carsexual: (Sam's busted hand)
[personal profile] carsexual



Sam returned from the clinic a little doped on painkillers and with his hand wrapped in a rather impressive-looking brace. He kind of wanted to go back to the dorm and hide under his pillow, but he needed to let Bumblebee know the prognosis, check on the damage, and see what was up with Creepy Evil Robot Suit Guy.


Bumblebee was crouched near the still unmoving suit, watching it with the intensity of one whose mind isn't entirely on what they're seeing. He looked up at the sound of someone approaching through the debris and brightened. "I'm so happy to see you again," his speakers crooned.


Sam grinned the smile of the drugged and said, "I'm happy to see you, too, buddy." He held up his hand. "Broke my hand. He still out?"


"Yes," he said, his tone a little strained but at least not plagued with static. "I'm sorry you were hurt, Sam."


Sam shrugged with the shoulder not attached to his bad hand. "Ahh, it was an accident. But if Mikaela asks it totally happened because I was bravely fighting evil robot dude."


"Okay." His optics narrowed fondly at Sam. "If Optimus asks, then it was nothing we couldn't handle ourselves."


At the edge of the wrecked building, a man in a suit cleared his throat.

"Excuse me."

No, he didn't seem fazed by the robot, teen or unconscious man inside a de-powered mechanical suit of armor.


"Yeah?" Sam asked as he turned around. "If you're here about getting work done, sorry, man, shop's closed for repairs."


Considering the night, Bumblebee looked at the man warily but held back on saying anything just yet.


He smiled very faintly, stepping over a bit of debris to offer a card. "I'm with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. I believe Mr. Stark had an appointment with me a month ago."


Sam took the card with his good hand and said, "Wow, that's--that's quite a mouthful there. And uh, I'm Mr. Stark's personal assistant, I don't remember any appointments with the Strategic--whatever--on my Crackberry. I mean Blackberry."


"We're working on that," He replied with the air that that had been said more than a few times. "Have him call me when he's better."

He waved his hand over his shoulder to signal something. "We'll be taking care of Mr. Stane."


"Who--oh, crazy robot dude? Sure, take him. He's yours. Just don't, like, freeze him under a dam, that never ends well." Sam realized he was babbling. He just couldn't quite stop. He frowned at the business card in his hand with the air of one trying to parse something and almost, but not quite, there.


Bumblebee stood and moved behind Sam, looming somewhat protectively as he continued to watch the man who had given him the card.


He nodded toward Sam. "Mr. Witwicky." And then at Bumblebee. "And your friend. You can go back home now, we'll take it from here."


"I'm not sure we should--well...okay, but don't steal anything," Sam said, because yeah, he really didn't want to hang around here any longer than he had to. More of the ceiling might fall on him.

He glanced at the business card again. There it was.

"Hey, why don't you just call it SHIELD?"


"Let's go, Sam," Bee said, touching the boy's shoulder. He was eager to get away as well, and to make sure his charge would get some much needed rest.


"Yeah, okay," Sam said. "Remember," he told the government dudes. "Don't steal anything."


He nodded, thinking over the Shield suggestion. "Have a good evening," He said politely.


(OOC: Follows this and this. Preplayed with [livejournal.com profile] not_ironmaiden and [livejournal.com profile] lil_yellow. OOC totally welcome.

This hand injury brought to you by Shia LaBeouf's poor decision-making skills.))
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