ON THE BRIGHT SIDE
Everyone can blame Starlitdawn for this chapter. She thought it would be funny if Ratchet was drunk and went out on the front lines. Well, I honestly TRIED to go those lines but the cantankerous fragger wouldn't listen to me. So here's "Ratchet's" version of what happened. (no alcohol was involved but I think he's lying)
I currently have requests from: wanderling, ditzymusiclover, Akira Alvina, stargazer at moonlight, and two from Aura Black Chan. The requests are in the pile for future chapters but as of yet, there isn't anything coming to mind. Don't lose spark though! I WILL get to them. You and your requests have not been forgotten or ignored!
HUGE THANK YOU TO ALL READERS AND REVIEWERS!
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Sideswipe closed the door behind him, his face so bright with happiness it lit up the room. Sunstreaker scoffed, feeling the giddy sensation in his spark that signaled his twin was up to no good. And by the look on his face, he had already pulled his prank and was waiting to hear the fallout.
Not a good combination when one wanted peace, quiet, and no chance of being sent to the brig for a crime not committed.
"What now?" Sunstreaker asked, knowing his brother was dying to spill the energon on his latest prank.
"Just added a few things to the energon dispenser," Sideswipe grinned, locking the door though it was useless with the Command staff having all their access codes.
"Like what?" Sunstreaker asked. He had been victimized by his brother and his experiments for years. He knew some of the side effects. They weren't pretty.
"Well…. I don't remember everything I put in there," Sideswipe said with a frown. He shrugged and reclined on his berth. "But the first ten cubes are going to have a surprise."
"Thank Primus I already refueled," Sunstreaker said, wondering if he was going to be serving brig time for this prank.
Sideswipe giggled and settled into a light charge, waiting for his name to be inevitably called. It took nearly two hours, but soon Sideswipe was hearing the fruit of his labors.
"Mirage? Mirage, what's wrong?" a voice called out in a panic.
There came a high pitched squealing noise followed by pounding footfalls. The owner of the footfalls disappeared down the distant corridor, and as their thunderous tone disappeared, there came a soft scratching at the twins' door. Sideswipe got up from his berth, grin still firmly planted on his face, and opened the door. As he had expected there was no one in sight.
But something pushed past him and a child like giggle could be heard.
Sunstreaker rose from the berth, his legs swinging over the edge as he sensed another spark enter the room. He knew it was Mirage. Could tell by the broadcasting spark signature. What Sunstreaker didn't like was the fact that the Noble was cloaked and sneaking around again. He'd been chastised several times by the twins in the past. Why he chose to sneak back in after the last thrashing left him hospitalized for a week, Sunstreaker wasn't sure. But he didn't like it.
Then there came the soft giggles.
Sideswipe's grin broadened and he looked to his twin. "Sunny, do you think we're haunted?"
"Obviously," Sunstreaker said, noting the odd distortion on the far left wall. Mirage may be able to cloak, but if one knew how to search, they could find his distorted outline. It was odd that he was giving himself away with the child-like noises. It was almost as if he was playing….with… Oh. Both twins looked to each other in clear understanding.
Mirage must have gotten one of the first ten cubes. And by the way he was acting, it had shut down his adult rationale and was allowing him to relive his sparkling-hood. Oh, this was going to be perfect!
A distinct laugh was heard before being muffled, little electronic chirps escaping as Mirage found the situation funny.
"What do you think we should do?" Sideswipe said, closing the door and pretending to be scared.
"Exorcise it of course," Sunstreaker said. He didn't like the Noble. He didn't want to play games. And he most certainly didn't enjoy having his personal space invaded by an invisible visitor.
"Oh, I'm too scared," Sideswipe said, pretending to cower. "I'm scared of monsters."
"Groowllll!" Mirage said, decloaking and pretending to leap and scratch at the two mechs who he was 'stalking.'
"Oh Primus!" Sideswipe yelled, pressing himself back against the door in mock fear.
Mirage turned to Sunstreaker, who sneered at the uptight mech before Mirage launched himself at the golden warrior. Sunstreaker emitted a startled squawk before finding his lap filled with a giggling, chirping Noble. Sunstreaker looked to his twin in terror.
