Author's Notes: REM stands for rapid eye movement, the state in sleep where dreams mostly occur. I never wrote the way(s) Sam died in his dreams - I leave that to your imagination. This story is un-betaread and unedited, so pardon me for all the grammar, typographical and/or spelling mistakes. "He" referred here most of the time is Sam, and italics may mean character thoughts or emphasized words, depending on the context. The Cybertonian way of "dreaming" described here is just speculation - mine, to be exact - so I also apologize in advanced for any inaccuracies. Advanced thank you to all who will read, and read and review. Enjoy.

Warning: PG for swearing, and implied violence in some scenes

Summary: In his dreams, things aren't the way they're supposed to be.

REM

In his dreams, things aren't the way they're supposed to be. Everything is twisted, cold, and bleak. Darkness pervades. The monster is alive, and it rules with an iron hand, literally, figuratively, over everything and everyone. There is no hope – only death.

In his dreams, he watches the world fade and burn from fires of a raging war that span countless millennia even before its wrath came down upon this world, upon us. He watches every one he had ever loved die, like a macabre video perpetually looping but with different characters every time. His parents were first to go, then his friends, and then Mikaela, his sweet, lovely Mikaela, and then, one by one, the Autobots. Ratchet first, because a medic is an army's lifeline. Ironhide was next, then Optimus Prime, and lastly, Bumblebee – he died trying to save him. Always trying to save him.

And when there was no one else left to kill, the monster finally went after him. His demise was deliberately delayed until the very last, for it wanted him to witness the end of the world with his own eyes, the dark beauty and splendor of the end of it all, so that he will beg to die and realize that for him, there is no salvation. He caused this by destroying the cube – witnessing the end of it all is the ultimate punishment for that, a mockery of what he once thought was an act of deliverance. His act. He didn't save the world, he never saved the world. He ended it.

In his dreams, he watches himself die over, and over, and over again.

He washed his face with running water from the bathroom sink. The cold splash of it was a welcome relief to his frayed nerves, but only temporary.

It was 3 am.

He looked himself in the bathroom mirror. Tired eyes gazed back. He'd been sweating, and it had nothing to do with Nevada's hot, humid weather. He looked like shit, and felt like it too.

The morbid visions plagued him every night. And every time, he'd wake up at 3 am and do this routine that it had become essential. A way to ward off his demons, even for just a while. There was only one thing he could do.

It was time to give up sleep. Impossible as it may seem, he was determined to.

He closed the sink faucet. The shrill, metallic sound it made echoed in the solemn, gloomy bathroom.

He was sick, and tired, and scared of revisiting his nightmares.

Bumblebee noticed it immediately. The lack of coordination, the dark circles underneath the eyes, frequent trips to places that sell that liquid brew called coffee – they were the most obvious signs. This continued for days, and days turned to weeks, and then there was the weight loss, the almost always slurred manner of speaking, the irritability, and lastly, the isolation. And yet, Sam never spoke of what was going on. Bumblebee decided it was time he interfere – as much as he respect Sam's privacy, the boy was wasting away slowly, and he'd be damned if he let it happen. He was Sam's guardian after all.

"Do you have any problems bothering you, Sam?" the Camaro's radio crackled, and the mech's accented voice came through as the last notes of a song died down. He and his charge were out in the lookout, watching the sunset. It was a Saturday, and they had just finished their customary weekend drive.

The boy in the passenger seat smiled weakly. "Nothing, Bee. All's good." He tapped the steering wheel for effect. "Thanks for the concern, buddy."

There was a pause, as if Bumblebee was trying to think of continuing his questioning of the boy.

"You haven't been sleeping lately." The Autobot finally declared. It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact. And then he added, "Don't lie to me, Sam. I know something's wrong." Surely, Sam wouldn't deprive himself of sleep – a necessity for every being – without reason.

It took Sam a while before answering. He didn't want to talk about his nightmares because even just talking about them brings back painful memories – memories that didn't happen, but could have. He couldn't talk about it. How would you tell someone you saw him die in your dreams countless times just trying to protect you? How would you tell someone you saw yourself die in your dreams, and live again the next night only to die once more? He could say he's suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but it's more than that. The human psyche has a cruel way of letting you know the limitless possibilities and turns your life could have taken for the worse. His nightmares terrified him. Terrified him too much, because he knew that they could happen.

