Title: The Care And Raising of Perceptor (1/?)

Author: dreamerchaos

Rating: PG to PG-13. Warning: Cavities may be induced due to cuteness and Wheeljack having too much entertainment value with a sparkling Perceptor.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro.

Summary: The Autobots soon notice that Perceptor hasn't been seen for quite a while. And that his latest project appears to have malfunctioned… Sparkling!Perceptor and the mayhem that ensues.

Author Note: The style in which I will write this fic is…a work in progress, to say the least. I can't say how long this fic will be. Each chapter will contain more than one Autobot (or Decepticon, perhaps) and I will list their name above each part, so that the reader will know what to expect.

Author warning: Nothing too bad, besides possible mischief and Wheeljack cooing and preparing to combust over the cuteness that is sparkling!Perceptor.

Bluestreak

The sharpshooter paused mid-step, hearing a startled and frightened yelp from within the confines of the red and cobalt scientist's labs, followed by a muffled explosion and a thin gout of black smoke hissing through the narrow cracks of the sealed lab doors.

Warily, Bluestreak approached the entrance. Keying in the access code, he coughed violently when the doors slid open, waving his hand frantically to dispel the smoke.

"Perceptor?" Bluestreak stuck his head into the scientist's labs. His olfactory sensors burned, cringing at the sting of the dark smoke that cloaked the room. "Perceptor? Are you all right?"

In the far corner of the lab, a mammoth blend of cables and metal components hissed and spat cracking sparks of electricity, the equipment shuddering valiantly for one last attempt of existence before groaning, lights flickering and gears grinding to a halt. Steam and smoke continued to pour from various compartments, stifling and providing poor visibility into the room.

"Perceptor, where are you?" Bluestreak called out again.

Listening intently, he caught the faint sound of a small whimper off to his right.

"H-hold on, Perceptor! I'm coming inside!" Bluestreak dove into the room, searching haphazardly for the other mech, fearing that he was injured in the blast and lying prone and damaged within the cloak of the smoke.

On his hands and knees, Bluestreak felt his way across the floor, using his tactile senses to search out the span of the room.

Imagine the mech's initial shock when he nearly bumps into a miniature version of Perceptor, both the sparkling sized scientist and the much larger Autobot peering at each other face to face.

Perceptor tilted his head in curiosity, chirping inquiringly at the befuddled mech.

"P-Perceptor?"

Bumblebee

Bumblebee was surprised to see Bluestreak rush past him without hardly a hello or goodbye, the sharpshooter's arms wrapped tightly around his middle clutching an indistinguishable shape within his grip. "Bluestreak?" Bumblebee called after the larger mech. "Where are you going in such a hurry!?"

"Can'ttalkgottago. Bye Bumblebee!!" Bluestreak shot down the corridor, whipping off down the right, and nearly running over Hound and Mirage.

"Where on Cybertron is the fire?" Mirage muttered, helping Hound onto his pedes, the green mech having lost his balance from falling back in surprise at the sharpshooter's fast pace.

Bumblebee bit his lip, concerned and contemplating following after the mech, but Mirage summoned his attention, reminding him that he was due for patrol duty.

Jazz

The saboteur noticed offhandedly how Bluestreak snuck into the rec room without being observed by his fellow Datsuns. Making a beeline for the energon dispenser, the sharpshooter quickly filled two cubes of energon, and hastily tucked them into subspace before quickly heading back the way he came.

'Odd.' Jazz noted, raising his hand in greeting when Bluestreak happened to catch his gaze. "Hey, Blue! Care to join me?"

Bluestreak smiled sheepishly, all the while shifting restlessly closer to the exit. "S-sorry, Jazz. I'm busy. Just taking a break and heading back."

"Whatcha working on?"

"…Things." The sharpshooter offered half-heartedly. "Just a personal project."

"Ah." Jazz breathed, clearly not satisfied by the stilted answer.

"Anyway, bye!" Bluestreak bid farewell, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.

"He's acting a bit odd." Blaster shared with the seating companion. The red communications officer shifted in his seat, observing the rec room and noting the Autobots that were present. "More so than usual."

"Hmmm." Jazz hummed in agreement.

Only a few astroseconds after Bluestreak's exit, Ratchet stuck his head into the rec room. Running a quick head count, the medic appeared to deflate, head dropping as he sighed in clear frustration.

