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wyntir_knight) wrote2013-07-10 09:48 pm
wyntir_knight) wrote2013-07-10 09:48 pm
Entry tags:
The Polyhex Candidate - Chapter 10
Title: The Polyhex Candidate
Fandom: Transformers: Generation One
Characters & Relationships: Smokescreen, Mirage, Jazz, Prowl, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus, Red Alert, Ironhide, Perceptor, Wheeljack.
Jazz/Prowl, Wheeljack/Ratchet/Perceptor, mentions of Smokescreen/Swindle, Jazz/Mirage, Jazz/Smokescreen.
Rating: R
Warnings: graphic violence, dub-con, attempted rape, implication of bondage, mentions of rape, mentions of torture, reprogramming, tactile, spark-sex, plug-and-play
Summary: A year ago Jazz was captured by the Decepticons and reprogrammed into a walking time-bomb. Now that he has returned to the Autobots his new programming has kicked in and he has left chaos in his wake. It's up to Smokescreen and Mirage to find Jazz and bring him back to their side and back to sanity before he is completely lost. Meanwhile Prowl and Ultra Magnus try to keep Iacon from destroying itself as panic grips the populace, and as Prowl fights for his sanity after a year's separation from his bonded and the sure knowledge that Jazz may not survive.
Author’s Note A massive special thanks to spectrumphoenix and ayngelcat for support and beta-work!
Link to the fic on A03 or read it below! Comments and critique are greatly appreciated!
Chapter 9
Prowl lowered himself wearily into his berth, hand rubbing mindlessly at his chest. It had become an unconscious movement ever since Jazz had gone missing over a solar before. Since his return and subsequent escape, the movement had become almost chronic as Prowl found himself in near constant pain. The dull ache of absence had become a throb of need now that he had been so close to Jazz.
He offlined his optics with a sigh and tried to slip into recharge, ignoring the discomfort in his hinges as he lay on his back. Normally it was only during recharge that he was able to relax, able to let his guard down. A shuddering breath left his vents as he fought back a wave of despair. Jazz had been so close. He had been right there in their hands, safely in the Med Bay and they had lost him!
White hands clenched at his sides as anger bubbled up inside him. It was like the universe was playing some kind of cruel prank – allowing his bondmate to return, to be so very close, and then to snatch him away again! The pain of these reopened wounds was almost unbearable.
“It would almost be easier if he had never returned,” a voice said in the back of his processor.
Prowl’s optics onlined instantly, one hand flying up to stifle the sob of anguish that threatened to break free. How could he even think such a thing? How could he even contemplate something so awful?
Unbidden, numbers and calculations floated to the forefront of his consciousness, each one playing out the odds of everything that had happened.
20.98% chance that Jazz would be captured on any given mission.
32.72% chance that he would be compromised on the mission that did see him captured
75.31% chance that the Decepticons would execute him
51.88% chance that the execution would be broadcast for all to see
Prowl pushed the numbers away and jerked upright. When Jazz had been there he had always had the ability to ward off the spiralling numbers that consumed Prowl’s mind, but without his bondmate it was as if he was fighting a losing battle. Emotions warred with logic. The resulting maelstrom was enough to drive him mad.
78.45% chance that Prowl would never see Jazz again
85.642% chance that Jazz would never return to his old self
68.3% chance that Prowl himself would never recover from this breach
98.92% chance that Prowl would die when the bond broke as a result of Jazz’s death
99.95% chance that if he did survive he would be driven insane with grief
He began to stalk the room like a caged creature, trying desperately to block the percentages and possibilities. A dozen steps one way, a dozen steps the other; a dozen new numbers springing up in his logic centres. Energy bubbled within him, as it always did when he tried to wind down. It was in these quiet times that the stresses bore down on him the most.
There had been a time when Prowl would have confessed his fears and doubts to Jazz, and the saboteur would have helped him work through them. And if talk didn't work, then Jazz would have used other methods to calm the tactician.
Prowl's thoughts rolled back to the last time that he and Jazz had been together, the last time the numbers had overwhelmed him. It had been over a solar, but he would still feel the saboteur's black fingers working their way over his frame, dipping into seams and over his doors. Jazz would always tackle the issue differently every time with no sense of logic and no pattern for Prowl's processor to latch onto. It always ended the same way, with Prowl arching and crying out on the berth desperately trying to keep up and failing every time. It didn't matter though; Prowl always relaxed and he was finally able to let go of his stresses and strain and lose himself to his bondmate. Jazz would always call it his own brand of therapy, would laugh at what he imagined Neuron would say on the subject.
Prowl’s hand came up to his chest, tracing over his spark chamber. A shudder passed through his frame as he tried to lose himself in the memories. It had been a solar since Jazz had been taken from him; a solar since the dull ache in his spark had begun to gnaw at his body and mind. When working, he’d been able to lose himself and ignore the pain - but each orn it had become harder. Each orn he’d had to subsume himself further and further into the depths of his logic centres just to avoid breaking. Soon, even work had not been enought enough to keep the pain at bay and he’d found himself slipping, especially when he felt the pitying stares of his fellow Autobots as he entered a room.
“Even they know this was a mistake,” the voice said, sounding smug. “And no matter how much you argue, you know the truth of it too.”
Prowl shook his head to silent the voice and sat back down on the edge of the berth.
“… it was never a mistake …” Prowl’s voice was low, barely audible over the sound of his fans in the otherwise silent room.
“There would be nowhere near this much pain if there was no emotional attachment.”
Again Prowl shook his head. This was wrong, so very wrong. He knew that he was suffering from a lack of recharge and that he hadn’t had a proper defrag in far too long but neither should result in a hallucination like that.
Perhaps he should be talking to someone, but he knew what the advice would be. Ratchet had already suggested sedatives to help him recharge, and Neuron had made her opinion clear when Jazz had gone missing. And even though he knew that her suggestions made perfect logical sense, he couldn’t bring himself to block the bond completely or look into having it reversed. That would mean giving up on his bond mate completely.
“But isn’t that what you’re doing? You know that Mirage will follow your orders and will terminate Jazz if necessary.”
Prowl stood up. He turned his attention to the desk where he kept the recharge coding stick that Ratchet had given him shortly after Jazz's disappearance -when it became obvious to the CMO that Prowl had stopped recharging properly. Rather than deal with the pitying looks and opening himself up to the pain, he’d accepted Ratchet’s recommendation that he induce recharge artificially and, subsequently monitored himself, ensuring that no one would see that weakness again.
Then he’d thrown himself into his work and closed himself off emotionally as he’d relied more and more on numbers, logic, and regulations. Every orn that passed now saw Prowl become more insular, more automatic, and it was only in this room when he was finally forced to go off shift, that his guard finally, and unwillingly, dropped.
“It would have been easier if you had never bonded to Jazz,” the voice at the back of his processor said, its tone low and almost seductive. “The choice was completely illogical and now you are paying for that mistake.”
“It wasn’t,” he whispered to the room. “There was nothing more logical than bonding to Jazz.”
But that wasn’t true and he knew it. The decision had been purely emotional. It had been a moment of thoughtless bliss, and now he was paying the price for giving in to an illogical response.
