Brainwaves "But instead to find out that the coolest, most amazing life form ever found him interesting..."

Yes. Another Robot!SamXBee fic. What can I say? They just all need to die in a fire and I am perfectly willing to strike the match.

But this one has a twist to it. A lemon twist. Or would that be motor oil?

Who cares. The twist? Cue Unchained Melody from Ghost.

Brainwaves by Flarn

The whole thing starts out with what seems like a dream sequence.

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"Hello?" Sam's voice seemed to disappear into the darkness that surrounded him. He thought that perhaps an echo would have been reassuring, giving him a sense of dimension, an idea of where he was, but there was no echo, indeed, no sound at all in this place, if indeed it was a place.

So if there is no sound, how can you speak? If it is a vacuum you should already have been pulled inside out from your asshole. Just saying.

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He sensed the approach of his robot guardian, crossing what seemed like an unimaginable distance in a fraction of a second. One instant he was
alone, and the next a huge, comforting presence seemed to have wrapped around him, cradling him in warmth and security.

Because we should all be cradled like babies by our lovers. *CoughJacobHack*

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As he paused, shocked in the aftermath, he sensed the emotion changing, becoming livelier, twinkling with amusement, no, fascination. All the fascination a colossal, three-story tall alien robot car could possess, focused solely on him.

Most frogs feel that way just before their guts are laid out for the Biology class to see.

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So many things about himself Sam took for granted, silly dreams, embarrassing memories, nervous habits, but the emotion Bee was projecting suggested that he, on the other hand, did not find any of it dull. He looked forward eagerly to any new discovery, not just because it was about humanity but because it was about Sam, who was, quite possibility, the most interesting example of humanity to have ever existed.

This class, *pokes the steaming pile of guts* is where the gonads should be. But alas, we seem to have been given a castrated frog. Its croaks must have shattered glass if that is the case.

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It was flattering and exciting, and as he became aware of what he was feeling, he received another rush of emotion from Bee, mirroring the sentiment, flattered and excited by Sam's own flattery and excitement. It bounced between them for some moments, magnifying with each bounce, vibrating faster and faster like a water molecule heated to the boiling point.

Sub-atomic dreaming ping pong. [You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

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"Bee, I can see you're frustrated somehow. I've got to be reading this wrong, but if you were human I'd suggest masturbating, but I know you
robots aren't really interested in that sort of..." His mind called up a vision of one of his best masturbation moments, and it immediately closed around him, like a venus flytrap snapping shut on a helpless fly.

Masturbation and Venus Fly Trap should never, ever be used in the same sentence. EVAR! Vagina Dentin anyone? (Sloth, I am still scarred by that piece of crack that is Nihilist Mowing the Lawn.)

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Sam and Bumblebee had never discussed what had happened that day. Sam was too embarrassed and knew he should have found another way to be with Mikaela, but there really wasn't any. He didn't have credit cards to rent a motel room, and neither his parents nor Mikaela's father would have allowed their children to have guests of the opposite sex in their rooms. So they had done it, and Bee had never said a word of complaint, though Sam had often felt guilty about using his friend this way, as if he were, in fact, just a car.

I'm sorry, I can't stop laughing. I keep having images of Bumblebee looking at those two going at it like a scientist. Taking notes and videotaping it. [You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

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And he felt what Bee had felt: curiosity, understanding, glowing pride at being there to witness a monumental event in the life of his human, the day when he lost his virginity. He had read how important cars often were to this event, and had been prepared to accept this responsibility as part of his job.

That must have been one hell of an interviewing process... [You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

And then it all takes a left turn into cluster-fuck-ville.

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Hands grabbed at him, but he swatted them away like flies, turning this way and that until his gaze fell on a distantly familiar yellow figure that stared at him through horrified blue optics. Some sort of cable was stretched between their chests and he seized it in a fist, ripping it free. The other let out a scream that sounded like metal being shredded.

