Author's notes: Thank you for all the favs and reviews guys! Much love. Here is part two of Chapter two. Please read, review, and enjoy. =D

The Hypo-critic Oath Part II

It was a few weeks later that Bumblebee came back from patrol, dinged and dented from helm to bumper with more than a fair share of scratches from where the pavement had given him a few lovely kisses. Spike had been in the hall, making his way to the control room in hopes of finding his Dad so they could work on the flux dampener together, but stopped frozen in that hall when the yellow bug came limping down his way. Ironhide was next to him, helping the scout along with a guiding hand on one dented shoulder.

For a few moments Spike simply stood there, his stomach having bottomed out at the sight. He had seen worse injuries on some of the Autobots, certainly, but never had it been an Autobot Spike had been anywhere close to. Not like Bumblebee. The sight conjured up memories he would rather not recall. With a shake of his head to clear his mind, Spike ran forward to meet them.

"Bee!" he said, pausing in front of them. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Don't get all excited, kid," Ironhide said with a frown.

"I'm fine," said Bumblebee. "Skywarp and I just had… a nice chat."

Spike blinked. "Oh. But you're alright?"

"Me? Sure. This is nothing," Bumblebee said, waving the comment off. "A couple dents to bang out and a new paint job. Nothing to worry about. I've had much much worse." Bumblebee then leaned down towards the human and smirked. "I told you; Seekers have tried and failed to bring me down."

Spike was about to reply when a familiar scent struck his nose; a strong pungent smell that made his sinuses cringe. Energon, fresh Energon. As he was about to mention it, the two carried onwards towards the Medbay and Spike scrambled to get out of their way. He watched them march down the hallway and after a moment's pause, he ran after them. If they noticed him following, neither Mech made any motion to stop him or to tell him to bugger off.

As they neared their destination, the Medbay doors opened up and Ratchet stepped out to meet them, not looking too pleased at all. The medic regarded both Bumblebee and Ironhide with an annoyed glare and pitched his head to the side, directing them into the room. "Third table to the right," he scowled, mouth pinched into a frown. "And don't move a servo or I'll redirect your vocalizer through your exhaust port."

"Whatever you say Ratchet." The pair walked past him and just as Ratchet was about to follow them in, he happened to looked down and spotted Spike standing there. The medic's frown deepened.

"What do you want, scraplet?" He growled. The young man looked anxiously between Ratchet and Bumblebee as if silently pleading for permission to enter as well. After a moment, Ratchet growled to himself and pitched his head. "Go on," he grumbled and Spike rushed inside with Ratchet behind him. "Just stay out of the way or you'll get stepped on."

"Yes sir," Spike replied and made his way over to a vacant table and stood beneath it.

Bumblebee laid himself down on an examination table with Ironhide's help, one of many that lined both walls of the main bay. Further back were a series of doors that lead into private rooms for patients whose repairs took longer than usual and required temporary housing until they were released from Ratchet's tender loving care. Then there was a supply closet and another door which Spike was ignorant of its use. In the far right corner was a cubical like office with a single wide window looking out into the bay like a guard shack; Ratchet's office.

As Bumblebee settled down, Ratchet walked up beside the berth, pulling along a trolley laden with his tools of preference. Ironhide, having delivered his ward safely, took his leave.

"I'll be expecting a full report when your finished," the red Autobot told Bumblebee as he neared the door. "And Prime wants a debriefing as well. Prowl's probably gonna call a meeting."

"Will do," Bumblebee replied sounding far more chipper than one would expect from a person in such shape. Ratchet seemed to have had the same thought for his scowl deepened at the merriness in his patient's voice.

As instructed, Spike remained out of the way. Beneath the concern for his friend, Spike felt a growing sense of anxiousness. He had a growing desire to see what Ratchet was doing, to see a trained medic in the process of repair. He had witness it before, several times in fact, but now that he actually had some knowledge of Cybertronian anatomy and system functions, he found himself aching to see.

Seven minutes into the procedure and Ratchet turned to Spike and glowered, "Child, if you don't stop that infernal tapping, I'll throw you out!"

