Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was not how I liked to present myself around guests. Even if unsaid guests were unwanted. 

There wasn’t an ounce of makeup on my sleep-deprived face. Normally I’d had my makeup done shortly after waking up, but I hadn’t touched any foundation, mascara, or lipstick in almost a month. 

Except once. 

For the funeral.

My bleached hair was a rat’s nest piled on top of my head with an old scrunchie, the muddy roots showing beneath. It had been well over a month since I’d last been to the hairdresser, so split ends were abound and at this point, my whole head would need to be bleached again if I wanted to stay blonde.

I wasn’t even dressed; I had a bathrobe thrown on over some boyshorts and a tank top that was so stretched out that it barely contained me on the best of days. The bathrobe was doing all the work of keeping me decent.

My unwelcome guests were doing a good job of pretending not to notice. Maybe they didn’t. I heard people tended not to pay as much attention to you as you thought.

Said "guests" were two federal agents: Simmons and a lackey whose name I forgot. Maybe Kingly, or Kinsely. I wasn’t surprised to see them—agents had been hanging around for the past month. I could only hope that this was going to be the last I saw of them for a very long time. 

In a perfect world, I’d never see them again.

They hadn’t told me anything about . . . anything. Not what branch they were from, not why they suspected foul play, nothing. Just that they had worked with my dad. He never told me any of that information, either, but these guys were high and mighty about it, whereas Dad had always been humble and assured us that if he had been allowed to, he would have told us about his work.

These guys were all bluster, self-importance, and power trips. I was so tired of it. 

“Again, we give our most sincere condolences,” Special Agent Simmons told me. He always stressed his title like an asshole.

I was pretty sure I shrugged and gave him some inane, insincere thanks, but it still felt like someone else was doing it. I wouldn’t lift my gaze past their ankles. There were more agents behind him, waiting at the end of the driveway by their Tahoe. Hovering. 

Just like they had at the funeral. You would have thought that the president himself was attending with how much security they had.

Maybe it was just professional courtesy. These were my dad’s people, after all. Special Agent Walker . . . though he was just a beaker: an engineer who dealt with the machinery that the other special agents used. Dad had been able to tell us that much, and it was all the other agents said. Official government business. 

You don't have the security clearance to know. 

For reasons I didn’t understand and they wouldn’t elaborate on, they felt the need to investigate my parents’ death “to the fullest”. It wasn’t like it was a hit-and-run. Our damn neighbors had run a red light going over seventy. Their large Suburban had wasted my parent’s Prius.

What was there to investigate about it? What would seizing both totaled cars do? The traffic cameras and the security system from their place of business, the convenience store where the accident had happened, captured the whole thing.

They ran that light going excessive speeds. They hit my parents. 

Killed them. My life, shattered by people I’d shared meals with. That I saw every day. That my family had considered good friends. They slammed into my parent’s car and killed them both. The Richards had been hospitalized, too, but hadn’t been nearly as injured. The injustice ate at me like a slow-burning acid, leaving a festering wound of ire.

It wasn’t fair. The tickets weren’t enough. The Richards didn’t even get any jail time for manslaughter like people had been gossiping about. I was ninety percent sure that Simmons and his goons had something to do with that, too, because they’d been all but shipped off to jail until they showed up, and then the charges were dropped. 

But beneath all that was guilt, too, that I should think such an awful thing about people I’d once thought of as family friends.

“Did you find anything?” I asked them, hoping to get to the point since I knew the answer.

The two men shared a look. Simmons said, “We are still investigating the car, but everything about Mr. and Mrs. Richards’ background checks came through and we have no reason to believe this was motivated by anything unsavory.”

My answer was an uninterested hum. Perhaps they thought those two were some sort of enemies of the state, sleeper agents bent on killing Dad to keep him from his work. 

It was dumb. No, downright idiotic.

“Okay, what else?”

Simmons furrowed his brow. “What else what?” 

“The Richards,” I demanded. “They were set to see justice, but then you guys showed up and now they’re just . . . free?” 

He swallowed and shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t have anything to do with the courts, miss. It was ruled an accident and they got their licenses revoked and likely will never get them back, they must have thought that was good enough.”

A well of resentment sprung up in me. Why had they dragged this out for nothing, then? They’d canvassed the entire town as if they’d been looking for a fugitive. They’d swooped in with several of their black SUVs and well-suited agents that had turned the whole place upside down for a goddamn traffic accident. 

And now, the perpetrators were getting away with barely any punishment? 

They destroyed my entire world in the span of a few seconds and just had their licenses taken away? In a town where you can walk everywhere, anyway?

Park City was a small place with a population of fewer than a thousand souls. It wasn’t even technically a town. It was a “census-designated place”, but we just called it a community. There was no mayor or any other form of government . . . Basically, it was just full of people who worked in Billings or Laurel. 

A “bedroom” community, if you will.

“We’ll be leaving today. I’ll ask you one more time . . . Are you sure you don’t want a job with us? We would train you, and then we could explain what’s going on and give you closure. You have a spot on the team since Lewis was—”

Finally, I snapped my head up to look this weasley man in the face and my deadened expression turned sour. “No, I do not.”

As if the things they had done during the last three weeks had given me anything but a sickening taste in my mouth. As if their conduct had been anything but repulsive during my time of vulnerability. Nothing about this had made me even remotely interested in working for whatever secret government sect they were a part of. 

Though I wanted to tell him all of this, I couldn’t muster the energy required.  I couldn’t promise myself I wouldn’t start crying if I did. 

Simmons ducked his head and backed off, swinging his arms by his side. “O-kay. Sorry. Again, I offer our deepest condolences. Please, try to have a nice day.”

I simply glared at him and his gang until they drove off in their government-assigned black Tahoe. Two more followed after them, heading out of town and back into whatever hole they crawled out of to “pay respects” to Lewis Walker and his wife, Millie. 

Dad and Mom.

They sure had a funny way of showing their respect. 

For another few moments, I remained standing on my stoop in nothing but underclothes, a bathrobe, and bare feet. I sniffed back my tears and caught the neighborhood busybody across the street, Mrs. Redd, peeking from her front window. I turned around in a huff and slammed my front door shut behind me, then sat down right there on the floor with my head in my hands. 

Chapter Text

It was hard to tell how long I was sitting there sniffling and weeping into my hands, but eventually, my phone started ringing. I let it ring since I didn't want to deal with anyone, but they called again right away.

Then they called a third time. 

Sighing, I wiped my eyes, pulled myself off the floor, and shuffled around to find my phone. I shrugged off my robe and let it fall to the floor in a puddle of rainbow-colored fleece, then kicked it aside with my heel as I walked past.

My cell phone was on the kitchen counter next to a bowl of half-eaten cereal, now soggy and beginning to congeal into a warm milk and fiber paste. I pushed the dish into the sink and turned in the water. 

Before deciding whether or not to answer the phone, I checked the caller ID. I had half a mind to just turn it off altogether, but when I saw the name on the screen, I groaned. 

Katie, my best friend, was stubbornly trying to get a hold of me. I'd even told her to call me when her plane landed.

She and I had known each other since basically kindergarten, drawn together at first because we had the same name. I was Kathryn, and she was Katherine. Kat and Katie. From there, we’d been inseparable. Even after she’d moved to Colorado to live with her husband’s family, we still talked every day. 

“Hi, sorry,” I muttered, rubbing my forehead. The sink was still on, desperately trying to wash away my uneaten breakfast and failing. 

“Why didn’t you answer?” she asked. Her demanding tone only barely masked the unbridled concern in her voice. 

“Yeah, sorry. Those agents from Dad’s work showed up to tell me what I already knew and I kind of . . . forgot you were going to call. I didn’t want to answer the phone.”

“Oh my god? Those creepy Men in Black looking fuckers? Jesus! What did they tell you? ‘Well, ma’am, it was all an accident. Have a nice day.’” Katie said it in a mockingly deep voice that was crazily similar to Simmons’s. 

The laugh that came out of me was dry and humorless. Almost hysterical. The tears were coming again and making my voice thick with emotion. “That’s almost exactly what he told me, Katie. He—the Richards didn’t—what was the point? Everyone . . . it was so easy to see it was an accident. They’re already . . . they’re already getting punished for this, so why would . . .”

“Kat. Kat, breathe, honey. Breathe—”

I couldn’t stop. “Why would they ruin the funeral, drag out the investigation, destroy my reputation, and make it so much har-harder for me to mourn? To . . . to what? For what? Why would they—”

“Kathryn. Please, honey, breathe! Fuck, I knew I should have stayed another week . . . I’m getting on the first plane out and coming right to you.”

She had been staying with me to help with the funeral and to keep me company. When she'd gone home, she begged me to make sure I was absolutely fine with her going back home. She’d stayed even longer than my maternal uncle had. My grandparents were all too elderly to travel, so they’d only sent cards. 

Only the goddamn agents stayed longer than anyone, and they weren't even welcome. 

Of course, I’d told her I was fine. How could I keep her here with me when she had a baby and her husband at home? The last thing I wanted was for her to have to take care of me, too.

I gasped in a breath and wiped my eyes with the heel of my palm. “No, no, Katie, don’t. I-I’m okay. I’m fine, I just . . . I didn’t know they were coming so I was a little blindsided.”

She was silent for a hot minute. Long enough that I wondered if she'd run to the airport and left her phone. Or just hung up. 

“Katie?” I prompted when she still hadn’t said anything. I checked, but she was still on the hook with me. 

Finally, she responded. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” I sighed, turning off the faucet so I could go sink onto my couch. Maybe I'd clean it later. “This whole thing has just been . . . a lot.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a lapse of time. I kept my eyes closed and listened to the ambient sounds of the TV I left running and she gave me all the time I needed to recollect myself. Then, I took one last deep breath.

“I might try to go into Laurel later . . . I need to go to Walmart.” 

Katie sounded incredulous. “Have you even tried driving since I left? I mean, you paid out the wazoo to have a taxi pick me up and take me to the airport. Which, by the way, I would have paid halfsies on!”

“Well, I mean, I tried to,” I admitted. “Driving, I mean.”

"Tried to?"

I grimaced. Ever since the accident, I’d been too terrified to take up the wheel. I could walk most places in Park City so it hadn’t been a problem. Not until I needed to go to Laurel, the closest town to us that actually had stores with any substantial products. There was a neglected bike in the garage that just needed some air in the tires, but that wouldn’t help with a grocery run. That would only help when it was time to go back to work.

Which would have to be soon. I’d used up my bereavement and was eating through all of my accumulated PTO and sick days. 

My uncle had come to attend the funeral and Katie had flown out as soon as she’d been able to scrounge up the funds for such a last-minute airfare ticket. Between the two of them, they’d been able to drive me around. 

Now they were both gone and my house was completely devoid of food. All I had left was dry Wheaties cereal, a couple of partially stale hamburger buns, and some seasoning bottles. There were some other odds and ends, but they were barely edible on their own. I needed to go to an actual grocery store, something that Park City was lacking. 

Laurel was just shy of nine miles away, but I still didn’t like the idea. I didn’t have to take the I-90, at least. South Park City Road would take me there, too, and it was much less busy. I could go at whatever speed I wanted. 

But, it wasn’t just the abject terror that I was going to wind up just like my parents if I drove. There was something else scaring me from driving.

"It . . . I think there's something wrong with my car. It feels different. I didn't notice when I was the passenger, but the seat's all wrong and it feels different, the noises are all wrong when I drive . . . I don't know, it's hard to explain. I'm afraid that, even if no one crashes into me, it's just gonna fall apart."

Katie sighed. "It drove fine when I used it and your uncle never said anything about it. You haven't driven in a while and it's an old car," she reasoned. “I’m sure you could call a tow truck and have it hauled into a shop if you’re worried about it, though, but between your car’s age and your nerves, I’m sure you’re imagining it.” Her words were harsh, but her voice was kind.

I nodded even though she couldn’t see it. “I guess . . . I don’t know. I need to go, and I don’t want to call a taxi. I’ll just, uh, try again.”

Katie made a low sound in the back of her throat which meant she was narrowing her eyes in scrutiny. “Maybe you should try to drive to the gas station first. They still sell like sandwiches and shit, right? Just buy yourself some gas station food and if you make it there without issue, you can try to go to Laurel.”

“I didn’t forget how to drive,” I pointed out. 

“I’m not saying you did. But I don’t want you having a panic attack because you’re afraid of getting hit or having your car explode or something. Especially between towns. At least if it happens in the middle of town, someone can help you out. I don’t want you stranded somewhere,” she said.

My eyes stung with fresh tears and I tried to hold them in even as my lip quivered. I tried to sneak some quick breaths in to calm myself down, and if Katie noticed something was wrong she didn’t say anything. She just waited, knowing eventually I would speak up.

When I felt like I wasn’t about to break down, I asked her, “Katie . . . am I being unreasonable? Am I . . . Am I allowed to be afraid even though I wasn’t there?”

“What? Kat, that is more than reasonable! Who told you you can’t feel this way?”

“N-no one, I guess,” I muttered. “Just me.”

“Well knock it the fuck off. You lost both of your parents not even a month ago. You saw their car after the fact, you’ve heard the police report. You sat in the hospital for hours waiting to see if your dad was going to make it,” she ranted, her voice wavering just a bit. She was trying to keep from sympathy crying.

Great. Now I was upsetting her.

She continued. “Kat, for fuck’s sake, they made you identify the bodies. And then those suits had the nerve to harass you and the community? You are abso-fucking-lutely allowed to be terrified of driving.”

I swallowed hard and hugged myself.  “You really think so?”

“Yes, girl. Therapy. ASAP. Get it.”

It did make me feel a little less guilty, but it was still lingering in the back of my head. “Okay. I’ll try . . . For now, I’ll just do my best.”

Katie heaved a beleaguered sigh. Then she said, “Alright, well, I have to put the baby down for his nap and maybe get a few things done around the house. I’ll call you later tonight, alright?”

“Yeah, I'll be around. They don’t expect me back at work until next week so I really need to figure out this driving thing by then,” I said. “I’ll try to make it to the gas station.”

“Alright, I’ll call you at like seven or something then,” she replied.

“Okay, sounds good. Talk to you then. Tell Brandon and Mikey that I said hi.”

“I will! Bye! And I'm serious. Therapy.”

I rolled my eyes but still smiled. “Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, I tossed it on the coffee table in front of me. I didn’t even wince when it thumped a little too hard against the wood. 

Though I hated myself for it, I started crying all over again.

When I stopped crying, I did the one surefire thing that not only cheered me up, but got me pumped up. 

A scalding hot shower.

I always used that time to wash away my nerves, to give myself a motivational speech. I made myself feel better by shaving, breaking out my nicest-smelling soap, doing an extra lather-rinse cycle for my hair, and doing some serious exfoliating. I cranked the hot water up to full and just relaxed the whole time.

When it came time to do my hair and makeup, though, I lost my momentum. 

I had the curling iron heated up and the blow drier in my hand. Normally I threw some beachy waves into my long hair to be cute but professional—I worked at a bank as a teller, so I didn’t have to be too formal—but my arms were heavy. I just kept thinking that there was no point. 

In the end, I gave up and just tossed my towel-dried hair up in a messy bun and called it a day. I unplugged the iron by yanking the cord out and didn’t bother wrapping it up nice and neat. I just waited for it to cool down while I got my other things together, then threw the curler and blow dryer under the sink.

My make-up was easier to do. I didn’t go all out like I normally did, I just put on some foundation, powder, and mascara for that natural look. Just enough to cover the dark spots under my eyes and the blemishes caused by anxiously picking at my skin. Enough to look less like a zombie and more like a functioning member of society again.

Though, I sure felt like a zombie.

A clean pair of jeans was on the floor, but it was too hot for pants. I settled on some shorts and a graphic tee that I dug out of my ancient dresser.  Anything to delay the inevitable. 

After collecting my purse, I paused at the door to put on my shoes, taking my sweet time. A single picture frame hung over the door; I stood on my tippy toes, plucked it free of the nail, and tossed it face-down on the couch so I wouldn’t have to look at the happy family’s smiling faces. I’d already packed the rest in the garage, and this one would join it later when I got home.

My family’s portraits, sequestered away to protect my already crumbling heart. I fled into the sweltering summer heat before I could succumb to my emotions again. 

The front door went unlocked. Everyone knew each other, so crime was virtually non-existent in our tiny little community. There were some occasional small-time cases of vandalism due to bored children and teens, but that was it. I would know . . . I used to be one of them. They mostly stuck to the school, leaving people’s houses and cars alone unless someone pissed them off. 

I distinctly remembered decorating Mrs. Redd’s house with toilet paper one year. Probably why she was always glaring at me from her window. 

We used to mess with the casino, but that had closed down not too long ago. A lot of stuff had changed since I was in high school, and that was barely even five years ago. That was the nature of things in a small community like this, though. 

Things changed that was the way of the world. 

I just wished my whole life hadn’t changed so violently overnight.

Chapter Text

An ancient and dying Volkswagen Golf sat in the driveway. It was a hideous orange color, though you almost couldn’t tell with the rust spots. It had seen both me and my mom through our high school careers, so it had just about earned a long and peaceful rest. We had done our best to keep it up: oil changed on time, tune-ups when warranted, all that stuff, but it was old as dirt so it had some issues. 

Thankfully, it at least ran and got me from point A to point B without that much complaining. If I was ever going to feel safe driving again, though, I was going to need to buy a car from this decade. 

And yet, I almost couldn’t bear the thought of letting it go. 

It was my link to my mom, the one thing she’d passed down to me. My parents had made sure I wanted for nothing, but this was the only thing that was like a family heirloom. 

I stopped short on the driveway, keys in hand, and stared at it. I’d been too lost to nostalgia to realize it at first, but now I could see that there was something wrong with this picture. My pulse hummed as anxiety washed over me.

It was facing the wrong direction. 

The Golf was backed into the driveway, its nose pointed at the road. Even before I had been overcome with terror at the mere idea of driving, I had never backed my car into anything. I refused to parallel park let alone back into any parking spots. I had my keys, so I knew they hadn’t been stolen. 

I wracked my brain for reasonable explanations. A prank? Maybe. Forgetfulness on my part? Not likely. I ran out of ideas after those two. 

But it certainly hadn’t gotten up and moved itself.

Tamping down the anxiousness gnawing at my insides, I pushed the thought to the back of my head. It had to have been a prank or a simple mistake. I hadn’t actually driven anywhere when I tried last time, just started the car. The engine had sounded off and when I’d tried to pull out of the driveway as slowly as possible, it had jerked and wobbled as if fighting me for control. I’d promptly abandoned the thought and hid inside the house. 

Katie or my uncle must have parked that way and I hadn’t noticed, so caught up with my own misery. I felt more lucid than I had in weeks, so that had to be it. It was the only thing that made any sort of sense at all. 

All I was doing was making up excuses, adding more fuel to my fear so I could talk myself out of driving. 

And yet, it seemed that the only thing I could do was stare at the old thing as dread settled into my stomach like a stone. This was something I needed to move past. I had to be better than this newly found phobia, irrational or not. I used to love driving, even rushing to get my license as soon as I could. Driving had meant freedom for me, the ability to go into town whenever. To take my friends places. 

Eventually, I’d have to start going to work. I could ride my bike just fine to and from the bank, sure, but I needed a car to ferry groceries home. I wanted my freedom back; I was holding myself prisoner. 

I reached for the driver’s side handle. My fingers were shaking. All I could see was the image of my parents’ mangled Prius, crushed beneath the Richards’ Escalade. My hands started shaking more and I took a step away from it, tears welling in my eyes and my chest tight. The image of them lying on that hospital table, a sheet covering their rigid bodies—

“Hey, Kat?”

The sudden greeting made me scream. I stumbled and whirled around, accidentally backing into my car, which just made me scream again. It turned into a yell of frustration and I stomped in a circle. A circle of shame. Shame for acting like a child, shame for being startled, shame for not being good enough, just . . . so much shame. 

Turning on the culprit, I shouted, “Cory! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” 

He was barely able to contain his laughter behind pursed lips. “Sorry,” he huffed out before hiding his face behind his arm. He bent slightly, unsuccessfully stifling his laughter. 

“It’s not funny, Cory.”

“Your face,” he wheezed.   

Huffing, I crossed my arms and glared at him, tapping my foot indignantly. 

Cory and I had lived four houses down from each other since we were in middle school, but it hadn’t been until high school when we’d started interacting. Our friend groups often commingled since we were a very small town and there weren’t a lot of kids our age to begin with. He was kind of an asshole in high school, but he gave me a lot of attention and I ate it up. 

I had originally been drawn to him because of the whole “bad boy” persona he had going on, and he’d been one of the cutest boys in our school. We were both terrible dates, though. Fucking around together worked better, as we enjoyed the thrill of sneaking out and meeting up on the sly, and defying our parents. We lived a life of debauchery to stave off the existential boredom of living in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do. 

It was a no-strings-attached arrangement that we continued even now. 

“What are you doing here?” I demanded after I thought Cory had somewhat calmed down and after my heart had stopped trying to leap from my ribcage. He made a big show of wiping fake tears from his eyes. I rolled mine and waited for him to answer. 

“I was on the way to work and saw you standing here in your driveway so I was just coming to say hi. You didn’t answer the first or second time,” he explained at last. “What are you doing staring at your car like that?”

My face was red and had been for probably the better part of our interaction. “You walk to work?” I said, deflecting.

Cory shrugged but didn’t take the bait. “Sometimes. So what were you doing?” 

I sighed and glanced over my shoulder at my car. “I need to go to Walmart but I . . . I don’t think I’m ready to drive yet.” 

“Ah,” he said knowingly and checked his phone. “What do you need at Walmart?”

“Food, mostly . . . I haven’t been grocery shopping since before my . . . since before,” I said, looking away from him. Mom was the last person to get groceries. 

He gave me a sympathetic look. “Well, you could stop by. Zip Trip’s got some food."

“Yeah, maybe.” Anything to keep from having to drive for another day. “Katie told me to do the same thing, but I wanted to try, at least.”

The gas station slash truck stop where he worked wasn’t too far away. Most places were within walking distance, actually. If that almost-panic-attack earlier had been any indication, I wasn’t getting to Walmart regardless. So, I would just have to get some junk food to eat for the next couple of days. 

Maybe once my stomach was full and my mind clearer, I’d be up to trying again. 

“You doing okay?” Cory asked me. 

“I’m . . .” I almost said ‘okay’ but stopped. There weren’t many people I felt comfortable enough to open up to, but Cory and Katie were two of them. “I’m . . . not great.”

“Yeah, I imagine not. Dumb of me to ask,” he muttered, scratching his chin in awkwardness. 

I didn’t blame him for not saying anything else. What kind of things would you say to someone in my situation? I wouldn’t know what to do or say either. A shoulder to cry on, maybe, but anything he said would have just been an empty platitude. 

“Well, if you need to get your mind off things, why don’t you come to Rockin’ 95 later tonight? A bunch of us are getting together for some drinks and food and shit,” he suggested.

That was the only bar in the area since the last place had closed down. Park City recently got a cafe, which was nice, but not really great for going out late at night. Rockin’ 95 was open until two in the morning, so it was the perfect place to go for night owls.

“When?” I asked. 

“We’ll meet up around, like, seven or seven-thirty. I’ll pick you up before that and we can walk there or I can drive you,” he offered. “Whatever you want.”

I thought about it for a few seconds. I didn’t really need to, since I knew I wasn’t going to be doing anything at all. Katie was going to call me later, but that was the highlight of my night. 

“Yeah . . . That sounds fine. We can walk, that way we don’t need a designated driver.”

He grinned and pointed at me. “I like the way you think. I gotta get to work, though. You coming?”

Nodding, I followed along after him, listening to him babble about nothing the entire way. We walked together into his place of business and he headed to the back to clock in and finish getting ready. I bade him a good shift and wandered around the sales floor, deciding what kind of stuff I should get.

