Chapter Text
They kept their word. An hour later the Constructicons stirred.
Prowl’s processors jolted into immediate action. It was too sudden a transition - from absolute restraint to absolute freedom - and he felt dizzy with it. The space around him was abruptly empty and cold, the unnervingly familiar electromagnetic fields and spark resonances and engine warmth pulling away far too quickly and leaving nothing behind. Empty gaps, a wrenching ache, like what was left after they combined and came apart again.
Prowl had forgotten how… how fragile this left him, in the immediate wake. Putting down his burdens only made them feel heavier when he was forced to pick them up again.
The Constructicons were saying something. Prowl’s head spun. His vision was flooded with HUD input from his statistical processor; inarguable unrelenting facts, suggested courses of action for both his longer-term plans and his current situation. Prowl flinched away from the overwhelming stream of data and struggled to decode the noises into words.
“... hope you aren’t still mad, Prowl.” Mixmaster’s voice.
“Yeah. We’ll get out of here though.” Long Haul - standing over him, carefully stepping out of the tangle of limbs.
“We know you probably want us gone.” Bonecrusher, still surly.
Their bodies pulled away, leaving him too free and too cold.
Prowl reached out, half blindly. His hand closed on a big leg -- Scavenger.
Scavenger winced, expecting violent retribution. And he deserved it. They all did. It made Prowl glad to know that after all this, they were still afraid of him. They still knew that he could hurt them, and that he was willing to do it.
Prowl held Scavenger still. He tried to speak. His vocalizer clicked - when had he turned it off? It finished rebooting mid-growl.
Scavenger froze. The rest of them did, too, and there was a sudden silence as their movements and ventilations paused.
“I don’t remember giving you lot permission to leave,” Prowl said.
A stunned, suspicious pause, and then the Constructicons tripped over each other to get close to him. They pressed in on all sides - not restraining him any more, just pushing close.
Prowl let them. He shoved Long Haul off when he tried to settle back onto his abdomen, but otherwise let them arrange themselves against him as they pleased.
Prowl needed this, in the wake of what had just come to pass. He always had needed it, afterwards -- Tumbler undoing wire knots and Prowl allowing himself to be held, allowing those careful hands to soothe and calm, physical touch leading him back up and out again, easing his shaking hands and doors to stillness. Allowing himself to accept the kind of comfort he would never otherwise--
Prowl needed this. He tried not to let himself think about the way the Constructicons had engineered that need, had likely read it in his head, and had gotten up anyway. Prowl wondered if that had been a miscalculation on their part or if they’d just wanted to hear him give the order.
They pushed up close to him, familiar. It had been a long time since anyone had felt familiar to Prowl. Too long. Never again, he'd promised himself once, but it was too late now.
Prowl needed this. He would deal with the ramifications later - ramifications his additional processor was already trying to warn him about, churning through statistics and offering dire predictions.
Their sparks tugged at his, this close. Their bodies were warm. The discomfort and repulsion at their closeness was fading, the way it always did. It left some other feeling behind in its wake.
Prowl shivered. Their closeness held him still. Prowl shut his optics off, and slowly adjusted to the weight he had to bear.