Warning: Crack, slight AU, post-DOTM, hinted gay, oil spills, fighting, gore, explosions, gore, cursing, brief sexual humor, major Spoilers, ect.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: This was why Sam hasn't gone back in time yet.
It's a sweet dream,
Or a beautiful night, yeah
Either way I-I,
Don't want to wake up…
Sweat Dream- Beyonce
When Sam snapped his eyes open, he almost gasped.
He was... back home? With no scars, no bruises, no injury.
It was as though it was the past, what? 13, almost 14 years maybe?
He was back home. As though nothing happened. No giant robot aliens, no Mikaela, no Carly, no deaths.
Hoping that it was just a dream, he rolled out of bed.
Which one was the dream?
Well, at least if this was a dream, he wouldn't have to worry about losing all of the ones he did.
"Sammy? What's wrong?" Judy, on cue walked in, "Are you nervous about your fist day of middle school?"
He was confused. So, so, confused.
"Oh Sammy, don't worry, alright?" she smiled.
And Sam just blinked, and then grinned, "I love you," he said, kissing her cheek.
When would the next chance of saying that to her will come?
Needless to say, his mother was surprise, but she still loved it, before she happily walked away.
A satisfied nod as he turned to his wardrobe, he decided on throwing a pair of jeans and a clean white t-shirt.
Walking down the stairs, an adrenaline high rushing through him as he took in every detail.
The way the kitchen was still in one piece. In the secluded place at the side of the living room.
The way the living room contained his old, old things.
And it was funny, for just a second ago, he could've sworn that he shoved Dylan Gould into the red pillar, and effectively destroying him, and then...
If he was going to go through this, then he knew exactly what he was going to do.
His bag was all ready, awaiting him, like he used to-
No, if he was going to live this life until his got back, then he'll make this life as epic as he could.
A smirk grew on his face as he calmly walked to the car.
Jumping into the family car happily, his dad gave him a funny look as Judy gave him the same look.
"Sam, are you alright?"
"Yeah, Mom, I'm doing great!" he grinned, "I mean, I'm going to school today and I'm trying to not to get excited and I got breakfast I didn't worry about my summer homework and-"
"Okay, Sam," Ron blurted in, "We get it," he grinned, "Now let's get you to school!"
"Oh my god, I love you guys," Sam said, very excited about all this.
Well, there was one thing that Sam was certain of, he needed a make-over.
Maybe years with Carly and Mikaela finally got to his head, but he didn't care, looking at the girls, and some of the guys, he almost puked on the spot.
It wasn't like he was a complete social out-cast, but he didn't like how he looked, compared to everyone else. He was going to start somewhere.
Calmly picking up a fashion magazine, he casually looked through it.
"Dude, what are you doing?" the voice hissed as he looked up.
"Miles?" he gasped.
"Don't 'Miles' me!" he halfway snarled out, "What the hell are you reading?"
A blank look came through his face before he broke into a grin.
How long had it been since he saw his childhood friend?
"You're coming to the mall with me, today."
"What? No, man I'm-"
A dark look passed through his face, completely shutting up Miles.
He had time. They both knew that both of them had time.
"Today. Unless you don't to get a girlfriend for the rest of your life."
Tensing, the two locked in a heated glare.
"Fine," the taller male sighed and the winner smirked.
"Class! Sit down!" the call came, "I understand that this is you first day..."
He fazed the voice out as he glanced out the window, and off into the dancing clouds.
It wasn't like he was going to meet Bee and the others, no he knew better. He really should get back to Bee, the poor guardian must be panicking, almost broken.
A firm nod and Sam smiled once more, he was going to save him.
"It's Witwicky," Sam said, almost irritated.
"Alright, then stand up and introduce yourself," a slow smile and he stood up.
If he was going to do something crazy and continue being like that, he better start somewhere, "My name is Sam Witwicky, and I'm as sexy as a baby penguin."
Well, one thing was for sure, the year was going to be really easy, sure he didn't get the exact same questions (not that he would remember them-ever) but he knew everything and anything they were saying, so he decided that if anything, he was going to go major for something about computers, and lots of engineering this time.
An engineer to help out Rachet (even if the Autobots have completely different anatomy as everything else on Earth), and a computer genius to do all the things he wanted to with, possibly, the world.
Not that he planned to stay in this world for long, he meant for the others, the ones that he knew existed.
Yes, everything was falling into place.
"Sam?" his friend looked at him as Sam sighed deeply, "Don't worry, I failed my test too..."
"No, I didn't even get mine back."
"Really?" Miles stared at him funny before shrugging, the kid was learning and this time, it only took a week. "Well, maybe that's a good thin-"
"Sam, I'm so sorry," the teacher said, sighing softly, "I don't know why, but it's always your reports and tests that I keep grading wrong, or accidentally getting through the shredder, and getting spilled on," she said.
A gulp came through and seemed to echo through the class. It didn't matter that their last period dismissed them, they all still awaited what was going to happen to the 'crazy boy'.
"However, when we all, the school board, came to talk about all these incidents concerning you..."
Sam was ready to kill himself.
"We decided that you're special."
