Warning(s): Mild violence, spoilers
Status: One-shot, complete
Summary: (2007 Movie Verse) Sometimes we need a reminder and a little comfort to know that we're alive.
Notes: First Transformers fic with scenes taken directly from memory, so any discrepancies with the movie and its characters are to be blamed on my faulty brain. From the moment Shia LaBeouf's character stepped foot in that rusted version of Bumblebee I knew their friendship would entrap my interest, as proven by this story. Hopefully I managed to capture a good bit of, as well as the feel put off by the movie – serious under extreme circumstances, otherwise lighthearted and funny. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers; wish I did like everybody else. They should put TF in stock, then I'd buy it all!
The world was in chaos; it was burning and wild and slowing down, down, down – not slow enough – until his ears were filled with every noise there was. He was gripped by worry, fear, and anguish, not to mention anger. His vision was blurred by it, the edges coated in red and burning from the sweat and grime sliding down his forehead.
It was too much for him to take in at once, being pulled and pushed in all directions, so he tried to focus. If he could concentrate on just one thing, then matters just had to improve – they had to. So he did, and wished he hadn't. What his eyes landed on was a horrible vision to behold, but now that it was in his sight he couldn't look away, as though he were watching a car wreck take place (the irony in this didn't escape him).
Bumblebee was twisting, turning, thrashing as chains enveloped him, hooks piercing his yellow armor and holding on tight. The little Autobot was fighting in panic as he was quickly surrounded. Long metallic fingers grappled across the cement ground, trying to literally crawl his way towards him. Worse were the noises – the hiss of the cold vapors being spat at him, the desperate clicks and static of his radio crying out, men yelling, chopper blades thrumming overhead, the clank of strong restraints tying him down like an animal.
None of it was right – this was all wrong! The police, the F.B.I, Sector 7, whoever they were; they didn't know what they were doing. The man holding him thought he was protecting him, dragging him away from the wreckage and havoc going on all around in the name of human duty, when all along he'd been safe. He had to tell them.
"Stop! He's not going to hurt you!"
His cries fell on deaf ears. When nothing changed, he retaliated, fought as hard as his friend was fighting right now. Wrenching his arm free with a newfound strength he didn't know he possessed, he ran, feet stomping in long strides. His first obstacle, one of the men handling some strange freezing gun, was shoved aside. Until then, he hadn't known he had it in him – even when he was facing jocks three times his size or taking on fellow classmates, he never physically threatened them. However, something had changed in him, a fierceness taking hold that had him ready to take on every offender – the whole world if need be – to ensure that his guardian would be okay.
He was tackled from the side, the sudden pressure that toppled him bringing back bad memories of football tryouts as he slammed, left shoulder first, into the unforgiving ground. Whoever it was, they were taller, stronger, and obviously trained for this sort of event, so he never stood a chance. He could only lie there, useless and helpless, as Bumblebee battled for his wellbeing.
For a split second that stretched on forever, the Autobot's optics caught his eyes. Emotions he didn't think possible resided there, ones mirroring his own to some degree, including fear. But it was not a fear of the future, of the experiments surely to come or possible dismemberment in the name of science – he was worried about him, Sam Witwicky, the one he'd sworn to protect. If the transformerwere taken away, who would watch over him then? Just because the government had custody of him didn't mean the Decepticons wouldn't continue to hunt him.
The bright blue lights he stared into dimmed, breaking their shared moment of understanding as he was hauled up off the ground and the other went offline, his systems locked and unable to handle the sudden onslaught of so many against him.
Was he dead? Had they killed him? OH GOD NO!
"OH GOD NO!"
Sitting up in a tangle of sheets, limbs, and Mojo, Sam toppled over the edge of his mattress, landing with a harsh thump on the floor. For the time being, he remained there, panting up a storm and aching from a rug burn on his knee, not to mention from landing on top of his collection of…whatever. To make matters worse, his mom's dog jumped on his back, sniffing his head as if in search of injuries. Stupid dog.
