Hey guys! I'm not dead yet!

Thanks for all the reviews. Also everyone was basically right. The song was Bohemian rhapsody by Queen ;)

So anyway I don't own and never will. The plot is mine though.

On with the fic!

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"I believe this list is accurate but please inform me if anything is incorrect," Prowl began in deadpan. "You left your duty as Chief Medical Officer without notifying any of the other officers in order to take over a different shift, you coerced a fellow Autobot in assisting you with the manipulation of another officer with the use of bribery, you knowingly misdiagnosed said manipulated officer, illegally hijacked his work shift, once again without notifying any other higher up of this, manipulated and compromised the security of the Ark with reckless abandon and all of this was done by a blatant abuse of power. Did I miss anything?" Prowl all but threw the data pad onto the desk in disgust.

"Nope. That about covers it," Ratchet responded cordially. "And it sounds a lot worse when you say it that way."

"Ratchet," Prowl growled. "There are approximately seven major regulations I can think up from the top of my processor that you broke. At least two of those are serious infringements."

"Only seven? I could've sworn there were more then that." That statement made Ratchet receive a 'You're-pissing-me-off' glare from Prowl. The medic wasn't sure if he should've been honored of horrified by that. Normally that expression was reserved for Sideswipe or Jazz.

"Look. You misdiagnosing Red Alert with-"

"Schistosoma japonicum," Ratchet helped him along with a tone that clearly said he was already bored with being called to Prowl's office.

Prowl gave him an odd look. "That's an organic, parasitic worm. How would that even be possible?"

"It's not. That was the point." Ratchet shrugged.

Prowl felt like slamming his head into his desk. Hard.

Ratchet was one of the few mechs that had truly earned a high opinion from Prowl. He was a focused, no-nonsense mech when it came to his job and he was also possibly one of the most frightening Bots Prowl had ever known (Prowl had once seen Ratchet deck Starscream, who was probably well over a third larger in size, in the face because the seeker made a comment that trivialized death). While on call his utmost priorities were his patients and if getting them up and running long enough to see another day required tough love and a bit more bruising then they started out with then by Primus he'd get the job done. Prowl respected that.

Off hours, however, it seemed the 'Bot lived only to antagonize and contradict everything Prowl did. In fact Ratchet probably back-talked him more then anyone else in the Ark. More then Jazz even or Sideswipe.

At least when Sideswipe did it Prowl could throw a brig threat or oil duty his way to shut him up. Ratchet, on the other hand, was a bit more difficult to manage.

"By misdiagnosing Red Alert with Schistosoma japonicum," Prowl repeated icily, "You only helped compound his already delicate paranoia."

Ratchet's face was expressionless. "…That was also the point."

"You already know how unstable Red Alert's psyche is. The last thing we need is him finally being pushed over the brink because you made him fear for his life!"

"Prowl." Ratchet leaned over the desk, placed both of his hands on the shorter mech's shoulders and gave him a completely serious look. "Red Alert always fears for his life. That's just who he is and what he does. Trust me, I'm the doctor and as such I have done more than enough scans and tests on him to know that the only medical ailment he seems to have is his chronic dippiness. I know his limits; I know that what I did didn't harm him in any way."

"You don't know that for sure," Prowl argued and shrugged the medic's hands off his shoulders.

Ratchet sighed in exasperation. "I wouldn't put an Autobot in a situation that could cause actual harm, Prowl. You know that."

"Says the mech who chucked a spanner at my head when we first met," Prowl mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?" Ratchet narrowed his optics.

Prowl quickly changed the subject and took a different angle to his argument. "You also had Wheeljack of all mechs take your place. Do you know the risk-?"

Ratchet cut him off sharply. "Yes, I did, and you know what? Wheeljack, believe it or not, is actually a pretty competent fragger when it comes to some of the broader parts of the medical field. He's eccentric, not an idiot. As previously stated, Red Alert was in. No. Danger."

"No Danger." Prowl parroted, though with less enthusiasm. "You clearly do not remember the worm Wheeljack made then," he muttered tonelessly.

