New Dawn, Same Old Age

by CELLular_Device

Summary:

Prowl watches as Iacon struggles to get back on its feet after the fall of Sentinel Prime.
Working long shifts is the only thing that seems to hurry the passing of time as he saves up to enter the Iacon Enforcer Academy.
How does one make a change when the opportunity seems to be but a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of his life?
----
Relationships, and Characters will be added as mentioned.
-Prowl is Autistic in this, it is important to me that you know this-
I dont know where this story is going, its going to be a slow start at the beginning, sorry.

-Hiatus has been lifted, heres whats goin on-
-Retconed what was formerly Chapt. 4
-Working on the second main part of this series (this is the first) that starts in the middle of the start of the war.
-Working on Chapt. 6
-Added JazzProwl tags after coming to a conclusion bout them.
-Added Major Chara death in Archive Warnings

Notes:

Thanks for clicking on this story! Please note: This is my first serious fic, so there will be alot wrong with it at first. As time goes on and I improve, I'll go back and edit through it.
[CHAPT 1. Has been updated as of 9/29/24]
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_--_-_-_-_-_-
*Special thanks*
+Alathea2 on FF.net (Wrote my favorite fic ever, Turning Points)
+My friend, Jazz, who though I dont talk to anymore is one of the reasons why I wanted to w rite this story ^^
+You!
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_--_-_-_-_-_-
-I do what I want with the time terms, heres a guide-
Groon: 1 Hour
Orn: 20 Years

Chapter 1: New Dawn

Notes:

Posted on my phone so the formatting will be wonky, it will be fixed in a few days <3

Before the New Era, Prowl knew little of D-16, and Orion Pax. 

 

Before the New Era, he had a single ‘friend’, two brothers, and himself.

 

Before the New Era, Prowl had wanted only to become an enforcer, and nothing more.

 

Now? He finds himself more lost than he was before. 

 

His structure, his status, his job , all gone , rendered useless and outdated as the Energon reserves are renewed thanks to their fool of a prime. The structure of their entire society, shattered , and the average citizen is left scrabbling for scraps in the wake of an old war, and the beginning of a new dawn. 

 

A new dawn

 

Is it really dawn if there are no rays breaking through the darkness? Is it really dawn if things seem to be worse than they were before.

 

So here he is, standing under the beating sun of their planet, as workers slowly re-build Iacon above ground. It is beautiful, as the Prime had promised, breathtaking even as the world glimmers in oranges and blues, and the world shifts around them, living, breathing .

 

If only he could enjoy it more.

 

“Dear Primus -” Prowl hisses as he rubs at his nose ridge, his wings twitching irritably behind him as his hand slowly slides down his faceplates. “Put the supports on the South end! Not the West .” He snaps as he grabs the datapad from the other bot’s servos and overlooks the information. “You're not even supposed to be on this site! This is Site U-73, your delivery is due for A-1, the new capitol.”

 

“Sir-” The bot attempts to speak, his paint dusted in weird organic material that made Prowl’s olfactory sensor turn up in disgust.

 

“No.” He deadpans as he hands the datapad back to the other bot, “Take the northern express route, with this delay both of our sites will be off schedule.”

 

New Dawn his aft.

 

Prowl glances up as dust kicks up suddenly in the distance, and the sound of music booming from an all too familiar mech’s external speakers covers the usual clangs and clicks of the construction site.  Prowl barely manages a quick, desperate prayer to Primus, begging for some sort of mercy as the silver bot barrels in his general direction.

 

“Prowler!” Drawls Jazz, his form folding in upon itself as he skids to a stop in front of the  former miner. His doorwings bounce as he hops forward and clumsily swipes surface dust from his paint.

 

“Jazz.” He grunts in dull greeting, turning his back to the other mech as he quickly tries to finish the last of his work before it was inevitably taken from him by the other mech.

 

“Prowler.” Jazz greets once more, his faceplates stretching with a smug smile as he bumps their pauldrons together, reaching over Prowl’s shoulder to blindly grasp for his datapad. “It's time for your break, c’mon, let's grab some energon.”

