Disclaimer: I have to admit, writing this story's a bit hard, but I think I got a good handle on it.

grapejuice101: I'm glad you like it.

"Speaking"

Thinking

So, you know how sometimes it seems like time slowed down, or sped up in times of crises? Everything suddenly going out of whack? Yeah, that was pretty much how I felt in the three days I spent at the Witwicky household.

I had essentially scared the living daylights out of Sam when I blacked out, overwhelmed from the knowledge overload. Was I better now? No, No I wasn't. Thankfully, Mrs. Witwicky was extremely welcoming, and allowed me to remain at their home until I found a way to contact my parents or anyone else. As far as I knew, she hadn't alerted the police yet, but it was going to happen eventually. Whether it's before or after Sam gets his car, I don't know.

That... was another matter. A very, very important matter. Bumblebee. Today was Friday, and as I had made clear when I first woke up in this world, I helped Sam prepare for his report. I also was persistent in making sure he didn't try and sell his family's heirlooms in the middle of the presentation, despite his quiet protests. He didn't need his parents finding out about his idea. Sam would get that A, no problem, and when he did, then his dad would be taking him to the used car lot. With the amount of revising and research, there was no doubt.

Ron Witwicky was just as understanding as his wife, and a little more down-to-earth and relaxed when I explained my plight. I liked that, since being stuck in the same building as Judy most of the time just... the bling on the dog was strange to watch. I did help her out in the garden though. Flowers weren't usually my thing, but it was a job I could focus on.

In terms of staying with them, Sam had brought me to their guest room, right across from his disaster zone of a bedroom that I only took a split glance at before closing the door in barely concealed disgust. Seriously, when was the last time he cleaned? There's clothes everywhere. The top of the steps led to four rooms all coming off of a small hallway. On the left was the parents' bedroom, and on the right was the bathroom and my room. The end of the hall led straight to Sam's. Just a small, almost empty room, with a twin sized bed, night stand, and desk. All the same wood make as the furniture downstairs, and the bed sheets a nice dark red. Simple, and cozy, and I treasured sleeping in that warm bed.

That, and I was very thankful for Mrs. Witwicky lending me some clothes. It was a combination of hers and Sam's though, since he saw I refused to wear the blouses and dress pants I was offered. Currently, it was just a simple white tank top and olive green cargo pants. Sam had also given me a pair of brown sneakers that looked like they were on the brink of falling apart, but I was still happy to have them. I didn't expect anyone to go out buying stuff for me. As far as they knew, I would only be there temporary. Only for a little while. And then, then I'll go and figure this out. Well, as long as the government didn't catch wind of me. I'm going to hate Simmons, aren't I? No matter what, I'll probably see him, and I will severely dislike him.

"Blake, could you come down here? I'm going to pick up Sam, and I was wondering if you would like to come with." I spun around at the desk, a pen in hand and a sheet of paper underneath it. Time already? I looked over at the alarm clock on the stand, seeing that it indeed was almost time for Sam to be leaving.

"Sure, I'll be right down." I pulled open the bottom drawer on my right, and tossed the paper and pen inside. "I'll get back to you later."

I had to plan. I wasn't a huge fan of Transformers, but I had the basics down. I watched some of the different cartoon series, read a few comics, and had seen every film. I couldn't recite complex information off the top of my head, but what I did know should be enough to figure out what to do next. On the sheet at the moment was a basic sketch of the timeline, outlining the years in which key events took place. The start was where I was currently at, in 2007, and the end was The Last Knight, where I had no clue what year that happened. All of that was on the absolute worst chance that I was... stuck.

Just deep breaths, Blake. Take it slowly. I had no luck figuring things out yet, and there was no luck that I could on my own. Which was all terrible. Really, really terrible. "He's out in the car," Judy called out from her seat in the living room. Giving a quick wave, I hurried out the door and over to the green Austin-Healey 3000 to the parking lot in the back. I had to admit, despite him acting cheap with Sam's first vehicle, he had good taste.

