Hello, children. Today's topic of discussion is my cousins. First of all, I am far too well adjusted to thinking of my mother's side of the family as weird. There's a reason for this, most of which being far too complicated to go into. However, I have to give props to my dad's family, especially the middle sister. She's the mother of the boy I wrote of previously, mister I-am-in-a-fraternity-and-that-makes-me-special. She's also the mother of my oldest cousin, who got married a few years ago in the coolest wedding I've ever seen (think Hawaiian shirts, Star Wars theme music, a Goth minister, the best man dancing with a seven-foot-tall inflatable cactus, and the whole thing nearly being called off because my cousin and his fiancée, who lived in an apartment with a no-pets rule, couldn't find their cat and thought the landlord tossed it onto the street).

But the cousin I connected with best is Becca, the twelve-year-old daughter of my dad's youngest sister. She was the only one who cottoned on to my obsession to Transformers, not that I was exactly subtle about it. At twelve, she considers herself all grown up, and being the closest thing to a fellow twelve-year-old girl in the house, she and I clicked. I even let her fool around with my laptop, an experience in which I learned the downside of this site's three-day log-on feature. She came up to me one evening and informed me that she'd read my TF stories and thought they were both really good. I freaked out and combed through both, searching for even the smallest non-child-friendly thing, and panicking over how I would explain anything she might say to her parents. Thankfully, either everything was tame enough or she knew better than to say anything.

I'm sorry this chapter took so long, but family drains my creativity away to nothing. And now, since I got so many reviews, I will respond to them here.

Most people: Ha! I'll repeat that: ha! There is no way I'm writing that football game. You want a good Dinobots-versus-suckers football fic, go read Blue 42 by the Starhorse. It's one of the best fics I've ever read.

Chimera Dragonfang: Run off and giggle as much as you want, darling. I'm full of odd little one-liners like that.

Jason M. Lee: Maybe he did switch. It is Jazz, after all. –totally pretending she meant to write that- There's always something in every chapter, isn't there? Bonus points to you for catching all of them.

And StarSwoop? This one is thanks to you.

disclaimer: me no own.

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"Ow."

Simmons tried to open his eyes but stopped when the pain in his head tripled. He groaned and brought his hand up slowly, reaching around to touch his head, then let it flop to the ground when his gentle probing only produced more pain. Just lying there sounded good, he decided. The concrete was nice and cool and no longer trying to kill him.

"Oh wait, I think he's coming around." The voice sounded distant, as though it were coming through a long tunnel. "Yeah, he's awake. I'll call you back." Pause. "No, nothing to worry about. We have Ratchet here, remember? He'll be fine." Pause again. The voice was getting clearer. He could now identify the speaker, one Mikaela Banes. "I don't know, Captain, he's still just laying there. I'll call you back when I know how he's doing. Yeah, we will. Bye."

He heard the unmistakable sound of a cell phone clicking shut, then something loomed over him. Two somethings, really, and one of them was a hell of a lot better at looming than the other. He could see them best if he squinted.

"Go away," he ordered, annoyed when his command came out as a harsh whisper.

"No," the second shape answered. "You have suffered cranial damage from the impact. It could be serious. According to your American Medical Association, anytime a human suffers from such trauma, they should be monitored closely for several hours. Otherwise there could be brain swelling or blood leaking. Occasionally such issues take several hours to arise."

"First of all, thanks for the lovely thoughts," Simmons ground out, grateful for his voice's gaining strength. "Second, they're not my AMA. And third, you scanned me again, didn't you? What did we say about scanning people without their permission?"

"Only if they're injured or potentially non-friendly. You were unconscious for three minutes, which makes you injured." Ratchet took a step away and Simmons bit back a whimper as the resulting tremors jarred his head. He felt like someone was taking ice picks to his temples.

"And you're certainly not friendly," Mikaela added under her breath.

"Hey, I talked Grimlock out of ripping off Prowl's head when he said no to the football match, didn't I?" It was hurting less now; he could even sit up a little. Once more he felt the back of his head, finding a nice lump that would no doubt swell to softball-size. At least there was no blood.

"By telling him that if he did that, it'd be putting Prowl out of his misery too soon," the girl scoffed. "And telling him to annoy Prowl instead, because it'd last longer and he'd suffer more."

"Well, sweetheart, I'd love to see you talk down a giant metal rex intent on murder. Until you do, you've got no right to complain about my methods."