 

Prowl sighs, jerking the pad out of Jazz’s reach as he talks. “As much as I would love to get away from this… site , I just so happen to be be-”

 

“Behind schedule.” He finishes with a roll of his optics, snatching the datapad from Prowl’s servos, “Bot, didn’t you read through those new labor laws the moment they were published?”

 

“I’m just one groon under the limit.” Prowl sighs, loosely giving in to Jazz’s charm as he turns to fully look at the shorter mech.

 

“Yeah, that's one groon too little, come on, there's this new energon eatery that opened in sector T-16, it has copper and titanium toppings, just how you like them.” He explains as he scrolls through Prowl’s datapad with feigned interest.

 

“Jazz, I don't have the credits to spend offhandedly like you do.” He protests weakly.

 

“I’ll pay.” Jazz insists, grasping Prowl’s shoulder as his wings flutter in a friendly manner, “You need to relax , mech.”

 

He grins slightly, tilting his helm down to make fond optic-contact with Jazz. “ You need to catch up on that work the new Prime gave you.” 

 

Jazz gasps loudly, his optics are wide in fake surprise as he places his servo over his spark, “Betrayal of the highest degree, how dare you mention my workload in my presence?!”

 

Prowl’s faceplates twitch as he attempts to hide his smile while he continues to stride past Jazz, “It is my job as your… best friend , is it not?”

 

“Don’t you use my words against me, mech!” 

 

-______-

Prowl didn’t complement servers much, and complements shop owners even less, but dear Primus , this was the best energon he ever had. This Maccadam mech was skilled at his work, the shavings of Titanium and Copper were the perfect size and offered a nice crunchy, soft texture as he popped a cube into his intake.

 

He can’t stifle the happy humm that escapes his vocalizer as he grabs another cube from the bowl that sat between him and Jazz. The other mech, of course, grins brightly once the noise reaches his audials, “told you this place was great.”

 

“Now, you didn’t say great …” Prowl trails off, his doorwings bouncing in poorly hidden joy.

 

He scoffs, and rolls his optics, “You knew what I meant.” 

 

“Did I?” He mocks

 

Jazz scowls in reply, his doorwings flaring in fake offense, “I’ll punch you, mech.”

 

Prowl laughs softly, and shakes his head, the corners of his lips twitching as he tries to keep his smile stable. He dips his intake behind his servos, allowing his smile to drop, and the silence to settle between them.

 

It was nice. 

 

This, was nice, not having to worry about Jazz dying in those mine shafts, not having to worry about Bluestreak or Smokescreen being demoted and him never seeing them again. He didn't have to worry about the lives of his family being lost in an instant anymore. He disliked this new prime, of course, he was indeed a fool, but he was better than Sentinel Prime by a landslide.

 

Now, Prowl had a chance at achieving his dreams. He only had to work overtime for approximately thirty Orns and save up most of his pay to be able to enter the Iaconian Enforcer Academy. Soon he would be able to make a change and start revising the rather.. corrupt practices that were being pushed upon Iaconian citizens day in and day out.

 

Injustice was a word that was well known to (former) miners like him.

 

Prowl wanted to make it a word of the past, as childish as the concept may sound.

“Jazz,” he prompts, suddenly finding the silence to last a little longer than what was often deemed socially acceptable, “you work as the Prime’s..advisor, correct?”

 

The mech shrugs as he waves a servo offhandedly, “advisor is the official title, but I just help him make big decisions. The mech is trying to change up the political structure, shake up the old ways just a little, you know? He doesn't trust the council since they allowed and supported Sentinel’s questionable choices, though he can’t really do much about it right now. It's just Me, Him, Elita and that..Bee kid.”

 

“I thought that he took up Ironhide to help as well?” Prowl asks, surprised at the mech’s absence from the chance to, in his glyphs, ‘fuck a mech up’, even if it was to politically ‘fuck a mech up’.

 

Jazz sighs, the sound mocking one of grief, “Ironhide said no, th’ old bot’s tryna court that racer, Chromia, I think? Mech’s a psycho, that's for sure.” 

 

“Not Kup?” Prowl offers, almost offhandedly this time, Kup was never an eloquent speaker. No matter how good his advice was, it would do little to help anyone if no-one knew what he was saying.

 

“He wants nothin’ to do with politics.” he points out.