Ratchet opened his mouth to retaliate but paused in confusion, taking a moment to figure out what Prowl was talking about. After that moment some rather unpleasant memories flooded his mind and he grimaced. "I'm the one who ended up knocking some sense into Wheeljack's damn head so yes; I remember the worm quite clearly."

Prowl gave him a look that was borderline smug.

Ratchet continued, "Alright. I admit that was one of his stupid moments. He's an engineer so it was only a matter of time before he decided to test the waters of bioengineering."

"The worm he made, if you recall, not only looked like a Cybertronian sized python next to Omega Supreme but it also ate metal."

Ratchet scowled. "I don't see what the frag that has to do with Red Alert."

"My point is Wheeljack, while having a bit of prior knowledge regarding engineering, was not skilled in any way shape or form in the art of Bioengineering and his trial and horrendous error almost led to all of us being digested in a larva's intestines and being turned into worm cast. And this is relevant because while Wheeljack may have some medical knowledge he is hardly qualified as a medic. Now, leading back to Red Alert's situation, if Wheeljack made a mistake while testing Red Alert for medical ailments he didn't have, while maybe it wouldn't be as disastrous as, how Jazz put it, 'Being eaten alive by a fraking huge piece of fish bait' it could possibly have resulted in severe damage to Red Alert's person. "

Ratchet went tightlipped. "You are blowing this way out of proportion-"

"No. No, Ratchet, I am not. This whole insidious situation you put into motion behind my back, behind Prime's back, was irresponsible and possibly threatened the security of the Ark. You are not the security director. Red Alert is. He can catch things that could be detrimental to our security that you can not. You also compromised his health by having Wheeljack, who is not a verified medic in any manner perform medical tests on him even if they were simply to get him out of the way." Prowl paused. "Something could have gone wrong."

"Guess what, Prowl? Nothing happened."

Prowl narrowed his optics. "Regardless, you have committed a serious offense- several of them in fact."

Ratchet had a here-we-go-again look in his optics and replied with a listless, "Yes."

"Offences worthy of serious reprimands," Prowl elaborated.

"Yes."

"You could go to the brig."

"Yes."

"You could lose rank over this."

"Yes."

"Are you actually listening to me?"

"No."

'They will be the death of me.' Prowl thought. 'All of them. Jazz. The twins. Ratchet. All of them.'

"Red Alert is back on call where he's supposed to be and in tip-top condition," Ratchet began. "Wheeljack is in his lab building that atomic vacuum cleaner of his, and as soon as you let me go, I will get back to my shift. If you have nothing left to say I say we move on with our lives." Ratchet turned to leave.

"Ratchet. Ratchet, Come back here! We're not through!" Prowl bellowed. Ratchet didn't even lose stride.

"Yes. Yes we are. Now if you excuse me I have things I need to do." Almost as if it had been preplanned an explosion reverberated far off in the distance. Prowl and Ratchet went quiet. "Like apparently welding Wheeljack's limbs back to his body." With that he continued his walk. Prowl glared after him.

Ratchet simply had no fear of retribution or militant rank. It would get him in trouble one day, Prowl was sure.

Prowl made a tired noise. "What was the point of it all?" Prowl asked suddenly and quietly, almost too quietly for Ratchet to hear. The medic pivoted around to face him. Prowl looked him directly in the optics with a fiery gaze. "Why did you go through all that trouble just to have the security shift for a little while?"

Ratchet's face brightened eerily and he appeared to be stifling a grin. An evil grin.

Prowl began to regret asking.

In a few short steps Ratchet reached Prowl's desk and gingerly placed a tiny chip on its surface. Prowl stared at it dully.

"What is this?" The second in command asked monotonously.

"This is a recording of the security feed. Just watch it. Trust me. You'll be thanking me later for this." With that he went on his merry way.

When he was alone Prowl stared at the small chip for all of five minute before, against better judgment, he inserted the chip in his private computer. The recording began to play and he watched it intently. A tiny red and black mech appeared on the screen...

