Disclaimer: All recognizable characters of the Transformers franchise as well as the franchise itself are licensed and owned by Hasbro. I do this for entertainment purposes only and do not profit AT ALL- monetarily or otherwise- from the writing of these stories.

Disclaimer #2: I am not a medical professional! Do not use this story as a medical reference in any way, shape or form to treat someone during a medical emergency! To do otherwise is to place their life at risk and pave the way for a big fat lawsuit so DO NOT DO IT! Call 911 or get to a hospital ASAP!


Catalyst Chapter Three


Barricade rushed through his second well deserved wash in just as many solars and, not bothering to dry the solvent from his armor, headed immediately for Blackout's quarters to raid it for lubricant (no time restraints meant the offer was still good, slag it!) and then stomped back to his own room.

What a mess! What a complete and utter fragged-up mess!

So, of course, it would be up to him to fix everything. Primus!

Setting the container of lubricant down near the door for later use, the police car took a moment to run a quick systems check in order to control his rioting temper before seeing to the human teenager. Barricade stood still, listening to his own ventilation fans cycle on as the remaining solvent clinging to him dripped to the floor, his armor plating fluttering gently before sliding and scraping back into place. He took note of the locations of the noises and friction alerts for his later date with the lubricant and, when he felt that he was finally calm and dry enough to do so, he inhaled deeply through his nasal intakes, directing the flow over his olfactory sensors to analyze the fumes, relieved to find that the harsh solvents had evaporated sufficiently to be harmless to humans.

Feeling more awkward than he would ever admit, Barricade approached the shallow alcove dug out of the wall he had placed Ladiesman217 in before leaving to clean off. The alcove's placement was at the police car's shoulder height and was deep enough that Sam couldn't be accidently knocked out by a careless mech while protecting him somewhat from the cold air inside the base. Admittedly not the best place to leave a sick human but it was better than having him suffocate to death due to solvent's fumes.

Ladiesman217, unsurprisingly, wasn't looking very good. The human's ventilation system- respiratory system, lungs, he reminded himself, deciding to use the correct terminology- was heaving erratically in short ragged bursts, not even taking a full breath before expelling the air raggedly, the process interrupted by bouts of coughing. Face flushed, his heatsinks – didn't have an analog for that yet- were working so hard to keep the human cool that the stone he lay on was dark with moisture and the teenager's fuel pump- Heart, it's called a heart- was racing at an alarming rate. An absolutely vile odor was coming from the small body and, with spark-felt reluctance, Barricade ran it through his olfactory senses for analysis and nearly staggered under the combined scents of sweat and waste.

Hastily searching the internet for an original map of the base and cross referencing it with Blackout's, the scout frantically sought the closest human sized bathing area relative to Barricade's position. Locating one, he scooped Sam up and nearly ran for it, hoping to Primus that the stench would dissipate by the time the pair returned.

Barricade made a mental note to thoroughly sanitize the alcove and pick up air fresheners the next time he was in town.

And line his chest compartment with plastic.


::What's he doing?:: Blackout asked, peeking around the opening of the hallway.

The police car was a hundred meters down the narrow corridor from where they stood, sitting on the floor beside what remained of the human bathing facilities, his attention focused on the tub between his legs where the sparkling lay immersed in water, supported by one of the scout's hands while the other rubbed some sort of solution into the smaller form.

::I do not know. Some sort of grounder ritual?:: Starscream replied, risking a glance himself from his position on the opposite side of the doorway, the hand containing the 'ambulance' tightening enough to make the weak Earth metal whine in protest.

The pair continued to watch, growing more confused as Barricade's small silver fingers periodically dribbled clear liquid over Sam to rinse off the odd accumulation of white bubbles that would gather on the sparkling's dermal plating due to the application of the substance the scout was applying. The process was repeated over and over several times until at long last the interceptor was apparently satisfied and lifted the sparkling from the tub, holding Sam over the container. After giving the youngling a final rinse, Barricade pulled a white cloth from a subspace compartment, wrapped it around the sparkling and opened his front vents to blow air over Sam as the police car tipped the tiny tub over to drain its contents before shelving it inside the human bathing chamber.

It was as Barricade was rubbing down one of the sparkling's arms that Sam roused with a cry, little body twitching alarmingly, and the scout immediately shifted his grip, simply holding the sparkling under one of the interceptor's front vents until the little one calmed.