Hand to hand combat he could handle. Fighting to the death he could handle. Sending a mech to the medical ward was a privilege. Earning the reputation as a mech NOT to cross was a glorious title.
But cuddling a full grown mech who cooed like a sparkling and nuzzled against your chest?
Sunstreaker blew a fuse.
With a soft pop the golden menace that defeated gladiators, took on Megatron and lived to tell the tale, and had been known to massacre thousands, couldn't fathom how he was to react. He keeled over backward, Mirage riding his golden frame down where it clanged onto the berth.
Mirage giggled, pressing his cheek against the golden chest and listened to the spark pulse. He curled up against his warm protector, his systems signaling a shut down. And like a creator and sparkling, Sunstreaker and Mirage reposed on the berth in perfect peace.
Sideswipe smiled, taking a picture of the sweet and 'oh so blackmailable' scene before hearing someone scream. Knowing his twin was just unconscious, Sideswipe slipped out of the door and down the hall. He skidded to a halt finding Ironhide brandishing a chair at the consol, warbling acerbic Cybertronian to the inanimate offender. When the consol beeped about an incoming transmission, Ironhide bellowed a death threat and fired a cannon at the consol. It melted into a pile of slag within seconds, the molten scoria creeping across the floor with apparent sentience.
"Sideswipe?" Jazz called, waving the red frontliner to him. "Do you have a servo in all of this?"
"I just added a little something extra to the energon dispenser," Sideswipe admitted. He couldn't lie to Jazz. The fragger always knew. "It should wear off in an hour or two."
"Slagging perfect," Jazz said, watching as Ratchet went chasing Wheeljack through the base, bellowing about a misbehaving 'sparkling'. Wheeljack was crying like one, so it was a fair assumption.
Prime came running into the commander center, his optics wide.
"Oh frag me backwards," Jazz moaned, knowing Prime had succumbed to the insanity now plaguing the base thanks to Sideswipe.
"Oh Primus, not you to!" Prime declared, looking panic stricken.
"What? You mean, you aren't dosed?" Jazz asked, hope coloring his voice.
"Dosed with what?" Prime asked. He looked from Jazz to Sideswipe, and like a thundercloud rolling in, his optics darkened and narrowed. "Sideswipe?"
"Umm… yeah?" Sideswipe asked in a timid voice. He knew that tone. He was in trouble.
"You wouldn't happen to have a servo in this… this… insanity? Would you?" Prime asked, already knowing the truth by the guilty look the Lamborghini wore.
"It was just a joke," Sideswipe said with a hurt expression.
"What did you do?" Prime asked, wanting the full account so he could get Ratchet to fix the problem.
"I added a few things to the energon dispenser, but it only affects the first ten cubes," Sideswipe said, giving his leader a look that meant he was remorseful.
Prime didn't fall for it.
"What did you put in?" Prime demanded.
"I don't… umm… remember," Sideswipe admitted. "Honestly! I don't recall everything I put in, but I know it won't last more than an hour, two at the most. I promise!"
"Primus, I hope so," Prime muttered, a shiver running through his massive frame.
"What did you see, Prime?" Jazz asked, having a feeling that it was something bad to get Prime so shook up.
"Gears was being… nice," Prime said, looking like he was going to cry. "And Perceptor was…. was…. well…." Prime paused, thinking how best to put it. No other alternative presented itself. "Perceptor was engaging in …amorous ….situations."
"With who?" Sideswipe asked, optics so wide it looked like he was using two satellite dishes as optics.
"Gears," Prime said, wincing on the words as the scene replayed itself in his cortex. Primus, he was never going to be able to purge his memory cache. "And… a calculator….." he took a deep breath before adding, "And a pogo stick, an electro rod and stasis cuffs."
"For Gears?" Jazz asked aghast.
"Kinky,' Sideswipe said, optics still transmitting via satellite.
"Perceptor asked Gears if he would be willing to indulge in a fantasy, Gears said he would be happy too, and the last thing I saw was Perceptor pressing Gears against the work bench, and something was buzzing, they were pawing at each other, gasping, groaning, and by Primus, I had to get out of there!" Prime said, his frame gave another involuntary rattle.
