Chapter 3

Author's note: Oh look! A new chapter!

Bumblebee recoiled backwards at the second blast. The salt didn't do much more than sting a bit, but old reflexes died hard. He'd been shot at too many times in his life not to react.

They are not the enemy, he reminded himself, firmly. He couldn't tell where the ghost had gone or when it was going to rematerialize. He just wanted to leave.

He retreated several big strides, put his own blaster away with a quick transformation of his hand, crouched, and showed his bare palms to the humans. He tried to look as non-threatening as fifteen feet of alien robot could possibly look to small, squishable organics.

"What. The. Fuck." Dean said.

"Demonic possession?" Sam speculated.

Bumblebee found a suitable sound clip at random to answer Dean. "No!" He played five notes from "Close Encounters" again and pointed skyward. Then, as the ghost reappeared behind the two humans, he switched to the theme music to the "Twilight Zone" and pointed hastily.

The humans turned. The ghost charged them.

Bumblebee transformed both hands into blasters.

Sam looked back over his shoulder, saw the guns, grabbed Dean, and yanked him out of the way of both Bumblebee and the ghost. Bee fired, granting them a moment's additional respite from attack.

Slag this, he thought. Before the humans could react, he seized one in each hand, tossed them into his seats as he transformed around them, ignored their screams of anger and fear, and peeled out away from the asylum. He really, really didn't consider fighting the supernatural to be part of his job, particularly with neither warning nor preparation.

After a quarter mile of flight, the humans stopped trying to beat their way out of the doors. He'd buckled both in to the front seats, as humans were remarkably fragile. Dean was trying to cut one of his seatbelts with a pocket knife. Sam, in the driver's seat, was futilely yanking on the steering wheel and kicking the pedals on the floor.

Impatiently, he made the steering wheel and pedals go away.

Sam froze, hands grasping thin air. "I think I know what we're dealing with."

"Giant metallic shapeshifter from outer space?" Dean stared at the blank spot where the steering wheel had been.

Bumblebee found an appropriate sound clip. Ding ding ding ding! From a game show, followed by a cheering crowd, to indicate a correct answer.

"An ... alien? Seriously?" Sam folded his arms across his chest. "Shapeshifter, been there, done that."

With a frustrated huff, Dean flicked his knife closed. He hadn't been able to make so much as a scratch on the seat belt. "So what do you want?"

"Why are you here?" Sam added.

Bumblebee realized with a start that the questions were directed at him.

He played a clip from Star Trek, "These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise ..."

"You're an explorer?" Sam guessed.

Close enough.

Bumblebee found soundbytes from two separate movies, "We come in peace. I mean you no harm."

"We. There are more of you?"

From a cartoon featuring flying creatures he was reasonably sure didn't exist he said, in a feminine voice, "Alone ..."

That was true enough, for now. He was the only Cybertronian on Earth.

"What are the odds that a giant alien space robot would be a Trekkie?" Dean asked. He tugged at the door handle in what was an entirely futile gesture.

"Not sure that last quote was from Star Trek. - Can't you just, uh, talk to us?" Sam

"Negative." The quote was also from Star Trek. Bee picked it just because he hoped the humans would see a little humor in his choice of television shows to quote. Then he put together a string of words, "I ... am ... damaged. Cannot ... speak ... in my own ... voice."

"Huh." Dean stared at the dash. Both humans still had elevated heart rates, were sweating, and showing various other signs of stress, but they were also slowly calming down. Bumblebee himself was much calmer now that he'd put half a mile between himself and the ghost.

"Also ... still ... learning ... English."

"Why are you here?"

"Exploring." He reiterated, which was true enough.

"And you just happened to pick us. You know, the guys who kill freaky weird shit?" Dean challenged him.

"I ... liked ... the ... car."

Sam laughed, then. "At least it's got good taste in wheels."

"You ... kill ... freaky weird shit?" He quoted Dean's words back to him for the last bit.

