Walk in their shoes

by OkieDokieDancer

Summary:

A G1 shenanigan styled story where a simple accident resulted in absurd results. Maybe this will be an opportunity for the Autobots to learn something about their human companions, themselves and each other?
Or maybe they'll discover that vegemite is really not for everyone.

Notes:

I wanted to write something a little less brain intensive. I know turned into human stories aren't everyone's cup of tea but I've seen so many 'humanised Transformers' stories recently but not so many 'turned into' ones. So that was part of where the idea came from. The other part came from that one G1 episode in s3 'Only Human'.
The tone of the story will vary depending which character(s) are being focused so I'll put a warning on those chapters if need be but should be otherwise fairly lighthearted for the rest.

Chapter 1: What

Do not ask ‘What’.

That is the first rule in regard to Wheeljack.

Do not ask ‘How, that was the second.

And certainly, never ever EVER ask 'Why.'

These unwritten rules of course did nothing to stop all three of those questions being asked and then some on the regular.

Today was no exception.

 

It had started off as a fairly typical day. Chilling out with the crew at the downed Ark. Finding trouble, never looking too hard. The usual. Teletran alerted them with a chiming alarm of yet another Decepticon raid on a human energy production plant. Optimus Prime and a small team set off to fend them off.  All very standard procedure. They fought. Megatron shouted at Prime. Soundwave's little goblins were a menace to everyone they met as they got underfoot and swooped from above. Starscream was Starscream. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was a familiar dance they all knew and it never took long for the Autobots to push back hard enough the gain the upper hand. After all this was Earth not Cybertron. There was no carefully constructed Decepticon strongholds and near impenetrable defences that had caused so much trouble for Optimus and his Autobots. There was also no backup, meaning every solider counted, regardless of how Megatron felt about his troops. Neither side could afford to be careless with risky skirmishes that could whittle their numbers. Soon enough the Cons retreated and the Autobots returned to the Ark with varying injuries that while uncomfortable and unpleasant, were ultimately fixable. That was when Wheeljack came into the picture.

The dear enthusiastic scientist/engineer had kindly and eagerly offered to help his dear tired and overworked friend Ratchet with repairs. Which was usual. Wheeljack almost always offered to alleviate the medic's workload when he could. Today the selected victim patient was none other than Hound, who had gotten his legs ripped off by Motormaster, (one of the nastier injuries sustained in their latest skirmish). Hound had been rather good natured in volunteering to be Wheeljack’s test subject as it was in Hounds nature to be. His nature however was not shared with the weary and skeptical Mirage who hovered closely behind, watching the chief engineer closely with an unnerving stare through golden eyes.

Ironhide was there too, as was Inferno as they were the ones that helped carry Hound and his legs into Wheeljacks lab. Inferno's presence naturally ment that eventually Red Alert wandered into the lab looking for his counterpart to check he was unharmed. Upon seeing Hound on the slab and the mischievous look in Wheeljacks optics, the white and red Security Director shot the other two red security mechs a dubious look. He didn't need to say anything to communicate his thoughts.

"I don’t know why you're all still hovering like anxious butterflies. I am perfectly capable of conducting simple repairs." Half joked half complained Wheeljack as the party of onlookers continued to watch his every move. It was troublesome to have such a crowd in his workspace.

Ironhide shrugged, "It's not that we don't think you can Jackie. We know you can. It's just. Last week when you made that shrink-ray..."

"And the anti-gravity gun the week before that." Chimed in Red Alert.

"And the Reverse-inator lazer last month." Added Mirage before mumbling quietly under a vent, "Jazz only just stopped speaking backwards."

"We're just a little... concerned." Finished Inferno as kindly as he could.

 

The inventor sniffed at their lack of faith. "I can understand your concerns but none of those inventions have anything to do with repairs so of course I won’t use them." Stated Wheeljack matter-of-factly and apparently oblivious to the sigh of relief from his audience.

"THIS however was made to help with repairs."

An audible exasperated groan rippled through his audience. This time Wheeljack did notice.

The inventor frowned, "I don’t understand it! My inventions work don’t they?! They do exactly what they're intended to do! And this one was specifically built to help Ratchet with repair work so he can have a moments peace more often than never!"

Inferno raised his hand placatingly exchanging a glance with Hound, he could feel the already high level of anxiousness rising inside Red Alert who was probably one inconvenience away from a cascading spiral if unchecked. From Mirage there was a defensive protectiveness that often unintentionally came of as rude due to the ex-towers mech being surprisingly socially awkward outside his preferred circles. And the weariness from Ironhide who really did not want to get involved with another Wheeljack shenanigan so soon after the backwards walking and talking Jazz incident.

"We know Wheeljack we know. But do you mind maybe explaining what it is you're going to do?"

"I agree with 'Ferno. I dont mind you working on me so long as well... we know what that Thing is." Added Hound who was, at present, the only one at risk.

The Thing that Wheeljack had pulled from a case was a large gun like device with a comically large barrel painted in red and yellow stripes, of which Hound decided he didn't much like the look of.

"It's my brand-new Regeneration-inator!" Exclaimed Wheeljack with far too much enthusiasm for Inferno and Hound's encouragement.

His audience looked on in concerned silence.

"Regeneration-inator," Repeated Mirage dryly, "So what does it do exactly?"

"It's my latest invention. See as mechanical beings we don't possess an ability to regrow parts of our bodies. Sure, we have repair nanites that can manage some repairs but it's not the same as how organics can grow cells. Repair nanites can mend the metal that's there, they can convert themselves into materials to help patch up a wound but they cannot replicate. They can't create more of themselves, nor can they create new material to work with."

The members of the room all swapped varying glances with each other as each of them linked together the dots of information shared with them.

