Chapter Text
The others stood around Hook, where Swindle was on screen. “Okay so how does this even work?”
Swindle cleared his ventilations and held up a picture of the chip. “Insert into the medical port at the helm, it’s been modified to have a safe code where if the user wishes to end the session, it will be at their will. Otherwise, they will have a light purplish pink tint over the plating and optics may shine brighter. For behavior, imagine a cybercat high. You either get speedster or slow and relaxed. Depends on the mech.”
The others all looked at each other in an unsure manner. The question lingering, will this even work? Long Haul stares hard at the screen. “And this won’t hurt him?” Swindle shrugs.
“Shouldn’t. Anyways, it’s on Cybertron but a few city states away. I’m currently off planet so I can’t deliver it directly, but should be there within a few vorns if my contact is as hasty as she perceives. Gotta go.” And the video cuts to a small static. Long Haul clicks off the receiver.
“There is no possible way this works.” Mixmaster sighs out and fiddles with Scavengers plating. Scavenger swats at him.
“We should first off go confront him.” There was a wave of anxiety that flowed through the bond. They all looked at each other and walked off to Prows office. The walk itself was nerve wracking, all the possible ways this could go, none of them looked good. They arrived at the busted door. With a heavy knock, Hook step in.
“Prowl, do you have a moment?” The oreo cookie didn’t look up. The last time he had gotten up was to refuel and that was greatly concerning for he typically never did unless he was really prompted too. He must of been deathly low. He certainly wasn’t well.
Long Haul stepped in, “Boss.” Prowl let out a sigh and looked up, his optics were dark, a lack of proper shutdown. Bonecrusher looked at Hook and the others nodded. It was time to use the Ratchet card. They all stepped forward and surrounded the desk Prowl worked at. The cops platings flared then shut in tight in defense, his engine grumbled.
“You are concerning us, you’re hurting yourself.” Bonecrusher puts his servo on the table. He was pretty upset, it actually surprised some of the bond. Otherwise, the feeling was mutual. Prowl was a blocky bruiser; he stood his ground well, but that super computer in his helm was killing him. And his pride was too important to show that weakness.
“I am fine and also busy so I suggest you leave.” Prowl growls out, his wing flicking in annoyance. The group of purples and greens don’t move. They didn’t even flinch. Their field intermingle and give off a feeling of calm yet a dangerous type of calm. The type of calm that is intimidating to him because they are never calm. Prowl begins to get a bit more annoyed yet fearful of what is to come next. Compared to the Constructicons, they could do anything, especially in his weakened state. “Get out.”
Scavenger laughs and presses forward, his field pressing heavy on Prowl. “Or what?” The rest of the group, riding on fake confidence that’s somehow working, push forward more, almost leaning over Prowl. At this point, Prowl was more flustered than ticked off. Prowl had been in a position like this in the past, yet it ended with him in the big cuddle pile and, more tolerance for the constructicons. He found he was secretly fond of them. It was like finding an overly friendly stray cyberpup on the streets. It was cute, but not something Prowl had time for, or wanted to put time into. Accept, those strays kept following you around, were somewhat good companions and cared. It felt almost foreign to Prowl. The PTSD was more buried than he had once thought. The constructicons brought that out of him, and it terrified him.
Feeling cornered, Prowl stood up and was hit with a barrage of messages hitting his hud. Low energy, systems running on minimized settings, 20 kilks until shutdown. He had to immediately sit down, he felt like he was going to puke. Luckily, his boyfriends were there to help. They easily caught him and settled him down, soft pets and coddling he melted into. Soon recharge took over, the feeling of panic from a familiar source yet felt so foreign to him, then a rush of comfort, love, concern, but most importantly, love. He short circuited.
A few cycles had passed when Prowl awoke from his slumber. He was not at home anymore but rather in a medbay. It was sterile and bright, everything felt bright. Prowl groaned and closed his optic covers tight; his helm was killing him. After a few uncomfortable moments, he finally took the time to look around the space he was in.
The bed was covered in blankets, his doorwings propped up in a position where they wouldn’t be sore, little candies he liked on the bedside table, a few cyberflora in a Terran jar. He felt, wanted. And the bond pulsed back with so much love it overwhelmed him. He shut it out fast, as instinct. But there was a very muffled disappointment and sadness on the other side. He reached for his spark.
