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Prowl was on the move. Starscream was once again safely stashed in his cabin, and his alternative mode was truly proving to be a blessing that he had never stopped to fully appreciate before
It was a well known fact that barbarians did not possess alt. modes. There were many theories as to why, but the most plausible of them all, was that they had simply evolved out of them.
The average Cybertronian needed close to four cubes per cycle, with periodic refills worked in depending on one’s function. With the strain on fuel that was required for the daily use that most bots took of their alts, in addition to whatever else they usually did, it averaged out to about five to six cubes a cycle.
About three of every four cubes that a normal Cybertronian needed, went into their alt. Even when not in use, their alternative mode required the most amount of fuel to stay functioning, as it had most of their moving, working parts.
And as was a well known fact, the wastelands did not support the wells of energon that city states generally resided around. Thus, there was scarce amounts of the life giving substance to be found.
Barbarians were - for the most part - thought to be groups of bots that separated from ancient civilizations, and moved away for reasons unknown, till they eventually reached the wastelands where they now lived. Scientists theorized that in doing so, at some point, they lost the ability to transform. Due to a lack of the vital energon that they needed to sustain the extra systems, it would make sense for their frames to have shunted the programming entirely over the course of generations, until their need for fuel would be practically negligible compared to civilized mecha.
Prowl severely doubted that barbarians even possessed T-cogs (which would be the bare minimum required to shift mass and allow for things like subspace, or inbuilt weaponry) seeing as he had never observed them implementing the advantages that could have helped them achieve their objectives (one of which was apparently capturing, and containing, Prowl himself) during the whole time they had been around. Coupled with their primitive weapons, the theory was proving to be a strong contender as truth.
Prowl had barely made it past the barbarians as it was, the other monochrome mech proving to be a more courageous bot than Prowl had expected. Or maybe idiotic would be the better term.
Who in their right helm just stood there while a fully armored, military grade enforcer rushed them?
An imbecile, that’s who.
An imbecile who had been crushed by four tons of determined emergency responder. Prowl had left the other monochrome bot flat on his backstruts, front caved in, gasping for vents after his were crumpled from the impact.
Prowl was fairly certain the mech also had a concussion, as the star-struck look of infatuation he sent after him was not something a bot in their right helm directed at the mech who flattened them.
Prowl frowned at the memory, but shook the questions that were piling up from his helm. He needed to concentrate on their surroundings.
He might have escaped the barbarians for now, but they were a determined bunch, and Prowl needed to be on constant alert if he wanted to evade them.
Prowl had managed to snag his acid rifle back from the wagon next to the one they had been kept in, and what appeared to be a knife made out of mecha-animal struts.
Having to steal set his coding on edge, but Prowl could reason with himself that he was only taking back what was already technically his. He would not be able to fool his coding for long, and he was sure that it would cascade into a system failure sooner, rather than later, but he could only hope that they would be back in civilization by then.
A kick in his cabin pulled him from thoughts that were threatening to send him into a spiral, and for that, Prowl was thankful.
Starscream was starting to get restless, shifting and wiggling his wings in a pattern that clearly showcased discomfort and agitation. Prowl slowed, knowing he would have needed to stop soon anyway. Conserving energon had to be his top priority now that they didn’t have any supplies.
Prowl transformed seamlessly, rolling smoothly into root mode with only a slight hitch of one of his inner lines. A minor concern, but nothing he could deal with out here. Better to concentrate on the things he could change, than the things he couldn’t.
With that thought process in helm, Prowl released the seams of his chassis, reaching in and pulling out his sparkling.
Starscream stared wide-opticed at him, vents stuttering, and intake agape. He was obviously ready to begin screaming if anyone other than his adoptive creator was in his line of sight, and only calmed down when he had a good look around and noted that they were blessedly alone.
Prowl winced at the clear signs of trauma, and sighed internally. Of course his attempt to get away from all of Starscream’s troubles would just land them in a situation that gave him more.
Perhaps Prowl was not the best choice of creator.
He would have to think on it more when they got back to civilization. He did not want Starscream to live in an environment where he was constantly reminded of his worst memories, and Prowl feared that was what would happen if he stayed with him.
That was not a comforting processing thread, and Prowl chose to ignore it for the time being. He set Starscream on the rough ground, reminding him in quiet tones not to wander away.
Prowl began walking, holding Starscream by the servo and leading him through the dense crystals at a pace that would allow him to calm down.
Prowl kept an observant optic on the surrounding crystal growths, watching the way Sol shone through them, and looking for any shadows that didn’t match the facets.
Prowl had always heard that he was odd, even for a bot with a Tac-Net installed. Something about his empty EM field, expressionless features, and icy optics set other mecha on edge.
It was an annoyance to work with bots who called him an emotionless drone simply because he did not express himself the same as them, but the effect it had on his work was negligible, and thus did not warrant action on his part.
With a sparkling though, it might be imperative to work on his social skills (if he could even keep his sparkling after this—)
Prowl once again cut that thread. He put the Tac-Net to work scanning the crystals, setting it to idle input unless a significant change in the environment occurred.
All data trees, threads, and branches were shifted to ‘idle’, set to only alert him in an emergency, and lowered to minimum power so as to conserve energy. Already, Prowl could feel the immediate boost in physical awareness and control he gained from it.
It would severely reduce his ability to plan ahead, or strategize, leaving him in the same logistics capacity as a normal Cybertronian, if a bit faster, but it would prioritize his physical enhancements in the Tac-Nets’ plans, and his pursuit coding would use it to his full advantage.
He had no doubt that in the long run, his handling of his internal processes would be beneficial, but currently, his Tac-Net was struggling to gain back the passive input that it would normally receive, instead of the barely archived bits and pieces it had to specifically sort through, and look for.
The battle in Prowl’s helm had him grimacing in discomfort, coding celebrating in smug joy, and Tac-Net pouting in petty anger. They were in a constant war against each other, and normally Prowl had them held at a carefully balanced stalemate, but with the conservation of fuel, need for more athletic prowess, and decrease in tactical input, his pursuit and enforcement coding was at an advantage, and attempting to press for more power.
Power that Prowl did not have to spare, else it never would have gotten this far in the first place.
He sighed internally again, bringing his unoccupied servo to rub his chevron. He glanced down, wanting something to pull his processes away from the battle within, and finding the exact thing he needed.
Starscream was kicking pebbles, staring in fascination as they flew away, only to come rebounding back once they hit a crystal.
He was giggling happily (maniacally, his Tac-Net supplied. Why it decided to use its severely limited power to note this, Prowl was not sure), and fluttering his wings, with excited flaps mixed in.
Prowl smiled. His brothers would likely have had spark attacks by this point with how much their normally stoic sibling was emoting. The thought made Prowl snicker slightly, and his gaze was drawn away to nothing as he thought longingly of his family.
His brothers were likely just getting off of their shifts, chattering happily with each other, and making their way back to the hab they shared.