"Ready to go?" I opened the passenger seat, and climbed in. With two seats, it looked like the three of us would be a little squished. Should I worry about there only being two seat belts? Ron appeared to notice my apprehension as he pulled out of the dirt driveway and onto the road, and shook his head. "Don't worry about it, okay? The dealership isn't that far away, and I'll have Sam drive himself back."

"Not really sure if I should feel worried for myself or Sam." He chuckled at my little remark, and I rested my head on my hand, watching the large trees covering the road pass by. Bumblebee... how's this going to play out? He would make the call to the other Autobots tonight, if my sense of timing was correct. Right after the party at the lake with Miles, where Sam then drives Mikaela home. There were multiple options of how this all could play out then, by the looks of things. I could go to the party or stay back, missing the mech try and get the two together by pretending to break down and play suggestive music. I could have a restful sleep, or wake up when Sam started screeching about his car being stolen and then getting into trouble with the police, who think the poor teen was on drugs.

Options... wow.

Personally, I had no interest in Sam trying to act smooth around his crush, but I wouldn't mind attending the party. I wanted to be more familiar with the small town, and it was a good way to do it. "Here we are." Ron slowed down, pulling along the curb of the road in front of the high school. The students were already flowing out, heading to their respective cars, buses, or simply walking home. I surveyed the crowd, leaning a little out of the car before sitting back down.

"I don't see him. You think he's speaking to the teacher?" I swear, I must have pressed a trigger. The teen threw himself out of the doors, running over to us the instant his eyes caught sight of the Austin-Healey.

"Yes! Yes, yes," he fired off the cheers, skidding to a halt and almost falling over. The report was in his hands, and Sam reached over in front of my face to show it to him. Undoing my belt, I awkwardly moved to what little seat I could find to let him in. "It's an A, dad. See it, loud and clear. So am I good?"

"You're good." He passed it back over as Sam sat down, putting his bag by his feet. I could make out a few of the charts, articles, and sailing equipment sticking out at the top, and no doubt the glasses were somewhere in there too.

"A, huh?" I asked, watching him buckle in as Ron started further into town. "Told you that trying to sell your stuff would hold you back." Sam rolled his eyes, but I knew he was appreciative. There was a good chance had I not said anything, he'd be begging his teacher for that grade. "Tell me, what car are you looking for, anyway?"

"Anything worth 4000 dollars and isn't falling apart," he replied without a second thought. "I'm not being picky." Well, he is a guy on a budget. I didn't get my first car until I hit twenty, when my neighbor was selling it off. A sad, sad silver Beetle, with the back bumper having a habit of falling off. It's seen better days, and they haven't been with me. "Are we almost there, dad?"

"Almost. I got a little surprise for you, son." We pulled into a parking lot for Porsche, and immediately, a look of excitement and disbelief grew over Sam's face. He pushed himself up, looking at all of the brand new vehicles parked around them. "Yeah, a little surprise."

"No. No, no, no, no! Dad! Oh, you got to be kidding me." Ron glanced at me out of the corner of his eye as he kept driving, right over to the rundown dealership three buildings over.

"Yeah. I am. You're not getting a Porsche," he laughed. I covered my mouth, snickering at as the happiness drained from the younger male.

"You two think that's funny? Really? What's wrong with you?" My free hand reached over to pat him on the shoulder, feeling my laughter slowly die out.

"What's wrong is you thought he'd get you that expensive of a car for your first one, Sam," I replied. "Not to mention you said a car that's 4000 dollars, and none of that would even come close to fitting your description. Now, come on." The car parked, and his dad began to get out. "Let's try and find you something worthwhile in this mess." Sam sighed, and followed out to join his dad at the old cars stationed on the other side of the dealership. Once I got out and heard it lock behind me, I continued to move past the building. "I'm going to check out what we got, see if I can find something roadworthy for him," I called back over the music through the sound system.

