From Junk to Treasure
By Snare-chan
Pairings: None
Ratings: K
Category(ies): General
Warning(s): None
Status: One-shot, complete
Summary: (2007 Movie Verse) Judy Witwicky's thoughts on Sam's car, from then to now.
Notes: Because Sam's mom needs some love, too! I actually intended to write a far lengthier version, but that one flopped like a dive boarding tuna, thus this tiny thing was born. I'll cover my writing incompetence by saying this was merely practice. Yesss…
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers; wish I did like everybody else. They should put TF in stock, then I'd buy it all!
When Mrs. Witwicky first caught sight of her son's recently purchased car, 'impressed' was about as far from her mind as possible. She'd thrown away better looking equipment and rotting produce than what her baby rolled up in. Rusted bits littered various parts of the exterior, or what was left of it at any rate, and the fact that it was a sports car – no matter how old – had her motherly paranoia kicking on. Flashes of racing at odd hours, the engine falling out while on the highway, and other gruesome possibilities promised to keep her up at night.
It only proceeded to get worse when she found out that her husband had actually gotten a deal on it, Ron refusing to pay about four-thousand bucks on a contraption that was going to deliver her child to school and everywhere else. He had assured her that it was a steal, in which she'd shot back that if he was referring to them being the ones who were robbed, then his judgment was at least still intact. That day both of her boys were fortunate she'd put away her planting shears moments before, because someone – or even something – would have undoubtedly encountered her wrath.
Although…after a couple weeks of getting used to the idea, it's not so bad. She hasn't the faintest when or how her thoughts concerning the vehicle began to change, but her views certainly aren't as harsh as they once were. Granted, it does help that Sam hasn't reported a single mishap due to the car's part – a fact she'll admit has surprised her to date – and how mature her little boy has been acting. Going out and making friends, returning for curfew only a couple minutes late instead of whole hours, and taking such great care to make sure his car is clean and filled at all times… Judy will concede to being proud of the changes, the acts of being more social and responsible having both her and her husband a twitter. Getting that beat up 1977 Camaro has got to be one of the best ideas that's ever been had.
There's something else, too, except Mrs. Witwicky can't quite put a finger on it. She's tried rationalizing the concept, but not enough to bring herself to breach the subject with her family. Whenever she's around that yellow deathtrap, Judy could swear on her life that she's being watched. Not in that creepy, stalker-ish way; more like that being-observed-and-protected sort of way. When puttering around the house or gardening outside like she currently is, a type of calm envelopes her. Of course, she realizes just how silly she's acting, but the fact remains that whenever she sees or is in the presence of that car, it's like her subconscious is telling her that everyone is going to be taken care of.
Rising from her knees and dusting them off, she gathered up the bag of weeds she'd accumulated in the two hours she'd been outside. Tying it off, she made to deposit it in the trashcan by the side of the house, pausing in the process as she started past the vehicle in question. Tapping a tire lightly with one shoe it firmly stayed in place, reassuring her that it hadn't gone flat…yet. Nodding once in approval, she gave the hood a pat or two with a gloved hand.
"Keep up the good work, Mr. Car," she congratulated, continuing on her way, unable to shake the feeling that she was being smiled at.
-Fin-