97.45% chance that Prowl would have fabricated a logical reason to bond.
87.85% chance that Jazz’s influence is beneficial.
89.38% chance that Jazz’s influence is detrimental.
32.35% chance that Jazz was benefited by the bond.
98.54% chance that Prowl has been a detriment to Jazz.
“You see? The numbers don’t lie. Bonding was a mistake and even Jazz knew that,” the disembodied voice said smoothly. “And you know what else? When Jazz dies you’re going to snap and take most of this base out with you.”
“Shut. Up,” Prowl grit out, his hands coming up to cover his audios to block out the voice that only he could hear. A voice that was sounding more and more like Jazz at every moment.
99.58% chance that you’re gonna kill ‘em all, lover.
98.97% chance that you’re gonna destroy Iacon in the process.
“You’re gonna snap and there’s a 98.37 percent chance that you’re gonna accomplish what the Decepticons never could. You’re gonna hand this war to ‘em and you’re gonna kill everyone!”
“SHUT UP!” Prowl shrieked, falling to his knees in the middle of the room, his processor finally seizing up in a backwash of illogical data. “Shut the frag up!”
He suddenly looked up at the drawer of his desk where the recharge coding stick was kept. It had been ignored for most of a solar and gathering dust, but there was a good chance that a forced recharge would shut the voice up.
“Yeah, that might work. Who knows, maybe you’ll be able to stop the numbers from hauntin’ ya. Or maybe you’ll lose yourself to th’ new programming. End up an addict who can’t recharge at all without the stick.”
Prowl’s lips thinned to an angry line. Clearly, he was hallucinating from lack of recharge and the loss of his bond mate. The stress was finally getting the better of him; it was time to give in to the only logical option left open to him.
Taking the data stick in hand, Prowl lay back on the berth. With a soft sigh, he brought it up to the join between his neck and helm and pressed the device to the port there. He felt the new program start to move through his system and in a few moments his hand slipped away from his neck as he fell into a deep recharge.
---
Prowl came online to the feeling of warmth against his back and he tightened his grip on the arms holding him close.
“Mornin’ lover,” Jazz said softly as he kissed the back of Prowl’s helm. “I was just debatin’ on waking you up.”
Prowl pressed back into his mate, a small pleased sound escaping his vocalizer.
“But I just couldn’t go off on my mission without sayin’ goodbye properly.” Jazz sat up and rolled Prowl to his back before sweeping in for a deep, hungry kiss.
Prowl offlined his optics, his hands roaming over his mate’s body with a feverish need. His fingers dipped into transformation seams he knew better than his own as he arched up into the body pressing him into the berth. Spark energy passed like lightning between them, and soon the room was filled with the smell of ozone and heated metal, the air nothing but moans and gasps and purrs of appreciation and lust. At some point, they switched places, and Prowl gazed down at his mate with undisguised love.. It was a look that no one else saw. When they were surrounded by other Autobots and bogged down by duty, Prowl reverted to the logical automaton persona he projected to the rest of the world. Only in here, when it was just Jazz and Prowl, did he let the walls come down and the emotions run free.
“Primus … I love you,” Prowl whispered before sweeping in to capture Jazz’s mouth in a searing kiss.
A heavy knock on the door sounded and Prowl growled softly at the interruption, determined to ignore whoever it was.
“Prowl? Please come to the door. We need to speak.” Optimus Prime sounded wrong, somehow. There was a sadness there that went beyond the normal vague melancholy that seemed to always lace his voice.
Again the tactician ignored the call, even when it was followed by another knock and a call button’s chime.
“Ya need t’ get that, Prowler,” Jazz murmured between kisses.
“He can wait.” Prowl’s reply was more of a snarl than anything else. “He will not take this moment from me.”
Jazz took Prowl’s hands in his and kissed his fingertips with delicate, controlled passion.
“It’s too late fer that. You need t’ talk to ‘im.”
Prowl offlined his optics and stilled his hands. Leaning in, he pressed his forehead to Jazz’s as he fought the shudder of fear that threatened to shake him apart.
“Prowl?” Prime’s voice was stronger, sounding now as if he was in the room.
“Just give me one more breem. Please. Just one more.” Prowl knew he was begging but didn’t care. On some level he knew what would come next and he didn’t want to face it.
“Prowl!”
The tactician started as a large hand came down on his shoulder. He was alone on the berth with Prime crouched down at his side, optics full of concern.
“Prowl, I’m sorry for entering without invitation but I need to speak with you,” Prime said softly, his hand never leaving Prowl’s shoulder.
“What is it, Prime?” Prowl’s voice sounded dead to his audios. He never looked up at his Commander. He didn’t need to ask. He knew what was coming next.
---
The cycles after Jazz’s capture were a blur in Prowl’s memory. There had been a frantic search, a desperate attempt to get him back, and all the while there were those looks. Pity. Concern. Worry. Irritation.
It was the last that got to him the most. He heard whispered accusations: he wasn’t trying hard enough, wasn’t displaying the proper emotions. It was all that he could do to not to lose his tight grip on control and outright attack those accusing him. It was a battle he fought with every revolution of his engine, with every fibre of his being.
“Hey Prowl. How’s it going?”
Prowl looked up from his data pad and bit back a sarcastic response to Smokescreen’s innocent question.
“It goes fine.” The response was tight and dismissive, but the psychologist-in-training didn’t seem to take the hint.
“I thought you might want to talk to someone,” Smokescreen said as he entered the office proper and leaned against a guest chair in a silent request to sit. “You know, you might want to vent.”
“I do not need to vent, thank you,” Prowl snapped. “If you will please excuse me, I have far too much work to complete.”
Smokescreen sighed and took the seat, ignoring the clear dismissal.
“Prowl, I’m a Praxian, remember? I know how to read the door wing code,” he said gently as he motioned to Prowl’s doors. “And I know that you need to talk about this. It’s not healthy to keep something this big bottled up inside.
Prowl looked up, clearly surprised to discover that his doors were bobbing and twitching in an expressive rhythm. As soon as he acknowledged this, the doors froze.
“There is nothing I wish to discuss,” Prowl said with finality, brushing the memory firmly away.
Smokescreen’s concerned face blurred as the room seemed to dissipate into mist. The last thing Prowl saw was a black and white figure standing in the corner shaking its head in disappointment.
“Ya need t’ face this.”
---
“He’s back.” Prowl’s words were a strangled whisper as he fought back a sob.
Prime was only just fast enough to catch the tactician before he sank to the floor.
“He is, but he isn’t well. He’s in surgery right now but Ratchet has said that-”
“I need to see him!” the tactician snapped, cutting Prime off and pulling away violently. “I need to-”
This time it was Prowl who was cut off as Prime tightened his grip on the Praxian’s arms, pulling him close.
“He’s in surgery. You can see him when they’re done. He’s in the best possible hands, Prowl – Prowl.”
Prowl looked up sharply at the sudden change in Prime's voice and found himself facing a massive Insecticon, far larger than any of their kind had any right to be. As Prowl pulled away from the thing masquerading as his commanding officer, he found himself trapped in a vice-like grip and pulled close against Bombshell’s now massive body.
