Chapter Text
Sam used to think his college campus felt huge.
Sprawling. Busy. Alive.
Now it felt… claustrophobic.
The sitting area outside the lecture hall buzzed with chatter, but it all died for a split second the moment he stepped inside the doors — long enough for his stomach to tighten. Eyes flicked toward him. A girl elbowed her friend. Two guys paused in conversation. A third lifted his phone subtly toward him like he was photographing an animal at a zoo.
It had been three weeks since Egypt.
Three weeks since he’d watched ancient metal gods rise from the sand.
Three weeks since he’d died — literally died — and been brought back by something older than human history.
Three weeks since he’d saved Earth… again.
But here?
To these people?
He was just a headline that refused to disappear.
A conspiracy theory wearing jeans and a hoodie.
He pulled his hood lower, clutching his books tighter as he slipped into a seat near the back. He kept his gaze on the notebook in front of him. He didn’t need a mirror to know what he looked like: tired, pale, older than nineteen.
He didn’t sleep well anymore. Every time he closed his eyes, the memories dragged him under. He felt the sand first—dry, choking, swallowing him grain by grain as if the desert itself wanted to bury him alive. Then came the metallic shriek, the brutal grind of colliding steel that vibrated in his bones. He saw Optimus again, towering and unbreakable in that forest, until the moment he fell, struck down by Megatron while searching for him. The world had tilted then. All hope seemed lost.
The sunlight had blazed mercilessly over Egypt, turning the air into what felt like fire. Heat shimmered around him, coating his skin. And the blood—god, he remembered the blood—hot and sticky, filling his mouth with the taste of iron as everything faded.
He remembered dying. He felt the heat first—scorching, suffocating, crawling up his spine like fire licking dry wood. Then came the cold, an unnatural plunge that stole the air from his chest and replaced it with a hollow ache. His limbs grew distant, as if they belonged to someone else. His own breath rasped in his ears, thin and wet, each inhale sticking like broken glass. Time slowed. Sound warped. All that remained was the echo of his own pulse fading into silence.
Sam sank further into his seat, begging for time to move faster to the end of his current class. He avoided looking up other than at the clock. He already knew people would be staring at him.
The whispers had started the first day he came back.
“That’s him. The Egypt guy.”
“They said he was part of the alien thing. Government covered it up.”
“My cousin swears he saw him talking to the military.”
“He was acting weird in the dining hall last week.”
“No, dude, he hallucinated. PTSD or something.”
Sam kept his head down and pretended he didn’t hear. Pretended he didn’t feel every whisper like a shove. A rumor spread online that he’d been part of a terrorist incident. Another that he had been on experimental drugs during the attack. Another still that the government kept him under surveillance.
Every time he tried to walk to class, someone followed him.
Someone recorded him.
Someone whispered loudly enough for him to hear.
He wasn’t a person anymore.
He was an oddity.
A conspiracy to dissect.
Even the professors looked at him differently, that awkward mix of pity and discomfort.
And his inbox filled faster than he could delete messages.
Subject: MURDERER
Subject: TELL THE TRUTH
Subject: You ruined our city
Subject: DIE
And then the more personal ones:
“My brother died in Egypt. Did you see him? Did you watch him die?”
“You attention-seeking freak. You LIED about everything.”
“Are you with the terrorists? The government protecting you is suspicious.”
Some messages were paragraphs long.
Some were just slurs. His phone vibrated so constantly that he turned notifications off entirely. And still, the hateful words came through in waves. It was like the world wanted him punished for surviving.
He tried.
God, he tried.
He attended classes. He kept his head down. He sat in corners during labs.
He ate alone in the dining hall with headphones on, even though music couldn’t drown out the anxiety in his chest.
He called home, putting on the bravest voice he could.
“Yeah, Mom, I’m doing okay.”
“Yeah, Dad, I’m going to my classes.”
“Yeah, I’ll study harder.”
He didn’t tell them about the panic attacks.
The hypervigilance.
The dreams.