"Slag man, now you have me curious," Sideswipe said, looking toward the direction of the scientists' laboratory.
"Don't go in there!" Prime said, grasping Sideswipe's arm before he could pass by. "I mean it, Sideswipe!"
"Oh…. Slag," Jazz muttered, his optics going wide with realization and fear. "Oh… slag… slag… SLAG!"
And before Prime or Sideswipe knew what was going on, Jazz had ran from the room chanting the mantra. The stoic leader of the Autobots and the ruby frontliner exchanged a look for one point three seconds before following the Porsche as he ran toward the officer's offices.
"What's wrong, Jazz?" Prime yelled, watching as the black and white disappeared around the corner.
Sideswipe felt his tank clench. He knew what lay at the end of that hall. He'd been a visitor enough times.
Prowl's office.
"Oh, slag!" Sideswipe screeched, picking up speed and gaining Jazz's side just as he touched the door and threw it open.
Prowl was sitting at his desk as usual, stylus in one hand, datapad in the other. His doorwings were arched in an elegant sweep, his back straight, but it looked 'feigned.'
"Can I help you?" Prowl asked upon looking toward the disturbance in his doorway.
There was an empty cube sitting on Prowl's desk.
"Prowl, buddy, you feeling alright?" Jazz asked, stepping into the room and looking between the empty cube and Prowl's benign face.
"I've never felt better, Jazz," Prowl answered in his usual tone, though something was… off.
Having been around the SIC for several millennia, all three mechs knew something was amiss. Prowl's normal clipped tone was missing. He kept his answers short and spoke in his ever annoying precise way, but there was a laxness about his frame. The normal poise was missing. Not to mention that with all the mechs currently suffering from some sort of malady caused by Sideswipe's concoction, and other mechs running around trying to contain the situation, Prowl should have been on the proverbial warpath. But he was sitting quietly in his office, working.
Sideswipe canted his head, his olfactory sensor detecting something odd. There was a strange odor. Sideswipe took a deep draught, trying to identify the scent. He could almost place it. It was just there, right on the edge of his consciousness, almost labeled, when his attention was drawn to his worst enemy.
Prowl's hands went lax, dropping the stylus and datapad. His doorwings hitched higher, his venting became harsh and labored, his optics fluttering closed as he tipped his head back. He grasped the desk, his body heaving. There was a cackle of energy across his frame, followed by the pleasurable gasping cry of a Praxian overloading. Doorwings fluttering, body trembling, soft noises escaping from parted lip components, Prowl shuddered hard before collapsing forward on his desk.
The three mechs stood transfixed, unable to move or speak. Until Sideswipe found his vocalizer.
"Was that Prowl's "O" face?" Sideswipe deadpanned.
Prime released a scared noise before turning on his heel and leaving Prowl's office. Jazz soon followed, grabbing Sideswipe's arm as the ruby frontliner kept taking an inhale, now understanding it was the distinct ionized aroma of overload. Prowl's door closed with a snap, Jazz physically marching the Lamborghini down the hall and away from another unfortunate victim.
"So these ingredients you put in the energon," Jazz was saying, trying to distract Sideswipe from any further pranks involving Prowl. "What exactly were they? And are you sure they will wear off in an hour or two?"
"Don't recall everything," Sideswipe admitted, filing away the incriminating evidence to share with his twin when he was able to be rebooted. "And I tested something similar last month. Only lasted a couple of hours. Had some tingling pedes for a day after, and I slept a lot."
"Whatever you concocted," Jazz said with a shake of his head. "It appears it makes mechs become opposite of their normal personality. Or at least perform things they wouldn't do under normal circumstances."
"Cool," Sideswipe said, earning a whack to the helm courtesy of a pissed off Jazz. If Sideswipe's usual keepers were incapacitated and couldn't control his immature nature, then it was up to Jazz to step up.
"Try to remember what you added to the energon," Jazz said, giving Sideswipe's arm a little squeeze to reiterate his point. Wheeljack's crying form went tearing past with Ratchet screaming after him to go take a nap. "Sideswipe, I will personally ensure that Prowl will leave you alone for an entire month if you promise me you will bring me that full list of 'ingredients'."