Well, one thing was for certain, Sam got his wish.
If anything, it was already half the semester and everyone at the middle school knew him, one way or another.
A smart delinquent that was recently kicked out of the mental asylum.
"You would think that they'd get more creative with these kinds of things," Sam sighed.
A reluctant nod from Miles, who stopped getting bullied since it was really only Sam that they cared about. And everyone seemed to believe that it was Miles with Sam, not the other way around.
So it seems, that if he wanted to be himself, he was going to sacrifice any possibility of being loved for who he was, not used as a scape-goat.
"What do you think, Sam?" Miles said.
He blinked, a small grin forming on his face. Maybe all hope wasn't completely lost.
"I feel sick," the male replied, a gross look on his face as he ran towards the bathroom.
"Sam?" a moment of hesitation as the bell rung, indicating that they were late, "Sam, what about class? Sam?" the calls came, but never followed.
Raking up his stomach in the toliet, he groaned in agony as someone walked in.
"Sam?" the deep voice was a clear give-away.
It was a teacher.
"Y-yeah?" he gasped.
"We called your parents, they should be here in-"
"SAM! Where's my SAMMY!" the screams of his mother was unmistakable, "If you touch him wrong, I'll rip your balls out! Give me my baby!"
A soft sigh, the teen stood up and slowly made his way to the sink, washing up before falling sick once more.
This couldn't be good at all.
What was wrong with him this time?
"I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky," Sam looked up at the doctor with his parents, "But your son... "
"Yes? What's wrong with him?" the squeak came out a lot weaker than supposed to be.
"It seems to be that he cannot consume regular food, or drinks for that matter," the doctor said, "Se we decided to give him some poison."
"You poisoned my son?" Ron exclaimed, "Without my consent?"
"Please sir, with all due respect, it was a complete accident," the man practically grumbled.
"You accidentally poisoned my son?"
"Wait... what was the results?" Judy demanded.
"Well, it seems that poison doesn't affect him at all," the doctor said, "In fact, his health as begun improving..." the male continued talking, but Sam's giggles clogged up his head.
It was all good for now.
The following days weren't as eventful, with the same patterns and Sam came down to a conclusion.
Knowing him and his non-existent luck, if anything, he should stay away from people in-case they get caught up in something again.
Especially anyone that he usually had contacts with. With the exception of Miles, who would probably bolt on the first signs of trouble.
Yes, he was back here, where it all started, at the end of the eleventh grade, and no one questioned him or his way in front of him.
They were used to it. Or they didn't see him.
A pair of long, black jeans, zippers and chains zig zagging around his legs as if they were playing tag. His gray t-shirt bagged off of him, and he tugged his gray hoodie, the one with the red and black dragons fighting on.
Not graphic, and so, it's still allowed in school.
"My report is on my great-great-great grandfather..." Sam began as he continued to tell the tale that he only knew, oh-so-well.
A grin plastered on his face as his eyes brimmed with confidence, he coughed a couple of time before continuing.
You see, Samuel James Witwicky was very smart, for someone his age, and ended up taking some form of college courses through his high school years, and there was still nothing so completely challenging that he was treated like the average students.
But it was okay, because no one noticed it. Or cared enough to notice it.
So, now, he was just waiting for the years to pass, and enjoying every moment of it.
The way some of the girls came to him for some help, be it boyfriends, girlfriends, family problems, make-up, or anything else, they were close to him, but didn't dare say it to another soul.
And he repaid them by smiling with them, laughing with them, and dropping useful advice.
Surprisingly enough, all the guys didn't hate him, they just sort of accepted and somewhat helped him out. They dropped him, like he was just a person.
For that was how he treated himself.
It was like he was everybody's.
And at the same times, no ones.
"And these are his glasses," he grinned, holding up the artifact, as he knew what it once contained. It didn't matter now, sense he really knew everything and anything of it.
His report was concluded with the bell while everyone else rushed out of the room without a second thought.
No one gave a parting greeting.
And grinning with his confidence, he waved back walking towards his teacher after tripping three times and running into something four.
"How was it?" he asked.
The male looked up and gave him a look, and sighed, "Your oral report wasn't the best..." he said slowly, "But it passes with a low A-."
"Thank you very much," the grin was unmistakable, "You know, actually, it's really nice, concerning the fact that I-"
"You're dismissed," and despite the fact that he was in a middle of another sentence, Sam couldn't help but feel completely filled with happiness as the male walked out of the classroom.
After all, he knew that this was the day when he originally got Bee, not that it would ever happen again.
He hoped. At least he hoped.
"Hey dad!" and, not-so-surprisingly, he was the perfect son, the daughter that the mother always wanted, and the son his father always wanted.
A great ex-kick-boxer, with a legend trailing him, somewhat okay fashion senses, lean muscles, a genius mind, but although it's not the greatest looks, it's cute enough for his mother.
"Hey, son!" Ron grinned.
For him, it started when Sam hit puberty, all of a sudden, he was everything and anything he and his mother could ask for.
But, no sacrifice, no victory.
The poor lad had the worst kinds of luck.