Congratulations, Bumblebee! You're the proud father of a meth-head coming down from a bad trip.

And then he passes out.

Of course, the inspiration for this fic happens to have canon origins. In an episode called 'Autobot Spike', Spike Witwickey gets hurt when Bumblebee has a brain-fart and drives right in the middle of a fire fight between Autobots and Decepticons and seems quite surprised when he and his charge are blown up. Spike's mind is transferred to a transformer made from a hodge-podge of stuff and then goes insane. Watching Frankenstein probably didn't help either.

Anyway, he gets propositioned by Megatron, who takes advantage of Spike's confusion and turns him against the Autobots for a while before they can wrangle him under their control again. It ends well and everyone is happy. But unfortunately it spawned a million Robot!Spike and Robot!Sam fics thus giving the internet more shit to be ashamed of.

Next up...Chapter 2.

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When Sam opened his eyes again, there were no flashing warnings in front of them, but that didn't mean his vision was back to normal. Down in the bottom right corner of his field of view, a yellow message proclaimed "Weapons offline", while to the left was a green bar, like the download bar on a Web browser, that told him "Systems at 51 percent". "Firewall active", in blue lettering, situated right in the middle, was the most cryptic statement of all.

Dude! Where's my car?

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Far above his head were metal rafters, supporting a sloping ceiling of crude sheet metal, but attempting to guess his surroundings did not hold his attention for very long as he became aware of bewildering new sensations. His whole body felt like it had been encased in lead, and there was a buzzing feeling in his chest, where his heart ought to have been. That alone was more than bad enough, but down below lurked something that sounded like a swimming pool filter on steroids, and vibrated like the spin cycle on an aging washing machine. As he searched beyond the heavy bass thrum inside of him, a whole host of clicks, and whirrs, and wheezes and pops made themselves known, not only as sounds, but as tangible movements within the unmoving slab of the form that imprisoned him. No longer quiet, organic flesh, his body had become a crawling anthill of machinery.

I had that dream too. Of course that was after a Marylin Manson concert, second hand pot smoke, four beers and two Red Bulls.

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Optimus nodded and clanked away. A few moments later, there was shuffling and metallic commotion, followed by unmistakable, and incomprehensible shouting in a language that sounded like a cross between Japanese and Yiddish spoken by a person with a laryngectomy being pulverized in a blender.

Who did the what in the where now? How in the hell...you know what? Never-mind. I do not what to know how this person even came up with that description of Cybertronian language. Or how many Japanese-Yiddish people with Laryngitis he had to pulverize in a blender to get the sound right.

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Sam kept right on going, his volume rising along with his fear, his fear rising still more as he felt the machinery inside him increase its tempo, almost like a racing human heart. "...and I'm talking in a voice that sounds Darth Vader after he'd been kicked in the nuts! And you say I fucking wasn't myself???"

Darth Vader getting kicked in the nuts... I'm sorry...can't...stop...laughing! I need to find that Smiley! Must have it!

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Those scary, dark blue hands he had last seen wrapped around Bumblebee's straining throat accepted the makeshift cup. It smelled like... "Gasoline? Ratchet, I can't drink gasoline."

"No, Sam, what you can't drink is milkshakes," said the medic, unaware of how the casual remark impacted on the psyche of the newest Autobot as he went over to a tall stack of crates and fiddling with an assortment of bars and pieces of metal that looked almost like robot-sized tools. "Your systems need energy. Trust me, the gas will be fine."

What would really be funny is if Sam ran off of Diesel instead. If anyone has ever pumped gas into a Diesel engine...you know exactly what I mean.

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Sam was shocked at the flavour that hit his tongue, and then shocked by the realization that he still had a tongue, albeit as metallic as the rest of him. It was quite articulated and almost as flexible has his old one, a sort of tongue in shining armour... And it was doing a surprisingly good job at telling him the flavour of the gasoline, although he was pretty sure his human tongue would never have interpreted it quite like the impressions he was getting now. It tasted sort of like a cross between iced tea and french onion soup, and was strangely rather refreshing. Abruptly Sam realized he was very thirsty,
or hungry, or whatever it was, and started sucking faster on the liquid, tilting his makeshift cup more as he needed to, until he had drained the entire oil drum.