"And a while back I was watching a nature documentary with Jetfire and it had these funky little reptiles that were able to regrow their tails, and the other cycle I was watching another human documentary about Stem cells and it gave me the great idea to make this!"

Wheeljack held the Regeneration-inator aloft in a  ‘°⋆✧ta-daa!~ ✧ ⋆°' sort of way and beamed at his silent onlookers.

"That's lovely Jackie but what does your Inator thingamabobby do?" Asked Ironhide breaking the pregnant pause.

"It's supposed to be able to regenerate mechanical limbs!" Exclaimed Wheeljack giving his invention a once over, "Only I haven't tested it yet but all the readings and results have turned out rather promising. So I'm quite confident about its success rate."

"You haven't tested it yet and you want to use that thing on Hound? If you based your... gun on organics, how can you be even certain it won’t turn Hound into anything... uncanny..." Mirage said in disbelief. The spy had moved forward placing an arm in front of the legless green scout making his stance on Wheeljack's creation quite clear.

"It'll be fine! I wouldn't dream of testing it if I wasn't certain no harm would come to Hound." Said Wheeljack tinkering with his new machine and not looking at Mirage and therefore, completely missing the hardened expression that had taken over the spy's frowning face.

"Have you even gotten that thing approved? I didn't see any new applications or approvals regarding any of this!" Added Red Alert.

"Well I was going too..." began Wheeljack but upon looking up to meet Red Alert’s stern gaze looked back down at his Regeneration-inator sheepishly and mumbled, "I was getting around to it."

"Maybe we should put that crazy contraption away and do repairs the old-fashioned way? I'm sure there's a spot for it with all yer other weird, confiscated doo-dads." Suggested Ironhide with tired humour and stepped forward to take the invention from the inventor.

Wrong move.

Ironhide's words, as harmless as he ment them to be, hurt the inventor with a bitter sting.

 

"Crazy?! CRAZY?! You always say that. You all do! About everything I create. But who do you come crawling too when you want a weapon upgrade? Or some wild contraption? Anytime there's a problem you ask me to solve it but then you turn around and say my inventions are a problem! That they're crazy!?"

"Not what I meant Jackie." Retorted Ironhide cautiously.

"Then what did you mean?!" Wheeljack almost yelled which was highly unlike the chief engineer. Wheeljack never yelled. He laughed, he whooped in delight, the screamed in panic but he never really yelled. And that was enough of an indicator for everyone in the lab to remember that even Wheeljack had a limit to how far he could be made fun of, however light-heartedly or unintentionally it might have been. Words had been said. Feelings had been hurt.

The exchange between Ironhide and Wheeljack quickly descended into a squabble, which roped in Red Alert as he bluntly pointed out the number of safety violations that were and would be broken by testing an unapproved and experimental device on a living being. This then cascaded into an argument as Mirage got involved while Hound tried to play it neutral but struggled to hide the fear of being a living test subject.

With it being very much a Wheeljack vs everyone else scenario, Inferno tried his best to mediate the angry mechs around him before deciding to call in for backup.

"If you all think I'm so crazy maybe you'd better lock me up too!" Wheeljack was probably as close to tears as he could get.

"Ya daft coot! If we did really think that then ya would have been dumped in the brig ages ago!" Retorted Ironhide angrily, more mad about how badly he himself was handling the situation than anything else. Besides him Red Alert agreed bluntly.

It was then Inferno's patience started to give way as he then angrily told Ironhide to shut up before turning to say the same to Red Alert, albeit with a tinge more control than he had with Ironhide. Unused to Inferno of all mechs lashing out at him, Red Alert had the sense to look somewhat chastised as he turned his head down to find something very interesting on the floor. His face a now quiet stubborn pout. Ironhide on the other hand was not quite so easily quelled as he started pitching into Inferno in frustration.

The sound of angry voices were clearly audible from outside the Wheeljack’s laboratory. And outside the lab Optimus Prime and one half of his second in commands stood outside the door. They'd wasted little time making their way over after Inferno's brief message. The pair gave each other an exchange of weary looks as the heard something come crashing down inside the lab before bracing themselves for whatever drama was happening inside.

They had barely a moment to take in the scene before them.

Mirage standing in front of Hound who was sitting/lying on the slab holding his legs. Inferno who had pulled Red Alert under the lock of one of his arms as he tried to make a grab for Ironhide who was wrestling some sort of gun-like thing out of Wheeljack’s hands.

 

"What?" Was all the Prime was able to utter before the suspicious gun-shaped weapon slipped from Ironhide and Wheeljacks grasp and fell to the floor with a concerning clanking cluttering crash followed by a bright orange light exploding from the fallen weapon.

Of all the ways Optimus had expected his spark to extinguish, this was not one he had considered.

 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

 

There was the sound of a muffled explosion from somewhere inside the Ark.

An explosion just before Optimus and Prowl had excused themselves to see to a Wheeljack related matter.

It was not hard for Jazz to put two and two together.

Optimus's other second only had to lock visuals with the medic beside him before he and Ratchet were both bolting down the halls. Not a single word exchanged between the two.

For them, at that moment it was still business as usual.

While explosions and the likes were actually a rarity from Wheeljack, it was the comical side effects that made them so memorable, and also the source of his much exaggerated and slightly ridiculed reputation of blowing things up. The reality was that Wheeljack was more likely to accidentally cause himself some sort of injury than accidentally harming others. Although, there were moments.

And it appeared that this might be one such moment.

Ratchet and Jazz barely had to enter the room to sense something was very VERY wrong. For starters there was a distinct lack of anyone in the room. Only, that wasn't entirely accurate as both the joint second and chief medical officer noticed 8 small and very fragile human forms sprawled on the floor.