There were no baskets or anything that I could spot, so I was limited by what could fit in my arms and what actually looked edible. 

In the end, I grabbed some wrapped sandwiches, a twelve-pack of off-brand soda that was marked on sale, a gallon of expensive gas station milk, a box of Hot Pockets, and some gas station apples. That would hold me over, surely. And I bought the fruit so it wasn’t all unhealthy food. That had to absolve me of any grocery-based sins. 

By the time I went to check out, Cory was on the register and waiting. I dumped my armful of barely-food onto the counter and he sifted through them, scanning and putting them in the plastic bags. 

“Damn is this enough? I’d eat through this in like three hours,” he remarked, his brows raised. 

I huffed. “I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”

He had clearly been expecting some sort of quippy remark because he just pressed his tongue against the front of his teeth and kept scanning my items in silence. A little bit of guilt gnawed at me since I knew he was just trying to keep things light and humorous, probably to make me feel better, but I just wasn’t feeling like sharing in his banter. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to have more fun at the bar,” I murmured, swiping my card.

Cory forced a smile and said, “No, you’re fine. You don’t have to entertain us, we’re just hanging out. Seriously, though, it sucks you gotta go through this. I know I’m not Katie, but I’ll try to help.”

It was hard to keep my eyes from stinging. I ducked my head to keep him from seeing the tears welling up and grabbed my bags. “Thanks, Cory. I really appreciate it. I’ll see you tonight.” I fled as swiftly as I could, a bag in each hand, sodas tucked under my arm, and tried to keep myself together as I walked home alone.

Chapter Text

When I got home, I ate one of the sandwiches with a soda and put the rest away for later. Then I sent a quick text to Katie to let her know what I'd done. She replied moments later with a kissy face emoticon, which made me smile at least. 

I wasn't sure what she meant but I liked the energy. 

With that out of the way, there were still so many things that I had to do. There was a whole list written down on a notepad somewhere. I found it on the computer desk in my room and ran through it. 

Go to the store—done. 

Sort of. I was counting my trip with Cory.

Call lawyers—gross. I hated making adult phone calls.

Call a realtor—great. Another adult phone call.

Box up stuff—I’d already done most of that and didn’t feel like going through the rest.

Sell the car, buy a new one—I still wasn’t sure I actually wanted to do that.

It wasn’t a hefty list, but a lot of the articles on it were causing some major anxiety. Mostly the ones where I had to call the two people. The lawyer would just be a little annoying, talking about the insurance money, but talking to the realtor, selling the house where I grew up . . .

Just thinking about it made my throat run dry. My plan had always been to move out of the state—maybe go work for an upscale bank chain in California or something. I wanted to go to school for something, but I wasn’t sure what. I could still do that, sure, but it didn’t feel the same. The only difference was that my plan didn’t include selling the house. And my parents were supposed to still be around. 

They were supposed to be there when I came home for a long weekend or a vacation. I should have been able to call them at any time I wanted to. 

The tears started coming and I curled up on the couch, my hands on my head.

It’s not fair, I lamented, biting my lip to try and stop crying. I’m not even thirty yet. You weren’t supposed to die for a long, long time.

There was still so much left for me to do and my parents were supposed to see it all. They were supposed to be there in the front row on the day of my wedding, my father walking me down the aisle. If I decided to have kids, they were supposed to be there to spoil them. Now that I didn’t have them anymore, what was there for me? My support system, my teachers, my family . . . What was the point of doing anything when they weren’t going to be around to be proud of me? To experience the rest of my life the way they were supposed to until they got old?

I felt so stuck. When they had been around, I’d felt like I could do anything.

Not anymore. I was a lost, helpless child.

When I had control of my emotions, I called up the lawyer to get an update on everything. They said they would call, but that was a few days ago and I was starting to get nervous. I had been saving up for three years to move out, but it wasn’t enough. If insurance and the lawyers didn’t pull through, there was so much I would have to pay out of pocket and I’d have to start saving all over.

Hospital bills, the funeral, my mom’s credit card, the lawyer . . .

My parents weren’t poor by any means, but their assets would be tied up until the lawyers had everything sorted. I didn’t want to do any of it, though. I didn’t care how well-off my parents had been. I would have much rather had them than their money or the insurance payout. 

I wanted them back so badly it hurt.

There still weren't any changes with the lawyer, but they said by the end of next week it should be sorted, I just needed to meet in person at some point before then.

Ugh.

The whole family used the bank Mom and I worked at, so it should have been easier since everyone knew me. I also knew it was protocol, though, and they couldn’t break it.

Mom was the reason I’d been able to get the job at the bank as a teller right out of high school. Dad had offered me a position with him working for the government, but how much he traveled and all the secrecy had turned me off of it. Living out of hotels and always being on the move had not been tempting at all. I never understood why we didn't move closer to his job site in Nevada. It wasn't like Mom and I couldn't find jobs there.

All he ever told us was that it was better that way, better that we were away from his work. That he couldn’t elaborate, but it was safer that we stayed in his hometown. If Mom’s hometown was closer, we would have moved there, but she was from Rhode Island. They’d met in college, both traveling out of state to go to one in California. 

Next, I researched some realtors that could sell the house. I wasn’t ready to commit, so I just did some window shopping and wrote down a few numbers, logged some email addresses. It looked like most of them were based out of Laurel and Billings.

It had taken a lot more time than I thought to get that done: I stalled and snacked and took breaks to watch TV and had just browsed around on the internet. Anything to put off the hard stuff.

The only thing left was to pack up my parents' stuff, but I didn’t want to do that alone and my heart wasn’t ready for it yet. Once I was actually on the path of selling the house, I would call my Uncle to have him come get anything he wanted and help me take care of the rest. I was thinking of a yard sale. Then, it was off to a Goodwill or other charity for what was leftover.

With that decided, I was finished with my list. There wasn't anything good on TV, so I decided to try again to make amends with my old car. If I could get into the driver's seat and out of the driveway, maybe everything else would fall into place. 

First, I consulted the internet for possible strategies for overcoming fear. Most of the advice was to face it head-on but also take time to get through the panic, and I found some ways to cope with anxiety while I was at it. Anything to help me get over this. I had to drive . . . There were no other options. There was no public transit in this area, no ride shares, and taxis were expensive. 

First, I needed to make sure I was calm. That was step one of ten, as detailed on the first Google result for "how to face your fears". 

Clear head. Be worry-free for fifteen minutes. I accomplished that by doing some more tidying, directing my energy toward mindless chores. When I felt at least less wound up, I decided it was time and I plucked my keys off the entryway table. I couldn't give myself time to talk my way out of it. 

The game plan was to sit in the driver's seat. If I felt good after that, maybe I would try to roll through the neighborhood.

It was right where I left it, facing the wrong direction. Waiting, taunting me. I walked around to the driver’s side and, with shaking fingers, opened the door. I left it unlocked most of the time, again because of the whole “barely any crime” thing. 

Letting out my breath, I let my hands fall and stared at the worn, faded seat cover. All I had to do was sit down.

I slid into the driver's seat. I checked the mirror and the chair adjustments and sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel. Mirrors were still good, the seat was fine . . . I’d adjusted them already the first time I tried to drive after my uncle and Katie had. Everything seemed fine.

Easy.

Now I just had to turn it on.

Key in hand, poised to go into the ignition, I hesitated. What were the chances it would explode if I turned it on? Probably pretty low . . . But never zero.

Panic was starting to set in, but I had those ten steps from Google in my back pocket. Step two was to breathe through the panic, not fight it. Experience it, not run from it. I'd already done step three, and that was to face it. I was in the car, I was ready. I just had to start it. 

The next step was to think of the worst, which was also something I'd already been doing. 

When that was the car exploding and me dying, though . . . On to step four. Look at the evidence. It was a stupid thought. Completely unheard of except for in action movies. My car was healthy, if old. It wouldn't explode without some sort of bomb attached to it.

Right? 

What would I tell Katie if it was her telling me she was afraid of dying in a car accident? Afraid of her car exploding? What would she tell me if I called her right now?

"Kat," I said, staring at the steering wheel and using my best impression of her, "don't be ridiculous. You're a great driver and your car has no reason to explode. There's barely anyone on the road and one accident in fifteen years or whatever is great odds. You got this, girl."

It worked somewhat, though still felt a little disingenuous. But, my mood was trending in the right direction. 

Breathe in, breathe out. I didn't have to be perfect. Turning the car on and making a single trip around the block would be serviceable, then I could treat myself. 

I held my breath, plunged the key into the ignition, and turned on the engine. It came to life with a single sputter and I winced. Not normal. It was supposed to cough to life like a chain smoker and then settle into vibrating silence. There was supposed to be something that rattled in the dashboard, too, junk stuck somewhere in the innards, but that was gone.

My car being in better health should be a good thing, but it wasn’t normal. I hadn’t done anything to fix it up. I suppose Dad could have before he died, intending to tell me later and never able to. The thing in the dashboard could have finally shaken loose. There were perfectly mundane reasons for it to be better than it was before, at least on the inside. It was still the same piece of junk it always was on the outside. 

But it was my piece of junk.

As the engine started, so did the radio. It blasted the chorus to Queen’s “We Are the Champions” at maximum volume, making me cringe at the noise. I hastily turned it off, huffing and puffing. 

Who the hell had turned the radio up that loud? 

For the longest time, I just sat there, listening to the engine idle and waiting for my heart to stop beating a mile a minute. The car hadn't exploded and probably wouldn't. I was confident in my ability, too, but my driving and the car’s reliability were only part of the problem. The big problem was wondering what the other people on the road were going to do.

If anyone was going to hit me.

Crash into me.

Kill me.

Closing my eyes, I sat through the panic and reminded myself of the steps. I was skipping some because they weren't important. No one was going to crash into me while I went around the neighborhood once while going five miles an hour.

"You can do this," I muttered to myself. 

I shifted into gear and managed to pull all the way into the street. This time, it was smooth and my car didn’t wobble or pull. I let out my breath and crawled through the street. The neighborhood had several loops and dead ends, so I could go around and around.

I eased through the empty road at a leisurely pace that barely registered on the speedometer. Most cars were parked in driveways or garages, but a few were on the curb. I gave those a wide berth.

All I had to do was drive slower than usual and pay extra attention to what was going on. It was only following the rules for me. No rolling stops at the signs and no going five miles over the speed limit. It was my hands at ten and two, checking the mirrors regularly, and keeping eyes on the road. No texting.

I was going to be a good girl. 

All things considered, the drive went well. I didn't go fast, and I just rolled around the neighborhood, but I felt good about it. Good enough to do it twice.

By the time I pulled back into the driveway, I was on cloud nine. I considered, briefly, going to the store, but I quashed that immediately. Mainly because I'd already gone to the store but also because I didn't want to push myself. Sure, I was feeling good, but I couldn't promise myself that I'd be okay sharing the road. 

As I had told myself before; baby steps. 

That was something Future Kat could deal with. For the time being, I was feeling giddy and needed to call my best friend and tell her the good news. If I kept going like this, I'd be able to drive to Laurel to get groceries and go to work. I'd have an iota of control over my life again. My freedom. 

Yes, I definitely felt like I deserved a night of drinking at the bar. I couldn't wait. It could have been the adrenaline talking, but for the first time since my parents died, I was feeling like maybe I really did have the capacity to get through this.

Chapter Text

If you didn’t know what you were looking for, you’d never find Rocking’ 95 Bar. The outside was completely unassuming–beige wooden slats on a long building with no signs except for a few neon ones in the windows at the front. The rest of the windows always had the curtains drawn. The parking lot was unmarked gravel, only one dirt-covered truck parked off to the side. A small billboard towered behind it. 

Cory and I walked there, and it was anyone’s guess how many people would actually be inside once we pulled open those doors, assuming everyone else walked, too. 

As soon as we entered, we were greeted by boisterous cheers as if we were some sort of celebrity couple: our friends had noticed our arrival. 

The inside was comfortably dim. Instead of tables, tall counters with equally tall leather chairs lined the front of the house. A single pool table was in the back, and the walls were decorated with seemingly random signs typical for a dive bar. Different beer brands, a large one reading ‘cheers’, and a big NASCAR poster on one wall. 

It was our group of friends plus a couple of usuals stuck in corners or alone at the bar. We joined our people at the center counter. It fit six chairs, three on either side. With Cory and I arriving, another seat had to be dragged to the edge of the counter; that was where I sat.

“Cory, you brought a date!” Anthony, Cory’s best friend, greeted us first. 

“No date, just Kat,” Cory quipped as he took a seat across from another. He plucked a fry off someone’s plate and threw it at Anthony. 

“We love Kat!” Another, Eddie, crowed. He didn’t seem to mind Cory stealing his fry and choosing violence. 

Eddie’s boyfriend, Carlos, was sat next to him with an arm draped over his shoulder. He asked me, “How are you feeling, Kat? When Cory said he invited you, we weren’t sure you would be up to coming out and being rowdy with us.”

I shrugged. “I’m not amazing but I’m good enough to hang out.”

The other two girls at tables, twins Kyla and Crystal, giggled and pushed a couple of shot glasses to both me and Cory. “We ordered shots of whiskey for you guys ahead of time! Figured we’d get this party started with the hard stuff to help loosen you up,” Crystal said.

Unable to keep from grinning, I said, “Great. I’ve needed something hard.”

Everyone looked expectantly at Cory, including me, but he had been busy stuffing his face full of Eddie’s fries. He looked up from his food-based thievery, swallowed the half-chewed mouthful, then croaked out, “I got something hard for you.”

I rolled my eyes and knocked back the shot. The rest of them brayed like fucking donkeys. It seemed as if the five of them had already had their fair share of shots.

Still, I was feeling better already. I had been afraid that I’d be far too depressed to be any fun to hang out with, but seeing everyone together and being exposed to their chaotic energy was kind of like . . . being home again. Like everything was normal, the same way it always had been. It was contagious.

It was just what I needed.

The bartender came over and we ordered more fries, nachos, and another round of shots. I ordered something called a Riptide to drink, as well. We only became rowdier and rowdier, catching up with everything that had been going on and talking about all we’d been getting into for the past few months—the last time we’d all met, it had been near the beginning of the year and it was currently nearing the end of May.

“Kat, Kat, Kat,” Kyla whined, grabbing my arm. “You gotta come out more often! We miss you. We miss coming and seeing everyone!” 

I gave her head a pat. “If you guys get together, call me. I’ll come.”

She cheered and shuffled around the table to give me a big hug. “Yay! It just super sucks that we couldn’t get together when Katie was in town, but it probably wouldn’t be apropos to do that cuz of the . . . the thing that happened.”

Eddie threw a fry at her. “Don’t bring it up!” 

“Oh my god, sorry!” She sounded genuinely aghast and I just giggled.

That was probably the eighteenth fry someone had thrown in the last few hours. It was surprising that the waitress hadn’t chased us out yet. Surely having to clean up after our dumb asses wouldn’t be worth whatever money we paid. 

We were generally good tippers, at least. Well . . . I was, anyway. Tried to be. If you weren’t, you tended to risk being tarred and feathered ‘round these parts. 

Eventually, though, they cut us off sometime near one in the morning. We were told to leave so we wouldn’t get too wasted. Despite the good-natured whining and complaining, we quickly whipped out our cards and pooled all the cash we had together for tips. Anthony very carefully stacked all the cups and plates, fixated on making the table clean and picking up the fries off the floor.

“Dude let’s go-o-o!” Cory groaned, grabbing Anthony by the back of his shirt and yanking him toward the door. 

“No—ah! I missed a fry! Ms. Waitress, I’m sorry!”

As we all wedged through the door, I caught the waitress smiling to herself and shaking her head as she started clearing the table. Though I recognized her, I couldn’t summon her name.

“Are we too drunk to go racing?” Carlos was wondering as we spread out into the parking lot. 

I chimed in immediately. “Yes. No driving . . . we are not driving. None of you. Not a one. Don’t even look at a car.” I pointed angrily at each and every one of them, my steps faltering slightly on the uneven ground. 

Cory laughed. “Better listen. We don’t want another accident happening.”

He grimaced as soon as the words were out of his mouth and I glared angrily at the ground, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. I didn’t feel totally smashed, but definitely drunk. I felt like I was floating through the world, but my feet dragged through the loose dirt.

“Fuck, then what should we do?” Anthony said, deflecting the conversation off of things none of us wanted to think about, most of all me. 

“Carlos and I gotta go to work in the morning,” Eddie said, his arm draped around his boyfriend, “so we’re probably going to go home. It’s not like we got anything to do around here and I dunno ‘bout you all but I ain’t gonna go TP Mrs. Redd’s house again.”

“Ugh, yeah,” Kyla huffed. “Work. I wish you hadn’t reminded me.”

Crystal groaned. “Being an adult sucks.”

Scoffing, I said, “You dummies really said ‘let’s go get wasted on a work night’ like dummies.”

“You said ‘dummies’ twice,” Kyla jeered. Crystal was much quieter than her twin.

“I’ll say you twice!” Cory shot back, stumbling on the words, as he came to my aid. I guessed he felt like he had to defend his main squeeze or something. It made me smile but also made me roll my eyes.

She put her hands up like she wanted to fight. “That doesn’t make sense!”

Carlos put himself between all of us and held his arms out like a boxing referee. “No—no! No fighting! Time-outs, all of you!”

We were all quiet for a moment, then bust up laughing for a few minutes.

“Alright, alright . . . Guess we should all go home. Jesus, we’re all a bunch of fuddy-duddies.” Anthony picked up and tossed a rock at the bushes in mock frustration.

“Uh, no, you’re a fuddy-duddy for using the term ‘fuddy-duddy’ in the first place,” I said. 

Anthony pretended to kick me and the others snickered. 

Cory pulled me safely out of Anthony’s reach and laughed, then said, “Alright, well, see you all next time. I’m gonna walk Kat home since we live on the same street and all that.” 

Taunts picked up and Anthony said, “Yeah, that’s why you’re gonna walk her home.”

More banter and feigned anger passed through our group even as we all split our separate ways. It meant we were shouting at each other for a few minutes, but eventually we were too far away and just sort of stopped with some barely-heard insults. Then it was just Cory and I walking the familiar path back to our neighborhood. 

“That was nice,” I said, pulling my light jacket close around me. The days were nice and toasty, but the night could get a little chilly. 

He sniffed a laugh and replied, “Yeah, you looked happy.”

We were content to fill the time with jokes about simpler times, but as we drew nearer to my home, the hot stone of dread settled into my stomach. It was back to that empty house full of loaded silence. I could barely focus on what Cory was trying to tell me.

"Hey, Cory?" I asked, cutting off whatever thing he was saying. We were in my driveway.

I could see the irritation in the pinch of his brow, but he didn’t complain about my interruption. "What up?"

"I . . . don't really want to be alone in my house tonight. Will you stay with me tonight?" 

Though he tried to hide it, his face lit up and he barely contained a grin. Once he had his expressions under control, he shrugged and played it cool. “I mean, yeah. Of course. I can keep you company if you want.”  

Smiling, I shook my head at him and took a step closer, threading my fingers through his open jacket. “Company and a . . . distraction.” 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” he replied, bringing his arms around me, his hands clasping comfortably together at the small of my back. 

I leaned up to kiss him, but his attention snapped to my car sitting in the driveway. His easy smirk turned mischievous and he nodded his head toward it. “Hey, you know what you need to get over your fear of that old thing?” he asked.

Grimacing, I didn’t even look. “What?”

“You gotta remember the good times!”

Cory grabbed my hand and led me toward it. I groaned but didn’t fight him. “By all means, enlighten me.”

“Them’s big words for a drunk girl.”

“I’m barely buzzed,” I said flippantly. A lie, but we both knew it. “I just dunno what ‘good time’ you’re talking ‘bout.”

“What? You mean you don’t remember driving all of us to Billings and Kyla tossed Crystal’s hat out the window in a fit of jealous rage?” he said, gesturing vaguely to the window. “Or when it snowed that one year and that hag Redd called the cops on us for doing donuts in the parking lot at night?”

“Shh, she might be listening.” I craned my neck to look in the direction of her house, but it was dark and seemed like everyone was asleep. That didn’t mean anything when it came to that nosy lady, though. 

Then, I actually thought about what Cory said and snickered. “I think she wanted us to get arrested but they just sent us home with a ‘disturbing the peace’ warning.”

His smile grew even wider as he walked me around the front and then swung me around, hoisting me up to sit on the hood, his hands lingering on my hips, his face tantalizingly close to mine. “Or, when we drove out to the kayak entrance and parked in the dark . . .”

“Mhmm? I don't quite remember” I hummed, refusing to take the bait. I wanted him to say it. 

There was barely a hair’s width of space between us—a simple twitch would bring our lips together. His hands slid inside my jacket and up my shirt, rubbing my sides in languid strokes.

“We crawled into the back seat and had sex there in the woods,” he whispered. He squeezed me just close enough to claim my mouth with his, kissing me deeply for a few seconds before pulling away again. “Maybe you just need to be reminded that there’s still fun to be had in a car. Maybe this one. Maybe right now.”

Giggling, I said, “I think that’s exactly what I need,” and he pushed my jacket off my shoulders, kissing me again—deeper, his tongue sweeping through my mouth. I slid the jacket the rest of the way off and threw my arms over his shoulders.

The car doors locked with a heavy sound and we both leaped off the hood in fright. Cory pushed me behind him and we looked around, gaping. It was an old car, which meant that I had to lock and unlock the doors manually with my key. Even if there was a fob with buttons, I didn’t have them with me because I didn't plan to drive.

We shared a look. 

“Maybe we should go inside,” I said. 

He nodded and swallowed hard. “Yeah, maybe.”

Cory laced his fingers with mine and we scurried up the driveway to my front door. I was too giddy from raging hormones and alcohol to worry about what the hell was going on with my car. I could think about that later. All I wanted to do was climb this man like a tree and forget about everything that was bothering me, even if it was only for one night, only for a few hours.

The front door was unlocked and I hurriedly pushed it open, eager to escape the weird happenings of my car. I didn’t even bring my jacket with me, leaving it there on the hood, forgotten and abandoned. I grabbed Cory by the front of his shirt and I yanked him inside. What I meant to do was pull him into a kiss, but the alcohol and haste made me clumsy. We toppled over onto each other, crying out and laughing. 

Cory kicked the door shut and rolled off of me. "I didn't bring any condoms, but I could run out and grab some from work real quick."

I sat up and draped myself over him, desperate for some physical contact and comfort. "I have some stashed in my room, it's fine." Hidden away, safe from the prying eyes of my parents who pretended not to know I'd been sexually active since I was sixteen. 

"Oh, well, don't mind if I do," he said with a grin, finally letting me kiss him again. 

We removed his coat, trying our hardest not to stop kissing for more than a second or two. It was wanton and all tongue and heavy breaths. Just as I started unfastening his pants, though, I stopped and pulled away from his lips, suddenly feeling guilty.

"Are you ok with me using you like this for some comfort?" I asked, my forehead against his.

"You bet I fucking am," he replied without hesitation. He pulled me to my feet and we found the way to my room. 

The two of us shed the rest of our clothes and he playfully pushed me onto the bed, crawling on top of me. His hands were all over—blazing a trail of fire up my sides and over my hips, my breasts, my stomach. I trapped his face in my hands, brushing my thumbs over the light stubble of his jaw, our mouths moving in familiar tandem. 

This was routine. Cory was safe, he was soothing. The taste of his skin, the pressure of him on top of me. We were familiar with the rhythm of each other. There were no surprises as he finally peeled away from my lips and kissed liquid heat down my chest and stomach and then lower still. I fished the sheets in my hands and arched my back, a breath shuddering out of me. 

He left me hungry for more and I coaxed him back on top of me. “Please, Cory, I want to feel you,” I said in a whisper, my voice breathy. He kissed me again and we parted just long enough for me to search my drawers for the condom and help him fit it. Then he obliged, his hips crashing against mine, fitting together like two puzzle pieces.  