"Can I have that in writing?" Sideswipe asked, his processor already active with possible pranks to pull off if he was free to do what he wanted for a month.
"Absolutely," Jazz said with his customary 'trust me' grin. "You bring me that list, and I'll ensure that you stay out of the brig or punishment detail for a full month."
Powerglide chose that moment to come 'flying' down the hallway, his arms out at his side and a buzzing airplane noise coming from his vocalizer. He entered the command hub and circled the molten pile of slag that once been the consol that Ironhide enacted his revenge upon. Powerglide continued to circle, drawn in to the changing color of the scoria.
Bumblebee came stomping through the command center, his face drawn down in anger.
"Shut up, Hound, you slagging piece…" Bumblebee was expounding to Hound, who looked extremely upset.
"Bumblebee! That is no way to talk to your Prime!" Hound shouted, his finger pointing at the minibot with sharp relief.
"Oh, Primus," Jazz sighed, wanting so badly to curl up in a dark place and await the tsunami of idiocy.
"This is soooo cool!" Sideswipe crooned, earning another smack to the helm from Jazz.
- - THREE DAYS LATER - - -
"You are to remain confined to the brig until Ratchet has had a chance to run a full analysis of every affected mech on base," Prowl was saying, staring at Sideswipe between the energy bars. "Until Ratchet recovers, you are to remain here so that he may deal with you when he is mentally stable."
"He never was to begin with," Sideswipe muttered, resting his chin on his hand.
Prowl growled and left the brooding mech to his thoughts.
The joke didn't seem so funny now.
Ironhide had melted a good portion of consoles, believing that they were Cons in disguise due to the fact that he couldn't contact any of his friends on Cybertron. He didn't understand that millions of years had passed and that he was stranded on another planet.
Hound had sent out multiple orders, demanding others follow his lead as he was a 'Prime.' When he came out of his stupor forty hours later, he was highly embarrassed and the demands he had asked of his comrades. Everyone kept bowing and calling him "Your Primeship", just to watch his face plates heat up.
Gears snapped out of dementia the same time as Perceptor. As both disentangled themselves from a rather risqué position, they went their separate ways without speaking a word. Course Gears complained about the scuff marks along his body and the sensation of feeling tired, but he never voiced a word about the pleasant tingle nor the peace that filled his spark. Perceptor was seen slinking off to the washracks and remained under the spray for a long time, the burnt pieces of a calculator found on the floor sometime later by the cleaning crew.
Wheeljack and Mirage were returned to normal intelligence. Mirage offered apologies to Sunstreaker for charging on the golden warrior but Sunstreaker remained unconscious. His systems were shut down until Ratchet could enact the proper repair to the damaged code and then reboot his systems. Mirage had slipped through the door with a Noble's grace, gliding away like a well satisfied courtesan.
Bumblebee apologized to everyone over and over, explaining he didn't mean to use such course words and vulgar phrases. No one paid him any mind. In fact, several offered a congratulations for a rant and rage well done. Everyone was impressed with the minibots vocabulary.
Powerglide had 'flown' around the base in circles, making himself dizzy, and had collapsed into a fit of giggles. When he was stabilized once again he 'took off' from the Command Hub and flew straight into a bulkhead. When he woke up he was sore but back to his usual self.
No one was more embarrassed than Prowl. Apparently the additives had settled into the tactician's rarely used 'pleasure' center and had initiated an overload every hour on the hour. When Prowl awoke from his forty-third consecutive overload, his overtaxed body had collapsed, forcing him into a deep stasis that allowed him to recover. Eleven hours later he awoke and limped to the washracks, scrubbing away the evidence of his previous activities. After receiving a hasty report from Jazz, he cornered the other black and white and demanded to know the real, uncensored story. When he realized he had overloaded in front Prime, Jazz and Sideswipe, Prowl locked up and rebooted an hour later. He spent several hours rescrubbing his plating of the evidence of his impromptu side effects.
And after he was presentable, he tracked down Sideswipe and physically dragged him to the brig, where he threw the frontliner in and activated the bars.
Now Sideswipe was sitting alone in a cell with no one to talk to. No one to sense or exchange emotions through a bond, considering Sunstreaker was still knocked out cold on his berth. Half the crew hated him and the other half were planning his dismemberment. And when Sunstreaker woke up, he would probably be the only one who would try such drastic measures.
