Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Location: Sam's Mind ...

    Water ripples wherever he walks as the galaxy of stars shine above reflecting on the surface. The sky above swirls in colors of blue, purple, red, and black; a never-ending expanse of sky and stars. Sam wanders in an aimless direction following a warming pull, tugging him forwards. He knows he is somewhere familiar but does not know how this place is familiar to him. He looks above and the stars, or maybe their planets, look like souls of people, of living beings, that are well known to him. He knows those souls; they are family, and friends to him. 

    Another tug in his chest draws his attention and he continues walking across the rippling water of stars. A light blue glow grows in the direction he is walking. It brightens and dims like a heartbeat but never goes out like it did. The closer he gets the more familiar he is with the shape inside the glowing ball. A cube, a remarkably familiar cube, with its enteritic designs and strange, but beautiful cybertronian glyphs all over it.

    "The Allspark," Sam whispers. 

    The Allspark brightens as if it was greeting him. He stands there stunned for a moment before he regains his wit and scrutinizes the cube.

    "But it was destroyed ... How? ... Not possible ..." He mumbles as he slowly approaches the cube and circles it.

    The cube brightens again before a whisper swirl in the air, "Sam Witwicky."

    "What ...?" Sam mumbles in confusion before gapping at the Allspark as he realizes that it was the cube that spoke.

    "Sam," the cube glows brighter as his name is spoken again.

    Sam stands stock still before abruptly turning around and saying, "Nope, no, nope, nope, not dealing with this," and walks away. 

    "Saaammmm," the cube whines, whines, as he speed walks away from the pouting, life-giving, life-ending, all-powerful, cybertronian artifact.

    "Nope, this is just my imagination, just ignore it, it's just a dream," he can feel the cube pouting even more after he says that.

    "Sam Witwicky," the abrupt serious tone of the Allspark makes him stop in his tracks and he lets out a long, deep sigh. He turns around and heads back to the damn cube, already regretting doing so.

    Sam stands in front of the cube again, giving it a deadpan look that just screams 'get on with it already.'  

    The cube glows again before a tendril of blue light shot off from the Allspark and taps his forehead, sending a load of information into his brain. Shock radiates through Sam's body before it turns into fiery anger.

    "WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN??? WHY CAN'T I SAVE THEM EVEN THOUGH I HAVE THESE MEMORIES!" Sam shouts at the fucking cube along with a couple of creative insults and swears that would make even a sailor blush and Optimus look at him in shock. 

    "Sam," the cube says gently before continuing, "I am sorry ... Can't change anything major until xxxxx xxx xxxxxx, xxx xxx xxxx xx xxxx xx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxx xxxx xxx xxx xxxx xxxx'x xxx xxxxxxxx xxx xxxxxxxx xxxx xxxxxxx xx xxxxxxxxx." 

    Sam looks at the Allspark as it continues to talk while glowing at certain points in the conversation.

    "So, I can change somethings but not a whole lot until xxxxx xxx xxxxxx."  

    The cube glows in a certain way that he thinks means "I'm sorry." The Allspark glows again, but in a series of depressing ways that would make no sense to the average human, but Sam is not normal at all.

    Sam listens to the cube in silence as he starts formulating an idea of sorts that could potentially help the Autobots. 

    "Allspark, xxxx xxxxxx xx xxxxx xxxxxxxx xx xx, xx xxxxxx xx, xxxxx. xx, xxx xx xxxxxxxx xxxx xxxxxx xx x xxxxxxxx xxxxxx xxx xxxxxx x xxx xxxxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxxxxxxx xx xxxx xx xxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xxx xxxxxx xxx xxxxxx xxx xxxx. Would that work?" Sam asks the cube quizzically.

    The Allspark glows extremely bright as if it is saying yes, very enthusiastically, before it deems so quickly that it would give someone whiplash with the sudden change of emotions. 

    "It would work, but xx xxxxx xxxx xxx xxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxxxx," the cube says distressingly.

    "I'll still do it," Sam declares after the cube gives one more achingly slow glow.

    The glow of the cube abruptly stops as if in shock, before glowing in an increasingly alarm series of flashing blue light.

    "They won't know have to know about it, and by the time it happens they'll think xxxxxxxx xxxx xxx xx xx xxxxxxxxx." 

    "xxx'x xxxxxxxx," an agonizing glow and a sad wail sounds from the cube.

    "I'll be fine." 

    The Allspark goes quiet, and then soft glowing tendrils reach out from the cube to wrap around Sam in a tender hug as if saying "thank you" and "I'll stay with you."

    Sam sighs and closes his eyes trying to contain how he feels. He opens his eyes after a few seconds with a new sense of determination shining through. 

    "How long..."