And, just like that, I forgot about everything else except for that moment, the two of us. His breath against my neck, my nails scraping against his back. Everything melted away and, eventually, I melted as well. 

We were experts in using each other up, and once we came undone, limbs disentangled, we slid under the covers and fell asleep together. I slept better that night than I had all month, but when morning inevitable dawned, all of it came crashing back down around me like the fragile glass it was. 

Chapter Text

Cory was still in my bed. I smiled and pulled closer to him, only for my eyes to fly open in panic.

“Why are you still here?” I hissed, shaking his shoulders.

“Huh?” He startled awake and looked around through half-closed eyes, then groped around to look for his phone. “Shit . . . What time is it?”

“I don’t know but you gotta go. If my parents catch us—”

Both of us stopped short. I looked away from him and sniffed. “Uh, never mind.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, rubbing my back to console me. It didn’t really help, but I appreciated the gesture all the same. Perhaps sleeping with him again was just a tad too familiar.

I changed the subject. “Are you going to stay for a bit? Maybe have some breakfast? I don’t have much, though . . . Never did go to the store. I got some cereal I guess. An apple, maybe. Sorry”

Cory climbed out of the bed and picked up some of his clothes. “Normally I would, but I told the boss I’d pick up some extra hours today.”

I pushed the blankets aside and stretched. "A come and go kinda guy, huh?” I teased.

“I try not to be, but we slept pretty late,” he said with a huff, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. “It’s almost noon.”

“Shit, really?” As if I didn’t believe him, I checked the clock on the wall. It was a fancy one that spelled out the time in words. Sure enough, it was minutes before noon. It was starting to become a habit for me, though, so I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was.

While he fetched the rest of his clothes, I threw on some clean underwear and my rainbow-colored bathrobe. I wanted to ask him to stay longer, anything to keep me from being alone in this empty house, but that wasn’t our arrangement. It wasn’t how it worked. I was reaping what we’d sown and was regretting it now.

“Well, I guess I’ll talk to you later then,” I sighed, walking him to the front door. He shoved his feet in his shoes. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

He flashed me a coy grin. “No problem. Thanks for the sex.”

Blushing, I pushed him out the front door. “Don’t make it weird!”

All he did was chuckle at me. With a wave and a smile, he was off down the street at a brisk walk, his shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets. I glanced toward the car and grimaced when I saw my coat there. Barefoot, I padded over and snatched it off. On my way back, I spotted Mrs. Redd peering out at me from the window across the street. I waved at her passive-aggressively and then slammed the door shut behind me.

Once settled on the couch, I checked my phone and found that I had a missed call and some text messages from Katie. The messages were just her telling me to call when I got the chance. 

Good. Another distraction was just what I wanted. 

When she answered, she immediately said, “There you are. Were you sleeping? It’s late there.”

“Kind of. I was out late,” I responded, flopping down over my bed.

“Doing what?”

“Cory,” I said with a cheeky clip. 

Katie scoffed. “Him again? Girl, you need some fresh meat.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, a little embarrassed. “He’s not that bad. I can’t get ‘new meat’ until I leave this town, anyway.”

“Do you have any plans for today?” she asked. I could hear her rummaging around and fussing over her baby. I’d met him once when he was a few months old, and she was constantly sharing pictures.

He was about as cute as any baby was, I supposed. Maybe a bit cuter than average because he was my best friend's kid. I could admit my bias.  

“Not much. I’m going to try driving to the store again. Are you busy planning little Mikey’s first birthday?” I got up and headed up to my room to pick out some clothes to wear. It was about time I got my day started for real.

“I suppose so. We’ve got a bunch of invites to send out and stuff. Brandon and I are super excited about it, though. Will you be able to come down for it?”

“Probably. When is it?”

“Well, his actual birthday is the eighth of August, so we’ll have his party the weekend after. If you can’t make it, I’ll totally understand,” she babbled.

“That’s a couple months from now, yeah?” 

“Yup!”

“Should be fine. I wouldn’t miss it.” I might feel a little bad for taking even more time off than I already had, but it couldn’t be helped. The baby wasn’t going to remember any of it, but my best friend would and that was important.

“So,” Katie chirped, “where you think you gonna move to? You wanna come live with me and the hubby? Our lease is up in November so we could all get a house together and live happily ever after.”

“You think that’d work?” I asked, baiting her into a speech.

She fell for it hook, line, and sinker. While she ranted about how awesome it would be and all the fun things we could do together, I thought about waking up to a crying child at all hours of the night. On top of that, I’d have to find a new job or figure out where I could transfer to. I liked the idea, though, and I would have time to figure it all out later. I missed our adventures. 

When she was done, I said, “I’ll definitely think about it. Maybe you could look around and let me know what the price ranges are.”

“I for sure will,” she assured me. “I gotta feed Mikey, so I’m gonna go. You keep hanging in there, okay? I’ll text you later girly.”

Since she couldn’t see me, I didn’t force a smile. “I will, thanks. Say hi to the little one for me.”

“I sure will. Good luck with the store!”

“Thanks, Katie. Have a good day.”

“You too. Bye.”

I hung up the phone and tossed it on the bed. The empty house lapsed into even deeper silence. I sighed and took a quick shower, blasting music on my phone so I could listen to something other than my own thoughts for a time. Cory had been a nice distraction, but it had been fleeting.

Maybe I needed to get a cat.

When I was showered and made-up (I still couldn’t be bothered with my hair, so another messy bun it was), I checked my emails while chewing on an apple to find that one of the realtors I had contacted responded. They wanted pictures of the house and had a few other questions, but I could do that later after I’d fixed up the place a bit more. The yard was a disaster, but that would be the new owner's problem.

There was nothing from the lawyers yet. I sighed and decided to quit stalling. It was time to take that leap and drive my ass to the store.

I marched outside before I could talk myself out of it and stood in front of the car. We faced off like rivals, staring down one another. Except not because I was staring at the door and it was facing the closed garage.

The way it was supposed to be facing. All was right with the world again. 

“You need to relax,” I muttered to myself. I was imagining having some sort of high-noon standoff with a friggen car. It was innocent in all this, and I had already driven it once before without an issue. I’d been going five miles an hour, sure, and just circled the block, but it counted. 

It had to count. I needed it to count.

Maybe I needed to get back to my regular schedule and return to work or something. Some normalcy could do me good. But what was ‘normal’ now that I didn’t have my parents?

After that romp around the block yesterday, it was much easier to sit in the old Golf. I still hesitated when it came to turning the engine, but it rumbled to life without exploding. I didn’t even need to pep-talk myself or imagine that I was Katie. So far so good.

"Just pretend you're going around the neighborhood," I told myself.

I pulled out of the driveway and slowly made my way toward the back road that led to Laurel: Park City Road. I definitely wasn't ready for the highway, but I was keeping my cool as I rolled through the streets.

Something was nagging me, though. I just couldn't figure out what.

Maybe it was the rattle that was gone. After years of the dashboard making that noise, the absence of it was unnerving. The anxiety didn’t help. I turned the radio up a little louder to drown out my own thoughts, to ground me, though I only half paid attention to the lyrics of the power ballad blasting. I let the air condition breeze at full blast, too, hoping the icy air would cool my heated nerves.

The ride was smooth and I only saw four other cars as I made my way through the community, three of which I let pass me. I moved way too far over, as we had mostly functioning lanes, but it still made me feel better. 

I’d driven the route a thousand times over, so I was confident that muscle memory and auto-pilot would see me safely through, but it was still the other drivers that worried me.

Before I knew it, I was already out of civilization and surrounded by wilderness, puttering along Park City Road. To my left was Interstate 90 and open fields, and to the right was . . . More open fields. There were a few farmhouses here and there, but otherwise, I was out in the middle of nowhere.

I would just take it slow and let anyone else on the road pass me. I kept that thought in my head as I made it through the first half-mile.

So far, so good 

Two miles and too many minutes later, I was just about to breathe in a sigh of relief when the flashing lights sprang up in my rear-view mirror. They were punctuated by the loud call of a warning siren. The police, way out here?

Confused and nervous, I glanced behind me in the mirror. Sure enough, it was a police cruiser approaching behind me at pace—one I didn’t recognize. All of the cop cars that frequented this area were still Impalas or even older Crown Vics, but this one was in a brand new, shiny Mustang with all the bells and whistles.

None of the cops in Laurel or Billings drove those, either, so where had this guy come from? And he was right on my ass. If it weren't for the fact that this road was completely empty, I might have thought he was chasing down someone else. So why was he after me? Was I going too slow? I really hoped he didn’t want me to speed up . . . I was barely comfortable going only five or ten miles under the limit. If I had to go faster, I might actually die of fright. It was a miracle I was driving in the first place!

Oh well. If it was from someone around town, they’d understand. Hopefully.

Being pulled over, in general, was enough cause for alarm. Something about this was different, though, and it all centered around the car. There would be no reason for any of the locals to call someone from the big cities to come to my podunk town.

No, something wasn’t right. 

After pulling off onto the right-hand shoulder, I cut the engine but left the key in so the windows would still work, then silenced the radio. It had been a while, but I knew the drill. I even pulled my wallet into my lap so I was ready to give him my license. My registration was on my phone, so I was frantically trying to open the app.

A difficult feat out in the middle of nowhere. The reception was awful. 

The first ticket I ever received was a few weeks after I got my license. I got a little excited on the open highway one night and had a case of a lead foot. I got away with just the ticket, but my parents had really laid into me about it. I’d had to do extra chores to help pay for it. 

It was the first ticket I'd been given, but not the first time I’d gotten into trouble. I had taken my fair share of rides home in the back of cops' cars, so I should have been a bit desensitized. If I’d lived in a bigger city, I probably would have spent a few nights sleeping in a jail cell. Here in Park City, I got away with a bunch of warnings and a couple of groundings. Probably because it was all just teenage shenanigans and we didn’t break or steal property, nor did we ever hurt anyone. 

Instead of pulling up behind me when I pulled over, though, the officer brought his car up next to mine and risked impeding traffic. 

Not that there was any. 

When I recovered from the shock, I lowered my window and leaned out.

“Afternoon, sir. What’s the problem?” I asked as sweetly as possible, tilting my head to the side. It didn’t slip my notice that his window wasn’t rolled down.

The mustachioed cop turned his head to look at me. I couldn’t see his expression behind the giant aviator sunglasses he wore, but his lips were in a thin line and he looked like a no-nonsense kind of guy. He didn’t say a thing, either—only stared. I definitely didn’t recognize him.

“Officer?” I pressed, still keeping my voice sweet and innocent. Now that bad feeling in my gut had turned into a churning knot of unease. I really wished he would roll down his window. 

Or do anything, really.

A light flashed and blinded me for a second. I held my hand up to shield my eyes and squinted hard. It was like the sun had shifted, or was being reflected off of something, but it wasn’t natural—it was a sharp white-blue color, like the highest lumen LED light. For a moment, I thought it was coming from inside the car. Was he using his spotlight on me?

Following that came a horrid, static screech that warbled and wailed like an old-school dial-up tone. It set my teeth on edge and I had to clasp my hands over my ears to block some of it out. As quickly as it started, though, it ended and my head didn’t explode like I thought it might.

I gasped and looked around, bewildered. “What the fu—”

My Golf roared to life and peeled out from next to the cop without me lifting a finger. Or turning the key. Or pushing on the pedals. The tires squealed on the loose gravel of the shoulder and caused the car to fishtail, but it shot off down the road. I almost didn’t have enough time to pull my head in the window before it slid shut. Behind me, the cop car let out a hair-raising, mechanical roar.

Chapter Text

Screaming, I grabbed the wheel and attempted to gain control of my runaway vehicle. Instead, it veered faster, a pace I didn't even think was possible on a rusted chassis. My pulse thudded against my eardrums and I wrested for control, pounded my foot against the brakes. Nothing worked. There was no response from my car—it had a mind of its own. It didn’t matter if I took the key out or pulled the E-break. 

Every breath I took became more and more rapid. My mind warped into overdrive and I fought to think of an answer to the problem—but there was nothing. I’d tried everything. Twice, even! Some of them three times.

The police cruiser’s siren was blaring behind me, further adding to the chaos in my head. Everything was rushing past so fast as my car careened down a right turn and toward the woods in the distance. The policeman was gaining fast; we were losing our head start. I wasn’t sure if I should be happy about that or not. 

The last thing my old car should be going was fast. We fishtailed several times and that made me abandon all hope of taking over—I wouldn’t be able to handle this kind of driving even if I did manage to earn back my agency.

I couldn’t watch it anymore. I had to sink low into my chair and try not to let the panic completely take over . . . but it was a losing battle. All I could do was brace myself against anything I could as my car took me along for the ride. I closed my eyes tight and prayed that my car wouldn’t run into anyone, that I wouldn’t die in a ball of fire and twisted metal. 

“Please, please, please . . . I don’t want to die,” I whimpered. 

“I ain’t gonna let ya die.”

My eyes shot open and I looked around. The car was empty, but I was sure I had just heard a man’s voice. Had I imagined it? Was it the radio? I glanced at it—still turned off. 

What the fuck was going on?

There was only one thing left to do. It was a terrible idea and dangerous, but I was desperate to remove myself from the situation.

Tuck and roll.

However, try as I might, I couldn’t pull up the locking mechanism and the roller on my car door wasn’t doing anything to my windows, either. Wasn’t that kind of thing only done in the movies? I should be able to work my own fucking car! Someone must have hacked the computer. 

Wait, was my car even new enough to have a computer in it?

Close to hyperventilating, I pried at the door handle and shouted, “Let me out!”

Again, my car replied.

“Sorry, but it's too dangerous! Let me get somewhere safer, first.” The baritone voice surrounded me, drowning out anything else. "Somewhere we can't be seen."

My mouth fell open and I stared wide-eyed at my radio. I hadn’t been imagining things earlier. I had heard someone else in my car, but it wasn’t someone in my car. It was my car. No, that wasn’t right. My car couldn't say anything. Someone was talking through it. That had to be it. Someone had control of my shitty Golf and was talking to me through the radio. That was the only thing that made sense. 

But why? Why!

“Wuh—wuh—” I didn’t know what to say. I forgot how to speak at all. I was a bit stuck on the ‘somewhere we can’t be seen’ line. That didn’t bode well for me.

“I’ll explain everything later. I gotta beat the shit outta this guy.”

Okay, that was somewhat relieving. I was just in the wrong place—whoever ‘this guy’ was, it wasn’t me. Surely, though, he couldn’t mean the cop. Beat the shit out of a cop? And where was this person talking to me? In another car somewhere? We were alone on the road. 

It was all too much.

I was still terrified, but now I was terrified and confused. “Who? Who?”

“Behind us! That’s not a cop. He’s bad news and you gotta trust that I’m not gonna hurt you. I gotta get somewhere so I can take care of him.”

Oh. Good. I was probably about to be an accessory to a crime. Nothing like a little murder in the afternoon to get your day going. 

Swell.

As if on cue, the cop car caught up to us, its sirens blaring, and it rammed the bumper. On a straight shot, there was no contest in speed. My old car rattled and swerved, but whoever was driving recovered and continued toward the trees, swinging out of the cop’s way.

I recognized the area; there was rafting access up ahead for Yellowstone River. I had never been rafting, but I'd come down this road a couple of times for fishing with Dad. And that one time with Cory in the dead of the night. If my car—or, rather, the person in control of it—wanted to be somewhere they weren’t going to be seen, then they were going in the wrong direction.

“N-no. Not this way! It’s summer, there will be river rafters up there!” I said. 

“You serious? Shit!” 

I said it before I could stop myself. I thought about it for an extra second and realized that I should have let him take me there. If there were people around, I’d be safe. I could get help. This guy had seemed so earnest about what he said, about the cop being bad news, and I’d just blurted it out to be helpful. Why? I was a fucking idiot!

Maybe it was for the best. If this was going to get ugly, I didn’t want any other innocent people getting swept up in the mess.

The breaks squealed and the car turned around. The force threw me against my seat as we jumped the road right before the treeline. We were off-road for a brief time, then hit a dirt pathway that went past a farmhouse and followed the river. Behind us, a bellowing sound came from the cop car, and then an explosion went off right next to us, making my Golf shudder and jump. I let out a shriek of surprise.

“He really shot at me! So that’s how we gon’ play this? A’ight, fine!” The radio voice sounded far more indignant than I thought it deserved to be.

That was the last fucking straw. I took a few rapid, deep breaths, and then screamed. Screamed for everything I was worth. Screamed until I ran out of breath. That was an explosion. Did cop cars fire missiles now? No. Fuck no. Fuck. No. 

"Let me out!" I wailed. "I don't want to die trapped in here!"

The car shuddered. “Hey, don't ’ be so loud! I’m getting there!"

I just kept on shouting, though, as scenes from the movie Christine started running through my head. I pounded my fist against the steering wheel, sounding the horn. I didn’t remember Christine talking. Only running people down. I was being kidnapped by my own car, somehow possessed, and there was absolutely no way I was explaining that to this cop. Or anyone.

Was this more like Knight Rider? Maximum Overdrive?

The police cruiser sped up and rammed the back of my car again. It lurched forward and I was thrown against my seatbelt, pushing the air from my lungs.

I was going to die the same way my parents did.

Once more, we hopped the road and I was tossed and thrown around as we went over dirt, shrubs, and grass. I thought for sure my Golf was going to lose a bumper, or fall apart altogether, but it held up as we hit the treeline, finally. It wasn’t as thick as the raft access area, but there were trees that concealed us from the road, and the space in front of us was open.

Choking and wheezing, I pleaded with my car, tears falling freely down my cheeks. “Please, please let me out. Please stop! I'm scared, I'm so scared and I don't know what's going on."

“A’ight, a’ight. This is a good spot. Watch yo’self, and don’ move!”

The car barreled over the unpaved land, passed through one more line of trees and into an even bigger clearing, and then spun a one-eighty so it was facing the way we'd come from. My door opened, my seatbelt released, and then I was thrown unceremoniously to the ground. 

The seat—my own god damn seat—had ejected me from my own god damn vehicle.

I let out a distressed sound as I landed in a heap, bruised and sore. My head was spinning to top it all off. I managed to pull my limbs in, afraid of getting run over by one of the two cars.

“Don’ move!” the radio voice told me again. “I don’ wanna squish ya.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I remained on my hands and knees, in a half-crouch. The cop car came speeding toward us—and it was not slowing down. Panic gripped me with icy fingers and I wanted nothing more than to turn tail and make a break for it, but I was too scared to move. My hands flew up to protect my head and I braced myself for the impact, for the sound of screeching metal and then pain as both cars tumbled over me.

Then the cars moved. Not in the way cars should, either—not forward, not backward, they . . . shifted. All I could do was stare, mouth agape and arms still up, as the two cars turned into something else entirely. Gears whirred and metal scraped against metal. The frames of the two vehicles twisted and turned, collapsing and changing shape. Arms formed, a head spun into place on a pair of shoulders. My car twisted and spun in a—well the only word was graceful—display of agility.

However, the Golf was a few seconds too slow. The Mustang finished its transformation first and slammed into mine. It was barely able to redirect the massive robot so they didn’t land on top of me. I curled into a tight ball and remained there, trembling, while I watched the bout with morbid fascination. 

The thing that used to be my car was thrown aside, sliding along the ground and leaving a deep gouge in the land. When it slammed into a copse of densely-packed trees, leaves and broken branches fell on top of it. 

Not a cop. Not my car.

Giant robots. Giant. Fucking. Robots.

Mustang—now a black and white mech standing about two stories tall—whirled around to face me. My breath caught in my throat and I scrambled to my feet. It took a few steps toward me and I stumbled back. When it stomped toward me, I backpedaled right onto my ass. Then, with what I could only describe as a growl, it reached for me.

A spray of bullets had it cringing away from me again. It was enough to distract the monster and we both turned: it was my Golf. My . . . my robot? How did this work? I didn't think I wanted a robot. At this point, all I wanted was my mom’s car.

It charged right for the cruiser-turned-automaton, horn blaring in a challenging battle cry, its feet kicking up grit and debris.

"Get to the trees!" the Golf robot yelled at me.

But I was too scared to move.

More bullets sprayed Mustang and it was forced to ignore me and return fire. Golf gave up its straightforward charge to go around, using the nearby trees as cover. The trees it probably wanted me to hide in, too, but I just couldn’t move. I wanted to. My instincts were screaming for me to get up and move, but my body would not obey.

Mustang leaned closer to me and I could feel the heat coming off of it in thick waves. Its glowing, red eyes bored straight into my soul. “You are dead, daughter of Lewis Walker." That voice was like a cannon firing, making my ears ring.

Nothing hit me harder than the realization that this thing knew who I was.

Chapter Text

All I could do was scream and raise my hands to protect myself as that mechanical monstrosity came at me. He almost brought his fist down to smash me, but Golf opened fire once more. The paralysis that had come over me was finally lifted and I was free; I scrambled to my feet and made a mad dash away from both Golf and Mustang, toward the raft access.

I hoped and prayed that if I could make it there, I would be safe.

“Get back here!" Mustang snarled. His heavy steps thundered behind me, making the ground shake. Golf had been driven to the other side of the clearing, farther away, but he was coming in hot to intercept. 

The trees did not keep me safe, however. No, the giant robot shouldered and barreled his way through, pulling trees up by the roots and snapping them clean in half. Behind me, the ground exploded into a plume of dirt and rocks. I shrieked and was sent sprawling as the heat of the blast licked my back.

I chanced a glance and realized that Mustang was aiming a cannon at me. His arm had turned into a giant gun, its barrel glowing red hot. Eyes wide, I scrambled up and started weaving through the trees, trying to make for a difficult target.

More shots rang out, but there were no explosions. Just angry roars. I wouldn’t have stopped, but I stumbled on the uneven ground and looked back through the trees. Golf was firing at Mustang with a gun-arm of his own. Trapped within the claustrophobic trees, Mustang couldn't help but take the brunt of the onslaught as it tried to wriggle out of the grove.

It popped free, finally, but the damage was done. It took a few more hits from Golf’s firearm as Mustang tried to retaliate. Panels in its armor were spitting sparks. The two were exchanging flurries of robotic screeches and static roars. I assumed they had to be communicating, but I wouldn’t even begin to know what about. 

Mustang let out a metallic snarl and launched at Golf. It countered with a mid-air spin, its limbs twirling, and kicked the aggressor square in the jaw. The move sent the cruiser sprawling. 

While their attention was on each other, I scrambled back up and delved deeper into the woods. I had a general idea where I was, that I had run away from the road. I'd gotten a bit turned around, but I knew the wooded areas were small, and if I ran the way I was going, I would hit the river. So if I went left, I'd hit the raft access and hopefully some people who could help me.

Would they hear the fight from there? Maybe people were already on the way to investigate.

If only my phone wasn't in the car. That was now a robot. Damn it! I could have used the GPS at a time like this to make sure I didn't get lost. To call for help when I got somewhere safe. It didn't really matter though. I just wanted to get away from that massive game of rock 'em sock 'em robots.

Though I couldn’t run full-tilt through the trees, I was still going as fast as I could and my strength was draining fast. Not daring to stop, I kept going until I collapsed on my hands and knees, gasping for air and sobbing. I could hear the river, so I knew I was close, at least. The raft access had to be coming up. I just needed a minute to calm down and catch my breath and maybe think a little. Once I got there, I should find some fishermen or rafters that could take me back. I didn’t know if they’d believe me about giant robots, but they could at least believe that I’d gotten lost.

What did the robots want with me, anyway? Mustang had called me the 'daughter of Lewis Walker" back there. My dad had never been able to tell us what he did for the government, but working on giant robots was not outside the realm of possibility. His specialty was mechanical engineering, after all.