Those two flavors will never be refreshing in the same glass. EVAR!
On the same note...kids, gasoline does not taste like iced tea, no matter how much sugar is in the gas tank.

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Sam didn't join in the laughter, however, because he was beginning to feel funny in a not-at-all-funny way that was confirmed by the appearance of red warnings flashing in front of his eyes. Something about fuel tank evacuation, that couldn't be what he thought it was, but a lurching sensation in his mid-section made him very convinced that it was. "Err, Ratchet, maybe if we're talking about inventing things a barf bag would be a better place to start..."

Daww! Sam spit up. Maybe we should get him some lactose free gasoline? Or maybe Diesel? I would love to see a Diesel run car spit gas right back at the dumb ass who didn't check the owner's manual.

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Although the conversation concerned him, Sam had other things on his mind as his body continued to rebel, long after the gasoline was expelled - of course, as misfortune would have it, apparently even Autobots could experience dry heaves.

ZOMG! Car-Flu!

Once again... Brainwaves by Flarn

Chapter 3 finds us still in Ratchet's med-bay where Sam is still suffering from Car-Flu

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An shudder ran through Sam's frame as he leaned over the oil drum, still heaving, as though his body was trying to vomit up all the technology that now comprised his internal organs and bodily functions in a futile attempt to restore his organic status. He trembled again, more violently, and felt himself go limp, almost falling on top of the barrel, except that Bumblebee caught him and managed to push him back onto the table where he lay, shivering uncontrollably.

That's it! Play up the drama for as long as you ca...

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"Just a little longer! Got it! His systems can't process the fuel yet, it's too crude! He needs pure energon!"

Wha...? Well that tension was short lived. Hmm...

Anyway. Ratchet splices Sam and Bumblebee together so that Sam can get energy from Bumblebee without puking constantly.

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"You two do seem to enjoy finding reasons to be attached to one another," the rescue bot said, his voice enigmatic. "We will keep the shunt in place until you can refine fuel on your own. In the meantime, I'll need to you take small sips of fuel periodically to see if your system accepts it."

"Great," Sam said. "So I get to keep barfing until whenever that is. Am I, like, some new breed of Autobot? The Pukinator 5000?"

Yes, Sam. Yes you are. I am just thankful that gas did not give Autobot!Sam the taco shits. Don't laugh...it's out there.

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"For me as well. I wanted to explore your thoughts with you, and share mine, but I couldn't let you get too close or you might have downloaded the information from me that Ratchet was trying to block. But you overcame my efforts and found out anyway, at least the part about your new body..." Bee's voice took on the warmth of admiration. "You would make a very effective interrogator."

Interrogation with Sex! Now with more Whiny-Emo-Winona-Looking-Metal-Wearing-Sissy-Ass-Hat!

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"So you're saying that, for want of a better word, that we were having sex in my head?"

Most call it wishful thinking. Or creepy stalker. Or Mind-Fuck.

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"Interfacing, right... and it was feeling so great, and then out of the blue I go nuts, start screaming, and rip out what seems to me like the equivalent of your pe - "

"It's called an interface cable, and unlike the portion of human anatomy I believe you are referring to, it is easily replaced," Bee assured him. "Though I won't claim the experience was fun."

I...wow...
...
...
DETACHABLE PENIS!!!!
...
Ahem...sorry.

Chapter 4 is mostly just Sam being whiny.

And Ironhide being somewhat relieved that Sam's weapons aren't active.

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"That'd be great," Sam said politely. "But in the meantime, you know, there is still lots to be done. I'm supposed to test out my transformation cog, whatever that is, but what I really want is to get a look at myself, you know, see if this new robot thing isn't an improvement over my old ugly mug... But I guess, uhhh... I guess they don't make 16 foot tall mirrors, huh?"