"What's up, Ratchet?" Blaster inquired before the medic also beat a hasty retreat.

"Has anyone seen Perceptor?"

"Have you checked his labs?" Jazz asked.

"I did." The medic appeared even more concerned. "And the labs are in ruins, and I can't find Perceptor."

Prowl

Prowl entered Bluestreak's quarters, but hesitated before knocking on the door into Bluestreak's private recharge room. Pausing and frowning at the odd pitch of the sharpshooter's voice barely distinguishable.

"Ooh. What's wrong…wrong?...can't be good. Why aren't… not drinking…come on, please…" Following the sharpshooter's worried voice, there was a faint whimper and trill.

Prowl knocked politely, growing slightly concerned. "Bluestreak. Is everything all right?"

There was a loud clang, and then Bluestreak yelped. "Yes! I'm fine!" From within the room there was a loud row of shuffling, and the sound of the sharpshooter making an odd shushing noise. "What do you need, Prowl?"

"You are late for patrol, and Smokescreen is growing antsy waiting for you."

"Aah! Sorry! I'll be right there!"

"Is everything all right, Bluestreak?" Prowl hated to repeat himself, but he was growing steadily worried about Bluestreak's odd behavior and his apparent refusal to open the door to his private chambers.

"Fine! Everything's fine!"

Prowl wasn't remotely convinced, but decided to leave Bluestreak alone rather than to bother him any further and make the other Datsun more nervous.

He would have to remember to speak with Bluestreak about his odd behavior after patrol.

When leaving Bluestreak's quarters, his comm pinged. "Yes?" Prowl answered swiftly.

:Prowl, have either you or Red Alert been informed of Perceptor having left the base for any reason?: Optimus Prime inquired over the private comm link.

"No, and I do not believe Red Alert has been informed of such a thing. At least to my knowledge."

:Ratchet and Wheeljack have both voiced their concerns that they cannot locate Perceptor, and that his labs are in disarray.:

"Begging your pardon, sir, but that does not sound unusual for Perceptor's labs to be…slightly disorganized." Prowl said, as politely as possible reminding his leader of the scientist's penchant of losing track of his own projects and datapads within the jumble and hasty organization of his private labs.

:Perhaps you should join me in Perceptor's labs and you will see why I am as concerned about Perceptor's current well-being:

"Yes, sir. I'm on my way."

Smokescreen

"Bluestreak! Get the lead out and keep up already!" The Datsun snapped, growing further impatient as Bluestreak continued to lag behind in his alt mode. Smokescreen gunned his engine, tires grinding in frustration across the dirt and rock.

"I-I'm coming!" Bluestreak was practically moving at a snail pace, tires nearly tiptoeing across every bump and dip, speed never cresting twenty miles per hour.

"Primus and to the Pit!" Smokescreen growled, hitting his brakes, performing a tight doughnut and coming to a screeching halt facing Bluestreak. The Datsun assumed his bipedal mode, face furious as he waited for Bluestreak to finally rendezvous.

"What is the matter with you? How are we supposed to finish our patrol if I am too busy coaxing you along!"

"I'm sorry!" Bluestreak came to a stop in front of him, but strangely did not assume his bipedal form. He rocked back and forth on his tires, body lying low to the ground.

Smokescreen's optics narrowed, just now noting the slightly darker tint of Bluestreak's windows. "Are you hiding something, Bluestreak?"

"No!" Bluestreak's alt from literally jumped. The sharpshooter reversed sharply, but then stopped. "No, not at all."

"You are hiding something." Smokescreen insisted, striding towards the sharpshooter who sheepishly retreated backwards until Smokescreen caught up.

"Stop running backwards in circles." Smokescreen ignored Bluestreak's flustered sputtering, trapping the sharpshooter by laying a hand over the mech's hood, leaning down and peering in through the front window. "What is going on, Bluestreak? You can't hide anything from me."

From within the sheltered recess and partially hidden behind the tinted glass, a small form suddenly flung itself against the front windshield glass, small hands smacking against the dark glass. "BLUE!" The small shape shouted.

It was hard to determine later who jumped farther and emitted the loudest shriek of surprise. Smokescreen, or Bluestreak in response to the other Datsun's sudden flight and terrified shout.