He didn’t tell them he ducked instinctively when cars go by or that his heart sputters whenever a loud noise went off. Or that he flinched when a car backfired. Or that he found himself scanning the skies and rooftops without realizing it. He didn’t tell them because he didn’t want them to worry.
Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed, duffel open, staring blankly at the floor, when a familiar voice broke the heavy silence.
“Hey… man.”
He looked up to see Leo, his roommate from before Egypt, who got dragged into the alien mess with him. Leo was standing awkwardly in the doorway. His backpack slung over one shoulder, messy hair falling into his eyes. “Im sorry man,” Leo said softly, stepping further inside. “About them. People just… don’t understand. I know… Egypt was crazy. I mean… I wasn’t the one who died and came back, but… I’m here. Whatever you need.”
Sam’s throat tightened. He wanted to speak, to say something, but nothing came. Instead, he just nodded, feeling the comfort in Leo’s presence — a lifeline of normalcy in a world that no longer made sense.
Leo crouched slightly to meet his gaze. “Have you talked to the Autobots, msn?”
Sam swallowed hard. He felt the tremor in his hands, the lingering panic of everything he’d seen in Egypt pressing against his chest. “No.” “Why not?” “I- I can’t. They’re busy… it’s not a big deal.” “Sam.” Leo put a hand in his shoulder. “Dude you’re not sleeping. You’re barely eating. You’re not fine. Maybe you should tell Bumblebee.” Sam shook his head, “don’t wanna bother them. They have a lot to deal with after Egypt man.” Leo shook his head. “I will tell him then. Or better yet, I’ll get Optimus-“ “No!” Sam stood up, snatching Leo’s phone from his hand. Leo gaped, “dude-“ “Don’t tell Optimus. Alright?” Leo sighed and held his hands up in surrender. “Fine. At least reach out to Bee?” Sam huffed. “Yeah. Okay.” Sam handed Leo’s phone back to him. And then, almost instinctively, he picked up his phone and searched for Bee’s name in his phone.
SAM: ‘hey Bee? You think you can you come get me from the school?’
Before he could second-guess himself, a reply came through.
BEE: ‘On my way. Two hours, max. Is everything alright?’
No hesitation. No questions. Just certainty.
Sam typed out ‘yes. Everything’s fine’ before he took in Leo’s look of disapproval. Sam’s hands shook and he deleted the text. He replied with a different answer.
SAM: ‘no.’
BEE: ‘I’ll be there soon, just hang on.’
Sam exhaled, a shaky breath that felt like it had been trapped inside him for days. He looked at Leo, who gave him a small, understanding nod.
“Take a breather. We’re off for classes for three weeks. See your parents. The Autobots. Get out of here for a while.”
“Yeah. Thanks Leo.”
So here he was. Riding passenger in Bumblebee’s alt mode, the familiar rumble of the engine vibrating through the seat beneath him. The leather smelled faintly of oil and something mechanical but comforting, like home. Sam gripped the edge of the seat, knuckles white, as the car’s headlights cut through the early evening haze.
The campus receded behind them, the buildings and banners shrinking into the distance. Streetlights flickered past in a blur, their warm glow bouncing off the car’s glossy yellow surface. For the first time in weeks, Sam felt the weight pressing on his chest loosen, just slightly.
He stole a glance at the steering wheel, watching as it moved slightly with every turn of the highway. The road stretched ahead, open and endless. The wind whipped at the windows, carrying with it the smells of asphalt and rain-damp grass. Sam’s thoughts swirled, chaotic and half-formed: his parents’ worried faces, the whispers and stares back at college, Mikaela’s heartbreak… and Egypt.
And yet, with every mile, every turn that took him farther from the life he could no longer bear, a strange peace settled over him. Here, in this vehicle, with this unlikely guardian at the wheel, the chaos of the world felt muted. The danger, the judgment, the guilt, they existed, yes, but at least for now, they were somewhere behind him.
He let his head rest against the window, eyes tracking the streaking lights, and allowed himself to breathe for the first time in weeks. The hum of Bee’s engine was a lullaby of safety. The world he’d been drowning in, the hatred, the fear, the memories; slipped, just a little, from his mind.