 

“WHAT?” shouted the medic.

Chapter 2: Transformers transformed

Summary:

Sparkplug makes plans.
Spike has a teenaged boy moment.
And Hound puts on a shirt.

Notes:

Three questions I had when I wrote this chapter.
1. What is Sparkplug's real name?
2. How old was Spike when he first met the Autobots?
3. Do I want to commit to a specific year to set this fic in?

“WHAT?!” yelled Sparkplug. It was hard to pinpoint the exact emotion he was feeling.

Confusion ✔

Surprise ✔

Excitement ✔

Anticipation ✔

Shock ✔

Fear ✔

He wondered if there was a single word for feeling all those things and then some at once. In an odd way it also reminded him of when Spike was born, expect without all the happy mushy feelings that came with that. Spike’s birth was a wonderful joyous moment; this was not that. This was the opposite of that. And as Ratchet had put it, a problem.

He had been having a fairly typical winters day. He was off shift for the fortnight and had enjoyed a relaxing morning cup of coffee followed by a couple of games of indoor lawn bowls with Frank and Joe. It was a lovely ordinary, normal day. Then the news announced another Decepticon raid, which was later followed up with a call from Ratchet summoning Sparkplug and his son to the Ark via GroundBridge. Nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him at the Ark.

“Said what I said,” Said Jazz with a shrug, “Chaos in Wheeljack’s lab one moment. Eight little humans the next. Lots of screaming after.” The joint second in command exchanged glances with his now human companions. Beside him Ratchet mumbled in agreement.

“Yes, but how?” stressed Sparkplug looking aghast at the unfamiliar yet also familiar humans that were set up on top of the medbay bench. Three human females and five males. Some sitting some standing. All bundled up in blankets with expressions that ranged from excitement to sheer horror. Save for one, a petite redhead who had passed after the initial sudden shock of their transformation and was now currently being carried in the arms of a tall man with short dark hair.

“The how being Wheeljack’s latest invention.” Sighed Ratchet in a sober manner. He looked tired. More tired than usual which was a feat in of itself and had taken a seat in one of the medbay chairs a little away from the bench. He looked oddly unsure of himself which was not something Sparkplug often associated with the medic.

Sparkplug stuttered, “Why?”

“That’ll be because some clumsy careless klutz went and dropped my Regeneration-inator! That’s why!” It was one of the familiar/unfamiliar humans that spoke. An older looking male with wild salt and pepper coloured hair and an impressive bushy moustache. He was sort of oval faced and bodied with sort of russet brown skin and uncannily shiny blue eyes. Wheeljack, Sparkplug presumed, although his voice lacked Wheeljack’s distinct edge to it.

“I didn’t drop it! Yer gone and went and yanked it outta my hands and it fell!” argued back a dark blond-haired man with an impressive Viking-esque beard that just touched his chest. His body, in Sparkplug’s opinion, was built like a powerlifter that had a large lunch. He had wondered who this mass of muscles could be, but the distinct drawl of his voice was a dead giveaway. It was also obvious the pair of disgruntled speakers were more than a little cross with each other.

“Ironhide, Wheeljack peace. I believe we should be focused on what we are to do now and how to change back to our original selves.” The man that had spoken had an unmistakable voice. Deep and firm yet kind and gentle. There was little puzzling over who this was.

Sparkplug regarded the human that was Optimus Prime. An athletic, tall man with short dark chestnut hair sprinkled lightly with silver hairs on the sides accompanied by a short beard that covered most of his strong jaw. His stance, even while draped in a blanket, was commanding yet not imposing. In a word, *✧･ﾟ:* majestic  *:･ﾟ✧*.

“Sounds good Boss Bot…Man? I already got Preceptor having a look at Wheeljack’s…” Jazz looked at the inventor who helpfully supplied, “Regeneration-inator.” With a slight pout before Jazz continued, “Yeah... Regeneration-inator… With any luck this’ll only be temporary but I gotta sneaking suspicion it ain’t so you might be stuck like this for a while, so I called in a Human expert.”

Sparkplug nodded, that was good thinking on Jazz’s part. The Autobots-turned-human would definitely need a bit of help navigating the human basics. Although he didn’t realise a profession that was an expert on being a human was even such a thing. Then he noticed all the Autobots, both organic and mechanical staring at him.

“You mean ME?!” he exclaimed with a jolt and suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

“Well yeah, you are a human and better yet, you’re a human parent! You’d know all about looking after and teaching other humans to not accidentally kill themselves,” replied Jazz with a grin gesturing at Spike, “You’ve already done it once.”

Sparkplug stuttered as he gestured a little helplessly with his hands before mumbling a groan, “Well it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you lot shouldn’t be trying to drink any motor oil,” began Sparkplug before catching a surprised look from the bearded man made of muscles, (Ironhide), “And I guess for starters we should probably see to you lot getting some clothes on you. Blankets don’t exactly stay up by themselves. Next, we should also see to where you’re going to stay so you don’t get accidentally stepped on,” Sparkplug saw a concerned look flash across the face of the man carrying the unconscious redhead, “…And lastly we got to sort out something for you to eat.”

Ironhide opened his mouth but Ratchet cut him off before he could even utter a word, “No you cannot consume energon as a human.”

Ironhide shut his mouth.

Maybe human instincts didn’t come as naturally as Sparkplug initially thought. “Ohhh-Kay. Well before we head off mind telling me exactly who’s who?”

 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

 

As it turned out, Sparkplug was able to more or less correctly guess which Autobot was which human. It was less their appearance that helped but more their mannerism and speech. Although Prowl surprised him. A mousey brown haired scrawny looking woman with slightly sunken tired eyes was not what he expected. Although Prowl seemed to care little about the details of his current appearance and simply remained quietly vigil at Optimus’s side. Once re-introductions were completed the group set of to a spot on the Ark located closer to the entrance of the fallen Autobot ship. The renovated guest quarters for their human companions.