"You know, ghosts, monsters, demons, and if you damaged my Impala, freaky alien robot monsters." Dean was clearly the more belligerent of the two.

"The ... Impala ... no damage."

"I'm not even sure how we'd gank a robot that turns into a car." Sam mused.

"I can think of a few things we could try. Car crusher comes to mind."

Bumblebee found a cell phone signal, accessed the internet, googled that reference, and made a blaat of alarm from his speakers.

"Oh, relax, Dean. If it wanted to kill us, it would have already." Sam sighed. "It saved our tails back there."

"Probably so it can just kidnap us, dissect us, and probe us." Dean kicked the floorboard. "There will be no probing. Do you hear me?"

"Loud and clear!" A random quote. Then, "Oouuuuuuuch!" From a movie about another extraterrestrial, a short little thing with huge eyes, short legs, and big feet.

Sam snorted a laugh. "If you're friendly, would you mind stopping and, uh, letting us out?"

He didn't mind. If they ran, they ran. They were now far enough away to be safe. He pulled over onto a small dirt side road, released the seatbelts, and popped open his doors. Both humans bolted, but they didn't actually go far. Dean, still in possession of his shotgun, leveled it at the car. Sam reached out and pushed the muzzle down. "I think he's friendly."

"We kill things like that."

"We kill monsters. I'm not sure an alien qualifies."

"We only have his word for what he is."

"You got a better explanation?" Sam snapped.

"Secret military project?"

"Yeaaaah ... our government tech is not that good." Sam rolled his he turned back to Bumblebee, "Uh, I'm Sam, this is my brother Dean."

"Sam. Dean." He repeated the words, using Sam's voice. "Brother...s."

"You got a name?"

He didn't have a sound clip yet for "Bumblebee" so he played music with an appropriate title: "Flight of the Bumblebee." Bumblebee, of course, wasn't his Cybertronian name, but it was a word he'd picked out as appropriate for his English name. Humans wouldn't be able to pronounce his Cybertronian name.

"What the fuck?" Dean said.

"Flight of the Bumblebee?" Sam's brow furrowed.

"... Bumblebee." Bee echoed in Sam's voice.

"You know, he's got good choice in cars but lousy choice in music. And how do you even know that?"

"Hey." Sam scowled at his brother. "Be nice. - And you, your name's Bumblebee?"

Ding ding ding ding.

Dean folded his arms across his chest and regarded Bumblebee for a long, long, moment. "So can you, uh, turn back into a robot again?"

Obligingly, he transformed, slowly. Both humans stepped back, but not far, and then bravely held their ground after that initial reaction.

"That is really, really, really cool." Sam stared up at him.

Bumblebee crouched so that he could be on eye level with the humans, and extended a hand in what he'd learned was a human greeting. They recoiled, and he explained, "Shake on it, pardner."

Hesitantly, very hesitantly, Sam took a step forward. Dean hissed, "Sam! If that thing is a demon, or has rules remotely like one, you don't want to shake on it. I don't even know what it wants to shake on. You could be agreeing to something we don't want."

He found a word in his clip file. "Friendship is magic."

Sam laughed at his brother's expression. A bit braver now, he stepped forward and wrapped a hand around one of Bumblebee's fingers. They "shook" hands. Bee could hear the man's heart hammering at a very high rate, and his pupil's were dilated. He was frightened, and agitated, despite his apparently calm demeanor. "Pleased to meet you, Bumblebee. I don't think killing aliens or robots is in our job description, but we do kack our share of ghosts and demons and other assorted monsters, so you'll have to pardon my brother's paranoia."

Bumblebee played the theme song from Ghostbusters.

Sam snorted. "Yeah, pretty much."

"I am ... no threat ... to you ... or .. your ... world." He purposefully sat down on the ground, trying to look even less intimidating. "I ... cannot ... prove this. I can ... only ... give you ... my word."

"Your word means something, huh?" Dean said, perking up.

"My ... honor. Yes." He nodded. He noted, however, "Which you ... also ... only have ... my word ... for ... that."

