The Great Fluffer-nutter Adventure

"What…is that?" Ratchet asked, wearily eying the concoction Sam had left on the human-sized counter within the hanger.

Sam looked up, chewing on what appeared to be a second copy of whatever Ratchet was inquiring about.

"It's a sandwich, Ratchet."

The medic gave the youth a withering glare.

"I know that, Sam. But what I'm trying to figure out is, what exactly is -in- it?" he asked, showing no small amount of disgust at the sandwich's filling.

"Oh! Oh man, doc. This is the stuff that dreams are made of. Best thing to put on bread…ever. You wanna try some?" Sam replied, holding out the partially eaten combination. Part of the 'mystery filling' dripped out the side and on to the boy's jeans. Sam didn't seem to mind, just wiped it up with a finger and ate it.

Ratchet grimaced. Whatever that substance was looked about as appealing to him as a clogged manifold. Actually, it greatly resembled what was -expelled- from a clogged manifold.

"Um, no. Thanks." the medic replied, turning to finish cleaning his own workstation. Occasionally, however, his optics glanced over to the items still sitting innocently on the smaller counter. So far, the item was now on Ratchet's "Don't want to know" list even without Sam actually answering the question, but the ever curious medic couldn't seem to take his mind off of it.

With a defeated sigh, he tossed the cloth he was using down to the table's surface.

"What -is- it?"

Again Sam looked up, this time the substance was stubbornly sticking to his lower lip as he hastily worked the mouth full he was currently chewing. He wiped his mouth with his hand and rubbed the same hand on his pants leg.

"It's a combo spread. Miles got me started on this stuff years ago. He puts it on everything. I mean, I draw the line at pork chops but he-"

"Sam!" Ratchet interrupted, "Just tell me what it is."

"Oh, it's Fluffer-nutter." Sam replied, stating it as if it was obvious.

Ratchet eyed the teenager for several long moments.

"Fluffer-what?" he asked, perplexed.

"Fluffer-nutter. It's a combo between peanut butter and marshmallow cream. It's really good, Ratch." Sam explained, waving the sandwich through the air as he spoke. Some of the 'fluffer-nutter' escaped the confines of the bread and splattered on the floor, eliciting a quiet 'whoops' from the boy.

"You sure you don't wanna try it?"

"Positive." Ratchet replied, trying not to inch himself away from the sticky substance. Primus only knew what that material was capable of doing to Cybertronian systems by touch alone, much less any form of ingestion. "We don't eat organic foodstuffs, Sam."

"I know, I know. Just thought I'd offer." he replied, waving the medic off and taking another bite from his sandwich.

Ratchet suppressed another shudder, inane curiosity about the 'mystery filling' currently sated.

The sound of a familiar engines entering the hanger caused the boy to spin, an excited grin plastered on his face.

"Heya, Bee!" he exclaimed, again waving his sandwich.

The Camaro stopped a few feet from where his charge was seated, followed closely by the white Solstice.

"Sam? What is that?" Bumblebee asked, curiously.

"Trust me, you don't want to look at it too closely…" mumbled Ratchet.

The yellow mech either didn't hear him or wasn't paying any attention, more likely to be the latter, and peered at the proffered sandwich that Sam had displayed at the question.

"Fluffernafber." he said, mouth full of the sticky substance.

"Flipper-what?" the Camaro asked. Ratchet, meanwhile, felt he was listening to the past five minutes on repeat. Something he'd really rather not hear twice.

Sam swallowed his food and tried again.

"Fluffer-nutter."

"Eh?" Jazz asked, peeking over his partner's shoulder, "Man, that looks like bad axle grease rolled in dirt. How do you -eat- that?"

"Hey now, no need to insult the food of the gods. Try some."

"No way. That stuff looks like it'll clog anything it touches. Keep it away from me."

Sam gave a wicked grin and stood, thrusting the sandwich out before him as he stalked towards Jazz. The Solstice inched away, not wanting any part of that horrendous looking concoction to get anywhere near his paint.

"C'mon, Jazz! I thought you'd try anything once?"

"Yes, but not at the expense of my fuel tanks or their contents. I'm actually rather shocked that your tanks can hold that mess." Jazz replied, taking another step back. "I'm not sure I'd even use that stuff for target practice, much less sustenance."

Sam, who apparently had enough of this 'food of the gods' insulted in such a manner, immediately took a defensive stance.

"I'll show you 'target practice'…" he said, playfully, and quickly chucked the partial sandwich at the white mech.

The boy had been close enough that the sandwich would have struck the mech at the chest. However, Jazz had ducked and twisted out of the projectile's way. It landed soon after with a resoundingly sticky "smack". Right against Ironhide's fender.

The boy froze, eyes wide. Jazz and Bumblebee had the decency to cringe before laughing. Ratchet simply put his hand over his face and shook his head. No good could come of this. The sandwich then slid, quite slowly, down the black paint, leaving a glaring and chunky path along the way, until it finally fell free and landed on the floor. The truck sat stock still. He'd simply been watching the rather amusing exchange, having arrived with the two youngest mechs, and had unwittingly become the target of what humans might call 'friendly fire'.

"For the love of all things holy, Ironhide, do -not- transform. I'm not cleaning that gunk out of your gears…" Ratchet said, voice muffled by his hand.

Sam gulped as the engine set off a low toned growl. The sound slowly gained volume and the truck inched towards the boy.

"And don't kill the kid." he added as an afterthought.

"Eh heh….hoo boy. I'm…gunna go get a towel now." Sam said, quickly fleeing the room.

Jazz and Bumblebee received a pointed "glare" from the truck, prompting the two chuckling mechs to leave as well.

"Ratchet?" Ironhide asked, voice surprisingly calm.

"Yes?" the medic replied.

"What is this stuff?"

Ratchet groaned.

"You don't want to know, 'Hide."