Groaning, he tilted back slowly until he was in a sitting position, wiping a shaking hand across his face out of habit, which was quickly made wet again by a couple of quick, sloppy kisses from a certain canine with painkiller breath.
"Oh quit it, would you? I'm alive, see?" he muttered, picking Mojo up and setting him aside.
Scowling down at the bane of his existence, the thin sheets wrapped around his legs and waist – chains and hooks, reminding him of fishing line and a lure ensnaring a mindless bass – he set about pulling himself out. Once free, he threw them on the bed, padding over to the bedroom window that looked out over the expanse of the backyard. A streetlight was on, shining down on a used, four-thousand-dollar, oldies Camaro sitting innocently by the garage.
Releasing a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, he slumped against the window frame. His friend was functioning and operational, not being electrocuted or cryogenically frozen in some underground facility that 'doesn't exist.'
But, ya know, just to be absolutely sure…
Heading in search of a pair of pants that were relatively clean, he groped around the floor, finding a pair of jeans tucked under his bed amongst the dust bunnies. A swift sniff proved that it hadn't been there long enough to produce free-thinking fungi or a toxic odor, so he stuffed them on, padding quietly towards his door…through the hallway…down the stairs…around to the kitchen…and finally, to the back doors. Using his natural-born gift of the ninja, he crept to the outside, moving to approach where he'd last seen his disguised guardian and coming up short.
He'd vanished! Startled, he jogged partially on the grass before remembering his father's direct orders to walk on his recently renewed path. Scanning the premises, he came up with no signs of his vehicle. Sam knew for a fact it couldn't be stolen, so then-
Turning his attention to the end of the driveway, he relaxed, a smile crossing his features as he took in the brand spanking new 2008 Chevrolet Camaro idling near the exit. Walking over to the driver's side door – which swung open on its own upon his approach – he slid inside, leaning back in the comfortable leather-bound seats.
"Hey, buddy. Ya mind going for a spin?"
He received a simple reply in the form of the gearstick shifting into reverse, and then into first. In the meantime, the windows began to roll down, letting in some much needed fresh air, and the radio fiddled around on its own until a light rock station was picked up. Absently, the brunet reached up to grasp the wheel for appearance's sake as they left the confines of his neighborhood and headed towards the nearest highway out of there.
The same one where all hell broke loose. Abandonment, despair, failure.
Bumblebee suddenly sped up, the sounds of the radio dial spinning rapidly drawing his attention away from his thoughts to what was happening about him.
Life is funny, life's a mess
Sometimes a curse, sometimes a blessing
Don't worry 'bout a thing, don't worry 'bout it
Life gets sticky, life can bruise
Sometimes you win sometimes you're losing
No matter what it brings
Don't worry 'bout a thing
Sam couldn't help it; he laughed. Although the Autobot had regained the use of his voice capacitor and was quite friendly with it, he still had a way with acting rather than talking.
We all got a little junk in the trunk
And when you're feelin' good as sunk
Remember, everything will be just fine
If I laugh at yours then you'll laugh at mine
"Alright, I get it already," he chuckled, giving the steering wheel a reassuring squeeze to let the other know he meant it. "Now turn that country crap off and give me some of the good stuff."
Rock music once again reigned supreme as the speakers flooded his senses. His body melted back further in his seat, the combination of the feel of the pedals pumping of their own accord under his feet, the soft vibration emitting from the engine and the overall sensation of being encased by living sheet metal had him slowly nodding off. By the time he realized they had traveled off of well-kept state roads and onto dusty, curved gravel that moved with the mountainous landscape rather than against it, he only had enough energy to tiredly grin and give a soft murmur of thanks.
When Bumblebee made it to the uppermost peak that looked over the city and its accompanying sunrise, Sam Witwicky was fast asleep, dreaming contently.
A/N: Song is SHeDAISY's Don't Worry 'Bout A Thing, and 'country crap' was not intended to offend any who appreciate said genre. I like some myself, and this song in particular I found at random while googling 'don't worry song lyrics' and have come to enjoy it very much. Give it a listen if you can!