Chapter Text
When the lights in the room slowly turned on, signaling that it was time for Sam to wake up, he stayed lying in his bed an additional few minutes, contemplating the day ahead. The first day of his new "schedule."
Eventually, he forced himself to roll out of the bed and stumble to the platform's edge, the STEPS system catching him from falling straight to the ground.
Without having to say anything, the wall to the bathroom slid open, and Sam mumbled a tired "Thanks."
Like every morning, a clean pair of folded clothes sat waiting for him. After relieving himself, quickly showering, and brushing his teeth, Sam dressed in soft, warm sweats. There were socks, too, but Sam ignored them. Without shoes, they only made it easier for him to slip and/or fail to outmaneuver his captors.
Sighing, Sam rubbed a hand across his face.
Was he going to do this? Was he actually going to do this? Pretend that he was sparkling and that he was thrilled to be there? Even though he had agreed to go along with it yesterday, today was a new day, and today's Sam was mentally cursing out yesterday's Sam.
Whatever. If it helped Sam escape, he could temporarily endure the humiliation.
Reluctantly resigned, Sam strode towards the bathroom wall, the white wall sliding back to allow him to reenter the room. He immediately paused as bright blue eyes framed by an angry 'V' turned to stare at him.
"Hello, Prowl," Sam said hesitantly, recognizing the stern-faced bot who stood stiffly, arms held behind his back.
Would it be rude to ask where Jazz was?
It wasn't that he liked Jazz, but he was the only bot Sam had really interacted with, even if only in small doses. Jazz had kept his distance like he promised on the first day; otherwise, Sam might have been tempted to see which would crack, his teeth or Jazz's plating
Although with this new schedule, Sam had thought he would be seeing more of Jazz, not this walking union between a legal textbook and a dictionary
"I trust that your recharge cycle was successful?"
Sam blinked. "Uh, yeah, my sleep was successful?"
Prowl nodded, gestured for Sam to climb up to the platform, then pulled a tray out of midair and placed it on the metal platform.
The morning meal consisted of a glass of milk, two shiny, peeled, hard-boiled eggs, and a bowl of oatmeal topped with a sprinkling of brown sugar, cinnamon, and chopped walnuts.
Sam stared at the oatmeal and the sweet-smelling tendrils of steam rising from it. A lump formed in his throat, along with the slightest burn of tears in his eyes.
"Is the fuel not to your preference?"
"No, it's just…" Sam's throat clenched, but he forced the words out. "My mom really liked oatmeal. She'd make it for me most mornings. I actually hated it at first. Thought the texture was weird, but she would cut up fruit to put on top and get this big smile when I ate it and…" It was getting harder to speak now.
Prowl stood silently, waiting for Sam to continue.
Sam shook his head, "It's stupid. I just haven't had it in a long time, is all. It's fine. I'm fine," he said, not sure if he was trying to convince himself or Prowl.
"I will note your preference for oatmeal with cut fruit."
Sam snorted and grabbed his spoon, choosing to start eating rather than continue the conversation.
The oatmeal was warm and comforting, like burrowing into one of his mom's tight hugs. He quickly ate the entire bowl, the food settling in his stomach.
Prowl nodded once in approval, then collected the tray, vanishing it away to who knew where.
"Now that you are properly fueled, we can proceed with your lessons."
Steps formed from the floor, creating a stairway down from the berth. Then, with several quick taps on a datapad, two tables and chairs rose up, one Sam-sized and the other Prowl-sized.
"It can do that?"
"The STEPS system is capable of adjusting the surroundings to provide for your needs and protections. In this instance, a proper workspace for your educational requirements."
Sam sat hesitantly on the chair. White and blocky, it looked like it would be incredibly uncomfortable, but the material adjusted under his weight, folding itself around Sam's form.
Prowl placed the data pad on the table. "An agenda of recommended modules to be completed today has already been uploaded."
Sam cautiously swiped through them. Most looked familiar: history, English, math, science, but one was not.
"Glyphs?"
"While you will eventually be able to download a data pack with necessary Cybertronian language requirements, Ratchet wishes to see if a prior language attainment assists in a smoother conversion process."
Sam frowned, only understanding half of what was said. "So glyphs are like your language."
"That is an oversimplification," Prowl said, but at Sam's annoyed expression, he exvented and said, "but essentially yes. The written portion, at least."