 

Prowl sighs again, belatedly realizing how much he’d been sighing ever since Iacon went to slag. “So…our new prime has a personal council consisting entirely of former miners, and all of them have some sort of personality issue. Is that what you’re telling me?”

 

“Perhaps.” Jazz drawls with a loose grin.

 

He puts his head in his hands, and groans weakly, “Primus help us all.”

 

“Hey! It could always be worse.” Jazz chuckles, his doorwings bouncing with his laughter.

Chapter 2: Where are you going?

Summary:

Prowl and the prime have a talk.
Prowl sulks.

Notes:

Quick little chapter! This one should be about 1k words long, so its nothing big, sorry!
Thank you as always for reading and commenting, ^^ It means the world.

The almost offensively bright light of his office shined down upon his bland desk. The surface was barely visible, from under the piles and piles of datapads that took up his workspace. His shift was long running, now, and with Jazz no longer able to distract him from his work; having been caught up in his political duties, Prowl was able to drown himself in the vast amount of digital work that needed signing.

 

It was…not exactly a waste of time, but he found himself unable to take Energon breaks, focused on seeing the end of his work as he looked through the well organized stacks of data. He tried to stave off his impending processor ache, though the incomprehensible amount of stupidity that his co-workers managed to maintain did nothing in his favor, only worsening the ache.

The mech sighed again as he dug his digits into his faceplates, the pressure was a grounding thing, almost relaxing in nature as he allowed his brain to drown in the familiar blank feel of predictable patterns, and the swish and flick that came with the signing of his designation.

 

His head tilted up as the dim beat of a fist meeting the metal of his door met his audials. 

“Come in.” Prowl sighs, sitting upright and fixing the sag of his doorwings, his frame straining under its own demands.

Now, Prowl didn't think that it was easy to catch him off guard, so when the Prime strides into his office, he could only barely hide the way his doorwins flicker in surprise.

 

“Sir!” He shouts as he heaves himself up to his pedes, “It is- such a… pleasure to see you here. I hope you don't mind me asking.. why you are here?”

 

The Prime greets prowl with a calm and almost disarming smile as he ducks under the entryway. “Prowl, please save the sirs for the presence of others. I am not here on any professional business, if that is what you’re worried about?” He offers; an olive branch, it seems. 

 

“Oh..” His doorwings twitch once more as unease fills his chest, “If it is not a professional visit, for what other reason would you be here, Prime?”

 

The other mech shifts uncomfortably under the weight of the title, his shoulders drooping and rolling as if reminded of the weight that comes with it, or perhaps the history. Maybe both, it could always be both.  

 

“Well, Jazz kept talking about you, every chance he was able,” the Prime begins timidly, nothing at all like the mech he was when he was rallying the miners against Sentinel and his High Guard. “I was curious as to who you were, as he talks about you as if you are some extremely smart mech.” He shrugs, “You also sounded interesting. Extremely interesting.”

 

Prowl’s optics darted away from the Prime, his unease making itself even more known in his body language, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. “Ah, well, I hope I have not disappointed you?” His wording was stilted, almost lost under itself as the multitude of iterations of the simple phrase fill the space between his processor’s wiring. 

 

“No!” The prime seems to interrupt hurriedly, “not at all, Prowl, Jazz spoke about you as if you were a kind mech, and from what I can tell, he is correct.”

 

“If him talking about me so much is a problem I could-” 

 

“No, Prowl, please there is no issue.” The Prime interrupts, his anxious and underwhelming presence giving way to a soothing tone that made Prowl want to simply melt for the mech. “Though, I suppose I was lying only mildly, when I said that this was not a professional visit.”

Prowl was unsurprised about the ‘twist’, he’d come to expect this with any other mechs. “Ah?”

“Well, from the way Jazz described you, you’re well organized and know how to lead a group of bots.” The prime continues, “With my own council being quite understaffed, I had thought that you would be a great addition to the team, I suppose.”

 

Prowl’s doorwings flick upward as his processor chews idly on the offer. Of course, being a part of the Prime’s personal council would be a wonderful way to.. influence the state of Iacon, however , he had to think about how the prime is viewed by the mecha of cybertron as a whole. Positive, and negative, their opinions on the prime would ultimately reflect upon him. As a neutral party, however, their opinions would be in line with his own actions, not those of the mech he works for….