00000000000

"Man O' man won't Prowlers be surprised." Jazz had jovial glee in his voice and a bounce in his step.

"What's got you all happy?" Brawn questioned, taking long strides to keep up with the taller mech.

Jazz tilted his head and flashed a Crest commercial worthy grin. "Tell me, Brawn. Do you know what this is?" He held up a fragile, rectangular object between his thumb and forefinger.

Brawn squinted and looked at it. "It looks like a video tape."

"This ain't just any video tape! This is-" Jazz lowered and deepened his voice, "Return of the Living Dead." He cackled ominously afterwards but Brawn just gave him an unimpressed look.

"Is it good?" Brawn questioned with minor curiosity.

"Nope! It's terrible!" Jazz's smile never left. "In fact this is possibly the worst horror movie ever!" he said with unbridled glee.

"Oh. So it's a crappy video."

"Ah, but, Brawn, that's the beauty of it!" Jazz's voice bubbled over with joy. "Tapes like this are so bad that they're good! They're so horrible and clichéd that they're off the charts in awful and back to amazing! And this movie has the best zombies ever. An' actually findin' it? S'like strikin' the gold mine of amazingly good lameness!"

"I don't follow this bad-good thing." Brawn shrugged. "And Prowl doesn't seem like he'd be one to appreciate something like that."

"He wouldn't normally but that's what I'm here for. To expose his calculating, and sheltered self to things that're so retarded that they're awesome. You in? We can make room for a third party."

"Nah. That's ok," Brawn declined. "I'm more of a Rocky, First Blood kind of mech."

Jazz shook his head in mock pity. "My poor, deprived friend. You Pro'lly never even watched a human zombie movie before in your life, have ya?"

"No."

"You've got no idea on what you're missin'," Jazz said in a sing-song voice.

"Alright then. What am I missing?" Brawn smirked.

Jazz's posture slumped and his expression went blank. His head flopped aimlessly, his arms outstretched in front of him, and he began walking awkwardly along with a limp, dragging one of his legs behind him. A guttural moaning sound rose from his throat and in a gravelly voice he began with the, "Braaaaains. Braaaaaaains!" To which he started pawing at Brawn's head aimlessly as if in search for an organic's cerebral cortex.

Brawn laughed in good nature, swatting Jazz's hands away from his head. "I think I'll pass, you weirdo."

Without missing a beat Jazz returned to his normal fluid, gait. "Whatever, man. If you don't want your life to be changed forever then I can't help ya. You don't know what you're missin' though." They both turned the corner. The door to Prowl's office was plainly in view. "I'll just watch it with someone who can appreciate the finer things in life."

"You do that," Brawn chuckled.

Both were almost at the door to Prowl's office when an alien noise flitted through their audios causing both to freeze where they stood. They listened quietly and the sound came again if only for a fleeting moment.

"What the frag was that?" Brawn looked wildly around as the low noise came and went again.

"It sounds like it's comin' from… Prowl's office?" Both mechs walked up to the door, "Prowl?" Jazz was about to knock with his knuckle but what he heard stopped him.

From the other side of the door they could hear the strange sound again. It started softly, in short gasps, as nothing more then a chuckle, but then the sporadic amusement got louder until it became hysterical, gut wrenching, face contorting in both agony and glee, full blown laughter.

Both mechs were frozen in fear almost as if they had been paralyzed by a siren's song. Only it wasn't a siren's song. It was-

"Holy, hell." Brawn balked. "Is that Prowl?"

Jazz didn't reply. He remained steadfast in his spot; finger still crooked hanging in the air in front of the door.

At first he thought it was a trick, maybe something was messing with his audios, but after a few more seconds of listening he discovered that, even though the voice was somewhat higher in pitch from uncontrollable laughter, indeed it was Prowl, but it was Prowl like he had never heard before. Sure he had heard the tactician chuckle, maybe, but nothing ever to this level!

