Log Title: Deadline Visits Spike (WARNING: Mature Language/Situations)
Deadline
Characters: Deadline (SG), Spike Witwicky (SG), Goldbug (SG)
Location: Seattle, Washington in the SG Universe
Year: 2009
PREFACE: (In this log, Deadline has paid a previous visit to Spike to mend his injuries following his painful encounter with Cain. Now, he's returning to the Witwicky house, to confirm for himself something Spike said: that there was, in fact, a transforming robot residing in their garage. Deadline is eager to figure out a way to steal it away from the Witwickys. As we begin this log, he's in the process of breaking into the Witwicky's garage... not knowing that Spike is within earshot of his exploits...)
Buster's House <BH>[]
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Buster's house looms as a small, one-floor structure in a once-quiet Seattle neighborhood now tinged with unease. It features three cramped bedrooms, each filled with mismatched furniture that hints at the fractured lives of its three roommates. An attached one-car garage sits to the side, its door slightly rusted and left ajar, revealing a chaotic jumble of forgotten items that hold secrets.
Built a couple of decades ago, the house shows obvious signs of neglect. The paint on the exterior is chipped and faded, with patches of peeling wood around the window frames that resemble jagged teeth. Weeds sprout defiantly in the cracks of the driveway, and the lawn, once vibrant, now resembles a battlefield of browning grass.
Inside, the living room is a war zone, cluttered with old video game consoles and empty pizza boxes, remnants of a life half-lived. The walls are lined with unsettling art, each piece more aggressive than the last. In the small kitchen, tension hangs thick in the air as the roommates navigate their routines with barely concealed hostility, appliances scarred from countless arguments. Buster's house, worn and weary, serves as a volatile backdrop for simmering conflicts, where the threat of violence lurks just beneath the surface.
Spike Witwicky is hanging out, doing a little cleaning, doing a little reading.
Deadline has parked a few blocks away from the Witwicky residence and is sneaking back toward it. His idea is a bit risky but may end up being well worth the risk if he can confirm that there is, in fact, a *robot* residing inside the garage.
Once he gets to the house, he checks the side wall to see if the garage might have a side door, small window, or other alternative entry than the garage doors themselves.
Spike Witwicky opts to do some more scouring of the place. He KNOWS he had more coke around. A muffled sound can be heard from the house "GODDAMNIT!" - with the sound of some things being turned over.
Some more muffled sounds emit. "WHERE...THE...FUCK...IS IT?!"
Eddie grins a bit when he spots the window, and he begins sliding it open. When he hears the screaming begin from inside, he ducks reflexively....then begins giggling. "Someone's a little grumpy today," he laughs, as he begins squeezing his skinny body through the aperature into the garage.
Goldbug just sits there idly. Spike's story *may* hold water. On the surface, it looks like a gold bug. But something about Goldbug has an other-worldly feel to it. Maybe it's from feeling the hood, maybe that the inside looks like an imitation - but a good imitation.
Eddie very quietly stalks around the car, not wanting to touch it -- just in case Spike wasn't kidding. He suspects that Spike was telling the truth. There's not a single blemish on this car; NONE. He wants to peek under the hood, but he decides that he'll just settle for checking out the interior. He peeks into one of the windows.
Goldbug just stands there - nothing moving at all. But just as you may get a sense that someone's following you or being watched, the car emits some odd sense of sinister.
More sounds emit. "GODDAMN YOU STUPID FUCK, BUSTER! You HAD to get a doctor who'd rip me off!"
Spike Witwicky paces around the kitchen, then his injuries start to slowly resurface. Spike favors his ribs and opts to head to the couch. He shouldn't have worked out this morning - due to his injured state. Working out as in tearing the place apart looking for coke and having an epic temper tantrum.
"This is some weird-ass shit," Eddie mumbles, shaking his head. He smirks at Spike's outburst. "I didn't rip you off, asshole," he grumps. "I did good work on you. And you SAID the whole stash, you were the one renegging on it at the last minute like some pussy-ass..." He makes a little mewling falsetto: "Ohhh, pweeese save me some coke...pweeeese....a little bit....wah wah wah." Then, he smirks. "Pah. A deal is a deal. Don't bite the hand that feeds you." He checks the driver's side door on Goldbug gently, to see if it's open.
