Author's Notes: a bit late in updating, but yeah, here's the next chapter. Like the last one, I'll be separating it into two halves because it's grown to such a length! Anyway, thanks to everyone who has reviewed, watched, faved and everything!


Truth and Responsibility


Spike listened blissfully to the music streaming from his ear-phones, running a clean rag over the top of the red metal. Thin cables ran from each phone down to a single cord that then fed into the jack port of a dark grey cassette player that was clipped onto his back pocket. The tape inside ran smoothly and the voice of John Lennon sang '…was younger, so much younger then toda~ay, I didn't need anybody's help in any way…'

What had been mere spare parts naught but two week ago was now a near complete mechanical arm, assembled from arbitrary parts from the storage shed. Naked wires jetted out from the shoulder, waited to be connected. The hand was the only major part left to assemble and so far Spike had been laboring diligently on it for almost two hours. Spike grabbed another bolt from the box and took out the wrench from his tool belt.

'…but now those days are gone and I'm not so self assured…'

Placing the bolt in the appropriate socket, he began to twist it in place.

'…now I find I've changed my mind, I've opened up the doors

Help me if you can I'm feeling down

And I do appreciate you being 'round

Help me get my feet back on the ground

Won't you please, please help me?'

Once securely fastened as much as he could, his father would be by later in the day to use an electric wrench to tighten the bolts securely, Spike reached for another bolt from the box just to his left, but found there were none. Surprised at not immediately being able to grab one from the box, which he assumed would have held plenty; he looked over and pulled off his headphones to peer inside. Sure enough, the bolts were all used up.

He sighed. Rule # 3 of Ratchet's Safety and Repair Regulations; always make double sure you are properly equipped to complete the initial repairs. Counting his lucky stars that Ratchet was not currently around to note Spike's blunder, the boy got to his feet and began searching the table top for extra bolts. He replaced his headphones over his ears and allowed Paul McCartney to dreamily lull away his melancholy ballad, somehow seeming very appropriate, '…Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. Now it looks as thought they're here to stay. Oh I believe in yesterday…'

A quick search revealed not a sing bolt was to be had in his immediate area and Spike glared at his surrounds in frustration. Just as he was really getting into his work rhythm, something had to come along and mess it all up. He suddenly found himself sympathizing with Ratchet. Spike blinked and shook the thought away, nearly dislodging his ear-phones. Righting them, he picked up the empty box and walked to the edge of the table.

The most prominent obstacle for both Spike and his father were their size compared to that of their surroundings. Wheeljack, being the dynamic mad scientist he was, obligingly constructed a series of ladders which he placed in rooms where the two humans most often frequented and thus allow the pair a bit more independence while also sparing them the continual embarrassment of having to ask for a 'hands up' so they might be somewhat eye level with everyone else. Using one such ladder, Spike climbed down the work table and onto the Medbay floor.

Wheeljack's lab was adjacent to the 'bay, but the door leading to the engineer's territory was locked from that entry point. Both Spike and Sparkplug were forbidden from entering the lab unless in the company of a responsible Autobot. Spike left the Medbay and took the long way around to the front of the lab, hoping Wheeljack would be there and hopefully be able to supply the young man with the desired bolts that he sought…while keeping quite about it all. Upon reaching the lab, Spike found the room to be void of the resident engineer and his spirits drooped. Disheartened, but no less determined, Spike looked down each hall for any passerbyers before making his way into the room. He knew exactly where Wheeljack kept the spare bits and pieces, which was quite a miracle considering the perpetual state of 'natural disaster' the lab was in at any given point in time. Or perhaps a more apt label would be 'unnatural'. It wouldn't take long to gather a few of the desired bolts and be on his way before anyone was any wiser. No harm no foul, right?