If Sam had been asked a year ago if he wanted to learn the Autobot's language, he would have replied with an enthusiastic 'yes!' The kidnapping, however, had cooled some of that excitement. Still, he'd be lying if he didn't admit a small childish part of himself was intrigued by learning an alien language. The more practical part of himself recognized that it would be much easier to escape if he could translate what their signs were saying. Glyphs it was then.
"Do I have to finish all of these?" Sam asked, scrolling through the extensive list.
"You may complete the learning modules in whichever order you prefer, but all must be completed by the end of the deca-cycle."
Sam glanced up at Prowl. "Or else…?" Would there be some consequence? They claimed he was a sparkling, but would their tune change if he refused to play along?
Prowl's facial features and body language remained unchanging, "We will have to postpone the next section of learning modules with tutors and learning field trips around the base."
Tutors Sam didn't care about. But field trips? A chance to get out of this stupid room? Well, the Autobots had found an effective carrot.
"If that answers all of your questions," Prowl said, "I'd recommend you start."
Then he moved to his own seat, sat down, and pulled four data pads from his subspace, which he began working on.
Okaaaaay, so Sam had a babysitter. Great.
With an annoyed sigh, he turned to his datapad and started on the lessons.
Sam's brain was mush.
Nasty, soggy, lumpy mush.
He felt like a bowl of old food had been put in a microwave for 10 minutes too long, overheating and resulting in a disgusting mess that was not fit for consumption.
Groaning, Sam placed his head on the table. A dull pulse pressed against his forehead, and his body sagged with a strange exhaustion. After years of no school, he had forgotten how tiring it could be.
It wasn't that he was doing bad. He'd gotten through his lessons alright.
Sitting at his desk, Prowl had occasionally glanced down and asked if Sam required aid. At one point, he even knelt down, a massive finger pointing at the screen to explain one of the math concepts Sam was struggling with.
However, hours of school had taken their toll.
Now, at Sam's groans, Prowl turned his attention towards him.
"Are you alright?"
"My brain hurts," Sam mumbled, mouth smooshed into the table.
Prowl's wings twitched, and he immediately knelt on the floor. "Your processor is hurting you? How so? A glitch? Overheating?" His blue eyes narrowed. "I will have to inform Ratchet of yo–"
"NO!"
They both startled, Sam's volume surprising them.
"No?"
Sam ran a hand over his face. "I don't need a doctor. My brain hurts because I'm tired, and I haven't had schoolwork in years." The confession made his cheeks burn slightly. "I'm fine. Just being dramatic, I guess."
Prowl's blue eyes bored into Sam. "Are you certain you do not require medical assistance?"
"Yes," said Sam firmly.
Prowl's brows furrowed slightly, and his wings lowered. "If you are certain."
"I am. Besides, why do you even care?" Sam said, the last bit coming out more sarcastic than he intended.
"It is the duty of all Autobots to care for sparklings' physical, mental, emotional, and educational needs. And you are a sparkling," said Prowl matter of factly, like stating that gravity existed.
It rankled Sam, and he snarked. "Yeah, I'm a sparkling, and I'm also the queen of France."
"France has not had a monarchy since 1792, according to your records. Your statement is false and indicates a lack of education or a severe injury to your helm."
Sam's mouth dropped open. "Seriously?"
Prowl picked up one of his data pads and began tapping at it. "I will add an additional unit to your module over 1700s French history."
Sam rubbed at his face. "I genuinely cannot tell if you're punking with me or if you're just this…" he gestured at Prowl.
"I don't know what you mean," said Prowl emotionlessly. It might have been a figment of his imagination, but Sam thought he saw the faintest smirk crossing Prowl's face.
Before he could potentially call Prowl out, the door to the room slid open, and Jazz strolled in with a massive grin. "If it ain't my favorite bots. Sweet spark," he said with a smile at Sam. "Prowler," he said towards Prowl, earning a scowl.
A strange, warm relief flared in Sam's chest at the familiar face, but he shoved the sensation back down.
"How're classes goin'?"
Prowl stood, holding his arms behind his back, "He's performing well within the expected parameters for the first several cycles."
"Mmm, that's high praise comin' from this mech. He's got his bolts screwed in a bit tight, but he means well." Jazz leaned down. "How bout for you? Goin' good?"
Sam shrugged, feeling somehow embarrassed to admit his exhaustion. "Fine."
"I'm sure you're doin' betteah then that. But I also bet you're ready for a break. Lucky for you, the Jazz-meister is here to relieve ya."