"He still calls me 'little hyoo-man'," Mikaela grumbled. Simmons smiled to himself. One thing was for sure: Grimlock was certainly a good deal more complex than the humans had originally thought. So were his teammates, although their individual personalities tended to be overwhelmed whenever Grimlock was around. One-on-one, however, all five Dinobots were interesting. Simmons was especially fascinated by one of their number whose interruption had resulted with his head impacting the floor.

"Where is Swoop?" he asked carefully.

"You're not allowed to yell at him," the teen answered immediately. The older man laughed, stopping quickly because it hurt.

"Oh yeah," he muttered. "I'm gonna yell at the thirty-foot pteranadon, and he's gonna sit there and take it. Just like scolding a dog. C'mon, kid, he's not Bluestreak."

Mikaela's eyes went wide, then narrowed dangerously. "You'd better be nice to Bluestreak," she warned.

"I am nice to Bluestreak," Simmons shot back. "I'm very nice to Bluestreak. In fact, he's the only one here I like, so I have to be nice to him."

"Oh, that's charming," the girl spat. She stood up and stormed away, muttering about pig-headed men as she went, sounding as if being male was the worst insult she could imagine. Ratchet carefully shifted his weight, moving one of his feet out her path, and watched her leave. Had there been a human-sized door, she would have slammed it.

After a moment, the medic slid the human a dark look. "And you want to talk to Swoop? He may be the most laid-back of the Dinobots, but he still has a temper, and in your current mood you're begging to get stepped on."

"Then put me on that," Simmons answered, jabbing a finger towards what the medic called a 'repair berth' but was actually best described as 'big honkin' table'. For a moment Ratchet looked as though he dearly wanted to say no. Then he seemed to realize that putting an injured human on a fifteen-foot-tall table ensured said human would remain there. Clearly recognizing this as an easy way to keep track of his belligerent patient, the medic grunted and carefully scooped Simmons up, depositing him in the center of the table.

Before Simmons could truly get over the feeling of tininess- being around these 'bots was instilling a rampaging inferiority complex- a familiar head peeked around the corner. The one visible optic shuttered, a nervous blink, before the rest of the 'bot came around the corner and Swoop stood framed in the doorway.

All of the Dinobots had an animalistic feel to them in either form. Unlike the other 'bots, who were almost interchangeable with their vehicle forms, it was easy to tell exactly what the Dinobots transformed into. This went doubly so for Swoop, whose majestic wings were simply too big to fold back and tuck away. He was the smallest of his team, which meant he was about Ironhide's height, and he had the slender, trim frame one would expect from a flier. Right now he had a ducked head and hunched shoulders, looking both remarkably human and guilty.

"Me Swoop sorry you Simmons hit your head," he muttered, sounding like a child who knew he'd done something wrong but wasn't quite sure what. And Simmons, who had never been one to get all philosophical and try to rationalize his every emotion, immediately knew that he could no sooner yell at Swoop for nearly killing him than he could scold Bluestreak for talking too much. Not that Swoop had the same eager-puppy quality as Bluestreak; just that something about him disarmed Simmons, sucking the anger right out of the human.

Still, he could at least pretend. "Oh really? Well, here's a hint: I wouldn't have hit my head if someone hadn't knocked over the ladder I was standing on."

Swoop straightened up, a grim sort of determination slipping into his stance. He was a Dinobot, Simmons thought wryly. He may be the mild-mannered one, but he still had the pride and the sharp-edged temper that came inherent with the title. He had apologized, probably as ordered; he wasn't going to take much flak from the little creature. The flier glanced over to the ladder, which was lying on its side near the door. Previously Simmons had been using it to help Ratchet with some wiring on the door, until Swoop had come flying in like some sort prehistoric-themed guided missile. The rest was pretty much self-explanatory.

"Me Swoop didn't see lad-der," the 'bot replied, breaking up 'ladder' like the Dinobots tended to do when encountering a new multi-syllable word. He ducked his head again, weaving it slightly from side to side in a manner reminiscent of a curious bird. Idly Simmons wondered how much of an influence their animal forms had over their basic behavior. That would explain a great deal, he thought; Grimlock's aggressive arrogance was due to his predatory form, Swoop's innate caution his acknowledgment of the fragility that all flying creatures possessed. The other three Simmons didn't know well enough to hazard a guess.

