Chapter Text
Pain. Confusion. A strange sensation of weightlessness and being without frame. Then – hurting all over again. He gave a soft sound of pain and writhed, trying to escape the agony but he couldn’t. There was a voice shushing him and then –
Blackness.
When he came to again, the pain was considerably reduced. His frame was still aching everywhere but nothing that couldn’t be pushed aside. His processor felt strange, however, as if something was wrong. But why? And why was he in pain? Where was he? What was going on? What –
Prowl of Praxus, you are sentenced to death for using unnatural and dark arts to bewitch a member of the Polyhexian Royal family and rise above your caste.
No.
No, it couldn’t be. He had been sentenced to death – was this the Well? But then why was he hurting?
“Your Highness?” A voice asked. “Can you hear me?”
“Hmmm.” His vocaliser seemed to be booting up so he sluggishly onlined his optics. “What–” He reset his vocaliser, trying to rid it of static.
A mech appeared in his field of vision, a frown on his face. He was mainly white with red accents and a red chevron, blue optics sharp with intelligence. It wasn’t someone Prowl was familiar with.
“Who…”
The mech’s expression softened and a gentle field engulfed the Praxian. “I’m Ratchet, Optimus Prime’s medic. You’re familiar with my creation, Drift.”
Prowl frowned.
“You might know him as Deadlock.” Ratchet added reluctantly. “Primus knows why he chose that designation.” His optics snapped back to Prowl. “How are you feeling?”
“I…” Prowl fumbled for glyphs. How did he feel? “Hurt.”
Ratchet sighed. “I imagine. I can give you some more painkillers, but not for long. Your sparkling might be at risk.”
Sparkling? Ah, yes. He was carrying Jazz’s – Jazz! Where – no. Jazz had left him, left him to go hunting with his brother and cousins. He was alone, he had nearly died alone and now he was in a strange city with strange mechs with his entire family thinking that he was dead.
Focus.
“How… how sss – is m-m-my ssssspark-chhhhh d-d-doing?”
Ratchet’s expression softened even more. “Your sparkling is fine. Safely growing in your gestational chamber and ready to emerge in two quartexes.”
Prowl frowned. Two quartexes? No, that was wrong. Last he knew –
He had been sentenced to death when in his fourth quartex of carriage. Somehow, seven quartexes had passed. Seven quartexes. It wasn’t a long time in the live of a Cybertronian, but –
A whine escaped his vocaliser. Jazz had probably long since moved on, just as Rapier had said. But Jazz wouldn’t ever. Not Jazz, not his mate –
A mate he wasn’t bonded to anymore.
He keened again as his CPU struggled to compute the thought –
And painful, blissful blackness.
***
There was a servo gently stroking his helm.
“Prowl, you’re awake.” A soft voice said and the Praxian smiled. Or tried to, since the corners of his lips barely twitched upwards.
“Soundwave,” he said. Or tried to, it came out more like ‘S’dw’ve’.
His best friend hummed. “I’m here, no need to worry.”
Prowl wanted to see him so he onlined his optics. This time they worked without problems. “Soundwave.” His vocaliser also functioned now.
The host mech smiled, red visor brightening. “Thank Primus. How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” Prowl whispered. “Wrong. My processor–”
“A side effect from the water in your fuel lines.” A new voice said and Prowl turned his helm towards the sound. He could see his surroundings now, too. It was an hospital room from the ICU with monitors and infusion stands. His optics fell on the medic and he remembered –
“Medic Ratchet.”
The medic huffed. “Good to see that your memory centre is working. I was afraid that it would be damaged, too.”
Prowl tried to sit up, but Soundwave pushed him back. When the Praxian glared at him, he innocently lifted a remote and pushed a button that elevated the upper part of the berth and Prowl’s upper body. Embarrassment rushed through Prowl – though it curiously didn’t transfer into his field.
“Thank you,” he murmured, then turned to Ratchet. “I cannot forget anything.”
Ratchet raised a sceptical optic ridge. “Anything?”
“Anything.” Prowl confirmed. He placed a hand over his abdomen. “How is my creation?”
“It’s doing great.” Ratchet said with a smile. Then he hesitated. “You, on the other hand, not so much.”
Prowl lowered his gaze. “Does it have anything to do with me blacking out during our last, ahh, conversation?”
