Eight Lives

By Snare-chan

Pairings: None
Ratings: T
Category(ies): Humor
Warning(s): Slight spoilers
Status: One-shot, complete
Summary: (2007 Movie Verse) Even out in the middle of nowhere, trouble seems to follow Sam Witwicky, especially when it's just him, Miles and Bumblebee.

Notes: For my friend, Cassandra Cassidy, who requested gen-Transformers fic. The rest...well, I'll gladly take the blame for all the silliness that was tacked on to the request.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers; wish I did like everybody else. They should put TF in stock, then I'd buy it all! Lyrics from Earl Conley's Brotherly Love.

Sam couldn't believe it. For months in advance now, Miles and he had been planning this weekend campout, way before the entire ordeal with the Allspark, Mission City and, well, saving the entire world in general had occurred. At first, when Sam had been reminded about the promise he had made concerning the trip, a sense of exasperation had passed through him. How could roughing it out in the woods compare to facing off against Decepticons and the multiple near death experiences encountered thanks to said psycho, giant robots?

But in retrospect, as he sat thinking by the fire cooking marshmallows and hanging with his 'bro', exchanging stories about high school politics or informing each other about the newest video game, music group, or other such utterly mundane things…he was so glad he hadn't bailed on this. The simple concept of having nothing to do, with nowhere else to be, and enjoying it all with the guy he'd known for…as long as he can remember, was a notion he found himself appreciating in ways he would have never thought possible until now.

The moment was only made better by the fact that Bumblebee could be there too, the car in his old rust-bucket disguise and playing soft tunes in the background. Idly, Sam leaned back against the vehicle, further soothed by its solid presence. Though there was no obvious threat from the stars today, it was a comfort just knowing that, should something happen, he had a metal guardian ready to defend him at a moment's notice.

"Man, I can't believe that thing actually made it all the way out here."

At Miles' incredulous comment, the brunet merely rolled his eyes. Pulling out his now slightly-singed, white pillow of sweet delight to place on some chocolate and graham crackers, he pointed out, "And it most certainly did. We're still alive and kicking and everything."

"Don't get me wrong; beggars can't be choosers, ya know? But that thing looks like it should be illegal in at least thirty-eight states."

Nearly burning his mouth as he ate his s'more a bit too soon, Sam waved off the other's comment as well as gave his car an affectionate pat.

"Will ya stop dissin' my ride? Me and this car have a history together."

His friend laughed.

"What history? You've barely had it for a couple weeks! Just long enough to be convinced it's possessed."

"Hardly," he snorted.

"No dude, I'm serious. Some freaky stuff happens when your car is around. The only logical explanation is that it's haunted by some spirit…one with a strange affinity for the oldies."

Sometimes, it is really hard to keep a secret. Not that he would ever let this high of a government priority slip, since the defense of the Autobots was at stake. Although, he knew Miles enough that, if he had to trust just one person with something this big, he would pick the guy sitting directly across from him, hands down. A part of him felt guilty about keeping this from his best bud, while the other knew for a fact that this wasn't his secret to go around telling, so in his own way he'd help protect his extraterrestrial, shape-shifting friends. This wasn't a comfort, however, when he had to go over the subject of why he would not be giving up this particular car, despite how it may look like he's putting anyone's neck on the line when they step inside the dusty leather interior.

"It's not spooked, ok? The thing is old," older than either of us will ever realize is silently added to himself. "It has…some quirks to it."

"Look at the signs, man!" Miles starts, lifting up the hand not holding a stick with a marshmallow on it to begin listing on his fingers. "The radio tunes by itself, you claimed that one time it came back of its own power, the engine dies for no reason, and the doors swing open and lock themselves! How can you say it's anything but haunted?"

Using his natural talent for thinking quickly on his feet, Sam began to tick off on his own fingers in response. "Like I said, it's quirky and shit. That radio has obviously seen better days; it probably just gets mixed reception. I was stressed after getting nabbed by those cops and speaking crazy, ya know what a spazz I can be. I've been meaning to take the car in to have that engine checked out; Mikaela says it's probably just a loose cap giving it trouble. And, finally, I had some power locks installed. When I hit a certain speed limit they just…ya know, power lock. Happy now?"

