Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

Title: Earth Studies 101

Summary: Transformers AU. Sparkbearer sidestory. Professor Evelyn Hughes of Mason City College is accustomed to teaching linguistics, but when one is friends with a crew of giant alien robots, one must be prepared to teach lessons of a very different sort. Drabbles and oneshots.

Rating: T

Warnings: none

Author Notes: My muse is back! My muse is back! … though she is being rather random…

Earth Studies 101

Biology: Disease: Virus

We all end up dead. It's just a question of how, why.
- William Wallace, Braveheart

"The rookie's putting out a distress code."

This was said less from any sense of courtesy on Sunstreaker's part than for the simple reason that he had detected the very distinctive expansion of his passenger's lungs in preparation for producing some kind of noisy protest. The organic did not like it at all when he made such sudden changes of direction, but if she had sensors like any sensibly-built mech, she would have been able to detect the beacon signal herself.

"Distress? What's wrong?"

He did not bother to answer, using his sensor net to plot a course through the congealed mess of traffic that stood between them and the rookie. He broke several human laws in the process, but a Cybertronian could not be expected to adhere to the same rules that governed the clumsy, organic-driven shells littering the roads.

It wasn't like anyone would catch him, anyway.

The rookie's signal came from well beyond the community's limits, far out in the middle of the green, poofy growths that coated the region like a giant colony of fungus. They were filling the air with yellow spores, too, just like fungus. He could feel them clinging to his armor and the insides of his ventilation systems and the gaps at his joints. Disgusting.

He ran the probabilities of coercing his passenger into a trip through the human-run washracks. (The squishies were good for something, after all. And they made good wax. It made it marginally easier to bear their sticky, oily, smelly existences.)

Prowl and Jazz were already at the scene, which was no surprise. They looked after the rookie the way particularly neurotic creators looked after their protos. The two older mechs had the gray youngling sandwiched between them, all three pulled far to the side of the road, Prowl's lights flashing red and blue. Sideswipe was there, too, obviously having come from the opposite direction, parked across the road from the trio.

Sunstreaker received the faintest of pulses over the bond, and he returned it, a bare acknowledgement of the other's existence, something along the lines of (Hey).

The organic femme was tugging at the interior of his door before he had even come to a halt, and she had exited even before it had risen fully out of the way.

"Bluestreak? What happened?"

And she was off, trotting away toward the little cuddle-fest with enough maternal concern oozing from her to fit right in with the tactician and the saboteur.

The gray mech quivered on his tires. "Evelyn, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do it. I didn't see it – I mean, I saw it, or I sensed it, but I never thought… Why would it run at me? I never thought it would run toward me–!"

"Calm down, Blue," said Jazz, voice low and purposefully soothing. "Of course it was an accident."

"You hit something?" asked the femme.

Sunstreaker scoffed. Loudly. The smear of organic matter across the Datsun's right front bumper was blaringly obvious.

"It's… It's over there." The rookie twitched forward on his tires. Sunstreaker's sensors followed the movement to a small mound of slowly cooling organic material. The color was pale orange with bits of brown and white, the original shape (from what he could deduce) something like one of the 'dog' creatures with which the humans were so enamored.

The femme's stance stiffened slightly, and Sunstreaker detected the faintest rise of her vitals, a sign of interest or increased mental or emotional activity.

"Oh, Blue." The femme patted the Datsun's side, the movement very deliberate, not at all like her usual easy attitude around the rookie.

Sunstreaker felt his own interest peak. He sent a pulse to Sideswipe (You see that?) and received an almost immediate reply (Yeah. Weird.).

"Look, Blue, it's not a big deal. Earth animals don't have a lot of luck when it comes to cars and roads. Be grateful it was just a fox and not a deer, or we'd be pounding dents out of you for a week. How about you head back to the house? I'll give you a wash."

The rookie gave a little indecisive whine of his engine. "But what about–"

"We'll take care of it. You just go on; we'll be coming right behind you."

"I'm right with ya, Blue." Jazz revved his engine in encouragement.

"Go on, Bluestreak," said Prowl.

Quite uncharacteristically of the gunner, he wordlessly obeyed, giving the dead organic a wide, wide berth on his way past. Jazz followed on his bumper.

The femme had her arms crossed over her chest, her expression some odd mix of thoughtful and grim. She sighed.

"Burn it."

Both Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's engines stuttered in surprise. Prowl's lights, previously shut off, blinked once brightly.

"Evelyn?" prompted the tactician.

"Foxes are nocturnal. It's high noon in the middle of August. This one was either sick or dying, and if it ran out in front of a moving vehicle, I'd bet sick. And the big scary thing around here is rabies." She swiped one hand across her mouth, optics focusing down the road at the little lump of fur and flesh. "Mama said they'd had some rabid coons and a possum round here. I don't know if animals can catch it from eating an infected animal, but I'm not going to chance it, especially this close to the farm. So… burn it."

(… Huh.)

(Yeah.)

The tactician made no reply. Evelyn seemed to focus upon Sunstreaker. Engine running nearly silent, he eased nearer, passing the femme and the other mechs, activating the pulse-cannon hidden beneath his hood. A moment calibrating the energy levels and scanning for any nearby cars, and the body vanished into a smear of black carbon, faintly steaming.

"Thank you," said the femme.

"Hn."

She sighed again, but the tension was fading from her frame.

"Just don't tell Blue."

End Virus