Without warning, he scooped Sam up, carrying him over to the berth.
"Stop picking me up like that!" Sam yelped, batting at Jazz's hand. "I have legs."
Jazz chuckled. "I got two things fer ya." Reaching out, he grabbed Sam's right arm, pulling it away from his body.
"What are you doing!" Sam yelled, trying and failing to yank his arm free.
"Hold on, bitty bot," Jazz murmured, adjusting his grip on Sam's arm. "Ratch's been blowin' up my comm demandin' tha' I get this on ya."
A silver cuff flashed in his hand. It swung open, and Jazz swiftly brought it around Sam's bicep. The cold metal snapped closed before flattening against his skin, much like the stupid restraining belt from before. Jazz leaned closer, eyes intent as he brushed a finger over the cuff.
"It appears to have activated correctly," Prowl noted.
"Well, Ratch will let us know if it doesn't." Jazz said. He glanced back at Sam, who was still trying to free his arm and hitting Jazz's hand. "Sorry 'bout that," he said, letting go.
Sam stumbled back, trying to create space. He gripped the metal band around his right arm, searching desperately for a latch to open it. But the metal seemed almost fused to his skin, as if he had been born with a strange metal patch as a birthmark.
"What is this?" he cried, the beginning flutters of panic starting in his stomach.
"A health monitor developed by Ratchet and Wheeljack."
"It's just ta make sure you're healthy and safe," Jazz soothed.
"I'm perfectly healthy without it!"
"Mmmm, ya migh' be, but Ratch don' see it tha' way. It was either this or him keepin' ya on a berth in the med bay until he felt satisfied wit' yer health."
Sam's nails scraped unpleasantly over the metal before sinking into flesh. He longed to dig at his skin until he could get his nails under the band and peel it off. It was another physical reminder that he belonged to them.
He wanted it off. But Jazz appeared unaware or unconcerned by Sam's frustration.
"Okay, sweet spark. Now that thas' outa the way, I've got your lunch f'r you," Jazz said, setting a tray of food on the berth. He sat down on the ground, arms resting causally on his legs. "Go on and refuel."
For once, the savory aroma of warm food didn't appeal to him. The fluttering panic in his stomach had transformed into an uncomfortable and unpleasant brick.
"Is there an issue with the provided fuel? Or is it of a similar nature to this morning?" Prowl asked.
"This morning?" Jazz asked.
"Sam prefers his oatmeal with chopped fruit," Prowl said as if that explained everything.
"It's fine," Sam muttered, sitting down and pulling the tray towards himself. The mechs' glowing blue eyes watched intently as he picked up the utensil and began eating. He'd been so excited before about warm, fresh, plentiful food that he hadn't realized the scrutiny they focused on him as he ate.
It made the food curdle in his mouth, and Sam began shoveling his meal in with a mechanical focus. The quicker he cleared the plate, the quicker they'd turn their blue eyes away from him.
As he ate, his hand drifted back to the cuff, and he rubbed his fingers across the surface. It felt like a brand against his skin, burning uncomfortably in a reminder that they were watching him, claiming him as their own with no care for his thoughts or feelings.
That thought proved the final blow. Sam shoved the tray away as bile burned the back of his throat. "I'm done."
Prowl's eyes narrowed, "You have not finished."
"I said I'm done," Sam snapped. "As in nada, no more, not hungry."
"Is there something wrong with th—"
Jazz clapped a hand on Prowl's shoulder, "I'm sure everything is fine. Bitlet isn' hungry tha's all. He still ate plenty. He'll be fine."
Sam should have been grateful for Jazz stepping in, but instead, the back of his neck burned at the way his words were ignored until Jazz said something, like Sam's opinions and thoughts didn't matter.
Prowl exvented and collected the tray. "Fine. But this cannot become a habit."
Sam scowled. He'd make it a habit if he wanted to.
"Since you've refueled as much as you will, we can move on to the next part of the schedule, a brief recharge cycle."
"I don't need a nap," Sam said, eyes narrowing as he crossed his arms.
"You are scheduled for a brief recharge period every cycle by order of Ratchet."
"That's great, but I don't care. I don't need it.
Jazz leaned down, getting closer than Sam wanted, "You might think that you don't need it, bitlet, but your frame has been through a lot. Extra recharge is gonna help it get stronger and make ya healthier."