The sudden outburst surprised Spike and he planted the soles of his feet firmly on the ground, having not cognitively realized he had been tapping them against the floor in his angst. "Sorry," he muttered and shrunk back further under the table. A low rumble emanated from inside Ratchet's chest and he strode over to the table where Spike had taken refuge. Without a word, the medic reached out and grabbed Spike around the middle hoisting him up and then walking back over towards his work station. Setting the boy down on the table beside the one Bumblebee was currently occupying, Ratchet glared at him. "Frag it to the pit if I'll have you scampering around where I can't see you. Just sit still and don't make a sound. Got it?"

Spike nodded fervently. "Yes sir."

Pleased, but no less annoyed, Ratchet returned to his work. The reproof had been a blessing in disguise as now Spike had the perfect vantage point in which to observe the repairs. He felt a leap of pride when he realized not only did he recognize what Ratchet was doing as he removed armor panels to inspect and repair anything underneath, but he could guess what would be repaired next. The procedure in its entirety took little over an hour and once Bumblebee's armor had been reset, he was free to go.

He and Spike started down the hall.

"I have to go fill out my report," Bumblebee said. "But I was thinking we could go for another lesson if you're up for it."

Spike beamed. "Sure."

"Could you follow anything Ratchet did?"

"From what I saw at the end, yeah. Most of it anyway. I don't think I could replicate it though."

Bumblebee shrugged. "You will in time."

"If Ratchet doesn't find out."

"He'll warm up to the idea eventually. When he's up to his optics in wounded Mechs, he might change his mind. That's why he taught Wheeljack. He didn't want to at first because Wheeljack has a tendency to cause catastrophic failures."

"…What kind of catastrophic failures?"

Bumblebee raised his hands and spread his fingers, "Boom."

Spike snickered. "Oh."

He followed Bumblebee to his quarters, a relatively small space with a single berth for recharging and a small computer terminal. Bumblebee marched inside and sat at the terminal and began to write up his report. Spike clambered onto the berth and walked back and forth along the edge.

"Wheeljack gave Dad and me a project," Spike said in an attempt to fill the empty air with casual conversation. "An old flux dampener he wants us to restore."

Bumblebee paused in his typing to send a confused look his way. "…that's a bit… extreme of a project. Wouldn't you need some sort of protection? Like a lead wall?"

Spike smiled. "It's hydraulic."

"Ok. That's better," Bumblebee replied and returned to his task. He chuckled. "I was gonna say; Wheeljack must've finally lost it if he gave you two an atomic flux dampener to start with."

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Well, it's my understanding that certain amounts of exposure to particular wave lengths of light can cause cell mutation in organics," Bumblebee replied. "Which would be very bad."

Spike just blinked. "What? Like a sun burn?"

"Radiation. Cancer."

Spike's eyes widened. "Oh… shit."

"Exactly," said the Autobot. "So maybe we'll wait for that kind of repair until you have a radiation proof suit or something along those lines."

"Or we could just leave that stuff up to you guys."

"That would work too." Just then, Bumblebee placed a hand his helm and his body swayed every so slightly before righting itself. Spike looked at his friend.

"You OK?" asked the boy.

Bumblebee shook his head as if to clear his mind and tuned to address Spike. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just…my energy levels just dropped all a sudden."

"Well, when was the last time you refueled?" Spike asked.

"Before I went out on patrol, but I don't…" Bumblebee never finished the sentence as his optics went dark and his form went limp before falling back out of his chair to crash on the ground.

"Bumblebee!" Spike leapt from the berth and onto the floor before scrambling over to his fallen friend. Climbing up onto the yellow metal, Spike called out to him again. "Bumblebee! Bumblebee, what's wrong? Wake up! Bumblebee!"

There was no answer. Spike turned to leap off and run for help, but paused as a sickening smell filled his sinuses and he automatically went to cover his nose. The smell of Energon was very strong. Armed with nothing but a hunch and adrenaline, Spike crawled down to Bumblebee's midsection and grabbed onto the edge of his chest metal and pulled. At first it refused to give and the metal edged dug into his palms painfully. Another fervent tug and the metal door popped open to reveal the inner working of the Autobot. Nothing immediately seemed amiss until a wave of Energon wafted over him. He could already feel a headache coming on, but he ignored it. Ever so carefully, Spike crawled over the exposed chest, oil and grim staining his pants and hands, all the while carefully sniffing and looking for where the scent was strongest. As he climbed further up the scent grew more saturated until he paused over an orb like structure from where several major cables sprouted; his spark chamber. Looking around at all the connections, feeds, and lines, Spike could figure out where the smell was coming from. He bent low near the chamber and began looking around its edges, down past it and further into the Autobot's body. The smell was overwhelming now, he knew he was close. He reached down into the dark crevasse and cried out when he felt burning hot liquid engulf his hand and drip down his arm, it felt like fire. He pulled his hand out to see pink liquid drip off his finger tips which were already red and blistering as well as a line down his forearm in the same manner. He flicked his hand in an attempt to clear off the burning fluid and bit back tears.