His cousin would be just signing into his own shift, and probably complaining loudly to any and all who were within audial range. His vocoder would be deep and scratchy with recharge still, optics glowering at the motivational poster that the Petrex precinct of Praxus switched ornly.
He always said it fragged him off to see the stupidly chubby drawing telling him to work hard or some slag like that, while all the poster had to do was sit on the wall.
Prowl found it amusing, and frequently got him engraved cubes with motivational phrases, and signs with overly cheery drawings of ‘chibis’ as they were called.
His cousin scowled and cursed angrily at every item he received, but Prowl knew for a fact that they all had a special place on a shelf in his hab.
The thoughts of his family had Prowl smiling with a melancholy he wasn’t aware he could express.
They would love Starscream. He would be the most doted upon sparkling in existence.
Prowl anticipated the cycle they could finally be introduced. And if Green had flown at top speed, with no rests, hopefully that cycle would be soon.
Prowl and Starscream traversed through the crystals for the rest of the cycle, sticking near the edge on the chance Prowl needed open space to transform and escape, but deep enough they would not be spotted from the outside.
It was well past the joor for Starscream to rest by the time Prowl slowed them to a halt, but until he was certain the area was secure, Prowl did not allow him to stop moving.
He pulled him along in a circle, wincing internally whenever the exhausted sparkling stumbled, but unable to pause and comfort him. He kept at it, carefully making wider circles until he was finally satisfied, and headed back toward the center.
Once they reached the spot Prowl had deemed ‘safe’, Starscream fell to a heap, his earlier excitement and enthusiasm having been worn away by the joors of grueling travel. He whimpered in pain as he pulled his pedes to himself, and rubbed at his heels.
“Prowl?” He whined, questioningly. His red optics were wide and overly bright, exhaustion making their normally vibrant scarlet a pale vermillion.
Prowl carefully knelt next to him, moving slowly as he reached for his pedes, and pulled them into his lap. He started to hum as he turned them over, examining the scuffed metal, and carefully prying loose pieces of crystal, metal, and rocks. He dusted off the fine layer of grit that was left once he was done, and looked more closely at the delicate internals of the not yet fully formed thrusters.
It would be a few vorns yet before they were capable of sustaining flight, and until then, they would be highly sensitive, and susceptible to damage. Prowl was careful while he looked into their interior, but could do nothing about the pain and discomfort caused by his prodding digits when he was required to reach in and adjust a few mechanisms that had been jostled, and cramped because of debris stuck between them.
Once he was done cleaning both, and had done his best to massage feeling back into them, and loosen them so Starscream wouldn’t be cramped and in pain the next cycle, he pulled the bleary opticed sparkling to rest with his helm on his thigh. Prowl’s humming reached a crescendo, and he began to softly work glyphs into the sound.
”Past all the signs of a slow decline,” Prowl sang lowly, vocoder pitched to draw the notes out soothingly.
“Live like your love wasn’t meant for mine,
Now you’ve gone, now you’ve gone to a different life,
To a lonely side,”
In a matter of kliks, the youngling had drifted away into the realm of dreams and nightmares, and Prowl was left alone with the late dark-cycle noises, and the crystals.
Prowl truly wanted nothing more than to fall into a long recharge. To allow his systems the reboot they needed, and his tac-net the time to sort and process all it had gathered.
But, if they wished to stay free, he would have to hold off on rest. Starscream could afford to drift away into a pleasant flux, but Prowl was required to stay on alert in-case of barbarians.
His tac-net disliked his decision, and spat reasoning against it with the vitriol of a scorned lover. Evidently, it was still upset about its decreased input.
The Tac-Net confirmed his suspicions with an angry influx of hard data that it refused to translate, causing his helm to feel tight, and his optics to spin. His vision grew blurry, and he scowled into the empty darkness.
His coding took that moment to perk up, noticing its angry helm-mate, and shoving giddiness through his relays. The tac-net did not seem to appreciate its frame-neighbor’s gloating, and began fervently beating the code with the equivalent of a metal rod.
The coding did not take kindly to the attack, and earnestly pushed its equivalent of a battering ram back.
The violent exchange between Prowl’s systems had his vocoder bleating static, and his optics fritzing with sparks while they contracted and spun wildly.
Why his two core systems chose to fight like angry drunkards, Prowl had not a clue, but unfortunately for him, they were still his core systems, and he needed them both functioning.
At the rate they were going, he was likely to crash and wipe them both out with a forced, full processor recalibration. He wouldn’t remember who he was, what he was doing, or where he was going, and they would be left as mere skeletons of their former, complex selves.
That thread gave both systems pause, and they stopped to examine it. Neither seemed to particularly appreciate the picture that data tree presented, and both were quick to cut it and slink away from each other. They crept back to their respective places, and licked their metaphorical wounds.
Prowl sighed in exasperation as he could finally concentrate outside of his inner processes. Without the need to mediate between them, his malfunctioning systems settled down, and he could do a hardware check.
Nothing except a scant few shorted out wires in his left optic, and a busted line in his vocoder came back on the read. An annoyance for certain, but as the most pressing consequences of it would be a rough vocalizer, and slightly blurry sight for a few joors, Prowl decided to consider it a win.
It was better than being completely blind and mute. Both of which were legitimate concerns when it came to his warring systems.
Prowl smoothed his servo over Starscream’s helm while he debated their next course of action. He would need to pull all of his reserves, and likely drain the least important parts of his frame to conserve energon. It was not a pleasant thought, and Prowl knew it would be an even less pleasant experience.
He had only heard of a few cases where such drastic measures were necessary, but like all first responders, it had been part of his training for survival situations. He and all of his class were taught the safest and most easily repairable ways to starve their frames efficiently.
He had heard of many reports from outsiders that the Praxian responder academies were barbaric in their training, and should be shut down with how savage, cruel, and disgusting their teaching practices were, but he had never once heard of any of those protesting cities declining the famed responders help.
And personally, Prowl never understood why they were frowned upon in the first place. The supposedly barbaric classes taught him, and all other forms of emergency responders, how to deal effectively and efficiently with any and all problems that would be thrown their way. The cruel reality was that anything they would have to deal with outside of their classrooms, would be infinitely worse than anything they had to deal with inside.
Besides, no mech was forced to stay in the grueling programs. But any who made it through were rightfully lauded as the most exceptional on the planet. And with good reason. The Praxian Enforcer, Fire, and Medical Academy had the lowest percentage of graduate casualties.
Prowl refused to be one of the few numbers that would count against his beloved school.
With that process in helm, he knew he would need to rest eventually. They were in a relatively safe position, and if Prowl wanted to be at peak performance without his tac-net, he would need to settle down and allow himself recharge.
With a great sigh, Prowl laid down and closed his optics.
It barely felt like a klik later when he opened them again, but Sol was shining down brightly, and Prowl knew he had already wasted nearly half the cycle from its position.
He bolted up, first checking to make sure Starscream was still with him, and when he found his sparkling curled close and deep in recharge, turned to scan their surroundings.
There were no sounds other than his own tired venting, and Prowl relaxed slightly. He carefully stood up, stretching his stiff struts, and ignoring the flashing numbers telling him he was below half a tank.