"Fine," he said, unable to come up with anything else to say in return. "Just… watch were you're going from now on, all right? You're too big to go galloping around without at least some regard for us humans. We squish too easy."

"Me Swoop sorry," the 'bot repeated, and this time he sounded like he meant it.

"Yeah," Simmons muttered in agreement. He once more reached around to touch the lump, grimacing at the knot raising on his skull. His skin suddenly started crawling, as though an army of ants were marching up his spine, and he spun around to face Ratchet. "Stop that! No scanning!"

"You are in my medbay," the medic retorted sharply. "You are injured. I will do what I want, and you will not yell at me."

There was a this-is-a-tyranny-not-a-democracy tone to Ratchet's words that made Simmons swallow his next protest. It made sense, he supposed- with constant visits from temperamental and/or suicidal mechs like the twins, Ratchet needed to be able to exert control over other mechs with his words alone. Time and time again Simmons had seen how the threat of facing Ratchet scared Sideswipe far more than facing Prowl after one of his stunts somehow went wrong. For once, he understood why.

"So what are you doing here anyways?" he asked Swoop, who peered blankly at the human for a long moment. Then realization dawned and the Dinobot brightened noticeably.

"Me Swoop Di-no-bot medic," he answered. "Me Swoop learning from him Ratchet." One clawed finger indicated the medic in question, who harrumphed as if irritated by the idea.

"The Dinobots have a medic?" Simmons glanced between both 'bots, settling on Ratchet.

"Not officially," Ratchet answered distractedly, fiddling with something on the computer against the far wall. "Unofficially, given how self-destructive these oversized idiots can be, I wouldn't let them out of my sight until at least one of them knew how to keep the others from falling apart where they stood."

Given how possessive Ratchet was in regard to his patients, Swoop had to be pretty good as even an unofficial medic. Simmons studied both 'bots in turn and decided he'd rather not be in the room when lessons commenced. The last thing he was in the mood for was Human Health and Anatomy 101, especially since Ratchet had a way of making even the least offensive of human body systems seem incredibly disgusting. After listening to him for ten minutes Simmons always had this insane desire to climb out of his own skin.

Even more disturbing were the lessons in Cybertronian anatomy Ratchet had made them sit through. The way he could take their bodies apart, could reach in and take a piece out and put it back in as though he were working on a jigsaw puzzle instead of a living being- something about it was just wrong. It felt unnatural somehow. Mikaela had been the only one not deeply bothered by the display. Just like working on a car, she'd said, and Sam had given the other humans a 'help me, my girlfriend is creeping me out' look.

"That's my cue," Simmons said to no one in particular. He carefully walked to the edge of the table and looked down. It was a very long drop. He glanced up at Swoop, and the Dinobot was halfway across the room and reaching out for the human when Ratchet intervened.

"You stay here," the medic snapped, and Swoop immediately snatched his hand back. "For at least six hours, until I'm sure there's no potential damage. If you whine again I'll make it twelve hours."

Feeling like a kid in daycare, Simmons scowled and backed away from the edge of the table. He sneered insolently at Ratchet- safe enough, the mech had his back turned- and sat down. He was in the middle of a good sulk when something heavy slammed onto the table only inches away. Simmons lunged to his feet with a vivid curse and turned to snap at whoever or whatever that was, then stopped abruptly.

"Is that Ironhide's arm?" he asked, feeling vaguely ill. This was exactly what he'd meant about the unnatural thing.

"Yes," Ratchet, unable to decide on whether he was amused or angry, settled on irritated. He tapped one finger on the disembodied arm and Simmons turned away quickly. "He and Captain Lennox have learned their lesson- Autobots are not family cars. Unfortunately, we still need to remove…" he paused here and his optics flickered as he studied some internal list. "A rattle, two teething rings, a sippee cup's worth of orange juice, and half a box of Saltine crackers."

"Oh dear lord," Simmons moaned. He scrambled away, positioning himself as far from the arm as he could get, and rested his forehead against his palm. He felt like he was going to be sick. If one of them asked him to help, he knew he would be.

This, quite obviously, was going to be six hours of sheer torture.

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a/n: short this time, but if you knew how long this sat on my hard drive with only the first quarter done, you would be applauding me for not scrapping the entire thing and starting over. I get annoyed with half-finished things sitting around and often retaliate by erasing it.

Hope y'all had a good –insert winter holiday here- and a happy new year and whatnot. Here's to good times yet to come.