Well… at least he had found it.

Without another word, Spike hoped off Bumblebee's chest and made a mad dash for the door which opened politely for him. He rushed down the hall ways as fast as he could, nearly tripping in his haste. When he approached the corner, his sneakers lost traction and slipped on the metal, sending him spiraling across the floor and into the opposite wall. Spike took a moment to nurse his shin, sucking air across his teeth. The radiating pain from his hand was increasing.

"Spike?"

He looked up, startled, to see Optimus Prime standing there.

" Prime!" Spike called, scrambling to his feet and ran over to the Autobot commander. The larger being dropped down onto one knee as the boy came up to meet him.

"What's wrong?" He asked, voice filled with concerned for the odd condition which the boy appeared to be.

"Bumblebee needs help," Spike told him breathlessly. "He just collapsed and he's not answering me!"

Despite his lack of facial features, Optimus' expression turned positively grim and he rose to his feet, striding over Spike and towards Bumblebee's quarters. "Inform Ratchet of the situation and tell him to meet me there," he called as he turned the corner.

"Yes sir!" Needing no more persuasions, Spike hurried on down the hall towards the Medbay. He was breathing hard when he reached the large set of double doors which opened for his after a moment of his banging on them. He ran inside, but did not see Ratchet at first.

"Ratchet!" Spike yelled.

"What do you want?" Grouched the familiar voice, but from behind him. Spike whirled around faster than his tired legs could move and he fell back onto his behind. He looked up to see Ratchet in the corner, rummaging through a box of something on the shelve lining the wall there.

"Bumblebee collapsed and he isn't answering me when I call him," Spike explained with little control, picking himself up. "Something's wrong with his Spark chamber I think. It's leaking Energon or something!"

Ratchet's face shifted from annoyed to furious in the span of a second. Without a word he was running for the door, leaving Spike, tired and sore, to totter along behind at his own inadequate pace. When Spike finally arrived at Bumblebee's room, both Optimus and Ratchet were leaning over the still form. Ratchet's hands were flying furiously across the open chest, digging into spaces and checking things. Spike hovered near the doorway to be out of the way.

Ratchet was muttering and cursing. "I don't understand it…he's in forced stasis but his systems aren't responding to my override codes… there's some sort of interference…"

"What does that mean?" Spiked asked worriedly from the doorway.

Ratchet glanced briefly his way before returning his full attention to his patient. "It means for whatever reason, his Spark isn't communicating with his body. I think his motherboard might have crashed…"

"Is that bad?"

"Yes it's bad! Very bad, not stop asking questions and let me do my job!" The ferocity of the remark surprised Spike and he had the definite feeling he wasn't welcome in the area at that moment. Ratchet continued to mutter hotly to himself. "Fragging, worthless piece of scrap…why won't you respond?"

Spike looked down at his burned hand. "What about an Energon leak?"

"Didn't I just tell you to stop asking me erroneous questions?" Ratchet barked, not even granting him a glance. " Prime, help me get this slagger to the Medbay. I can't do anything in here."

Optimus nodded once and daftly went to pick the smaller, docile form into his large arms.

"It's not erroneous!" Spike protested, but he was ignored. Both Mechs then rushed out the door and into the hall towards the Medbay. Spike, despite his growing collection of bruises and fatigue, ran after them. When he finally caught up with them, he was out of breath. They had laid Bumblebee upon a table and Optimus stood by as Ratchet whirled around in a fervor gathering tools and jumping into his work with reckless abandon.

"It's not erroneous!" Spike repeated himself as it was obvious he had not been heard, or paid attention to, the first time. "I think his…"

"Spike! If I hear your voice one more time I'm going to weld your mandible orifice shut!"

