Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, Hasbro does. Credit for the lyrics used are found at the bottom of the page.

Sam stared at the beat '75 yellow Camaro, nestled between an equally yellow Volkswagen Beetle and an undistinguishable car that looked like it was more rust than vehicle. He ignored Bolivia's spiel about his business and walked over slowly, transfixed. The body was in fair condition considering its age, though the tires were looking a little bare and the engine was probably shot. The twin black racing stripes along the top of the car would've looked cheesy on any other model, but on this car, this classic, they fit. Sam opened the driver's door without a problem and slid into the seat, hands running along unblemished leather. His lungs tightened.

This car would be his.


Sam groaned as his alarm went off and lazily swung his arm over to smack the snooze button for an extra ten minutes. He snuggled down into his pillow and was just about to fall asleep again when the sound of tiny nails on hardwood echoed into his room. A second later, muffled paws were right next to his bed and Sam waited with baited breath.

Three, two…

There was a small grunt and Sam twisted quickly to catch Mojo just as the chihuahua was about to land on the small of his back. Mojo wiggled in his grip eagerly, paws kicking in the air. "Hey there, pill popper. Is it time to get up yet?" He lowered Mojo onto his chest and the tiny dog wasted no time in crawling up to his face to give him a few happy licks on the chin. Sam squawked and covered Mojo's face with a gentle hand. "Mojo quit it!"

The front door creaked open and slammed closed as his father headed off to work. Mojo's head perked up and he let out a tiny bark before leaping off of the teen's bed and scrambling down the hall toward the stairs. Sam's mother let out a surprised yell and he figured the chihuahua had managed to get right in her path again. Sam snickered and yelled down to her. "If you break his foot again, you get to take him to the vet this time!"

"Oh quiet, you! Get ready for school!"

Sam muttered and flicked his alarm off as he pulled himself out of bed and stumbled into his bathroom. After a quick shower and a lame attempt at taming his short mop of curls, the teen grabbed his battered back pack and traipsed down to the kitchen. His mother was already dressed for garden work and smiled at him as she pulled a roast out of the refrigerator. "Sam, be a dear and grab the roaster pan out of the cupboard above the oven. Your father forgot to take it down for me before he left."

Sam set his bag down and moved to help her. "Not like he could get it any better than you. You're almost taller than him." His mom snickered and whapped him on the shoulder.

"You be nice. Get going to school. If I get another call from that principal of yours, your father is going to ground you."

"No he won't. He never does." Sam dodged his mom's second swipe and danced out the front door, bag slung over one shoulder. "See you later, mom! And stop giving Mojo bling!"

Sam whistled lightly as he walked over to his car and stopped dead. What the hell… There were huge splashes of mud along the sides of the bright yellow Camaro, thick chunks of it stuck in the wheels and the windshield was streaked with it. Sam's mind raced as he thought up a good explanation for the new look and nearly had a heart attack as the car's radio burst to life and stations were browsed rapidly.

"When I wash my car, you know it makes me feel so good. I feel so good…"

The teen scrambled back onto the porch and held his bag in front of him like a shield. "Jesus Christ, I thought that was a dream!" The car jerked forward an inch and popped open the driver's door, radio still playing those same lyrics over and over again. Sam gulped and hesitantly walked over to the Camaro, keys hanging uselessly in his hand. He remembered what happened last night. He and the car (who could apparently operate on its own) had gone out joy riding most of the night, though the car was probably the only one enjoying the excursion.

"Umm, Bumblebee, right?" The Camaro honked gently in agreement and opened the door wider in invitation. "Look, I know you probably want a wash, I know I would, looking like that, but if we take the time to head to the nearest place, I'm going to be late for school. My dad might actually ground me if he gets another call. How about I take you right after classes today?" Bumblebee beeped in response, a sound that was neither negative nor positive and jiggled the door again. Sam sighed and gingerly eased himself into the front seat, uneasy about sitting in an obviously possessed car.

The ride to the high school was relatively quiet. Bumblebee played a few songs that expressed his desire to be clean, but otherwise kept silent, almost as if he could feel Sam's uneasiness. The pair gained quite a bit of attention as they rolled into the school's parking lot. Trent and his group of jocks and cheerleaders pointed and laughed while others stared.

Sam got out of the Camaro and patted the filthy door before making a beeline for the front door. He almost made it to his first class when Mickaela materialized out of nowhere like some sort of crazy-sexy ninja, arms crossed and an 'I'm-annoyed-with-you-but-concerned-as-well' look on her face.

"Hey Sam."

"Uh, hey, um, Mickaela. How are you this fine morning?"

"Oh, I'm just fine, never mind the fact that I got a call before the ass-crack of dawn even appeared. What happened last night?"