"…My theory sounds cooler."

As the other groused disappointingly, he couldn't help but hide his sigh of relief behind a chuckle. He absently brushed his hands clean and started tidying up his mess, which was quite extensive. When it came to camping comfort food, it tasted better when eaten messily.

"I bet you your car is possessed by some crazed racing fanatic, like Sean from Tokyo Drift," Miles started up again, rather persistent tonight. "Or maybe some 1950's chick. Ya know, the ones with those pink, poofy, poodle skirts?"

"First of all, your right to watch those kinds of movies has been revoked, and secondly, this is a 1970's Camaro, so unless the previous owner decided to go derby racing around a graveyard to disturb some restless spirits, I doubt Sandy is taking control of my car," Sam started back up in turn. "So get off it. This thing is not haunted by…"

He didn't know why he'd decided to look up at his long-haired friend at that moment. Maybe it was because, subconsciously, Sam acknowledged Bumblebee's radio cutting out with a sudden, static whine, so he was startled into surveying his surroundings, or thanks to his human survival instincts, or maybe out of pure, dumb luck, but whatever did the job made him very grateful. Mostly because in the very near distance, practically over his fellow flesh-being's head, he spotted two glowing eyes. Not the electric kind, like Bumblebee's when he was in his bipedal form, but the organic, nocturnal kind. Sort of like a…

"C-cougar…"

Frowning, Miles looked at him strangely.

"Your car is haunted by a cougar?"

Slowly, oh so slowly, Sam shook his head, backing up towards the passenger side of his Camaro. The door was already a bit jarred, which was fortunate since he was shaking so bad that, should he have had to unlock it and everything by his power alone, he would have been screwed ten times over.

"Miles," the brunet said quite clearly, "now would be an awesome time to get in my car."

To his utmost benefit, the other didn't question him and complied with his advice. By the time Miles had made it to the same side as Sam, the animal appeared to have slunk off. But neither of them could shake the feeling of being watched.

There came a growl from their right, sounding much closer than across the fire.

In the blink of an eye both boys had scrambled inside the expectant Autobot, its doors slamming shut and locking behind them.

"OW!"

"You're on my spleen!"

Miles and Sam had been in such a scramble to get into the safety of the vehicle that they now found themselves tangled together. After a lot of shoving, accidental hair pulling, a crushed organ and a lot of cursing later, silence fell as they separated.

"…Ya think it's still out there?"

"I dun know, man."

"Maybe you should look."

"Man, why do I have to be the one to look?" Miles asked incredulously.

"You climb trees, cats climb trees, you're both practically related!"

"What's that got to do with anything?!"

They share the same last name and the same color eyes,
But they fight like tigers over one ol' red bike.
And lookin' at them reminds me of us.
They're gonna fight and they're gonna fuss.
But, they've got something special,
It's brotherly love.

"…Possessed."

"Coincidence," Sam corrected hurriedly, and tried to distract the other by reverting to the more pressing issue of a certain big feline awaiting them just outside. "Ok, how about we both look at the same time?"

Miles awkwardly shifted around at the prospect, but nodded his agreement regardless. Together, they crept up close to the driver's side window and, on the count of three and a quarter, they slowly lifted their heads to survey the world beyond their yellow, metal fortress.

"I don't-"

The blond's statement was cut short as something big, furry, and clawed pounced against the glass, causing the boys inside to jump back, screaming their surprise in rather higher-than-normal pitches. After a good minute or three of this they exchanged looks and, like most men their age, upon discovering their close proximity in the form of clinging to another of their gender, they pushed each other away at the same moment. Sam took up residence in one seat and Miles planted himself in the opposite.

All awkwardness was brushed aside, though, at the click-clack-kerplunking going on above them. From their vantage point inside, the coast looked clear, save the twitching of a black-tipped tail just outside the window. While Miles was internally concerned at the implications of the dangling, furry appendage, all Sam could seem to think was that sharp paws were perched on his robot friend's alternate mode and possibly scratching his already mangled paint job.

"Do you think if you start the car, it will scare it off?"