::Do you think he knows he's chirping?:: Blackout asked as the high frequency sound reached the pair, echoing off the concrete walls and eliciting the same response from the helicopter. ::For all he insists Sam's not a sparkling, the grounder sure responds to him like one.::

::Universal core coding.:: Starscream grunted after a klik, then frowned, realizing that he had begun chirping as well. ::It is part of the initial operational code used on all frames.::

"You two suck at hiding." Barricade called, looking up and glaring at them with three eyes, the fourth remaining centered on Sam. "And stop making so much noise! It's making my dente ache!"

The two flyers looked at each other then stepped into view, having to take care as they approached the seated mech, navigating the low ceilinged corridor warily. From a strategic standpoint, it was an odd choice for a defensible position since the area was relatively open, an intersection of three relatively short halls with no cover to exploit, but one step forward into the confined space made it clear why Barricade had chosen such a spot to do… well, whatever it was the scout was doing.

"We came to check on Sam." Starscream said without preamble, turning sideways to accommodate his wings and sitting a few feet from the smaller mech. The jet presented the slightly dented human vehicle he held, jerking his chin up and away from Barricade petulantly.

Since Starscream's bulk blocked the helicopter from getting any closer, Blackout was forced to crouch behind the Air Commander, compacting his larger frame awkwardly so that he could get as close as possible. The helicopter remained silent but nodded in agreement with the Seeker's statement, watching with curiosity as Barricade's small talons flashed out and eagerly snatched the offering from the jet.

The police car's chest compartment popped open with a loud snap of latches, the sound quickly replaced by the rush-rush of rerouted air as Barricade placed Sam in the newly exposed depth. Surprisingly, once the sparkling was safely inside, the scout left the compartment open even though it hampered the mobility of the arm on that side. The rate of air pumping through the chamber increased as Barricade's front vents sealed, the direction of flow shifting to blow from the rear of the compartment over the sparkling and out the front as Barricade used both hands to inspect the vehicle.

"So this is gonna help Sam?" Blackout asked, watching with interest as Barricade's small phalanges easily opened the rear doors and held the open vehicle up to optic level, peering inside.

The police car grunted noncommittally, shifting the vehicle and holding it in one hand while the other began extracting items, organizing them all into various piles on the floor.

"What is Sam's status?" Starscream asked quietly, and Blackout could hear the Seeker's optics recalibrating to allow the jet to look into Barricade's chest compartment where the sparkling was all but invisible amid its nest. "What is his estimated recovery time?"

Barricade set the ambulance down on the floor carefully, watching the vehicle rock slowly to a stop on its wheels before shifting his attention to the piles around his pedes, sorting through the collection of ludicrously small bottles and fluid containers.

"He's sick." The interceptor's voice was flat. "And long."

Starscream shifted where he sat, armor plates clicking as they fluttered restlessly in distress and irritation. "Can you be more specific?"

"He's in pain." Barricade growled, holding up his hand and examining it. Already small and fragile looking, the digits split into even smaller segments, each phalange dividing down the middle so that the base of each was suddenly sprouting two long, delicate multi-segmented lengths that ended in tips so fine they were almost invisible. When the process was complete, Barricade flexed all eight digits to test mobility and then held his hand over the piles he had made.

"I didn't know you could do that!" As Blackout watched in fascination, each phalange began to move with efficiency and complete dexterity, some selecting tiny bottles while several worked in tandem to pick up a long bag that was filled with fluid and had some clear tubing attached to it. "What's that for?"

"Never asked." Barricade grunted, raising his hand to head height again. One optic narrowed at the tiny labels of the bottles, another unfocused completely in a telltale sign that the scout was sorting through data, and the remaining two stayed targeted on the pair of flyers. "Gonna mix him a sedative before I start treating him."

"But that was not your initial purpose in this place." Starscream stated, cocking his head to the side, optics narrowing. "You were bathing the spark-Sam. You were bathing Sam. Why were you using dihydrogen monoxide to clean him instead of a mild solvent?"

"Because it'd melt his skin off." The scout replied curtly, optics going dark though his transformed hand became active once more. One of the phalanges began to transform, the thin flat segments curving inward until they met to form a shortened tube the thickness of a human hair. When the process was over, the flexible whip-like construction started spearing the tops of some of the bottles, siphoning up specific varying quantities of the fluids within each one.

"Do you require assistance retrieving him?" The jet asked as Barricade's transformed hand moved toward the open chest compartment, the needle-like digit leading the path.

"No." The scout said just as the thin phalange darted forward into the blankets in a blur. Starscream tensed and Blackout's rotors flared as the sparkling gave a soft wordless moan before silencing altogether.