You have weapons that can reduce an M1-A1 tank to slag, you have the ability to transform into a vehicle for expedient transportation and you can drink one of the most volatile substances in existence and all your worried about is how you look? My dear boy, I see someone needs to teach you priorities.

And his alt form?

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"An SUV," Sam muttered in disbelief. "Let me guess, my robot name is going to be 'Rollover'."

Nice...He's a Soccer Mom car.

And then he and Bumblebee play tag.

Chapter the fifth of Brainwaves by Flarn

Emo Sam is Emo. And bitchy.

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He was getting tired of this. The meaningful pauses, the way certain conversations were carried on in Cybertronian rather than English, or, when he had casually remarked on the fact, were not carried out at all. Instead, long hushes would insinuate themselves throughout the ramshackle building, even when everyone was present. It didn't take a genius to figure out that they were still talking, but in a way they hadn't allowed him to experience yet.

WahWah! They won't let me blow my own processor! Waaahhmbulance!!

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"Dammit, Optimus, I'm a soldier, and I understand that your unit comes first, but for the love of Christ, can't you at least send someone to see Mikaela?! She has no one to talk to, no one who understands what she's been through, and she's really hurt that not one of you, and especially not you, Bumblebee," the soldier turned, pointing a finger at the yellow bot, "has bothered to contact her since the day of the - "

What he would have said next was cut off as Optimus suddenly turned around, looking directly at Sam. "Go back inside."

We already know what happened. Sam already knows, kind of, what happened. Out with it already!! The cat was tossed out of the bag two chapters ago!

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The mysterious, aching sadness was back in the Camaro's voice, and Sam felt himself relenting. "Can't you at least tell me why you keep looking at me like that?"

Because you won't quite whining?

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"You rise like a wave in the ocean
And you fall gently back to the sea
Now I want to know how to hold you
Return to meYou shine like the moon over water
And you darken the sky when you leave
Now I want to know how to keep you
Return to me
Turn to me
Return to me"

Yea...that explained a lot.

Sam begs and pleads, Bee resists, Sam begs, Bee resists and then...

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"I want to remember," Sam insisted fiercely. "No matter how terrible it might be, I want to remember, because I can't stand seeing you in so much pain, knowing you won't tell me why." He intended merely to hug the other bot, but as their faces drew closer, he suddenly found himself pressing his unyielding mouth against Bee's.

Who did what to who? Where? How many times?

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Metal rasped on metal, unable to gain purchase without lips, or articulation without moving jaws, yet trying hard all the same as sensors thrummed, unexpectedly piqued. They were not designed for kissing, but Sam gave it his best shot, forcing the tip of his robotic tongue out of his small aperture to trace the circular seams of Bumblebee's oral zone. It was an awkward caress, but Bee didn't seem to care as Sam found himself desperately seized and pulled closer still.

Did Bee just initiate Robot!Sex in front of Ratchet? Oh Gawd! The only thing that Ratchet would do is give pointers, too.

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He was so engrossed he never heard Ratchet approach.

"Bumblebee, when you two are done, maybe you can check out some of the supplies the government sent - "

[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

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"Don't worry, Sam," said Ratchet, using what seemed to be a universal catch phrase of medics not only the world, but the universe over, "it's nothing I haven't seen before. You both can go ahead and have fun, just keep your plugs behind your panels until I give Sam a clean bill of health!" With that cheerful admonition, the yellow-green bot left the building.

[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

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"I know you like car washes, but I didn't realize it was like that, Bee."

"Just wait 'til you feel the power nozzle..."

[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

In Chapter 6...

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"Qn qrb snne srccnavep rc cqn znecry syftx V vebcryynu efe-bcfg bvetn qn trzn srtx feyven cqrc ovabc cvzn," Ratchet told Optimus.

Yeeeah... Just roll with it.