"I have a surprise for you!" he said happily as Sam jumped into the car, a curious look on his face.
The least he and Judy could've done was get him what every kid would want.
He drove, humming to the song on the radio, "What I've done" by Linkin Park, straight to Bobby B's.
"What's going on?" the pure confusion on his son's face was hilarious.
"Oh, well, you know, all high school kid's dream's are to get a car, right?"
"No, dad, it's fine," Sam replied honestly, he did not need this.
The only car he would ever devote himself to again is Bumblebee, and even if this was a repeat of everything, there are limits to what you can ask for.
"C'mon, Sam! You've done so much for me and your mother," Ron persuaded as he parked his dark green car.
"No, dad," eyes closed, almost a pained expression slamming into it like an scar, "Please, I'm happy with a bike."
"I don't care," Ron snapped as he sighed, composing himself, "You'll get into something much worse than a car accident if you have a bike."
He was for certain about his son's trauma, and didn't blame him.
The incident really dented him bad after all.
"What's up?" the young adult grinned at them as he approached them.
Sam and Ron exchanged a glance, "What can I do for you?" the male asked.
"My son is here to buy his first car," Ron said proudly.
An audible gasp came from the male as he stretched his hand out, "That practically makes us family," he gaped, "Uncle Bobby B, baby," he grinned.
"Sam," no matter what, the kid still had manners, something his mother had drilled in him, as he grinned, and shook the outstretched hand.
"Sam, let me talk to you," patting on his shoulder, he dragged the kid into the parking lot where there were more cars, "Your first enchilada," he grinned, "of freedom awaits underneath one of those hoods," he said proudly.
A moment of silence, and Sam's eyes widened when he saw it.
The old yellow car.
The one with the black stripes.
"Bumblebee?" he called out, and then stopped, and sighed.
"Son, are you alright?" Ron asked.
"No, I just..." Another pained look, "I really don't want a car, dad."
"Well, I don't care."
Bumblebee's attention snapped up at the mention of his name.
"Son, are you alright?" the elderly, large male turned to his 'son', who blinked, and stared at him.
Deciding that he would need to report on this later, he carefully dug up as much information on the male.
He felt the way the kid walked into his car, and well, his touch was amazing. It was as though he knew, like they met before or something like that.
"Bee..." the soft whisper came, and the young scout came to a conclusion.
He knew. He knew him.
The way he rubbed some grime off of his autobot emblem, and then, the soft chuckle of, "Hey buddy, I wish you would, out of anyone... But that's impossible."
The boy sounded... almost disappointed. And very saddened.
Then, the sudden emptiness as the male, Sam, got out, and gently closed the door, and in response to the fact that they weren't going to let him go home with Sam, he opened the other, guaranteeing to leave a dent in the car next to him.
When that didn't work, he let out a high pitch squeal and destroyed each and every single one of the vehicle's windows.
Surprising enough when the Father of the human and the car-seller ducked for shelter, it was the kid that chuckled softly and leaned against the car and whispered.
"Looks like it's true," the almost sad-sounding voice and as easy as that, Bumblebee was sold to their family.
"$4,000," the car-seller meeped out.
"Nope, three grand now," Sam replied easily.
"Sam?" the father turned to his son.
"I'm not going for-"
"Two thousand," the skinnier teen replied.
"I didn't want a car in the first place," he shrugged, "So, I'm not going allow anyone to waste that kind of money on something I don't want."
"Fine! Two thousand! Just take it!" the male sobbed.
A fine grin came onto his face as he turned to his father, "Dad, I just saved you two thousand dollars, how do you feel?"
The father, for one thing, seemed stunned speechless, but didn't mind it at all.
"Okay..." he murmured and paid the man, who was screaming something about robbery and whatnot.
"Later!" Sam grinned.
One thing was for sure, Bumblebee admired Sam, even if he was a little suspicious by him.
"Nope! Sorry son," the male turned to his son, who looked back, somewhat puzzled, as the older man grinned, "Drive it home."
"Sorry dad, but I gotta meet up with-"
"Okay, okay," from the looks of it, the kid didn't want him, but when he got into the car, he slowly followed the male home.
"How... Did you know?" the voice on the radio, although somewhat easy, was still fun.
"What a weird radio," Sam replied, not a single shred of emotion recorded in his voice, "It makes me believe that... He's back..."
"For what I've done
I start again
And whatever pain may come
Today this ends
I'm forgiving what I've done!"
Reaching over for his phone, he put it up to his ear, "Hello?" he whispered.
A moment's pause as Bumblebee tried to hack into the phone-line.
It wasn't easy. It was as though something was fighting him, and was winning by a lot.
"Hey, Christy- Oh..." a soft sigh erupted out of the kid, "Yeah, yeah, don't worry, I'll be over in about by eight, and we'll make it a night to remember, alright?"
And as soon as he park the yellow comaro, the one that he proudly called, "Bee", he jumped out of the car and gazed at it.
"...I'm definitely giving you a new paint job and a good, clean wash before I ever let dad try to make me take you out," Sam said easily, "So hang tight, alright?" the kid lightly, almost gently as he closed the garage door and continued off.