The only one who had yet to throw off the effects was Ratchet. Apparently the CMO was under the impression that he was a lone care giver in a youngling facility. As the additives started to filter away, Ratchet had moments of lucidity. Which involved realizing who had victimized him, then he threatened to rip the Lamborghini apart in retribution, then followed by a relapse that caused the CMO to 'correct' every Autobot within visual range. Jazz made sure to put Sideswipe in Ratchet's field of vision and laughed himself silly as the CMO spanked the protesting frontliner.
Jazz stopped laughing when Ratchet turned his ire to him and pulled the Porsche over his lap and spanked the TIC.
Sideswipe was in the brig for a grand total of eighteen minutes when the alarm sounded. The energy bars deactivated and he raced out, knowing he was called to action. He skidded into the Command Hub just in time to hear Prime yell, "Roll out!"
"Where are we going?" Sideswipe asked Jazz.
"Power plant two miles from here," Jazz said sending a databurst with full information.
Sideswipe took up position in front of Prime, his scanners on alert for Decepticons. He wished Sunstreaker was with him. He really missed his twin. He didn't like being so alone.
"Seekers, one o'clock!" Sideswipe yelled out, transforming and igniting his jet pack.
The approaching seekers scattered, trying to avoid the flying Autobot and his weapon's fire. Sideswipe whooped and catcalled, flying among the clouds and chasing after Starscream. He was shot in the leg by Skywarp who teleported in and fired on the surprised Lamborghini. Sideswipe landed on top of a Conehead as he was passing by and like a roller coaster enthusiast, Sideswipe yelled in appreciation.
Prime transformed and jumped on Megatron, sending the duo tumbling along the uneven Earth. Megatron cursed a storm, Prime shushing the warlord and correcting his grammar. Megatron was so enthralled in the fight that the oddity of the situation didn't sink in.
Autobots and Decepticons jumped into battle, Astrotrain taking off with a shipment of energon cubes. He was guarded by Blitzwing and Thundercracker, who had scattered the Autobots below with a sonic bomb.
Astrotrain was a dot on the horizon when Thundercracker returned to his trine mates. Starscream was catcalling the Conehead that had a Lamborghini ornament, making both Thundercracker and Skywarp blush with the Air Commanders sullied mouth. It was when Starscream landed and aimed a volley of shots toward Megatron and Prime that a voice thundered above the din.
"That will be enough of that language!" Ratchet roared, smacking the cassette twins and leaving them dazed on the ground.
Starscream kept taunting and firing, though with his horrible aim he missed his targets by a wide margin. He missed the stern look being cast around the battlefield.
Ratchet had his hands on his hips. The explosions rocked the foundations of the power plant in the distance. Weapon's fire filled the air, smoke coiling high into the sky, and all manner of assorted languages and expressions filling the airwaves. A loud boom went off, causing the unsuspecting mechs to stagger. Mechs screamed in pain, yelled obscenities, cursed the ones who caused such turmoil, and fists were flying everywhere.
Ratchet had had enough.
"Alright! Nap time!" Ratchet yelled over the whole battlefield.
The mechs closest immediately halted their actions. The Autobots knew what was coming and dropped to the ground, sitting like sparklings awaiting their caregiver. The Decepticons stood transfixed, unable to comprehend what was happening. Ratchet stalked to the nearest Decepticon and clocked him upside the helm, sending him crashing to the ground next to the submissive Autobot.
Prime halted his struggle against Megatron, gave the fierce warlord a wide optic look and sat down. He looked up to Megatron, his expression clearly meaning the mighty leader of the Decepticon army was to plant his white aft on the ground next to his mortal enemy.
"What are you doing, Prime?" Megatron asked, perturbed by his arch enemy's odd behavior.
"Sit down and shut up," Prime snapped, grasping Megatron's wrist and jerking him downward to join the esteemed Prime on the ground.
Megatron opened his mouth to protest but his optics raked the battlefield and realized that many of the Autobots were dropping onto their afts and sitting like scolded sparklings. A clang and bang signaled that a Decepticon had been too slow in moving and ended up dazed upon the ground, the Autobot CMO poised above him with hands on hips.