“Going so soon-soon? Come now, Prowler, don't you want to see what Jazz has planned for you?”
Prowl felt his spark lurch and twist in response to the proximity of this monster.
“Ah, and there you go-go,” the Insecticon said with an evil chuckle. “You feel the bond breaking, don't you? You feel him pulling away-away.”
“No,” Prowl growled. “Get away from me ... from us!”
Again that chuckle filled the air and Bombshell took hold of Prowl's doors in a move that mimicked one used by Jazz.
“He's told me everything-everything,” the Insecticon hissed. “And he's done with you. He's moved on and now I think it's time you did too.”
Bombshell’s hands tightened around Prowl's doors, In one vicious move, he yanked them off
A scream of pain and anguish ripped from Prowl’s vocalizer as he was sent sprawling to the ground in a heap.
“Your fear is delicious-delicious,” Bombshell whispered, a low chuckle sending horrible vibrations through the room and into the broken mech at his feet.
Prowl looked up and through desperately cycling optics he saw Prime's hand reaching for his very spark ...
---
Prowl came online with a scream, pulling away from the dark figure looming over him.
“It’s okay, Prowl.” The voice was one he vaguely recognized, but his recharge and panic hazed processor refused to place it.
A hand came down heavily on his shoulder, and his panic bloomed into a whirlwind. Without thinking he struck out, hands making contact with the heavily plated armour of a larger mech.
“Ow! Fraggit, Prowl! Stop!”
Thick arms closed around him from behind as large hands closed over his wrists in a painfully tight grip. In an instant he was pinned to a broad chest and he became aware of the irritated growl passing from his captor through to his own back and doors.
“We’re not gonna hurt you, Prowl. Just calm down, okay?”
Prowl cycled his optics and his captor came into view, coalescing out of a blur of red.
“If I let you go you promise you’ll calm the frag down? … Sir,” the mech behind him grit out, the title added as an obvious afterthought.
“Sunstreaker? Sideswipe?” Prowl asked, confusion warring with the indignity of the situation. “What are you doing in here? How the frag did you get in?!”
Sideswipe smiled at the tactician and placed a comforting hand on his arm. “We were in the area and heard the ruckus. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to come in and check up on you.”
Sunstreaker released his potential death grip on Prowl and came to stand in the Praxian’s line of sight.
“After all,” the golden front liner continued where his brother left off, “we’re the only ones on this base who get what you’re going through and aren’t gonna hit you with the idiotic platitudes. As for getting’ in? Your door was unlocked.”
“I-” Prowl’s voice stuttered out as a wave of emotion hit him. His pride wouldn’t allow him to accept help from anyone, let alone these two. But at the same time, they were right. If there was anyone who could even begin to understand what losing a bond mate was like, it was these spark-twins.
Sideswipe squeezed Prowl’s arm again and stepped in closer. “Prowl, seriously, it’s okay. I know the two of us have a reputation, but we know how to keep our mouths shut. This doesn’t have to leave this room.”
Prowl pulled back sharply. His optics narrowed angrily. “Are you threatening me?” he demanded.
Sideswipe barely supressed a bark of laughter. “What? No, of course not! Primus, no! Honestly, Prowl, what do you take us for?”
Prowl’s optics flashed and he opened his mouth to spit back a retort. But Sideswipe interrupted him with a raised his hand, just as his brother huffed in irritation.
“No we’re not threatening you at all. All I meant was that you can talk to us without all the pity and the pointed looks. I’m sure the others don’t realize they’ve got that look on their faces, like they think like you’re gonna fall apart at any second. It gets real old real fast. Oh, and the ‘Primus never hands you something you can’t handle’ line. I fragging hate that slagging line.” The red mech’s hands tightened to fists, as if in remembered pain and irritation.
Sunstreaker placed his hand on his twin’s arm in silent support before turning back to the 2IC.
“We’ve never been through what you’re going through now,” Sunstreaker said in a low voice, “but we’ve nearly lost each other more times than either of us wanna remember. Trust us, we know what you’re going through and we get it. It’s like you’re holdin’ on to sanity with your fingertips and everything that hits you just pushed you closer to the edge.” This last was said with the haunted look of a mech who spoke from far too much personal experience.
Prowl pulled back, optics dark and lips thinned to a slash of irritation. But his doors spoke volumes, twitching and quivering even as he tried to keep them silent. There was no way he was going to let his guard down. Especially not to these two, who were far more likely to use any confessions made against him than they were to offer actual help.
“Let them help,” a softly accented voice said in the back of his processor.
“Jazz?” Prowl whispered before he could stop himself.
“It’s okay, Prowl - we’re here and we understand. We really do,” Sideswipe said softly. “Just trust us. We’re here for you.”
The red twin wrapped his arms around Prowl, and the tactician felt Sunstreaker press up against his back. Together the two allowed a soft wave of platonic spark energy to flow into the tactician. Instantly, Prowl stiffened between them. But they simply increased their grip around him.
“Trust us,” Sideswipe whispered. “It’s okay to let it go. Primus knows, we know how hard it is to keep it all in when your bonded is on the line.”
Prowl remained as stiff as a girder between the twins, refusing to be moved by the flow of comforting energy they were sending into him. But the frontliners were not about to be dissuaded. They had spent far too many nights with nothing but worry for their bonded, and knew that they would have spent those hours far easier had they had someone to talk to.
To really talk to. This being so, they opened their sparks to Prowl and did what they could to envelope him in warmth, comfort, and understanding.
“You need to let them help, Prowl. Please. You need to keep it together and you know that they can help.”
Prowl’s pride kept him upright for a moment longer before he finally collapsed under the strain of the last year. A sob broke free as his fingers curled around the edges of Sideswipe’s armour and a shiver racked his frame.
“… I can’t …,” he whispered as he collapsed into the Twins’ arms.
“Go ahead and let it out,” Sunstreaker said, revving his engine gently as he sent a quiet pulse of spark energy into the tactician. “I ain’t gonna lie, it’s not gonna make you feel better, but sometimes letting it out helps. Stops it from hurting quite so bad.”
Sideswipe pulled away slightly and took hold of Prowl’s hands, pulling him toward the berth.
“Come on and lie down. You need to let it out and if you’re anything like us you’re gonna be exhausted by the time you’re done.”
“I’m not like you,” Prowl muttered, but there was no conviction in his words and he allowed the twins to guide him to the berth.
“No, you aren’t” Sideswipe agreed. “But we know the situation. We know it way too intimately.” He looked Prowl in the optics. The tactician saw only bare honesty and vulnerability written on his face.
Sunstreaker sat at Prowl’s back, pulling him close with a gentle touch that was in sharp contrast with the raw power he knew was in those arms. Sideswipe sat and faced Prowl, his hands coming up to gently brush the tactician’s arms in a soothing caress.
“When it’s one of us in medical, when it looks like there’s a damned good chance that one of us is gonna offline and even Ratchet’s gone all quiet … when it gets like that it’s always easier to just close off and put up a wall,” the red twin said softly, optics never leaving Prowl’s face. “It’s either that, or we snap and take out the first mech who says the wrong thing. And when it gets like that, the wrong thing can be anything – anything at all.”