A heavy clang sounded and vibrated through the ground, both snapping Jazz out of his thoughts and leading him to believe that Prowl had probably fallen out of his chair. Yet, the apparent hilarity didn't cease. He could hear the second in command gasping, attempting to regain some control over the situation only to succumb to another bout of mirth.

"What the hell?" Brawn asked in complete confusion. "What the hell is so funny? What is wrong with him?"

Jazz backpedaled away from the door. "Ya know, if it's makin' Prowl, the same Prowl who shows as much emotion as a hunk of marble, laugh so hard it sounds like his transistor's about ta burst, I'm not sure I wanna know."

Brawn nodded sagely.

"And ya know what. I think I've had my fill of horror for tha day and I'm sure Prowl won't mind having to wait a lil' while before he can tear this movie's plot-holes to shreds." Jazz subspaced the tiny videotape he had been holding. "I'm done, and now I'm gonna go off to my happy place and listen to Billie Holiday." The rattled special ops quickly began retracing his steps back down the hall. Brawn followed.

As a particularly loud guffaw pierced the air Jazz and Brawn quickened their paces and fled.

The echoes of Prowl's howling laughter rang in their wakes.

00000000000

Sometime in the future later that day, Ratchet would find a case of Praxus Platinum high grade on his recharge berth, and then he would smile and then say, "I knew Prowl would get a kick out of that surveillance clip of the brick-headed brothers."

Prowl would also later completely drop any charges he had brewing against Ratchet and the topic would be left swept under the rug, completely forgotten.

0000000000

Meanwhile, as Prowl was getting floored both figuratively and literally, a tiny childlike mech, who much to his relief finally was on break, was thinking.

Megatron was the most evil, vile, conniving, bloodthirsty, cold, ruthless tyrant in the known universe (as believed by Cybertronians and a greater portion of the galaxy)

Due to recent events though, particularly those of the previous day, Sideswipe was beginning to think that the Crown of Supreme Evildom, which Megatron made so many foolishly believe he held, was already in the clutches of one more sinister.

"Evil, thy name is Optimus Prime," he grouched.

Sideswipe was sprawled on the floor of his room. Before his body change he never would've been able to stretch out completely on the small floor space of his, and his brother's, living quarters. Not that they needed their own little piece of the barracks to be that big or anything, but it was kind of nice to have the illusion of extra space.

Despite the circumstances.

Anyway, back to his mind's tirade on Prime.

Sideswipe knew better now, that was for sure. Prime's Mr. Clean fresh aura of pureness, kindness and ultimate good was just a façade to hide the truly sinister, twisted sadistic mech underneath. The Bot was not just the philanthropic, caring, patient mech he appeared to be. The guy had an evil side.

He had stood in that corner for the remainder of the Arks work hours. The entire time he had been exhausted from lack of recharge time, bored out of his mind and quietly scared of Optimus's looming, ticked off presence behind him.

It had been silent too. Prime was focused mostly on filling out some reports to go to Cybertron regarding their progress (or lack there of) on Earth, and also ratifying supplies requests that needed to be sent out. (Sideswipe prayed to Primus that one of those forms was for the parts needed to fix his body but he was too frightened to ask.)

For the first few minutes he was bored. Then boredom quickly changed to restlessness, and then that eventually evolved into something that was borderline narcolepsy.

It was some hour or so later that Sideswipe managed to scrape up enough courage to address his leader.

"Permission to speak sir?" Sideswipe's voice came up as a mangled squeak which was not what he was going for.

Prime didn't even look up.

"Sir. I've been standing here for a really long time. Don't you think this is enough?"

"No. Talk again and I'll be using you as a paperweight from now on."

The rest of that punishment was spent in silence.

Sideswipe's mind digressed off of Prime and he began to think about the injustices caused to paperweights throughout the universe and was thinking of banning together the lot of them to create a union. Together they would fight the oppression against paper weights, and other severely mistreated and underappreciated trinkets and doodads found around one's office, everywhere!

His plans were disrupted as he was shaken out of his thoughts, literally, when he felt a vibration run through the floor. Another followed, then another and another. The rhythmic tremors got stronger and stronger and the periodic thumping slowly got louder each time.