"What is going on?" Megatron snarled.
Prime's hand shot out and slapped across his counterparts lip components, his optics going wide in shock. "Shhh! You'll draw his attention."
"Mmhhppptttt?" Megatron managed to say through Prime's oppressing digits.
"Ratchet ingested energon that Sideswipe had tainted. His systems are having a hard time distributing the additives causing his processor to misinterpret information and cause hallucinations," Prime explained, earning an optic roll from Megatron.
Apparently the Decepticon warlord didn't realize the strength and despotic behavior that could be implemented by the CMO. His education was brought up to speed as he watched his idiotic winged Air Commander launch into a tirade at the CMO for hitting Skywarp, when Ratchet moved so quickly, he was a blur of white. Megatron watched in wide optic fascination as Ratchet stormed to the winged menace, unafraid and looking just as murderous as Megatron when his nerve circuits were past their endurance. Though instead of yelling threats and punching Starscream, Ratchet let loose a long verbal stream of assorted curses that earned instant appraisal and respect from both factions. His trusted wrench made one tiny, pinpoint strike and like a drunken butterfly, Starscream flapped his arms, spun around in a clumsy pirouette and face planted into the ground, his aft sticking up in the air as consciousness fled from his frame.
"The other affected mechs were back to normal in a day or two," Prime whispered to his now shocked enemy. "But Ratchet's systems are different. He believes he's caretaker to sparklings and enacts this hallucination until the additives filter through his systems and allow him to become lucid again."
Megatron removed Prime's hand, his face one of disbelief.
"This is your best assault upon the Decepticon forces?" Megatron asked, his customary sneer lighting up his face. "You would have me to believe your medical officer is fantasizing that we are his charges?"
Prime nodded, feeling his tank threatening to purge when he heard the thunderous footfalls of his doom come storming up to his side. He let out an un-adult like whimper before closing his optics.
"What is going on here?" Ratchet demanded, his optics sparkling in anger.
Megatron felt his ire rise. He was no one's sparkling. He was not under the protective graces of a carrier, perceived or otherwise. He was almost as old as the towering Autobot. He was a warlord. A leader. One to be feared and obeyed. How dare this mentally deranged usurper undermine his leadership of his army. Their commands were issued from his vocalizer, not a hallucinating medical officer.
Megatron gained his pedes, standing a full head taller than Ratchet. His armor puffed in ritual display, showing his aggressive stance against the other posturing male. He wasn't going to take orders nor submit to a perceived superior.
"Sit down you fool," Prime hissed under his breathing function.
"I asked what was going on," Ratchet repeated, his voice dropping into the level that meant certain punishment to all errant sparklings.
Prime cringed. He knew what was coming.
"Knock him on his slagging aft!" Sideswipe crowed from where he was sitting with two of the Coneheads.
"I said enough of that language," Ratchet snapped, causing Sideswipe to give his most innocent and adorable look. It didn't work.
"I am the leader of the Decepticons!" Megatron roared, his fusion cannon warming up with impending doom. "I do not take orders from you!"
"I don't care who you think you are," Ratchet roared right back, causing Megatron to falter and take a step back. Ratchet advanced, ignorant of the hissing cannon that could end his life. "When an adult gives you an order, you will follow it. I don't care if you think you're Prime. You WILL obey!"
Megatron's indignation was cut short as something solid connected with his head, sending him reeling in a dizzy whirlwind of color. He felt the ground collide with his knees before rough hands grabbed the scruff of his neck and spun him around onto his aft. He landed with an undignified thump, his vision still awhirl with color.
"You raise your voice to me again and I'll beat your aft off of your frame," Ratchet threatened. He cast a glare at Prime, who immediately bowed his head in submission.
Megatron could only offer a jumbled protest that died in his vocalizer as Ratchet gave him a warning shake.
"Now, I said it was nap time," Ratchet said, releasing his hold on the Decepticon warlord and pushing him toward the ground. "Lie down and charge. If you refuse, you will regret it."
Prime splayed himself on the ground in contrite innocence when Ratchet looked to him in expectation. With a satisfied smirk, Ratchet stormed off to put the next 'sparkling' down for a nap. Megatron rolled to his side, then onto his front, his head still swimming with the dehabilitating blow.