Goldbug's door comes open effortlessly. Even a slight *pssssh* emits.
Spike Witwicky curls up on the couch and starts sobbing a bit - hating life as he knows it. Why can't he have Daniel? Why did Carly have to be engaged to THAT douchebag?!
Deadline pauses for a moment, as he hears Spike sobbing. It's as if something within him feels...bad, maybe? He really should leave the kid with something, so he doesn't hit withdrawals too hard...?
NAAAAAAHHH!
Eddie rubs his nose, then decides to sit in the driver's seat and get a better look at the dashboard.
Goldbug lets Eddie get adjusted. Suddenly, a slow, electrical hum starts emitting. Like something's charging up. Once again - it could easily be that of a regular car.
"...The fuck is that?" Eddie asks himself. He knows a little bit about stealing cars, but something about THIS car seems really unusual. He didn't see any ports on the outside that would identify it as an electrical car...so what's that *sound*? He licks his teeth nervously, then peeks inside the glove box to see if he can find a title.
Ssssshhhhooooopp!!! A brilliant blue flash emits, sending a HARD shock to Eddie. The flash of blue is quick and intense, enough to blind someone for a second or two.
Spike Witwicky doesn't hear anything, he's still curled up on the couch, thinking of how to best destroy Cain without giving the mastadon a chance to retaliate.
"AAaaggghhh....shit, aaarrrgghhhhh!!" Eddie hollers in pain, rolling around on the seat and clutching his burned hand.
A low hum emits again - like it's charging, but it could be Goldbug's way of warning Eddie.
Spike Witwicky raises his head up and wipes some tears from his eyes. "WHO's THERE?!”
Eddie gets his wits about him once he hears Spike yelling, and he very quickly tries to exit Goldbug, which he *should* be able to do provided the nasty little autobug hasn't locked him inside.
It's unlocked. Goldbug doesn't like people touching him I take.
Spike Witwicky 's voice cracks "I have a gun!" (he doesn't)
Spike Witwicky says, "you better get the fuck out or show yerself right now, 'cause I'm loadin' it as I speak!"
Eddie is trapped inside the garage, because he knows he doesn't have time to shimmy out the window before Spike comes to investigate. So he shimmies underneath Goldbug to hide himself, hoping he doesn't get electrocuted in the process.
Spike Witwicky comes out in his PJs (aww!), cast on. Still hasn't taken a shower - but that's on his to-do list for today. He looks around, crouches down and sees Eddie. "YOU!"
Fortunately, for Eddie, a cracked rib and a general hard beat down will make it almost impossible for Spike to get up on his own.
Eddie grins widely...that is his customary way of dealing with stress. "Oh, hi, just checking your oil," he quips, remaining beneath the car where he knows damned well that Spike can't comfortably access him.
Spike Witwicky frowns and says "BULLSHIT - Get out of his way or he'll roll over you! Not that that would be a great loss or anything."
"You're hurting my feelings, bro! I patched you up all nice. You should be grateful for that." Eddie points out. "By the way, how you gonna get up? Did you think about that? Ohhh, maybe you'd better start thinking."
Spike Witwicky says "Get out from under him - you don't want to mess with him!" He crawls over "Or I'll move you mys.." He winces as he's on all fours. The thought of getting to standing position seems almost impossible. "AH!"
Spike Witwicky spits up just a slight trickle of blood. Spike's problem = he's assuming he's completely healed, but Eddie only did some good first aid.
Eddie chuckles. "You're a riot, y'know that? I see why Buster keeps you around. You are comedy relief." He does finally slip out from underneath Goldbug, but on the opposite side of the car so that Spike can't reach him and pound his head into the concrete. "You done havin' a hissy fit yet? Keep goin', I'll wait. I got all day." He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and begins tapping them vigorously to get the tobacco dispersed. Then, he shakes one out, and lights it up, strolling over to watch Spike. "See, the thing with rib fractures? Y'can't stress them too much."