Someone, probably a big someone, was lumbering down the hall.

Eventually the heavy, clumsy footfalls ended right in front of Sideswipe's room. Lazily, the small bot tilted his head to face his door.

If it was a minibot trying to get holograms of his "condition" again he was going to unleash a horrific cyclone of frontline-mech whoopass. Who cared if the Bot he attacked was taller. If that was the case then Sideswipe would break the moron's kneecaps so he could comfortably pummel the idiot's face in.

There was a surprisingly light rapping on the door. Sideswipe poignantly ignored it. He wasn't exactly feeling social. Instead, he waited to hear the mech either leave or have the gull to keep pestering him. He didn't care really. It was their kneecaps on the line after all.

There was a grunt outside his door and if Sideswipe had known what was coming next he would have braced himself by shutting off all audio functions like Jazz usually did at officer meetings.

It sounded like someone took a Cybertronian sized sledgehammer to his door. The horrid pealing rang through Sideswipe's audios relentlessly.

With his hands clamped over said audios Sideswipe quickly rolled to his feet and crossed the room to the door in three mighty bounds. His door was still vibrating when he reached it and the red bot could clearly see a rather large dent that had not been there before decorating the middle of it.

The door flew open, grinding against it's track as it did so because of the newly acquired impression.

Sideswipe's statement started with a furious "What the hell is your problem!" and ended in a slightly startled, "Eep!"

He had good reason for being surprised though. I mean wouldn't anyone be somewhat jarred from seeing the broodiest of the Dinobot brood, who for some reason looked twice as large as he usually did even though in all actuality it was Sideswipe who was simply half his normal size, standing at his door?

"Snarl?" Sideswipe dragged the name out with uncertainty. He looked back into his room briefly then back at the Dinobot. "Did you need something?"

It was really weird having a Dinbot at his room. They normally steered clear of most Autobots, particularly the twins, and rarely made the effort to seek out an individual outside their group. The only occasional exceptions were Ratchet, Wheeljack and sometimes, though rarely, Optimus Prime if Grimlock felt the need to pester and undermine the supreme commander's authority.

So why was the possibly most unhappy, antisocial loner bot of the Dinobot team, who probably had more issues than the New York Times, standing in front of his door?

Oh, Primus. Had the others coerced the Dinobots into pestering him? Would there be no end to his humiliation?!

When he finally got back to normal, Sideswipe vowed, he would retaliate against these unjustices with such ferocity that the others would never know what hit them. Revenge of the likes never seen before would fall upon his fellow 'Bots and it would be swift and it would be ugly and it would be so awe inspiring of a vengeance spree that Starscream would probably take notes. It would come at the Autobots and would soar out of the left field like some horrible zeppelin of spite and they would all learn that you do not, ever, regardless of shape or form, take Sideswipe, private SpecFour mobile artillery soldier, lightly.

Well, at least that's what he planned on doing as long as he wasn't eaten by Snarl first.

Speaking of which, the giant stegosaur transformer stared at him owlishly. He was holding a flat rectangular something close to his chest and a small, in comparison to his size, Cybertronian writing utensil.

"Who you? Where Sunstreaker?" Without warning Snarl stuck his head through the door frame and scanned the quarters. He couldn't get any farther in. His massive, spiky shoulders wouldn't allow it.

"Hey! Watch it!" Sideswipe narrowly avoided being crushed under one of Snarl's huge hands as the Dinobot got on his knees and tried to steady himself. "What do you want with Sunstreaker?"

Unable to locate the "yellow" twin, the Dinobot retracted his head from the door and glared at Sideswipe. "What you do with Sunstreaker? Why he not here and why me, Snarl, not see you before?"

Sideswipe was about to reply his identity and thought better about it. Did he honestly want to reveal himself as being one of the Dinobot's daily, Autobot antagonists? Particularly while he was weak and powerless while the particular mech in front of him could shoot lasers out of his nose?

Oh whatever. It wasn't like his day could get any worse.

"I'm Sideswipe. What do you want with my brother?"