It was a build quickly added after befriending Sparkplug and his son and consisted of a total of 4 human sized guest suites which Sparkplug himself had a hand in building. The ‘Human Rooms’ as some of the Autobots had taken to calling them, were most frequently used by Sparkplug, His son Spike, his son’s girlfriend Carly, and occasionally Chip and another human who, from what Sparkplug had gathered, was a friend of Tracks. The Human Rooms was also a space the Autobots did their best to not advertise to their more military and politically inclined human acquaintances as the last thing many of the Autobots wanted to do was babysit a curious organic dignitary as they toured around the Autobot’s makeshift home.

“Right, with a bit of furniture shuffling I think we can squeeze everyone into a space without having to set up another room.” Began Sparkplug gazing around the area. There was a total of 4 rooms which should be enough considering how the Autobots were used to sharing living quarters with each other. A small bubble of pride swelled up inside the older man. The idea that the rooms he helped build having a larger purpose outside of being an ‘overnight sleepover room’ pleased him. It wasn’t often he was able to directly help his mechanical friends.

“Jazz, do you happen to have any more beds stored around someplace?”

“Non that are human sized Sparky. Do ya think we need more?”

“Definitely so, unless you don’t mind sleeping on the metal floor?” replied Sparkplug jokingly.

“Is it a problem to sleep on the floor?” asked Mirage curiously. Their human form being that of the tall woman with long waist-length black hair and unnerving amber eyes that startled Sparkplug every time he looked at them. “Only if you want to wake up with back pain.”

“Back pain.” Repeated Mirage slowly, “I’ve heard you mention this before. Do you not sleep in a bed Sparkplug?” His(?) Her(?) Their(?) golden eyes continued to stare at Sparkplug unblinking. Maybe blinking was another thing that didn’t come naturally.

“Mirage.” Began Sparkplug dryly, “You’re likely to find out what back pain is whether you want to or not. And yes, I do sleep in a bed.”

To this Mirage raised a dubious eyebrow and whispered a concern to the slightly shorter rugged man with a crooked nose and noticeably broad shoulders next to them who had introduced himself earlier as Hound.

“Aside from beds what else would we need?” asked Optimus as he directed the conversation back to task. Still looking as impressive and commanding as one could in a blanket toga.

“Clothes. Which is going to be a sizable task considering there’s 8 of you.” Replied Sparkplug, “I might have a couple things at home some of you could use but…” Sparkplug glanced over the three blanket clad females, “We would definitely need to get some more—SPIKE?!!”

“Yeah Dad?!” pipped up a startled Spike who had taken a backseat to the whole event and had been pestering the now human Autobots with and endless stream of questions.

“You’re on clothing detail. You’ll need to grab some shirts, pants and ughh undergarments and stuff. Jazz, if you could accompany him?” The joint second responded with a wordless thumbs up and a nod.

“Can I go to?” asked Hound in a tone that tried and failed to hide his excitement. Beside him Mirage made a questioning expression followed by a quiet whisper of “why???”

“Maybe next time Hound. I think showing up to a mall wearing nothing but a blanket would cause a bit of a scene.” Placated Sparkplug much to Hound’s disappointment.

“Maybe he could use some of the spare sets of clothes you keep here?” suggested Spike helpfully.

Sparkplug nodded thoughtfully, “Hey now that could work, go have a look son. That is, if Optimus is fine with Hound going.”

Hound turned his head to lock eyes with Optimus in an excited and pleading manner. A bit like that eager look a puppy has when it brings over a stick and gazes up into your eyes with anticipation. Optimus responded with a nod and Hound’s face lit up even brighter.

With a grin, a fist pump and a “Yeah!!” Spike grabbed Hound’s arm and tugged him along to Sparkplug’s room on the Ark. Mirage begrudgingly following behind as it appeared that for the moment, where Hound went, Mirage would follow.

 

With one task currently underway Sparkplug was just about to ask about who preferred to room with who when a quiet voice spoke up. “Pardon me. If I may? Is there somewhere safe I could put Red down where he won’t get stepped on? My…I err… my arms are…getting tired?” It was the tall dark-haired man, Inferno, that had spoken up. Looking looked a touch embarrassed by the admission of tired arms from having carried Red Alert around this whole while. Which for human standards was already an impressive feat to have done for such a time but for someone like Inferno who was used to hours of heavy labour, Sparkplug could see how this human body’s lack of strength was frustrating.

“You can pop Red down in Carly’s room for the meanwhile.” Suggested Sparkplug kindly. Like Prowl, Inferno had spoken little since his transformation, but it was clear he was more than a little stressed by the ordeal. Exactly what was anyone’s guess, but Sparkplug had a couple ideas why.

“Is it alright if I stay with Red? I don’t want him to wake up by himself.” The former fire engine looked down at the unconscious redhead in arms with a trouble expression etched into his face. A face which Sparkplug thought was rather handsome by human standards which lead the oil rig worker to wonder if handsomeness was a shared trait for all firefighters across the Earth and galaxies far away.

“By all means Inferno that is probably for the best.” Approved Optimus. A panicked Red Alert was something they were currently not equipped to manage presently. As Inferno took his leave the blanket-toga garbed Autobot leader turned back to his human companion, “What next Sparkplug?”

“I think we should see about calling Carly down here.”