 

“With all due respect, Lord Prime,” Prowl begins, dipping his head in respect as he speaks, “I am afraid I cannot accept your offer.”

 

The prime cocks his head to the side, a remnant act of his time as a miner, Prowl was sure, as a proper prime would never act the way Optimus was acting. Prowl dares to allow his plating to shiver minutely at how… un-primely the mecha in front of him was.

 

“Well-” Optimus begins, his faceplates still stretched in an attempt at a comforting smile,”The offer can remain on the table for whenever you may want it.”

 

Prowl tries not to scowl at the Prime’s assumption that he would ever want to follow such a clumsy and unprepared mech such as him. “Of course, Prime.” He hums respectfully despite his own inner quarrel, “I hope you are able to find your way out?”

 

The mech nods politely, and Prowl watches as the door closes behind him. His stiff posture falls away, his doorwings fall from their upright position and his struts feel like they crumpled with the way he folded into himself as he sat down in his chair.

Chapter 3: Of Ratchets, Wrenches, and the like.

Summary:

Prowl talks with Ratchet, we get a deeper look into where the miners of Iacon now live.

Notes:

I won't lie, i've had this sitting in my docs for a good while now, lol.
I wanted to get this chapter to 8k, and was planning on writing 1k everyday but, eh, school got in the way. [It still is, I have 3 unit tests this week T_T]

Hope you guys like this! I like how I wrote the descriptions for this bad boy :]
_____________________________
EDIT: (i'm SO sorry if you get an update notif twice for this, I just forgot some things I wanted to say)

Thank you guys for all the comments, subscriptions, bookmarks, and Kudos- it genuinely has me tearing up to see so many people enjoy this silly idea.

Um- I also have a ✨️Tumblr✨️, its called; Prowlcoded. I'll probably start posting ideas and concepts plus some WIP stuff there now, and uhh asks should be open too! Yippeee

Thanks again! I hope you enoy <3

Iacon’s unrest is thick in the air.

 

 Prowl can sense it as he steps off of the train to the surface, dipping back down under into the safety of, old Iacon. His gait is stilted, his doorwings bouncing uncomfortably with his every step. Light flittered down into the darkness, stretching its arms from the surface, and comforting the unlucky working class below. 

 

 He vents softly and pushes past a crowd of other working mechs, dipping and weaving past the masses of wheels, doors and seeker wings. The hustle and bustle of shouts and conversations flitted over the sensors on his doorwings, rough imaging of the scene behind him idled in the corner of his mind. 

 

 As the sidewalk dipped to merge with the main path, the sound of mechs transforming filled his ears. The long haunting sound, something only made by enforcers, was slowly changing into something new, a part of their day-to-day life. 

 

 Prowl shakes out his doorwings, half tempted to transform as well. He stops, gently tapping over his chassis where his new t-cog rested, thrumming and shifting under his plating, as if excited to transform, to perform its purpose for the first time since it was gifted to him. 

 

 He walks down the sidewalk.

 

 It was rather empty, all the other mecha having taken kindly to their own T-cogs, and happily taking advantage of the newly built streets that stretched over the length of the city. He lets out a long vent, doorwings drooping tiredly as he trudges towards the medical facility on the edge of the main district.

 

 As he ducks into the clinic, he is greeted with the blinding white light that comes with.. Every medical facility in Iacon. He winces, his optics twinging in upset as he blinks past the pain and steps toward the mech at the front.

 

 “First aid.” He greets, nodding politely as he stops at the counter.

 

 “You’re here for your frame inspection?” The small bot prompts as he types away at the display, “This one will be different form your usual- due to the eh..” First aid peers at Prowl’s doorwings, “new look, so it should take a little longer than usual.”

 

 Prowl shakes his head minutely, “Do you know exactly how long it will take?” He asks, clearly exhausted from a long day of yelling at his slag brained co-workers.

 

 “Not too long, you should be out in a half groon or so, don't worry. Just take a seat and Ratchet will be out to grab you in five.” The younger mech waves Prowl off, in an uncaring motion.