The Dinobot dropped his other hand on the floor and brought his face closer to the childlike bot, scrutinizing him with bewilderment. Sideswipe felt himself involuntarilly cringe.

The Dinobots were huge. Was this how a human felt next to a normal sized transformer?

"You the rusty colored one?" Snarl asked in complete confusion.

"Sideswipe," said rusty one corrected waspishly.

"Me, Snarl, not getting it. You say you rusty one, but you no look like Rusty one. Rusty one is mean, loud and Dinobots no like him. You tiny, and…cute," Snarl stated flatly.

Sideswipe, a mech known as a horror of the battlefield second only to his own brother and Optimus Prime, was just called cute by one of the Ark's surliest Dinobots.

He felt the last of his dignity die inside him.

"Where Sunny one?" Snarl growled impatiently as he picked up his dropped items.

"Why?"

"Today Wednesday," The Dinobot grunted like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Good job, Captain Obvious!" Sideswipe said with sarcastic enthusiasm. "Next we spell bat." Sideswipe mentally kicked himself. He wasn't in the best position to be making snide comments.

Luckilly it went over Snarl's head. "Me say name, Snarl. Not Captain Obvious. You dumb?"

Sideswipe said nothing.

"Anyway," Snarl began, "on Wednesdays, today, Sunstreaker teach me, Snarl…" Snarl paused, his brow scrunched as he thought hard for the next word. "Chromatics," He finally said, quite pleased with himself for remembering such a word.

"Chromatics? You mean color-" Suddenly Sideswipe realized just what Snarl was carrying with him. A sketch pad and Cybertronian sized pencil. The calculation balanced itself in Sideswipe's head and realization dawned on him. "Wait, you're implying that…You mean my sociopathic brother is giving you art lessons!?"

"Last week we do watercolors." Snarl grinned.

Sideswipe's mind broke for a good thirty seconds. "Primus. I need to sit down." He dropped where he stood and plopped into an indian style sit.

His brother was teaching a Dinobot how to draw. His cold, ruthless, antisocial brother was teaching an equally cold, ruthless, antisocial Dinobot how to draw.

It would've made more sense if the two were sharing sparring notes or if Sunstreaker was teaching Snarl the most effectiveways to give an enemy internal trauma with the use of a blunt object, but instead he was giving art lessons!

"Why is my schitzoid brother teaching you art? I thought you hate us? We never see you, we see Cosmos more then you, and you never talk to us. You barely talk or even like Wheeljack and he's the guy who saved you all from being trapped in a moutain for eternity." Sideswipe paused. "And my brother's almost worse then you at being social. I can't see you two striking up casual conversation over tea."

Snarl shrugged. "Me, Snarl, saw him drawing." The dinobot pantomimed scribbling in the air. "Me like his pictures. He draw everything in Ark. Me even saw Dinobot sketches! He also draw things me not see before."

There must have been some violence, cursing and wrestling involved if Snarl actually was able to get the sketch book away from Sunstreaker long enough to look through all of it. Sunstreaker hardly even let Sideswipe, his own brother, catch a glimpse of what he drew.

"Me wonder how him, who be so quiet and unhappy as Snarl, make something so…chearful. How he able to express himself not with words but with pictures. So me ask how and he show me."

"Wow," Sideswipe said woozily, still facing the aftershock of recent revelations. That was actually pretty deep for a Dinobot, though knowing his brother he guessed whatever had conspired was not nearly as simple as Snarl made it sound. Still, who would've guessed that two manic, antisocial cases would bond over scribbles? "That's…really strange."

"Art make Snarl happy," the Dinobot said straight-faced and in deadpan.

"Alrighty then." Sideswipe raised a brow ridge.

It surely didn't seem like it made him happy based on expression and demeanor. Then again, you couldn't judge a book by it's cover. For instance who ever would've guessed that Sunstreaker spent most of his vacation and leave time in Italy simple so he could admire the renaissance art? (and perhaps to compare himself to other Italian sports cars if he had time)

Not many mechs and those few who did kept the information to themselves out of fear of being caused boddily harm by the egotistical mech.