    A glow, "Before xxxxxxxxxx."

    "So, almost six to ten years." 

     Another glow confirming his words before both he and the Allspark fall silent.

    "Alright," Sam whispers, "Alright," he takes deep breath in and out.

    "Alright, time to mess with the timeline as much as I can and completely obliterate the future that might or might not happen."

    The Allspark glows exasperated at his choice of wording, and Sam only smiles at it.

Chapter Text

September 16th, 2005...

"It was an accident that intertwined our fates."

"They know your name"

"... you hold the key to Earth's survival."

"I will sacrifice myself to destroy it ..."

"... One shall stand ... one shall fall..."

"Fate rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing."

"What if we leave, and you're wrong."

"... We stood by and watched."

"From here the fight will be your own."

"I'll kill you, you have my word."

"How many more of my kind must be sacrificed?"

"No sacrifice, no victory."

    Sam jolts awake, flaying his limbs in wild directions like an octopus. He lands with a thump on the floor, banging his already aching head on the ground. He groans and rubs his forehead as if that'll make it better. It does not, and he feels like he is dying from an overloaded brain that has been run over by a train but in actuality trampled on by overgrown, idiotic, football jockeys.

     He wanted to be one of those jockeys but after yesterday, trying out for the team, it just feels stupid. Why does it now feel stupid to him? Well, it might have to be because in a year and ten months there might be no point in it.

    Sam flips onto his back to stare at his ceiling. His gaze is blank and expression frozen as he processes his line of thought that in almost two years, even four years, it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't matter because his life would be flipped upside down and how does he even know this? It wouldn't matter because in a year his life would be like an action-packed movie with an awful, horrible, disgusting teenage romance. What will his life have come to?

    "Nope, no, nopity nope, that will not be real. It was just a dream, just a figment of my imagination. Not real at all, and I'm not dealing with it." Sam mumbles as he continues to stare at his ceiling as if it holds all the answers he needs.

    He continues to stare at the ceiling before scrambling up, ignoring his pulsing head, and clamber his way to the boxes of his great, great Grandfather's junk and by junk he means his very valuable, life changing proof that what he saw or dreamed is real.

    He shifts the papers and tools aside and reaches for the case that contains Archibald's glasses. He lifts it out and heads to his shelf of teenage boy objects that could have been sold far easier than his great, great grandfather's stuff. Why didn't he sell these or gotten a job instead of trying to sell Archibald's stuff in that dream?  

    Sam grabs a magnifying glass and scurries back to his bed. He plops down onto the bed and crisscrosses his legs, applesauce style. He pops open the case and gently lifts the glasses out, inspecting them first before bringing the magnifying glass over the glasses. As Sam looks closer, he can see some of the symbols from his dream or memory or whatever it is he saw.

    "Shit," Sam whispers. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, Shit! No fucking way! Fuck!"

    Sam takes huge gulps of air trying to calm down while still mumbling "nononononono, I don't even know if I'm going to make it past 25, but I have to save the world? Why did it have to fall into a teenager's hands? Why did Archibald have to find Megatron? Why Witwicky's? Why?"

     He can't catch his breath, so he scrambles off the bed and heads to his bathroom and dunks his head under the showerhead turning it on to freezing cold. The cold-water floods from the shower and drenches him immediately, sending shivers down his body. His pajamas are soaked to the bone and his skin is slowly turning numb. But through the shivers and cold, his breath steadily returns to him. His headache decreases from the cold and his rational part of his mind returns to him.

    Sam steps out of the shower and looks down at his wet PJs. He might as well take a shower since he is soaked. Sam thinks to himself as he strips and gets back into the shower, but this time turning the temperature to mildly warm. He lets the water wash over him as he stares off into space thinking about what he now knows means to him.

    In a year and around ten months when he is 16, he'll want to buy a car and that car will turn out to be an alien robot. He would have tried to sell his Great, Great Grandfather's stuff on eBay, under the name Ladiesman217. A secret government organization named Sector Seven will come and take him and his family and Mikeala. This would then lead to a chase from the bad alien robots and then death and more death and it repeats again in two years and then three years. And then humans turn on their alien robot allies and more death. Death, after death, after death until only a few Autobots remain.

    Tears for some reason slip out of his eyes and mix with the shower water. He doesn't know why he is shedding tears when the dreams weren't first person point of view, just third person objective view like that of a movie. It shouldn't affect him at all. He doesn't know the Autobots personally at all right now. So, why do their deaths affect him? But he does know them, doesn't he? His train of thoughts keep circling on how he knows the Autobots and why he cares about them.

     Sam washes his hair and lets the soap bubbles drain down his back and swirl down the drain. He turns off the shower head and grabs a towel to dry down with. He makes his way back to his room and grabs a pair of underwear, blue jeans, and a blue long-sleeved shirt.