Once he was done, he gently shook Starscream awake, and watched as he opened his optics with a small yawn.
His sparkling looked confused as his opitcal feed took in their surroundings, but quickly seemed to remember their predicament.
He searched for Prowl, and when he found him standing right beside him, smiled happily. Prowl smiled back, and picked him up. He would let Starscream start his cycle without having to walk on pedes that were likely still sore.
They had traveled for a little over four joors when Prowl’s coding violently perked up. It was so surprising and sudden, that Prowl stumbled over his pedes, nearly causing Starscream to hit the ground from where he hung magnetized to Prowl’s back.
Instead, he swung and hit one of Prowl’s wings, causing a burst of data to cascade through his receptors.
Prowl tensed, dentae gritted as he tried to sort through the details that had (literally) hit his sensors, and pulling increasingly more concerning information.
With his distraction from the sudden alertness of his coding, the strike to his doorwings, and the following backup of signals that had overwhelmed him, he had failed to notice the abnormal activity that his sensors picked up.
Thus, he was just slightly too late to react when long chains wrapped around him, cinching at his pedes, and around his arms and abdomen.
It was reminiscent of the lassoes he had seen in holo-films, and left him feeling like a hobbled equinoid. It was beyond humiliating, and if he wasn’t so concerned with making sure Starscream was alright, he might have torn them apart for the embarrassment alone. As it was, he simply grabbed his dangling sparkling, and held him as best he could with his arms tied.
He wanted to put him in his cabin, but didn’t have enough space to open it with how he was restrained. This would have to do for now.
He grumbled angrily to himself, gritting his dentae when a harsh tug on the chains had him stumbling to the right. The monochrome mech was back, and was holding both the chains that kept Prowl from shifting into his alternate mode and driving away.
Prowl was finding that he did not appreciate this particular barbarian.
Prowl shifted Starscream to one servo, then used his other to grab the chains. It was difficult, considering he had to bend himself nearly in-half in order to reach them, but he made it work, and used his greater mass to yank the barbarian towards him.
The barbarian nearly fell as he was pulled, trying to plant his pedes and hold his ground, but unfortunately for him, Prowl was at least two times his weight, and much stronger.
Prowl was certain he was about to gain back his freedom, having nearly exhausted the smaller mech, and gained enough traction to make one last pull and yank the chains from his grasp, when a sharp prick in his leg had him pausing.
He knew what had just happened, and the knowledge that they had gotten him again made him want to throw up. He stopped struggling, knowing what was about to happen wouldn’t be changed no matter how hard he fought, and instead used his last few moments of autonomy to lock his joints around Starscream like he had last time.
He whispered reminders, and reassurances to his sparkling until his pedes gave out beneath him, and his vocoder stopped working. He flared comfort through their sparkbond until consciousness was torn from him again, and yet, still held on as long as he could.
-
Prowl was fuming. He thought himself a civilized mech, but the moment Starscream had been forcefully taken from his arms, and deposited into the grasping servos of a barbarian, Prowl had lost his helm.
Having already built a tolerance since the last time they had tranquilized him, his frame had burnt through this one in almost no time at all, and with a roar of pure rage, he had opened his optics, torn his chains from the barbarians holding them, and lunged with his dentae bared.
His arms had been tied behind him in the short time he had been out, but his lethally sharp cuspids could still tear a mecha’s helm from their pauldrons. He should know. It had been a required course for enforcers at the academy.
It had been an embarrassing deca-cycle of latching on to training dummies, and shaking them by their necks, before Prowl had finally perfected the art of rending enforced metal and cables from their constructed places.
And those lessons were proving to be incredibly useful. Not wanting to hurt his sparkling, Prowl had been unable to acquire the correct angle to successfully tear the mech apart, but had still been able to dig his dentae into the main energon cable, pry them under, and bite it in half.
The barbarian had screamed in agony that was quickly cut short when his vox stopped working from fuel loss, and his servos had dropped Starscream in order to grasp at the gushing wound.
Prowl had spit out the energon coating his glossa, rammed the wounded barbarian away with his pauldron, and ushered his trembling, weeping sparkling between his pedes.
He had hunched over him protectively, optics wide and blazing such a bright blue, they were practically white. He had snarled - being certain to showcase his energon soaked dentae - and flared his doorwings in a clear threat, as well as to make himself appear larger.
If they had chosen not to heed it, they would have soon found themselves without their main fuel line, much like their comrade behind him, who had dragged himself toward his fellows.
Prowl had snarled and snapped for a good half joor, spinning in circles while the barbarians surrounded him, and carefully crept closer.
The other monochrome mech was at the forefront, servos raised in a non-threatening display of peace. Prowl was having none of it, instead choosing to lunge swiftly at him, causing him to stumble backward, before Prowl quickly retreated back to his defensive position over Starscream.
Prowl lived up to his designation, pacing in a tight fashion with tension running through his frame. He herded Starscream in front of him, not trusting that a barbarian wouldn’t grab him with Prowl’s back turned.
It was in those moments, with his base coding encouraging him to continue defending his sparkling like an angry Predacon would their nest, that he wished with all of his spark he had enough resources to risk dialing up his tac-net again.
If he had the ability to calculate as he should, he wouldn’t be acting like a starved mecha-animal. He would have already been able to find a way out.
The small bit of tac-net that still functioned agreed with him, spitefully throwing a percentage at him with the numbers on the probability of already having succeeded at another escape.
It had Prowl grimacing, faltering in his defense long enough for the barbarians to take their chance. They rushed him while he was trying to reorient himself, tackling him to the ground while he thrashed, and yanking his still chained arms backwards so that he was bent up, and unable to use the ground beneath him as purchase to push against.
He fought, throwing himself from side to side, and turning his lightbar and sirens on to their highest settings. The high pitched drone of the sirens was startling and loud, making the mecha above him flinch with the need to cover their sensitive audials, and he used their distraction to call Starscream towards him from where he was cowering from two barbarians that were trying to coax him into their waiting servos.
The sparkling had looked up in fear, catching sight of his pinned caretaker, and rushed for him. His little arms were outstretched in longing, wanting nothing more than to feel the comforting embrace of the only bot who had ever loved him, and tears streamed from his overbright optics.
Before he could reach his adoptive creator, a barbarian snatched him up, and gently brought him away, covering his optics and cooing softly to him.
Starscream cried harder, reaching over the barbarians pauldrons in the direction that he had last seen Prowl before his optics were covered, and calling his designation between broken sobs.
It had Prowl keening again, dissolving into frantic binary as he called after his sparkling that everything would be okay.
The barbarians pinning Prowl finally managed to wrestle him into docility. With one of their own holding his sparkling hostage, Prowl couldn’t risk fighting them any longer.
He had shuddered, frame aching and exhausted from the last few cycles of stress, and exertion.
It had been two joors since then, and Prowl had been able to do nothing except glare as the barbarian medic patched up the mech that Prowl had nearly killed. Against the lines of his enforcer coding, and the oaths he had taken, he truly wished he had succeeded in the endeavor.