Wheeljack's lab was only a quarter the size of the Medbay, but held five times as many parts and machines and doodads and whatever cluttered up the walls and every available space. A large monitor dominated the far right wall with another table that also acted as an impromptu examination berth sitting squarely in the middle. A long counter followed the length of three of the walls, covered in Wheeljack's experiments in varying stages of completion. He found the ladder easy enough, leaning against the far right side, clear across the room from where he wanted to be. Scaling the ladder, Spike hopped onto the table, careful of the various bits of mechanical paraphernalia littering it. Navigating his way across the table, Spike rounded the room until he encountered what looked like a desk drawer that had been removed from said desk. Inside were hundreds of comparatively small bolts and whatnot. Spike filled his box as much as the weak cardboard could hold and how much he could carry before making his way back across the table. Scaling around the chunks of mechanic doo-dads while The Beatles has just ended their melodic assertion that all one needs is love, Spike didn't notice when his foot tripped the switch of some nameless device as he scrambled over it, more engaged in not spilling his treasure then tripping unknown switches. Nor did he notice the small screen upon which that flashed a series of red numbers that read out: 00:00:60. And then the numbers began a count down, all the while Spike was blissfully unaware.

He scaled back down the ladder, careful of his cargo and exited the room. As he walked down the hallway back to the Medbay, a new song began playing and he hummed and sang along with the familiar music as it whispered through his headphones.

"…you say goodbye and I say…"

KABOOM!

Paul McCartney was instantly drowned out by the colossal explosion that sent a wave of heated air down the hall ways, knocking Spike clear over his feet. The box flew from his arms, sending bolts scattering across the floor. For several moments, the world was still and silent save for the sound of smoldering substances; charred metal and other indistinguishable materials. A profound sense of foreshadowed doom washed over the boy and silence, deathly nauseating silence permeated his thoughts. Slowly and with extreme reluctance, Spike pushed himself onto his knees and glanced over his shoulder. The door to Wheeljack's lab had been blown clear off and its charred and blackened remnants was plastered to the opposite wall before teetering slowly back, accompanied by a long high pitched creaking noise, before finally toppling over completely with a resounding crash. Smoldering pieces of…something littered the hall while tiny flakes of ash rained down like confetti, and an acrid smoke hung in the air.

Spike stared at the sight in dumbstruck horror, his mouth agape and eyes wide.

"Ah…shit," he muttered, turning over and sitting on his rear as he surveyed the damage. 'I am so slagged…'

"What the frag was that?!" Someone yelled somewhere further down the halls and then running foot steps could be heard, heading towards Wheeljack's lab. Spike's heart tried to escape out his throat and a wave of dread, worse then the initial wave, passed over him. Without another word, he ran back to the safety of the Medbay, leaving behind his scattered bolts.

It wasn't long before a commotion began brewing outside the doors and, pretending to be just another curious onlooker, Spike peeked out side the Medbay. Down the hall he could see Inferno spraying white foam into the room to douse any possible embers. Behind him stood Prowl, Ironhide, and Red Alert, all of whom were staring with displeasure at an obviously dumbfounded Wheeljack. The engineer was staring at the charred mess of his lab, rubbing the back of his head, clearly puzzled. Spike felt his gut tighten with guilt. However, not enough that he felt compelled to confess to the deed.

He still had some self preservation instincts.

It was hard to tell what they were saying with any clarity, but it was obvious they were blaming Wheeljack for the explosion and the resulting mess. A minute or so later, Ratchet arrived. Spike could hear Ratchet clearly.

"Was anyone hurt?" The medic demanded instantly, for a moment seeming like the concerned medic he supposedly was. There was some shakings of heads and replies of negative. Wasting no time, Ratchet turned to face Wheeljack and then promptly smacked him upside the head with a melodic twang! "You maniac! What'd you do this time?"

"Nothing!" Wheeljack protested, proclaiming his innocence. "I wasn't even here when it happened!"

"Then what happened?"

"I…I don't know! It's the darndest thing Ratch…I just-"

"'Darndest thing' my aft! You set explosives off by simply walking by them!"

After a few minutes and a few more verbal bashings, the crowd finally dispersed and everyone returned to their previous activities. Prowl escorted Wheeljack to his office, likely for questioning, while Red Alert continued surveying the damage. Spike watched as Ratchet walked up the hall towards the Medbay, looking very much like a warring thunderhead ready to unleash his fury.

"Get inside," the medic barked at him as he entered. "Who knows what slag is in this smoke. Primus knows I ain't gonna be hauling your scrawny little chassis down to the hospital if you drop dead from smoke inhalation. I have too much work to do without you adding to it."