    He needs a piece of paper to write a list on, Sam thinks as he clears off his desk via shoving everything onto the floor. Splatters of books, homework, junk, tools and other stuff clatter onto the floor creating a loud thunk sound to echo.

    "Ah ... Probably shouldn't have shoved everything on the floor ..." Sam stares at the stuff on the ground for a minute before promptly leaving it to get a piece of paper and sitting down at his desk.

    "Okay, what do I need to get, or do so I can write down everything in my dream without anyone knowing or reading it," Sam pounders as he taps his pencil against his cheek. 

List of things to do:

Buy notebooks and zip lock bags

"Getting those I can write everything down in code and have multiple copies that I can bury, or just in case I die, a friend can find it and use it to help them," Sam murmurs as he writes it down.

Create a code

Do well in school --> study

Get a driver's license

Get a job --> make resume, hand out resumes, earn money

    "Mmmh ... Earning money means I don't need to sell any of Archibald's stuff. It also means I need a bank account ... And that I don't need to earn two thousand in three days to get a car ... Mmmh ... Anything else?" He hums as he scribbles Study Archibald's stuff onto the list.

    A knock resounds from the door twice before it opens to reveal Judy, his mother, who enters his room uninvited. Sam swerves in his chair to stare at her.

    "Mom! What are you doing in here?" Sam questions as he wonders why the hell his mother is doing in his room.

    "It's a pigsty in here Sam, you need to clean up!" His mom exclaims as she moves closer to him.

    "Besides I heard a loud bang come from up here and decide to check it out. And you're never awake this early in the morning, so is there something going on," She comes to stand in front of him looking down at the pile of stuff he shoved onto the floor earlier.

    Sam sits there confused for a moment as he processes what his mother just told him, "But mom it's not that early?... and I'm fine."

     "It is seven forty-two a.m. on a Saturday morning," She places her hand on his forehead, "Are you sure you're okay?"

     Sam brushes her hand off and while staring anywhere but her eyes he says, "Yeah, I'm fine. It was just ..." How do you tell your mother that he is going to get involved in an alien war and might die? "... A bad dream that left me a bit disoriented."

    "Mmmh... And the books and papers on the floor?" She says with question tilt to her voice.

    "Ah..." Sam opens and closes his mouth thinking of a response. A lie must have some fragment of truth to it to make it believable ... After all the best lies are the ones that are believably possible, "... I was in a hurry to write something down and ended up sweeping everything off my desk."

    Judy only hums in response which makes sweat start to bead up on his forehead until she pats his cheek and says, "Alright sweety, there is milk and cereal downstairs if you want any."

    She turns around and heads back to the door and into the hallway. Once she completely left Sam's sight, he collapses in his chair as if he was a marionette and his strings were cut. 

    "Okay, next thing I should add to the list is get better at lying," Sam sighs as he leans back in his chair.

   As he leans in his chair he goes over his conversation with his mother. "A lie must have some fragment of truth to it to make it believable ... After all the best lies are the ones that are believably possible." That one thought he had while talking to his mother struck him as something strange and foreign. Where did that thought come from? And it certainly wasn't his voice that thought it.

    Sam turns in his chair to lean against his desk and lays down on it. He looks out the window to see the sun is already in the sky. Huh, he guess that it is already past eight now ... The dream or memory has more than just the movies, it also has memories of the person, his past life, who watched them. Of course, though, it feels more like knowledge than actual personal experience ... Like when reading or is it ... more like how people retain academic knowledge and muscle memory when they have amnesia. He lived an entire life and doesn't even remember anything of it except for the movies, muscle memory (how would that even work?) and academic knowledge.

    "Welp, there is no point in looking into it," He moves the chair back as he springs up and walks towards his bedroom door. "Out of mind, out of sight. Just focus on getting a job and surviving an alien war. Nothing else matters at the moment," He mumbles as he walks out of his room and downstairs to get breakfast. 

****************************

Words: 1877

Thinking: Where did that thought come from?

Writing: Create a code

Chapter Text

    Sam sets his bowl of cinnamon crunch cereal onto the countertop, pulling a stool close to sit down on. He shoves a spoonful of cereal into his mouth as he writes down things that he could put on a resume, which isn’t much. He taps his pencil against the countertop thinking over where he can give his resume to. The library seems like a good place to start then maybe the used books place … or the old repair shop that is a couple blocks from the library … Fast food place? No. There is a high chance that Trent will bug him … Convenience store? No same reason as before …   

    “... m ...muel...” 