 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Spike pulled out a draw from under the bed where his dad kept a couple spare sets of clothes. Something Sparkplug and Spike had quickly learned was a handy thing to have on the Autobot base considering how much time they’d spent there, especially in previous years. Not so much nowadays which was something Spike found he sorely missed. But at almost 19 years of age both his father and the Autobots had been pushing Spike to think more about his future and what he could do to prepare for it. Something that apparently couldn’t be done while running around with giant alien robots from space. Sparkplug had already made Spike repeat a year at school for missing too many days on account of Decepticon related incidents.

Was it really such a terrible thing to simply want to spend the rest of his days with the Autobots?

He lifted a pair of pants and an old white shirt from the draw, “Try these one Hound.” He said as he tossed the items of clothing over. Hound caught them and held the shirt aloft inspecting them with admiration. Mirage looked on with mild interest. Even as a human Mirage’s expressions were schooled and tricky to read.

“Wow.” Breathed Hound softly tracing the neckline of the shirt, “It’s so soft?!”

“Well yeah. Rough clothing is usually not well liked by most people. Irritates some people’s skin and stuff. By the way, do you know how to put that on?”

Hound nodded eagerly, “I’ve seen it done and it looks simple enough.” He said confidently and proceeded to put his head through the top hole of the shirt where one’s head is supposed to come out of.

“It looks a bit backwards.” Commented Mirage reaching out to try adjust the upside-down shirt that was stuck around Hound’s neck with minimal success. Spike watched as the two adult humans struggled with his dad’s old t-shirt. Hound made a muffled sound of protest as the shirt got stuck over his face.

“Maybe try again Hound, you’re supposed to go in through the big opening at the bottom.” Explained Spike as Mirage pulled the shirt off Hound’s head resulting in Hound’s dark sandy coloured floppy hair to stand up in all sorts of directions. Mirage shook out the shirt and handed it back to Hound for attempt number two which started off well until Hound got his head stuck in the arm hole and his right arm stuck in the opening for a person’s head.

“They make it look so easy on the adverts.” Said Hound from within the t-shirt as Mirage yanked the shirt off him.

Spike was beginning to wonder if he should step in, but Hound appeared to have finished his trial and error and finally got the shirt on correctly on his third attempt. He pointed at the shirt hanging loosely on his body with an open-mouthed grin. Mirage responded with a small polite smile and nod of approval as Spike gave him a thumbs up.

As Hound battled the pair of trousers given to him, Spike rummaged around for a set of wellingtons he was sure his dad had left around somewhere. He successfully found one fo the boots and a couple belts. Then he remembered Mirage.

“Mirage, are you coming with us?” asked the late teenaged boy.

Mirage blinked their amber hued eyed in surprise looking less than thrilled about the idea of venturing out into human civilisation and opened their mouth to likely say just as much, but stopped when Hound caught their arm, giving them a quiet pleading look. Mirage breathed a quiet resigned sigh, “I suppose so.”

“Well ugh, then you might also wanna put some clothes on too instead of wearing a blanket.” Suggested Spike as he dug around for one of his dad’s old sweaters. He found two, a simple grey turtleneck and a bright red Christmas one with misshapen snowflakes and offered them to Mirage who raised a dubious eyebrow at the obnoxiously festive looking one before taking the grey sweater from Spike’s hand in addition to a belt.

Silently, Mirage studied the items received and down at the blanket they’d wrapped around their body like how one wraps a towel around oneself. They then shot a glance to Hound who had successfully put on the pants which were much too wide in the waist for the Autobot scout. With a ‘hmm’ of mild interest at the oversized pants Mirage took the belt and fastened it around themselves to secure the blanket in place. “How inconvenient,” Mirage grumbled and they picked up the grey sweater puzzle over the location of the entrance.

As Mirage quietly complained over the ‘complexities of human garments’, Spike found himself unconsciously stopping his search for the missing boot to stare at Mirage. As a human they were rather pretty, despite the discomforting golden eyes with their clear porcelain doll-like skin with a face framed by jet black hair. The blanket wrapped around their body did little to hide the curves in their slender frame and Spike suddenly remembered that this was his giant robot friend that turned into a formula 1 race car he was staring at and turned his gaze up from their waistline with a degree of embarrassment to look up at Mirage’s face but only got half way before his eyes settled on something else.

Mirage who had busied themselves with turning the sweater the right way out caught Spike’s unwanted stares out of the corner of their sharp eyes. Mirage quietly turned to look at Hound who was distracted with a pair of gloves he found to admire and silently moved to crouch down next to their young human companion who shifted in a slight jolt of surprise.

“Spike.” Said Mirage in a low voice as the boy moved his eyes to the side nervously.

“Uhhh yes?” he responded a little awkwardly.

“I know I’m not the most well versed with …human customs,” began Mirage slowly and checking to make sure Hound was still distracted by the gloves, “But I know what a perverted stare looks like when I see one. So if you please. Don’t.” scolded Mirage giving Spike’s head a light flick.

“Especially not in front of him.” Added Mirage warningly motioning towards a happy looking Hound and Spike nodded obediently. Mirage’s relationship with Hound wasn’t something they didn’t deny nor openly advertised making it easy to forget about, but when Spike did recall he was always reminded of how quietly protective and devoted they were of each other.

“S-sure thing Mirage. Sorry,” Replied Spike as he found the other wellie, “Uhgh Hound? Could you try on these boots? I’ve got another pair in my room that would probably fit you better Mirage.”

Mirage nodded, satisfied with Spike’s response and Hound, unaware of the exchange, enthusiastically took the pair of boots admiring the bright yellow look of the things and poked the side of the footwear with a finger, “It’s got an interesting texture. Solid yet flexible. Is it rubber?”

“It is,” confirmed Spike helpfully, “It’s great for when it’s wet out. But hang on a sec’, you should probably put on a pair of socks first.”