Spike obliged wordlessly, stepping back inside and Ratchet closed the doors after him.

"What happened?" Spike asked, playing innocent bystander.

"Who knows. Wheeljack has so much junk in there it's impossible to know what set whatever off," grouched the Mech, approaching the table where Spike's project lay. It was a testament to just how common an occurrence Wheeljack's lab blowing really was that Ratchet pushed away his lingering ire and put on his teaching cap. "Let's see what you've got here…"

Spike climbed the ladder up to the top of the table and was silent as his work was scrutinized by the medic.

"You haven't finished the hand," the medic stated disapprovingly, picking the arm up and inspecting it. "I'd have thought you'd have it nearly done by now." Ratchet pinned him with an accusatory optic. "You been slacking?"

"No," Spike said, but his mind still lingering on Wheeljack's lab. "Will Wheeljack be in trouble?"

"Yes." Ratchet slowly bent the arm at the elbow and then frowned.

"…what'll happen to him?" Spike continued, barely paying attention to Ratchet's ministrations.

"Punishment detail, most likely. Prowl is the type of Mech who likes to reward bad behavior and broken protocol with manual labor and night shift monitor duty."

"...but 'Jack didn't do anything!"

Ratchet looked down at him suspiciously. "He's been warned often enough about keeping unstable compounds and equipment in his lab. He's a repeat offender. Why are you so concerned? He's a big bot, he can handle his own screw ups. He doesn't need an immature organic to defend him."

Spike maintained his composure, albeit barely, and shrugged. "I just…think it's unfair to punish him if he really didn't DO anything wrong."

"Yes, well here's something else that's not fair," Ratchet replied, pointing to the elbow of the mechanical arm. "You need to replace this ball bearing."

Spike forgot about Wheeljack in an instant and gaped at the medic with indignation. "What? Why?"

Ratchet held the arm out and bent it at the elbow quickly as if intending to break it in half. Instead of snapping like a twig, it screeched with the sound of resisting metal on scrapping forcefully against metal. Spike was forced to cover his ears for the sake of preserving his hearing.

"It's a bad bearing," Ratchet replied lowly and slapped the arm down onto the table before retreating to his office. The arm sat there pitifully and unwanted. "I told you not to use the parts in the blue box. I put them in there for a reason."

Spike stared at the arm as if it had greatly offended him. With a curse, he grabbed his tools and went to work. Ratchet's exercise in knowledge and authority had effectively jolted the bearing from its potion and all the bolts that had been holding various things in place were bent or stripped completely. After he removed them all, he reached behind him for his box of bolts, but when he found there were none and he recalled that day's events, he cursed even louder and threw the wrench in his hand across the room.

"Frag it!"


Feeling more exhausted in both mind and body than he had in a long while, Spike hefted his backpack over his shoulder and began his daily trek outside where his Hound was waiting to take both him and his father home for the night. It took another hour, but Spike had replaced the ball bearing with a new one and Ratchet had demonstrated the proper way to test one to tell if it's good or not. Looking forward to a hot shower and a long nights sleep, Spike walked along in silence, already half dozing and blind to most everything. So he did not notice Sideswipe leaning against the wall even as he passed him.

The red Mech waited until Spike had walked ahead of him a bit before speaking. "So, you blew up 'Jack's lab did ya?"

Spike froze, feeling very much awake. He turned slightly, looking over his shoulder and trying not to let his shock show through his wary face. "W-what?"

Sideswipe grinned and pushed off from the wall. "Oh, nothing," he said nonchalantly and strolled up to the boy, circling him like a shark that smelt blood in the water. "I just happened to be walking by the labs a little while ago and saw you stroll on out of 'Jack's lab right before it went all super nova like that. Lucky thing too, that blast could've barbequed you nice and black."

Spike swallowed. "I didn't do anything. I was in the Medbay…"

"What did you do to make it that loud?" Sideswipe asked, pretending not to hear. "It was really bright too! My optics had to recalibrate!"

"I did nothing!" Spike insisted, getting annoyed.

"Must've been something real special. I didn't know you were a pyrotechnic enthusiast." Sideswipe had the audacity to look thoughtful. "I wonder what ol' Wheeljack did to make you wanna blow him up..?"