Was he . . . building them? Was my car ever really a car or had it been a robot the whole time? A stolen government secret that got him killed? No, that couldn’t be. Otherwise, the agents that had canvassed the community for weeks would have seized it. They would have had so many questions for me if Dad was stealing their secrets, and they wouldn’t have treated it like an ongoing threat. Maybe it was foreign entities trying to get their hands on his work. Get their hands on me, thinking I had something to do with his secrets. 

It was just too bad for them that I didn't know shit. I decided to get a more humble job working at my mom’s bank, and my intelligence didn’t go past times tables and elective chemistry. I sometimes had to do math on my fingers! 

Foreign entities were going to be really disappointed if they got their hands on me. 

Not that I was going to let them get their hands on me. I had to make it home, and then I could call Simmons. I still had his number somewhere in that house. If this was about Dad, they’d be able to help me. 

With that shaky resolve solidified, I got back up and shambled through the woods as fast my drained strength would allow me. I didn't know how long I dragged myself through the trees, but it seemed like forever. When I did find the raft access, I collapsed, exhausted and trembling, unable to see straight. There were a few parked cars on the sandy shoreline, but there was no one around. They’d all wandered off or were already downriver. 

Fine. I could wait. They’d come back eventually, or someone new would show up.

The sound of tires on the gravel brought me back around and I pushed myself up, out of my mind with relief. Just as quickly, though, my heart dropped to the soles of my shoes.

It was my sad, rusty Golf rolling up. The door popped open, inviting me inside. 

I sat back and inched away, unable to do much else.

"No, no . . . Stay away!" I whimpered.

"Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re safe now and I’ll take you home.”

Shaking my head, I stood up and ran for the woods. 

Before I knew it, the car was a robot again, blocking my way with an arm. I almost lost my footing again but turned to run the other way. He easily caged me in, my back to the river and his arms up like someone herding their rebelling toddler. Golf kneeled down in front of me, blocking my way. My breath hitched and I halted, one arm up as if to protect myself.

I glanced over my shoulder. Yellowstone River wasn’t very deep in these parts, especially as it hadn’t rained in some time. Deep enough for some fishing, for a raft to float on the river, but it would probably only come up to my waist, maybe my chest. 

Could this robot be in the water? Because if he thought I wasn’t going to try to forge it to escape, he was fucking wrong. 

We stared each other down for a few more seconds. 

“You don’t gotta be afraid of me, little miss,” he said. 

His voice spurred me into action and I spun around on my heel, wading into the water as fast as I could—only to be lifted into the air before I could even get ankle-deep.

Wailing, I started to hyperventilate and the tears streamed down my face. I barely registered what Golf was saying to me, remembering only the sound of cannon fire and the heat rolling off Mustang as he threatened and bellowed at me. Though I tried to speak, it just came out a mess of sobs and whimpers.

"Relax, little miss! You don't gotta be afraid of me. I'm on your side." 

We were moving into the trees. Where no one would see us. Where I’d be alone with this giant robot. I felt like a toy being plucked out of the pile in one of those claw machines—it didn’t help that its hands were shaped the same way. I whimpered and tried to pry myself out but was held tight.

"Hang on, let me explain," the robot pleaded.

Finally, I found my voice again.

“Let me go! Please let me go. I’ll do whatever you want, tell you anything. I just—I can’t take you to the president. My dad might've, but I don’t know him and I don’t know what my Dad did for the government. Please, I work at a bank. I don’t even know where the UN meets!” I sobbed, babbling away at a mile a minute. 

Golf sat down with a loud and heavy thud, then set me on my feet but kept me caged in, holding me like a small child. A really small child, considering he was probably fifteen feet tall. “‘Ey, Calm down, little miss . . . I told ya, I ain’t gonna hurt ya," he assured me.

My heart was beating a mile a minute and hard enough against my chest to hurt. I wanted to believe this thing, but I was too busy freaking out. I was hyperventilating, trying to stop but finding it difficult. As much as I wanted to have a level-headed conversation, it didn't seem to be happening anytime soon. 

"It’s alright, just breathe. You guys gotta do that to live!" 

It was such a ridiculous statement that I almost coughed out a laugh. It successfully managed to snap me out of panic mode and I coughed until I gagged.

At last, I managed to speak. "What are you?”

The robot seemed relieved as he answered. "Well, I guess you’d call me an alien."

All color drained from my face. “Like . . . from space?” 

“I—well, yeah?” The unspoken words were there: where else do aliens come from?

All my speculation about being built by my dad as a government experiment was thrown right out of the window. I suddenly realized that I was trying to piece a puzzle together that was picture-side down. 

An alien? An alien? What did aliens have to do with my dad? Unless—unless they worked with aliens. That revelation was all too much. I started crying again. 

This seemed to throw the robot for a loop. “Hey, what . . . ?” 

I wasn't sure why I was crying. Maybe it was just the only thing I had left to do. My Dad was likely right smack dab in the middle of it, which meant aliens had almost been my inheritance. After all these years of dreaming and watching movies, aliens had come to Earth. 

And so far I hated it.

Chapter Text

“No, don’ cry!" said the robot. "I ain't gonna hurt ya. I just wanna explain. Please calm down. Damn, what do I do . . . Bumblebee’d know . . ."

In the end, Golf let me go. My legs wouldn’t support my weight right away, so I ended up half-sitting and half-lying in the dirt. 

“See?” The machine held its hands up, now crouching instead of sitting. “I ain’t here to hurt ya.”

I fought to control my emotions and took deep, gasping breaths, rubbing at my eyes to brush the tears away. Despite the situation, I was hard-wired to be wary of my mascara. It took a few moments, and the robot still hovered over me, his hands never far away in case I was going to bolt. Or maybe he just didn’t know what to do to help calm me down.

“You’re not going to kill me?” I asked once I could, looking up at him.

“Why would I’ve stopped Barricade from doin’ it if I was gonna do it?”

I looked around. "Barricade. Is that . . . the other one? Where is it?"

"Ran away with his tail between his legs," Golf boasted.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and asked, “Let me make sure I understand. You're an alien robot?"

"Tha's right."

"But you sound like a human man and speak English?"

“Learned ya language on the internet."

“Okay,” I sighed. Made as much sense as anything else.

“Now . . . you ready t’go home yet?”

Shaking my head, I said, “I need . . . a need a moment to process this.”

Shrugging, he made himself comfortable on the ground, surrounded by tall trees. We weren’t far from the raft access, but far enough that we wouldn’t easily be seen. Considering he was some advanced robotic lifeform from another planet and the fact that he seemed unconcerned with being exposed, I guessed he could tell when someone was coming.

“Are ya okay, at least?” he asked, crouched over me.

“Am I okay?” I repeated incredulously, glaring at him. “That cop turned into a giant robot and tried to murder me. I am freaking out right now.” The tirade was punctuated by angry arm-flails and the waterworks threatened to start up again.

“A’ight, I get it. Bit much to take in,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his head.

Did he pick up mannerisms on the internet, too?

I took a moment to look at him—really look at him for the first time. If there was any doubt that this robot was my car, it was gone after a quick examination. The whole front chassis of the Golf made up his torso, two tires were his shoulders, and my license plate adorned his midsection like a belt buckle.

My eyes slowly made their way to his face and I sniffed wetly. Unlike the cop car, his optics were colored blue. Was it really that easy? Blue good, red bad? Why not. These were aliens.

Somehow, I forced myself to relax. I let some of the tension out of my shoulders and was able to uncurl my sore fingers from their white-knuckled fists. I watched him carefully, taking in all of the details that I could just to make sure that he was real, that this giant robot was really there. Surely it couldn’t be a dream. I’d been running and hurting and screaming. Those just weren’t things that happened in a dream.

“What’re you doin’?” the robot asked me with a bit of amusement.

“Just . . . trying to decide if you’re real,” I muttered.

“Oh, I haven’t properly introduced myself yet, have I? Beyond . . . ‘S’up, I’m an alien’.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him. 

He cleared his throat, or made a similar sound rather. “I’m an autonomous robotic organism from the planet Cybertron, and you can call me Jazz,” he said, standing tall and proud.

“Alien . . . an alien . . .” 

“Ye’h. We already been over that,” he replied with a chipper tone.

It hadn’t really sunk in—well, it had kind of sunk in—but now it was truly, clearly, at the forefront of my mind. Aliens. An alien machine from a planet in outer space was standing there, talking to me. Had saved me from another alien robot that was clearly their enemy.

“Aliens . . . ,” I muttered. “Alien robots. Aliens!”

A hysterical laugh wrenched free from my throat and I couldn’t stop it. Soon enough, though, it turned into desperate sobs that wracked my body and drove me to my knees. I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to wrestle my emotions back under control.

“Oh, woah, hey. Hey don’ cry,” Jazz said, adding, “again . . .”

He sat down close to me and put his hand behind me as if to offer support. I just kept crying, though, unable to make it stop. “It’s gon’ be alright, little miss. I promise I’mma keep you safe from now on, a’ight? I’m an Autobot, and we Autobots wanna protect all life,” he said.

I sucked up my sobs and after a moment, I was able to calm down enough to stop bawling. I nodded my head and hiccuped a couple of times; a headache was starting to throb in my temples. It was another couple of seconds before I was able to speak.

“Why did that other alien want to kill me?” I asked, wiping my eyes on my arms. I didn’t care about smearing my mascara anymore.

“Barricade? He’s a Decepticon. They’ll do anything to revive our old planet, even if it means destroying others. He thought you was in cahoots with us cuz I been hanging around ya for a while,” he explained.

So far, I was with him. I watched him as the gears in my head spun, then clicked together at last. “He . . . it seemed like he knew my dad, or knew of him.”

“Well, that’s a little more complicated and involves a long story. Why don’ I explain that on the way while you get some rest? Lemme take ya home,” he offered, extending his hand out to help me up, the other arm propped on his knee.

His hand was just barely smaller than my body—one finger was almost as long as my forearm. I reached out slowly to run my palm over the smooth metal he was made from. It was warm to the touch and the same rusty color as my Golf. The barest hint of an electrical current hummed beneath the armor.

He was all sharp edges and sleek lines, the armor dulled in spots where the paint had started to wear. Which was a lot of spots, to be fair, as my car was ancient. Otherwise, though, he didn’t have too many dents or blemishes.

“You’re real,” I muttered.

“I am,” he chuckled.

Silently, I looked away from his arm and up to his face. His head reminded me of a bird, kind of. Triangular and with a set of metallic ‘tufts’ like a horned owl. He had a pair of bright blue lights for eyes and had no real discernible mouth. When he spoke, though, the parts on his face moved like one would.

I let my arm drop and sighed. “I need to go to the store and buy food.”

“You don’t wanna go home?”

“I do . . . But I need to go to the store. To Wal-Mart.” I sounded like I was in a trance. “I need . . . I need some normal. Just for a bit.”

"You sure?"

The adrenaline still raged through me and I reacted poorly because of it. "Look, alien, I made up my mind way before all this shit happened. I was going to drive to the store for the first time after my parents died and I'll be damned if I let you or anyone else stop me from grocery shopping!" My voice came out more shrill than I expected and angry tears burned in my eyes. Everything was spiraling out of control and I was desperate to get some of it back.

He put his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. Fine."

Panting, I dragged my hands over my face. “I’m sorry, sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just . . . Please, please I need to do this, so I can think.”

The alien robot took a step away from me and transformed back into my car. The door popped open for me. “A’ight. I’ll take ya.”

Nodding, I climbed in and went through the motions of buckling up. I didn’t have to do anything as the car started up and drove off on its own. At least that was one problem I didn’t have to worry about anymore.   

Chapter Text

I barely remembered the drive to Walmart. I completely dissociated, lost in my mind as I tried to come to terms with all the information that had been dumped on me. It did, at least, keep me from thinking about the drive over, which was smooth sailing compared to the robot deathmatch. Though I had so many questions, once we’d started driving I hadn’t asked a single one or said a damn thing the entire time.

Jazz hadn’t pressed the issue. I wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to answer or if he just figured I needed time. Both, maybe. Whatever the reason, I needed the quiet drone of music in the background to keep me grounded. Normally, I listed to music from my phone—my car was so old that I had to use a cassette aux. 

Now, though, I wasn’t sure what was playing. There were no commercials or hosts chatting, just an endless stream of music. It was mostly some soft rock, simple songs without too much slap to it. I didn’t pay much attention to who the artists were or the lyrics, but it was a welcome drone in the background all the same.

I didn’t even realize it when we were sitting in the Walmart parking lot.

"You gonna go inside or . . . ?" the voice asked me.

I gasped and jumped out of the car. Out of the robot. Whatever! I glanced over my shoulder as I practically fled through the parking lot, grabbing a cart on the way. This place was notorious for not having a lot of carts in the entrance so I didn’t take any chances.

Honestly, I should have let him take me home. It made more sense, but I had set my mind on going to the store today and that little bit of normalcy was something for me to cling to. It would keep me busy, keep me occupied. I could think about all this world-ending stuff later on a full stomach. 

For now, I needed something . . . mundane. I needed a win. Something I could control when it was all careening off-course.

Still in a daze, I shambled into the store looking like a survivor straight from the woods. No one seemed to care or notice. I was in a Walmart, after all. 

When the day started, I had prepared a mental shopping list but it was completely forgotten. Instead, I just grabbed easy things. Things I could throw together without having to prepare ingredients. Stuff that was cheap and filling; TV dinners, skillet meals, boxes of macaroni and cheese, junk food, some fruit, drinks, and frozen bags of veggies. 

Near the frozen aisles, some shelves of liquor stood out to me. I debated with myself for a long while, then grabbed a bottle of whiskey and threw it in with everything else.

I was not going to deal with this world-ending shit sober.

At the last minute, I swung by the wellness department and grabbed a new first aid kit. I didn't know what kind of supplies I had at home, but I knew I'd need more than a few bandages. I picked up a cold compress too and some more painkillers. Tonight was gonna suck, I just knew it. 

The line to the checkout wasn’t very long, so I was back to the car—no, Jazz—in a timely manner. I stared at him for a long time, wondering if I should call Cory and pretend my car was broken and get a ride home from him instead . . . Would Jazz follow me?

Somehow, I managed not to scream when the trunk popped open. I jumped a bit, though. 

Well, since he knew I was there, I didn't have much of a choice. I stuffed everything into the trunk except for the bottle of whiskey. That I kept wrapped in its plastic bag and brought into the front seat with me. 

“Get what you need?” Jazz asked as I got settled.

Ignoring him, I used my key to break the plastic seal around the lid. It took all of my strength to unscrew it. 

"You want me to take ya home?" he asked again, more cautious. 

"Yes," I grunted. After a pause, I added, “Please.”

The lid finally came free and I took a quick chug of whiskey. I was coughing and gritting my teeth afterward. I usually didn’t drink the shit straight, but mixed with cola or in a fruity cocktail. 

“You gon’ get in trouble if someone sees ya doin’ that,” the robot pointed out, sounding more amused than anything else.

“It’s not like I’m driving.” I screwed the lid back on and stashed the bottle at my feet.

He just chuckled and said, “Hey, I ain’t judging.”

My head was pounding, so I leaned back and put my arm over my face. I hadn't been physically active for years, so I was starting to feel sore in almost every part of my body. I was never going to recover from all that running and falling.

“I wonder if I should go to the hospital," I muttered more to myself than to Jazz.

“Naw, you ain’t hurt that bad,” came the response.

“And how do you know?” I retorted.

“Well, I ain’t Ratchet, but when I scanned ya I didn’t see no broken bones or nothin’. Some sprains and scraps and a lot of bruises . . .” 

Frowning, I muttered, “Scanned me? And what's a Ratchet?” with a hint of incredulity. It sounded like a tool my dad would use on a car.

“He’s our medical officer. Fixes us up when we get too banged around to do it ourselves.”

I sighed. “Okay.” I had to remind myself not to think about it too hard. These were alien robots. Robots needed mechanics, right? Why not a robot mechanic? I failed to see how that would translate to this Ratchet person being able to understand my human anatomy, but whatever.

A few minutes later, I said, “You said your name is Jazz, right?”

“Yup.”

Nodding, I decided to return the gesture even though I was at least ninety percent sure that he already knew my name. “I’m Kathryn, by the way. Most people call me Kat, but I don’t care which one you call me.”

Before he could respond, my phone rang and gave me quite the fright—I even screeched, which made Jazz swerve in surprise, which only made me more worried, but I calmed down after he straightened out. I'd forgotten all about my phone, assuming it was past tense since the transformation. 

It was still in the cup holder where I left it, and that threw me into a spiral of logistics, wondering how Jazz kept it there while transforming and doing spins and shit. 

In the end, I’d decided not to think about it. 

“Hey, Katie,” I answered. 

Her son Mikey was crying in the background. “Kat! You didn't answer my call or texts earlier. You managed to go anywhere today?" she wondered. 

“I made it to Wal-Mart," I mumbled, forcing down another few mouthfuls of liquor.

“Oh, great! Did you take PCR or the freeway?" she asked, trying to deal with her child between sentences. Mikey had fallen quiet, so I assumed he got whatever it was babies needed when they cried.

“Yeah, uh Park City Road . . . Can I call you back? I'm still kinda driving," I lied. 

"Oh! Yes, of course. Call me when you're safe."

"Uh, wait, Katie?"

"What's up?"

My mouth bobbed for a moment before I spoke. Kind of. "I, uh . . . I . . ."

"What's wrong? If you're gonna get upset, pull over please," Katie said, not unkindly. 

"No, I just . . . I need you to play interference on social media for me," I finally said. "There might be some unfounded rumors."

Katie paused. "What kind of rumors?"

"About me being chased by a cop down Park City Road. I don't know if anyone saw me, but you know how fast shit spreads in this god-forsaken place."

". . . What?"

"It wasn't—"

"Are you in trouble?" she pressed. 

"No!" 

“If you need somewhere to lie low for a while, you can stay with me,” Katie quickly said, her tone hushed. “What did you do? Never mind, don’t tell me. Plausible deniability. We don’t have a spare room but Brandon can sleep on the couch. You can share the bed with me or something,"

“Oh, I like her. Who’s she?” Jazz asked.

I shushed him with an aggressive gesture and then responded to Katie. Her readiness to harbor me as a possible criminal chased away the lingering remains of unease inside me and I gave a faint smile. “It wasn’t a real cop, so it’s fine.” 

Technically not a lie.

She didn’t say anything for a beat and I almost wondered if she hadn’t heard me. “What do you mean?” she finally asked.

“Yeah, they weren’t an actual cop,” I repeated. I wanted to tell her the whole truth, but not while the robot was listening in. I doubted he would like it if I went around spilling the beans, so if I wanted to confide in her I would have to do it somewhere private. I took another drink and hissed through my teeth.

“Holy fuck, was it one of those dumbass pranksters?” she blurted out after a couple of seconds. “I’ve seen warnings about them on the internet! They pose as cops and harass people all for some internet fame or even nefarious deeds.”

I raised an eyebrow. “‘Nefarious deeds’?” I echoed.

She hummed and I could almost see her vigorously nodding her head. “Yeah, like they pull people over so they can mug 'em and stuff.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t get that far. Guy pulled me over and I knew something was wrong right away. You and I dealt with cops a lot, y’know? We know what they sound like and how they talk to us."

"They're all the same," Katie agreed. 

"Well, this guy was definitely no cop,” I said, easily falling into the conversation and the lie now that it had been fed to me.

Katie scoffed. “Right? Like, especially since there are only three cops we ever to talk to. A fake wouldn’t be able to fool us.”

Jazz was perplexed. “What kinda youths were you two . . . ?”

Again, I shushed him. “The guy wasn’t even using the right kind of car. As soon as I figured out it was a prank, I left. I didn’t expect him to chase me, though, so I kind of freaked out a little bit.”

“Shit, I would have, too! Did he leave you alone after that?”

I looked at the dashboard and bit my lip, then said, “Well, actually, someone else showed up to help out, too. Chased him away for me. I don’t think I would have been able to drive while panicking as much as I was.” I had to give at least some credit where it was due. 

Katie sighed with relief. “Good, I’m glad someone was on your side. I totally would have kicked the fake cop’s ass for you though, you know that?”

That earned a small chuckle from me. “Yeah, I know.”

“Good.”

“I really should get off the phone now though. I'll call you after I get my groceries put away." I said, feeling a little bit better.

She signed off with, “Yeah, sorry! I’m glad you didn’t get hurt or kidnapped or anything. That would have been a real bummer. I’ll watch our socials to make sure no one is slandering your good name. Stay safe.”

“I will,” I muttered. “Bye.”

We hung up and I sat back in my seat, my hand over my face. Now that I had a pretty plausible story to fall back on should anyone ask me about it, I felt more at ease about the whole situation. It wasn’t like that Barricade robot would show up to refute my claims. Katie would keep the rumors at bay. She always had my back.

Chapter Text

“Who was that?”

Still not used to my car talking to me, I was startled and looked around in fright. Sometime during the phone call, he had managed to take me all the way home and was parked in the driveway.

“Um, that was my best friend, Katie,” I explained. “I’m going to put the groceries away now.”

“Sure, sure . . . If ya need me, I’ll be out here reporting the incident to my leader.”

Somewhat warily, I took my bags out of the trunk and carried them into the kitchen. It took two trips, and Jazz didn’t say anything when I came back for the second round. I put them away in a daze, my brain largely turned off as I switched to autopilot. I continued to nurse that whiskey straight from the bottle and was feeling off-kilter for it.

I left out the TV dinner I decided to eat and started preparing it for the microwave. When it was set, I wandered to the front window and peered at the driveway.

Jazz was still there, looking like my normal ass car. It almost seemed like nothing was out of the ordinary. Like it hadn’t happened. I had the soreness to prove it, the frayed nerves. Whiskey was helping. I felt like I was floating, but I was well on my way into a drunken stupor at this rate. No ma’am, I didn’t want to deal with any of this.

After closing the blinds, I sat down on the floor and put my head in my hands. I sat like that for a while, just compartmentalizing everything that had happened to me, bottle in hand and knocking lightly against my knees. 

Eventually, the microwave’s alarm drew me out of my thoughts and I fetched my food.

Too hot to eat, I let it sit and wandered up the stairs to the bathroom. My entire body ached and I was caked in dirt and dried blood—something I hadn’t realized during my entire shopping trip. 

Sighing, I went back to my food and shoveled it down, chasing it with the last bit of the whiskey. I undressed and staggered into the shower, turning the water as hot as I could handle. Once the water washed everything away, I could see all the little wounds that had built up. There were even more abrasions than I thought; my hips and shoulders were going to be discolored for weeks thanks to the bruises. One of my arms was so sore that I almost couldn’t lift it high enough to wash my hair.

I stood unmoving under the torrent and came to grips with my new reality.

My car was a robot. Or possessed by a robot. Though my bet geared more toward my car being replaced by a robot—since I didn’t think robots were like spirits, capable of possessing anything. Then what happened to the real Golf? To my mom’s car? For how old it was, it was still a piece of my mom and I hadn’t yet been ready to part with it. 

A couple of times, I thought I heard sirens wailing in the distance. When I stopped to listen, though, there was nothing but the sound of the shower. It was all echoes of a harrowing chase, a police cruiser screaming along behind me as my car barrelled down a dirt road. When I closed my eyes, I could see piercing red ones glaring back at me.

I should have bought another bottle of whiskey. 

Wrapped in a towel, I fetched my bag of bandages and medicine to treat what wounds I could. There were some places I couldn’t reach, but I slapped bandages and Neosporin on everything else and then popped some painkillers.

For the time being, I put on a camisole that I didn't care if it was stained and a pair of pajama pants. I was absolutely not going outside again. Well—except for when I would go to Jazz to demand he explain. I had liquid courage in my veins, now, so I would be able to face him again. 