 He settles down on one of the low quality chairs in the waiting room, wiggling slightly in place as he tries to get his stupid doorwings settled politely behind him. Of course- since these chairs arent exactly meant for back kibble, he’s forced to lean forward on his thighs in an awkard position. 

 

 Great.

 

 Ratchet, never one to waste anyones time if they’ve treated him well-enough, enters the room after a few moments of impatient waiting. “Prowl!” He calls- his voice sounding a little too much like a cyber-cat’s yowl for Prowl’s liking.

 

 “Im here, Ratchet.” He answers, rising to his pedes and trudging over to the other mech before he got too riled up. 

 

 “Well look at you.” The older mech drawls, looking Prowl up and down, “You got a new shiny frame like the others, good for you..good for you..” he trails off, and raises an optic-ridge as he circles Prowl and takes in the sight of his back kibble. “You’ve got allo’ more kibble than I thought you would-” he mumbles, this time to himself as he tugs Prowl’s doorwings into an uncomfortable position, attempting to get a good look at the wiring and joints that were hidden by his thin plating.

 

 “Ratchet, please-” Prowl attempts, sounding exasperated even as he made little effort to try and pull his doorwings out of Ratchet’s grip. 

 

 The mech’s only reply was the smack of a wrench in the back of his helm. How…eloquent. 

 

 After a few moments of poking and prodding, he’s dragged further into the back of the clinic, and sat down on a medical berth. “Now, I ain’t been treated no doorwingers in a good long time-” The mech starts, “But that doesn't mean I dont know how to handle them, y’ got that?”

 

 Prowl only manages a nod in place of a proper reply, 

 

 “Good” Ratchet huffs, walking behind Prowl to continue his seemingly mindless groping at his wings. “Yer joints and sockets look as good as they can while still being considered new.” He reports, “Though, the sensors on the plating itself..” Prowl shivers as the stabbing wave of a scanner digs into his sensor net. “Are tuned above what I would consider to be the average for mechs like you.

 

 “I suppose that is a bad thing?” Prowl murmurs, trying to keep the limbs as still as possible.

 

 “It depends.” Ratchet answers almost disinterested as he overlooks the scanner's results,“unless…”

 

 Prowl looks over his pauldron to peer at Ratchet “Unless what?” 

 

 The older mech shakes his head, dismissing the unspoken thought, and offers little in explanation.

 

 Prowl’s processor practically squirms at the lack of an answer, and he finds the discomfort to express itself in an upset shiver that digs into Prowl’s frame like a restless cyber-cat.

 

 The rest of the inspection goes just as planned, and Ratchet sends Prowl off with a clean bill of health and a rather cheap actual bill. He steps back out onto the sidewalks and follows the usual path back to his and his brothers’ hab. 

 

 While not located in the worst parts of town, Kiou is one of the…cheaper options for living in Iacon, none of the streets that spanned across the better parts of Iacon reach into here, leaving for mechs in their alt modes to suddenly come storming past, or for others to trudge through piles of trash.

 

 

Chapter 4: Challenges and Strong Words

Summary:

Um. I dont remember :D

Notes:

Hey! So this has been in the works for a bit and its still not finished like I'd like for it to be, but I need to get it out before the grief slams into me when my brain actually processes it! Lol. So this isn't formatted for Ao3, btw, just copy and pasted right in kek

 

So uh.
Yeah, my Dad just died, I dont know if ill continue this series or not? Maybe i'll write more? Depends.

Thanks for reading and sticking with me, my subscribers. It all means alot :3

Prowl trudges up to the door of his dingy apartment and shoves his palm up to the reader. It beeps as it accepts his credentials, and the door slides open with a strained whirr. His doorwings bounce with his every step. He felt weighed down with the stress of his accursed building project, it would be a disaster if anything went wrong with the church, especially if it happened during the Prime ceremony.

 

The mech sighed softly and shook his helm as he turned the corner and stopped at the living room’s entryway. In the dingy apartment sat his two brothers, Smokescreen and Bluestreak, both hung halfway off the couch as they stared silently at the rom-com show that Smokey loved so dearly. 