Spike Witwicky nods as he falls to one side - his shoulder propping him up. He starts crawling to the steps to Buster's cheap ass rental home. "I can't get up" he whines.
Once again, Eddie has a bit of a sympathetic twinge for Spike's pain, and VERY briefly, he considers assisting him so he doesn't injure himself further, buuuut...
NAAAAAAHH!
"I've fawwwwlin', an' I can't geddap!" Eddie quips from a famous TV commercial, following Spike back into the house.
Spike Witwicky frowns and says in a childish way. "Don't make fun of me!"
Eddie pouts, then blows smoke toward Spike. "Keep going, chief, you're doing great."
Spike Witwicky looks at the railing and tries to pull himself up.
GAME: Spike Witwicky FAILS an AGILITY roll of High difficulty.
Spike Witwicky closes his eyes and cries out in pain as he misses the railing. "God damn you, Cain!" He looks over at Eddie "Help me up."
"Hey, I think you might have re-injured yourself!" Eddie points out in a fake-sympathetic tone, waving his cigarette as he speaks. "That could cause some serious complications, including internal infection!" He leans closer to Spike. "Got a deal for you, champ. One you can't refuse. I'll fix you up.... at NO CHARGE. Serious as a heart attack; NO CHARGE." He grins widely. "What do you think about THAT, hah??"
Spike Witwicky looks at Eddie and whimpers, "What do I have to do?" He tries to at least sit on the step.
"Just shut the fuck up, quit calling me a rip-off, and... uh... let me follow-up so I can take off the wraps when you heal up, basically." Eddie lets Spike flop around on the steps, just watching him curiously like a little boy would watch the movements inside an ant farm.
Spike Witwicky nods and says "Sure...whatever." Spike was going to shove Eddie but realizes he's utterly powerless without him. He wags a finger and says scoldingly "But I do have a right to be pissed. I said take SOME of my coke, not all of it."
"Awesome!" Eddie says brightly, grinning wide. He then picks up Spike in a fireman's carry, which is probably excrutiatingly painful for him, and then strolls inside to deposit him on the nearest couch. "The doctor is IN!"
Spike Witwicky screams in pain. "NO! NO! NO! STOP! PLEASE STOP!" He lets out a cry as he's deposited on the couch. He quickly tries to unbutton his PJs. Even Deadline may have some sympathy - intense pain, no meds, coke withdrawal. All of Spike's nerves feel raw and exposed.
A look at Spike would show Edie that he's also malnourished, not having being able to eat much since the clinical ass-kicking he received.
Eddie gains some kind of strange delight from Spike's pain. It puts him in an ever-greater mood. As Spike's taking off his PJ top, Eddie locates a nearby boombox, and flips on the radio, which begins blastin out Motorhead's 'Ace of Spades'. "Jeeze, don't you ever eat or shower, dude? I'm beginning to think you don't want to get better," he remarks as he takes a long swig of some booze in a metal flask.
Spike Witwicky looks at Eddie and scowls. "I'm not gay... but can you teach me how to shower? I hate being like this, but how can I shower with a cast and bandages? You think I want to be this dirty?"
"Oh, you *don't* swing that way?" Eddie says, giving Spike an appraising eye. "...Never say never." Does Spike really WANT home health care from this man? He'll have to question the wisdom of such a move. Then, Eddie sighs. "Look at all this shit you're trying to get out of me now that I'm doing you a favor. Seriously. Just go in and, like... be CAREFUL about it. Leave the cast itself alone. Sit on the side of the tub and wash everything else." He begins cutting away the lower portion of the cast. "See, you made such a fuss this morning, I gotta redo this part now."
Spike Witwicky looks up at Deadline and adds, "But you took all of my coke - that was wrong!" He adds "Don't even joke about that stuff. Carly, that's my wife, is letting Daniel...my son in dance. I gotta get him back - he's gonna be a f-- without me, I know it! That's why I gotta get well and get the fuck out of here - so he can have a REAL father figure in his life. KnowwhatI'msayin?" Spike closes his eyes and moans as the cast is cut. He looks up. "I don't deserve this."