"Do Cybertronians dream?" Sam asked instead. Maybe he could explain everything to Bumblebee from there.

Only static can be heard from the radio as Bumblebee considered the question. Sam got the impression that the Autobot was consulting more than one source on the Internet about the matter. After a minute or so, Bumblebee replied. "Not in the human manner of dreaming that you speak of, if that's what you mean."

Sam tilted his head to the side and brought a hand to his chin as if thinking – a gesture that Bumblebee had deciphered, and learned, meant the boy was asking for a more detailed explanation.

"Human dreaming is complex, psychological and...abstract." Bumblebee began. "For Cybertronians, there is no such thing. We 'dream' in simple and concrete terms. During our recharge cycle, what 'plays' in our minds are images and flashbacks of what happened since the last time we went into recharge. Nothing as psychological or abstract as emotions are involved. Half the time, we do not even 'dream' – we just fall into a level of consciousness humans would term a 'deep sleep', or a state of dreamless slumber."

"So it's like watching a movie or a slideshow, without you as the viewer being emotionally involved? And half the time the videos or the slides are just…blank?" Sam asked, wanting to make sure he got the idea right. He envied the Cybertronians, if that was the case. He would give anything for a night of peaceful sleep.

"That's a good analogy, I suppose. Yes." Bumblebee replied. But then he zeroed in on the real question. "Why the sudden interest in Cybertonian method of 'dreaming', or dreams in general, for that matter, Sam? Are you having trouble sleeping?"

Sam looked at the cliffs just at the edge of the lookout. The sun cast a reddish orange light that reflected off the ragged rocks, making the whole place appear like a rusty, foreign terrain – it reminded Sam of pictures of Mars. In a few more minutes, the sun would be completely out of the sky, and the night will consume everything. Sam shivered unconsciously and involuntarily even as he placed his arms around himself in a tight, comforting embrace. Bumblebee closed the open car windows in response.

"Sam…?"

Sam simply shook his head, to clear himself of his thoughts, and to get rid of the feeling of dread that was slowly snaking its way into his soul. He placed a hand on the steering wheel, and another on the dashboard. "Let's go home, Bee. It'll be dark soon."

Bumblebee complied without any more questions, but he kept all his attention on Sam. The boy defiantly tried to hide his fear, but Bumblebee can sense it – it was written all over the way Sam kept his silence, the way he looked into the night with a secret trepidation, and the way he breathed, as if it was going to be his last.

In his dream, he was running. Just like in Mission City, when he had the all spark, and a goal – running for the world, and not merely for survival. But he had no goal now, no world to protect because the world is beyond saving.

In his dream, the monster was chasing after him. Just like in Mission City – except there was no one to help him now, no cube to use as defense, nothing – just him and the phantom Megatron chasing him through endless wastelands of former cities, cities destroyed by nuclear and alien weaponry.

In his dream, Megatron corners him into a cliff – a very familiar place. It was the lookout, he realized.

"Dead end, fleshling." The monster utters, malicious and brimming with ill intent and evil satisfaction. The last thing Sam sees before he falls off the cliff is the monster's eyes glowing bright red.

And as Sam tumbles down into the abyss, into his death, he lets out a scream.

"SAM!"

It was Bumblebee's voice – frantic, and equally laden with terror as Sam's, when the boy had awoken suddenly and screamed inside the his cab. They were parked in the shoulder of a road on the way back to the Witwicky's.

Bumblebee had sensed the boy's internal systems peak just before he drifted into a fitful sleep. He knew then that Sam was in the grip of a nightmare – stuck in a realm where he could not follow, and keep the boy safe from. There were limits to his guardian duties, after all. But that didn't stop the Autobot from worrying, from being concerned. "Sam? Are you all right?"

Sam's voice was weak, almost broken, when he spoke. "Bumblebee…?" he inquired tentatively, not sure where he was, or who had just talked to him. And then it dawned on him. He had fallen asleep – only for a short time, but enough for him to see himself die, again. Shit. He ran a hand along his head in an agitated gesture, before cradling his head on his hands altogether. "Shit."

There was a moment of tense silence, a moment wherein Bumblebee let Sam compose himself. And Sam tried, he honestly did, but it wasn't that easy. It isn't that easy, to see yourself and all your loved ones die every night. Even if it happened only in dreams, that doesn't make it easy.