But first, I had to call Katie back like I said I would. I’d put the groceries away ages ago and she would start to worry. While the whiskey was taking the wheel, I was going to tell her everything. I had to. The anxiety was building and building and I didn't think I'd be able to handle it if I had to keep it all to myself without having someone to confide in, to vent to, to help me shoulder the emotional baggage. I felt ready to burst like I had a huge piece of gossip that I needed to spill.

I snatched my phone off the kitchen counter and called her.

"Kat! There you are," she greeted me upon answering the phone. 

"Yeah, sorry. Got distracted." Before she could say anything, I jumped in with, "Hang on a sec."

I pulled my phone away to my chest and peered out through the blinds. Everything was normal with Mr. Alien Car, so I scrambled up to my room and sat curled up in the closet. 

"Okay, you there?"

"Kat, did you just go in your closet?" Katie asked me. 

The fact that she knew stunned me into silence. 

"Hello, you still there?"

I snapped out of it and said, "How did you know?"

Even without her there in front of me, I could just picture the deadpan, unamused look on her face when she said, "Kathryn, you told me to hold on and then scurried around, now you're talking in a hushed voice."

"Okay, so?"

"You always did this! When you wanted to talk to me on the phone or in person without your parents hearing, you'd take me into the closet! Who are you hiding from now?" she demanded.

Unable to argue with her, I sat quietly and tried to decide if I was making the right decision telling her the truth. If I did, would she be targeted, too? Could I be putting her family in danger? I knew I wasn’t going to survive all this without her advice and comfort but was that being too selfish? The whiskey was not doing a good job of amping me up to this. 

"Hello?" Katie said, sounding more desperate. 

I sucked in a breath. Fuck it. I didn't want to be alone and she probably wouldn't believe me anyway. We told each other everything. I couldn’t stop now. She was a few states away and I had no reason to believe anyone would know that I told her.

"I'm hiding from my car."

She paused. "What?"

"My car and the cop car . . . They're robots, Katie! Alien robots. The cop car robot almost killed me!" I hissed into the receiver.

"Kat, that doesn't make any sense. You're—"

The line went dead.

"Katie? Katie!"

"Sorry little miss, but the fewer people who know, the better," Jazz said through the newly-active line.

With a screech, I tossed my phone into the darkness of my closet. It thumped against the wall and landed in a pile of stowed-away stuffed animals. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough—I slammed the closet door shut (mildly difficult, as it was a folding door) and backed away as if Jazz was going to emerge from it. Summoned out of the phone like Samara from a TV. 

I hadn’t even considered for a moment that the alien robot would be able to eavesdrop on my phone calls . . . but of course he could. I should have thought about it. 

I wrung my hands, staring at the closet door. When I was finally able to tear my eyes away from it, I went to my window and peered out, but I knew I couldn’t see the car from this angle. I suppose I just sort of expected to see Jazz in his non-vehicle form just walking around, trying to intimidate me . . . But no, that was silly. 

He didn’t want to hurt me, he just didn’t want me blabbing about all this to anyone. 

However, drunk, terrified Kat wanted to talk to her best friend, damn it! 

Slightly muffled, my phone started to ring. I hesitated, letting it ring twice, then I went back in and picked it up. It said Katie was calling, so I sighed with relief and answered it. “Katie!” 

“Don’t hang up!” 

Jazz’s voice. 

I screamed again and hung up, dropping the phone back into the stuffed animals and vacating the closet once more. The phone kept ringing but I ignored it. I didn’t want to hear it. I already knew what he’d say.

It was safer if she didn’t know. She could be targeted. Blah blah blah. 

This was too much. Was I supposed to just be okay with him monitoring my calls like that? My communications? Keeping me from the outside world? How long had he been spying on me? I might have tried to contact her via chat on my computer, but I doubted he’d let me do that, either. 

Dammit! I’m still too fucking sober for this shit! 

However, I couldn’t find anything except some cooking wine in the kitchen. I raided Dad’s office and found some more rum, though. There was a bottle of vodka too, but I knew it was water. I’d changed it out years ago for a high school party and had never gotten around to buying him a real bottle to replace it.

Apparently, he forgot it was hidden in his office, too, because he’d never found out. We put good use to it at the party, at least. 

I checked it just to make sure, but it was definitely just water, so I dumped it out and tossed the bottle. The rum I combined with some of the knock-off sodas from the gas station. Had to keep the buzz going so I could face the world. 

Not the greatest coping mechanism, but I normally didn’t drink by myself and only went out with friends occasionally. A little bit of stress drinking wasn’t going to kill me, right? Surely that wouldn’t make me an alcoholic. 

An idea dawned on me.

It was my go-to solution to all my problems when I was a teenager and it had to work for this one.

I needed to sneak the fuck out.

Chapter Text

I waited until night fell, staring out my window through curtains and blinds, able to make out the fuzzy silhouette of Jazz. I kept nursing the rum the whole time, keeping my buzz going so I wouldn't lose my nerve. 

As the sun was setting, I slipped out through my backdoor. I had changed my clothes into ripped jeans and layered tank tops, my hair up in a bun and makeup nonexistent. 

It had been a few years since I’d climbed my fence—six, to be exact, having graduated when I was eighteen—but the muscle memory was there. They were soft and underused, but I managed to crawl over the fence to one neighbor's yard, sneak through the darkness, and then over another. 

The adrenaline and alcohol made it all possible. 

I hopped fences until I was in Cory’s yard, fingers full of splinters, then took a moment to breathe. His room was in the basement, so there would be no throwing pebbles at his window. 

Nope, I could just push that sucker open and drop inside. I just hoped he didn’t lock the damn thing. 

The window well didn’t have any rungs to climb down, so I just jumped in and crouched for a moment, letting the pain in my feet ebb a bit, then tried the window. The screen came out easy—we always kept it loose for late-night rendezvous—and then it slid open without a hitch. 

Cory's dark room lit up and I almost hissed like a vampire exposed to the sun. Or maybe I did do that. Cory was by his light switch and holding a baseball bat at the ready, his fierce expression giving way to wide eyed bafflement.

He let the bat slip through his grip into a less threatening position. “Kat, what the fuck, man?” 

He probably thought I looked like some sort of goblin lady, half in and half out of his window, crawling through the well in the cover of night with scraped up hands and a little dirt on my pants. His startled exclamation scared me, too, and I tumbled the rest of the way into his room. 

“Hi Cory,” I cooed playfully, picking myself up off the floor and trying to make this seem totally normal and like I wasn’t under utter duress. 

He realized a bit late that I might need assistance and held me by the elbow to heave me to my feet. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. Then he made a face. “Have you been drinking?” 

“I mean maybe. I’m super glad you’re home, though. I would have lost my shit if I had to sit and wait for you to come back from work or whatever.” It was about that time I realized I was pacing in a tight circle.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, leading me to sit on his bed. Oh, the things we’d done on this bed . . . No, this was not the time.

I pushed stray hairs out of my face and exhaled dramatically. “I need you to smuggle me into Billings, and then I need to use your phone to call Katie. She’s smarter than both of us and can help me figure out what the hell I should do.”

His expression was painted with incredulity. “What? Smuggle you? Figure what out? I’m gonna pretend you didn’t call me an idiot, by the way.”

“I didn’t,” I scoffed. “I just said that Katie is the smartest one out of all three of us.”

Cory bent over and grabbed my shoulders. “Kat, I can see that you’re freaked out about something, and I would love to help you, but you’re gonna have to spit it out, okay? Why did you come in through my window? Did you climb all those fences? You’re filthy.”

I looked down. There were some flecks of wood and specks of dirt on my shirt and pants, but it was hardly what I would consider ‘filthy’. 

I frowned and said, “I don't look that bad.” Especially considering how I looked after I’d gotten out of that fight between Jazz and Barricade. 

“Not the point!” 

Nodding, I set my arms over his so that both of us were holding each other’s shoulders. I should not have had so much whiskey and rum. “Okay, Cory. This is all going to sound really fucking crazy, okay? But I’m not crazy. I swear on my—I swear that I am telling the truth and you have to believe me, okay?” 

He sat down next to me and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Alright. Just tell me.”

After taking a deep breath, I dove into telling him everything that had happened over the course of the day. The cop coming up behind me, the mad chase through the back roads. He remained silent while I very accurately reenacted the entire fight between the two robots, and then I rounded it all out with a speedrun through coming home and trying to tell Katie, only to have the robot interrupt and cut off my contact with the outside world.

When I was done, we sat in silence for probably way too long. I didn’t want to press him, though, aware of just how freaking crazy it was. I might have zoned out and started rubbing my hands over his legs and arms. He had to push me off his lap. 

Finally, after batting me out of his personal space for the third or fourth time, Cory broke the silence. “Um . . .” 

Before he could finish his thought I jumped up and started pulling my shirt over my head. He stood up with me, eyes wide. “Kat, now's not—”

When he saw the bandages, he stopped immediately and came over, brushing his fingers over them and taking stock of each wound that he found. They weren’t that bad, except maybe the large bruises, but that was it. Superficial scrapes and cuts, mostly. A lot of them. But, I hoped that they lent some credence to the story I’d told. 

“Kat . . . You’re telling me . . . You really mean . . .”

Swallowing my nerves, I took his face in my hands, soaking up his expression with his brows knit in concern and existential disbelief. “I mean it. It’s all true, I swear it,” I whispered.

I had to try really hard not to kiss him. Definitely too much alcohol.

His gaze was unfocused, far away. When it finally sharpened and we locked eyes, he said, “Alright. We’ll go to Billings and call Katie.”

There was nothing more to be said. He took my hand and walked me through his house. After I put my shirt back on, which I almost forgot to do. Thank god one of us was lucid.

"Mom went out with some friends and Dad is working in his office. I don't want to explain any of this to him so we'll just sneak past him," he told me.

“You don’t have to tell him you’re leaving?” I asked in a whisper as we ghosted past said office.

Cory scoffed. “No, I’m an adult.” 

“He won’t worry?” 

“He can text me.” 

I made a face but didn’t insist. I always told my parents when I was leaving just so they knew where I was going and didn’t wonder if I was dead in a ditch somewhere. 

He grabbed a set of car keys on his way out. I normally saw his Stealth parked in the driveway so I expected we'd go through the front door, but he led me to the garage instead and slapped the button to open it. Unlike his black Stealth, a sleek silver car gleamed before us.

“Is that a Supra?” I asked as the light turned on. 

“Yeah, it’s my mom’s. Didn’t know she was going out and I left my car parked behind her while I was at work. She just took that out instead of trying to swap the cars around,” he explained. He opened the passenger side for me before going around and hopping in the driver's seat.

A very small part of me (the sober part) felt bad that I was involving Cory with all this. 

However, the drunk part was desperate to get as far away from the aliens as possible and Cory was that ticket.

Jazz insisted that he didn’t want to hurt me, and though I believed him, I wasn’t about to be fucking locked in my house without any way of communicating with anyone. I should have maybe sucked it up and went out to talk to him about it, but I was scared and full of alcohol and he was a big frightening alien robot and he wouldn’t let me hash this whole thing out with Katie! 

Cory pulled slowly out of the garage and into the driveway, pushing a button on the sun visor to shut the door. Seemed like his mom was a fan of backing into the garage.

What a madwoman. 

"Okay, so, Billings. I'll have to go the long way since I assume you don't want me to go past your house," he surmised. "Though I would have liked to see this alien robot guy . . ."

I pretended not to hear that last part. Though, I could hardly blame him. If I wasn't freaked out six ways from Sunday I would have thought it was pretty cool that I'd met an alien. Even if it wasn't a little green man and instead was a two-story tall robot and his murder happy rival.

"I know this situation probably hasn't helped your uh . . . Constitution, but do you think you can keep an eye out for the aliens?" Cory asked as he coasted the long way through the neighborhood.

Nodding, I said, "I'll do my best. Just . . . Can you stop at a McDonald's? I drank so much and have barely eaten."

"Jesus Christ, Kat . . . Yeah I'll stop."

It was easy enough to forget that I was in a moving vehicle when I was concentrating on something else. The sun was down, but the street lights made it possible to make out the other cars. I didn't see any signs of Jazz or the murder cop all throughout Park City, but I kept my eyes peeled as we merged onto the Interstate. 

"So far so good," I reported, sitting properly in my seat instead of slightly hunched down with my eyes peering up over the door and out the window. "It doesn't look like we were followed out of town."

"Cool, cool. Here, why don't you use my phone to call Katie now?" Cory said. He yanked his phone out of his back pocket with some finagling and held it toward me.

Shaking my head, I said, "I wanna wait until we get to Billings. I don't want him to like, catch me on radar or something."

"Think he'll notice the call if we're too close?"

"I don't know, maybe. Better safe than sorry."

He nodded in agreement and we fell into a comfortable silence. His phone occasionally lit up where he'd left it in the center console cup holders, but he only glanced at it. Never picked it up, which I was glad for. I had also been a repeat offender when it came to checking my phone while driving, but I was in recovery.

Mostly because of the whole . . . Too afraid to drive thing. Couldn't check my phone while driving if I never got behind the wheel! 

"Got lights coming up on me quick. Preparing for evasive maneuvers," Cory intoned, his eyes constantly darting between the rear-view mirror and windshield. His expression was serious enough to get my heartbeats going.

Mouth dry, I turned to the back windshield. Sure enough, a pair of blue-tinted LED headlights approached quickly.

"I can't tell . . . ," I whimpered. The lights were too bright and were killing my night vision. There was a chance it was just a speed demon in a muscle car flexing his horsepower, but my gut said it wasn't.

The sudden wailing siren and even brighter flashing red and blue lights cinched it.

"It's the bad one!" I practically screamed.

Cory grunted in response and did a quick lane change to avoid being rear-ended by the howling cop car. His tires squealed a bit and I flipped back around to press my whole body into my seat, hands gripping the seatbelt like a vice.

"Settle in, close your eyes, and find your happy place, Kat," Cory said, pressing a switch on the dashboard. "Sports mode is engaged and my driving is about to get creative."

Chapter Text

I did as Cory said and sank into my sink, eyes clenched shut tight. There was no finding a happy place as the car swerved all over, as the few other cars honked at us weaving in and out. No happy place when the blaring sirens followed behind us. I held my hands out and braced myself against the door, the center console. It didn't help and I still bounced around.

How had Barricade known? How had he found us? 

Was Jazz still in my driveway, unaware of the peril we were in?

There was a non-zero chance that Cory and I were on our own, and it terrified me out of my mind. I had thought this plan was fool-proof. Apparently that had only been the alcohol talking. 

"God dammit," Cory muttered under his breath. The leather steering wheel creaked under his tight grip and the engine snarled with each press of the gas pedal. He yanked on it hard and my eyes flew open as we careened between two semi trucks.

"What? What!"

He didn't answer. Not right away. The car veered to the left and I clenched my teeth to stifle a squeal of fear. The driver he went around blared their horn, but it was quickly left behind. 

I swore we'd been on two wheels that time.

"We're so close to Billings," Cory huffed. I couldn't tell if he was talking to me or himself. "I can lose him in the city streets, but I'm at a disadvantage here on the freeway."

Now that I'd opened my eyes, I found it hard to close them again. "What?" I said again.

"Mustangs are faster than my car but they can't turn for shit!" He practically shouted over his shoulder, as if he was spitting the insult at Barricade himself.

Chest heaving, I scanned the road for signage or anything to tell us where we were. Cory and I both knew the route like the back of our hands, but a frame of reference during a stressful moment might have proved helpful. 

"There! Next exit! We're almost there," I said, jabbing a finger at the sign. It whipped past us.

"Got it, got it."

He swerved into the exit only lane, cutting at least one more person off. Barricade roared behind us, lights flashing. 

There was another advantage he had over us . . . People moved out of his way.

The straight shot to the exit was all the Decepticon needed. Cory's car was high performance, but it didn't stand a chance against an extremely advanced, living machine. Cory swerved all over the lane, trying to avoid every collision, but the narrow road and guardrail pinned us in.

Connection was made.

His mom's Supra shuddered at the contact and its tail end swerved sideways. Cory held the wheel and leaned; I shut my eyes tight. In the back of my head, I was faintly aware that I was about to die the exact same way my parents had. At the hands of the exact same maniac.

Our car squealed, fish-tailed, then jumped the shoulder. It rolled straight over the guard rail and down a short drop. Cory and I both yelled, bracing and holding anything we could before we smashed into the ground with a caterwaul of bent steel and metal scraping asphalt. We were bathed in darkness next to the offramp, just outside city limits.

The car landed upside-down and I was left dazed and confused. My ears were ringing and the car was a wounded animal crying into the night, its horn stuck to a blare after the wreck.

Loose strands of hair pulled from my ponytail framed my face and my arms were dangling above—below?—my head. I groaned and raised my arms to search for the seatbelt release button, wincing at the pain coursing through my whole body.

No one came to help. Any witnesses would have just seen a cop pulling off a textbook example of a PIT maneuver on a joyriding asshole.

"Cory," I groaned, peering through bleary eyes to see if he was okay.

"Here," he said, sounding for all the world like this was barely an inconvenience. He let his seatbelt loose sliding free and flopping awkwardly onto the ceiling-turned-floor. "I'll come around for you."

His mom's car was wrenched in half, torn apart the longways by a giant pair of hands. I lost sight of Cory as my side of the car was hauled off, dragged some distance away. He shouted after me from somewhere off in the darkness. I tried to scream his name, but it just came out as a terrified shriek as I reached for him. As if I thought he could grab me and steal me away from all this. 

As if I hadn't brought this upon us both.

A horn blared and there was a crash—my half of the car dropped and slammed into the ground. With the wind knocked out of my lungs, I sat there, finally upright, and wheezed out a few ragged exhales. Since the horn had finally stopped blaring, I could hear myself think. But only barely.

"Grab her and get out of here!" shouted someone familiar.

Jazz?

Warm hands fumbled with my seatbelt, then yanked me out of the broken vehicle. 

"Run, run, must keep running," Cory was muttering, hobbling along at an awkward gait as he half dragged me with him. He was bleeding freely from a gash hidden in his hairline and his eyes were wide. Around us, flashes of light kicked up sprays of dirt, the concussions making my ears ring. Heat licked my skin and buffeted Cory and I off balance, making traversing the darkness even more difficult.

I grabbed onto him for all I was worth and tucked my legs up to put my weight on them. The least I could do was take some of the burden off of Cory and walk myself a little ways. 

Then we were falling, tumbling down a small slope and into the ditch by an overpass.

Though I tried to stand and keep running, Cory pulled me to the incline and then pushed me down, covering me with his body. "Nope, time to stay down and out of the way," he hissed in my ear. His weight on top of me kept me from falling apart at the seams, grounded me.

Above us at the top of the hill, the death match raged on. Clanging, gunfire, that dial-up tone language they bellowed; it all sounded so much closer than it was. I whimpered and buried my head in the dirt, quite literally, and pretended I was anywhere else. Cory was quiet and still as a stone, squeezing me tight. 

Everything stopped. There was one last wail before tires screeched off into the distance, thumping like a car riding on flats.

"Kat, Cory! Say something if you's alive," came Jazz's voice a moment or two later. 

I sighed with relief and Cory followed my lead, letting some of the tension in his shoulders go. Then he stood up and put his hand out to me, but he was swaying so much I didn't feel right having him help me to my feet .

"We're here," I called. Trying to stand made me dizzy so I sat back down.

"He knew my name," Cory muttered, teetering precariously on his feet.

Puffing, I said, "Welcome to the club."

Cory winced and staggered to the ground, gasping as if struck by something. I reached out to him, barely within arm's reach of him. "What's wrong?"

"I think my leg's broke?" he responded, sounding both pained and baffled. "I hadn't noticed . . . All that adrenaline . . . Fuck, it hurts like a bitch."

"You think this is funny?" I hissed.

"I'm just a little hysterical is all!" Cory said, gasping in half-pain, half-laughter. It petered off and he started to hyperventilate. I scooted closer and my hands fluttered about him like a set of nervous birds before he slumped over. Gasping, I leaned over and tried to prop him up, but I wasn't strong enough.

"Cory? Cory!"

Jazz crested the hill and descended upon us, kneeling down.

"What's wrong with him?" I stupidly asked, as if Cory hadn't just complained about a broken leg. As if his face wasn't covered in blood. As if we hadn't just been PIT'ed by a blood crazy murder bot and been in a car accident.

Jazz scooped Cory off of me, holding in both of his hands. "We gotta take him to the hospital and then get you the hell outta here, Kat."

"And go where?" I demanded.

"To meet my team. We can drop Cory off at the ER and then I'll take you somewhere safe so Barricade won't keep lurking around."

I shook my head as I stood up, my legs shaking. "Don't I need to go to the the hospital, too? I was in that crash." Maybe I was just desperate to get out of the situation, but it was also a legitimate concern. I hurt so bad and had already been wounded once.

Jazz adjusted Cory into one hand and then scooped me up with the other. "I can treat your wounds but Cory needs more intensive care. We can't risk more getting hurt if Barricade returns."

Though I had to concede that point, I didn't want to. 

In a few swift—but terrifying—seconds where Jazz transformed around us, I was sitting in a familiar seat with Cory slumped in the one next to me. 

I looked around, dazed and panting after going from outside to inside. I had thought for sure we would be crushed while all his parts moved around us, but neither of us were any worse for the wear. It wasn't long before I realized that this was not the interior to my old Golf.

"Is this . . . Is this Cory's Supra?" I asked, perplexed. 

"Ye'h."

Well, that was that, then. I knew now that Jazz hadn't possessed my car, he had transformed into it, and now he had adopted the form of poor Cory's mom's destroyed sports car.

For the time being, I put a pin in it and turned to Cory. He was slumped in the seat, eyes half-lidded and his breathing ragged. I immediately fussed over him, gently wiggling his shoulder. He groaned and looked at me, but his eyes wouldn't focus.

"Cory?" I called, cupping his face in my hands. He wasn't hysterical anymore. He seemed barely conscious.

His head lolled and his eyes stared into the middle distance.

"Is he going to be okay?" There was a slight tremor in my voice.

"If I can get him to a hospital. Should be there in five minutes," Jazz assured me. However, he also didn't offer me any insight to how badly Cory was hurt. "I'm one of the fastest."

Wait, had he said five minutes?

Face scrunched in confusion, I glanced out the window. There weren't many cars out, but we zipped past the few I saw as if they were standing still.

I quickly looked away and tried to control my breathing. This was for Cory.

Sure enough, we pulled up to the ER in only a couple of minutes and Jazz all but drifted into the ambulance parking. Very irritated staff came out to chase us off, but I ignored their expressions and came around the side. The door opened of its own accord and Cory slid out, undoubtedly propelled by Jazz. At least he was careful and waited until I could help Cory fall safely to the ground.

"Help, please!" I yelled at the approaching staff, who paused in their confusion. "We were in a car accident. I couldn't get service so I waved down a passerby to drive us here."

Hopefully they wouldn't notice that the car didn't have anyone else in it at the moment.

One of the nurses called for a gurney and the others rushed over to help me lower Cory down. They bombarded me with questions and I answered as well as I could. He'd been unconscious for about five mintues. The accident had occured off the highway exit and the wreck was still there. I didn't know if he was allergic to any medicine, and he didn't have any medical conditions. All the while, I backed away toward my side of the car. They didn't notice the passenger door closing.

When they asked if I knew him and what his name was, I paused. Did I tell the truth? Lie? I went with my gut reaction.

"His name is Cory Matthews and he lives in Park City," I said. I didn't know if Cory had his wallet. If they would be able to identify him and tell his parents, look up his health records. My own involvement was irrelevant to making sure Cory was given the best care and had all the support he deserved.

When they turned around to ask me something else, I was already in the driver's side of the car and Jazz was pulling forward. They shouted at me, told me that I needed to be checked out, too, but Jazz didn't stop. We left them behind, heading out of the city and back into the open night. Left Cory behind, broken. Beaten.

