(I told you I'd come up with a new story! Well, here it is. It'll probably have the same language as GIBTH, and probably close to the same content, though I don't really know. Yes, Ironhide is going to live in this one, because I'll come up with somethin' funky like I usually do. Anyways, One In The Same doesn't really have much moral too it. Well, okay, it does, but you'll have to discern that for yourself.

Anyways, enjoy. I don't really know how this is gonna turn out, but if its horrible or stupid, I'll probably try again. If you start to notice, I tend to like things ether by Ford Or GMC.

My apologies for any incorrect information through out the story. I am not a mechanic, and anything that's on here is from the makeshift ways that my Grandpa's had me help him in repairing the tractor any MY jimmy.


I let out a frustrated noise as I looked at my car, a faded ebony GMC Jimmy, and ran my hand over my hair. The long frizzy hair, looking something akin to the red-brown bush of a main-coons tail, tangled around my fingers, and I let out a muted curse, aware of my passengers peering out at me from the tinted windows. Looking up to the streetlights that illuminated the black street, shining off the windows at me, I once again cursed softly. The streets of Mission City, even repaired from all the damage done when I was in high school, were daunting, as if something seemed to haunt this place. The daunting feeling only made it seem darker out, and that was the last thing I needed when I had to change my damn car's blown tire.

Leaning in the rolled down drivers side window, I put a half bit smile on my face as I looked at my cargo, depending on me to get them to my home. "Hey, kiddos. It looks like something popped the tire, so I'll have to change it otherwise we're not going anywhere tonight. Skyler, can you hand me the jack, please? Be careful; its heavy. Hally, I need you to unbuckle and reach under the passengers side seat and hand my toolbox. It has my equipment in it."

Skyler said not a word, but silently slipped back to grab the jack, her blond hair hanging limply, as if mirroring her mood. Skyler hadn't said a word since the Chicago disaster ten days ago, when I became the legal guardian of my cousins. My mother couldn't be a legal caregiver anymore; she was permanently crippled and in a wheel chair, being taken care of by her second husband and some maids in one of New York, New York's finest residences. Skyler, nonetheless, was quieter then I had ever heard a six year old; usually you can't get them to shut up. This one… you can't get her to talk anymore. Hally's quieter too, but she still speaks sometimes. Grief, I suppose, can make even the youngest of us all cry. Hally gave me a shy smile as she dug around for my toolbox, the gentle red color of her hair bounced in the pigtails they had been set in.

I leaned out the window again and sighed, propping my chin up on top of the car. I needed my flat-head screwdriver to unbolt the spare tire from the back, the protection that would help lessen the damage if we were ever rear-ended. I had an epiphany and leaned my height back into the window. Skylar was just dumping the jack onto the seat, her soft face screwed up at the weight of it. "Hey, Sky, can you hand me the safety cones back there? The cones are bright orange; you can't miss them." She hefted one up to show my, arching a blond brow at me. Her soft green eyes were warm; even though it was obvious she wanted to cry. "That's them. There should be eight of them." She handed me them, and then wordlessly went back to hefting the jack over the seat.

Trotting down the road in front of the car, I put out my safety cones so folks could see us better; my caution lights don't work, and then did the same to the back. When I got back to the window, Hally was back cuddled up to her sister. I leaned in the window and fetched my stuff, the jack and toolbox, and then knelt to deposit them on the cement. Fishing out my tools, I then went back to get the tire. Rolling the round object back to my starting spot, I took out my Mag light, and then set it balanced on top of the box so it would shine where I needed it.

As I set to jacking up the cark, stuffing a block from my toolbox behind one of my back tires so that the jimmy didn't roll down and crush me flatter then a pancake, Hally poked her head out the window, the sleeves of her long sleeve shirt keeping her arms warm in the cold air. "Torrie?" She called my name, her voice soft and tentative. "Torrie? I'm hungry."

I paused in my jacking up the car, and then sighed softly. "Alright Hal. I don't have any money on me," or in my bank for that matter, "and there's no stores open. There should be a few packages of Jerky in the glove box though, and few bottles of water. Share with your sister, and its all yours."

Hally gave me another smile, her blue eyes just barely visible in the light from inside the car's cab. "Okay. Thanks Torrie. Do you want a bottle of water?"

I flashed her a tired half grin as I resumed cranking the jack up farther. "Nah, honey, its fine. If I get thirsty, I'll go dig out the Pepsi from under my seat."

"Okay…" As she ducked her head back in, presumably to get the munches from the glove box, I set myself down to see if the jack was high enough to push my self under to un-lodge anything that might have popped the tire, and so I could change it easier.