Perhaps it was because a dear friend's life was in danger or because Spike finally grew a backbone, but at that moment he realized something extraordinary; he was not afraid of Ratchet. With a gust of bravado, Spike ran over to the table and stood a little ways from the medic's feet. He looked up and squared his shoulders. "No!"

Ratchet paused in his work to look down at the boy, optics narrowed to thin slits and ire rising off his shoulders like waves of heat. "No?" He asked slowly as if warning boy he was trudging into dangerous territory. Spike stared back, unafraid and unintimidated. Ratchet's scowl deepened. " Prime… request permission to permanently weld this boy's mouth shut!"

"Denied," Optimus sighed and rounded the table. He bent down next to Spike, reaching a hand out and placing it placating against the boy's back. "Spike, perhaps it is best if you go find your father and wait. We will come get you when…"

"No!" Spike repeated, stepping away from Prime. "Bumblebee's Spark chamber's flooded with Energon. He had a leak somewhere in the main cavity, the auxiliary line I think. The one that lines the left side of the cortex. If his system's not responding to override codes that means his Processor must not be accessible somehow. His Spark isn't sending information to his body! Like he's in a coma!"

Optimus was speechless and Ratchet's face seemed to spasm, filtering several emotions at once as Spike's words settled. "…if there was a leak that massive my scans would have detected it."

Spike raised his hand, showing off the somewhat impressive burns. "So what's this?" Ratchet visibly twitched upon seeing them, but didn't reply. Spike went on, "There's Energon in his Spark chamber."

Half expecting to be bombarded with accusations on how he would know any of that and how he got the burns, Ratchet returned to his work and did not speak to either Optimus nor Spike for several long minutes. Then abruptly, he forced the two of them out of the room with a snarl. "I'll call when I'm done! Now get out of my sight!"

Optimus kindly dropped Spike off at the Rec room before heading onward to seek out Prowl. Spike entered the room, Bumblebee's condition weighing heavily on his mind more so than the pain of burned hand. Upon the doors opening, Spike was bombarded with the loud clamorous sounds of a rambunctious crowd of Autobots. The various tables were occupied with laughing Mechs, Energon cubes in hand. A good many of them looked drunk, if that was even a physical probability. Wheeljack had mentioned they experienced something called n overcharge, but Spike assumed that was more like getting high rather than drunk. Perhaps he was simply thinking to literally. Or perhaps just thinking too much…

Regardless, his entrance seemed widely unnoticed save by a few who waved or motioned to him cheerfully. Sparkplug and Hound were seated at a table along with Jazz and Wheeljack. When he saw his son, Sparkplug waved to him. "Spike! Where've you been boy?"

"Yeah," added Jazz. "You're missing all the fun, kiddo."

Spike made his way to the table, careful of anyone who might not be paying attention and not realize he was there. Hound gave the boy a hand up on the table. "Spike?" The Mech asked as allowed him to slide of his hand and onto the table top.

"Hm?"

"What happened to your hand?" Spike looked down at the burns, realizing belatedly that they were actually quite painful. Sparkplug saw them and like any parent, began to overreact.

"Jesus, son!" Sparkplug took his son's arm in his hand and began to examine the burns. Spike didn't protest. "What did you do? Stick your hand in boiling water?"

Spike found the grace to look guilty. "Not exactly…"

His father looked at him. "What then?"

The boy hesitated. "Energon…" he said.

"What?" demanded the other is disbelief that his son could have done something so stupid.

"It wasn't on purpose," Spike was quick to elaborate and then explained the incident in Bumblebee's room and then how Ratchet had thrown both he and Optimus out of the Medbay to work in peace. Spike turned to Wheeljack. "So, uh… Ratchet might know what we've been doing. Or have a good idea."

Seeming to tire from the mere thought of the hell-storm that was sure to come, Wheeljack sighed. "Well, can't say I expected it to be a secret forever. Especially if you two were ever gonna actually help with repairs."

Jazz looked up from his cube. "What's this about repairs?" he asked, leaning onto the table with a glint of curiosity in his optic.

Wheeljack shrugged, "I've been teaching 'em basic Cybertronian anatomy and mechanics so they could help us with repairs. We're short of hands as far as able medics go. Ratchet's the only Mech onboard with actual medical programming," said Wheeljack. "I thought if we trained these two a bit we could save time and resources. Their small stature enables them to reach places that for a Mech would take an inch from complete disassembly to reach."