The tears started and they didn't stop.

Chapter Text

"Kat, calm down, please, you're scaring me," Jazz said.

I couldn't control my sobbing. I thought I'd handled that situation well, but the excessive amount of moisture running down my face and the violent coughing said otherwise. The adrenaline had sobered me up quite a bit, but this was the downslide from consuming so much of a depressant all at once.

At least, I was going to blame the alcohol. Alcohol couldn't stand up for itself.

“This is—this is my fault. I did this, I hurt him, I brought him—I went to him because I was freaked out,” I wailed. “I shouldn’t have—I was so scared, I needed to talk to someone—I should have talked to you! I did this, it’s my fault.”

“Little miss . . .”

Face in my hands, I keened and gasped. “I killed him . . . He was helping me, protecting me, supporting me—I killed him, he’s gonna die and it’s all my fault!” 

At least, that was what I meant to say. What actually came out of my mouth was likely a jumbled mess of tears and choking on spit. I couldn’t be sure Jazz understood a lick of it, not that I was trying to talk to him in particular. I was hysterical and hyperventilating. Rocking in my seat and digging my fingers into my scalp, tugging my hair. The thought of losing first my parents and then Cory in such a short span of time to the same fucking thing was too much to bear. It was breaking me, unraveling me from the head down.

And I was going to try to bring Katie into it. 

I was suddenly deposited onto the ground and then swept up against Jazz’s side, pressed carefully against his hard metal exterior. “Little miss, your vitals are giving me a fright and I dunno what to do . . . The internet says to offer physical comfort and I dunno how good at that I’m gonna be, made of metal and all.”

Gasping for air, I tried to calm down but couldn’t. How close had it come to being Katie? How close had it come to it being her car ripped in half? Rushing her to the hospital? Leaving her husband a widower and her son motherless—all because of me. 

Jazz curled around me as much as he dared, desperately attempting to talk me down from my panic. “Cory ain’t dead yet, I got him to the hospital as fast as I could. The doctors there are all extremely capable, probably . . . if anyone can save him, I’m sure they can. And it’s not your fault, you’re doing the best you can.”

This time when I spoke, I didn’t even know what I was saying. It was just a lot of gasping and choking and screaming. 

Then, moments later, a new voice cut through my panic. 

“What do you want, Cory?” 

It was Katie. I snapped my eyes to the phone suddenly in my lap, speaker turned on. Cory's phone. Jazz must have nabbed it at some point. He must have dialed it. Mutely, I looked up at him. He gave me an encouraging nod and I scooped the phone up in shaking hands, clutching it to my chest. 

“Cory, did you butt-dial me?”

“Katie.” It came out more of a cry than I wanted it to. I wanted to sound calm, I wanted to be in better condition to talk to her, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t turn it off. I kept seeing Cory bleeding, with burnt skin and clothes, the faraway look in his eyes so much like the one my father had been wearing when I saw him on that table. 

“Wait, Kat? Oh my god, Kat. Kathryn, hang on sweetie I gotta . . . Kathryn please, hang on,” she said, reading my tone like a book. “Brandon, I have to go outside. Please—yes, thank you. I don’t know, it sounds bad. I have to . . . Thank you.” 

I sniffed loudly and hiccuped. Tears came fresh, harder, as I realized that I had interrupted her and her family during something. Why couldn’t I do anything right? 

“Kat? You still there, honey? Why are you on Cory's phone? Is he with you?” 

“I—I shouldn’t have—you should go back—”

Her rebuttal was swift and fierce. “Kathryn I have not heard you like this since the day you called about your parents. I don’t give a fuck about my dinner plans, what I do give a fuck about is getting your breathing under control so you shut the hell up and breathe with me! Inhale. Through your nose.”

I did as she said.

“Hold it!” 

Again, I dutifully obeyed. 

“Now exhale, slowly . . . two, three, four . . .” She counted all the way to eight and then made me repeat it again. And again. Jazz kept me held against him, providing the simulation of the physical comfort that Katie would be giving me if she was there. 

“Good,” Katie said when she was satisfied with where my breathing was at. “Good. Now, tell me three things that you can see, Kathryn. Look around you, what do you see?” 

Though I wasn’t hyperventilating anymore, I was still doing that reverse-hiccup thing that came after crying. I still did my best to keep my breathing even with deep inhales and slow, steady exhales. I glanced around for the first time, explaining to her what I could see without mentioning the big robot man. I wasn’t quite ready to tell her about Jazz at the moment, unsure if I even should. 

“I uh, I see . . . I see trees, like I’m in, near the woods. And . . . and I can see the city in the distance, the lights, it-it must be Billings.”

She hesitated like she wanted to ask a follow-up question, but didn't. “Okay, one more.”

“It’s, uh, I can see the car. Cory’s car it—” My breath hitched. It wasn’t technically Cory’s car, but that was the closest I could get to tell her about Jazz without telling her about Jazz, but all it did was remind me of why I was calling her. 

Before my spiral could begin anew, Katie was on top of me. “Three things you can hear, Kat. Anything at all.”

“I can hear you,” I said quickly. “Your voice, through his phone and, and I can hear my voice, responding to you. I, I can hear . . .” I paused, straining to listen. I was out there in the middle of nowhere . . . what else was there to hear? But, after thinking about it for a moment, I continued. “I can hear, I can hear humming, from . . . from the engine.” 

It was a low vibration beneath Jazz’s armor, his heartbeat, maybe, or something similar. The working mechanisms inside of him that made him run, helped him function. 

“Great job, Kat. Now, move three of your body parts. Tell me what you’re doing.” 

“I’m . . . lifting my hand over my head, and I’m wiggling my fingers. I’m, uh, I’m shrugging my shoulders.”

“How do you feel?” she asked me. 

I swallowed hard and clutched the phone tighter to me, leaned into Jazz. He was warm, and he gently squeezed me, doing his best to work with his hard, rigid armor and my squishy, fragile flesh. My injuries were at the bottom of my list of worries, though. 

“I’m . . . I’m better, but Katie, I’m not okay. Cory . . . Cory . . .”

“Don’t talk unless you’re sure you can do it,” she said. “Take all the time you need, I’m gonna be right here with you.”

Taking a deep breath, I looked up at Jazz, wondering what I was supposed to tell her. He didn’t give me any hints, didn’t say anything, just offered me a nod. He didn’t tell me not to tell her. He was letting me decide how much or how little to share. I didn’t really have to think about it. It might have been selfish and reckless, but I couldn’t do this alone. Even if Katie couldn’t physically be here, I needed her support. 

So I told her everything, once again going through the whole thing from the top the same way I had with Cory—except with less theatrics and more crying. She listened quietly, murmuring encouragement and reminding me to breathe when warranted. Jazz gave me a little more space, sitting me down between his knees. 

My tale finished on the note of what happened to Cory, the catalyst to my breakdown. 

Katie was quiet for a long while before she spoke again. When she did, it was to bark a command. "Video call, now."

I did as she asked and hung up, only to call her right back via the video chat option. Again, I looked up at Jazz as if to gauge his reaction.

"I've secured your calls," he assured me.

Whatever that meant.

Katie's face popped up on my screen, lit up by what I assumed was a street lamp as it was totally dark behind her. "Is it there? The robot? Show me."

"You believe me?" I practically whimpered. I imagined how I must look; disheveled, filthy, wearing torn clothes, and covered in soot and ash.

"I don't know. I guess. I have to? I don't want to but I know you wouldn't lie about this. You're incredibly uncreative. So where is it? Is that it behind you? I can kinda see. Put it on. Robot? Robot, answer me!" She started whisper-shouting into the phone to keep eavesdroppers from overhearing. I wasn't convinced it would help. 

"His name is Jazz," I said lamely, angling the phone so that she might see him. It was pretty dark, though, with Jazz's headlights washing us out.

He waved. "Sup."

A sharp intake of breath was the only real indication of her shock. “Don’t ‘sup’ me!” she retorted. There was barely any quiver to her voice, but I noticed it. She was putting on a brave face, pretending that this was all just part of her normal every day, but she was shaken. 

Jazz recoiled somewhat. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“You’re gonna take care of my girl, right?” Her kid was barely old enough to walk yet, but Katie had her mom voice down pat. “You’re going to keep her safe and out of danger?” 

“Of course,” Jazz replied, all business. “I don’t want nothing happenin’ to her, either.”

The conviction in his tone had my stomach doing flips. 

“Good. Kat, take me off speaker and get us some privacy,” she said next, falling silent as she waited for me to comply. Her tone brooked no argument, though I was pretty sure there was no privacy with Jazz. He could probably listen to the call from wherever he happened to be, whether next to us or miles away.

However, Jazz stood up and transformed into his car form, a perfect replica of the now-destroyed Supra. “I’ll be over there, and I promise I ain’t listening.”

Fear returned in a hot wave as he drove off, but I was relieved to see that he moved only to the side of the road, out of what I assumed was his earshot but still within sight. He’d taken me far off the road to a line of trees so he could hide while trying to help me calm down, the city limits far in the distance. I was, once again, floored by how fast he could move because it had seemed like we’d only been driving a short while before he’d decided to help me through my panic attack.

“Okay,” I said to Katie, turning off the video so I could put the phone to my ear.

“Holy fuck Kat,” she exhaled, finally allowing the freakout into her voice. “That was . . . That was an alien. An alien! Kat, your dad worked with aliens!” 

“I don’t think he worked with them, just knew about them,” I responded. 

She ignored me, still using a stage whisper to speak. “Kat I can’t . . . I won’t tell anyone because holy shitballs this is a big fucking deal and I don’t want me or my family targeted, but god damn Kat! Aliens! And you’re right smack dab in the middle of it all. Fuck, I would have had an attack too. Jesus, I . . . I think I’m having a small one on your behalf!”

Her voice was indeed becoming more shrill even as she tried to keep it down and she was breathing pretty heavily. “Katie we can’t both have a breakdown at the same time.”

“I’m never gonna get to sleep tonight, Kat! You’re in so much fucking danger right now.”

I grimaced. “I’m sorry, Katie . . . I never should have . . . I didn’t mean to. I just . . . I don’t think Jazz knew what to do about me freaking out and called you in for backup."

"Then he's got some sense. Good. I'm glad he pulled that stick out his ass—uh, tailpipe? Whatever. I'm glad he let you have access to me. I get what he was doing blocking us, but Christ on a cracker, you can't just take a girl's support system!" Katie raved. She was off video call so I couldn't see her, but I knew she was throwing her free hand around.

"I reacted a lot worse than I should have," I conceded. "I was freaked out and mostly drunk and now Cory's going to pay for it and—" I was spiraling again, tears threatening to spill.

Katie was quick to react. "Kat, don't even worry about it. I'll check in on him, you worry about this alien bullshit first. From what you told me, Cory knew exactly what he was getting into and could have told you to shove it where the sun don't shine."

"But—" 

"No buts! Did the alien say anything about Cory's condition?"

"Jazz," I corrected, wiping my eyes. "He said we got Cory to the hospital on time."

"Then until you hear otherwise, he's going to be fine. Now, I have to get back to my dinner plans and you need to seriously talk with that alien and figure out what he wants from you," she said.

"Okay." I was defeated; exhausted. All my energy was drained. 

"Text me regularly."

"I'll try."

"I love you, Kat. You're going to be okay. Cory will be okay. I'm okay. A little overwhelmed, but okay. We have each other, even if we're too far away."

I took a deep breath and nodded. "I love you, too, Katie. Thank you."

Chapter Text

Jazz pulled up when he noticed me limping toward him, his tires crunching the dirt beneath him. He transformed back into his biped form and took a knee in front of me, holding his hand out. I rocked to a stop, staggering. My eyes kept drooping and I couldn't keep my footing. The day's events were catching up to me and I was ready to collapse.

He was there to catch me, though, holding me steady with that strange claw machine hand, slightly smaller than me. “Kat, I’m sorry about all of this. This wasn't what I wanted when I agreed to come seek allies."

"What did you want?" I ask lamely, too tired to be indignant. I hesitated, then set both my hands on his outstretched one. 

Gently, he led me closer to him, leaning into the physical comfort bit. "Like I said, I just wanted a sympathetic ear so we could warn you guys. By the time I found your dad, my scout Bumblebee had been attacked by the government sector your dad worked for and we knew it might be futile."

"But you hung around, anyway?" I meant to sound accusatory but didn’t have the energy.

"I thought if I watched y'all for a little while, I would be able to tell if he could be convinced." His head fell. "But then Barricade tracked me down and killed them."

I sniffed and fought back a wave of despair at the mention of them.

"After that, I was torn on what to do. I couldn't guarantee that he'd leave you alone if I left, but I knew I'd be able to protect you if I stayed. Y'know? So I stayed as close to you as I could."

"By taking my car's place."

He nodded. 

"And what did you do with my car?"

He didn't answer right away, just focused on moving us onto the street. We'd been in the cover of darkness, but it was hard to tell if anyone had seen anything. What the aftermath was of the short chase and subsequent crash.

"Jazz?" I prompted. 

"I ate it," he finally admitted.

I spluttered, choking on my own surprise.

"Listen, I turn material consumed into munitions and spare parts. I thought it would be easier than trying to hide it somewhere!" he quickly explained. 

I put my hands up. "I cannot deal with this right now." All I could imagine was his giant self walking into my neighborhood at stupid o'clock, picking up my poor, defenseless, geriatric Golf and spiriting it away before gobbling it up. 

Jesus Christ. 

Not wanting to deal with it, I moved on. "So what do you want now? What do you need from me?"

"I don't need nothing from you, little miss," he said. I looked up at his face, having been staring at the ground this whole time. "All I want is to make sure you stay safe, and I'm afraid that that means you and I gotta stick together for a little bit longer."

I knocked that around in my head for a few minutes. Whether or not I liked it, I was in this now. He might not have meant it, but I had a target on my back. He wanted to make up for it, at least, by being my guardian. Despite the hiccup with Katie that spiraled into the hospitalization of my favorite (okay, only) boy toy, he was doing an okay job.

Trying to, anyway. He was learning, it seemed, and wanted to do right by me. If I didn't want to keep looking over my shoulder for a homicidal robot disguised as a cop car, I had to go with him.

My other option was to call Simmons, but that guy did not pass any of my vibe checks. Not only that, but Jazz said their little boy's club had attacked his friend or whatever. I wanted to be safe, yes, but I also knew my government. They would never tell the public anything, and they would sit on the information until it was way past its usefulness. 

No, I only had one choice.

Not only that, but I found that I didn't totally hate the idea. 

Jazz couldn't take my silence and brushed his fingertips against my shoulders. "I have to go to my team. I'm the second in command and will be expected to meet them when they land. I want you to come with me so I can protect you properly, but I won't make you."

I closed my eyes and ran my hand over my head, then took stock of myself. Just one attempt to stay away from him had been disastrous. My shirt was ripped down the side, showing way more side boob than was decent. At least in my drunken escape, I'd put shoes on before hopping fences. 

Mostly I was just exhausted. This was probably one of those times where I wasn't going to start feeling real pain until a day or two later when the shock and effects of adrenaline wore off properly.

"Little miss?"

I startled, then let out my breath in a gush. "Let me think a moment. Uh, how bad am I hurt this time?" I asked. Obviously not bad enough to be hospitalized, but I couldn't be unscathed. 

He regarded me, then his shoulders sagged somewhat. “You’ll be a’ight short-term but you need some attention for the long-term . . . You can go to the hospital if you want, since it’s just over there.” Something in his voice told me that he didn’t think it was a good idea but wanted to be supportive anyway. Katie used that tone a lot. 

It didn’t seem like a good idea to me, either. The logical one, yes, but not a good one. Not when I was tired already and it would likely take them hours to see me since my injuries weren’t life-threatening. If I had an extraterrestrial target on my back, I didn’t want to put a bunch of innocent sick people in the crosshairs, as well. 

Sighing, I sagged and Jazz held me up. “I just want to go home. Do you have to go meet the rest of your . . . team . . . right now?” I  asked.

Jazz shook his head. “No, I can take ya home for the night. When we get there, grab whatever ya got for medical supplies and I can do my best to patch ya up.” Soon as he said it, he scooped me up and transformed around me, plopping me down in the driver’s seat as the rest of his body fell into place around me, this time with the familiar interior of my old, now-deceased Golf.

“You can just pick and choose what form you take?” I asked, feeling dizzy from the manhandling.

“Sure can. Figured I shouldn’t show up as someone else’s car.”

“Good idea,” I muttered, sinking into my seat with my arm over my face. 

It was hard to tell if I passed out or fell asleep, but I welcomed that dark blanket of unconsciousness all the same, waking only when we arrived back at my parents’ house. All I wanted to do was crash in my bed and sleep for a week. The snooze I'd taken on the ride over had only made me more sleepy. Still, I knew Jazz was right. I needed my wounds taken care of and I couldn't ask someone else to do it for me without raising a ton of questions.

There were answers to those questions, but they would lead to other questions. Just telling them “don’t ask” would only raise further suspicions and they might call the cops. There was no winning here for me.

So, when he dropped me off, I changed my clothes and grabbed my entire collection of first aid supplies as well as some extra things he asked me to bring, tossed it all in a backpack, then went back out. Hobbled, more like. My knee was bothering me more and more. Whatever. If the advanced, extraterrestrial robot said I wasn’t going to die, then I wasn’t. 

Cory's phone was in dire straits—cracked down the center and nearly dead—so I’d left it behind to charge and grabbed mine out of the closet. After, of course, sending a quick message to Katie to let her know everything was still on the up and up.

Eventually, I'd return Cory's to him.

Then, Jazz drove me out to the cemetery, parked far out in the darkness where there were no lights or patrolling groundskeepers. If we had any . . . I wasn't actually sure there were.

Jazz transformed once I was out in a whirl of twisting limbs and metal. His torso turned 180 degrees, and he was facing me. The headlights on his chest illuminated the area and I squinted against the glare. He fell into a sitting position with a thud, knees bent, and motioned to the space between them. “Have a seat and take off your shirt. I just found a bunch a files on human first aid, so I should be able to handle this.”

Take off my shirt?

The simple request sent a bunch of heat straight through me, but I quickly reminded myself that this was an alien robot. He was trying to dress my wounds, not gawk at my flesh. Still, I couldn’t help but to hesitate for several seconds before taking up a spot on the ground in front of him. 

“You know, your fingers are kinda big,” I mentioned, motioning vaguely. Stalling, clinging to my strange human foible around modesty and nudity. 

“Don’ worry ‘bout that,” he said, leaning forward and showing me his hand. His fingers unhinged and more dexterous tools came out—some looked like tweezers, some like tiny reaching hands, drills . . . I felt like I was in a dentist's office staring at a bunch of weird devices. 

I tried not to gape, but I couldn’t help it.

“Got a lotta small parts that need fixin’ sometimes. Can’t always wait for ol’ Ratchet to help when you on the battlefield,” he explained. Then he made a spinning motion with his other hand. “Turn around, shirt off.”

Taking a deep breath, I nodded and turned my back to him before pulling off my jacket and t-shirt. The chilly night air made me shudder, and I hoped he’d hurry. I tried not to think about all those weird dentist tools plucking at my skin. I decided the best way to distract myself would be to talk through it.

“So you guys have a medical officer? You don’t know how to do your own repairs?” I asked, trying to make conversation. It had been a mere few moments, but I was already shivering so much it hurt my chest.

He grunted, “Ye’h. I mean, we can do small repairs, but Ratchet knows best on how to reattach limbs or which parts fit in which ‘bot.”

“You can’t just, like, look it up?”

“I suppose.” He chuckled and gestured for my bag of supplies. “You can look up how to reset a broken bone, can’t ya?”

“Yeah, probably.” I opened the bag and dumped everything out for him.

“But could ya do it?”

Stupid logical robot. “No, I guess not.”

“Same thing here. Gotta have the programming, the learning. Hand me a butterfly bandage. Soon as this is over, we can get you properly looked at by human doctors, but I’ll keep you from falling apart,” he promised me, gently brushing a finger across the ungainly discoloration of a huge bruise on my torso. 

“Hey, that tickles,” I groused, not unkindly, and twitched away from him.

Jazz snickered and I expected a zinger or more tickling, but he did neither.  He just took the bandage from me and then spent the next several minutes using everything I had at home to patch me up—a wrap for my knee and arm, more butterfly sutures for a gash in my side.

"Uh . . . it’s really cold out here.” I was already shivering, and that probably wouldn't help his work.

“Ah, sorry. I'm done, got all the major things . . . though when this over a real doctor will need to look at you real close-like."

Shrugging, I took his hand and stood up, then walked in a small circle, arms wrapped around myself both to preserve some of my modesty and to shield from the cold. I picked up my shirt and carefully pulled it over my head.

“A'ight. Let’s get you home.”

I packed up the supplies, making sure to gather up all the trash to be thrown away later. No one had showed up—no other cars, no people, we had been alone the whole time and nothing had happened. I breathed a sigh of relief and settled into the seat, the heat turned up to full so I could warm up. It would suck if I caught a cold on top of everything else that was going on.

“My bad. Forgot the cold affects ya differently than me.”  I was starting to get used to him talking through the radio.

“I’m fine. The heat feels good.” 

We sat in silence for the short drive home, the radio playing faint songs in the background. I wasn’t listening, though. I was a million miles away, lost in thought. I was hungry again, and the aches and pains were starting up, making me wish I’d taken a couple of painkillers before we’d come out there, but I’d be home soon enough. 

At least now I knew for sure that I wasn’t afraid of Jazz anymore. He’d made it clear he was a kind of interstellar bodyguard—or maybe a babysitter. Whichever. It didn’t keep me from worrying about everything, even the mundane. What if the lawyers tried to call me sometime? How was this going to affect my ability to sell the house? 

I didn’t honestly think that I was going to be able to return to a normal life after this, though. Maybe this was my new normal. I’d have to wait to see what happened.

Tears formed in my eyes and I rubbed at them with the heel of my palm. I was thinking about Cory again, wondering if he was okay. Hoping that when I got home, Katie would have texted me some good news. I was the one who got him involved, so it was all my fault that he was there in the first place, and I’d abandoned him in the ER parking lot because I thought that was the best course of action.

“You okay?” 

Sniffing, I nodded and climbed out. “Yeah, thank you for updating me. I’m going to bed.” 

No, I wasn't okay.

“A’ight, g’night. Soon as you’re ready in the morning, we’ll head out to meet my team,” Jazz said, his voice somewhat muffled as the car door closed. 

“Yeah, sure,” I mumbled, overcome with another wave of severe fatigue. Maybe I'd get lucky and pass the fuck out when I hit my bed and be spared the nightmares. I stopped halfway to my door and looked over my shoulder to add, “Good night, Jazz.”

Chapter Text

Despite how exhausted and drained I was, sleep came in fits and starts. Nightmares plagued me, full of talking cars and a faceless cop chasing me through back allies and over chain link fences. Cory was in most of them, hurt and broken. Telling me that I was an idiot. Though they sounded ridiculous, they were absolutely terrifying while I was sleeping.

There was a chance, however, that those were just the parts that I remembered and the truly horrifying parts of the nightmares were forgotten as soon I woke.

When I was awake, I wished I was asleep again. Or just plain unconscious.

Everything hurt. The adrenaline was gone, the painkillers I'd taken late in the night were wearing off, and I felt like I'd been wrung through a cheese grater. I'd dug up an old bottle of Percocet the dentist had given me the year before, when he'd taken out my wisdom teeth. The expiration date was a couple months late, but it was a risk I was willing to take.

The date just meant they would be slightly less effective, right? I took a double dose and stuck the remaining six pills in the bag I packed in preparation to go with Jazz.

I had snacks, enough pain killers to down a bull elephant—I wasn't taking them all at once, of course, but I was putting a lot of faith in my liver and kidneys—that pack of sodas I'd bought a couple days ago, and enough clothes for a week.