Then the realization dawned on him. He had gone into stasis. The constructicons. He stared at his chassis that protruded out. His hood was polished. Like the rest of him. The bedding soft yet warm, same for the pillows and blankets. It was all for him and his considerations. This was done for him. He opened the bond up a bit, a few waves of anxiety, sadness, anger, disappointment hit back. Then flowed in slow pulses of what he can describe as pure devotion. It felt so delicate to feel so close to his spark. He wanted to reach back, to reciprocate what he starved himself so long for, yet was terrified. The war had changed him, they had changed him, new Cybertron was not the same Cybertron he was forged from. He couldn’t accept it.
Everything felt blurry. It was overwhelming and he felt over stimulated: everything and everywhere all at once. It felt like his spark chamber was constricting down on himself, that inner turmoil of doom setting in. His processor was melting, he was finally busted.
While Prowls own mind unraveled, Ratchet bursted in and ran over with another medic at his peds. There was muffled yelling, muffled beeping overlapping. Everything felt so intense yet so out of focus. Ratchet said something. Prowl looked over but his processor couldn’t make sense of the words. He couldn’t make sense of anything but feeling. And this time, for the very first time, he said something back in the bond. To those who really knew him, that understood him better than anyone could. A extremely faint ‘help’. What returned could only be described as a shockwave of emotions flooding him.
Compassion, urgency, love, and a bit of fear smashed his spark. Prowl felt this rising need, causing tears to flood his optics. Nothing made sense; he was confused, felt so lost and angry. Tossed and used. Then there was more muffled commotion. Blobs of green and purple bursted through the white and stayed by his side. And then everything slowly became okay.
The army of Construction equipment held his hand, pet him, cooed soft words that he couldn’t understand but yet he felt those words deep within him. Made Prowl feel like he was floating on safety, love, and all happy feelings he hadn’t truly felt since before the war. Just waves of emotions, so overwhelming, bright, brought clarity to him.
“Pro… Prowl. Prowler? You with us? Nod if you can hear me?” A big servo held his hand, waves of encouragement and trust filled him. He felt like he was on drugs. Prowl nodded carefully. He opened his intake to speak, but only static followed. He frowned and further laid back. Ratchet nodded and did a system check. “Don’t worry Prowl, your systems are still updating. You crashed pretty hard. Give yourself a moment.” Prowl vented a bit, his entourage giving soft praise and comfort.
“I.. i am,” he paused. The words wouldn’t come to him.
“He says he feels okay just exhausted.” Long Haul answered for him. The rest of the group nodded. Prowl squeezed the hand that held his.
“After what he put his frame through, praise the Allspark he isn’t dead. And that is a conversation for another time, soon when you are less…” he motions vaguely with his hand. Scavenger looked over at the doctor and somewhat gestured to outside. Meanwhile, the other nurse or doctor helped stabilize Prowl further.
After a few cycles, Prowl was discharged with specific orders. Ones he had to further follow up on when he tried to work and was instantly denied. After about a day of being in his clinic, Prowler immediately went back to work only to be denied by his Captain. He stormed out and once he was gone, he called Ratchet.
“I’ve put you on indefinite bed rest!”
“What?! Ratchet what in the Pits-“ Ratchet’s voice pierced through the receiver.
“Oh don’t you dare! You were borderline permanently deactivating! Without intervention from your Trine you wouldn’t be here or you would be a frame of rusting metal on a berth slab in my clinic! Work is off the table for a few stellarcycles until I deem you fit for duty again or even light desk work.” Prowl growled and threw the tele-communicator across the room further soiling his office space. Ever since the incident, he hadn’t been able to close the bond. He could feel everything the heavy duty constructioners felt, and the same for them. Scrapper knocked on the door.
“Hey Prowler, you feeling okay?” He looked around the room then to his smashed communicator. He carefully picked up the pieces. “Why don’t you come and sit with us? We wouldn’t mind the company.” Prowl sat at his desk, staring at where he picked up the communicator. Deep down he felt this yearning that was not his own, it asked him, begged him; please, come. Come into our arms. Please.
He stared over at the door, and stood. He took a step and faltered. He felt weak. Scrapper was on him in an instant. He held him close and picked him up. He carried him into the main room and was placed into the arms of the others.
The Constructicons pet him softly. He melted into it, he was given a cube that he drank from slowly. His wings were kissed softly, which made Prowl shudder. Little nuzzles and kisses of affection were given, he slowly let himself open up. Everything felt okay.
Well, on the surface everything was okay. Internally he was a mess. He was filled with anxiety. He felt depressed and drained. The tac net was suspicious quiet. Maybe Ratchet was behind that.
But in the servos of his bond, those feelings melted away. He felt like he belonged.