Suddenly, Prowl realized he wasn’t the only one glaring. The medic - a large orange and white mech - was glowering back at him.
Prowl countered this by glaring harder. The medic parried with a raised optic ridge. They stayed like that for over three kliks, before Prowl scowled, but otherwise admitted begrudging defeat. It seemed medics were stubborn mechanisms no matter where they were from.
That process had Prowl thinking of his own purple and green physician, and he suddenly missed the stupidly obnoxious color scheme in a way he had never thought he would.
It was while he was occupied thinking about one of his amica, that the medic who was in front of him took the opportunity.
Before Prowl could even think about booting up his sluggish battle protocols, the medic had pricked him with a needle (Prowl wasn’t aware needles were even used anymore. Then again, they were in the wilderness, and these were barbarians. It would make sense that they would use outdated practices), and he nearly collapsed from how limp his already weak struts became.
The sudden loss of autonomy had Prowl’s entire processor perking up. It took the data it received (<unauthorized medical substance injected to lines+loss of frame control> = <virus in systems> = <interrogation{?}> = <threat> = |error| = |error| > override > = |error:code not found| = |error| > enforcer coding: forced purge— |error| = [frame: unable to perform action] = <solution not found> = <solution{?}> = fuel tank+force = desired results=solution: fuel tanks+force=systems purge), and used it to find him a way out of the situation that his processes had concluded to be a threat.
With actions in helm, he turned forty five degrees to the right - toward a rock that jutted straight up from the ground, and ended at a blunt tip - and lunged for it. The surprise of his actions meant that the barbarians holding his chains didn’t have enough time to tighten them, and were thus unable to stop him from dropping his full weight onto it.
He hit it with enough force, and at the perfect angle, that it dented his abdomen, struck his tank, and caused him to purge all the energon within. It was a stupid move, as the drug that had been injected into him hadn’t even reached his fuel tanks yet, but with the start of a physical purge, he was able to muster the coding to release his line filters. With a great heave, corrupted energon drained from his lines, and Prowl forced himself to choke on the energon that still tried to leave his intake, swallowing it back down in gagging spurts.
He couldn’t waste a single drop.
He was dazed, and barely registered the medic angrily yelling what sounded like profanities, but too proud of the fact that he could feel his frame again to care.
Soon even that slipped from him though, as he became light-helmed, and dizzy. Distantly, he realized that he had lost too much fuel, and was exhausted to the point of disassociation. He knew there was a reason he needed to stay present, but all he wanted was to recharge. He wanted his brothers, and his cousin, and his amica, and… and there was someone else he wanted. Who was it?
Did it matter?
A sudden weight on his chassis brought his drifting, blurry optics to his bumper, where a wriggling mass was pressing against his spark… right against it… so close… but his chest-plates were closed? Oh, but it was his own spark. A smaller part of it. What was it doing outside his chamber? It didn’t make sense. Not very much made sense. Prowl should probably open his chassis and let his spark back in.
He felt his seams opening, folding back to reveal the blinding light within - why was he doing this with other mecha around? - and he felt his spark draw closer, connecting their lights, and strengthening the bond… and, oh. Yes. It was his sparkling. That was who was missing.
Starscream.
His dear Star. His spark.
He drew his sparkling closer, till their helms could touch while their sparks orbited together in contentment.
A creator and a creation sharing sparks was not the same as two mecha in a relationship. There were different paths. Different threads. It was a different connection, built for higher reasons, and a purer love.
Anything less caused degradation of the bond, till it was nothing but a darkened husk.
And who would taint such a pure love as this? Prowl could not comprehend it.
He felt Starscream yawn, worn from the events of the past few quartexes, and let their sparks drift away from each other until they could both close their chests.
It was only then that Prowl remembered they were still surrounded by barbarians. He clutched Starscream close (when did his arms get free?), ignoring his squeak of alarm. The barbarians were (thankfully) all looking respectfully away until he had his chest-plates closed, but all snapped back to attention the moment his last seam slid shut. They surrounded him on all sides, and Prowl knew there was no way he could fight through them all in his exhausted state.
It rankled, but he swallowed his pride and allowed a blue and white mech to grab the chains that had been used earlier, and tie his servos in-front of him. Not behind him like before, and Prowl internally questioned the change.
When the medic (threat lvl: high > do not allow interaction) tried to grab Starscream, Prowl mustered the last of his energy, opened his cabin, and set him inside.
The medic froze, servos lifted in midair while he stared in mild horror and bewilderment at where Starscream had just disappeared.
Prowl glared - though it was lackluster and missed its usual ice - before huffing in what he hoped was a universally understood sign of dismissal, and stood up to turn away.
The medic grunted angrily back, his expression morphing to annoyance, before spinning on his heel and storming off.
The blue and white mech who held Prowl’s chain frowned, but otherwise did nothing except give him a light tug, and while it left him feeling like a domesticated turbo-hound, he followed behind as the mech began walking. Like nearly all of the barbarians, Prowl was sure he could have overpowered the blue mech, but he wouldn’t be able to fight through all the mecha here. It was better to cooperate for now.
He wished his tac-net was powered on. It would have given him even just a slight pede up over the barbarians. He even missed the angry data it was spitting at him only a few joor prior. Apparently, burning through the second tranquilizer had eaten away the last bit of power it had left.
Now, he was left to the comparatively primitive mercies of his enforcer coding.
For any other bot, there would be at least two other codes working alongside it, but as he had a tac-net already installed, there was no more area for other mods. In fact, having the code added to his already nearly full processor from his ATS, had nearly caused his emc to be purged completely in an attempt to make room.
It had apparently been a terrifying mistake, and Prowl had been told that if the medic on servo hadn’t been able to reverse the most severe affects, he would have been as incapable of emotions as many thought him to be. As it was, he simply struggled to express them.
They soon came to a stop next to a dusty, green mech, and the two barbarians began to converse. The green one gesticulated more animatedly, while the blue and white one was more subdued, but both listened to the other with respect. Occasionally, they would gesture in his direction, or flick their optics toward him, obviously speaking about him. He wondered what they discussed, but the language translator he had started the first time they had been captured was still learning, and likely wouldn’t have enough data to function properly for at least another half a deca-cycle. And Prowl did not plan to be here for that long.
If he was smart about it, Prowl might be able to sell the skeleton of the program, and whatever data it had collected, to a researcher who wanted to know more about barbarians. There were a surprising amount of… quirky, mechs that wished to study them. One of Prowl’s personal friends being among them.
Prowl would have to continue to think it over. Until then, he let the conversation wash over him, the energy it took to create a new translator practically negligible in the grand scheme of things. To keep the program running, it would take less than one percent of his fuel every seven cycles. The only repercussions would be a minor headache while it tried to download.
The blue and white mech, and the green mech seemed to know each other well, picking up when one would trail off, and seeming to finish the other’s sentences. They also moved together seamlessly, walking at the same pace and stride - though the blue and white one was shorter - and steering the other subtly in different directions so they wouldn’t hit obstacles.