I fit just fine, and I set to changing out the tire rather fast. I've been mudding in this car more times then the number of years I've been alive, which is twenty four, and for every two times I've been mudding, I've blown a tire. Being a mechanic, owning my own shop and working my own hours, gives me free time to do really whatever the hell I want, so long as I get the job done. In record time, for me at least anyways, I had the bad tire off, and was starting to put on the new one.

Something metal fell out from beneath one of my shocks, and landed smack dab in the middle of my forehead. It wasn't sharp enough to hurt me much, but it did draw blood and probably leave a bruise in the middle of my noggin. The feel of it against my skin made me make a garbled sound at first, the metal hot and then cold, then hot again, probably my mind playing tricks on me though, and then I couldn't help but let out a child friendly curse. "Son of a mother truckers butt-crusty! What the hell was that?" I scooted out and set to searching for the offending item, one hand pressed to my forehead to soothe the throbbing starting in the middle of my face.

"Torrie?" I glanced up to see Skyler and Hally looking at me. I wasn't sure who spoke, but Hally spoke when I looked up. "Are you okay?" Smart six year olds, very smart six year olds. "You're bleeding!" Hally gasped. "You have a booboo!"

I grimaced slightly, and nodded. "Whatever popped our tire decided to try and give me a good smack too; Go back to the back seat girls, I'm fine."

Hally let off a small noise. "But you're bleeding…"

"Really, I'm fine." I said. I looked at Skyler, who was reaching a hand down to me. Sighing, I brought up the hand that wasn't clasping my forehead and wiped it on my shirt that was visible above the tied arms of my jumpsuit before grasping her hand. "Its alright, sweet things. I promise I'm fine; just a goose egg, alright?"

Skyler nodded silently and tugged her sister back, where I heard them resume snacking on the jerky.

I sighed and rubbed my head again, pulling my hand away to see the bleeding had stopped. I grunted and resumed my search, finding the piece of metal not far from where my head had been under the car. As my fingers brushed it, it shocked me, and I cursed again. "Fuck it all!" I snatched it anyways and pulled it out into the light of the mag. In the darkness, I couldn't really see all the details, only that it was strangely shaped, and seemed to have these symbol like grooves in it. The metal was dark, and one end was darker where my head had bled on it slightly. The only thing I could tell was that it was alien. Scowling, I tucked the metal shard, about the size of three of my fingers put together, into one of the chest pockets of my half zipped blue mechanics jumpsuit. Looks like the street repairmen hadn't gotten all the left over parts from the stupid alien war. This was probably a piece of some of their armor.

My heart throbbed when the thought of them brought to mind my cousins, and the fact that we had just lost a big chunk of my family. My uncle Scott and aunt Sara had been lost in the god damned alien fight in Chicago; if it hadn't been for the fact that my cousins had been on a field trip with their kindergarten class to a farm far outside the city, I would have lost them too. Anger scalded my insides, and fury took over, willing away any tears I wanted to grieve, or any screams I wanted to scream. I had to stay strong for my cousins, because there was no one else who could do it. My mother would be a mess, and my stepfather's an ass who probably thinks too high and mighty of himself and his job to care that he just lost his in-laws.

I wish those goddamned monsters had never fucking landed here; they ruined people's lives, even if they saved our world. My Mama taught me to accept all those different then our selves, for we are one in the same. But these… creatures have only brought misery to my family and me. For all I care, they could get sent to the smelter and be used as welding materials on the buildings that have to be repaired. My lip curled, and then I let my head drop against my car's fender, briefly letting myself grieve, before tucking it away behind me for later.

I would keep the piece as a rearview mirror decoration, so I would always carry around a piece of those bastards with me; something I could physically blame for all the troubles and nightmares my cousins would no doubt be having.

My head ached again due to the bang on the fender I gave it, grief and anger mixing together in a stomach churning mix, so I set to finishing re-attaching the spare tire. When the car was as good as new, no cars having passed us, I loaded up my tools and then fetched the cones. Lowering the car off the jack had been easy, as well as taking the block from behind the wheel, but when I loaded up the car, it had been the hardest thing ever to see my cousins huddled in the backseat. They were asleep, that much had been obvious by the drool on Hally's lower lip, but they were dreaming. Tears trickled from their eyes, and my mood darkened darker then the nighttime street outside.

Gently working around them, I wiggled everything in the back, the boxes that I had spent most of my paycheck on that held their bunk beds blocking up most of the space with their luggage taking up the rest, and then the tool-box under the seat. I took the jerky back and closed water bottles and set them in the seat before I started the car up and rolled out. I left my window down and the radio off, so I didn't wake them, and drove off my rage into the night.

It was a long drive home from the far side of Nevada to the Willamette valley; and even longer because I made it there before the sun began to rise. The wind kept me awake and thinking, as I dodged road kill, raccoons, opossums, the occasional loose sheep, and some cats on my way home.