 

Never one to frown on a moment of silence in their little bubble, Prowl grabbed his datapad before sitting between his brothers and beginning to work on his online schoolwork. It was something he’d picked up the moment Sentinel’s reign collapsed under the entrance of the true prime. Smokescreen did the same on his off-time, but they both wanted to send Bluestreak to an actual school as the younger mech was of age to do so. 

 

    Eventually, the show ends, and the channel flickers to the news, where the newscaster is in the midst of a press conference with the Prime. It was not all that of a grand affair, considering how it had to take place outside due to the pyre still being under construction. Prowl glances up from his statistics work and pauses the explanation video to pay full attention. 

 

 The whole thing was, in its entirety, rather unprofessional, and the caster treated it more like any other interview he’d get on the street. “Good evening, Iacon. Today, we have had the honor of being invited to Prime’s second-ever press conference since he was first given the matrix of leadership. Many questions have been asked regarding the progress on construction on the surface, and the rights of cogless mechs in our city!”

 

 The mechs' wings swooped out and up in a quick motion. There was some sort of regal decor that wrapped around the limbs, before also wrapping around his forearms. He had some sort of face carving that was painted an obnoxious yellow and communicated his status as an upper-class citizen. 

 

 Prowl rolled his optics and let out a silent scoff as he glanced around the background of the footage. He wasn't surprised to be met with a blatant lack of former mining mechs and was unplesantly greeted with the sight of brightly coloured mecha with over-the-top decor and body mods. 

 

 “D’ya think that they’re gonna ask non-classist questions?” Murmurs Smokescreen through a mouthful of energon. “I mean, really, when has a news anchor ever been able to talk about miners without degrading them and dehumanizing us?” 

 

 “I’ll take no for 500.” Pipes up Bluestreak as he glances over at his older brother, shooting him a smug smile as he throws some energon cubes into the other mech's mouth.

 

 The camera sweeps over to follow the news anchor as he heads for the Prime and pushes past every other news anchor in his way until he manages to shove himself into the forefront of the crowd. “Prime!” He shouts, interrupting the mech as he was in the middle of answering someone’s question. “Is it true that the council disagrees with the recent policies you’ve been pushing recently?”

 

 Prime’s face scrunches like he is about to say something foolish. Which, admittedly, wasn't anything new or unusual, especially since the mech under all that armor was truly just foolish Orion Pax. (Re-write their first meeting) “Well,” He begins, his voice is terse with blatantly restrained offence, “While that information is indeed true, and my fellow mecha are working hard to gain the council’s favor as we fight for the rights of our fellow miners. We hope that there will soon be better, more extensive laws put in place regarding minimal pay, and the maximum amount of hours that can be worked per week.”

 

 “And if you are unable to gain their favor or settle on an agreement?” Prompts the newsmech, “What will you do then, surely the no-cog- ehem.. The lower castes will be displeased with you?”

 

 “It is highly unlikely that there will not be a single law that we can all agree on.” Rumbles the prime; his voice is steely as his optics narrow and focus in on the camera for but a moment. “However, in the case that there is no agreement, I will propose a change of council mechs, as it would have been made clear that they have no true care for all of Cybertron.”

 

 “Right…. and how are you going to properly push these new policies forward when you aren't yet an official prime? You haven’t even been to a church before, nor have you ever been guided by Primus’s light until now. Surely, until your ceremony is finished, it is not wise for you to be making such bold moves as a mech formerly unconcerned with Primus.”

 

    Prime grinned down at the newsmech, the same smile that he used to give Elita when he was about to do something stupid and break one of the thousands of rules the cogged mechs had imposed upon them. “It would be in their best interest to follow the suggestions of a mech guided by the other primes and Primus himself. ‘Formerly unconcerned’ or not, I still have the most experience with Primus’ wishes out of anyone planetside.” He explains, waving his hand as he stands upright to dismiss the newscaster with a wave of his hand. “I hope to prove that to you sooner or later.”

 

 Prowl raised a brow and leaned back into the couch with an amused huff. Their prime was too optimistic, expecting to change the opinions of mecha stuck too deep in their ways. As inspiring as it was for those who needed a moment of hope.

 

     Smokescreen's doorwings twitch before one dips and the other raises in confusion. “So... what, he's giving them a uh...” the older mech trails off as he waves his servo. “Frag, what's the word?”

