“Sam, you know your mother isn’t very good at tact,” his dad says, ignoring his wife’s glare, “But we were just... concerned.”

“Yeah well, thanks for the concern but – he just had a nightmare, that’s all!” Sam strains to bring the alarmed hitch in his voice back under his control. He must not freak out, he must not freak out, he must not –

“Sam,” his mom says quickly, “You know that – even if you were... you know. We’d still love you!”

“That’s very reassuring and all,” the boy manages to say, pulling his hand back out under the water and finding only a mild red swelling, “But – I’m not, so you don’t – Jesus, you guys always think...”

He swears some more and takes the two cups, ladling too much sugar in each and grabbing the milk from the fridge, trying to ignore his burning cheeks and the awkward, heavy silence in the kitchen.

They think I’m gay with my car, Sam suddenly thinks, nearly dropping one of the mugs as he hurriedly leaves the kitchen. They think I’m gay with a blonde boy who just so happens to be my alien car, he immediately amends as he climbs the stairs. Oh god, they think I’m gay!

It isn’t as though he himself hasn’t had the thought. Oh, no doubt about it – he definitely knows he, on occasion, can express interest in men. A few stolen glances at some of the football team after gym was enough to tell him that. But it wasn’t like... Not like a real thing. He just had an overactive imagination.

Oh god, they think I’m gay and I’m totally not helping.

He reaches his room, opens the door, and finds Bumblebee sitting in front of his laptop, looking heavy-hearted and exhausted. All thoughts of locker rooms and awkward moments leave his head and he carefully sets down the sugary cups of coffee, sliding one to his tired friend.

Blue eyes rise only enough to see Sam’s elbow, before the cup is taken. A sip, a grimace, and then, “You burned yourself.”

“Yeah,” Sam laughs half-heartedly, taking his own cup, “My mom sprung a weird question on me and I wasn’t expecting it. Sorry about the sugar,” he adds after he takes a large gulp from his own cup, “I got distracted talking to her about Mikaela.”

Bumblebee looks up at him for a moment, takes a large gulp, and says, “You’re a very good liar, Sam. What are we doing today?”

“I’m not...”

“You are. Answer my question.”

“Well, I don’t... I don’t know.” Apparently, Bumblebee gets cranky without sleep. And a cranky robot-turned-human is most likely not a happy robot-turned human. “Mikaela wanted to... Do something, I guess. She wasn’t too clear.”

Bumblebee sighs and swallows the rest of his coffee in a few gulps, before shaking his head and putting the mug down. “What are we going to do about...?”

“You?” Sam responds, frowning. “Look, Bee... We don’t... We can’t find anything. We’re pretty much stuck in Tranquility, without any information. It’s better if we just leave this to Ironhide for now-”

“And... And what, Sam? I can’t... I can’t stay like this.” Bumblebee shudders – Sam’s not sure if it’s from exhaustion, caffeine, or maybe revulsion. “I can’t do this, not this... Sam,” he rasps, “Sam, I don’t want to stay like this.”

“I know, Bee, I know. Being human isn’t exactly fun. But you have to admit, we’ve got nothing on our end. Ironhide’s more capable-”

He’s said the wrong thing, he knows it; Bumblebee’s face twists in something like pain, and he murmurs, “I want to be capable of these things.”

“You can’t,” Sam sighs, kneeling down so that he’s more on-par with his friend’s face, “Please, Bee. You know I’m your friend. I’m not going to just... demand that you sit back and not look for answers, but if you do that...”

Fifty years from now, Sam remembers himself saying, when you're looking back at your life, don't you want to be able to say you had the guts to get in the car?

He knows Bumblebee can’t read his mind, but the blonde’s eyes light with a strange new understanding.

“Mikaela’s going to want to go... do things. You know,” Sam sighs, “Like always. Mall, probably.”

“...All right,” Bumblebee responds quietly, managing a tired little smile – a little strained, but the effort shows more than anything that the blonde is going to try.

---

Barricade can’t feel his legs. Can’t feel his arms or even his optics, either. It’s... strange, to say the least.