“I remember one time it was Siders who’d been hurt,” Sunstreaker said, his voice hollow with obvious memory. “We got separated from our unit and ended up in enemy territory. We had to fight our way back. And then this trine of Seekers showed up and they dropped acid rain on us.”
Sunstreaker’s gaze lost some of its focus and the spark energy stuttered slightly with the remembered pain of the event. “I had exposed damage on my chest, and this idiot threw himself over me to keep my circuits shielded. By the time the Bots got to us and we got back to the medical unit Sides was in hibernation. To keep his core safe from all the damage. The medics never said it but it was obvious they expected him to offline and me to follow.”
Prowl offlined his optics as he brought up the memory. “I remember that. You were sent to the brig for an unprovoked attack on Warpath. You sent him to medical with a severely damaged turret.”
“It wasn’t unprovoked,” Sunstreaker said bitterly. “He asked me if I was okay. It was such a stupid question that I just flipped out.”
“Another time, it was Sunny in there,” Sideswipe said as he began to send a light but steady flow of comforting energy into Prowl, matching the stream that came from his brother. “I nearly snapped when Neuron came to tell me I’d been volunteered into therapy sessions.”
Sunstreaker shuddered behind Prowl, as the spark energy became laced with a hint of worry. It was no secret that the head of Psychological Operations made the twins nervous.
“I’m surprised she came herself.” Prowl’s tone was as relaxed as anyone would have heard in a long time as he allowed the Twins for comfort him with their words and their sparks.
Sunstreaker let out a derisive snort. “We weren’t. She’s way too fascinated by us. Every time she looks at us I feel like she’s dissecting us. Folks say that we’re too much like Decepticons, but her? I know we shouldn’t speak badly about an officer - especially in this company - but she really creeps me the frag out.”
Prowl couldn’t help the shudder. He had to admit that there was something disconcerting about the psychologist. But he wasn’t about to voice his feelings. After all, she had passed all of Red Alerts screenings and had been thoroughly vetted.
Sideswipe shared a knowing look with his brother, but didn’t comment on Prowl’s reaction. Instead, he continued with his story.
“I would have hauled off and hit her, and likely would have had my aft handed to me. But Bluestreak talked me down. … That’s another mech you can talk to. Yeah, he’s not bonded, but if anyone knows what it’s like to lose everything, then it’s him.”
Prowl’s optics narrowed, and his stiffened between the twins. “I’m a Praxian too, in case you’ve forgotten,” he said sharply.
Sideswipe increased his spark energy, stroking at Prowl’s field gently. “Yeah, you are. But no offense, Sir, you weren’t there. You and that other Praxian … Smokescreen, I think? You two had already moved on. Neither of you were there when the city was destroyed. Blue was. We were the ones who pulled him down from his little nest when we got to Praxus. You didn’t see the look in his optics … Trust me, that mech is intimately familiar with what it’s like to lose everything.”
Prowl looked down at his hands as they rested against Sideswipe’s armour. “I read the reports,” he said simply. As he spoke, Sunstreaker’s hands came about the 2IC’s waist, pulling him into a closer and more comfortable position. “… why are you doing this? And don’t say it’s because you understand what I’m going through. Neither of you have been this altruistic in the past.”
Sunstreaker stiffened slightly behind Prowl. “Yeah - well - maybe we are getting something out of this.” His tone had become guarded and closed. It was as if he was now anticipating an attack at any second.
“Yeah,” Sideswipe said. “We’re getting a lot out of this. We know you and we’re getting a feel for what we can and can’t do with you in charge. If you lose your mind or offline permanently, we have no idea what we’ll get next as a CO. You may have the rulebook shoved up your aft, but at least we know that you won’t give up on us. We can’t say the same for another commander. Primus knows, we’ve been through too many who refuse to let us get even halfway as far as you have.”
“Now, if you’re done thinkin’ the worst of us, are you going t’ let us help you out? Because, honestly? I don’t relish the idea of tellin’ Jazz that we let you slip away when he gets back. And we will get him back.” Sunstreaker’s determined tone carried through to the spark energy he was still sending Prowl, and the 2IC shuddered in response.
The last bit of fight left Prowl. He leaned his head against Sideswipe’s chest as a small, barely contained sob escaped.
“I have to keep it together for Jazz’s sake,” he whispered. “I can’t lose myself to grief, because then he will have nothing to come back to.”
His voice was so low that the Twins had to raise their audio sensitivity to hear it. “We’re barely holding on as it is. Magnus needs back-up, and the city outside is on the brink of burning. We can’t lose the Prime and the Second-In-Command. For all we know, that’s exactly what the Decepticons were hoping for in this.”
“You’re overthinking,” Sideswipe said gently. “For all you know, their plan was to take you out, knowing that all this would turn you into nothing better than an automaton.”
“I am not an automaton,” Prowl snapped, but there was a desperate edge in his tone, as though he were trying to convince himself of that fact.
“Yeah, we know that,” Sunstreaker replied. “But you’re damn well acting like it most of the time. Look, we get that you don’t want to show any weakness out there. But you’re not out there!”
“Yeah, you’re in here and we’re the only ones who’ll know anything,” Sideswipe said sharply. “And before you come up with another excuse not to tell us anything, we’re not gonna let you just shut down in here!”
Sideswipe’s hands closed over Prowl’s arms, holding him still in an iron grip. He sent a sharp pulse of platonic energy into the 2IC’s spark. With it, he opened himself - so that Prowl could see that he wasn’t hiding any secret plots or manipulations.
Prowl gasped, leaning into the frontliner as his brother mirrored the pulse.
“You need to let go and let yourself mourn,” Sunstreaker said. “You can be an aft out there, but you need to let your defenses down in here. You’re gonna fall apart and it’ll be at the worst possible moment. You know that just as well as we do.”
Prowl shuddered between them and fought to keep control.
“You need to let them help you.”
Prowl felt that part of his spark which was Jazz reach out for the twins as they wrapped him in comfort and understanding. Finally, his defenses shattered, he collapsed into Sideswipe, sobs wracking his body as he finally let the dam break.
The twins held him close and let him mourn and let go of his emotions, soothing him with their spark energy and presence. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Prowl relaxed between them.
“What do you know?” Sunstreaker said to his brother through the bond. “He’s not the automaton he pretends to be.”
“Give him a break, Sunny. With this base full of rejects he’s gotta be a tightaft to keep the rest of them in line.”
With that, Sideswipe pulled away. Then he helped his brother arrange Prowl on the berth. The red twin’s look softened as he reached out to brush his hand over the Praxian’s helm.
“He looks young now that he’s finally relaxed. I keep forgetting that he’s probably no older than we are.”
Sunstreaker crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the desk, his look darkening.
“He’s not gonna make it if we lose Jazz is he? I mean, he’s probably stubborn enough to not follow, but he’s not going to survive it, is he?”
Sideswipe took one last look down at Prowl before turning to his brother and pulling him into a hug.