"What did you do?" Nearly flattening the Air Commander against the wall in the process, the helicopter reached forward and wrapped his hand around Barricade's wrist and jerked it back away from the from the sparkling. Blackout tightened his grip as he heard Sam's fuel pump and ventilation fans gradually slow. "What did you do to him?"

The sound sharp in the narrow space, Starscream trilled a query to the sparkling and, when Sam remained unresponsive, wrapped a hand around Barricade's neck, tightening his grip until some of the actuators in the scout's throat began to whine in protest.

"Do you have a patch gun?" The scout asked calmly, showing no indication that he was bothered by the other two manhandling him or their tacit implication that they were about to cause him sever bodily harm. "I need it to set Sam's broken struts."

"A…patch gun?" The jet repeated slowly, amusement and puzzlement chasing away the anger. Bit by bit, Starscream's digits uncurled and backed away, though the wicked barbs remained held at the ready to dive back in should the scout's question be a diversion.

"I've got one." Blackout offered, fetching the item from a subspace pocket and holding it up.

"May I borrow it?" Barricade asked patiently when the helicopter didn't immediately give it to him. He tugged his wrist, reminding the helicopter that he still held it, and Blackout hastily released the appendage, handing the patch gun over. "Thank you."

The scout took the gun with a shallow nod and, moving with extreme care, fished the sparkling from his chest and presented Sam for their mutual inspection. Several scans later, the pair of flyers resettled themselves and gave him room though their optics remained on the sparkling.

"What did you give him?" Blackout asked, waving an awkward greeting to Sam, who blinked up at them with no reaction. The helicopter rotated his head, optics focusing sharply as he noticed a distinct lack of movement from the left half of the sparkling's head. "And why is his facial plating malfunctioning?"

Barricade set the patch gun down in favor of pulling the ambulance closer, speaking as he unloaded another object from the back of the vehicle. "Half of Sam's body doesn't work and I suspect his abilities to think and speak have been severely impaired because you two fraggers couldn't obey one simply order." All four eyes focused on Blackout in an unyielding, openly hostile glare that seemed to bore right through to the helicopter's spark chamber. "The squishies are primitive- fine, no argument here- but other than a true, sane medic, they still were the only ones who had a chance of helping Ladiesman217. That chance is gone now- did you even leave the hospital intact when you took him?"

"Yes," Starscream said testily. "The building still stands, undamaged and functional."

The scout laid Sam down upon the... Was that a berth? Blackout rotated his neck servos and leaned forward, deciding that, yes, the squishy-sized thing on wheels was some sort of berth. Sam took the new position without resistance though he did make a soft sound when Barricade unwrapped the cloth around the sparkling.

"The discoloration has spread." Starscream remarked, labial plates twisting into a frown as he looked the sparkling over. "Is that due to the strut misalignment underneath?"

"Yup, and then some." The scout answered distractedly, pulling a container of some sort of clear gel from a subspace pocket, scooping a minimal portion of the substance out with his augmented fingers. Barricade carefully picked up Sam's right arm by the wrist and began liberally smearing the greasy substance along the skin, moving delicately when his fingers encountered a discolored area. Barricade gave the arm a small tug and, with a wince, Blackout could both see and hear the broken strut realign back into its regular placement. The scout picked up the patch gun, adjusted the chemical ratio of the mix, and pulled the trigger, squeezing a small amount along the sparkling's arm, evenly smearing the opaque fluid so that it encompassed the appendage.

This pattern of treatment- spread gel, apply patch- continued for a while and the three mechs sat in silence interrupted by the quiet hum of Starscream's engines and ventilation fans cycling to produce a continuous wash of warm air over Sam in the scout's place.

"You missed his rib struts." Blackout pointed at the area in question when Barricade set the gun down. The scout had treated Sam's chassis with the gel but, unlike with the rest of the areas of damage, had failed to coat it with the protective patch solution.

"If I patch that, he'll deactivate once it hardens." Barricade said, rapping a segment of his phalange against the hard protective sheath now covering Sam's arm. The digit pinged off with a sharp tink, the cast not even showing signs it had been touched. "That part of him has to be able to move freely even if it hurts which it won't because now I can sensor-block him for as long as it takes him to heal."

The bag of fluid he'd held all this time finally saw use as the scout unwound the tubing and unsheathed the end of the flexible line revealing a small barb that slid easily into Sam's dermal plating. Blackout waited for some sort of response from the small body but the sparkling's optics didn't shift from their half lidded state. In fact, a click later, Sam appeared to drop fully into recharge.

Barricade stood with a loud whine of protesting metal, picking up the wad of cloth he'd dried the sparkling with as he did so. As he spoke, he absently used it to wipe each phalange clean. "We're going back to my quarters. Don't stop by."