Hound nodded once again enthusiastically as Mirage pulled the grey sweater over the makeshift blanket dress. It was clear enough even to the former transforming robot that Sparkplug’s trousers would look ridiculous in even an attempt to wear them.

“I’m so glad I got turned into a human with legs.” Remarked Hound happily as he pulled a black sock over his foot and wiggled his toes in amusement.

“As opposed to without legs?” asked Spike confused and Hound nodded.

“When Ironhide and Wheeljack were squabbling over the Regeneration-inator and dropped it, I was in for repairs for my legs.” Explained Hound.

“Motormaster ripped off his legs.” Elaborated Mirage.

“Yeah. My legs hadn’t been reattached yet, so I was kinda surprised that I ended up with legs at all as opposed to without.”

Spike scratched his head, “Well I guess that makes sense.”

“Not that I would have been upset about it. After all Chip has shown us how humans get around if they lack full use of their legs. But seeing that I do have legs, I really want to run around on grass. Or better yet, the sand- on the beach.” Continued Hound as Mirage smiled fondly at the enthusiastic floppy haired human.

“Why sand?” asked Spike.

“I want to know what it feels like.” Stressed Hound. “You know I love getting outdoors but sand truly is awful when it gets inside your joints and seams, but Humans don’t have joints, or at least not in the same way. And I guess it just looks like a lot of fun.”

“We might not be able to go to any beaches right now seeing that it’s winter, but we can always try ice skating instead?” said Spike and Hound grinned even wider. Spike had never seen anyone so excited before and wouldn’t have been half so surprised if Hound burst into an explosion of confetti at any moment.

“I for one am simply glad we didn’t turn into anything… unnatural.” Said Mirage, “I know our kind has a saying, ‘To change is in our nature.’ But this is already far too outrageous.” Mirage gazed down at their hands, turning them over as they spoke, inspecting the way the skin folded around the joints as they flexed their fingers.

“Well all things considered Mirage, I think you’re handling this whole become a human thing pretty well.” Offered Spike consolingly.

“Only because of how familiar I am with your species and thanks to a certain someone’s fondness for them,” Mirage nodded their head towards Hound, “I think… no, I know I would be far less comfortable if I was turned into some sort of grotesque looking creature.”

“Like what kind of creature?” asked Hound pulling the boots on.

“A frilled-neck lizard.” Deadpanned Mirage and Hound allowed himself an amused chuckle. “They’re not that bad Mirage. But I do agree I don’t think I would be as thrilled to be turned into one of those by Jack’s Regeneration-inator.” He agreed.

“Funny thingy that machine. I wonder just how Wheeljack’s Regeneration-inator works?” pondered Spike out loud.

Mirage hummed, “He mentioned something about reptiles regrowing their limbs?”

“Reptiles?” quizzed Spike.

“And a Stem cell documentary.” Added Hound.

“Reptiles,” repeated Spike curiously, “Yeah there are some lizards that drop and regrow their tails…” he paused, “Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if you guys didn’t actually turn into humans but instead are really some sort of human looking lizard hybrid creature?”

Neither Hound nor Mirage said a word save a slight gasp from Mirage, the most emotion they’d shown since Spike saw them post-transformation, and a side eye glance towards Hound before Mirage leapt from where they sat and made a dash for the door.

Hound raised his eyebrows in alarm exchanging a concerned glance with Spike before pursuing the worried spy. Spike groaned grabbing a couple of jackets from his dad’s stash of extra clothes before following suit.

 

“WHEELJACK?!” shouted Mirage as they burst out from Sparkplugs room on the Ark. Their sudden emergence startling those outside.

“DID YOU TURN US INTO LIZARD HUMANS?!”

Amongst the crowd Wheeljack paused to take in the frantic question shouted at him before blinking in dumbfounded confusion followed by a soft, “What?”

“Did You Turn Us Into Lizard People Wheeljack?!” repeated Mirage grabbing the inventor by the shoulders in a very uncalm manner that was very unlike Mirage.

“Are we going to turn into LIZARDS?” Mirage shook Wheeljack as if shaking the poor man would produce a response faster.

Jazz, ever the problem solver and highly concerned about Mirage’s uncharacteristic outburst, reached down with a frown and placed a single finger between the two to separate them before picking Mirage up in his hand with a frown, “Raj what you on about?” he asked securing Mirage in his hands so they wouldn’t fall off.

“I… I don’t know?! I just don’t want to turn into anything else?!” confessed Mirage, ‘This is already a lot. I don’t think I could handle becoming a lizard. Especially a frilled necked lizard.” The idea of any further transformations obviously being the tipping point for the spy, “They eat bugs! I don’t want to eat bugs?!” Mirage further stressed.

“The feeling’s mutual in that,” Chimed in Ironhide from below, “But why ya so fixated on turning into little reptiles?” Beside him the others murmured curious and confused agreements.

“Umm. I think I might have something to do with that.” Said Spike as he approached the group followed by Hound. The others looked on expectantly.

“See they were trying to explain Wheeljack’s humanisation-ray—”

“Regeneration-inator.” Corrected Wheeljack adjusting his blanket.

“Regeneration-inator. And I might have implied they might be lizard humans because Wheeljack was inspired by reptiles.”

Sparkplug sighed a tired sigh. Which was followed by an even bigger sigh from Ratchet.

“You need not worry about any of that,” said Ratchet intervening to put a stop to any further hysterics, “I might not be well versed in human biology but from a base scan your makeup appears to be entirely human. That being said. Please keep in mind that I cannot repair you if you sustain an injury as a human, so please. Don’t do anything reckless when you’re out.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it doc.” said Hound as Jazz quietly consoled Mirage, who had calmed down enough by the confirmation they were in fact not going to become a lizard person anytime soon, that Jazz felt satisfied to return his concerned spy back down to the ground.