    A café maybe... Sure, they’re usually cozy... Candy store... Maybe... Mechanic shop... Isn't that the same as a repair shop... Maybe... Clothing shop... Alright, how many resumes should I--  

    “Samuel James Witwicky!” Fingers snap in front of his face. 

    Sam focuses his gaze on his mother, who was the one to snap her fingers in his face. Judy’s face is creased in concern and worry as she looks at her son. 

    “Sorry, I was just thinking. Were you saying something?” 

    Her brow creases even more as she replies, “Sam, sweety, are you sure you’re okay?” 

    “Yeah, I’m fine,” He pauses thinking if he should ask her about getting a job. “Wh... What would you think about me getting a job.” 

    Judy tilts her head to the side in surprise, “What would you need a job?” 

    “Ah... to earn money to buy a car and extra spending money for things,” Sam says as he fiddles with his pencil, and to have cash on hand if he needs to go on the run in the future and help the Autobots if things end up playing out the way it does in the movies.  

    “Oh... My little boy is growing up, getting a job already,” His mother gets teary eye and reaches in for a hug which is smothering and borderline suffocating him.  

    “ Mom... Can’t... Breathe ...” 

    “Oh! Sorry dear.” She releases Sam and he takes huge dramatic breaths of air. 

    “It’s alright,” Sam breathes out. 

    Judy claps her hands and says, “Now, I’ll leave you to it and when you’re ready to leave the house to hand out resumes, I’ll leave twenty bucks on the counter for you to get a snack while out.” 

     “Thanks mom,” Sam beams as he places his now empty bowl of cereal in the sink and bolts upstairs to start typing his resume. 

                                                                                              **********************  

    Okay, he finished his resume, and it only took an hour and a half to do that. He looks over to his alarm clock to check the time. It reads nine forty-seven.  That means most shops would already be open by the time he gets downtown.  

    He has around thirty-two dollars and sixty-seven cents left from his allowance and there is twenty dollars on the counter that his mom has left him. That makes to fifty-two dollars. Enough to buy notebooks, Ziplock bags, and a snack or two.  

    Sam gets up from his desk and grabs the stack of resumes, along with his wallet, and slips them into his backpack. He dashes downstairs, grabs his helmet and the twenty dollars and makes his way to his bike which is a deep blue color that is almost black. 

    Sam pauses as he gets on his bike thinking, okay, first stop should be the library and then I’ll go from there. He pushes off the ground and peddles over his father's lawn. Oops. Oh well, he won’t even notice.  

    Riding down the streets, Sam finds it to be pretty relaxing. Letting the wind wash over him feels freeing and that he has nothing to worry about. Except there is so much he needs to worry about and prepare for. What if he can’t change anything? What if he can’t prevent Jazz’s death? What if he can’t prevent humans from turning on the Autobots? Will Optimus still die and be revived? Will the Autobots be hunted down? What exactly happened to all the Autobots’ human allies? Were they all killed? Or did some of them betra---  

    "Gyaah!” 

    Sam flips over the handlebars of his bike sending him flying, and landing on his back with a thump. He groans from the pain as he shifts in his spot. 

    “Hey, are you alright?” A female sounding voice sounds from above him. 

    Sam opens and squints his eyes to peek at who is above him. Dark brown almost black hair trails down her shoulders as she slightly leans over him. Mikeala Banes is one of the teens that learned about the Autobots and is extremely hot, but also currently taken. And may or may not be killed in the future or live in hiding due to being a friend of the Autobots.  

    " Yeah, just wasn’t expected to be flipped like a character in a movie or game.” He replies as he slowly sits up and looks around for his bike. 

    “Your bike is right behind you,” She points behind him and he turns around to see his turned over bike and a very familiar looking raised concrete sidewalk. 

    Welp, he guesses that somethings are meant to happen. At least he no longer has an embarrassing crush on her to make things awkward between them... since it died a painful fiery death at the hands of second-hand embarrassment and potential future death...  

    “ Thanks,” Sam sits there staring at his bike before standing up. 

      ...Never mind he always be awkward around other people his age.  

    “ I’m Sam Witwicky,” He raises his hand for a shake, but she just stares at it. Sam starts to feel nervous and slowly lowers his hand before she grabs it. 

    “Mikeala Banes,” She shakes his hand and then she releases it. 

    “Mikeala!” yells one of the girls from the table she was sitting at. 

    “I’ll be right there!” Mikeala shouts in return as she turns to look at her friends. Well, he thinks they are her friends, but then again, they could just be fake friends... The ones who are only your friends because of your popularity...  

    She looks back over to him before turning around waving at him while saying, “See you around, Sam Wikky.” 

    “It’s Witwicky,” He mumbles before picking up his bike and getting back on. He secures his bag on his back and then takes off down the street towards the library.