A/N:

It's sort of weird that a movie like Transformers Dark of the Moon made me sad. But still, it's a sad robot movie. Anyone shed a tear for the Iron Giant? Anyone? Hmm?

I.

A man's love for his car isn't anything unusual; hot damn he'd give up his wife, kids and future for his shiny hunk of metal. It's not like I have any of those things, particularly the last one, but you get what I mean. My name is Sam and my car love is a little bit different.

I've been through a lot of hell in the last four years with my car — alien robot car from a place called Cybertron to be precise, is named Bumblebee. I call him Bee, and while I'm not real sure if he likes it or not it makes up for the alliteration mouthful that is his name.

So why is my car love different then any other guy's?

Simple, my car is my friend.

Looking back on our last big adventure together I remember watching from the top of the metal structure surrounding the rocket Bee boarded as it roared to life — my involvement didn't count at all, so there was nothing I could do; smoke billowed out in every direction.

My mind right now is turning to the memory of a Decepticon.

"Sam…"

The rocket is pulsating with earth-quaking energy.

I can hear Bee's voice as I'm watching him being held in place by a large hand.

"You will always be my friend." His voice is clear, even if his vocal receptors are shaky.

By now the large metal thingys holding the rocket in place are being pulled away.

As the smoke fills my senses, the dust from rubble makes me terribly uncomfortable.

When the rocket reaches the lower stratosphere it's still not sinking in that he's leaving.

Bee's my friend, he'll always be my friend.

So, why was there any need to say that?

A pair of blue eyes encased in a yellow face look up.

It's Bee… it's Bumblebee! He knows I'm watching this.

Something — I don't know what, I can't comprehend — smashes into the rocket.

I yell out something resembling the words, "We've got to help him!" but I'm pulled back.

There are multiple attacks that hit the rocket at once, I suddenly realize.

The inability to save my friend causes me grief. Bee is going to die.

A single tear rolls down my cheek.

In the present day I open my eyes and realize I'm alone. Well, except for the car I sleep in.

Tomorrow I think I'll use a bottle of Turtle Wax on him.

The radio suddenly turns on and plays 'Right Here Waiting' by Richard Marx.

I smile. Okay, two Turtle Waxes.

"Good to have you home Bee."

The End.

~ Lavenderpaw ~