"Okay, listen. How much do you think the care I'm giving you now would cost you in a hospital? WAY more than the cost of that bag of coke. I got overhead costs, too! This stuff don't come free. Think about it." Eddie smirks as Spike describes his family situation. "Dude, there's a *lot* worse things in this world than having a son in dance class. Seriously. I just happen to...diversify...in that area, to keep my overhead costs reasonable. You'd be surprised how often I get taken up on it." He puffs his cigarette as he re-wraps Spike's midsection.
Spike Witwicky nods "Whatever..." he looks up at Deadline. "What about eating? I haven't been able to keep a fuckin' thing down right now!" He shakes his head. "Dancin' - arts - that stuff turns kids gay. And without a father in his life..." He frowns "My dad used t'beat the shit out of me, but at least he was there!"
"Hm. Really?" Eddie pauses for a moment, frowning. "Want me to give you a feeding tube? Might hafta clean it up, first...I ganked it off a corpse awaiting morgue transport..." He pulls a feeding tube out of his bag and shows it to Spike. "This end goes up your nose an' down your throat."
Spike Witwicky shakes his head adamantly. "No... no! Say you're jokin'! Jus' tell me what I need to eat! Last night, I couldn't even eat a Burger King cheeseburger!" (he doesn't know the broth/Jello hospital diet :) )
"No, I'm not fucking joking, bro. If you haven't eaten, that's serious. You could die." Eddie ponders. "Oh, I know, how about an intravenous line? I'll stick it in your hand."
Spike Witwicky looks at Eddie and says pleadingly, "I can't eat? Why can't I just eat?" He gulps. "And what are you gonna give me for the pain?"
"What are you eatin' cheeseburgers for??? Damn. OK, wait here a minute." Eddie heads into the kitchen, to locate anything that might be halfway nutritious.
The kitchen looks like that of someone of Buster and Spike's caliber. Nothing from the outside aisle of a grocery store. Boxes of Cheese-Its, a fridge full of alcohol, ramen noodles, pizza boxes.
Spike Witwicky nods and clutches his side. "I'll be right here."
Eddie smirks, figuring this kitchen scenario was the case. He whips up a makeshift, poor-man's soup, using a package of ramen & flavoring packet, some onions off an old burger, salt and pepper...and it ends up looking almost healthy. "I can't believe I'm being your fucking chef. This is ridiculous," he grumps.
Spike Witwicky 's skin is papery thin now, even a bit grey. He looks over at the kitchen and asks weakly "What did you say?"
"I said, uh, lunch is served," Eddie says with a wan smile, helping Spike up to a sitting position and putting a spoon in his hand. "Try getting that down."
Spike Witwicky nods and frailly bends over and takes a few sips.
"No bad comments allowed about my cooking abilities," Eddie remarks. "I did the best I could with what was on hand, which was pretty nasty."
Spike Witwicky waits for the food to digest and then his stomach starts convulsing. He looks around for something to catch the incoming... stuff. He finally finds a nearby pizza box and coughs up the remaining broth plus some other not-so-nice stuff.
Eddie looks around quickly, then hands Spike a small potted plant to puke into. Spike ends up anointing both containers liberally with vomit.
Spike Witwicky groans and wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his PJs. "Sorry..."
"Hey, no problem, it happens. Uhm... just... sit there for a while. Relax." Eddie strolls back into the kitchen and begins filling up one side of the sink with a mixture of water and bleach. Then, he plops the pilfered feeding tube into the water.
Spike Witwicky doesn't see what's going on in the kitchen. He's assuming Deadline's just making broth this time.
Eventually, Eddie re-emerges from the kitchen, with the feeding tube in one hand and a tub of Crisco in the other. "Hi again!" he says with a wide grin. "Hope you're not feeling particularly combative, because this next bit's going to be a *lot* easier on you if you *don't* fight back."
Spike Witwicky 's eyes widen. "Woah... what the fuck are you doin'?"
