Title: The Worst Driver Ever
Author: Artemis1000
Disclaimer: Transformers isn't mine, nor is Ford. Or Ebay, for that matter. I don't own anything or anyone in this story except for Candy.
Fandom: Transformers movieverse, sometime post ROTF
Rating: PG for some Cybertronian curses and squishing fantasies
Summary: Barricade hides as a human's car. Too bad he ends up with Candy, Autobot fan girl who can't drive straight and has a penchant for sickening pet names. Who knew that the pit reeks of dung?
Author's notes: English isn't my first language, so please forgive my "creative" English.
My first attempt at Transformers fic, because torturing robots looked like a fun and healthy past time.
I'm not fully satisfied with Barricade's new alt mode, a 1st generation Ford Crown Victoria, for the weight/size ratio compared to the Saleen Mustang. But I learned that Victorias are popular police interceptors and that amused me.
The Worst Driver Ever
Barricade had never fully appreciated the truth behind the human proverb "the road to hell is paved with good intentions" until he met Candy MacAlister.
Barricade had only had the best intentions when he decided to hide as a human's drone car. The best intentions for himself, naturally – but then, he was a Decepticon and even the dumbest squishy couldn't actually expect a 'con to be anything other than selfish, now could they?
Ever since Megatron had decided to get the Cybertronians out of the closet during that whole Fallen debacle, Barricade's life had taken a turn for the worse. It's bad enough that the Autobots had received ample reinforcements, while the 'cons had gotten their skidplates handed to them… twice. Every single cop, every slagging alien fanatic, not to mention every pit-spawned Autobot fansquishy on the planet hunted the few Decepticons stranded on earth.
Now that the humans knew what to look for, even holograms didn't keep them safe anymore. True, the Decepticons had nearly mastered human body language, but nearly mastered wasn't good enough anymore. Every routine vehicle spotcheck could doom them. Their transformation abilities kept them one step ahead of their hunters, thank Primus, but it's energy-exhausting not to mention hell on the gears to change your alt mode every other week.
So Barricade had decided to hide himself in plain sight until their forces were strong enough to defeat the Autobots. He'd been proud of his brilliant plan.
If only he'd known…
Barricade gave only a passing thought to selling himself by way of a car dealer like Bumblebee had done. For one thing, ever since that slagging "Transformers" movie, even the dumbest car dealer would be suspicious. For another, even if he didn't call the cops at the sudden appearance of another car or being sold one by a person with an oddly expressionless face, Barricade wouldn't be able to influence who bought him. Not after everyone had seen Bumblebee's stupid stunt in the cinema. Fragging Autobots, they ruined a 'con's day even when they didn't mean to.
He couldn't risk that he'd be bought by a person who knew too much about cars, a tinkerer or someone who sold spare parts. That blabbering idiot 'bot, Bluestreak, just spectacularly blew an undercover mission when he'd to defend himself from being cannibalised. The tabloids were having a field day with it. Barricade had never been more cheerful since his arrival on earth than when he'd heard that on the news, but it's only funny when it happened to someone else.
He briefly considered having himself stolen. Then he read up on the internet what car thieves did to stolen cars to make them unrecognisable and dismissed the idea. That's worse than being owned by a tinkerer who mixed up his fuel pipe and his oil pipe.
Earth, Barricade realised at this point, was a very dangerous place for a car.
Barricade wished he could get his servos on whoever had invented the car compactor so he could stuff them into a squishy compactor.
After some careful considerations, he decided on Ebay. It didn't feel safe, after all, the Witwicky squishy had been found that way, but his logic programmes insisted that it's the most sensible course of action. No one would know what alt mode to look for; he could manipulate the auction in favour of his preferred bidder and have himself shipped to the buyer, so they wouldn't ever meet his imperfect hologram.
10 days later, a maroon 1st generation Ford Crown Victoria was sold to one 2hot4uCandygurl for $873,49, payable by or credit card.
15 days later, he's delivered to the McAlister horse ranch.
He fumed inwardly as the filthy, sweaty truck driver drove him off the car transport vehicle and right into a huge puddle of mud. Disgusting dirty organicness splashed all over Barricade's sides and stuck in his wheel house.
The truck driver left him, thank Primus, to talk to his new pet's creator unit.