"You do that, Blake," Ron said. Wandering through the maze of faded cars, I glanced at a red Acura Integra, running a hand over a large dent in the hood. I could smooth that out, touch up the paint. Not bad at all. My head snapped up at the sound of an arriving engine, and I looked to the near back of the lot. Parked right next to a rusted yellow 1967 Beetle was a 1977 Camaro, with faint traces of dust still in the air right behind it from having just pulled up.

Oh, my gosh. The nerves from when I first woke up returned, intermingled with curiosity. Since everything started the moment Sam finds him, which in turn sets off a massive chain of events, it did put me a little on edge. At the same time-hole cow. I was standing not that far from an actual alien from a different planet. I mean... I'm from a different dimension, so...? Drifting over to the transformer, who remained silent and watchful, I placed a hand on top of the hood. Still warm. "Heh... got to say, besides that Integra, you're definitely a front runner." I looked back at Sam and Ron, now joined by the store's owner, and waved an arm in the air. "Hey, Sam! I found it!"

Sam, looking a little awkward at having Bolivia's arm wrapped around his shoulders, ushering him further into the lot, and didn't hesitate to slip away and hurry over. "A Camaro?" He moved to the driver's door, popping it open and sliding inside.

"Hard to find something that tops that. It's an older make, but I guarantee it's the safest one here." The other men finally came over, with Bolivia shouting back at an employee about where the vehicle came from. I looked in through the open window, seeing Sam grasp the steering wheel.

"Feels good." He checked the dashboard, giving an amused smile at the bumblebee air freshener hanging from the mirror. "Have to remove that and the disco ball though."

"I think it gives Bee character." Sam was rubbing the dirt off of the Autobot symbol on the center of the wheel, before looking back at me. Why is he-oh. "Sam, there's a bee decoration inside a car that's yellow with black stripes. How could I not call it Bee?"

"Fine, but if it starts chasing flowers, I'm out." Chuckling a little at the reply, I was soon joined by Mr. Witwicky, nodding in agreement at our find.

"How much?" Bolivia stood on the opposite side, hands on the roof and checked it over.

Ladies and gents, behold! The sleazy car salesman, complete with floral shirt and hat! "Well, considering the semi-classic nature of the vehicle, with the slick wheels and the custom paint job..."

"Yeah, but the paint's faded," Sam pointed out.

Bolivia knelt down to look through the window at him. "Y-yeah, but it's custom?"

"It's custom faded?" I bit back a laugh at how the reply was, cornering the owner with his own logic.

"Well, this is your first car. I wouldn't expect you to understand." Bolivia stood up, looking back at us. "Five grand."

"No, I'm not paying over four. Sorry," Ron said. Bolivia got back down, and I could see the heartbreak in Sam's face from how quick his dad shot down the offer.

"Kid, come on, get out," he told him, thumping a hand on the door. "Get out the car."

"No, no, no. You said cars pick their drivers," Sam argued, gripping the wheel a little tighter as if the car would take off without him.

"Well, sometimes they pick a driver with a dad who's too tight on his wallet. Out the car." Clearing his throat, Bolivia straightened up and turned his attention to the Beetle on the right. Sam glumly moved out of the Camaro, all possibility of getting it gone in a flash.

"There's a Fiesta with racing stripes over there," his dad suggested hopefully.

"No, I don't want a Fiesta with racing stripes." Bolivia got into the Bug, closing the door as Sam began to close his. I wasn't paying too much to what he was saying, but I did when the vehicle decided to take things into its own hands. Once it was shut, the passenger door flung open, banging into the Beetle and sending it to the left several inches while knocking over a case of windshield wiper fluid.

"Doesn't look like the car's too happy about us leaving either," I whispered to Sam as his dad moved over to Bolivia.

"That makes three," he muttered in agreement, arms crossed.

"You alright?" The owner waved him off, pulling himself back out in front of the Beetle.