 

    “An ultimatum?” Answers Bluestreak from where he was lounging upside-down off the edge of the couch.”Yeah, I dunno if that's the best position. The council already like... despises the mech, right prowl?”

 

    

    The mech nods as he motions toward the TV. “He's the second ever working mech to be made a ‘prime.’Note the fact that the first one sacrificed our entire species for his selfishness, and how Prime is a lower class miner, unlike Sentinel.” 

 

    “So he's like double fragged?” Pipes in Smokescreen.

 

   “Yes, yes he is.”

 

---Scene Shift-----

 

Prowl tugs Smokescreen and Bluestreak through the crowd by their wrists, and the large collection of mechs raked against his audials like a cyber cat’s claws. He pressed his doorwings down close to his back to keep them out of the way. The sensors scream in protest as his paint and metal scrape against one another, sending sparks of shuddering pain down the limb. 

 He pushes through a thick group of mechs, and finally, the trio stumbles onto the train to the surface. Prowl shudders and shakes out his wings, looking a little ruffled as he glances over the duo. “Got your identification?” He prompts, placing his hand on his hip as he cocks it to the side. 

 Bluestreak reached into his pouch and pulled out two near-identical information chips. “Got them here!” He confirms, shooting Smokescreen a smug grin that speaks of an earlier bet.

 

 “Good, you will need to show them before we enter the event.” 

 

 Smokescreen’s wing dips down and then up as he rolls his optics. “Why did you drag us along to the Prime’s ceremony?” He drawls lazily, “You were only invited because you were the lead for the construction project.”

 

 “This will give the both of you an opportunity to make connections outside of your bubbles.” Sighs Prowl, “I’m trying to give you both platforms to start searching for jobs off of.” 

 

 Bluestreak shoves Smokescreen back as the older mech opens his mouth to speak again, “Thank you, Prowl!” He rushes out before turning to Smokescreen and smacking him in the chassis. 

 

 “Prowl!” Shouts another voice off to the side, and Prowl was promptly glomped by a shorter mech with black paint and a blue visor. 

 

 He sighs and pushes Jazz away. “Jazz.”

 

“Look at us on the same train, what a coincidence-”

 

 Prowl rolls his eyes and looks away as he tries to shove Jazz further away. “Shut up.”

 

 “Y’know-” Barrels on Jazz as he turns to initiate some overly complex handshake sequence with Smokescreen, “I heard that some special mech got you guys first row seats to the ceremony.” 

 

 Bluestreak’s wings fluttered in excitement as he started paying attention to their conversation again. “Wow, did you do that for us?”

 

 Jazz grins and shakes his head as he raises his hands. “I didn't do it. But, what I do known is that this mech worked hard begging and harassin’ the prime-”

 

Prowl smacks Jazz upside the head. “Just let us thank you.” 

 

 The shorter mech cackles and leans into Prowl’s side. His doorwings flutter and brush up against Prowl’s laxed ones. “You're welcome.”

 

Chapter 5: Walk With Me.

Summary:

Jazz and Prowl chit chat.

Notes:

Hey yall, sorry for a late update, and a short chapter, been fighting with my creative motivation, and have been trying to figure out what direction I want *all* of my art to head in, and its... well its a struggle. I hope you like this nonetheless!!
Hopefully my update schedule will become more linear lol, but I just started my senior year so a ton of shit is getting settled this fall! Hoping to get a masters in mechanical engineering when I go to college :DDD

ON ANOTHER NOTE: if the formatting on this is awkward please give me some pointers to how I could make it more readable, It looks fine in Google Docs when I write it but even with rich text the tabs and spacing gets messed up a lil.

    Prowl’s wings twitch and tremble slightly as the small group steps into the event. The roar of other mecha chattering fills his audials, and scrapes against his sensor net, reminding him of how unwelcome mecha like himself was.

    In the distance, towering over a great many mechs, stood Optimus, his bright red and blue paint, a newfound symbol of hope amongst the lower class. His optics glittered and complimented that overtly kind smile of his, his faceplates stretching and folding into itself as it warped around the corners of his intake.