“I dunno. Probably not,” he said softly. “I guess we’ll just have to hope for the best, and then be there to catch him when the worst happens. … and maybe bring Bluestreak into it. Between the three of us, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
Chapter 11
Fandom: Transformers: Generation One
Characters & Relationships: Smokescreen, Mirage, Jazz, Prowl, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus, Red Alert, Ironhide, Perceptor, Wheeljack.
Jazz/Prowl, Wheeljack/Ratchet/Perceptor, mentions of Smokescreen/Swindle, Jazz/Mirage, Jazz/Smokescreen.
Rating: R
Warnings: graphic violence, dub-con, attempted rape, implication of bondage, mentions of rape, mentions of torture, reprogramming, tactile, spark-sex, plug-and-play
Summary: A year ago Jazz was captured by the Decepticons and reprogrammed into a walking time-bomb. Now that he has returned to the Autobots his new programming has kicked in and he has left chaos in his wake. It's up to Smokescreen and Mirage to find Jazz and bring him back to their side and back to sanity before he is completely lost. Meanwhile Prowl and Ultra Magnus try to keep Iacon from destroying itself as panic grips the populace, and as Prowl fights for his sanity after a year's separation from his bonded and the sure knowledge that Jazz may not survive.
Author’s Note A massive special thanks to spectrumphoenix and ayngelcat for support and beta-work!
Link to the fic on A03 or read it below! Comments and critique are greatly appreciated!
Chapter 9
Prowl lowered himself wearily into his berth, hand rubbing mindlessly at his chest. It had become an unconscious movement ever since Jazz had gone missing over a solar before. Since his return and subsequent escape, the movement had become almost chronic as Prowl found himself in near constant pain. The dull ache of absence had become a throb of need now that he had been so close to Jazz.
He offlined his optics with a sigh and tried to slip into recharge, ignoring the discomfort in his hinges as he lay on his back. Normally it was only during recharge that he was able to relax, able to let his guard down. A shuddering breath left his vents as he fought back a wave of despair. Jazz had been so close. He had been right there in their hands, safely in the Med Bay and they had lost him!
White hands clenched at his sides as anger bubbled up inside him. It was like the universe was playing some kind of cruel prank – allowing his bondmate to return, to be so very close, and then to snatch him away again! The pain of these reopened wounds was almost unbearable.
“It would almost be easier if he had never returned,” a voice said in the back of his processor.
Prowl’s optics onlined instantly, one hand flying up to stifle the sob of anguish that threatened to break free. How could he even think such a thing? How could he even contemplate something so awful?
Unbidden, numbers and calculations floated to the forefront of his consciousness, each one playing out the odds of everything that had happened.
20.98% chance that Jazz would be captured on any given mission.
32.72% chance that he would be compromised on the mission that did see him captured
75.31% chance that the Decepticons would execute him
51.88% chance that the execution would be broadcast for all to see
Prowl pushed the numbers away and jerked upright. When Jazz had been there he had always had the ability to ward off the spiralling numbers that consumed Prowl’s mind, but without his bondmate it was as if he was fighting a losing battle. Emotions warred with logic. The resulting maelstrom was enough to drive him mad.
78.45% chance that Prowl would never see Jazz again
85.642% chance that Jazz would never return to his old self
68.3% chance that Prowl himself would never recover from this breach
98.92% chance that Prowl would die when the bond broke as a result of Jazz’s death
99.95% chance that if he did survive he would be driven insane with grief
He began to stalk the room like a caged creature, trying desperately to block the percentages and possibilities. A dozen steps one way, a dozen steps the other; a dozen new numbers springing up in his logic centres. Energy bubbled within him, as it always did when he tried to wind down. It was in these quiet times that the stresses bore down on him the most.
There had been a time when Prowl would have confessed his fears and doubts to Jazz, and the saboteur would have helped him work through them. And if talk didn't work, then Jazz would have used other methods to calm the tactician.
Prowl's thoughts rolled back to the last time that he and Jazz had been together, the last time the numbers had overwhelmed him. It had been over a solar, but he would still feel the saboteur's black fingers working their way over his frame, dipping into seams and over his doors. Jazz would always tackle the issue differently every time with no sense of logic and no pattern for Prowl's processor to latch onto. It always ended the same way, with Prowl arching and crying out on the berth desperately trying to keep up and failing every time. It didn't matter though; Prowl always relaxed and he was finally able to let go of his stresses and strain and lose himself to his bondmate. Jazz would always call it his own brand of therapy, would laugh at what he imagined Neuron would say on the subject.
Prowl’s hand came up to his chest, tracing over his spark chamber. A shudder passed through his frame as he tried to lose himself in the memories. It had been a solar since Jazz had been taken from him; a solar since the dull ache in his spark had begun to gnaw at his body and mind. When working, he’d been able to lose himself and ignore the pain - but each orn it had become harder. Each orn he’d had to subsume himself further and further into the depths of his logic centres just to avoid breaking. Soon, even work had not been enought enough to keep the pain at bay and he’d found himself slipping, especially when he felt the pitying stares of his fellow Autobots as he entered a room.
“Even they know this was a mistake,” the voice said, sounding smug. “And no matter how much you argue, you know the truth of it too.”
Prowl shook his head to silent the voice and sat back down on the edge of the berth.
“… it was never a mistake …” Prowl’s voice was low, barely audible over the sound of his fans in the otherwise silent room.
“There would be nowhere near this much pain if there was no emotional attachment.”
Again Prowl shook his head. This was wrong, so very wrong. He knew that he was suffering from a lack of recharge and that he hadn’t had a proper defrag in far too long but neither should result in a hallucination like that.
Perhaps he should be talking to someone, but he knew what the advice would be. Ratchet had already suggested sedatives to help him recharge, and Neuron had made her opinion clear when Jazz had gone missing. And even though he knew that her suggestions made perfect logical sense, he couldn’t bring himself to block the bond completely or look into having it reversed. That would mean giving up on his bond mate completely.
“But isn’t that what you’re doing? You know that Mirage will follow your orders and will terminate Jazz if necessary.”
Prowl stood up. He turned his attention to the desk where he kept the recharge coding stick that Ratchet had given him shortly after Jazz's disappearance -when it became obvious to the CMO that Prowl had stopped recharging properly. Rather than deal with the pitying looks and opening himself up to the pain, he’d accepted Ratchet’s recommendation that he induce recharge artificially and, subsequently monitored himself, ensuring that no one would see that weakness again.
Then he’d thrown himself into his work and closed himself off emotionally as he’d relied more and more on numbers, logic, and regulations. Every orn that passed now saw Prowl become more insular, more automatic, and it was only in this room when he was finally forced to go off shift, that his guard finally, and unwillingly, dropped.
“It would have been easier if you had never bonded to Jazz,” the voice at the back of his processor said, its tone low and almost seductive. “The choice was completely illogical and now you are paying for that mistake.”
“It wasn’t,” he whispered to the room. “There was nothing more logical than bonding to Jazz.”
But that wasn’t true and he knew it. The decision had been purely emotional. It had been a moment of thoughtless bliss, and now he was paying the price for giving in to an illogical response.
97.45% chance that Prowl would have fabricated a logical reason to bond.