After subspacing everything he deemed valuable, the scout pulled a small rectangular brown cloth from another pocket, laid it down inside his chest compartment then carefully picked Sam up. Once the sparkling was safely tucked beneath the cloth and the container of fluid hung on a hook on the inside of the compartment's wall, Barricade shut the door. Squatting instead of leaning over, he pushed the little berth on wheels back into the ambulance and picked the vehicle up by its back end, dragging it behind him as he left.

"Other than Frenzy, has Barricade ever cared for a symbiote?" Blackout asked when the scout was no longer in sensor range. The helicopter began carefully backing up, his own gyros and joints whining in protest as he moved.

"I do not… believe so." Starscream said though with markedly less arrogance than normal as he followed Blackout's lead to leave the cramped corridor. "Soundwave was not happy with Lord Megatron's order to pair Frenzy with Barricade, however. I had heard that adjustments had to be made to Barricade's frame so that the parasite could be housed… Perhaps a behavioral program was installed as well."

Blackout grunted thoughtfully, not thoroughly convinced that the conclusion was correct but unable explain what was wrong with it. Barricade had always been one of the most even tempered members of the Decepticon Army unless some fragger riled him enough to fry his logic circuits but, still… The scout was a private mech and didn't like having his privacy invaded. Even if a program was running to keep his tolerance of the invasion high, it didn't explain why out of all of them he was the only mech who seemed to know what the sparkling needed and how to provide for it when all of them had at least a rudimentary version of a nesting routine.

He frowned. The sparkling's condition should have improved under their care, if it were to improve at all, not the organics. Being around the older mechs should have helped strengthen Sam's spark but that hadn't happened either- instead no matter how much basic Cybertronian care they provided, the sparkling just got worse and worse until he was practically deactivated. Why was Sam improving now that he was being treated as a human with human medicine, using human treatments-

-That train of thought, along with the growing suspicion that Sam was anything but a sparkling, abruptly derailed in the helicopter's mind as a subroutine engaged, gently inserting an alternative but plausible theory about the situation.-

But Sam had been sparked on Earth and Cybertronians were programmed to hide from the beginning. There was no telling how long the sparkling had been among the humans before being found by his people and Sam's developing body had been forced to adapt efficiently or face deactivation. He didn't have the mass to disguise himself as a vehicle like the other mechs could so Sam's core programming had done the next best thing and had hid him among the humans. From what Blackout had seen on the internet, humans were fragile and needed a lot of care and Sam, posing as a human youngling, would need to be able to withstand the normal poking and prodding that came from regular human maintenance.

"Yeah, that must be it… No, wait…" He put a hand to his head, lurching to a stop as his processor suddenly flaring with error and incompatibility messages. Each explanation, both his own and Starscream's, were based upon logical reasoning but, despite this, a small part of him continued to doubt and remained unsure. It wavered stubbornly, an analysis program coming online and sorting through the data quickly. If it had to be treated like a human, had the needs of a human, and he could scan it like a human then it had to be-

-This time when the subroutine activated it was not gentle; not only did it derail Blackout's train of thought but smashed it into bits before locking it all in an encrypted file. Sam was a sparkling, nothing more, nothing less. The same plausible explanation as to Sam's strange needs was once again thrust to the forefront of Blackout's cortex as all evidence of the internal battle was collected to be purged next defrag cycle.

"Come," Starscream's hand on his shoulder startled the disoriented helicopter, making him jump. "It is your duty cycle after mine and I will not tolerate tardiness or glitching. Go recharge so you are functional."

Right- duty cycle. Nodding, Blackout headed to his quarters, one hand still rubbing his processor even though it no longer ached. He passed by Barricade's room but his temptation to stop by was quickly overruled once he caught sight of the scout busily oiling his leg joints with one hand while the other painted Blackout's chassis with the laser sight of the scout's arm gun. Hastily moving on, the helicopter found his room and, after setting his internal chronometer to wake him at the appropriate time, powered down to enjoy as much recharge as possible before his shift started.


It was burning his hands but he held on to the Cube with everything he had, forcing it up, up, up toward Megatron's chest, aiming for the hole revealing the pale blue spark as the Cube got hotter and hotter, fusing to Sam's flesh so that he couldn't let go even if he tried, holding him hostage as it rose upward, gravitating toward Megatron's spark, electricity arching through his flesh, burning him up, burning the world. Too hot, too hot, the burning consuming everything, and, God, he was going to die! He was going to die here, trapped between two giant alien robots that both wanted the Cube, burned alive by the damn thing until nothing but ash remained, and a tiny voice inside him cried out in despair over his fate.