"What… is wrong with that crazy fragger?" Megatron whispered to his enemy, his vision slowly discerning Ratchet stalking through the battlefield, rendering soldiers inert on the ground in an imposed nap time.
"Apparently Ratchet's systems cant handle the additives that Sideswipe put in the dispenser," Prime whispered, rolling onto his front, his shoulder inches away from Megatron's own. "They have collected in his main distribution center, causing his processor to revert back to the time he was a caretaker at a youngling center. When they filter through, he'll become lucid again."
"What kind of additive are we talking about?" Megatron asked, his vision clearing in time to see Soundwave forcefully shoved onto his back. Ravage and Lazerbeak taking up positions next to the master in timid obedience, curling up next to Soundwave's chest and settling down like good mannered sparklings.
"I have no idea,' Prime said, turning to look at Megatron. "But rest assured I will be banning the substance from base."
"Are we all this susceptible to the additive?" Megatron asked, his tank clenching with the thought of him parading around demanding that grown adults have to take a nap in the middle of a warzone.
"I don't know,' Prime admitted. "Ratchet is the only one who can determine the side effects and right now, his processor is too addled to be of assistance."
"I never thought I'd say this, but I want to go back to Nemesis," Megatron said, watching as Ratchet engaged in a stare down with Prowl. In the blink of an optic the tactician froze up and keeled over, Ratchet's smirk lighting up the battle field like a star.
"I hope this filters through his system soon," Prime said, hefting a heavy gust of air through his vents. "He's already punished half of the Autobot ranks and keeps demanding we have naps and early bedtime."
"He's been influenced too much by human culture," Megatron added, watching as Ratchet graced Bumblebee with an affectionate pat and murmured words of endearment.
"Too much, I'm afraid," Prime said, finding the scene to be rather nice, if not odd. "He washed Ironhide's mouth out with solvent, sent Prowl to his room, took Jazz's stereo away, grounded Powerglide, and has spanked almost every one of us."
Megatron's head turned in slow motion, his optics wide as he stared at his most hated enemy.
Prime didn't seemed fazed by his mortal enemy as he continued, "I must admit, it's been nice to avoid paperwork and the endless datapads that all demand attention and immediate action."
"I refuse to do it," Megatron said, gathering his wits once again. "I make Starscream deal with the finer points of running the Decepticon army."
"Lucky,' Prime said, wanting to laugh at the idle conversation the two were having. It was like they were younglings again. "Right now, I'd enjoy a good human negotiation and inventory supply list than being forced to 'color'."
"Color?" Megatron asked, watching as Ratchet slipped between inert bodies to ascertain who was talking too loudly.
Prime waited a moment as Ratchet sourced out the problem and optics narrowing, stalked toward Sideswipe.
"Ratchet says we're too young for datapads and seeing war related materials," Prime whispered, watching as Ratchet grasped Sideswipe by his scruff bar and hauled him to his feet. "So we spend an hour every day coloring pictures."
"Sounds horrible," Megatron said, his optics now transfixed on Sideswipe's protesting form as Ratchet directed them to a boulder.
"It's actually quite relaxing," Prime said, not bothering to come to his soldier's defense. Sideswipe had it coming. In more ways than one.
"I should try it," Megatron admitted, hiding his smirk as Ratchet sat on the boulder and pulled Sideswipe to him.
With an undignified squawk, Sideswipe was clipped on the helm, disorienting him. His indignity rose when he felt Ratchet's legs press against his chest and then the sharp sting of the medic's hand as he brought it down, hard, on the frontliner's aft. Loud reports echoed across the now silent landscape. Each thundering clang was punctuated by Sideswipe's yelp of pain and cries of innocent protests.
Megatron's shoulder shook with laughter as he watched the Autobot CMO spank the insane front line warrior as if he were nothing more than a disobedient sparkling. He turned his ruby optics to Prime, noting the blue optics was twinkling with mirth as he too suppressed his laughter.
A particularly loud clap ended the verbal barrage and without looking toward the whimpering soldier, Megatron whispered, "I'm soooo glad he's on your side."
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