Sam stepped back, moving over towards the edge of the platform and away from his hovering babysitters. "I'm plenty strong. I survived on my own for years without you two."
That he'd almost died multiple times was irrelevant. Sam was more than capable of taking care of himself.
Stepping off the edge of the platform, he took the rising steps back down to the floor and away from his bed.
"Your survival skills are not being debated here. Human frames experience increased cognitive retention and emotional regulation with adequate recharge cycles. And your defiant behavior only proves that you are becoming overstimulated and fatigued, thus requiring a rest cycle."
"No," Sam said flatly.
Prowl's engine gave a quiet revv. "This is non-negotiable."
"Negotiate this," Sam yelled, flipping his middle finger at the alien, then sprinting away as Prowl bent over to grab him.
Juking to the right, Sam dodged the curved fingers and ran behind Prowl, keeping clear of Jazz and the platform.
A blast of air exploded from Prowl's vents. His tone was annoyed as he said, "Samuel James Witwicky."
"Prowler," Sam said, copying Prowl's severe tone.
Jazz burst into laughter, "Got us a lil' recharge dodger," he said in amusement as Sam continued to sidestep Prowl's reaching grasp.
The alien was being careful, overly so, unwilling to step too close to Sam's speeding form, thus allowing Sam to dodge, dive, and duck out of the way. He glanced back, and a tired, satisfied smile spread across his face at Prowl's growing frustration.
However, it proved to be Sam's downfall. His toe caught on the floor, sending him toppling towards the ground. The STEPS system lurched upward, catching and cradling his body mid-fall. Sam gasped as the matter adjusted around him, slowly pressing his body upward and back onto his feet.
Sam staggered backward, right into Prowl's waiting grasp. The bot wasted no time, hands wrapping around Sam's torso and lifting him off the ground. Sam kicked out desperately, feet searching for solid ground that was no longer there.
"You are incapable of hurting yourself within the containment room. Teletran monitors constantly, and the STEPS system will protect you from accidental injury," Prowl said. "And now, it is time for you to recharge."
"Let go of me, you stupid, overbearing robotic nuisance!" Sam slammed his fists against Prowl's hold and clawed at the white paint.
"There is no need to throw a tantrum."
"A TANTRUM?!
Jazz finally roused himself from his seat on the floor, walking over to the struggling Sam. "Sweet spark, it's jus' a lil' recharge cycle. The berth is nice 'n comfy, and we c'n even play some tunes ta help ya sleep."
He reached a finger out, warm metal caressing Sam's cheek. Without thinking, Sam turned his head and snapped at the finger, fully prepared to risk a chipped tooth for the glory of biting Jazz.
Jazz pulled his finger away, and Prowl readjusted his grip to force Sam's head up and keep his teeth away from any plating. "The newspark is past the point of personal emotional self-regulation. Further steps are needed. Jazz, if you will?"
"I gotcha, Prowler," Jazz said. He reached over to the bed, grabbed one of the many blankets, and unfurled it with a dramatic snap.
Dread seized Sam as Jazz approached with the stretched-out blanket, like a dog catcher attempting to net a runaway pet.
"What are you doing!?" Sam demanded as Jazz paced closer. His flailing upped in intensity, slamming limbs against Prowl's unmoving hold. "Get away from me!"
"There's no need to fuss. Jus' gonna help ya get all comfy for recharge," Jazz cooed.
The blanket loomed large in Sam's vision, and then Jazz lunged. Sam screamed in outrage and terror as the blanket fell over him, fabric tightly wrapped around him. Jazz efficiently cocooned Sam in fabric, pinning Sam's arms to his sides and tucking his legs together.
Triumphantly, he took Sam from Prowl, cradling Sam close. "Alright then, one bundled bitty bot."
Sam snarled and thrashed, but the soft, fuzzy fabric was stronger than it appeared, easily keeping his fighting contained.
"Aww, look at you. So comfy and cute."
Sam released a stream of curses, informing Jazz and Prowl just how cute and happy he felt in this situation.
Prowl's wings twitched in disapproval. "Place him on the mattress."
"DON'T YOU DARE!" Sam roared. But his cries and struggles meant nothing as Jazz easily placed him on the bed, pulling the sheets up to tuck Sam in so he couldn't even roll away.
"You feel better after a recharge," Prowl said.
The lights flicked off abruptly, leaving only the Autobot's glowing, blue eyes—focused on him. Watching him.
"Have a nice recharge, baby boy."