It wasn't his war, should never have been his war, but he'd been pulled into it and now he was going to die because of it. It wasn't fair and he didn't want to die but neither did he want the fight to continue. Skin on fire, he thrust upward, wanting peace, wanting the battle to stop, and the idea seemingly resonated through every cell like a defiant cry, a adamant refusal of it all that rang through his chest, up his arms and into the Cube where he touched it, growing louder until it was an incoherent scream that chased everything else from his mind. It had to end here- now- or else there would be nothing left fighting for and if the destruction of the All Spark could be a catalyst for change then so be it!

But then Optimus Prime intervened, grabbing hold of the Cube before it could connect, while Megatron…

Megatron grabbed Sam.

Grinding, crushing agony greeted Sam as he jerked awake, and the teenager nearly choked on the moan that lodged itself in his throat, the need to breathe and the urge to remain still warring with one another while the teenager's heart attempted to claw its way out of his chest as the battle raged. Heat registered in his consciousness next, a heat so intense that it felt as if he were laying at the mouth of a blast furnace, parts of him cracking under it, the delicate skin catching on the fabric covering him and tearing under the slightest pressure. Some of wounds were oozing, the fluid seeping out to cover the surrounding area and becoming a gooey mess that stuck to everything it came into contact with before involuntary movements started the process over again. Pain ate at the world, narrowing it down until it had consumed everything else and left only itself behind, and Sam became distantly aware that he was making noises no human being should ever make under any circumstances.

He didn't register the prick of a needle against the skin of his neck or the flat flexible piece of metal that cupped his forehead until both moved away. Immediately, his panic began to weaken and fade away, leaving Sam incredibly calm and blessedly pain-free as unfamiliar snake-like appendages appeared in his peripheral vision to lift him, blankets and all, out into blinding light.

The brief spurt of panic that tried to burst through him died as quickly as it came and Sam could only blink sluggishly as he was moved, the sensation ceasing not long after as he was resettled on a new surface, one that conformed to his body in a way that made a part of his brain rouse in alarm. Something wasn't right with this situation, something was off, and he watched with growing suspicion as long segmented fingers began straightening the cloth around him, tucking the edges beneath him firmly but not tight enough to make him uncomfortable. Something mechanical below him clicked on and, with a soft whir of fans, cool air began to blow from below him, and it wasn't until that moment that Sam realized how feverish he felt now that he could feel anything beyond the pain.

Wait… fingers? His one responsive eye drifted upward slowly, trying to see past the circle of illumination above him, his heavily medicated mind uselessly attempting to gibber in fear as it finally pieced together his situation. The only beings big enough to manhandle him as easily as he would a small animal were… were…

The light made his eye ache and water but Sam was absurdly grateful for its presence all the same. In his peripheral vision he could make out only darkness and, though he knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him, the teenager was acutely aware of a sense of weight to the shadows, as if something lurked in that unperceivable space just waiting to roll over his unresponsive body and crush him beneath some great unimaginable mass.

It made him feel bizarrely claustrophobic and Sam began shivering, suddenly cold with inexplicably fear. He found himself reaching out to the nearest finger, suddenly desperate for contact, for a tangible confirmation of safety, and when he got it, when a warm metal finger slipped hesitantly into his weak grip, it provided as much comfort and relief as Sam had hoped it would.

He felt his eyelid drooping, his grip slackening as the drugs began to slowly suck him under and, exhausted, Sam could offer no resistance. Cool metal settled on his head, startling him briefly awake before the gentle hum of electricity under his ear lulled him back to sleep to dream of gears and cogs and things he had no name for.


A/N: Okay so I tried not to end on so much of a cliff hanger because I think I'm over my funk concerning 'Serendipity's' latest chapter… (Megatron would. Not. Cooperate!) so I'm going to turn my attention back to that for a while. I'm not abandoning 'Catalyst' but it'll be a bit before the next chapter appears- so if anyone has a strong desire for certain interactions between characters in this story, now's a good time to make a request since, though I have a general sense of where I'm taking this, the plot is rather skeletal and in need of fleshing out at this point.

Now, unsurprisingly I'm being asked a lot about why the Decepticons except Barricade are being, well, odd. Though this will be addressed in the next few chapters, I would suggest that, rather than thinking about the issue in terms of 'what is wrong with them?' why not try instead 'what sets Barricade apart from all the Decepticons we have seen so far?'

But that's just my opinion. *cough* Brawl *cough, cough*

A special thank you to all of you who review- they well and truly make my day and encourage me to write more!