87.85% chance that Jazz’s influence is beneficial.
89.38% chance that Jazz’s influence is detrimental.
32.35% chance that Jazz was benefited by the bond.
98.54% chance that Prowl has been a detriment to Jazz.
“You see? The numbers don’t lie. Bonding was a mistake and even Jazz knew that,” the disembodied voice said smoothly. “And you know what else? When Jazz dies you’re going to snap and take most of this base out with you.”
“Shut. Up,” Prowl grit out, his hands coming up to cover his audios to block out the voice that only he could hear. A voice that was sounding more and more like Jazz at every moment.
99.58% chance that you’re gonna kill ‘em all, lover.
98.97% chance that you’re gonna destroy Iacon in the process.
“You’re gonna snap and there’s a 98.37 percent chance that you’re gonna accomplish what the Decepticons never could. You’re gonna hand this war to ‘em and you’re gonna kill everyone!”
“SHUT UP!” Prowl shrieked, falling to his knees in the middle of the room, his processor finally seizing up in a backwash of illogical data. “Shut the frag up!”
He suddenly looked up at the drawer of his desk where the recharge coding stick was kept. It had been ignored for most of a solar and gathering dust, but there was a good chance that a forced recharge would shut the voice up.
“Yeah, that might work. Who knows, maybe you’ll be able to stop the numbers from hauntin’ ya. Or maybe you’ll lose yourself to th’ new programming. End up an addict who can’t recharge at all without the stick.”
Prowl’s lips thinned to an angry line. Clearly, he was hallucinating from lack of recharge and the loss of his bond mate. The stress was finally getting the better of him; it was time to give in to the only logical option left open to him.
Taking the data stick in hand, Prowl lay back on the berth. With a soft sigh, he brought it up to the join between his neck and helm and pressed the device to the port there. He felt the new program start to move through his system and in a few moments his hand slipped away from his neck as he fell into a deep recharge.
---
Prowl came online to the feeling of warmth against his back and he tightened his grip on the arms holding him close.
“Mornin’ lover,” Jazz said softly as he kissed the back of Prowl’s helm. “I was just debatin’ on waking you up.”
Prowl pressed back into his mate, a small pleased sound escaping his vocalizer.
“But I just couldn’t go off on my mission without sayin’ goodbye properly.” Jazz sat up and rolled Prowl to his back before sweeping in for a deep, hungry kiss.
Prowl offlined his optics, his hands roaming over his mate’s body with a feverish need. His fingers dipped into transformation seams he knew better than his own as he arched up into the body pressing him into the berth. Spark energy passed like lightning between them, and soon the room was filled with the smell of ozone and heated metal, the air nothing but moans and gasps and purrs of appreciation and lust. At some point, they switched places, and Prowl gazed down at his mate with undisguised love.. It was a look that no one else saw. When they were surrounded by other Autobots and bogged down by duty, Prowl reverted to the logical automaton persona he projected to the rest of the world. Only in here, when it was just Jazz and Prowl, did he let the walls come down and the emotions run free.
“Primus … I love you,” Prowl whispered before sweeping in to capture Jazz’s mouth in a searing kiss.
A heavy knock on the door sounded and Prowl growled softly at the interruption, determined to ignore whoever it was.
“Prowl? Please come to the door. We need to speak.” Optimus Prime sounded wrong, somehow. There was a sadness there that went beyond the normal vague melancholy that seemed to always lace his voice.
Again the tactician ignored the call, even when it was followed by another knock and a call button’s chime.
“Ya need t’ get that, Prowler,” Jazz murmured between kisses.
“He can wait.” Prowl’s reply was more of a snarl than anything else. “He will not take this moment from me.”
Jazz took Prowl’s hands in his and kissed his fingertips with delicate, controlled passion.
“It’s too late fer that. You need t’ talk to ‘im.”
Prowl offlined his optics and stilled his hands. Leaning in, he pressed his forehead to Jazz’s as he fought the shudder of fear that threatened to shake him apart.
“Prowl?” Prime’s voice was stronger, sounding now as if he was in the room.
“Just give me one more breem. Please. Just one more.” Prowl knew he was begging but didn’t care. On some level he knew what would come next and he didn’t want to face it.
“Prowl!”
The tactician started as a large hand came down on his shoulder. He was alone on the berth with Prime crouched down at his side, optics full of concern.
“Prowl, I’m sorry for entering without invitation but I need to speak with you,” Prime said softly, his hand never leaving Prowl’s shoulder.
“What is it, Prime?” Prowl’s voice sounded dead to his audios. He never looked up at his Commander. He didn’t need to ask. He knew what was coming next.
---
The cycles after Jazz’s capture were a blur in Prowl’s memory. There had been a frantic search, a desperate attempt to get him back, and all the while there were those looks. Pity. Concern. Worry. Irritation.
It was the last that got to him the most. He heard whispered accusations: he wasn’t trying hard enough, wasn’t displaying the proper emotions. It was all that he could do to not to lose his tight grip on control and outright attack those accusing him. It was a battle he fought with every revolution of his engine, with every fibre of his being.
“Hey Prowl. How’s it going?”
Prowl looked up from his data pad and bit back a sarcastic response to Smokescreen’s innocent question.
“It goes fine.” The response was tight and dismissive, but the psychologist-in-training didn’t seem to take the hint.
“I thought you might want to talk to someone,” Smokescreen said as he entered the office proper and leaned against a guest chair in a silent request to sit. “You know, you might want to vent.”
“I do not need to vent, thank you,” Prowl snapped. “If you will please excuse me, I have far too much work to complete.”
Smokescreen sighed and took the seat, ignoring the clear dismissal.
“Prowl, I’m a Praxian, remember? I know how to read the door wing code,” he said gently as he motioned to Prowl’s doors. “And I know that you need to talk about this. It’s not healthy to keep something this big bottled up inside.
Prowl looked up, clearly surprised to discover that his doors were bobbing and twitching in an expressive rhythm. As soon as he acknowledged this, the doors froze.
“There is nothing I wish to discuss,” Prowl said with finality, brushing the memory firmly away.
Smokescreen’s concerned face blurred as the room seemed to dissipate into mist. The last thing Prowl saw was a black and white figure standing in the corner shaking its head in disappointment.
“Ya need t’ face this.”
---
“He’s back.” Prowl’s words were a strangled whisper as he fought back a sob.
Prime was only just fast enough to catch the tactician before he sank to the floor.
“He is, but he isn’t well. He’s in surgery right now but Ratchet has said that-”
“I need to see him!” the tactician snapped, cutting Prime off and pulling away violently. “I need to-”
This time it was Prowl who was cut off as Prime tightened his grip on the Praxian’s arms, pulling him close.
“He’s in surgery. You can see him when they’re done. He’s in the best possible hands, Prowl – Prowl.”
Prowl looked up sharply at the sudden change in Prime's voice and found himself facing a massive Insecticon, far larger than any of their kind had any right to be. As Prowl pulled away from the thing masquerading as his commanding officer, he found himself trapped in a vice-like grip and pulled close against Bombshell’s now massive body.
“Going so soon-soon? Come now, Prowler, don't you want to see what Jazz has planned for you?”