Watching them was like observing a well practiced dance, every move anticipated and met by the other, every breath a continuation of their own. Prowl wondered if their relationship was perhaps deeper than mere comrades.
Prowl was led through the throng of barbarians, flinching slightly every time one would get too close to him. The green mech, seeming to notice Prowl’s problem, fell back from where he walked beside the blue and white mech, until he was fairly close to Prowl. When Prowl flinched, but made no other moves, the green mech gave him a reassuring smile, then turned to glare at all the barbarians crowding them.
A sudden, and rather wide, berth was given to them, mecha moving out of the way like they feared for their functioning. It was odd, as Prowl had initially thought the green mech laidback and rather relaxed compared to the rest, but seeing him now, Prowl felt like he should readjust his processor.
Still, the green mech carried himself loosely, his glower used only to repel the curious from approaching. The rest of him was calm, and surprisingly peaceful. Even the light buzz of his EMF (the first one Prowl had felt from a barbarian) was placid and untroubled.
Prowl took to observing him instead of where they were going, choosing to believe that if they hadn’t tried to kill him yet, the blue and white mech wouldn’t lead him to his death, and found that that the green mech was staring back.
His optics were a soft blue, taking in everything that Prowl did with a keen, but not unkind, interest - simply as if it was how he looked at the whole world. His faceplates were sharp, but something about the gentle tilt of his mouth made it seem almost soft.
Something deep in Prowl’s spark told him the green mech was dependable and kind, though Prowl was unsure why he would need to know that.
He was pulled from his inaccurate - and frankly useless - musings on the green mechs’ character, when a soft tug on his chain alerted Prowl to the end of their little journey.
They had reached the edge of a large group, and just as the blue and white mech (who looked oddly similar to a Crystal City noble now that Prowl thought about it) was about to lead their trio into the crowd, a sudden call had him stopping short and turning slowly on his heel.
The other monochrome mech was approaching them at a rapid pace, and he and the blue and white barbarian started squawking at each other. It sounded like they were having an argument, and the green mech at Prowl’s side tensed almost imperceptibly.
Finally, a decision seemed to have been reached, as the grip the blue mech had on Prowls’ chain tightened for half a klik, before - reluctantly - he handed it over.
The blue and white mech watched worriedly as the monochrome grabbed for the tether, but made no protest when it was pulled from his grasp. The green mech watched the exchange with an almost uneasy expression, and that, more than anything, made Prowl worried too.
As the monochrome mech led Prowl away, the blue mech called after them anxiously. He sounded like a hovering carrier who didn’t trust their sparkling to be gentle with a frightened mecha-animal.
The monochrome mech (reassigned: Monochrome - The blue and white mech now: Crystal) called back jovially, in a tone that was likely meant to be reassuring.
As it stood, Prowl desperately wanted to be back with Crystal, even if he had been the one to chase them originally.
Before long, Crystal and the green mech (reassigned: Steelwall, for the way he had acted as an impenetrable force against the rest of the barbarians) disappeared in the mass of shifting barbarians.
Monochrome pressed on, unaware, or more likely unconcerned, with Prowls’ discomfort.
He was chattering nonstop, continuously pausing to converse with the other mecha in his party, leaving Prowl to be gawked at like an oddity. Which, to the barbarians, he probably was. It didn’t make the scrutiny any more comfortable.
They eventually continued through the crowd, and while Monochrome expertly wiggled and shimmied his way between the mess of bots, Prowl could do nothing except stumble after him like an uncoordinated newspark.
Finally, after what felt like a terrible eternity, they broke free, and Prowl and Monochrome found themselves in the middle of a large circle of mecha. They all paused their conversations to gaze curiously at Prowl.
Prowl wanted to do nothing more than sneer disdainfully back at them, but before he could summon his beloved glare, he was yanked unceremoniously forward.
Monochrome brought him to a boulder near the edge of the cleared space, and wrapped his chain around it, before securing him with a knot Prowl had never seen before. He studied it as Monochrome darted off, looking for a way to untie it, but finding none. It was as if it had been welded together, and Prowl was unable to figure out a discreet way to undo it without drawing attention.
Deciding that now was not his chance to escape, Prowl opened his cabin and withdrew a quiet Starscream.
The poor sparkling was stiff as a slab of pure marble from being shoved in there so often, and Prowl decided to work on massaging him while he thought things through.
He started humming as he sat down, and began to work from the bottom up.
A sudden hush fell over the gathered mecha, and Prowl felt prying optics scorch his plating. With a stubbornness honed and perfected from vorns of practice, Prowl steadfastly ignored them all, refusing to acknowledge any of the painfully obvious observers.
Clean bottom of pedes.
Clean outside of thrusters.
Clean inside of thrusters.
Massage pedes.
Massage thrusters.
Clean legs.
Message legs.
Clean hip-struts.
Message hip-struts.
He began to sing while he worked.
Clean vents, cockpit, and fans.
”She went out to the haze in the early-cycle grace,”
Massage cockpit so no seams are worn down prematurely from stress.
”She went out and got lost in a tall crystal maze,”
Clean helm and faceplates.
The next time the barbarians let down their guard, he’d use the chance.
”Where’d you go? Where’d you go? Why’d you leave this place?”
Massage helm, be careful of helm-fins.
He’d need to make sure that he was sufficiently fueled in the areas that needed it, so he wouldn’t fall into emergency stasis.
“On my Spark, on my faceplates,”
Polish…there was no polish here.
He should probably wait until he heard back from Green.
“Ooh-oh, ooh-oh,”
”Ooh-oh, ooh-oh-oh,”
Prowl finished, focusing back on Starscream to look over his servo-work. Not bad, but he certainly could use some detailing.
Starscream seemed to agree, as he shook himself from an almost trance-like state, and looked down to his dull, scuffed plating with an annoyed pout.
“Prowl, why aren’t I shiny anymore?” He asked angrily, optics tracing over all the specks of paint that were chipping. Insufficient fuel meant his nanites wouldn’t prioritize his paint over his functioning.
“It is just because you haven’t been fueling enough,” Prowl reassured him. “Once we get to your uncles hab, we will fuel, and then I will take you to get a buff and polish. You will be able to pick whichever brand you want, and we will buy some to take back to the hab as well,” Prowl promised.
As soon as they got to Praxus, Prowl would take him to the best detailing shops the City-State had to offer.
He was interrupted from his musings by a loud cheer, and suddenly the barbarians were parting. From the path that was opened, a gold and black mech, blue and red mech, and purple femme came trudging out.
Prowl watched in disgust as a dead mecha-animal was dragged into the center of the circle. He hurried to cover Starscream’s optics, unwilling to expose him to a death like this while he still struggled to cope with so many of the other things he had seen.
The barbarians who were still watching them murmured and pointed, alerting Prowl to the fact he had likely committed a cultural faux pas.
Not that he particularly cared.
Not when his sparkling had started shaking and shuddering from the smell of leaking energon, plating rattling with the effort to stay tucked close to his frame.