"Nothing!" Spike snapped. "It was an accident! I didn't want to blow anyone…"

Spike paled when he realized what he had let slip and clamped his hands over his mouth. Sideswipe's grin widened and he leaned his shoulders against the wall once more, looking down at Spike like a cat that had cornered a doomed mouse.

"Really? How unfortunate that Jack's been given midnight monitor duty all this week when he didn't even do anything. You must feel horribly guilty."

Spike looked up at Sideswipe with venom in his eyes. "What do you want from me?"

Sideswipe suddenly looked very cheerful. "Not much," he replied jovially. "I'm here to make you a deal."

"Deal?" Spike asked dubiously.

"Right, a deal. You humans do that sort of thing right? Well, here's the jist: I'll take the fall for blowing 'Jack's lab and in return, you'll owe me a favor or two."

Spike blinked. "...that's all?"

That didn't sound so bad…

Sideswipe nodded. "That's all."

"…but…why?"

"What?" Sideswipe replied, drawing back with indignation. "Autobots are renowned for their compassion and desire to help all living beings! Can't I simply offer my help to ease the guilt you must be feeling? It's a heavy burden to bear for one so small and fragile and....squishy and stuff."

"…maybe, but honestly you don't give the impression of compassionate aide giver," Spike replied, smelling a rat. "More like a used car salesman trying to make his quota."

"You cut me deep, Spike," Sideswipe replied, sounding hurt. "Real deep. I didn't want to do this, but it seems you give me little choice."

Sideswipe reached down and opened a panel on his forearm and pulled out a disk. Compared to Spike it was the size of a large serving tray, but pinched between two black metal fingers it appeared quite small. Somehow, Spike felt a twinge of disquiet.

"You know what this is?" Sideswipe asked wistfully.

Spike shook his head. Sideswipe's grin took on a devious note. "It's the security feed data disk for the lab corridor. It shows everything; you walking in, you walking out, and then…Boom! Some incriminating stuff here laddy."

The human felt the world started to close in around him slowly like the coils of a giant boa constrictor. "H-how'd you get that?"

"I have my ways," he replied and put the disk back into his forearm panel. "Here's the deal Tiny Tim; I'll get to Prowl and spill my guts, as it were, to confess my guilt and clear good ol' Wheeljack's name. When I get out of the brig in, oh about two days, you be ready to do exactly what I say. Got that?"

"And if I don't?"

"If you don't this little disk is going find its way onto Red Alert's desk. Or Ratchet's. I haven't decided which is worse. Same goes if you spill the beans to anyone; especially Prime. Don't go thinking you can bypass the suits into higher authority."

Feeling a little ill, Spike sighed. "Do I have a choice?"

"Not at all," Sideswipe replied sweetly. "Oh don't look so glum, little buddy! I ain't gonna make you do anything you'll regret!"

And like a naïve child, Spike believed him.

The next day, Spike heard about Sideswipe being found out to be the real Mech responsible for igniting Wheeljack's lab like a large roman candle. Apparently, he had been bragging about it to Sunstreaker and Prowl just happened to overhear. The red Mech's explanation was that it has been a prank gone wrong, which everyone seemed to readily accept. He got a week in the brig. It would have been only three days, but when Red alert found out Sideswipe had taken part of the security feed to mask his crime, he lobbied for his punishment to be extended. Prowl did not hesitate to comply with the security director.

Despite his primary apprehensions, Spike actually felt better. Wheeljack was forgiven, although he was given strict warnings on what exactly was to be kept in his lab and what was not, and released from midnight monitoring duty. The task of repairing his lab kept Wheeljack and the rest of the engineering and construction team busy while the apparent perpetrator stewed in the brig. Spike and his father continued with their assignments and life was peaceful for the rest of the week.

Sideswipe was released from the brig on Friday night, just as Spike and his father were setting off to return home. Before he could leave, Sideswipe called Spike over.

"Yeah?" He asked, fearing the worst.

"Bring a bag of flour tomorrow," Sideswipe told him.

Spike looked on in confusion, his anxiety easing into skepticism. "What?"