"Well, you see, Spike, you can't keep anything down in your stomach. Which is a BAD thing, because you're slowly starving and dehydrating yourself. And one of these mornings, you're not going to wake up. Your cells are just gonna -- poof! -- give out," Eddie explains, as he slathers up the feeding tube. "So. To to keep you nourished, I'm going to have to intubate you. Don't worry, I sanitized it in your sink over there."
Spike Witwicky nods and looks over, seeming to understand the heaviness of the situation. "Okay..."
"We'll keep it in until you're strong enough to keep food down, and then I'll just pull it out of there -- no sweat." Eddie heads over with the tube. "It's kind of unpleasant at first, but it's better than starving to death."
Spike Witwicky nods. "Right..." He waits for the inevitable. He tries to keep a brave face on.
"Alrighty, just lay back, and tilt your head back...way back, far as you can..." Eddie says, simply looking for a moment. "Okay, great. Now open your mouth...breathe through your mouth. Here we go, one, twoooo---!"
Spike Witwicky feels it fish through his nose, and then thrashes around. He starts gagging and then says "NO! NO!" He glares at Deadline and then forcibly says "NO!"
"You little *bitch*! I'm trying to make this halfway bearable for you, and you're still whining like a three-year-old?? I'm trying to save your life, you ungrateful punk! Just shut up because I'm sick of your temper tantrums!" Eddie then hops on the couch and... kinda kneels with part of his weight on Spike's chest.
Spike Witwicky cries out as he feels the weight press against his chest, but he offers little to no resistance now, realizing the gravity of the situation. However, a few tears fall down his eyes as he feels the very awkward sensation. He breathes out, gagging a bit. He occasionally thrashes his arms as a reflexive gesture.
Eddie calms down a little bit, easing up for a moment as he fights back the monumental urge to punch Spike in the face. Then, he smirks, holding his poor, flailing patient down with one arm while he intubates him with the other.
It isn't pretty, and it isn't in any way pleasant. However, mercifully, it is brief. "...There. See? It's in!"
Spike Witwicky looks at Eddie. "Hauh... lawn... ifs thishh guna be in?" (how long is this going to be in) :)
Eddie grins down at Spike. "Till you're strong enough to eat on your own," he tells Spike, as he begins prepping some sort of slushy-looking nutrient formula inside a bowl. The formula itself looks like it was specifically packaged for distribution within a medical facility, so Eddie stole it from one. "You wanna pad and pen? Will probably be easier than talkin' in the meantime."
Spike Witwicky writes down, "Thanks" in squiggly marks.
Eddie nods and grins in a friendly way, which wouldn't be hard to believe except for his quick loss of temper just moments prior. "I'll come back t'check on you," he says, already trying to ponder how he can haul that robot-car out of the garage without getting electrocuted or killed in the process.
Spike Witwicky pounds the floor and motions Eddie back. "Pain meds?" he writes on a pad and gives it to Eddie.
"Oh! Right. Actually? Lemme see what I got..." Eddie begins searching his pockets, until he locates a few pilfered prescription bottles. "Sometimes it'll bother you, sometimes not. So, try an' take just what you need on any given day." He places down a bottle of Vicodin and a couple bottles of OxyContin.
Spike Witwicky lays there as Eddie can have free reign of the place as he waits for the treatment to end.
Remarkably, Eddie STAYS. Is he caring? ...Actually, chances are his benevolence is more self-serving than compassionate. "Just try an' get some sleep. I'm gonna borrow your bed." He strolls into Spike's room, and indeed, borrows his bed.
If anyone wanted an anti-drug/crime/loser commercial, the image of Spike would be it right now. Sprawled out on the floor with his PJs with a tube coming out from his nose. He's hit the bottom and crashed through to another bottom few people know about.
Spike has seen better days
…About 3 hours later, Eddie wakes up from a nap in Spike's room, and he strolls in to check on his patient. He begins hooking up a small, portable machine to begin pumping the mashed-up nutrients down Spike's feeding tube. Of course, he's smoking while he does this task.
Spike Witwicky has this written for Eddie. "Wish I cud pay you, but I'm sorta brok rite now - and you took all my cok."