The odor of the spilt mecha-animal fuel, Prowl noted, was not dissimilar to the smell of the burnt energon that would blister from the rust riddled cracks crawling across Syk addicts.
And Starscream would recognize it too.
Prowl lifted his lips in a snarl toward the gawking mecha (no, the fact he was acting more feral than the barbarians was not lost him), and pulled Starscream to lay in his lap.
The sparkling curled close, doing his best to cover his olfactory ridge, and block the scent, thoughts of dull plating all but forgotten. Prowl murmured sweet nothings to him, assuring him all was well, and he was safe.
He did his best to ground him, continuing his glyphs, and smoothing a servo down ruffled plating. He was so distracted pulling Starscream from his spiral, that he failed to notice Monochrome approaching until he was right in front of them.
Prowl flinched when his servo shot out, but calmed once he noticed that the mech was only holding out two containers of…was that the energon from the mecha-animal?
Prowl’s helm whipped to the side, and, yes. The barbarians were draining the lines of the large beast, before cutting deeper, and draining more of them. They then reached with their containers, had them filled, and… drank them.
Prowl twisted where he sat, and retched, dry heaving as he desperately tried to keep what little of his own, clean, fuel he had left, and forget the image that had just been captured in too stark of detail by his visual feed
Starscream tried to look up, worry etched clear across his faceplates, but Prowl pressed his helm back onto his lap, gently keeping him there while he did his best to stop gagging.
Monochrome was talking worriedly to him, optics darting over his frame as if searching for injuries. Prowl didn’t understand why he was so concerned about a prisoner, but he was also too busy hunched over his knees to care.
Until the mech tried to touch him.
Even though Prowl was still attempting to hack up a fuel tank, he had already decided no barbarians would be touching him or Starscream again if he could help it.
Prowl used his bound servos, wrapping the chain around the grasping limb, and using the surprise to pull Monochrome close. He snarled in his face, flashed his dentae, and then stared him in the visor.
Prowl knew better than to attempt to kill him while surrounded by his fellows, but refused to allow more than he had already conceded.
Prowl couldn’t be certain that his intimidation worked, but could only hope the message got across as barbarians began to creep closer.
He shoved Monochrome away, watching in disgust as he stumbled, and was caught by a bright red mech.
Prowl returned to retching, though it was more of gurgling cough at this point, and the other barbarians stared warily at him, optic-ing the chain that kept him secured to the rock.
The only mecha brave enough to approach him were Crystal and Steelwall, and Prowl was almost thankful to see them.
Steelwall had not ever tried to touch him, and even now, kept a comforting distance. He even sent Crystal further back once he saw the Prowl’s optics tracked him, opting to get closer alone.
Prowl watched, not moving as Steelwall slowly crept until he was standing just a pede away. Then, Prowl lunged.
The other barbarians surged forward, ready to protect their friend, but Prowl hadn’t done it with the intent to connect, and Steelwall seemed to know it. He hadn’t flinched, instead raising his servos slowly, making exaggerated movements that Prowl could easily telegraph.
It was obvious what he was doing, Prowl having been trained in the same techniques, but Prowl found he still appreciated it. The familiar movements had him relaxing minutely, and Steelwall appeared to sense it.
The moment was broken though, when an exuberant Monochrome tried to interrupt, gesturing excitedly toward Prowl, apparently already forgetting how close he came to being killed, before a sharp bark from Steelwall made him shut his mouth with a harsh click.
Steelwall began speaking roughly to him, gesturing harshly to the side, before pointing back to Monochrome.
His visor was bright as he was berated like a misbehaved sparkling, before his entire countenance changed to one of shame.
He glanced back once, woefully looking to Prowl, before slinking off with his pauldrons hanging low. Steelwall sighed deeply, turning back and giving what could only be interpreted as a tired, gentle apology.
Prowl stared, unsure how to feel, before giving a stilted, rough nod of acknowledgment. Steelwall seemed pleased with the interaction, and Prowl wondered briefly if he was falling into some type of trap.
All thoughts of potential subterfuge were derailed when a quiet ‘prowl?’ sounded from his lap. His helm darted down, optics immediately shifting to magnify.
”Yes?” He questioned, looking Starscream over for anything of concern, but finding none. He relaxed, until Starscream began speaking.
“Is that energon? Can I have some?” He asked, raising his optics imploringly. “I’m hungry.”
Prowl winced. How to explain that the energon wasn’t safe? That it had come from a dead thing, and could have any number of viruses. Just because the barbarians had adapted to filter it, did not mean Prowl or Starscream could.
”Dear Star of mine, it is unsafe. We could get sick, and it could hurt us,” Prowl explained as gently as he could. Starscream scowled, optics furrowing as he tried to think what Prowl had just told him through.
“So, it’s like the bad fuel I used to drink in Altix? The stuff that made me throw up like you?” He asked, optics raising to see if he had understood it right.
Prowl winced internally, upset that his sparkling knew what corrupted energon tasted like, but thankful he could comprehend the risks.
”We lived in Altihex, but yes. It will make you throw up, and your tanks will hurt,” Prowl agreed. “Spectacular job finding correlation in what you already know to help you understand something you don’t.”
Starscream lit up at the praise, preening in pride at the compliment he had received.
”I’m smart!” He chirped happily.
“Yes, you are,” Prowl agreed with a smile. “You’re the smartest sparkling I know.”
A quiet chuckle drew their attention, and they both turned to see Steelwall watching them with a tiny grin. Starscream immediately tensed, plating ruffling to make himself appear bigger, and mouth turning down in a severe frown.
Steelwall put his servos up, lowering himself until he was seated on the ground, lower than where Prowl and Starscream sat seated on the rock, and slowly scooted himself until he was leaning against it. There was close to three pedes between them, and Steelwall kept it like that, not moving closer, but refusing to move away no matter how much Starscream clicked, and hissed at him in Vosian.
Prowl let them be, content to observe the interaction, until a certain Vosian expletive left his sparkling’s mouth. Immediately, he gave him a sharp tap on the top of his helm.
Starscream paused his angry ranting, and looked bashfully back toward Prowl.
“We do not use words like that, Star. It is unacceptable,” he reprimanded sternly. “I want you to turn around and apologize.”
Starscream scowled. “He can’t understand me anyways. Why do I have to say sorry?”
”Because, regardless if they understand you or not, we always apologize if we say or do something mean that did not need to be done. I can’t understand them, but I would still appreciate it if they apologized for insulting me, even if I don’t know that they did. It is the principle of the matter.”
Starscream seemed to turn his words over for a klik, before nodding decisively, and looking back to Steelwall.
“I’m sorry that I said something mean, even though you don’t know what I said,” he apologized quickly.
Steelwall had watched the exchange amusedly, likely guessing what had happened, but immediately became serious once Starscream began talking to him.
He nodded appreciatively, and whistled what sounded like an acceptance.
Starscream seemed proud of himself, and began talking to Steelwall again, though this time it wasn’t insults or anger. Instead, it was questions, and observations.