A snort. “Yeah. You crashed. And I suspect it’s not just a one-time thing, unfortunately. You’ll probably suffer a crash every time your emotional centre, your rationalising centre and your battle computer and tactical systems come to conflicting decisions. We’ll have to wait and see how exactly this issue will affect you. Now, to more pressing matters: how are you feeling?”
“Better than last time.” Prowl sighed softly and shifted slightly. “How far – how far is my creation away from emerging?”
“A little bit over two decaorns.” Ratchet scrutinised him. “Will you crash on me?”
How would Prowl know? He had never suffered crashes before the attempted execution. But, he felt fine and his processor wasn’t in any conflict. “No.” He had had last conversation to prepare him for the reality that was now his life.
Ratchet nodded. “Good. Both Soundwave and Drift have talked to Prime extensively about your situation and Prime decided to grand you both asylum in his palace as well as anything you could ever want for. Once your sparklet is old enough, Prime will provide you with something to occupy your mind with, but that’s for later.”
It… didn’t compute. Prowl could feel how his processor stepped up a notch and he tried to calm himself. Ratchet had said that both Soundwave and Drift had talked to Prime. Prime was known for his generous spark and had now decided that Prowl was his newest charity case. It was logical.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because Prime feel sympathy for you and a member of his court had argued on your behalf quite vehemently.”
Someone from Prime’s court? “Who?” Ratchet hesitated again. “I am not a fragile sparkling, medic.”
Ratchet glowered at him. “But you have a problems with crashes now and until we know exactly how they are triggered I not accidently cause one.” He crossed his arms. “Oh, whatever. You’ll know the truth soon anyways. Your Highness, you older half-brother, Prince Sideburn, has been a member of Prime’s court ever since Earl Goldtouch conquered Praxus. Prime regards him quite highly, especially since he’s bonded to his cousin, and it didn’t take a lot of persuasion for him to agree to Prince Sideburn’s request.”
“Sideburn?” Prowl asked softly, desperately keeping his emotional centre from overwhelming him. “He survived?”
“He was on his way to Praxus after finalising the bonding contract when Goldtouch attacked you. His outrider stopped him from entering and they returned to Iacon.” Ratchet sighed. “Prime found out relatively quick what happened and offered Prince Sideburn to become a member of his court. No one expected that anyone had survived, but when Drift and Soundwave made their appeal to Prime and King Megatron, he immediately recognised you. He did take a double-take when he saw your colouring but he still identified your facial features. You apparently resemble your sire a lot.”
Prowl carefully released his grip on his processor and smiled. Or tried to. As before, his lips barely moved. How curious. “Yes, that was what tipped Barricade off about my origins. I – Is he allowed to see me?”
“He is.” Ratchet frowned. “Are you always this stoic?”
“No,” said both Prowl and Soundwave, and the Praxian continued. “I just noticed it myself. Anytime I tried to smile my lips barely reacted and my field is absent.”
“Hm.” The medic pursed his lips. “We’ll have to conduct some tests. Not now, you need more rest and that sparkling outside of you. I’ll tell Prince Sideburn to come and see you, he’s been anxious and wanted to visit. Which he wasn’t allowed up to now because of your crashing. Anything you need?”
Prowl mustered him. Just how much influence did he have? From what Deadlock had told him, quite a lot. “My carrier should be notified that I am alive. If he wishes so, he should be offered to come to Iacon to help me raise my creation. And – if Prime so desires, teach Diffusion.”
Ratchet’s helm jerked up. “The Arts of Diffusion was lost a few centuries ago.”
Prowl tried to smile before giving up and opting to stare the medic down. “My carrier is quite old. He was a Master of Diffusion and capable of Processor over Matter, a gift I inherited. Earl Silverstreak lusted after my carrier, but carrier rebuked his advances, which lost him his caste and he was forced to work at the bathhouse outside of Praxus City. There, he was unable to refuse the Earl. While he was forbidden to practice Diffusion as an honourless mech, he still did and taught me. It would be a shame to lose this martial art for forever.”
“It would be.” Ratchet muttered, surprised optics fixed on the Praxian. “You are quite a marvel, aren’t you, Your Highness? Both a Master of Diffusion as well as an outlier.” He chuckled. “Prime will definitely have work for you once you’re cleared. Alright, I will ensure that someone will both inform your carrier and retrieve him from Praxus should he with so.”
Prowl’s lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. “You have my thanks, medic.”
“Hm. Now, try and get some rest. I’ll check back on you later.” He didn’t wait for a response and exited the room.
Soundwave laughed softly. “He must really like you.”