"I'll get a sledgehammer and knock this right out. Hey, hey, Manny! Get your clown cousin and get some hammers and come bang this stuff out, baby!" As he laughed, continuing to the middle of the car lot, I looked back into the car. The two radio dials had begun twisting, with the arrow searching through different stations.

"Um, Sam...?" I couldn't make out what the speakers said, but the moment the few beeps I heard picked up speed, I slammed my hands over my ears and ducked to the ground. "Get down!" Bumblebee had found the frequency, alright. The noise blasted from the speakers in a shock wave, sending each windshield and side mirror in the lot to shatter in an explosion of glass. As fast as it had started, the sound died out, with the only remaining noise being the chirping from a nearby Jetta. Still, that died out in a few seconds, leaving the entire area quiet. Well, that car's certainly dead.

"You okay?" Sam helped me back up, confused and a little on edge. "What just happened?" We turned back to Bolivia who had also just gotten back to his feet, shards scattered all around him from his merchandise. He spun around slowly, taking in each car and its shattered state. Finally, he whirled around to face us, and held up a shaking hand as he backed away slowly.

"Four thousand!" I grinned, not bothering to hide back the glee and amazement at what the car just pulled off, and gently patted the hood as Bolivia sprinted back to the office. Either for the papers, or for fear of his life. His workers and family all stared at what used to be the dealership, just as baffled as the two Witwickys beside me.

Sam and Ron took a moment to follow, still trying to figure out what had happened, while I paused for a second to look back. Over my shoulder, I nodded at the Camaro, sitting there innocently in perfect condition among the wreckage it caused. "Oh, I am so going to enjoy having you around."

(Time Skip)

"You're really sure you're fine doing this without help?" I adjusted the bucket of cleaning supplies in my hands, and waved his worries off.

"I'm fine, Sam. I'm not sure it'll be perfect in time for your lake trip, but Bee should be ready to go." Filing the paperwork wasn't that much of a hassle since Bolivia was desperate to get rid of the car, but as we all drove back to the house, I could almost feel the eyes on my back. Not Sam's, no. No, I could feel Bumblebee's. Where even is his face, anyway? That doesn't make any sense. "Come down in half an hour."

"If you say so." Sam trekked back up the stairs, and I made my way towards the Camaro outside. Judy and Ron weren't outside working on the yard, which meant as of this moment, and it was just me and the car.

I dropped the bucket, and began pulling out several cloths, a can of window cleaner, and a bottle of soap. "I would wax, polish, and vacuum you too, but I don't have the time." Why am I even speaking to him? He won't reply back. "I hope you're fine with that, Bee."

It took a few seconds, to the point I wasn't sure if Bee would actually respond back to me. But sure enough, I found myself cracking a grin at the song lyrics blasting out of the radio, and moved to the side of the house to fetch the hose. "Interesting choice, picking the song that went with the gopher dancing in a smoldering golf course." I turned around, making sure the windows were up. Thanks for that, Sam. "This might be cold at first." I squeezed the handle, letting the slightly chilly water fire out and nail the Camaro broadside. A simple hose down, then I'd use some soapy water to get rid of the dirt spots that still stuck. "Gives me a job other than gardening, so I'll take it."

I moved to the empty bucket and grabbed the soap bottle. "Is it weird I'm talking to you?" I asked aloud, making sure I put a fair amount into the base before going back for the hose beside me. "It isn't like I don't talk to myself before. Seeing that I gave you a name and all, it means I also gave you a personality. Which, judging from the song choice and the little thing you pulled back at the dealership, I take it you got plenty."

Bee remained silent this time, giving no indication to what I was suggesting. "Well, I don't care if you answer me or not." Dunking the cloth into the soapy water, I wrung it out and began to use circular motions along the hood, watching the dust fade off and stain the blue rag. "Hmm... I wonder if Sam would mind me doing the job halfway?"

"I'm fine with it." I stopped, turning around and finding said teen sticking his head out of his bedroom window. He paused to look at the cloth, then at the supplies scattered on the rocks. "You sure you don't need any help?"