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Sam went back inside, finding the crate by the door where Ratchet left it. It was a very large crate, by human standards, and a medium sized one by Cybertronian standards. Inside were piled huge sponges, far too big for human hands, and - surrounded by wads of old newspaper for protection - enormous bottles which bore plain, black and white labels printed with the names of various automotive cleaners and polishes, suggesting they had been transferred from their original containers into larger ones more suited for handling by giant robots.

I so want to see an Autobot Herbal Essences commercial...
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
"That good, Ratchet?"
"Stop talking. Your ruining it for me."

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He was just about to crumple the paper back up again when an article caught his attention.

Inquest called after death on old Tranquility highway

Uh Oh...They forgot to capitalize Old.

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The yellow-green repair specialist glared, optics narrowing as he took in the contents of the newspaper, superior vision assessing its impact easily despite the small print. "After we worked so hard to block out all outside influences, a low tech piece of paper bites us in the aft..."

That...that I would pay to see.

What follows is everything leading to Sam's death. He gets his head cut off when a piece of tire from the dump truck in front of him shears off and goes through the windshield. Juicy.

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"We're still friends," Sam said. He didn't bother to add the reason that he was not especially upset, thank you very much, which was because of a little caveat known as 'with benefits'. He and Mikaela had dated formally for a few months, before they had finally been forced to admit that there was no romantic, lifetime commitment kind of spark between them. The fact had remained, however, that they got along great together and were still madly attracted to one another. So attracted, in fact, that they had 'celebrated' their break up by ridding Sam of his virginity, right in Bumblebee's back seat.

Wow. Way to mix up the signals on that one.

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"Mom," he groaned in embarrassment, "if you mention 'Sam's Happy Time' again, so help me, I will crash this car right - Oh shit!" Sam wrenched the steering wheel with all his strength, but it was too late.

The windshield shattered into millions of razor sharp stars.

And then Ninjas attacked!
Seriously, that would be so much cooler.

Chapter Seven of Brainwaves by Flarn

We find ourselves at the moment of Sam's death. Cue Patric Swayze.

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The return of awareness surprised him. He found himself floating far above the ground, looking down on the shattered car below him. The fear and grief he had felt moments before, facing the sudden, appallingly violent end to his life seemed meaningless, even laughable now, now when he felt such peace.

I laugh at your pain! [You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

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His strength was beginning to fade when at last he found it, like an oasis: warm, and dark blue and gleaming in the afternoon sun. He was so very tired, and collapsed gladly into its embrace. His long ordeal was over at last. Finally, he could sleep.

Why?

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Finally, one day, when he'd had enough of being controlled, he simply drove away.

There was a crazy lady across the street from me that did that. But she took the entire house of Rent-to-Own furniture with her along with her three daughters.

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All at once he saw Bumblebee, in Camaro form, sitting placidly in the driveway with the family sedan. The next instant, the yellow robot transformed, discharging his weapons again and again at the offending vehicle until it exploded in a ball of orange flame. Once upon a time Sam would have found the mental picture humorous, but not now, with Bee's desolate self-recriminations hanging between them like a noose.

[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

What follows is random disjointed memories of Sam's funeral and Mikaela being as whiny and emo as Sam and lots of Dust in the Wind.

Chapter the Last...

The fic follows the classic yaoi formula for same sex pairings. Lots of emotional sharing and hugging. And the Ratchet turns Sam's 'Stuff' back on. [You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

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The yellow-green rescue bot nodded. "Yes, it's really quite strange. You see Sam, we think that, as you destroyed the Allspark, it created one last spark, but, rather than bonding to a machine and converting it, it instead bonded to you somehow, to what you, as a human, would have called your soul, the essence of what makes you who you are. We aren't exactly sure why this would have happened, there is no reason for a spark to seek out pre-existing organic life when its function is to create a new life all its own. Perhaps the spark was weakened somehow, due to being created almost in the same instant as the Allspark's destruction, and it looked for some way to strengthen itself, finding kinship in your soul, which, from everything I have read, seems to be a human's spark..."