"Bumblebee's been helping, too." Spike added.

"And I take it Ratchet didn't approve of these lessons?" Hound asked, taking a sip of Energon from the cube in his hand.

The engineer crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, looking disappointed. "No, he wasn't too thrilled with the prospect. I think he's just being a bit too overprotective, is all. We tend to underestimate Humans," he said. "They're more resilient than we give them credit for."

"Damn Skippy," Sparkplug piped in, still inspecting Spike's arms where the skin had blistered. Wheeljack's optics glowed warmly, squinting slightly in amusement.

Jazz chuckled. "Well, it's not like Ratchet doesn't have a point, though. You little guys may be tougher than ya look, but you're still pretty fragile."

Sparkplug's frowned, not paying attention to what was being said to either him nor Spike.

"You might have to go to the Hospital, son," Sparkplug told him.

Spike balked, sudden anxiety stirring in his gut. "What? Why?"

"This is pretty bad," The elder Witwicky pinned his son with a stern look. "Few of the blisters are broken and you're starting to swell. Doesn't it hurt?"

"Only a little…" Spike lied. Without comment, Sparkplug probed the blistered flesh with a finger and watched as his son sucked air across his teeth and recoiled, pulling his injured hand away and muttering a few choice phrases.

Unamused by the boy's misplaced courage, Sparkplug grabbed Spike's shoulder and looked squarely in his eyes. "You're going to a doctor."

Spike wilted. "Yes sir."

A trip to the local free clinic and several hours later, Spike was ushered into an examination room where a doctor jovially announced that the boy was the proud owner of second degree burns. The process for dressing such burns turned out to be a very unpleasant experience; more disturbing than painful. After thoroughly irrigating the burns to wash away any residual chemical, Spike was injected with some painkiller with a wordy name to numb the pain. Then the doctor proceeded to scrape the dead skin from Spike's hand and forearm with a horribly stiff brush and an odd green goop with tiny white shards of something that looks conspicuously like glass. There was no pain, but the sound of skin being scrapped away was enough to make the boy cringe and he was very much aware that he would likely be in serious discomfort the next day. Once all that was done, the doctor wrapped the boy's hand and arm with gauze and sent him home with a prescription for a mild sedative for the pain which was to be taken once a day with food.

Hound drove them back to the Ark while Spike told him what had happened in the clinic.

"And he gave me drugs," spike said with a cheeky grin. Beside him, his father rolled his eyes.

"What for?" Asked the green jeep.

"For the pain," Spike replied, using his good hand to read the label on the orange bottle.

"Are you in pain now?" Hound asked.

"Nah, he gave me a shot of something. It doesn't hurt now," said the boy. "But I'll probably be feeling it tomorrow when the painkillers ware off."

Nearing the Ark's entrance, Hound allowed his two passengers to dismount before transforming. Spike was picking at the gauze wrapping his hand and some of his forearm.

"Stop picking at it," His father chastised as they walked into the familiar orange halls. "You'll make it come undone." Spike held the dressed appendage close to his body and allowed the other undamaged one to swing at his side as he walked. The painkiller his had been given made him feel a little loopy. He could feel it in his walk, his feet felt lighter.

Up ahead, Jazz and Smokescreen turned into the corridor. Spotting them, Jazz waved. "Hey kiddo! What's the diagnosis?"

Spike grinned and held up his bandaged hand. "Second degree burns, man!"

Jazz laughed. "Wicked." Smokescreen placed his hand on Jazz's shoulder and tilted his head, saying something. Jazz nodded and turned back. "I'll catch you guys later. Monitor duty calls."

As the two disappeared down another corridor, Spike turned to his Dad. "I'm gonna go see if Bumblebee's awake," he announced, leaving Hound and his Father to their own devices. Heading down an adjacent hallway towards the Medbay, Spike was filled with an odd feeling of excitement at showing Bumblebee his arm. It seemed like a very human concept to show off one's wounds, but then again Spike had most certainly seen Ironhide bragging about his own battle scars. In comparison, Spike's burns were nothing but a scratch. But Bumblebee always humored him. The Medbay door seemed to be open and as he neared it, Spike could hear two voices bickering within. He paused to listen.

Ratchet's voice was easily the loudest and most discernable amid the din. "…you were thinking?" The medic was saying. He didn't sound happy.

