This thing just kinda spawned itself. Takes about two months after the first chapter.

And let this be a lesson to you not to eat mysterious pudding-like substances your best friend's little seven year-old sister made. Just don't.

Disclaimer: Still don't own them. Miles random little sister is mine though. Unless, of course, she actually exists and I'm unaware of it.

When Bumblebee had first landed on the planet called Earth just a little bit over four years ago, the first thing he had noticed was the sheer amount of variety the humans had for everything. They weren't satisfied with just one type of transportation unit; they had to have hundreds of different kinds with different colors with different customizations. There weren't satisfied with just one pair of outer armor (which the scout had later learned were called 'clothes' and they were purely for covering themselves instead of protection most of the time), they had to have different brands in different sizes with so many different designs that the scout had to boggle at it. And then he had looked up what type of fuel they ingested.

By Primus, their fuel.

No words in any language Bumblebee had ever come across could accurately describe his astonishment over how they seemed to worship their food. Sure, he had come across other sentient organics on his travels but none of them had ever had such extensive procedures over how to prepare some foliage they had picked out from a field. And that was just one corner of their food pyramid!

So he wasn't to surprised when the friend of his charge brought a big bowl of…something with him to their few and far between 'male bonding sessions', as Miles had dubbed it much to Sam's chagrin, down by the lake. They usually brought food with them to eat while they would catch up about this and that. What did surprise him was his charge's look of disgust when he caught a glimpse of what was in it.

"What the hell is that, Miles?!" Sam exclaimed as his face screwed up into a most interesting expression. He made a cross with his fingers and started inching away from whatever was in the bowl.

"Ah, come on dude. My little sister made it," Miles replied sheepishly. "She commanded me to share some with you and you know I never go against her orders. Besides, it actually isn't that bad…it only looks like a dog upchucked on a pile of poop."

"Well, since you put it so eloquently…" his charge stated sarcastically and then took another look at the mysterious substance. "Ok, seriously, what was it suppose to be?"

The other male placed the bowl on Bumblebee's hood, innocent little Camero that he was, while answering to the best of his knowledge. "Some sort of pudding I think. I'm not to sure."

"And you want me to try it?"

"I have to get a picture of you eating it. Sis's orders."

Sam groaned while face palming. Why did his friend have to do everything his younger sibling asked him to? "I don't know why I continue to be your friend." He grumbled out while snagging up the offered spoon and plunging it into the revolting mass held within the bowl. He eyed the quivering stuff like it was about to eat his hand off.

Miles rolled his eyes as he took out his cell phone, searching for the camera feature. "Everyone knows that you're secretly in love with me and are just using Mikeala as a front. Now hurry up and take a bite. The faster you get it done, the faster it will all be over, trust me."

Bumblebee watched in amusement as Sam sneered at his friend first and then at the spoon as if hoping it would catch on fire. He could tell that it went against all of his charge's instincts to shove it into his mouth and swallow.

Bumblebee winced as he heard his charge purge his stomach again in the small restroom that was just outside the base's human sized recreational room. After taking that initial bite, Sam had actually had some more since, apparently, it did taste better then it looked. Now, three hours later, the scout could easily tell that Sam regretted it. A lot. And with a passion.

"I'm…goin' ta…kill h'm…" Bumblebee's audios picked up after Sam had finished his latest purging. "Slowly…and with…urg…a rusty pick axe…"

Not liking the murderous intents his charge's thoughts were turning to, Bumblebee searched through the local stations for some appt lyrics. "Are you okay? I wanna know, are you okay?"

The yellow scout was about to break down the door when it took longer the three minutes for Sam to answer. "I'z fine…just have some…urg, it tastes disgusting…food poisoning…ahrrrrg…" He coughed some more but luckily didn't start the purging process again. "I'll be…good az new…in hour…or two…"

As much as Bumblebee would have liked to place faith in his charge's knowledge on his body's cleansing methods, he decided asking for Ratchet's opinion wouldn't hurt much. :Ratchet? You got a minute?:

A slight pause before the medic responded in fine grumpy form. :What is it, Bumblebee? I'm kinda busy over here:

:It won't take to long, I promise: He sent back. :It's just that Sam has ingested some questionable food and I was wondering how much longer his body will continue to purge itself to get rid of the contamination:

There was a longer pause and Bumblebee was afraid the medic had opted to ignore him before he texted back. :There wasn't any mention of a 'Five Second Rule', was there?: Though text usually didn't carry across feelings to well, the scout could very well sense the anger radiating off of it.

:…I don't believe so…: He responded slowly. What was a 'Five Second Rule'? :His friend's younger family member created a debatable substance and requested that Sam eat some:

:And being the stupid glitch that he is, he did:

:Ah, well, yes:

Another pause. :If the food poisoning isn't too serious, he'll be fine in a few hours. Make sure he drinks some liquids afterwards:

:Thanks Ratchet: Bumblebee gratefully texted back, happy that he charge wasn't in immediate danger of deactivation.

:Oh, and make sure to tell him 'Listen to me next time, slagger' for me when he's well enough to understand it:

:…Ok…?:

:Good. Ratchet out:

Bumblebee turned his attention back to the door currently sheltering his suffering charge, pleased to note that no further purging had occurred while he was conversing with Ratchet. Hopefully his human would be able to translate that cryptic message for him after he finally stopped leaning over the porcelain waste receptacle.