    The mech had become rather charming in such a short amount of time, or perhaps he was always that charming and Prowl simply never looked hard enough to see it. Either way, it served the Prime well, much to Prowl’s still simmering irritation.

    He lets out a slow exhale, and allows his attention to lazily drift over to his brothers and Jazz, happy to trail behind them as they lead their way through the crowd.

    Everything was crowded, and mechs scraped and brushed against one another near constantly, clearly whoever decorated the venue didn't expect for there to be so many bots invited, as the seating provided more of an encumbrance than anything helpful in a crowd such as this. It was… bearable, but only mildly so. Prowl’s wings twitched, before pressing tightly to his back as he tried avoiding smacking them into some poor spark’s shoulder.

    “Aint this wonderful Prowler?” Shouts Jazz into Prowl’s audial, making him wince slightly as a headache pulses at the base of his helm.

    “Ah…yes, I suppose so..” Murmurs the mech back to his friend, bending down slightly to speak into his audial to avoid shouting like the other was so prone to doing.

    Jazz sends him an apologetic smile, and glances around the venue for a moment before gently hustling him towards the edge of the crowd, “Smokes and Blue are socializin’ like you told em. They’re sticking together too, so no need to worry ‘bout them getting snatched.” He joked, smiling as he brushes their doorwings together, the sensors trading information like they were old friends.

    He offers Jazz a fond smile, his doorwings pressing back into Jazz’s own, “Thank you.” Murmurs the mech, his head half dipped as they settle down under one of the VIP balconies, hidden away from where the overhead lighting blasted down upon the mecha below.

    Both of them fell silent, before Jazz pipes up once more, “You know, Prime's been talkin’ ‘bout you.” He notes, tilting his helm to the side, before glancing up at Prowl as if measuring his expression.

 

    “He is?” 

    “He still has that advisor position open for you, y'know.” Sighs Jazz, his doorwings press against his back as he leans into the wall. “He's pretty set on you being th’ one to fill it.”

    Prowl sighs heavily, looking all too exhausted from the mere repetition of the offer. “As much as I… Appreciate his offers, I'm rather set on joining the enforcer academy.”

    “You're willing to turn down such a big offer? This position could help you get into that school, mech.”

    “I've been working towards this goal my whole life Jazz, especially without any outside help, you know this. Why would I throw all my hard work away like that?”

    “It's not throwing it away, it's taking advantage of a new opportunity, mech. You're smart, why can't you see that?”

 

    “....”

 

    “Look..I don' t mean to hurt your ego or nothin’ Prowl. I just wanna help you.”

    Prowl's doorwings twitch, and he lets out a shaky breath, tilting his helm towards the windows to overlook the beauty that was Cybertron's surface.  The red sun lovingly blazed across the plains, painting the metal in sprawling stretches of oranges and yellows.

 

    “The senators have become bolder in their hatred of the prime.” Murmurs Jazz, breaking the silence.

    “Yeah.. Prime's gettin’ a speech prepared, he's hopin’ to gain more of the public's support before dealing with those slag-faced mechs.”

    “It's dangerous to go against their outlooks.”

    “Yeah, but Iaconians’ trust in them isn't what it used to be, not after Sentinel.”

    “You expect them to trust a new prime the same? No-one in the outskirts trusts you, or Prime, or anyone in a position that places them in the capitol. Their vitriol is true.”

    “Reasonably so.” Grumbles Jazz, sounding irritated, “Just..trust that we're dealing with this well enough.”

    “...Trust.”

    “Like you used to.”

    “I trusted you when you weren't working under the primacy, and for a good reason, because you were my friend, Jazz, but there's a clear difference in the mech that takes me out on breaks, and the mech that talks politics to me.”

   

    Jazz falls silent, and his expression sours into something frustrated. Like Prowl altered his perception of him entirely. Wonderful.

    The gray mech's doorwings twitch again, before he murmurs out a terse, “I'll get us some energon cubes,” and quickly shoves himself into the crowd of mecha.

    Prowl stands there for a good few clicks, half expecting for Jazz to truly come back, to return to him, perhaps with an apology on his tongue.

 

    He leaves early with his brothers, one mech less than what they started with,

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Mercy, Your Greatest Weakness