Eddie just chuckles. "Still mad about the bag of blow, aren't you?" he scoffs. He flips on the small machine, which has a softly whirring motor. The nutrients begin flowing toward Spike as the machine pumps them along the tube.
Spike Witwicky moans as he can feel the sustenance enter his stomach. He didn't choke on his own vomit - that's good :) - so it looks like Eddie is quite the capable doc.
Spike Witwicky writes on the pad, "The Robot can hear us... dont talk bad abot him."
"Are you like... kiddin' about that? How do you know for sure?" Eddie asks in a paranoid whisper.
Spike Witwicky writes, "Buster and I were talking abot selling him - to milatary or rich compny. We went out on a drive. He tried to run over peple and my son. Said it was paybak for us trying to sell him." Spike adds to the pad, "And it transforms!"
Eddie whistles low. "Man." He'd have to keep that in mind, for when he returned here with more of Colton's men to steal the thing. In comparison to the robot he saw on the polar expedition, this one seemed small, but it was still quite capable of defending itself. "Don't know how you manage to put up with that shit."
Spike Witwicky writes, "Going to trick him into killing Caine so I can get my son bak."
“Good luck with that, it seems, uh... pretty clever, to say the least." Eddie has a seat on the floor near the couch.
Spike Witwicky writes, "How mutch longer? Actually feel hungery now."
"Um... well, I was thinking some days. Just t'make sure you can keep stuff down. As for feelin' hungry? *Wait*, cause I'm feeding you now. That's what this machine is. It's feedin' you." Eddie sighs. "Listen, I can't stay here all week. I got another job to go to. Just lettin' you know that I may need to pop outta here in a day or two, but you need t'keep that thing in till I get back."
Spike Witwicky mumbles, "No!"
"Um, *yes*," Eddie says pointedly.
Spike Witwicky writes, "Whos going to feed me?! How wil I go to bathrom? How can I fking sleep?"
"You can still go to the bathroom an' sleep! Just...be kinda careful with the tube when you go, that's all. As for feeding...you can feed yourself, this is the easiest thing in the world," Eddie explains. "All you gotta do is break open one of these packages every 4-6 hours, mix it in 2 cups of water, then pump it through with the motorized pump! Nothin' to it."
Spike Witwicky writes down on a pad, "Wut do you want out of all this?"
Eddie ponders this quietly. "...Lemme think about it," he decides. "Gotta tally up all the materials, plus labor, then convert it to somethin' that ain't money. I'll letcha know."
Spike Witwicky tries to get up.
"Where you goin'?" Eddie asks, raising a brow.
Spike Witwicky tries to talk. "Gotta stand up." Spike writes, "How you kno Buster??"
"We met when he was waitin' for the bus in the downtown corridor," Eddie explains, moving to help Spike to his feet. "I was down there tryin' to score some smack. We almost got in a fight, but we ended up bein' friends... He cracked a joke or somethin'. Anyhow, he's cool."
Spike Witwicky says "Careful... he's weak." Spike looks noticeably relieved as he gets to his feet.
"He's weak? How's he weak?" Eddie asks curiously just in case he needs that information someday.
Spike Witwicky gestures to his mind and taps it.
"Ohhhh! Heheheh. So, you're the brains of the family, then..." Eddie's clearly amused.
Spike Witwicky doesn't think Eddie is joking, so he nods. He writes, "Not mutch compitition" (yes, I know that's a misspelling :D)
Eddie grins widely. "I see. Clearly. So now that you're up, where are you headed? Don't fall...."
Spike Witwicky writes, "Nowere...can't relly do anything rite now. Maybe take shour?"
"Alright," Eddie says, flopping down on the sofa lazily and lighting up another cigarette. "Don't get too much water in that tube. Actually, y'might wanna just... cork it up or put a little knot in it till you're done."
Spike Witwicky gestures dismissively. He knows all about these food tube things. "Don't you steel anything while I'm in there. I'll cum after you if you do."
Eddie just laughs. "Uhh, yeah. Okay. Whatevs."