"If you're so eager, you can clean the windshield and windows. I'll finish scrubbing the front and back, and hose down the rest. I'll finish the sides for another time." There wouldn't be another time. I had zero knowledge of what would happen to me, or anyone else once things returned to norm... a partial normal.

It terrified me. I had trouble sleeping with how much I didn't know about the world I ended up in, and what awaited me in a few days, and what would happen during after those few days. Sector Seven, and the Decepticons; all of it terrified me. How did Sam even handle all of it? Over, what was it, five years? He had panicked a lot over his time with the aliens, but otherwise managed to keep it together. Would I be able to do that? "Okay. I got out here before my parents could start their work on the garden and refitting the path." I snapped out of my daze, and Sam moved up alongside me with the roll of paper towel and the window cleaner. "We should take it through a car wash tomorrow, you know? That would do the trick."

"Definitely." I continued along the front as Sam began to clean the windows on the left side. The sound of static filled the vehicle, and we looked up as a song started to play. "Is that...?" Curse my knowledge of retro songs. Sam, help me out here.

"I think that's the song that plays during the dance montage in Breakfast Club," Sam said, taking a moment to think it over. "I guess the radio's busted. That'll just be another thing on the list of stuff to get dealt with."

"Really?" I stood up, wiping my tanned hands off on my pants and proceeding to the rear. "I guess Bee likes the classics." Actually, didn't Bumblebee watch that movie in the prequel film, as the girl worked on the other car in the garage? Coincidence, or did some of that happen? It was confusing, since there were some errors in continuity between the film series and the latest movie, but I guess I'd get answers to it soon. "How's it going on your end?"

"I'll clean the other side and we'll do the front window later. We don't have a scrubber to do it properly." I wiped the dirt off of the license plate, examining the dark blue letters. "Are you done? Blake?"

"I've seen a lot of strange things on a plate, and usually, it means something. Have any ideas?" Sam walked around to the back, and joined me in staring at the four characters. "B-127, huh?"

"Maybe it's some sort of code," he mused. "Does it matter?" He handed me a wad of paper towels, a smaller roll, and the cleaner. "I need to go pick up Miles. Can you store this in the garage for me?" I turned around as Sam moved past, and began to wind up the hose and attach it back on the wheel. Grabbing the bucket by my feet, he dumped the contents into the grass and I dropped my gear into it.

"Sure." I hurried over to the smaller building, which was a contrast to the tidy house behind me. I opened the door a crack, put the bucket inside, closed it, and moved back over. "Can I come?" Sam by now was already inside the Camaro, buckled in and ready to go. The windows were rolled down again, and I leaned on the roof as I peered inside.

"You want to come to a high school party." Okay, when you say it like that, I understand why it's weird. I hadn't been in high school in years. Sure, I still looked like I could be his age, but I did my time.

"You're taking your brand new car out for a spin, and I have zero clue about Tranquility's layout. I'm not going to make you look bad. I'll keep my distance." Sam didn't seem too convinced, until the sound of the radio drew our attention to the car itself, blasting away another song. The look on Sam's face made me burst into laughter as I circled around and got into the passenger seat. "Told you." I playfully pushed Sam's arm, and grabbed the seat belt.

"That radio's going to be like this entire time, isn't it? Okay, fine, you can come. But just-I have an image, alright? I got to keep that up." Image? Really? I rolled my eyes, clicking the buckle into place with an almost inaudible snap.

"I won't damage your 'reputation', whatever that is," I smirked. "Time to head out on the highway, Sam." To make things even better-or worse, in Sam's case-Bumblebee readjusted the radio, and cranked the volume to have Born to Be Wild fill the front seats.

"You two are going to drive me insane," he muttered, only making me laugh harder. "You and the car."

From what I've seen and pieced together, the Bumblebee prequel is almost in an entire different universe than the Bay films. However, I have ideas on how to bring them together, and that should help out with some chapters later on down the road.

Until next time!

Angel