Sam's eyes darted back and forth as he tried to think up an excuse for hanging up on her. "Yeah, my phone went dead. I keep forgetting to charge that damned thing. Sorry about that."

"I didn't mean that, Sam. What's up with you and the Devil!Car?"

"Oh, that. Um, well, I realized that leaving my car at the café was a dream and I had just woken up confused. I'm not exactly the most coherent person when I first wake up, no matter what time it is."

Mickaela didn't really look like she bought that excuse, but before she could respond the first warning bell went off and the two teens had to part for their first classes of the day. Sam let out a sigh of relief and headed into the classroom. He high-fived Miles as he took the seat directly behind his friend and leaned forward to poke the other boy in the back.

"Miles, I got something to tell you at lunch today."

The other teen turned around and eyed him. "Am I going to have to be around that EJC?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "We can ditch Mickaela, alright? Just stop calling her that, she's not that bad."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. So what's up with your car, man? I heard a few people in the hall saying it looked like you took it through a ditch."

"That's part of what I have to tell you later."

The final bell for class rang and students filtered into their seats as the teacher walked in. "Alright class, turn to page three forty-five. Today we're talking about standard deviations." The class groaned as one as everyone dug out their text books.


"So what's up man?"

Sam wiped his slightly sweaty palms on his jeans, hesitating. "If I tell you, promise not to think I'm nuts?" Miles' eyebrows cocked in confusion.

"No, man. Unless I should. You haven't been doing drugs, have you?"

"No! No drugs." Sam sighed and leaned against the air vent that supplied the school's air conditioning system. Miles and he were favorites of the janitors who looked the other way when the two teens headed up to the roof; either to skip a class or just to hang out during lunch. "My car is haunted."

Miles stared for a few seconds before laughing. "Yeah, right. Seriously man, what's going on?"

"I'm not kidding. I don't remember what happened in Mission City, but for whatever reason the government gave me that replacement Camaro, I wish they'd just take it back. I left it parked outside the café downtown and it drove itself home, Miles. It woke me up when it pulled into the driveway. And then, it must have noticed me at the window because it started honking and blaring its headlights at me. It spoke to me through the radio, too. Used lyrics from all sorts of songs." Sam could see that Miles wasn't really buying the story and he could just imagine that his friend was wondering if maybe he had started taking drugs. "I'm not on drugs!"

"Alright, alright. So let's say I believe you. Why would a concept Camaro be haunted? It hasn't even been mass produced yet. Therefore, no people dying in horrible crashes and being stuck inside it yet."

Sam hesitated. He wasn't really religious, and Miles was the exact opposite of devout, but he really wondered if maybe the Camaro was possessed, and not just in the casual sense of some other force taking control of it, but…"I think the Devil is inside my car."

Miles gave him a blank look. "The Devil."


"And what business would the Devil have with you that he'd need your Camaro for?"

"I don't know. So far the car's only tried to get me to trust it. It told me its name was Bumblebee."

Miles cocked an eyebrow.


"Uh huh. So, the Devil has taken over your Camaro, who's name is Bumblebee, and he's trying to get your trust for some reason." Sam felt his face heat. The whole idea was pretty farfetched.

"Okay, so maybe it isn't possessed by the Devil, but something is definitely going on with my Camaro."

"Maybe it's a secret weapon the government's been designing."

Sam paled, but shook his head. "Then why would they give it to me?"

"Something the Japanese cooked up without anyone knowing?"

"That sounds plausible. They're way advanced in robotics." Sam froze. "You don't think it'll turn into a robot, do you?" He shook his head. "No, the Japanese are good, but not that good."

Miles lit up. Sam felt a twinge of dread. An excited Miles was something to worry about. "Maybe it's an alien robot-car! Dude, let's sneak out to the Look Out and try to talk to it! It might have friends!"

Sam watched his friend bounce around on the graveled roof. "I doubt it's an alien robot-car. Why would it be with me?"

"To blend in? People would notice if a giant robot was sitting in your backyard."

"But why me?"

"Duh, if he hung around with government workers, he might get caught. Then it's Area 51 for him. You're just some nobody-kid. Come on, let's ditch and go talk to him!" The other teen dashed down the service stairs into the school, leaving Sam behind in a metaphorical cloud of dust.

"Dammit. Why do I have such a geeky friend? Sure, tell the sci-fi nut your car can operate itself. He'll understand. Frick." Sam closed the trap door behind him as he descended back into the school and dodged around his classmates as he headed out to the waiting Miles and his Camaro from Hell.

Songs in order of appearance are:

Wash My Car by Paul Gilbert

Wow, I wasn't planning on having a second chapter out this soon. This plot bunny is a hard biter. Not much Bumblebee action in this chapter, but he'll play a bigger part in the next one.

Again, con-crit is welcomed.