Once back on the ground Spike handed both Mirage and Hound a jacket each.

“If it helps. If we were going to have turned into lizards we would have done so initially in the first place.” Supplied Wheeljack unhelpfully despite having helpful intensions. Mirage made an unreadable expression that was anything but happy and Hound grimaced a tired smile at the well-meaning inventor. Above them, Ratchet sighed once again.

Sensing the uncomfortable mood Spike decided to interject to usher things along, “Almost good to go I guess,” he said light-heartedly with an awkward laugh before looking down at Mirage’s bare feet, “Let me grab the boots from my room first and then we’ll be off.” And he darted of to retrieve the footwear.

“I guess that’s our cue to start getting the GroundBridge ready.” Remarked Jazz transforming into his vehicle mode, “I’ll comm Blaster to standby. Ready for a fun filled shopping adventure you two?” he said trying to shake off Mirage’s less than stellar mood.

“I can’t wait to see exactly what’s inside a shopping mall.” Exclaimed Hound before gasping, “Maybe they’ll even have those rubber ducks!!”

“yippy.” Deadpanned Mirage.

Notes:

Initially I was going to have Hound as a lady but I kept imagining this specific anime character and it completely took me out of the zone when writing.

Chapter 3: The Kitchen

Notes:

A goofier chapter that could go on and on.
Also I struggled immensely on what appropriate pronoun to use for Mirage and Prowl so far I've been using they and sometimes he. I think that should be ok?

As the quartet consisting of Spike, Hound, Mirage and Jazz left on their designated quest with the frantic parting words of, “Remember to blink!” from Sparkplug, (specifically aimed towards Mirage). Ratchet found he was left with a less overwhelming number of transfigured friends.

He was tired.

And not because of the current dilemma he was now involved with. No Ratchet prided himself in being rather handy in solving most problems. This was however something that was quite out of his field. He didn’t know what to do. And it was in not knowing what to do that frustrated him which in turn increased his already moderate stress levels resulting in this unuseful feeling of exhaustion.

“What should we do Optimus? And I don’t mean what you lot are going to do,” said the medic pointing specifically at his human comrades, “You’re going to make sure you don’t get squashed under someone’s foot and not to mention keep out of trouble until something can be done about turning you back to normal.”

“Does the rest of the Ark know?” asked Sparkplug.

“Yes, before you arrived I spoke with them. Or at least those that are presently here. In any case they’ve agreed to keep a distance for now so as to not step on us.” Answered Optimus.

“Though how long that’s going to last before they start getting too curious be anyone’s guess.” Added Ironhide.

Sparkplug nodded. He could imagine Sideswipe loosing out to his own curiosity soon enough meaning they’d probably have to set up some sort of distraction for him and any other too curious Autobots. He looked around doing a mental roll call of the Autobots present before coming to a concerning realisation.

“Prime,” began Sparkplug, “If you don’t mine me asking. Seeing exactly who’s been hit with the human-ray-”

“Regeneration-inator.” Corrected Wheeljack.

“Yes, that. But Who’s running the Ark at the moment. I know Jazz is one of your Seconds but…” the older man’s voice trailed off as he glanced at Optimus Prime’s other Second, then towards Carly’s room where the unconscious head of security currently was, next to the wild haired man that was also the Autobot’s head engineer and of course the Prime himself.

“Who exactly is running this circus right now?” asked Sparkplug.

“While this form might prove to be a slight… hinderance it should not prevent us from carrying out administrative duties which, yes Ratchet, can be completed without getting underfoot.” It was Prowl who spoke up, “But if you might be wondering who is currently our active command team that would Jazz, Ratchet, Blaster, Bumblebee and Trailbreaker.”

That made sense, Jazz and Ratchet were already part of command with the rest having already juggled various high-ranking positions, “Well I suppose if you’ve got it sorted.”

“For the present time being.” Confirmed Prowl who seemed to have more to say on the matter but restrained themselves from doing so.

Sparkplug clapped his hands, “Right-o then, while we wait for those four why don’t you all follow me into the kitchen and I’ll show you how to make a sandwich?”

“A sand witch?” asked Ironhide curiously. He had never been one to pay much attention to the names of human food.

“Yep. If you’re gonna walk and talk the human part, you also gotta eat like a human too.”

 

Aside from a set of bedrooms and ensuites, Sparkplug had also seen to it that a small kitchen had also been installed into the area dubbed as the ‘Human rooms’. A room visited mostly infrequently under normal circumstances, Sparkplug figured this was probably the most crowded the kitchen had even been.

“You already know that food is to us as energon is to you guys. But before handling and preparing food you should wash your hands first because humans get sick in all sorts of ways and the last thing we want is to have to bring any of you to a doctor,” began Sparkplug. He took out a bag of bread, a plate and, figuring they should start with something simple, a jar of blueberry jam. He placed a slice of bread on the plate.

“Now bread is the most important component for this. You can leave it as it and simply put your chosen topic on top or you can toast your bread a little ta make toast,” Sparkplug took out another slice and popped it into the toaster, “If you’re using the toaster you gotta be careful of the settings else it’s come out burnt and you can’t eat that.”

To this Wheeljack raised his hand slightly, “Why is burnt an option on the toaster then?”

“I wish I knew Wheeljack.” Was Sparkplug’s honest reply before continuing, “One you got your bread to your liking your going to use a knife to spread your topping like this jam.” He dipped the knife into the pot of jam and spread the sweet fruit themed spread across the slice of bread with the expertise of a master having honed his craft over the many MANY years of making sandwich lunches for himself and Spike.

The Autobots watched on with curious eyes making Sparkplug feel like one of those culinary TV presenters showing off their latest ‘ready-in-15-minute-meals’ that never ever only took 15 minutes to prepare.