Prowl felt his spark lurch and twist in response to the proximity of this monster.
“Ah, and there you go-go,” the Insecticon said with an evil chuckle. “You feel the bond breaking, don't you? You feel him pulling away-away.”
“No,” Prowl growled. “Get away from me ... from us!”
Again that chuckle filled the air and Bombshell took hold of Prowl's doors in a move that mimicked one used by Jazz.
“He's told me everything-everything,” the Insecticon hissed. “And he's done with you. He's moved on and now I think it's time you did too.”
Bombshell’s hands tightened around Prowl's doors, In one vicious move, he yanked them off
A scream of pain and anguish ripped from Prowl’s vocalizer as he was sent sprawling to the ground in a heap.
“Your fear is delicious-delicious,” Bombshell whispered, a low chuckle sending horrible vibrations through the room and into the broken mech at his feet.
Prowl looked up and through desperately cycling optics he saw Prime's hand reaching for his very spark ...
---
Prowl came online with a scream, pulling away from the dark figure looming over him.
“It’s okay, Prowl.” The voice was one he vaguely recognized, but his recharge and panic hazed processor refused to place it.
A hand came down heavily on his shoulder, and his panic bloomed into a whirlwind. Without thinking he struck out, hands making contact with the heavily plated armour of a larger mech.
“Ow! Fraggit, Prowl! Stop!”
Thick arms closed around him from behind as large hands closed over his wrists in a painfully tight grip. In an instant he was pinned to a broad chest and he became aware of the irritated growl passing from his captor through to his own back and doors.
“We’re not gonna hurt you, Prowl. Just calm down, okay?”
Prowl cycled his optics and his captor came into view, coalescing out of a blur of red.
“If I let you go you promise you’ll calm the frag down? … Sir,” the mech behind him grit out, the title added as an obvious afterthought.
“Sunstreaker? Sideswipe?” Prowl asked, confusion warring with the indignity of the situation. “What are you doing in here? How the frag did you get in?!”
Sideswipe smiled at the tactician and placed a comforting hand on his arm. “We were in the area and heard the ruckus. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to come in and check up on you.”
Sunstreaker released his potential death grip on Prowl and came to stand in the Praxian’s line of sight.
“After all,” the golden front liner continued where his brother left off, “we’re the only ones on this base who get what you’re going through and aren’t gonna hit you with the idiotic platitudes. As for getting’ in? Your door was unlocked.”
“I-” Prowl’s voice stuttered out as a wave of emotion hit him. His pride wouldn’t allow him to accept help from anyone, let alone these two. But at the same time, they were right. If there was anyone who could even begin to understand what losing a bond mate was like, it was these spark-twins.
Sideswipe squeezed Prowl’s arm again and stepped in closer. “Prowl, seriously, it’s okay. I know the two of us have a reputation, but we know how to keep our mouths shut. This doesn’t have to leave this room.”
Prowl pulled back sharply. His optics narrowed angrily. “Are you threatening me?” he demanded.
Sideswipe barely supressed a bark of laughter. “What? No, of course not! Primus, no! Honestly, Prowl, what do you take us for?”
Prowl’s optics flashed and he opened his mouth to spit back a retort. But Sideswipe interrupted him with a raised his hand, just as his brother huffed in irritation.
“No we’re not threatening you at all. All I meant was that you can talk to us without all the pity and the pointed looks. I’m sure the others don’t realize they’ve got that look on their faces, like they think like you’re gonna fall apart at any second. It gets real old real fast. Oh, and the ‘Primus never hands you something you can’t handle’ line. I fragging hate that slagging line.” The red mech’s hands tightened to fists, as if in remembered pain and irritation.
Sunstreaker placed his hand on his twin’s arm in silent support before turning back to the 2IC.
“We’ve never been through what you’re going through now,” Sunstreaker said in a low voice, “but we’ve nearly lost each other more times than either of us wanna remember. Trust us, we know what you’re going through and we get it. It’s like you’re holdin’ on to sanity with your fingertips and everything that hits you just pushed you closer to the edge.” This last was said with the haunted look of a mech who spoke from far too much personal experience.
Prowl pulled back, optics dark and lips thinned to a slash of irritation. But his doors spoke volumes, twitching and quivering even as he tried to keep them silent. There was no way he was going to let his guard down. Especially not to these two, who were far more likely to use any confessions made against him than they were to offer actual help.
“Let them help,” a softly accented voice said in the back of his processor.
“Jazz?” Prowl whispered before he could stop himself.
“It’s okay, Prowl - we’re here and we understand. We really do,” Sideswipe said softly. “Just trust us. We’re here for you.”
The red twin wrapped his arms around Prowl, and the tactician felt Sunstreaker press up against his back. Together the two allowed a soft wave of platonic spark energy to flow into the tactician. Instantly, Prowl stiffened between them. But they simply increased their grip around him.
“Trust us,” Sideswipe whispered. “It’s okay to let it go. Primus knows, we know how hard it is to keep it all in when your bonded is on the line.”
Prowl remained as stiff as a girder between the twins, refusing to be moved by the flow of comforting energy they were sending into him. But the frontliners were not about to be dissuaded. They had spent far too many nights with nothing but worry for their bonded, and knew that they would have spent those hours far easier had they had someone to talk to.
To really talk to. This being so, they opened their sparks to Prowl and did what they could to envelope him in warmth, comfort, and understanding.
“You need to let them help, Prowl. Please. You need to keep it together and you know that they can help.”
Prowl’s pride kept him upright for a moment longer before he finally collapsed under the strain of the last year. A sob broke free as his fingers curled around the edges of Sideswipe’s armour and a shiver racked his frame.
“… I can’t …,” he whispered as he collapsed into the Twins’ arms.
“Go ahead and let it out,” Sunstreaker said, revving his engine gently as he sent a quiet pulse of spark energy into the tactician. “I ain’t gonna lie, it’s not gonna make you feel better, but sometimes letting it out helps. Stops it from hurting quite so bad.”
Sideswipe pulled away slightly and took hold of Prowl’s hands, pulling him toward the berth.
“Come on and lie down. You need to let it out and if you’re anything like us you’re gonna be exhausted by the time you’re done.”
“I’m not like you,” Prowl muttered, but there was no conviction in his words and he allowed the twins to guide him to the berth.
“No, you aren’t” Sideswipe agreed. “But we know the situation. We know it way too intimately.” He looked Prowl in the optics. The tactician saw only bare honesty and vulnerability written on his face.
Sunstreaker sat at Prowl’s back, pulling him close with a gentle touch that was in sharp contrast with the raw power he knew was in those arms. Sideswipe sat and faced Prowl, his hands coming up to gently brush the tactician’s arms in a soothing caress.
“When it’s one of us in medical, when it looks like there’s a damned good chance that one of us is gonna offline and even Ratchet’s gone all quiet … when it gets like that it’s always easier to just close off and put up a wall,” the red twin said softly, optics never leaving Prowl’s face. “It’s either that, or we snap and take out the first mech who says the wrong thing. And when it gets like that, the wrong thing can be anything – anything at all.”