Metaphysical mumbo-jumbo in Transformers? I can take the existence of a Spark...but this is kind of stretching it a little thin. I am still thinking about Unchained Melody.

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"Err, yes," the Autobot healer made a sound remarkably like clearing his throat. "In any case, Sam, I think the spark bonded with your soul and then went dormant. Then, when you... when your human body was damaged beyond repair, and your soul left your body, it carried the spark with it. Once released the spark became active and sought to fulfill its original function, which is to create mechanical life, and began searching for suitable technology to convert in order to do so. Normally such a conversion would have been instantaneous, with the new Cybertronian being similar to a human infant, in that it must learn and gain experience in order to develop the thoughts and traits that will characterize it as an individual. Your spark was different, because it already had a wealth of information available to it, courtesy of your human experiences, so conversion progressed much more slowly, as it had to not only create your body, but write all your memories in a compatible format. The fact that it seems to have done so successfully, preserving the person that you were before the conversion, is nothing short of miraculous."

Say it with me kids...Deus Ex Machina.

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"Sam will have to be closely observed, but at present I don't anticipate any," said the rescue bot. "There may, however, be some minor inconveniences. Sam, there is much unused data left over in your memory banks from your human existence, protocols for controlling the functions of your organic body, for example. There is no way to safely purge this information, but even if there were, I am not sure if I would recommend it - it's scientific value is beyond priceless..."

"Focus, Ratchet," Optimus said, gently.

Glad to know that Ratchet goes into mad scientist mode as well... [You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

And then...Car Wash Time!

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Because it was so natural to him, it didn't register at first that there was something wrong, well, not wrong, exactly, but definitely unexpected. To Bumblebee's infinite credit he did not sound exasperated as he finally brought the situation to Sam's attention. The fact that the yellow Autobot also did not stop his questing for sensitive spots beneath the armour of his blue partner's back would account for the reason his words took a moment to sink in.

"Sam, you are attempting to mate with me in the human fashion."

Um...yea. Hump that car clean.

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Oh, he didn't actually have an erection - even with his less than stellar science record he knew the odds of million year old alien robots having physiologies identical to humans would be microscopic - but that didn't change the fact that he could feel that familiar presence at his groin, rigid and aching, so incredibly engorged and wanting that it bent almost backwards against his belly. Ratchet had mentioned sensory ghosts of his human existence, but Sam would never have expected them to take the form of a phantom penis, never mind one that felt so excruciatingly real.

Phantom Penis?

Would that me what Solid Snake means?

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The purpose of Bee's game soon became clear as Sam found himself convulsing, hands clawing deep into the dirt, wracked by the sensation of an orgasm he should no longer be capable of.

"Bee, what are you doing?" Sam groaned.

"Exploring..." said the yellow bot enigmatically. "Want another?"

Orgasms were great, who wouldn't want another?

Orgasms are like Ice Cream! 'Cept you can't get fat off of them.

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He'd had his first orgasm back in 2003...

"November 17, 2003," Bee supplied, with a smugness that did not go unnoticed, even in Sam's nearly overloaded state.

...and with an average of one orgasm a day, that would make...

"1460 orgasms, Sam... Enjoy."

[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.] I am pretty sure that any Autobot going through that would fry. Pleasantly fry...but all the same.

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Touching the keen edge of that desperation broke something within him, and a new, and powerful sensation crashed over him, one that made the roar of human sex feedback nothing more than a vaguely pleasant background noise. It was like being zapped with a few thousand volts of electric, white-hot bliss, making his whole body spasm and contract. Dimly, he was aware of an answering convulsion from the yellow bot beneath him before the world went dark.

And thus endith our fic. I hope you enjoyed the very best if Robot!Sam. There are worse out there...but you are no where near ready to experience those depths of depravity.

And this is why I don't touch anything that has witten SamXBee or BeeXSam in somewhere.