A delicate optic ridge rose. “Hm?”
“He was nice.” The host mech huffed. “And Ratchet is notorious for his horrible bedside manners.” Soundwave shifted on his chair. “How do you really feel?”
Prowl raised the other ridge. “I am fine, as I told medic Ratchet.”
Soundwave stared back, unimpressed. “Are you lying to a telepath?”
Well. With a sigh, the Praxian leaned back into the fluffy pillow that perfectly supported his doorwings. “My processor has not yet caught up with what happened. I am sure that in a few orns the reality of Jazz and I no longer being bonded and Polyhex thinks I am dead will fully be processed and then you may ask me again. Until then… how is my sparkling feeling?”
A broad smile appeared on Soundwave’s face and he placed a servo over Prowl’s abdomen. “He’s happy. For the last few quartexes, when you had been in stasis, he had been distressed. I kept him company and it helped but now, now his processor is singing with happiness.”
“He?” Prowl asked, hope and rapture rising inside him. He might no longer be able to express his emotions, but he did feel them and the way the tips of his wings shivered and his lips twitched did convey his joy.
“Yes, he.”
And while a single tear rolled down his cheek, in that moment, Prowl couldn’t have been happier.
***
The next orn didn’t pass as comfortably for Prowl. Ratchet started him on physical therapy which, for now, consisted of walking rounds in the ICU. It was… difficult. Prowl had never thought that walking could be so hard, not to mention transforming (not that he was allowed to do that right now unless he wanted for his creation to emerge while he was stuck in alt mode and stress him unnecessarily). His equilibrium centre was messed up and Prowl didn’t even try to keep count about how often he had apologised to First Aid, Ratchet’s young student.
“May I ask for a personal favour?” Prowl asked as he wobbled past his room’s door for the fourth time.
“You may ask,” First Aid replied cheerfully, unbothered about the Praxian’s monotonous or lacking field. “But I can’t guarantee that you’ll receive.”
A snort escaped Prowl’s lips because he could help himself and he looked away to hide his embarrassment. “I would like to change my colours. Back to how I was before…” He trailed off, unable to bring himself to say it.
First Aid's optics softened. "I'll tell Ratchet. It shouldn’t be a problem, though I think it’ll only happen after your sparklet emerged. There’s no concrete proof about paint nanites harming a sparkling, but let’s not risk it, hm?”
“Yes, let’s not.” Prowl agreed. Nothing to harm his little bit. He tumbled again and First Aid caught him. “My thanks and apologies once more, medic.”
First Aid laughed merrily. “No problem, Your Highness! I really don’t mind. Also, I’m not a medic just yet. But I think it’s been enough for this orn. Let’s get you back to your berth. Well, I mean enough for this morning. You’ll be walking circles in the afternoon again.” He helped Prowl into his berth. “Anything else I can do for Your Highness?”
The Praxian clenched his blanked in his servos. “There is no need for you to call me ‘Your Highness’. Before I bonded… I was but a honouless bathhouse mech. And now with–” He twisted his servos. “Just ‘Prowl’ is enough. I am no noble.”
First Aid placed a hand over his and squeezed them gently. “Iacon doesn’t care much about castes. Yes, we have nobles, but everyone else is equal and has the same chances if they work for it. Me, for example, I’m from a poor family. But all five of us creations managed to get to where we wanted to get. Two of my siblings are high-ranking officers in Iacon’s military, one is a police lieutenant and the last one owns a night club. And I’m a medic under Ratchet’s wing, so I win, of course. But yeah, being casteless is no issue in Iacon ever since Orion Pax became Prime. He – and Lord Megatron – changed a lot. For the better, I would say. And even so, you were Crown Prince’s Jazz mate which makes you also a Prince, or Duke, or whatever.”
“Hm.” Something struck a chord within Prowl. While training with different weapons in… back there, he had found out that he was quite handy with a rifle. And coupled with his tactical systems and battle computer… Could there, maybe, possibly, realistically, be a future for Prowl in Iacon?
“Thank you, First Aid. You have given me much to think about. Still, I think I prefer just Prowl for now.”
The medic smiled and retracted his hand after patting Prowl’s. “As you wish, Prowl.” He winked his visor – a blue visor winked mischievously before – no – and sauntered out of the room.
Prowl vented his systems, trying to calm his spark. Primus. He really hoped that he could get over what had happened to him, soon.