"I don't see why you're so adamantly against the idea Ratchet, it has merit—" The second voice sounded like Wheeljack. Spike's eyes widened in realization. Uh-oh…

Curiously, instead of heading the other direction, away from the brooding melee, Spike inched closer, standing just beyond the door and carefully peeking his head around to peer inside. Wheeljack stood across from Ratchet in the middle of the room. On a table beside them was Bumblebee, awake and alert and seemingly no worse for wear. He appeared to be playing the part of spectator.

"Merit?" Ratchet demanded. "Frag it Wheeljack, they're not medics! They don't need to be messing around with anyone's insides!"

"You're not even listening," Wheeljack countered.

"Of course I am," he said. "And I think it's too dangerous."

"Ratchet, maybe you should give them a chance," Bumblebee interjected. "I've been helping Spike a bit. He's got some real potential. And Sparkplug is just as good."

Before the medic could reply, Wheeljack crossed his arms and asked, "Have you seen the work they did on that flux dampener?"

Ratchet glared at the engineer. "What?"

"I gave them a flux dampener to restore. Don't worry; it's an old hydraulic one I got from the scrap heap. Have you seen it?"

"I don't need to for me to see that—"

"Oh I think you should take a look," Wheeljack insisted before heading over to the back door that led to his lab. Reappearing a few moments later, he placed the flux dampener Spike and his father had been working on atop the table next to Bumblebee. It was about the size of a car engine and was similar in shape; a conglomerate of pipes and wires, like a giant metal knot. Ratchet stared at it for a few moments before returning his stare to the engineer but said nothing.

"That's pretty impressive," Wheeljack insisted. "Half the Mechs on this ship can't do half as decent a job in twice the time and they haven't even finished restoring it yet!"

Ratchet said nothing, but just continued to stare at the dampener with an unreadable expression.

"And those control modules we installed? That was them too."

Ratchet shifted his optics to send a particularly rancid glare in Wheeljack's direction. "What?"

"Yep, that was them." Wheeljack stood firmly before his colleague. "And Spike was right about that leak in Bee's spark chamber."

"Yeah and look what that got him," Ratchet scowled.

"But he saved my life," Bumblebee reminded him.

"Technically speaking," said Ratchet. "I saved your life."

"True. But if Spike hadn't been there with me when I dropped, I could've off-lined right there and no one would've known."

"It doesn't take medical training to run for help when a 'bot just drops out of his chair like that." Ratchet abruptly seem to loose interest in the conversation and glanced around the room as if looking for something. "Speaking of which, where is that little scraplet anyway? I need to talk to him about sticking his tiny hands where they don't belong…"

Spike pulled back a little away from the door way in case the medic should glance that was and spot him.

"Hound drove him and Sparkplug to a clinic in town to have it taken care of," assured Wheeljack. "But don't get off subject. You're being too stubborn about this."

"And I'm done talking about this."

"Well we're not," Wheeljack replied, uncharacteristically firm.

Bumblebee fixed Ratchet with a firm stare. "I think you should give them a chance, doc."

"Have you even spoken to Prime?" Ratchet demanded. "What does he think about all of this?"

"Well no, we haven't told him, but…"

"Then there is nothing more to discuss," said the medic. It was more disappointing to hear Ratchet blatantly refuse their training than Spike would have thought. So engrossed in watching the conversation taking in place inside the Medbay, he was not aware that a being had snuck up behind him. The red Mech quietly squatted down behind the boy and waited several long moments before speaking, "So what are we looking at?" he whispered.

Spike jumped and cried out at the intrusion of the unanticipated voice. Startled, he whirled around and fell onto his backside. Looking up, he saw Sideswipe crouched there, blue eyes glowing with amusement.

"Oops! Sorry," the Mech said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Did I scare you?"

Spike opened his mouth to berate the Mech when he realized he had been exposed. He slowly glanced to his left to see the occupants of the Medbay staring at him.

"Spike," Bumblebee said in surprise. "When'd you get back?"

"Are you OK?" Wheeljack asked. "What did the human doctors say?"