“Then you can just fold it over in half or slap another slice of bread on top and Bob’s you’re uncle.” Concluded Sparkplug putting another slice of bread on top and cutting the sandwich in half across it’s diagonal, just the way his late wife always used to do. Always across the diagonal.

The Autobots watched on with curious eyes.

“Where’s the sand?” asked Ironhide flatly.

“What?” said Sparkplug, “Why would there be sand?”

“Ya said you were gonna make a sand witch?” stated Ironhide.

Sparkplug spluttered, “It’s just what it’s called. There isn’t actually any sand in it. That would taste awful!” He explained. Ironhide hummed thoughtfully as he inspected the sandwich with no sand.

“Who is Bob?” asked Prowl just as Sparkplug had finished with Ironhide. The older man shot Prowl a defeated that screamed, ‘Not you too!?’ at which Prowl frowned in response.

“I believe it’s an expression of speech Prowl.” Supplied Optimus placing a hand on his Second’s shoulder, “like ‘break a leg’ or ‘hold your horses’ that sort of phrase.” Prowl acknowledged but still proceeded to grumbled something under their breath about nonsensical figures of speech.

Sparkplug ‘harrumphed’ and took out 4 other plates placing a single slice and butterknife on each. “Your turn.” He said nudging the plates towards them. Prowl was first to pick up the butterknife, he inspected its barely serrated edge before stabbing it into the jam. Pulling out the knife he frowned as the jam slid off the knife’s edge. He repeated the action again with little success. “I feel like a different tool would be more suitable for this task,” he said with mild frustration as the jam fell off the knife again.

“You’ve got to angle it,” said Wheeljack taking the jar and scooping out a blob of jam from the glass, “Like this!” the inventor pulled the butterknife out of the jar with far too much excitement sending the jam flying backwards as if it had been launched by a catapult.

“Whoops.”

With a bit more jar stabbing it was now time to move onto the bread stabbing as applying a jam spread to a slice of bread required a little more fitness than the now-human Autobots currently had with their unfamiliar bodies. Sparkplug was beginning to wonder if he had been a bit too ambitious in their culinary adventures as he watched Ironhide completely squash his slice of bread under his butterknife. Prowl wasn’t much better as he kept dropping the jam from his knife. Mumbling a cross complaint each time he clumsily maneuvered the knife. Wheeljack however seemed to be having a grand time spreading the Jam on the bread and kept adding blobs of the stuff to his drowning carbohydrate. Once satisfied with his mountain of jam the salt and pepper coloured inventor proceeded to slap another slice on top with just enough force to send the jam inside flying out of the sandwich and splattering over the kitchen bench and Ironhide who was beside him.

“Quit making a mess of things!” chided Ironhide with a huff taking a paper towel from Sparkplug to wipe of the blueberry jam from his arms.

“Well excuse me for using this opportunity for testing the limits of jam!” retorted Wheeljack with a huff, still sore from their earlier disagreement that resulted in their current predicament.

Ironhide’s bushy brows drew together in a frown, “Then don’t make it other folk’s problem then!” he snapped.

“Ironhide, Jack. Enough,” scolded Ratchet from beside the open kitchen space. The chastised pair shot each other cross glares before returning to their sandwich abominations.

Only Optimus seemed to be wholly successfully in his sandwich endeavours. The Prime delicately spread a modest amount of the blueberry jam to each corner of the bread slice before placing on top the other slice. He did not attempt to cut it. The *✧majestic ✧* blanket-toga wearing man held the sandwich in his hands turning it over, “Fascinating,” he said. Beside him Wheeljack gave him a congratulatory thumbs up and Sparkplug only then noticed that the lower part of Optimus’s face was faintly lined with multiple scars that were mostly obscured by his beard.

Deciding to move on else they’d be stuck on sandwiches the whole day, Sparkplug took out an apple from the fridge, “Now. Does anyone know what this is?” he asked watching the slightly confused Autobots who had never had a reason to learn the name of this particular fruit before. Or any fruit for that matter. “Ratchet no helping them!” he added glancing up at the Medic.

“A banana?” said Ironhide with a shrug.

“What? No.”

“A pear?” asked Optimus Prime cautiously.

“No!”

“A plum?” guessed Prowl.

At least those were sort of red, “No!”

“An orange!” exclaimed Wheeljack with far too much confidence.

“Does this look orange to you??! It’s an apple!” exclaimed Sparkplug. Where was Hound when you needed him? Or Jazz, Or Bumblebee? Or Beachcomber? Or Tracks? Or Blaster? Or any of the other Autobots that were more interested in the names of plant produce?

“Ok,” said Sparkplug regaining his composure, “some foods, like apples, don’t need any preparation to eat them. You can just a wash and then—”

“Bob’s your uncle!” finished Prowl with no secret amount of glee from applying the previously unknown idiom.

“Exactly!” said Sparkplug with pronounced exasperation. Suddenly he didn’t feel so confident about the success of his son’s own separate quest and made a silent prayer that Hound and Mirage were better informed than the peanut gallery before him.

Sparkplug walked over to the fridge and signalled for the Autobot’s attention. “This,” he began, “by the way is the fridge. Some foods need to be stored at lower temperatures otherwise they go bad and you can’t eat those else you might get sick.”

“Ahh!” piped up Wheeljack tapping the open palm of his hand with his fist, “just like with certain chemicals!”

Sparkplug nodded opening the fridge as he did, “Now this,” he said pulling something out of a small carton. Something small, brown and oval shaped and also, the next item on Sparkplugs food tutorial. “This is an egg.”

Maybe he was being too ambitious.

Notes:

We'll see what Hound and Mirage are up to next chapter.