"I just. I can't take this anymore." Sam uttered, his head still cradled in his hands, voice barely audible. "I just can't." There was a pitiful finality in that last phrase, almost as if he'd given up all hope. And maybe he had.

"Sam? What are you talking about…?" his guardian asked, almost afraid to find out what his charge meant.

"Megatron's haunting me, every night, in my dreams." Sam began. It was painful to talk about, memories of his dreams rushing back to the surface of his consciousness, but he tried. It was the only way to purge the devil out of his system, out of his life, out of his soul. "I'm afraid to close my eyes, because I know I'll see him, and then my worst nightmare will come true. He killed you in my dreams, Bee. He killed all of you whom I love and care about. He killed the world. He killed me. He always killed me last so I would have to witness all of you dying, and suffer more knowing I can't do anything about it. And it scares me because it could have happened, it could happen and…it's all my fault. Everyone died, and the world ended, and it's all my fault." Sam's voice finally broke as he repeated,"It's all my fault."

And this time, Sam let the tears flow freely even as he leaned back on the Camaro's driver seat and closed his eyes. Bumblebee, not really knowing what to say, comforted his charge, his friend, in the only way he knew how – by being the calm, reassuring presence that he is, listening to Sam's sighs and silent tears as the boy poured out his heart to him, and his deepest, darkest fears.

It was past dinner time when they arrived at the Witwicky's. Sam was tired and distant, yet resolute, as if he was preparing himself for some kind of battle. As Sam stepped out of the car, Bumblebee offered his advice.

"Face him, Sam. If you let him control you, even in dreams, then you wouldn't be able to really live at all."

It was 3 am.

He looked himself in the bathroom mirror. He had lost a lot of weight for the past weeks. He was tired and sore, and his eyes were framed by dark circles, and bloodshot from lack of sleep. He looked like shit, felt like it too. He can't go on like this – skipping sleep and living a half-life, all to avoid a nightmare that keeps coming back anyway. He'd die – really die, if this goes on, and he knew it.

There was only one thing he could do about this now.

Sam twisted the sink faucet, and splashed his face with the cold, running water. He reached for the medicine cabinet – his reflection disappeared as the bathroom mirror opened to a supply of various over-the-counter medicines and a first aid kit – and took out a couple of sleeping pills. He popped them into his mouth like candy, and downed them with water coming from the sink. He closed the sink faucet, ignoring the high-pitched, squeaky sound it made in the process. He closed the medicine cabinet, and he could see his reflection again. Sam actually smiled.

C'mon, you son of a bitch. I'm ready for you.

In his dream, he was standing in the middle of what was once Mission City. He held the cube in his arms, just like what he did in the Mission City outside this dark and perverted dreamworld. But he wasn't running. He had enough of running. He knew now that the only way to stop this, to end this all, is for him to stand his ground.

The monster stepped out of the shadows. "Ready to beg for mercy, boy?", it sneered.

"It's over, Megatron." Samuel James Witwicky simply replied. And then, he implored the cube with everything he's got, with everything he is, and it glowed – the white light coming from it warm and soothing, so much like the first light of a new day.

"It all ends here."

The cube in Sam's hands pulsed, and everything was engulfed in a warm, blinding light.

In his dream, there was a quiet explosion – like a gentle wave rippling through space and time, yet the impact was enough to change everything. Enough to change worlds.

In his dream, he dies one last time, and the monster – Megatron – dies with him.

It was a quarter past five in the morning when Bumblebee was awoken from his recharge by a gentle, warm hand resting on the hood of his alternate mode. Immediately, his systems kicked into full gear.

Sam.

The car stereo crackled with static as Bumblebee looked for a proper morning greeting.

"Good morning starshine, the Earth says hello."

Sam grinned. "Good morning too, Bee." He then pulled open the driver's door, and settled himself in the driver's seat of the Camaro comfortably. "Let's go for a drive. I want to see the sun rise – I don't think I'll be seeing it again any time soon."

Bumblebee flashed his headlights twice in acknowledgement.
Then, they drove off to the east, leaving nothing but dust trails behind.

-Fin-

Credits: Song lyrics taken from Good Morning Starshine, sung by Oliver, also from the musical Hair.