With how often I was destroying my clothes, I figured having extra was necessary.

The only favor I asked of Jazz was to roll by Cory's house. I wanted to drop Cory's phone off. We rolled by at a casual pace, as if I was just driving by, but his parents weren't home. In all likeliness, they were at the hospital checking on him. Which was exactly what I wanted. I had Jazz double back and then left him idling on the curb while I hopped out and wandered around the back.

Nosy neighbors would see me, but that's fine. I was always sniffing around his house so it wouldn't be completely out of the ordinary for me to head toward the back.

I snuck in through his window again and left the phone on his bed, trying to make it look like he'd just forgotten it, though I wasn't sure how the cracks in the screen were going to be explained if it wasn't with him when he crashed . . .

That was a problem for future Kat and Cory.

"Okay." I slid into the driver's side and buckled up. "We can go."

"Don' sound so glum, little miss. Think of it as a little road trip, that's all," Jazz said, his tone encouraging.

But I didn't answer him. I was too tired. Numb. Jazz waited a beat, then pulled out and headed toward the freeway. I closed my eyes and leaned back, not caring if people notice at a glance that I'm not watching the road. I didn't even want to be in another car, let alone driving to a whole other state.

Luckily, he didn't press me for conversation. He just turned the radio up and we cruised. I wasn't sure how to get to Nevada, but I was sure Jazz had it under control so I didn't bother hooking up my GPS.

Mostly, I didn't know if we'd have to drive by where Barricade had attacked us.

Had they had time to clean up Cory's mom's car? Was it even visible from the freeway? I closed my eyes tighter and put my hand over my face. It took a few deep breaths to keep composed. The backs of my eyes burned and I clenched my teeth. I didn't want to cry anymore.

"It's okay," Jazz announced. "We passed it."

I pulled my hand away from my face, but I continued to stare at the roof above me. I didn't want to look out the window.

There was a beat of silence, and then Jazz said, "'Ey, uh, litte miss. I don't think I said this last night what with . . . everything, but I'm sorry about what happened with your boyfriend. Sorry that I didn't . . . get there fast enough to stop the crash."

Pressing my lips together, I tried to press down the emotions. I let a single sniff slip out and I wiped my eyes on the back of my arm. "He's not my boyfriend," was all I managed to say.

"Huh? What?" I couldn't see his expression but he was perplexed for sure. "You sure?"

I couldn't help but huff out a laugh. "Yes, I'm sure."

"But you two . . . uh . . . you know."

His confusion was understandable. "He's not into romantic relationships, but we're physically compatible so we've been friends with benefits for a few years now. Keeping it casual. Doesn't mean we don't care about each other, though. If we didn't, this—this wouldn't be so hard."

The tears were coming again and I pressed the heel of my hands into my eyes as if I could keep the tears from coming out. It kind of helped. Changing the subject would help more.

"Where are we going again? I can't remember if you told me," I said, letting my hands drop.

"A town in Nevada. It's about fifteen hours away. I can cut that in half, though. Maybe even by a third."

Cut travel time down to a half? To a third? I sat up and looked out the window. Cars zipped by as we weaved around traffic, almost like they weren't even moving at all. The scenery was scrolling by. I leaned to read the spedometer, though it only said we were going eighty.

That couldn't be right.

My heart started pounding against my chest, which tightened like a vice. I gripped my seatbelt with both hands. "Slow down," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"Huh?"

Jazz swerved around someone and then jerked into another lane. I clenched my eyes shut and braced myself, though it felt like my body was shifting, like it had when Cory's car flipped over. Shuddering, I closed my eyes and curled my legs into my seat.

"Please, Jazz, please slow down," I said again, louder.

"We have to—" He stopped mid-argument and went quiet. My eyes were shut tight, cringing halfway into the fetal position in my seat.

One wrong move, one person switching lanes when Jazz wasn't ready, and we'd been rolling off the freeway, crushed under the weight of my car, maybe even set ablaze . . . I clenched my teeth and took heavy breaths to try to calm.

"Sorry, um . . . Oh! I know what t'do!"

I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes to figure out what he was doing, but after a minute or two, he told me that everything was fine. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes and took a look around. The windows, however, were so dark that I couldn't see anything outside. I doubted anyone would be able to look inside, either.

Probably not the legal level of tinting, but that was the least of my concerns.

"How's that?" he asked, sounding proud of himself.

It didn't stop me from knowing that we were going stupid fast, and it didn't stop me feeling the car bob and weave, but I couldn't see the threat anymore. Every jerk and swerve had me tensing up with anxiety, but it was definitely a marked improvement. I could even uncurl from my awkward fetal position and take a more normal seat.

"Thank you. It's better. I guess you have to hurry, then?" I said, trying not to sound bitter.

"Yeah, sorry. It's a bit of a rush."

"And you have to rush to Nevada . . . why, again?"

"To meet the rest of my team."

"Yeah, okay. But why?" Ever so tentatively, I leaned forward and put my hands on the wheel. Jazz was still in control, and everything about it was weird. The way it moved in my hands, how the pedal shifted under my foot—it made my skin crawl.

No one could see me. I didn't have to keep up appearances. I let my hands fall to my lap and I slouched a bit in my seat to be more comfortable.

"There's this kid there that Bumblebee, our scout, was tasked to find. We think he might got some kind of map that could lead us t'our power source. We call it the AllSpark, and it disappeared a few thousand years ago," he said, as if that explained the whole thing.

I screwed up my face in confusion. "Okay I'm gonna let that slide because that sounds complicated and I don't think I want to know. What's it doing here on Earth?" I asked instead. Every answer he gave me just brought up more questions. Somewhere along this trip I was going to have to draw the line.

"I think it just drifted here, like any other piece of debris out in space."

"So, it's just a coincidence that your AllSpark thingy-majig landed on a planet full of life?" I asked. It was mostly a rhetorical question, but it still seemed incredibly unlikely.

He made a sound that was like a verbal shrug. "It might not be, we'll have to be briefed by Optimus."

"And he is . . . ?"

"Our brave an' noble leader!"

"Right. And you're the second in command, I think you said?"

"Tha's right! You got it."

I blew out my breath through my lips and leaned my head back in my seat. I was starting to learn some of the intricacies of this Autobot stuff, at least. I'd always been good at names. Kind of. But I was out of questions, figuring that any I thought of would be answered once we had this briefing with their "brave and noble" leader that Jazz was hyping up.

So far that was three names to his team. Optimus, Rachet, and Bumblebee. "Those aren't your real names, right?" I asked.

"No. Some of them are the closest translations we can get in your language, like with Optimus Prime, Ratchet, and Ironhide. Me 'n Bumblebee kinda picked names we thought was cool. It's not unheard of for us Cybertronians to change our names throughout our lives."

Nodding, I said, "Makes sense."

Finally feeling a bit relaxed, I checked the window. Right, completely dark. I pursed my lips and asked, "What's traffic like right now?"

"We past the city, just cruising through back roads now. I can route us without traveling heavily populated areas, so it should be smooth sailing all the way to Nevada," he said, as if reading my mind. "I won't be dodging cars anymore, just passing if I need to."

"Can you untint the windows again, please? Just so I can see out. If that's possible, anyway."

The windows were already starting to bright up and turn clear again before I finished my request. "O'course! No one will be able to see you, so relax. Take a nap, even!"

"I don't want to nap," I murmured. I didn't want to sleep at all until I could avoid it. I could only remember bits and pieces of the nightmares I'd endured through the night, but the feeling of them lingered and I didn't want to go through it again if I could help it. I just needed a distraction.

I looked around the front seats and groaned. "I packed the drinks and snacks in the back and forgot to bring a couple with me."

"Don' worry, I gotcha."

Something clunked around in the trunk, prompting me to turn. The entire interior of the car shifted and transformed, making me pull my knees up and squeal with surprise. I no longer recognized my Golf in anything I saw, but it also didn't think it looked like Cory's Supra. Before I could ask, the cramped back seats dropped open and the trunk spat out my packed back and the package of sodas My eyes widened and I shifted to look up front again.

"That was really weird, Jazz. What car is this?"

Jazz snickered and I wondered if he learned such human mannerisms from the internet as well. "It's your neighbor's Stealth."

I couldn't see outside, so I had to take his way with it. I don't think I'd ever paid attention to the kind of cars the rest of my neighbors had, so I didn't even know what neighbor he was talking about. I reached back and fished out the chips from my bag and nabbed a soda from the box.

"Holy hell, everything is ice cold. How did you pull that off?" I marveled, setting the chips aside to warm up a bit. The soda, however, was the perfect temperature.

"Got my own pocket dimension I keep shit in. Super cold in there, since it's a vacuum 'n all."

My eyebrow raised at the swear word—not that I was above swearing but hearing an alien robot use it was weird—then realized what he was saying. "Pocket dimension? That's. . .is that even a real thing? How does that work?"

"Called subspace. Every Cybertronian got their own. Lotta technical jargon, though. Don' wanna bore ya with th' details."

"I'll take that as a 'it's too complicated to explain in layman's terms'." I decided I was too hungry to wait for the chips to warm up and tried to open it. When the bag wouldn't tear, I took to ripping it apart with my teeth until the plastic gave in to my demands.

"Could you explain at length how your kidneys work?" Jazz said.

I rolled my eyes. He was always using logic and shit on me. "I see your point."

Eating the chips grew increasingly awkward as I realized I was inside a sentient being, possibly dropping crumbs and grains of salt all over. After a few handfuls I put the chips away, wiped my hands on my jean shorts, and chugged the rest of my soda, reaching for another.

"Wanna play the alphabet game?" I asked out of the blue. I felt a little bad for kind of ignoring him, so thought I'd find a way to involve him in some fun.

"Wha's'at?" he asked, turning the music back down.

Shrugging, I pointed out a billboard. "See that sign? It has the word 'law' on it. Which has the letter A. All you do in the alphabet game is try to collect all of the letters in the alphabet. You can either do it collaboratively or competitively."

"So—either we work together t'find all the letters, or first one to get them all wins?" he clarified. "And I assume we gotta do it in order?"

"Exactly. If it's competitive, then you can't use the same letter twice. So if I pointed out the letter A on that billboard, then you can't call it out and use it." I smiled fondly as I explained the rules, and was taken way back to old road trips to visit family or go on vacation. There was the road kill game, Eye Spy, Slug Bug. . . .

The alphabet game was a little less obnoxious than I Spy, and the road kill game was a little morbid. He couldn't exactly slug me if we saw a Volkswagen Beetle on the road. I didn't think I'd want him to, either.

Jazz thought it over for a spell, then responded. "Pr'y best t'play together. I pr'y got way better eyesight'n you and it wouldn' even be close t'a fair competition," he pointed out.

"Yeah okay," I agreed, smiling. "You just let me get a few so I can feel like I'm helping out."

"You got it, little miss."

Chapter Text

It was early evening by the time we reached the city limits of a place calledTranquility. It was a much larger town than Park City or even Laurel. The outskirts were decorated with billboards and stadiums, and tall glass buildings loomed in the distance.

We left behind the metropolitan area and exchanged it for a more modest suburb while Jazz located the Sam kid and his comrade Bumblebee. There were still big buildings and many shops and restaurants, but it wasn't so industrial. More welcoming. It didn't look like it would be such a terrible place to live, and I added it to my "should I move here?" list.

Close to the freeway, Jazz pulled into a gas station and into one of the parking spots. This one was huge—it had a million spots to fill up gas tanks and even advertised showers. The pumps nagged at the back of my mind, but I couldn't place why.

Then it hit me.

"So, we've been driving for hours but didn't stop once for gas. Do you need to ever top off?" I asked, watching a teenager with a huge truck fill up his tank. Who needed a truck that big?

"Naw, I got m'own energy source. Could still use yer fuel, but shit's like junk food for me."

"Ah, okay. I guess that kind of makes sense." I didn't know much about his species, but at least he had the patience to explain sometimes. It still seemed weird, though. They were machines—living ones, sure, but wouldn't they need tune-ups or whatever? I figured it was Ratchet's job and

When Jazz didn't offer an explanation for why we had stopped, I asked.

"I gotta contact Bee and get a sitrep. Why don' you go do . . . human things 'fore we meet 'em?" he suggested, sounding a smidge uncomfortable. I stifled a grin.

I didn't want to be left alone in a city I knew nothing about, but I did need to use the bathroom and check my bandages. It would be nice to get out and stretch my legs a little bit, too. It looked like a big store, so some window shopping would make me feel a bit normal.

"Will you be around?" I asked, reaching for my purse.

"Ye',h 'course I will be," he agreed a little too quickly. I ignored it and climbed out of the car with a brief goodbye to him.

After using the toilets, I made sure I was alone in the bathroom. The place was set up like a public pool with lockers and shower stalls, but I didn't need any of those. I certainly wasn't alone in the shower area, but for the moment the bathroom was clear. I tried to be quick while I checked my bandages and the compression wrap. Everything looked fine, and nothing was bleeding through.

While I was poking at the large black bruise semi-hidden by the wrap, another lady walked in. The sound of the door creaking open startled me and I jumped three feet in the air. She gave me a concerned and then disgusted look and I sheepishly put down my shirt. My face burned.

"Car accident," I quipped, feeling the need to put her mind at rest. Maybe then she could stop staring at me.

"Sucks," she muttered, ducking into a stall.

I waited for her to lock up and then poked at the bruise some more. It wasn't swollen and the skin still felt firm, so I figured it was all cosmetic. Fearing someone else walking in, I made sure my clothes were all tidy before heading out.

There were shelves and shelves of merchandise and snacks. I walked the aisles, checking my phone every now and then to see if I had any messages or calls. Nothing new, just the text conversation I'd been having with Katie; she continued to check in on me and provide me with scant updates about Cory's condition. She didn't know much except that he was stable and awake.

After finding my way to a section of stuffed animals, I reached for one. A hare of some kind. It was soft and realistic, stuffed enough for hugging. I also picked up a black bear and closed my eyes. One for me, and one for Cory when I got back to him. Though I turned to leave, I stopped and snatched a third one. A coyote for Katie's little boy. I paid for them at the front before heading out into the parking lot. I already had snacks and drinks, so I skipped those.

When I walked outside, Jazz wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Shocked, I stood there for a few seconds, looking for him, then did a quick lap around the station, probably looking like a damn fool. Nothing. He was nowhere. Had I taken too long? Had he actually ditched me? Would he ditch me? My breaths came quicker and tears pricked my eyes.

He'd left me. He said he would be there, and now he was gone. I was alone in a town I didn't know with no transportation.

Was I going to have to call Katie to come get me? It would take her a day to get here . . .

I stood there for maybe two or three minutes, feeling stupid and abandoned, when a silver car screeched to a halt in front of me. At first I thought it was Jazz, but it was the wrong type of car. It was a newer model of sports car, the Pontiac insignia gleaming between rounded headlights.

The horn blared and my heart leaped into my throat. With a muted sound, the window rolled down to reveal an empty cab.

"Don' jus' stare. Get in!"

My mouth fell open and I took a deep breath. "Jazz?"

"Who else would it be?"

Relief flooded through me and I moved around the back, glancing at the silver letters that read "Solstice". As soon as the driver's side door was closed and I was seated he pulled away from the gas station onto the main street. I ran my hands over the pleather seats and admired the interior for a moment. "Why did you—how did you. . . ?"

"This's more my style. Didn't have nothing like it in tha' backwater town o' yours."

I huffed indignantly. "I guess Cory's Supra is just chopped liver, then!"

"Heh, I just like this better!"

"Well excuse me!"

"You're excused," he ribbed.

Trying to hide my smile, I changed the subject. "You got any leads yet?"

Jazz put on a burst of speed as if in answer. "Bumblebee is trying to round Sam up. He's been hanging back and waiting for us, because he can't talk right now. His vocal processor was damaged in combat, so he's been having a hard time trying to explain what's going on."

"Oh jeez, I can imagine. He's not just chasing Sam around, is he?"

" . . . Well . . ."

Groaning, I leaned my head back. "Oh my god."

"We're almost right on top of them. He's under an overpass. Hold on tight."

There wasn't much to hold on to so I braced myself against the seat and gripped the steering wheel as he accelerated and turned a corner, tires squealing. A yellow car, an old Camaro, was coming down the opposite way. If I hadn't known better I would have thought we were going to collide, but both cars stopped with a couple of inches between bumpers.

It was uncanny how accustomed I was becoming to seeing cars without drivers.

"Is that. . . ?"

"Bumblebee," Jazz confirmed.

The name fit him. The yellow car had black racing stripes, and as close as we were I could see a bee-shaped air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror, next to a miniature disco ball. It just confirmed that they picked whatever name they liked when they got here.

I leaned forward while the two of them spoke, or whatever they did to communicate, looking for this Sam kid. However, I didn't even know what he looked like. Movement far in the distance caught my attention and I unbuckled my belt so I could hang out the window and get a better look. It was a hulking figure, running through the underpass.

My eyes widened and I fell back into my seat. "Jazz! Jazz it's the cop!"

His tires squealed as he backed up swiftly, and Bumblebee pulled forward with us before flipping a u-ie. He didn't have near the turn radius Jazz did, and it was a tight space, but he still managed.

"Put on ya seat belt."

I did as I was told as he followed Bumblebee around a winding path through the underpass. I could hear cars above us, but it was drowned out by the screech of tires and crash of the junk cars all around as Barricade pursued Sam. My knuckles were white as I held on to the wheel, tense while Jazz navigated around the trash and scrap.

The seatbelt strained as I leaned forward, scanning the area. "C'mon, c'mon, where are they?"

Bumblebee led the way, charging ahead. Somewhere in front of us a car went sailing through the air and I knew we were close. After careening around a support structure, Barricade barreled into view, running for two teenagers gathered together on the road.

"There, there!" I shouted, though I was sure Jazz could see them just fine.

Bumblebee made a sharp turn, spinning into Barricade and knocking him off of his feet. He rotated and pulled up beside the two. I assumed one was Sam, but he was with a chick that no one had mentioned yet. Bumblebee's door opened expectantly, but to my (not) surprise, neither of them jumped at the opportunity to climb into the self-driving car.

They were far more interested in arguing about whether or not to get inside, and Barricade was recovering. I shed my seatbelt, threw open Jazz' door, and stood up. "Get in the car you idiots!"

Both stared at me, bewildered, but another human telling them what to do was enough. They scrambled to their feet and the kid I assumed was Sam—unless maybe it was short for Samantha and it was the girl? No, no Jazz had definitely made it sound like it was a guy we were looking for—helped the girl up and they both climbed inside of Bumblebee.

"Kat!" Jazz warned.

I turned toward Barricade. He was rolling back to his feet while Bumblebee took off, so I ducked back inside and Jazz slammed the door. Before it was closed all the way, he was lurching forward after his comrade. I turned as far as I could to look out of the rear windshield. Barricade was back in vehicle mode and was giving chase.

"Gotta lose him," I muttered.

"I know! Sit'own!"

His urgent tone had me whirling around forthright, sitting straight. I buckled up and braced myself for the chase.

We took uninhabited back roads until we made it to an empty industrial yard. Warehouses and buildings lined the streets around us, and the old road was covered in loose rocks. Every few seconds I was being tossed around. I whimpered every time Barricade rammed us, but his attention was split between Jazz and Bumblebee.

Jazz fishtailed on dirt as he rounded a corner, and then he headed straight for the side of a building with a massive window.

"Where are you going? What are you doing? No—no Jazz, no!" I let out a short cry as first Bumblebee charged through glass into a warehouse, then Jazz. Bumblebee's passing left us an opening, but the landing threw me all around the cab.

"Dammit, Jazz!"

"Sorry."

The warehouse had nothing but support beams and tarps in it, and the two Autobots crisscrossed around each other before turning a sharp 180 and shooting past Barricade. I rotated at the hips to watch him as he slammed on his breaks, attempting to pull around as well, but he slammed into a pillar instead, coming to a complete stop. The squeal of his breaks echoed behind us.

I lost sight of him as we found an exit to the building, and we maneuvered further and further into the industrial district until we were certain that the not-cop hadn't followed us. Then, Jazz and Bumblebee pulled up next to each other so their driver-side windows were parallel.

As my window rolled down, Sam was already leaning out of his own, eyes bugged and breathing erratic. "Who are you? What the hell is going on!" he demanded. "Why is that cop a robot?"

It took a few seconds for me to regain my own composure and calm down enough to talk. "I know it's a lot to take in and I promise I'm just as scared as you are, but these guys," I swept my hand over the Camaro and Jazz, "they just want to help, okay?"

Sam leaned further out of the window until I was certain he was going to climb in mine and pointed toward the horizon. "What was that thing!"

Next to him, the girl hung on the edge of our conversation.

There was no scenario where this was taken well, but it was a rip the bandaid off kind of moment. I took a deep breath and pressed my lips into a thin line. "An alien. They're all aliens."

He stared at me, mouth open. The girl in the seat next to him asked something I couldn't hear and he turned toward her. "An alien! She says it's an alien!" his voice cracked somewhere in the middle and I couldn't tell if it was because of puberty or because of the hysteria. When he turned toward me, he didn't look any calmer. "Are you serious right now? An alien!"

I rubbed my forehead and sighed. "Look—we can't talk about this here, okay? I can explain—they can explain everything, but we gotta—"

A sudden, wailing siren interrupted me. Sam and I turned away from each other to look down the road and there he was—Barricade, hurtling down the street toward us with his lights flashing and sirens blaring in anger.

"Shit! Go!"

I pulled my head back into the car and Bumblebee moved forward first, leaving Jazz to turn and follow after him.

"This guy doesn't give up," I muttered.

"You got no idea," Jazz sighed.

"What is his deal, anyway?" I turned to see him following closely behind.

Jazz turned on a dime, splitting off from Bumblebee. "Decepticon scout. Kinda like Bumblebee, but, like . . . evil." He slammed on the breaks and the belt stopped me inches from hitting the steering wheel, jarring my breastbone.

"Jazz! You have a fucking passenger!"

"Sorry!"

"Why don't you just fight?" I snapped, leaning into another hair-pin turn.

We were up on two wheels as we whirled around a boarded-up building. I clenched my eyes shut and tried to find my happy place, but we were beyond coping mechanisms. I was barely hanging on by a thread, trying not to go into an utter panic.

"There's too much collateral here too close to city square. Gotta find a open space. Gonna try'n lose him—the less exposure humans get to us, the better."

That made sense, but part of me wanted them to just get it done and over with so I wouldn't have to be the pinball of this scenario. It would be finished a lot quicker if they would double-team the hell out of Barricade and end it.

We hit another straight away and I looked around frantically for Bumblebee and his passengers, but they were nowhere to be seen. Barricade had left to chase after them, giving me a bit of a reprieve from the Destruction Derby driving Jazz was doing.

"Where'd they go? Where are they?" I squawked, spinning around as far as Jazz' interior would allow, trying to spot a glimpse of anything familiar.

"Think I lost 'em too good," Jazz muttered, sounding more proud than chagrined.

"Well, un-lose them!"

His engine roared as he sped down the road. Over the sound of his acceleration, a high-pitched wail rang. Not quite as obnoxious as a fire alarm, more like a beep that you couldn't find the source of. Jazz slowed down to a less-scary speed and patrolled toward a power plant of some kind, a sprawling field beyond.

"Lemme know if ya see somethin'," he requested.

Nodding, I sat up tall and searched for the yellow Camaro or the black police Mustang. What I found was a tall, yellow robot out in the open.

"There!"

Barricade beat us to the spot. He charged Bumblebee in his vehicle mode, transforming into a powerful leap that took Bumblebee to the ground.

"Show time," Jazz sneered.

Chapter Text

The gravel under his tires crunched as he picked up speed. We fishtailed ineffectively for a second, but he pulled forward all the same, veering off toward the field and the battle. Sam and his lady friend—a girlfriend, maybe?—were running from some skeletal-looking person-sized robot and I leaned forward.

