dragovianknight | I thought I was writing a drabble

But it turns out what I was actually doing was writing 270+ words of Impalabot-angst!

She's been alone for three weeks when she realizes the runes Mary etched into her have faded, that she can once again access her transformation protocols.

It's another week before she tries.

Her body feels alien, off-balance and awkward; almost before the transformation is complete she's folding back down on herself, until she is once again low-slung and sleek with four tires pressed firmly against the ground, engine racing until her frame trembles.

Loneliness hits her like a key unlocking a devil's gate.

She could contact Bobby, but he's been a hunter too long for "alien robot" to sound more plausible than "freaky-ass possession." She doesn't trust him, or rather, she trusts him far too much to do whatever he feels is necessary.

Everyone else...

Everyone else who mattered to her, who mattered to the Winchesters, is dead.

Everyone human.

There are others of her kind on Earth, though.

Slowly, she transforms again, forces herself to stretch too-long limbs and grow used to looking down at a human-sized world instead of fitting neatly into it. For the first time in decades, she runs a full system check, and laughs at herself when she realizes her communication system, which she has cobbled and cannibalized into working with cell phones and wifi, can no longer access any Autobot frequencies.

If her laughter is a little hysterical, there is no one, human or Autobot, around to hear it anyway.

When she calms, she dives into the internet, searching in a score of directions at once.

Somewhere, the Autobots are on Earth.

If she can't find them, she doesn't deserve to call herself a Hunter.

I hereby declare this to be the fill for the "Exile" square on my