"Now, where Gold one?" Snarl, well, snarled impatiently.

Sideswipe looked at the Dinobot strangely. Did he detect the tiniest bit of worry, underlying the massive dinoformer's voice? "Not here," he replied.

"Where he?" Snarl clutched his sketchbook closer to his chest and dropped completely to his knees. The subsequent clang of his landing boomed through Sideswipe's audios causing them to ring again. All the noise pollution was beginning to give him a headache.

"He's still on-" Sideswipe cut himself short.

Sideswipe was either getting an epiphany or a migraine. He wasn't entirely sure which yet. For all he knew, it could've easily been both given the circumstances.

Anyway, the incoming epiphigraine was related directly to the rather unexpected and not entirely welcome visitor he had received. An evil idea planted itself in his mind and from the petty, vengeful seed a vile plan began to blossom.

Time for theatrics.

"The Autobots sent him far away…" Sideswipe sniffled dramatically.

"What?" Snarl asked in confusion, dropping his sketch pad. "Why? Why they do that?"

"Because they're mean, ungrateful bastards who are trying to cause Sunny and me a lot of pain," Sideswipe said sadly. With watery violet-blue optics he looked at the bemused Dinobot. "Th-they took my brother away," he hiccupped.

Actually, Sunstreaker was somewhere in the desert with Trailbreaker and some other guy to fix a satellite, but that was only a minor technicality.

Sideswipe was gambling a lot with a little but if he played his cards right….

"They take him away?" Snarl asked quietly, slightly panicked. "If he gone, who teach Snarl crosshatching and stippling? We not even start perspective yet!"

Sideswipe shrugged grimly. Apparently the Dinobot was more worried about his art lessons then his art teacher.

The Dinobot stood still like a lost child, still clutching his pencil. Sideswipe could almost see the cogs creaking to life in the gruff bot's mind. Apparently coming up with a solution, Snarl's blue optics flashed brightly for a second, but then his lips drooped into a frown and it seemed like he was rather unhappy with the decision he came to.

Finally he spoke though begrudging was his tone. "Me take you to Grimlock. He know what to do. He help."

'And the bait has been taken.' Sideswipe thought sinisterly while keeping up his distraught child act.

A large, powerful arm wrapped around Sideswipe's waist and the little mech found him self lifted into the air and pinned to Snarl's side.

He hadn't been expecting that part.

"What the? Argh! Let go of me you scuzzbucket!" Sideswipe dropped his front briefly. He was ignored and the Dinosaur mech took off down the hall with heavy, lumbering steps. "Excuse me, I can walk! So let go! I said let go, dammit! The power of Sideswipe compels you! Put me down!" His voice resonated through the empty hallway until he and the massive dinosaur finally disappeared.

Only the hallway hadn't been empty.

Bluestreak had been on his way to Sideswipe's room with a Cybertronian sized super Nintendo under one arm and canister of low grade (he wasn't sure if the law of 21 applied to Cybertronians, since technically they didn't have kids to keep high grade away from. He didn't want to risk it though.) under the other, and arrived just in time to see the burly Dinobot go thundering by with a screaming, tiny Sideswipe held hostage under his arm.

Blue dropped what he was holding and stared blankly ahead.

He had severely misinterpreted what had happened before him but before he could think it through his assumptions were etched into his mind.

"Oh no. The Dinobots kidnapped Sideswipe! They could kill him while he's like that! I've- I've gotta tell Prime." Bluestreak tore off in the opposite direction in search of aid.

So the two acts of stupidity went their separate ways with the promise that when they collided once again, a mess of untold proportions would be released.

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Sorry it's a bit shorter then usual but the chapter decided it wanted to end where it did and who was I to stop it.

Luckily it's summer vacation now so I'll try to upload more frequently… Of course by saying that I've basically jinxed myself into succumbing to a bout of writers block. Ya never know.

Any way reviews are loved, flames are used to toast marshmallows and constructive criticism is highly appreciated.