There wasn’t much to for Prowl to do as he sat in his berth, unable to walk as he was. Ratchet had also restricted his access to the holonet since the risk of him crashing was still a serious danger. A nurse came and talked with him for a while but left far too soon, leaving Prowl to wonder if he would die of boredom. His processor had never liked to idle, wandering around and tackling problems that didn’t exist. He should probably inform Ratchet about this issue, it might be a risk for his crashes. Just as he was about to try and fall into recharge, a knock came from his door and Prowl straightened.
A mech entered, and Prowl very nearly fell from his berth in his effort to scramble to his pedes. It was no one else but Optimus Prime, and behind him followed King Megatron and Soundwave. The host mech made a disapproving sound and hustled to Prowl’s side, pushing him gently back into the berth.
“Instructions: do not move from berth.”
“Soundwave.” Prowl sighed in embarrassment, then bowed his helm at the other two mechs. “Your Serene Highnesses.” He lifted his head and finally got a good look on the rulers of Cybertron’s largest countries.
Optimus Prime was a tall mech with long, thin legs and broad shoulders. He had a blue helm with twitching finials, smokestacks on his back and all his wheels by his pedes. His colours were blue, red and white and his cerulean optics shone with kindness. Prowl knew that, when in public, the Prime would wear a battle mask but it was gone for now, revealing the Iaconian’s pretty face.
Behind him was the imposing figure of Lord Megatron. He was both King of Kaon and Lord High Protector, making him the second most important mech on Cybertron after Prime. His frame was a steely grey, his optics a blazing crimson and his frame was all angles and sharp spikes where his mate was soft curves and straight lines. He had scars marring his face and plating, proof of a recent battle since scars never tended to stay for long. All in all, he was far more intimidating than Prime, especially since he stood a helm taller than the Iaconian.
“Duke Prowl,” Optimus Prime greeted him warmly in that deep, pleasant voice of his, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Behind him Megatron crossed his arms, crimson optics narrowing.
Prowl straightened and tried to sit up, only to be stopped by Soundwave. Resigned, he leaned back against the pillow and looked at Prime. “Can I do something for you?”
Megatron chuckled. “While sitting in the ICU with restricted holonet access?” His voice was deep as well, but rougher and harsher. “I doubt so.”
“Megatron.” Prime chided him fondly before smiling encouragingly at Prowl. “No, thank you. But we have news for you. Tomorrow, I will send a carriage to retrieve Master Yoketron. An old friend of his insists on going.”
“Oh?” Prowl pondered over it. “My thanks, Lord Prime. Though I did not know carrier still had friends from back then. He rarely talks about the time before Earl Silverstreak stripped him of his titles and caste.”
Prime sighed. “A fault in the system that we are working on fixing.” He threw Megatron an adoring look. “But,” and he turned back to Prowl, “that’s not what we came to discuss with you. Kup did talk a lot about Master Yoketron.” His cerulean optics glinted knowingly. “I’m sure he’ll find a way to persuade him about the truth and to come to Iacon.”
“If he doesn’t,” Prowl said softly, “He should tell my carrier that I want him to here to help me with my creation.”
“I will send Kup to you and you may convey your message to him.” Prime stepped closer and put a hand on the bedframe. “We wanted to ask you about what you want for your future. It’s a bit too soon for you to have any idea, but–”
“It is not.” Prowl interrupted him and tilted his wings in submission. “Forgive my transgression. I have thought about what I could do since I woke up yesterorn.” He locked his gaze with Lord Megatron’s. “I emerged with a tactical system and a battle computer.”
“You wish to join the military?”
“Yes.”
Megatron shook his helm. “Your crashes make you a liability. And even as a tactician your life would be at risk. That’s not something you want when having a sparkling.”
“I trust my carrier to watch over my creation in my absence.” He stared at the Kaonite, unafraid. “And regarding my medical condition, it will not be a problem for forever. Once medic Ratchet clears me, there should not be any issues.”
“You don’t know that.” Megatron replied.
“Nor you me. This will not be an issue.”
“Statement: Soundwave must side with Prowl.”
The Kaonite raised an optic ridge. “Is that so? Hm.”
Optimus reset his vocaliser. “Think about it, Your Highness.” His optics softened and a gentle smile graced his lips. “We will leave you for now. Please rest. And I will send Kup to visit.”
“Thank you, Your Serene Highness.”
With a last smile, Prime left with Lord Megatron.
Soundwave stayed behind and Prowl threw him a grateful look. At least some entertainment in the form of his best friend.