Spike opened his mouth to reply but stopped when he caught sight of Ratchet. The Medic stood tall with his arms crossed, his head dipped with a sever scowl fixed onto his mouth, and optics that peered out from under his helm and straight at him. Spike stared back with his mouth agape, his mind struggling to come to a solution to his new found predicament or at least a very good excuse. For several moments no one moved or spoke. Finally, Spike broke the four-way staring contest and turned to Sideswipe and glared, "You're an ass…"

Without another word, the boy scrambled to his feet and ran down the hall as fast as his legs could move. He was half way down the corridor when he heard the sound of pounding feet behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and cursed.

"Spike!" Ratchet barked, chasing after him. "Get you're scrawny aft back here!"

Spike ran faster. He didn't slow to make the turn up ahead, but luckily for him the halls were wide enough for him to make the turn with ease. Ratchet however, with his considerable more bulk, was forced to slow. Spike stopped and turned into a door way, pressing his back against the wall. A few moments later a wall of white and red ran past his hidey hole, thoroughly unaware of Spike's presence. Using the moment of opportunity to his advantage, Spike headed back the other way. He did a quick mental survey of where he was and realized he was heading towards the communications room. Maybe he could ask Jazz to shield him from Ratchet's rage or at the very least hide him for a while.

Reaching the end of the hall, Spike stopped to catch his breath. Leaning against the corner with his shoulder, he hung his head, breathing hard. His hand throbbed under the gauze, but there was no pain. He was feeling a little light headed. "Ah man…"

"…you okay kid?"

Spike looked up in surprise to see Brawn standing there in front of him, a box in his arms and a dubious expression on his face. Next to him stood a Mech Spike had never seen. He was tall and slim. His armor was a spotless blue and white and his helm reminded Spike vaguely of King Tut's death mask. He peered down at the little human as if not sure what to make of him.

"Oh… yeah, sure," Spike said breathlessly. "Just… you know… running for my life."

Brawn squinted an optic in confusion while his companion looked on in silence.

"Ratchet," Spike added. The minibot donned a look of understanding and then smirked. The other said nothing.

"So you got on the Hatchet's bad side did ya, boy?"

"Not on purpose…" Spike replied, pushing off from the wall.

Brawn chuckled. "That's how it works, kid. Welcome to the club."

Somehow, Spike didn't feel so honored to be in such a club. "I don't get it thought. I helped Bumblebee; don't I get bonus points or something?"

Brawn's face abruptly turned grim. Even the other Mech seemed more alert. "What's wrong with 'Bee?" Brawn asked.

"Hm? Oh, his auxiliary line was leaking Energon into his Spark chamber," Spike replied, tapping his chest. "He passed out in his room. I tried to figure out what was wrong with him and ended up sticking my hand into a pool unprocessed Energon," he held his bandaged arm. "Second degree burns."

"Will he be alright?" asked the unknown Mech asked. His voice was rather mellow and soft, as if he was not one to waste words.

"Yeah, he was awake and talking when I stopped by the Bay," Spike sighed and wobbled a bit on his feet he felt a wave of dizziness pass over him. "Why can't Ratchet wait until I'm not loopy on painkillers to do this?"

"Why wait till you're at peak performance when it's so much easier to catch wounded prey?" Both Spike and Brawn were taken by surprise as the white form of Ratchet stepped up beside them. The other Mech's face was unreadable.

Spike looked around him in incredulous bewilderment.

Where the hell did he come from!? Spike wondered before bolting back down the hall. Ratchet revved his engines in irritation before taking pursuit once more, pushing past the pair of Autobots. The Medic was amazed at just how fast the little human was capable of running considering the boy's stride was a mere 1/8th of his own. Perhaps he was in need of a tune up.

The fork in the hall loomed up ahead and Spike wracked his brain to make a decision; left or right? The sound of large feet behind him was increasing at an alarming rate and every step seemed to be just behind him. Feeling as though he were playing a twisted game of chicken with the large orange metal wall, Spike turned sharply left just as another wave of dizziness hit him. His feet stumbled over themselves and he fell to the ground. His built up momentum sent his scrawny body sliding across the metal floor and into the wall with a crash. He lay there, marveling at the lack of pain, though his limps throbbed as blood pumped through him. He was defiantly going to be sore tomorrow…

The second such fall that day, Spike wondered if he should buy sneakers with better traction. Just as the thought crossed his mind, an all-encompassing shadow fell across him. He looked up to meet the two beady blue optics of one very unhappy medic.