He can hear them scurrying around like little filthy insects, and he can hear them talking to each other and being ordered around by that smooth voice that got him in this position in the first place. Above all of that, he can hear the quiet gear-crunching moans of his tiny little partner, who’s been abandoned on some old workbench like a piece of scrap metal.

It’s all muffled, it’s all quiet, and he can hear noises from the strange machines around him. He knows that with these machines comes inexpressible, incomprehensible torture but he can’t feel anything so maybe this time –

He’s always wrong, because even if he can’t feel his extremities, he can feel his spark, and the machines are slowly chipping away at it, physically ripping a piece of his spark out of him to do something –

Barricade’s screams drown out all speech as the machines go to work. They take ages – or maybe only a few seconds, his GPS and internal clocks have been fried – and when they finally pull away he can hear the man laughing at a joke.

“B-B-Barric-c-cade,” Frenzy moans from across the hanger, but the Saleen can’t be asked to respond. He’s too busy listening to the man working on something.

“...should work now, I expect,” someone is telling him.

“Good. Let’s hook it up and see how it goes.”

The machines have stopped but Barricade feels a sudden, deep agony in his spark that he’s never felt before. It rips apart his mind and hazes all sensors with pain, causing him to jerk and shudder under titanium restraints and ice that never thaws. They’re doing something to him but he can’t imagine what, if the machines can’t even garner this sort of –

“Barric-c-cade!”

He can hear gears and twisting metal and tires skidding on the cracked cement, and then a deep voice – almost his, so close to his – asks, “Where am...?”

“You are in Seattle, Washington,” the man says easily, voice barely containing his smugness, “Does your GPS collaborate?”

“...Yes. Seattle.”

“Good!”

“...Where is Lord Megatron?”

Barricade tries to shout because he knows, he knows where Megatron is – in a slagging abyss – but the pain is unbearable and he can’t find a voice to use.

“Lord Megatron,” the man sighs, “Has put me in charge of you.”

“F-F-Filthy me-me-meatbag!” Frenzy shrieks, “T-T-Take it ba-b-back!”

“Those two are traitors to this particular endeavor of Megatron’s,” the voice says easily, “I imagine you might not want to join him.”

“Complying... What does Megatron ask?”

Barricade realizes now why his spark is in such pain. He’s not whole.

They took him for this... monstrosity.

He can just barely make out massive shoulders and a frame to rival Starscream’s, laden with weapons and thick camouflaged metal. He knows now why the thing sounds so similar to him – wonders if it thinks like him. Hopes it does, for the sake of his spark.

“He asks that you go to Tranquility, Nevada, and retrieve the Autobot Bumblebee. He wishes for the Autobot to be returned in working condition.”

“Searching... Tranquility. Searching... Model, Camaro, civilian car. Hiding with – searching...”

The thing is utterly stupid, Barricade realizes with some bit of relief, and more than likely it will never get to Tranquility.

“...Witwicky. Witwicky. I will retrieve the Autobot Bumblebee in working condition. Status of the humans?”

There’s a laugh. “So long as the Camaro’s in one piece, you can go to town on the whole damned city.”

Even through the pain in his spark, Barricade can feel the pleasure this thing gets from hearing that. How repulsive.

“Will comply. ETA is seventeen hours. Dismissed?”

“You are.”

The form collapses back into a hideous looking military vehicle and then bursts out through the doors of the abandoned hanger, crushing a man with eight huge wheels and a cackle of pleasure.

Disgusting.

The man is talking to the other humans once more. “Gentlemen – and ladies – we have success. The Stryker will get us exactly what we want. And then...” A laugh, “We can really start playing.”

Frenzy is swearing in scrambled and frantic Cybertronian, but all Barricade can make out is the monster’s perverted joy with his mission, that Lord Megatron is willing to give him such an important task.

“Thanks to this guy,” the man adds, “We’re going to be up and running in no time. They won’t even know what hit them.”

Barricade knows he should understand the threat underneath the man’s tone but all he can think is that his spark is now half in him and half in some doomed machine. He will undoubtedly lose himself to that beast.

He feels terror for the first time since Cybertron and can do nothing to combat it.

---

A/N: Look up the Stryker on Wikipedia to see just what kind of creature I've created.