Chapter 2

Goldbug had a problem.

It had only been a month, but Spike Witwicky had burrowed into Goldbug's spark like one of those ticks that had attacked Spike after an overnight trip with Hound in the woods. Only Goldbug planned on keeping his little parasite, instead of using a pair of tweezers to rip the thing's head off after it was extracted from its burrow under Spike's skin.

The two of them fit together like it was the most natural thing in the world to have that small warm body taking residence in the front seat of Goldbug's alt mode.

Spike groaned, leaning on Goldbug's steering wheel like a dead weight. His arms were wrapped around the leather and metal spokes like a pretzel, gripping tightly to Goldbug like his world would be ripped away if he let go.

"Butch is such an idiot," Spike mumbled. His breath was heavy, and the scent of alcohol laced the edges. The emptied bottle of bourbon tipped over on the car floor as Spike shifted his foot. "I told him to stay away from that Astoria chick, and he didn't listen. 'Big Man Butch' had to hit on her anyway. I told him!"

"It sounded like he got what was coming to him," Goldbug said. He kicked his engine on and pulled out from his spot in the parking lot. He'd been 'off the clock,' so to speak, for about an hour when a stake out at a charity drive proved futile. The Deceptiwimps were a no-show, and Goldbug was calling it a night. And somehow, the brat Spike had talked Goldbug into making a liquor stop. Goldbug huffed, "I don't know why you seem to be so bothered."

"Ain't that the truth. He totally had that coming for being so stupid," Spike snorted. He shifted until his cheek rested on the wheel. His voice got small. "But, he's…he's family and shit. That's my big bro, Bee."

"Don't call me that," Goldbug growled, slamming on the breaks. The stop threw Spike forward, and he smashed his face into the wheel. The boy yelped, and fell back into the seat, moaning as he held his face. Goldbug sped up as he took the corner. "You're making me regret telling you my first name."

"Ow, take it easy," Spike said. He rubbed the side of his nose, before tapping the underside and looking at his fingers. Goldbug had no clue what he was checking for, but Spike slid down into his seat when he finished. He crossed his arms and dropped his head against the door. "'Goldbug's' a mouthful when you're drunk."

"Then don't get drunk," Goldbug said, matter of fact.

"My big brother got his arm ripped off because he wouldn't stop hittin' on Powerglide's girl," Spike said. He punched the door in a childish, and useless, effort to pay Goldbug back for the bruised nose. "I think I earned the right to get a little shit-faced."

"Ratchet's making him a new arm," Goldbug offered as a compromise.

Spike rolled over and crawled between the front seats to collapse in the back. He shrugged off his jacket, and shoved it in the corner as a pillow. Goldbug's back seat was cramped-Spike's head would hit the ceiling if he sat straight up-but Spike could fit if he laid on his back and curled up. It was snug, but he wouldn't get thrown around if Goldbug took a quick turn, either.

"That doesn't make it much better," Spike said, dropping his head on the jacket.

"I like to think a metal arm is an improvement," Goldbug hummed. Spike breathed in the back, seemingly in recharge. However, the boy shivered a second later in a violent shutter. Before he could help it, Goldbug asked, "Spike?"

"Powerglide ripped Butch's arm off like he was plucking a hair off a dog," Spike said. He pulled his foot in an inch, curling tighter around himself. His breath hitched, and his voice sped up as he started to ramble. "It was so easy. You saw it! There was blood everywhere, and he was screaming and trying to stop it and it kept coming out. I mean, we know you guys are bigger, stronger, and all that, but it doesn't really hit until you see it.

"Butch could'a died. Right there from blood loss. He could'a died, Goldbug.

"And over something as dumb as flirting." Spike shook his head, and dug his palms into his eyes sockets. "There's always been that threat of us getting squashed if we screw up or say the wrong thing ta' the wrong guy, but this is the first time someone's actually acted on it. It's like a big slap in the face how tiny I am, ya' know?"

"Lesson learned: Don't be stupid and keep your limbs," Goldbug huffed. "It's not that complicated."

"Yeah," Spike said, yawning into his hand. He tucked his hands into his sides, and pushed up against the back seat. Goldbug could feel his heart rate lower as he slowed down for recharge. The insignificant and vital heartbeat fluttered in his chest. "Do me a favor though."

"Oh?" Goldbug asked, amused at the boy's slurred words.

"If I do somethin' stupid," Spike said, eyes closed and breaths even. "Get ta' me first. I'd rather you do it, than one of those other guys. Won't be so bad if it's you…"

Spike fell asleep. Goldbug revved his engine as he picked up the pace back toward the arc. The road was rough under his tires and the living clump of meat in his back seat became infinitely more fragile. "Yeah. I can do that, Spike."