Ratchet loomed over the fallen human for a moment before squatting down, displeased expression firmly set. Spike jumped at the sudden movement and tried to scurry away, but one red hand swept up behind him and grabbed a hold of his shirt. A wave of vertigo washed over him as he was unexpectedly lifted off the floor and up several feet into the air. Ratchet's other hand came around his middle to better support him and then without a word, began making his way back to the Medbay.

"Go easy on 'im Doc!" Brawn called, though sounding far too amused for Spike's liking. He found himself sinking into the medic's hand and making himself as small as possible. Somehow, Chopin's Funeral March seemed an appropriate theme for the moment and played in an endless loop within his head. They passed few others, but the Mechs they happen to cross Ratchet did not slow his step or even acknowledged them as he passed. Spike sent silently pleading glances to those few but remained silent. Most of them were those he barely new or not at all. It seemed all his allies were somewhere else.

All the horror stories Sideswipe had told him came flooding back in the worst way. He recalled the advice that both his father and Bumblebee had given him, but it did little to help. Upon entering the Medbay, Spike was disheartened to see both Wheeljack and Bumblebee were gone. Striding across the main Bay, Ratchet deposited Spike on top of a table none too ceremoniously before turning and around and exiting the room without explanation. Spike sat there for a few minutes, completely bewildered at what had just happened. Across the way from him was the flux dampener, sitting harmlessly atop the table. Somehow, it made Spike feel incriminated.

It wasn't too long afterwards that Ratchet returned, with his father in hand. Sparkplug Witwicky did not look too amused either.

"God damnit Ratchet, put me down!" As the medic obediently placed the older human next to his son, Sparkplug smoothed out his shirt and glared up at the Mech. "Now what hell was that all about? Didn't your manufacturer ever install a courtesy chip or manners software? Geez."

"No, my creator didn't think it was necessary." Ratchet spat back. Spike was unable to tell whether or not he was joking.

"Now what's this all about that you had to drag me and Spike down here?" Spike looked at his father with slight worry. He was not sure such a tone was best suited at that moment.

Ratchet didn't answer him, instead he turned around and snatched the flux dampener from the other table and slapped it down in front of the two humans. While Spike felt like curling in on himself in the face of such implicating evidence, Sparkplug stood tall in defiance.

"You two did this?" Ratchet asked flatly.

"Yes," Sparkplug replied without a moment's hesitation. "Is there something wrong with it?"

Spike closed his eyes and took a slow breath. Dad, you're so playing fire right now…

"I'll say! You idiots installed the primary release valve backwards. Had this piece of junk been installed into anything it would have build up pressure in the main shaft and eventually cause a catastrophic failure. What the frag have those two empty headed fraggers been teaching you?"

Spike opened his eyes. What?

Sparkplug seemed to have had a similar reaction. "Well… we weren't sure which way the pipe led out of… so we just hooked it on and thought we'd get back to it."

Ratchet bent down more to their level of eyes sight and held up a single red, reprimanding finger. "Never 'get back to' anything. If something that vital is damaged, concentrate on that! It's spectacularly easy to forget where you are or what you're doing, especially in the thick of repairs after a battle and you have 15 or so freshly wounded that need to be stabilized. And you don't even have instant memorization abilities! If you don't know, ask! Or let someone who does take over."

Spike and Sparkplug exchanged glances. They were certainly not expecting that…

"So… what does this mean?" Spike asked hesitantly.

"It means," Ratchet growled. "That if you two are going to be any help at all, you're gonna need proper training. And seeing as I'm the only one on this slagging planet that has medical programming and knows what the slag they're doing, I guess I'll have to. We'll start from the beginning."

"Wait," Sparkplug said. "You're gonna… teach us?"

Ratchet squared his shoulders. "That a problem?"

"No," replied the human. "Just… I thought you didn't want us to know this stuff. I thought it was too dangerous."

Ratchet glared. "It is! But if you insist on learning it regardless of my opinion and continue doing it behind my back, I might as well make sure you two know what the frag you're doing so you don't kill someone and give me more work to do. That okay with you?"

Sparkplug glanced at his son and the two smiled. "No," Sparkplug replied. "That's… great. When do we start?"

"Now," the medic replied. He fixed his optics on Spike. "Lesson one: Don't stick your hands in unprocessed Energon."