"What is that?" I hissed.

"Frenzy!" Jazz hit the brakes, my seatbelt released, and the door on my side opened. "Tuck'n roll, little miss."

"Excuse me?" I shouted.

Jazz didn't give me any choice. His seat dumped me unceremoniously onto the ground with a sudden tilt. He was moving slow enough that I didn't break anything, but my leg twisted on the landing and I stumbled to my hands and knees with a vicious intake of breath.

"God damn you, Jazz!" I snarled, picking up a handful of dirt and rocks and throwing it at him. "I have fragile human anatomy, you know!"

Of course he was too busy fighting or something to apologize.

Oh but he will, I vowed bitterly, struggling to stand before running toward the two teenagers fleeing from the robot. Limping from the fall didn't help my speed or stamina.

The little robot man, Frenzy, leapt on top of the boy, throwing him to the ground. His lady friend kept running while he tried to kick the person-sized robot off of him. Somewhere behind me, Jazz transformed with the increasingly familiar ring of metal. I stopped running and looked around, trying to find something to use, but found only rocks and dirt.

It wasn't much against a robot with armor, but it was the best thing I could come up with. I picked up a softball sized stone and hurled it at the robot. It hit a leg and Frenzy screeched, turning to look at me. I froze where I stood, as if for some reason I thought it wasn't able to see me if I didn't move. Like a dinosaur.

Stupid, stupid.

"Walker!" it chirped.

The distraction was enough. Sam turned and landed a powerful kick to the thing's chest and it was sent sprawling. He scrambled to his feet while it recovered and ran toward me shouting, "Go! It's going to kill us!"

He reached out when he made it to me and grabbed my shoulders, spinning me around. "Run, run!" he shouted. I glanced around for Jazz, but he wasn't anywhere within eyesight.

Frenzy bounced to his feet. He screeched a challenge and leaped toward us, moving like a demonic lemur on steroids. With Jazz not around, the courage dropped out from under me and I let Sam drag me away.

It was faster than it looked. We didn't make it thirty yards before it jumped on top of us, shoving us through a weak chain link fence and down a steep hill. I rolled until I hit another fence at the bottom of the incline and scrambled on all fours across the ground. When Frenzy jumped to land on us, he hit the fence instead. Giving himself a shake, he rounded on the person closest to him—Sam.

"Witwicky!" He spoke in fits and starts, like his voice modulator didn't quite work the way it was supposed to.

Adrenaline fully numbed any and all pain I would otherwise feel.

I scrambled upright while Sam shoved the robot away from him. I lunged forward, grabbing Frenzy and yanking him around. The momentum had me stumbling backwards to stand next to Sam. Frenzy thrashed where he lay until he regained his balance, then pistons in his legs pumped before he sprang toward us with a mighty leap.

Before I could stop it, a scream left my lips and I cringed against Sam, holding my arms out. He shoved me aside and I stumbled along the fence. Frenzy clawed at him, cheeping in that strange way of his. "Witwicky! Walker!"

Out of nowhere, a power saw sliced through the thin metal and wiring of Frenzy's arm. The small mech screeched and Sam's lady friend hacked away at it a couple more times.

His head detached from his mangled body and I relaxed against the fence in relief. Frenzy babbled in his own language and Sam crouched forward. "Yeah, not so tough without a head, huh?" he taunted before taking a few swift steps forward and punting the head back up the hill. Frenzy screamed the entire way.

"Good kick," I panted.

Both of the teenagers rounded on me like half-feral animals and I pushed myself into the fence, looking between the two, waiting for them to attack me. After a few seconds, though, they looked less like starved panthers and more like frightened deer.

"Who are you?" Sam demanded, lifting a hand to point at me.

After swallowing the lump in my throat, I said, "Right—um, my name's Kat. I'll explain everything but . . . let's find the cars, and then go somewhere quiet, okay? It's a long . . . long story."

They followed me back where Jazz and Bumblebee waited for us at the crest of the hill, stepping into view. I started to scale the hill to meet them, favoring my right leg, but realized pretty fast that Sam and Mikaela weren't following me.

"They're not going to bite, c'mon," I assured them.

Still they hesitated, soI huffed and left them there to contemplate the existence of aliens. It wasn't my place to tell them what to do. Jazz parted from Bumblebee to allow him to communicate—somehow? wasn't his voice not working or something?—and kneeled down in front of me.

"'Ey, good work on Fren—"

I put my hand up to cut him off and glared at him. "Don't talk to me, I'm angry with you." Somehow I managed to keep my voice low: I didn't want the others to overhear.

He leaned back and blinked. "What—why're you . . . ?"

Though I wanted him to think I was hopping mad, my anger was luke-warm at best. "Well, maybe because you ejected me from a moving vehicle?"

His internal mechanisms buzzed and he rubbed the back of his head in another display of mannerisms he'd picked up from the internet. "Ah, right. Well I'm awful sorry 'bout that. I—I wasn't thinking I guess. Got 'cited for a brawl. 'S'at why ya limping?"

"Yes," I grumbled, crossing my arms and turning my back to him like a petulant child.

"Aw, I'm sorry little miss . . . I was trying to be gentle when I did it," he mumbled, scooping me up and surprising me. My arms flailed for half a second until I was certain I wasn't going to fall. "Thought I slowed down enough . . . Forgive me?"

Any other attempts at seeming irate seeped from my body. The sincerity in his voice melted the false, hard shell I'd crafted. I sighed and pat his hand. "It's fine. It's not that bad. Just uncomfortable."

"I said I wouldn't let ya get hurt again'n then I—"

Again, I cut him off. I took a breath and smiled. "I said, it's fine. You just gotta remember how squishy I am. Made out of flesh and all."

"You got it." Though he didn't sound convinced, he put me down and transformed into his vehicle mode, door open and waiting. Sam and Mikaela were beginning to climb into Bumblebee, having come to a conclusion at last.

"Where we goin'?"

"Have them pick somewhere to eat, my treat."

"A'ight." He was still beating himself up over the whole thing. I actually felt bad for making him feel bad. I wanted to say something that would reassure him, but found myself unable to come up with anything convincing.

Well, maybe he'd refrain from dumping me on the road again.

Jazz relayed the message and Bumblebee led us out of the district and back toward the meat of town. In the meantime, I tried to formulate how I was going to explain it all to our new friends.

*:･ﾟ✧

Tranquility was a warm, beautiful city. It had a quaint charm about it, not too much bustle but lively all the same. There were plenty of trees, all green and manicured. Park City had a few nice yards and greenery, but was mostly full of tumbleweeds and dying grass. And dirt.

The weather was warm enough to warrant eating outside of the McDonald's Bumblebee led us to. All three of us were worn down and bruised from the fight, but presentable enough to be out in public. I'd offered to treat them all to whatever they wanted as an act of good will. Sam was ravenous and bought twenty chicken nuggets, but Mikaela had already eaten. She still ordered an ice cream cone.

"So you like, own Bumblebee?" I asked, poking at a glob of ketchup with a fry.

"Not like, y'know, like a slave, or anything. I'm just saying like . . . I purchased him. Or the car. As a car, that he turns to. The Camaro. I own a Camaro that turns into a robot. There was an exchange . . . of money, that's all! I don't own him, though, as like, a person!"

I quirked an eyebrow and stalled by taking a sip of the Pepsi I'd bought. "I know what you mean, calm down," I murmured, setting the cup back down on the table. Defensive little twerp, this Sam Witwicky.

He leaned back and waved a nugget in my direction. "Well good 'cause . . . you were giving me that look, y'know? That one, the one you're giving me now!" He kept whisper-shouting at me and glancing around at everything.

"I didn't give you a look. This is my face."

We'd been sitting outside of the McDonald's for close to an hour, trading stories and introductions. Just like Mikaela, I wasn't hungry enough to order a real meal and had sufficed to an order of fries. Mine had long since gone cold, just as I imagined Sam's nuggets had.

Mikaela Banes was one of Sam's classmates from high school, and it seemed she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time when Barricade had attacked. Because of that, she was under the protection of Bumblebee the same as Sam was. I could tell Sam wasn't that torn up about it, and the way he kept falling over himself and admiring her, he must have a crush.

Unlike me, however, Sam didn't have a car that the Autobot could replace. Bumblebee had instead finagled himself into a position where he could be bought while Sam was out car shopping. I didn't know how he pulled that off, and I didn't ask.

Once Bumblebee had insinuated himself into Sam's life, that was when Jazz was supposed to reveal himself to my dad and ask him for help. Barricade had completely thrown that plan upside down, and now we were here. The result had ended up being close enough—Jazz "convinced" me to be on board and now I was doing what was intended: making sure Sam was on board too.

The only difference was that I had zero power. My dad was supposed to be a link to the gonverment, someone who could reach out for real assistance.

I was nothing. Just along for the ride.

"What do we do from here?" Mikaela asked, glancing over her shoulder to where the two Autobots were parked. Not only were we sitting outside to enjoy the fine (hot) Nevada weather, but it also made it easier on the two mechs to watch over us.

I sighed and sat back in my seat, rolling the last fry between my fingers. "We have to meet the rest of their team, I guess."

Sam leaned forward and swallowed his bite. "And when's that gonna be?"

Shrugging, I turned to Jazz where he sat in the parking lot. He couldn't particularly answer, though, so I wasn't sure what I was expecting. I lifted my hand and tapped on my wrist as if there was a watch there.

His lights flashed and I sighed.

"What?" Mikaela asked.

I spun on the bench and crawled to my feet. "I'll go ask. I feel like he's trying to tell me something."

Even with my back to them I could still feel their eyes following me, eliciting tension in my shoulders. I knew they were lost, but so was I. They were looking to me because I was the adult, even if I didn't feel like one. Sure I wasn't in high school anymore and I had a job and responsibilities, but that alone didn't make me very "adult".

Up until a month ago, I had still lived with my parents. Still relied on them to house and take care of me. I was an adult that depended on adultier adults.

It felt weird having people only a few years younger than me looking for the answers.

Jazz' door slammed behind me as I sat down, staring at the dashboard. I wasn't sure where else to look when I spoke to him. "What is it?" I asked gently.

"They'll be here after dark. Still got some time t'kill."

Great. I had to play entertainer for a while longer. "Where are we meeting them?"

There was a brief pause before he answered. "Dunno. Don't got exact coordinates for where they gon' land, just that it gon' be somewhere in town."

I frowned. "Hopefully not in the middle of the city?"

"Uh, pr'y not."

Sighing, I tilted my head and rubbed my forehead. "Let me guess, they're going to do their best. How long has it been since you were last able to contact them?" Might as well talk about something that didn't stress me out.

"Yesterday."

I rubbed my eyes, feeling exhausted. "Okay, cool. No news is good news, right?"

"Sure nuff, little miss," he said. "When you go back, see if you can pry some info about the glasses outta Sam. Convince the kid to hand 'em over."

Nodding, I climbed back out to join Sam and Mikaela.

"What he say?" Sam asked.

Sitting back in my chair I said, "Not until night falls. Also he was asking about a pair of glasses."

Sam turned white as a sheet and leaned forward over the table, his voice reduced to a harsh whisper. "Glasses? The ones I put on eBay? The ones that the insane cop was demanding I give him?"

"Y-yes?"

"What about them? Why do they want them? Are they worth a lot of money because I have been trying to sell them for months now and no one will—"

"Sam!" Mikaela chided.

He leaned away again, his knee bouncing up and down in a staccato pattern. "Sorry."

I looked between the two. "I don't know that well, myself. I just know they think they'll help find their, uh, power source or whatever."

"Well how would an old pair of glasses do that?" Mikaela asked.

Shrugging, I tossed my hands up. "I have no idea."

"Okay," Sam said, tearing chunks off his nugget box. "I'm not handing over anything until I get the whole story. Not even to giant, killer robots. So, so, I want to talk to someone who's in charge, or something. The manager. Their alien supervisor."

"That's fair, I guess." I shrugged. "I don't blame you. Just gotta wait another couple hours."

Sighing, I stared at my half eaten fries. Sam and Mikaela were talking to each other, but I wasn't paying attention. I was just ready for this all to be over.

Chapter Text

Night fell on Tranquility as we made our way to whatever predetermined meeting place the Autobots had set up. Jazz led the way with Bumblebee not far behind, Sam and Mikaela safely inside. Jazz was a two-seater car, so we separated for the time being. I didn't particularly want to sit with them, anyway. They were decent people, though Sam was a little twitchy, but I felt weird talking to a couple of teenagers.

Sure, I'd been a teenager just a few short years ago, but it felt like a lifetime now.

I was still in the habit of pretending to drive, and when I glanced back at the rear-view mirror, Bumblebee's headlights were no longer there. I checked all of my mirrors and my blind spots, but I couldn't spot the yellow Camaro.

"Where'd they go?" I asked, the beginnings of worry needling at my mind.

Jazz was silent a moment or two, then replied. "Dunno. Sure they'll catch up, though. Bee can take care of himself."

It was a deflection, but I let it go anyway. "If you say so. How will you know when your friends land?" I didn't doubt that Bumblebee could take care of himself and the other two, but I found it odd they would take off on their own like that.

"We'll know. It'll be any minute now."

That I raised my eyebrows at, but when I opened my mouth to ask for clarification, a bright light shot across the night sky. Some sort of huge fireball miles away. I leaned forward in my seat to watch it's progress across the darkened horizon. Buildings rose up to meet it and the sound of the impact reached us despite the distance.

"Shit, what was that?" I gasped. When I scanned the sky, I could see a few more distant balls of flames: the Autobots swathed in our burning upper atmosphere.

"That's them. They gon' meet us when they find local camouflage," Jazz assured me.

When the burning fireballs stopped falling, I leaned back and ran my fingers through my hair, pushing it out of my eyes. Someone was going to see those things. How long until the government showed up to investigate? Why hadn't they already?

"You mean when they find cars to transform into?" I clarified.

"Zactly."

I took a breath and returned to 'driving'. "I hope they didn't squish anyone. You guys sure know how to make an entrance."

"Heh, just ain't much we can do 'bout your atmosphere."

For a moment I tried to wrack my brain for instances of meteors in the past couple of months, something that would tell me when Jazz and Bumblebee landed on Earth. I never watched the news, though, so even if they had covered such a story, I wouldn't have heard about it. I thought maybe I remembered a customer mention something, but I paid their small talk little attention.

Probably for the best. If I figured it out, then I'd stress out about how long the Decepticons had been on Earth, too.

After fifteen minutes of driving around, Jazz turned down an alleyway and came to a stop next to a brand new Camaro parked by a dumpster. It was the same canary yellow as Bumblebee with black racing stripes. Sam and Mikaela climbed free.

"Guess tha's what they was doin'," Jazz observed.

Shaking my head, I unbuckled and swung Jazz' door open. "Because it matters how shiny your camouflage is, right?" I couldn't keep the sarcasm from my voice.

Jazz chuckled. "Don' be jealous."

I rolled my eyes. "How could I be jealous when I'm in an equally shiny car?"

"Point taken."

The door closed of its own accord once I was out. I approached the two and nodded toward the Camaro. "How'd a teenager like you afford such a nice car?" I called, grinning.

Sam and Mikaela turned to look at me, then Sam glanced at the newer version of Bumblebee. He chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his head. "Uh—yeah you didn't know? Trust fund . . . or something. Insurance pay out . . . maybe?"

Mikaela and I both shook our heads at him. She said, "Good save."

Engines roared nearby and I tensed, pressing closer to Jazz. It wasn't long after that and a few different vehicles rolled into the alley, surrounding us. When Jazz didn't jump into fight mode, the uneasiness left me and I relaxed. All the cars were much larger than Jazz or Bumblebee; a garish Search and Rescue Hummer the color of acid, a massive semi-truck with blue paint and red flames, and a black GMC pick-up truck with mounted lights and a lift kit.

"Yeah those forms aren't ostentatious or anything," I muttered sarcastically, fingers digging into my scalp. "You're all going to blend right in!"

I took a moment to check the surrounding buildings. Windows with lights. Great. Hopefully no one thought to see what all the hullabaloo was about out in the alley. Maybe we'd be lucky and no one would be home. Or, at the very least, they weren't like my neighbors and would just mind their business.

Sam and Mikaela moved up to meet the robots and I stood by Jazz, intimidated by the sheer size and presence of them all. The heavy-duty long-nose truck pulled up before us and transformed first and was finished before the others started. The way he held himself and moved, it had to be their leader. It had to be Optimus Prime.

None handled themselves with the flair that Jazz did. Soon as I heard the clicking and grinding gears, I hobbled over to stand by Sam and Mikaela, but still hung back a bit while Jazz finished his dance-like transformation. Only then did I move back to his side.

Optimus' bot-form was a mech with a confident air, his chest painted with the red flames of his alt-mode. He was a good ten feet taller than Jazz was, and I was starting to realize that my guardian was the smallest Autobot present. The GMC was smaller than the semi-truck by a few feet, but built like—well, a truck. The Hummer I assumed was Ratchet: he had chosen an ambulance for an alternative, after all. Who else could he be if not the medbot Jazz had spoken of?

Bumblebee was the second smallest Autobot next to Jazz, and it was even more apparent with the three other behemoths around. Even Barricade was smaller than the new arrivals, so I was beginning to wonder which height was "average".

The Peterbilt kneeled down so he was at eye-level with Sam and Mikaela. I refused to leave Jazz's side, content to wait. They could acknowledge me when they felt the need.

Jazz bent over and nudged me with a finger. "Why you so tense?" he whispered.

All I could do was shake my head and watch the robots, rubbing my fingers together. I had no real words for how I was feeling—overwhelmed was a good start, but it wasn't just that. Maybe I was a little scared, maybe things had gotten too real . . . .

"Are you Samuel James Witwicky, descendant of Archibald Witwicky?" The Autobot that addressed Sam had a deep and powerful voice, confirming my thoughts of him being Optimus.

Mikaela whispered something to Sam, but he ignored her and stepped up to meet the robot face to face. He answered, sounding about as nervous I felt.

"Yeah?" He kept his voice steady, impresing me.

Then Optimus turned his head to look straight at me. "And you must be Kathryn Walker, relative of Captain Sam Walker?"

Sam and Mikaela turned toward me expectantly, along with everyone else. I just nodded, a nervous and jerky motion. "But you can call me Kat," I replied after taking a deep breath. This was leaps and bounds better than having Barricade scream at me.

Carefully, Jazz encouraged me with a tap on my shoulder.

Nodding, the big guy straightened to speak to us all. "My name is Optimus Prime. We are autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron," he explained. At some encouragement from Jazz, I walked up to stand with Sam and Mikaela.

"Have you both been briefed by Jazz and Kathryn as planned?" Ratchet asked.

"Yeah Kat told us all about you," Mikaela offered, nodding her head in my direction and offering a small, lopsided smile.

Optimus indicated to Jazz. "Good, then you have already met my first Lieutenant, Jazz, and our Scout, Bumblebee. I am pleased that Kathryn was able to meet with you early enough to brief you on the situation. There is more you should know, though."

They spoke in the formal manner I would have expected, but it made it harder for me to feel comfortable around them like I did Jazz.

A crash startled me as Jazz jumped backward to land on a decrepit old car in the alley. He lounged there on the vehicle with his arms crossed over his chest. Apparently being a first lieutenant gave you the right to chill and hang out during meetings.

Optimus gestured towards the black GMC robot. "This is my weapons specialist, Ironhide."

Ironhide lifted his arms up and twirled a set of cannons mounted on his forearms like a gunslinger's flourish. "Do you feel lucky, punk?" he asked us dramatically. Sam leaned back a little, like he thought he was actually going to be shot. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, also not keen on having cannons pointed in my direction.

"Easy, Ironhide," Optimus warned.

The over-zealous robot took the whiny, defensive tone of a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Just kidding. I just wanted to show them my cannons."

They were slowly but surely breaking all of my expectations.

"Our medical officer, Ratchet," Optimus continued, leaving Ironhide to himself.

The robot I had correctly nailed as Ratchet stepped forward and a light flashed over us. "Kathryn is functional but has sustained several superficial contusions and lacerations. Samuel and the girl are largely uninjured save for a few abrasions."

Jazz' engine made a strange whining sound and I fought the urge to comfort him. "Had a rough last twenty-four hours," I muttered.

"Your wounds?" Optimus asked.

I forced a smile and gave myself a gentle pat-down. "Jazz made sure I was taken care of."

He turned to his medical officer who nodded. "Crude and unprofessional, but sufficient."

With a grunt Jazz said, "I know a thing or two."

Ratchet turned to Bumblebee and pointed a red laser at Bumblebee's throat. The yellow mech leaned over, coughing hoarsely, which seemed odd to me. "Still having issues with your vocalizer? I'll work on it more." He tapped his tool a few times with a bulky finger.

"So what do you guys need from us?" Mikaela asked, turning to face Optimus.

"We are here to find the All Spark, and we must find it before Megatron," Optimus replied solemnly. The name sounded absolutely ridiculous, but so did most of the names these robots had. At least Bumblebee kind of made sense, and Jazz had picked his own name, but what about the rest of them? Ratchet sounded like a mechanical tool so it kind of made sense.

Ironhide—maybe because he was tough? Jazz said that Optimus Prime was the closest translation they could come up with, then you had Starscream and Barricade and now Megatron. I guess, though, Kathryn and Samuel and Mikaela might have been weird names for them, too.

Or maybe they didn't care at all and I was overthinking the whole thing.

"Kat said he's the leader of some other group of robots," Sam confirmed, glancing over at me. "But what makes you think he's here?"

The weapons specialist made a backfiring sound. "Robots."

Optimus lifted his hand to his temple and pressed it, producing beams of light. A scene was projected around us like an elaborate and realistic hologram. The floor cracked soundlessly around us, taking me by surprise. I hopped over a fake crack that appeared in the ground, afraid it was really opening up beneath me. Jazz was next to me in a second, arm held out to steady me when I stumbled.

"Easy, little miss. It's just a holographic projection."

My face heated when I realized I wasn't in any actual danger and I stood still, shoulders hunched. I really needed to relax before I developed an ulcer or had an aneurism.

"The AllSpark is our power source. We owe our very existence to it. Its energy sustained us and even the planet itself," he began. "Our world was once a powerful empire, peaceful and just, until we were betrayed by Megatron, leader of the Decepticons."

The hologram became more elaborate and the scene changed to show what had to be Cybertron. Complicated and advanced buildings sprang up around us. It looked war-torn and deccimated, made out of a strange metallic substance. The buildings were crumbling and everything was either on fire or had been on fire at some point.

In the middle distance, other Cybertronians were locked in battle, firing futuristic guns and flying through the air like fighter jets in a dog fight.

Above us hovered a magnificent and electrified cube: the Allspark he was speaking of.

"He sought to possess the AllSpark for his own twisted purposes. All who defied him were destroyed. Our war finally consumed the planet and the only choice I had was to propel the AllSpark off-planet, losing it to the stars.

"Megatron followed it to Earth, where Captain Witwicky found him," Optimus continued, letting the hologram flicker out of existence.

"My great grandfather," Sam breathed in disbelief.

"It was an accident that intertwined our fates. Megatron crash-landed before he could retrieve the Cube. Somehow, Captain Witwicky accidentally activated Megatron's navigation system. The coordinates to the Cube's location is imprinted on his glasses."

"And you found out about them through eBay?" Sam clarified.

Optimus turned to him. "Correct."

"eBay," Sam scoffed, glancing at Mikaela.

"If the Decepticons find it first, they will use it to transform Earth's machines and create a new army," Ratchet offered, clenching a fist.

"Then the Human race will be extinguished," Optimus added with a sage nod. He stood up tall and looked down at us all. The rest stepped up to form a ring around us. "Sam Witwicky, you hold the key to Earth's survival."

Mikaela leaned toward Sam and whispered, "Please tell me you have those glasses."