"And you're a robot?" Sam stepped closer, studying Bee's hand with real interest. "Who made you?"

"Not ... a ... robot ... exactly." He flexed the hand for Sam's benefit. He played a clip from a cartoon, "It's ALIVE! I always wanted to say that!"

"Guy really likes Star Trek," Dean said, from his safe distance.

"- That wasn't Star Trek." Sam corrected, absently. "Just the same actor. You say you're alive?"

"We are ... not ... carbon based ... organisms. Our ... basic chemistry ... is different. But we are alive." He flared the armor on his wrist, displaying silver protoform and blue veins of energon beneath, as well as a glimpse of the edge of the barrel of his gun.

"You go heavily armed for peaceful travelers," Dean pointed out.

"So ... do ... you."

"Hah. Never said we were peaceful." Dean barked a laugh.

"I am ... a warrior ... in an ancient ... war ... older ... than human civilization." He admitted. "Humans ... are not ... part ... of this war. My faction ... will not ... ever ... threaten Earth."

"Yeah? Why?"

"It would be ... wrong." He huffed a sigh. Then he looked down the road. The humans had said they hunted ghosts. His trunk was full of weapons suitable for the task. "Do you ... intend ... to go after ... the ghost ... again?"

"Yeah. It's been killing people. We need to put a stop to it." Sam bit his lip.

"I will ... assist. It is ... very ... strong. Then I will ... return you ... to your ... vehicle." As afraid of him as Dean was, he didn't think they were good prospects for a long term partnership. However, he also didn't want to see them hurt. As much as he hated spirits, Optimus would want him to help them.

Damnit, this is part of my job description now, he thought, with dark humor.

"You have any idea how to toast a ghost?" Dean said, skeptically.

"He was doing pretty good earlier." Sam pointed out.

"My people ... have sparks ... you would call them souls ... too. Sometimes ... they do not go ... to the ... Allspark ... immediately after ... death. They can be ... problematic ... then. Smelting ... the body ... frequently breaks their tie ... to this plane. Salt has ... electrostatic ... properties that ... ward off ... spirits. My ... blaster ... will temporarily ... disperse ... a spirit ... also." He grimaced behind his blast mask, hating the need to put together bits and pieces of various human recordings to speak. He needed to build up a library of more comprehensive clips so he could communicate faster.

"Yeah, sounds like he knows the drill," Dean said, sounding vaguely amused.

"Will ... destroying ... a human ... corpse ... banish ... the spirit?"

"Yep."

He transformed his right hand into a blast cannon. Both humans jumped back in alarm. "I am ... equipped ... to do ... that."

Neither human wanted to ride in him. He decided he couldn't blame them after their initial introduction; they knew all too well that he could trap them inside his cabin. After his initial tentative offer and their vehement refusal they decided they would walk back to the asylum.

"No hard feelings," he assured them, walking slowly behind them. They had to take about five strides to every one of his. "If we ... need to retreat ... my door is still open."

"Uh, good to know." Dean cradled his shotgun in his arms, and kept looking sideways. "You're watching where you walking, right? Because, you're big. And if you step on us it'd hurt. So don't step on us."

The horror at the thought caused him to stumble over his own feet, something that likely did not lend any confidence to the humans. He found a quote with the right degree of emotional tonality and declared, "Never!"

He recovered from his shock at the idea, and comically held up one foot and shook it. "Squishy!"

Sam laughed. "You step on my brother and I'm not taking you through a car wash ever again."

"Sam, that is not the Impala." Dean hissed.

Sam turned around and walked backwards, studying Bumblebee. "Hate to say it, but he's kind of an improvement on the original. Gotta love those guns."

"Sam!"

Bumblebee, cheerfully, displayed his blast cannons for the brothers' benefit and struck what humans would call a "muscle man" pose. He was pleased to note that Sam jumped a little less than before. Dean, it seemed, was much less trusting than his brother and didn't stop running backwards away from Bee until he'd completely crossed the road.