Steelwall nodded along as Starscream spoke, looking for all the world as if he was listening to the most interesting scientific debate to ever be broadcast.
Prowl watched them, deciding that perhaps, for the time being, he would trust this barbarian.
Jazz POV:
Jazz just got fragging flattened. It was amazing.
Whatever the winged mech was made of, it was heavy. He was probably the most hefty mech Jazz ever had the pleasure of having on top of him.
Easily three tons, the mech had run him over like he was a fragile little crystal, and Jazz realized in that moment exactly what he had been missing his entire functioning.
A mech who could as easily kill him as give him a hug.
Beautiful. Simply beautiful.
And now he had a name for him too! Jazz was on a roll. He deserved a pat on the back!
…Just as soon as he could muster the strength to get off it.
Jazz heaved himself up, groaning as his joints protested. He’d have to get Ratch to look at ‘em. Oof. He hated having to go to the Hatchet. Maybe he could get Mirage to do it?
Naw, he’d leave him to suffer. Tell him it was his own fault, then drag his mate away so Hound wouldn’t try to help him either.
Sighhhhh. Having friends wasn’t helpful when they didn’t want to help you.
Jazz turned around to the incredulous stares of his tribe. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were the only ones who weren’t looking at him like he was an idiot, and that was because they were still sprawled on the ground.
Jazz grinned at his spectators, then wormed his way through them until he reached the twins. Grabbing Sideswipe’s arm, he helped pull him up, then dusted off his chassis. Turning back to Sunstreaker, he reached for him too, but was batted away with a growl.
Sunstreaker pushed himself off the ground, using his twin’s pauldron as a servo-hold, and pulling himself up with a grunt.
Sideswipe stumbled under the unexpected weight of his twin, but Sunstreaker paid it no mind as he stared at his scuffed plating in anger.
“If that mech wasn’t a scared carrier who just wanted to protect his bitlet, I’d kill him,” Sunstreaker growled without looking up. He was attempting to pull out a dent on his wrist-guard, and from the annoyed furrow of his optics, it wasn’t going great.
Jazz opened his mouth, about to respond, when the voice of his second in command sounded out from behind him.
“Jazz, get over here,” Mirage demanded.
Yikes. That didn’t sound fun. Then again, the whole hunting party was in disarray at the moment, having been bested by a single mech, so was he really expecting anything to be fun right now?
…yeah. A little bit.
Jazz strolled over to the little huddle of important mecha that had gathered, and inserted himself between Mirage, and Ratchet.
The medic gave him a scrutinizing once over, and signed to see him once the meeting was done. Jazz rolled his optics behind his visor, but it was half-sparked at best. He already knew he’d need to get fixed up if he wanted to be at top shape to catch his runaway mate.
And speaking of his runaway mate, that was the current topic of conversation!
“-say we let him wear himself out. He’s not a tribe-mech. He won’t know how to survive out here, and we can get him when he’s worn down—”
“-don’t know about that, he seemed pretty smart. He might—”
“-think that if we chase him now, we could catch up! We have our equinoids—”
“EVERYONE, SHUT UP!”
All the talking mecha quieted down, and Ratchet let his scowl keep them that way.
“Now, we’re all going to be silent, and we’re going to let Jazz tell us what he wants to do, because this is his potential mate we’re trying to catch,” Ratchet said sternly, optics daring anyone to disagree with him.
All the gathered mecha murmured in agreement, then turned their optics to Jazz
Jazz, having been enjoying the show, immediately straightened and gave them a charming smile.
“Well, mecha! I say we go after them now,” he began. “Beautiful - that’s my mate’s name until he can tell me himself, you can call him whatever ya’ want as long as it’s not mean - has one heck of a spark. I’d bet he’s already halfway through the crystals by now. So, let’s get going!” Jazz said, proud of himself, and already heading toward his equinoid.
The rest of the group disbanded with a quick cheer, only the already mated mecha stopping to give each other concerned stares.
One cycle later:
Jazz was starting to think he might have bitten off more than he could chew.
They had caught up to Beautiful, and had been deciding the best way to go about capturing him again. Jazz had said he would catch him himself, and had ignored the uncertain protest from his companions.
Now, being dragged forward like he weighed nothing, while his beautiful mate stared death at him, Jazz was rethinking his decision.
Thankfully, his SIC was occasionally smarter than him, and shot Beautiful with another tranq dart. Jazz wondered if maybe they should hit him with a little more, since the last time they tried this, he woke up way earlier than planned, but decided against it when he thought about the possibility of bad side effects.
Jazz thanked Mirage, then took the chains that had nearly been torn from his grip, and used them to tie Beautiful’s arms behind him. The bitlet tumbled from his grasp, and landed with a cute squeak. All the mecha around them stopped what they were doing to coo at him, and the bitlet scowled.
Pit, the bitlet looked just like his carrier when he did that, and it was adorable as all slag. Jazz called for Cliffjumper to come and grab him while Jazz finished securing his carrier.
Cliffjumper called back an affirmative, and ambled casually over. The bitlet raised his little wings while he hissed, glaring at the red mech that was coming toward him. Jazz grinned, pausing his movements to watch.
Cliffjumper seemed unconcerned as he walked confidently towards the little menace, and his optics were almost bored while he stared at the bitlet.
The bitlet was certainly not as complacent, tensing more with every step that Cliff took.
If Jazz hadn’t been so distracted watching the impending disaster, he might have realized that the bitty wasn’t the only one getting tense. At his pedes, Beautiful was stirring, his lax limbs becoming rigid as consciousness returned.
As it was, Jazz stepped away, reaching toward Cliff to…stop him? Hmm, nah. Let him learn the hard way to be more observant.
(Looking back, perhaps Jazz should have had that lesson too)
Jazz pulled back, and thus had the perfect view when Cliffjumper - having picked up the bitty, and received a harsh kick to the mid-section - got his main fuel line torn out by Beautiful.
…who used his dentae.
Yeah, Jazz had picked well.
He wanted to swoon, and if it hadn’t been his responsibility to calm his raging mate down, he might have.
Beautiful had risen to hover protectively over his bitty, and he’d flared his wings in a way that Jazz recognized from certain mecha-animals. He was threatening them not to come closer.
Honestly, seeing those exotic wings spread wide had Jazz wanting to touch them more than anything.
Truly a divine being sent from the depths of Primus.
Though Cliff probably wouldn’t agree with him. He was currently dragging himself backwards, away from the raging carrier, and towards the waiting servos of his friends.
Welp! Seemed like everything was all good there! He was still alive, could still move, and was still cursing up a storm!
Ratchet didn’t seem to agree. He was also cursing up a storm, but that was because he couldn’t get to the bleeding out red bot.
Jazz winced. He was gonna get an audial-full later, he just knew it.
Jazz raised his servos placatingly, aware that it hadn’t worked yet, but hopeful that it might work now. Beautiful ignored him.
Ouch.
Beautiful seemed more concerned with hissing at everyone except Jazz, and that was just plain depressing. Jazz was the one who wanted those lethal dentae pointed at him!