“I remember one time it was Siders who’d been hurt,” Sunstreaker said, his voice hollow with obvious memory. “We got separated from our unit and ended up in enemy territory. We had to fight our way back. And then this trine of Seekers showed up and they dropped acid rain on us.”
Sunstreaker’s gaze lost some of its focus and the spark energy stuttered slightly with the remembered pain of the event. “I had exposed damage on my chest, and this idiot threw himself over me to keep my circuits shielded. By the time the Bots got to us and we got back to the medical unit Sides was in hibernation. To keep his core safe from all the damage. The medics never said it but it was obvious they expected him to offline and me to follow.”
Prowl offlined his optics as he brought up the memory. “I remember that. You were sent to the brig for an unprovoked attack on Warpath. You sent him to medical with a severely damaged turret.”
“It wasn’t unprovoked,” Sunstreaker said bitterly. “He asked me if I was okay. It was such a stupid question that I just flipped out.”
“Another time, it was Sunny in there,” Sideswipe said as he began to send a light but steady flow of comforting energy into Prowl, matching the stream that came from his brother. “I nearly snapped when Neuron came to tell me I’d been volunteered into therapy sessions.”
Sunstreaker shuddered behind Prowl, as the spark energy became laced with a hint of worry. It was no secret that the head of Psychological Operations made the twins nervous.
“I’m surprised she came herself.” Prowl’s tone was as relaxed as anyone would have heard in a long time as he allowed the Twins for comfort him with their words and their sparks.
Sunstreaker let out a derisive snort. “We weren’t. She’s way too fascinated by us. Every time she looks at us I feel like she’s dissecting us. Folks say that we’re too much like Decepticons, but her? I know we shouldn’t speak badly about an officer - especially in this company - but she really creeps me the frag out.”
Prowl couldn’t help the shudder. He had to admit that there was something disconcerting about the psychologist. But he wasn’t about to voice his feelings. After all, she had passed all of Red Alerts screenings and had been thoroughly vetted.
Sideswipe shared a knowing look with his brother, but didn’t comment on Prowl’s reaction. Instead, he continued with his story.
“I would have hauled off and hit her, and likely would have had my aft handed to me. But Bluestreak talked me down. … That’s another mech you can talk to. Yeah, he’s not bonded, but if anyone knows what it’s like to lose everything, then it’s him.”
Prowl’s optics narrowed, and his stiffened between the twins. “I’m a Praxian too, in case you’ve forgotten,” he said sharply.
Sideswipe increased his spark energy, stroking at Prowl’s field gently. “Yeah, you are. But no offense, Sir, you weren’t there. You and that other Praxian … Smokescreen, I think? You two had already moved on. Neither of you were there when the city was destroyed. Blue was. We were the ones who pulled him down from his little nest when we got to Praxus. You didn’t see the look in his optics … Trust me, that mech is intimately familiar with what it’s like to lose everything.”
Prowl looked down at his hands as they rested against Sideswipe’s armour. “I read the reports,” he said simply. As he spoke, Sunstreaker’s hands came about the 2IC’s waist, pulling him into a closer and more comfortable position. “… why are you doing this? And don’t say it’s because you understand what I’m going through. Neither of you have been this altruistic in the past.”
Sunstreaker stiffened slightly behind Prowl. “Yeah - well - maybe we are getting something out of this.” His tone had become guarded and closed. It was as if he was now anticipating an attack at any second.
“Yeah,” Sideswipe said. “We’re getting a lot out of this. We know you and we’re getting a feel for what we can and can’t do with you in charge. If you lose your mind or offline permanently, we have no idea what we’ll get next as a CO. You may have the rulebook shoved up your aft, but at least we know that you won’t give up on us. We can’t say the same for another commander. Primus knows, we’ve been through too many who refuse to let us get even halfway as far as you have.”
“Now, if you’re done thinkin’ the worst of us, are you going t’ let us help you out? Because, honestly? I don’t relish the idea of tellin’ Jazz that we let you slip away when he gets back. And we will get him back.” Sunstreaker’s determined tone carried through to the spark energy he was still sending Prowl, and the 2IC shuddered in response.
The last bit of fight left Prowl. He leaned his head against Sideswipe’s chest as a small, barely contained sob escaped.
“I have to keep it together for Jazz’s sake,” he whispered. “I can’t lose myself to grief, because then he will have nothing to come back to.”
His voice was so low that the Twins had to raise their audio sensitivity to hear it. “We’re barely holding on as it is. Magnus needs back-up, and the city outside is on the brink of burning. We can’t lose the Prime and the Second-In-Command. For all we know, that’s exactly what the Decepticons were hoping for in this.”
“You’re overthinking,” Sideswipe said gently. “For all you know, their plan was to take you out, knowing that all this would turn you into nothing better than an automaton.”
“I am not an automaton,” Prowl snapped, but there was a desperate edge in his tone, as though he were trying to convince himself of that fact.
“Yeah, we know that,” Sunstreaker replied. “But you’re damn well acting like it most of the time. Look, we get that you don’t want to show any weakness out there. But you’re not out there!”
“Yeah, you’re in here and we’re the only ones who’ll know anything,” Sideswipe said sharply. “And before you come up with another excuse not to tell us anything, we’re not gonna let you just shut down in here!”
Sideswipe’s hands closed over Prowl’s arms, holding him still in an iron grip. He sent a sharp pulse of platonic energy into the 2IC’s spark. With it, he opened himself - so that Prowl could see that he wasn’t hiding any secret plots or manipulations.
Prowl gasped, leaning into the frontliner as his brother mirrored the pulse.
“You need to let go and let yourself mourn,” Sunstreaker said. “You can be an aft out there, but you need to let your defenses down in here. You’re gonna fall apart and it’ll be at the worst possible moment. You know that just as well as we do.”
Prowl shuddered between them and fought to keep control.
“You need to let them help you.”
Prowl felt that part of his spark which was Jazz reach out for the twins as they wrapped him in comfort and understanding. Finally, his defenses shattered, he collapsed into Sideswipe, sobs wracking his body as he finally let the dam break.
The twins held him close and let him mourn and let go of his emotions, soothing him with their spark energy and presence. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Prowl relaxed between them.
“What do you know?” Sunstreaker said to his brother through the bond. “He’s not the automaton he pretends to be.”
“Give him a break, Sunny. With this base full of rejects he’s gotta be a tightaft to keep the rest of them in line.”
With that, Sideswipe pulled away. Then he helped his brother arrange Prowl on the berth. The red twin’s look softened as he reached out to brush his hand over the Praxian’s helm.
“He looks young now that he’s finally relaxed. I keep forgetting that he’s probably no older than we are.”
Sunstreaker crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the desk, his look darkening.
“He’s not gonna make it if we lose Jazz is he? I mean, he’s probably stubborn enough to not follow, but he’s not going to survive it, is he?”
Sideswipe took one last look down at Prowl before turning to his brother and pulling him into a hug.
“I dunno. Probably not,” he said softly. “I guess we’ll just have to hope for the best, and then be there to catch him when the worst happens. … and maybe bring Bluestreak into it. Between the three of us, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
Chapter 11