It would have been a good idea, provided Sam was actually in possession of the key, but this was not the case, as his overturned jean pockets were quick to prove. Mournfully eying a rotted stump across the campsite revealed the contents of his pants resting in a careless pile, a set of keys glistening on top of it all. Were he alone, this wouldn't have been a big deal, seeing as Sam knew that Bumblebee could function quite well without them, but since Miles did not…well, no need to further his ghost theory.

"So we're stuck until it leaves on its own?"

"Basically."

"…"

"…"

"I GET THE BACK SEAT!" they hollered in unison, both diving for the gap between the seats. In doing so, they ended up getting stuck, Sam's shoulder butting into Miles' and their elbows jabbing into ribs as they fought for the right to sleep in the wider sitting area.

"It's my car!"

"You owe me!"

"I don't owe you jack shit!"

"You left me at the lake for your concubine!"

Suddenly, the car horn blared, startling them both.

"POSSESSED CAR!"

"FOR THE LAST TIME, MY CAR ISN'T POSSESSED!"

Sam huffed as Miles gained the upper hand, at last sliding all the way through and flopping unceremoniously onto the cushions. As was customary in a sulk, the owner of the car crossed his arms over his chest and slumped back in his seat. But, at least in his mind, they were even now. Well… Smirking, he retracted the driver's seat, taking up some of Miles' space, and at the other's indignant, 'Aaaah man!' he really considered them even-Steven.

And thus the waiting game began.

It was times like this, when the buttcrack of dawn arrived, that Sam wished there was a curtain big enough to cover the entire world, so that no matter where he was, the sun would effectively be blocked from view and he would be prevented from having to wake early in the morning. Ignoring the fact that such a thing would cause another round of playing ice age, it would especially be awesome at the times when he was outside his room where blinds were impossible to come by.

But as it stood, Mother Nature was still a bitch and, trees or no trees, the sunrise was made known by shining its rays directly into his eyes. Like, right into them. Similar to those old Warner Brothers' cartoons in which a light source manages against all odds to discover some route to blare onto the unsuspecting character, it would seem that the rays were striking him dead on. Life was unfair like that.

Shifting around onto his left side, he tried to get into a more comfortable position facing away from the light. The brunet ended up rolling directly into a…skunk? Cracking open one eye, his vision wasn't met with black and white fur, but holey, white and blue socks.

Socks…

"God Miles, put your shoes back on!" he screeched, shoving the offending foot away. "Are you trying to suffocate us?!"

His friend merely grunted at the shove and mumbled in his sleep before rolling over. Sam couldn't help but wonder how long he'd have to scrub his robot companion with bleach to get the smell out. Ever since he'd discovered his car was actually a sentient, metallic being from outer space he tended to worry about that kind of stuff.

Now wide awake, Sam made a closer inspection of his surroundings. It was quiet and the window was now lacking a twitching tail. Had the animal gone away during the night? If so, then he could finally snag his keys and get the hell out of here. But giving the door handle a tug proved futile, as did pulling up on the lock. If Bumblebee was keeping him inside then…

Without a single warning whatsoever, something muscular and pissed leapt onto the hood, scaring him out of his wits. Unconsciously, he screamed and scrambled back, and in turn Miles woke up screaming, so in the end they both ended up screaming in stereo and panicking as one in a bro heap.

Whether it was in self-defense or annoyance, his guardian programming must have kicked in, because the Autobot seemed to have had enough. Thanks to having some deadly feline playing scratch post with his hood or, consequently, due to the two boys yelling inside of him, the Camaro decided to take a stand. In a good show of alien ingenuity, creativity, and good humor, the hood of the car spontaneously sprung up, flinging the cougar over the vehicle. Miles and Sam followed its decent, the cat landing perfectly on all fours in a startled crouch some yards away. Obviously, even when catapulted from the front end of a car, they managed to land on their feet. None of them were given so much as a second glance as the cougar fled, hissing and spitting its fury.

Taking in a shaky breath of fresh air, Miles turned back to regard his best friend, and said, "Ok, you win. Your car is pretty sweet, even if it's canary yellow. And possessed."

-Fin-