A younger human stormed out of a side building, Barricade's scans told him that even lesser organic lifeforms were stored there, and nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to reach them. This was his pet, Barricade realised. Well, he hadn't expected much… He sure hoped she wouldn't go anywhere near him before she cleaned herself and her clothes. Barricade did not approve of animal faeces in his interior.
"Oh! Oh! Daddy! Is this my car? Is it? It is, isn't it?" She raised her hands to her mouth, squealed in glee and hopped around. Some strange human ritual? "It's my car! Oh, it's so pretty! I'll call him Herbie like Herbie the Beetle! No! No! Wait! I'll call him Bumblebee!"
The energon froze in Barricade's fuel lines.
"But… he's not yellow." The squishy's shoulders drooped. She chewed on her bottom lip and eyed Barricade thoughtfully. "Why didn't I buy a yellow car? I should've bought a yellow car! I can't call a red car Bumblebee, that wouldn't be right."
How generous of you, you filthy organic. You're lucky that I'm hiding or I would rip out your spine and spell Bumblebee with it.
"Well, I guess I could call you Sideswipe, he's red, isn't he? But you're the wrong shade of red!"
I have a perfectly fine name, thank you very much! What is it with the human obsession to name objects, anyway? I certainly wouldn't bother to name you! And why are you talking to me? If it wouldn't have been suspicious, Barricade would have shifted uneasily on his shock absorbers. Squishies aren't supposed to talk to their cars, that's going to attract the wrong kind of attention!
The squishy sighed despondently. "Ah well, I guess I'll have to think some more about your name, sweetie."
Barricade growled in his CPU.
"Oh daddy, can I please take my car on a ride? I've cleared away nearly all the dung." His pet shifted uneasily under her creator's gaze. "Alright, I've done half the pens…" She shifted some more. This was getting boring. Barricade wished he could nudge her with his push bumper. Humans made the most interesting squeaky noises when you nudged them. There were times when he really missed his cop car alt mode. "Alright! I just started! But I promise I'll do the stables and comb the horses later if you let me go now! Please daddy?"
To Barricade's horror, the elder squishy nodded reluctantly. "Alright, Candy, but you're back by five, alright? You still have to do your homework."
His pet gave the most audials-aching squeal, skipped to her creator to hug him and then skipped back to Barricade to run her disgusting organic paws all over his hood and roof. "I wish you were a Cybertronian", the pet human said wistfully as she opened the door and ran her hand over the steering wheel. "It'd be so awesome. But no, I get a boring old run-of-the-mill car. Stupid Sam Witwicky and his stupid glasses! Why do the exciting things always happen to other people?" She huffed indignantly. "Is it really too much to ask for that your car is really a giant alien robot?"
If he could have, Barricade would have rolled his optics.
The squishy turned the key with a rough, jerky movement…
…and stalled the engine.
Patience was a really neat thing for undercover Cybertronians to possess, Barricade decided. Too bad there's not enough patience in the whole matrix for his pet.
On the third try, the meatbag finally managed to start his motor. In her frustration, she hit the gas pedal too hard and Barricade leapt forward with an agonised growl of his engine. The squishy squealed in fright.
I'm going to squish whoever gave the pet a driver's license! No, wait, first I'll pluck off the limbs and then I'll squish it! Squish, squish, squish, squishy squish!
With his pet still screaming half in fright and half in glee, they drove down the farm track. The squishy, Barricade learned, was gifted at driving him through every puddle of mud and over every piece of horse dung she could find.
And then… things went downhill…
Watch the ditch! Go left! No, you glitching organic, your other left! Not the fence, don't you dare crash me into the fence! Ditch! Ditch, ditch, ditch, you slagging idiot! Muddy disgusting ditch! I demand that you turn on your fragging optics right now, you stupid organic meatbag!
Throwing caution to the wind, Barricade took control of his own systems and tried to regain traction. But the muddy ground was just too slippery, his speed too fast.
Oh no no no no no no…
There was a splash, a high-pitched scream and Barricade found himself hood-first in the ditch.
That slagging hurt!
He hadn't even known his squishy for an hour and Barricade already realised that he'd made a terrible mistake.
Deep in his CPU, Barricade whimpered in despair.
The end