"Flour. That white powdery stuff you guys use."

"No! I know what you mean I just-! …w-why?"

"Just do it," Sideswipe said before walking off.

The next day, they arrived at the Ark bright and early. Spike had remembered to bring the flour and hid it in his backpack so as not to arouse suspicion. It would be hard and quite awkward to explain just why he was bringing a sack of all purpose white flour to a base of giant alien robots. At first he had no idea where to find Sideswipe and he even humored the idea of just letting it go and head up to the Medbay. But the moment he found himself alone in the halls, the red Mech materialized with a wide grin on his face-plate.

"Did you bring it?" He asked eagerly, optics practically sparkling. Without a word, Spike produced the requested flour sac and Sideswipe plucked it up. He held it to his face, examining it as if it were a gem he had just spontaneously stumbled upon.

"Can I go?" Spike asked impatiently. He was starting to suspect Sideswipe was not going to be baking with that flour…

"Oh no," Sideswipe replied jovially. "I still need you for something."

Spike groaned.

"Uh-uh, none of that," Sideswipe said, waving a finger at Spike. "Remember, I know you're little secret…"

With extreme reluctance, Spike complied. It was barely a few minutes later when he thoroughly regretted ever going into Wheeljack's lab in the first place. There was no way in God's Green Earth, that a few spare bolts were worth any of this.

Sideswipe had led the boy down the halls to a seemingly arbitrary spot. Without speaking, Sideswipe pulled a strange little device that resembled a spider somewhat, with thin metal 'legs' sprouting out from a round disk, and attached it to the flour sac with amazing dexterity. Turning to the wall, he addressed the target; a ventilation grate. The Mech carefully removed the grate opening and then without warning, he plucked Spike from the ground. The boy cried out, startled. Sideswipe sat him inside the vent before handing him the flour sac.

Now Spike had a very bad feeling about this…

"Alright," Sideswipe said. "Just crawl down a few yards and take the third left. When you reach the end, there will be another grate. Just set that on top and crawl back out this way. Got that?"

"I don't think I should be doing this…"

"That's fine. I wouldn't want to force you to do anything you didn't want to do. I guess I'll just have to go to Prowl and…"

"Okay! Okay, jeez. Fine, I'll do it." Hefting the sac of flour, Spike headed into the Ark's ventilation system. The shaft itself was surprisingly large but not quite tall enough for him to stand comfortably in. So crouching slightly, Spike made his way down and then took the third left as instructed. A short ways ahead was the aforementioned grate. As he approached and looked through the thin metal slates, Spike realized he was looking down into someone's room. Autobots, Cybertronians in general he assumed, were not materialistic beings so from what little was in the room it was impossible to wager a guess as to whom it belonged. But it was now that Spike was forming a vague idea of exactly why Sideswipe had wanted the flour and why he quickly hurried out once the flour was planted. As soon as Spike reappeared from the ventilation, Sideswipe grabbed a hold of him, none too gently either, and quickly replaced the grate before running for the nearest vantage point, Spike tucked neatly in the crook of his arm. From there…they waited.

It wasn't long before the apparent owner of the booby-trapped room appeared. Gears was a hard Mech to miss despite his small size. A blaring paint job of red and blue made sure of that and what was more, his sour demeanor was nearly as palpable as his constant mutterings were audible. The Autobot entered his room, blissfully ignorant. Well…not 'blissfully', but assuredly ignorant.

Spike began to say something but was quickly shushed and then finally placed back on the ground. Despite being technically free, Spike remained to see the ending to this odd venture. A few moments later there was a muted pop from within the room and Sideswipe snickered. Not a second after that, Gears ran out of the room, billows of white fog whooshing out with him, coated from cranium to tipy tip toe…in all purpose white flour. White as any ghost, Gear's optics sizzled with rage as he scanned the area for the culprit. It was at that very moment that Spike realized that Sideswipe had vanished and left him behind. And it was right after that thought that Spike realized Gear was coming his way. With haste, Spike skedaddled for the nearest place to cower behind. As he was hiding from the irate Minibot, Spike pondered to himself the exact severity of the situation he had somehow unwittingly gotten himself into.

He received an answer two days later.