“Jazz! Get out of your helm and calm down your mate!” Yelped a flinching Sideswipe, who’d just been snapped at by the angry carrier. Lucky fragger.
Jazz approached Beautiful, his servos raised and frame language submissive. He tried to talk soothingly, hoping a warm, calm voice would settle him.
“Hey Beautiful, look at ya. You’re exhausted; why dontcha take a little break. Swear on my spark we won’t hurt ya or your bitlet. Thats right look at me, you’re okay—Yikes!”
Jazz’s steady stream of glyphs was interrupted when the mech of the joor lunged for him aggressively.
He stumbled back, and Ratchet’s large servo grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, and picking him up was the only thing that saved him from a particularly nasty bite.
Did Jazz really want to be saved from that though?
Yeah…fine.
“Thanks, Ratch,” Jazz grumbled. The Medic glared at him, obviously hearing the things Jazz wasn’t thanking him for. Namely, ruining his chance to have a mark from the beautiful mech of his dreams.
Ratchet scoffed, before turning away and continuing to try to find a way to Cliffjumper.
Jazz dusted himself off, and watched while Beautiful stumbled, and was quickly brought down.
He fought hard, turning on a group of colorful lights on his back that made a loud, high pitched whoop-whoop, and disoriented all of them.
It was like trying to look directly at a multicolored star that could scream. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.
Beautiful only stopped struggling once Bumblebee had grabbed his bitlet, and brought him away. It was spark-breaking to watch the fight leave him so quick, but even Jazz knew it was necessary.
It took the group a while to gather themselves again, and even longer for Ratchet to stop Cliffjumper’s bleeding.
When Cliff was finally declared ‘no longer about to keel over dead’, Ratch turned his tender mercies to the cause of all the trouble.
Beautiful seemed to be almost disassociating, his optics dull and practically still. There was no spinning, or contracting rings of receptors to suggest that his visual feed was even active. Only simple, blank nothingness.
He only startled back into awareness when Ratchet stuck him with a needle. It was full of natural painkillers, relaxants, and medical grade minerals. It wasn’t like the tranquilizers that they had used before, and it should register as a helpful medical concoction.
Apparently, Beautiful still didn’t like it though. He went limp almost immediately, exactly as he should, but that lasted only a klik. Nearly as soon as he had lost his tension, he gained it back tenfold.
Before any of them could get hold of him, he threw himself onto a rock. It was sickening to hear the clang of dented internals, and even more sickening to watch as hidden panels all over Beautiful’s frame opened, and began to gush fuel.
“Ratch!” Jazz yelled, panic taking over his processor as he tried to rush to his side. Ratchet stopped him with a tense shake of his helm, and Jazz halted where he stood.
When Beautiful finally closed his external fuel lines, a dazed expression had taken over his features. He stumbled, before falling to his knees. His optics stared listlessly to the sky, intake forming glyphs that Jazz couldn’t understand, but thought sounded like designations.
Ratchet finally rushed to the mech, feeling over his frame, actions becoming frantic the more he seemed to learn.
“Bee! Bring me the sparkling! Quick!” He yelled, voice gaining a panicked edge as he fumbled around the strange frame.
Bee hurried over with the still weeping bitlet in his arms, while Ratchet untied the chains wrapped around the outsider. Once he had them all undone, he began feeling around his chassis, mumbling things about a guttering spark-pulse, intense fuel loss, and no conscious responses.
”His spark is fading. A bad mix of stress, fuel loss, and the fact that we’ve been scaring him out of his processor by forcefully taking his sparkling away is causing his psyche immense distress. I’m no psychologist, but from what I can tell, all of this combined is causing his systems to shut down. His spark is failing, and if we don’t give him something to jumpstart it with, we’re gonna lose him.”
Ratchet looked up sharply, ignoring the worried expressions of those around him, and reached for the bitlet that Bumblebee was carrying. His rough actions softened as soon as the sparkling was in his grasp, and with a gentle hold, he carefully set him on his carriers chassis.
The bitlet immediately curled up, his oily tears drying instantly, and quiet, inquisitive chirps leaving his intake.
The disjointed, incoherent mumbling from Beautiful became silent, and his optics that had been glassy and unfocused, slowly gained coherency while his rambling quieted.
In a display that had everyone in proximity blushing, and looking away, Beautiful parted his chassis, and bared his spark. The bitlet did the same, and Jazz and party were witness to the beauty of a creator/sparkling bond being strengthened.
The residual emotions that leaked from their exposed epicenters was like gentle waves of rust lapping at the shore of a lake. A lake made of the purest, deepest love imaginable. A love that stretched on infinitely, with no beginning, and no end.
A single tear leaked from beneath Jazz’s visor, and he felt his own spark pulse in pain/longing/contentment.
A Carrier’s love truly was beyond understanding.
-
“—genuinely can’t believe you would be so inconsiderate! What is your malfunction, Jazz? You stole the mech from all that he knew, killed all of his friends, chased him across the crystals, and have terrorized his bitty! He’s not one of us! He doesn’t understand what’s happening! Think for a klik, and put yourself in his position. Once you’ve done that, come and talk to me, until then, get out of sight.”
Jazz was left speechless. He was dumbfounded. Hound had never yelled at him like that before.
But then the reasoning for his impassioned reaction hit Jazz, and indeed it hit.
It was like all the air had been knocked from his vents as the realization of what he had done set in.
The outsiders were different. The thought that Beautiful had different customs, and would have viewed all of Jazz’s actions thus far as a threat made Jazz confused, but horrified.
It didn’t seem right, yet all of Beautiful’s reactions so far pointed to Hound being correct. Even Ratchet’s diagnosis from earlier fit with the rest of the puzzle that had been presented to Jazz since the beginning. All in giant, easily solvable pieces, yet he had ignored everything.
Jazz had really never felt like more of an idiot. And he could acknowledge that.
And now that he had acknowledged it, he could fix it.
Jazz would court this mech, and he’d do it so well, that all of his earlier blunders would be forgiven. He didn’t know how, and he wasn’t sure if it would ever work, but by The Allspark, he’d try.
Jazz looked towards Beautiful once, taking a mental image of the way he looked with the late-cycle light bouncing off his plating, and an angry, guarded glare secure on his faceplates.
This time, the sight didn’t excite Jazz. Instead, it made him remember all the times he had messed up, and caused that expression to become even deeper.
He would fix it. He would chase this mech across the planet if that’s what he required, but one cycle, he would see Beautiful smile at him.
-
In the middle of the dark-cycle, a quiet tap on Prowl’s helm wakes him from fitful recharge. Perched on his chassis is Green, the large flyt carrying a small, securely wrapped package. Prowl tears it open, withdrawing a med-kit, four highly concentrated cubes, and a packet of highgrade boosters. Good for survival, but addictive if one was not careful. He quickly stows it all in subspace, then lifts the last object from the box. It was another notebook, and written on the first organic page, is a message. Prowl recognizes his cousin’s jagged servo-writing immediately.
His family is coming for them.