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Their combined weight held him still -- one mech heavy on each limb, and Long Haul’s weight on his abdomen for good measure.
Prowl struggled, but only briefly. His simulation processor had already churned through the physics of the situation; the results popped up unasked-for on his HUD. It made no sense to waste energy with futile struggle. Prowl couldn’t force his way to freedom.
A fact the Constructicons were already very well aware of, based on their expressions. Their engines hummed with excited tension. Their electromagnetic interference was pleasantly familiar against his circuitry, and their once-joined sparks tugged at his - facts that made Prowl’s plating crawl, but facts nonetheless. Their weight was steady and still.
They weren’t doing anything. That in and of itself was unnerving. The rest of them had their hands full holding him down, but Long Haul’s hands were free, and he was keeping them carefully to himself.
Prowl didn’t understand. His statistical processor, trying to churn through possible motivations, provided no insight.
“Come on, Prowl,” Long Haul said. He was smiling behind his mask. “Don’t be mad.”
“You overpowered me.” Prowl forced the words through clenched teeth. “You are holding me down. How could I possibly not be mad?”
“You can’t fool us, Prowl.”
“We know you.”
“Yeah. We’ve been inside your head.”
A statement that gave Prowl absolutely no insight. They’d been in his head, and he’d been in theirs, but they weren’t joined now. Prowl had no access to their neural net. The places where they had been were nothing but a gap -- half relief at being alone, half open wound.
Prowl tried to remember what part of his mind they’d been poking at, the last time. It was hard to keep track -- the moments were so rich when they were joined, their perspectives hopelessly blurred. The Constructicons had gone through memories of his academy days, of his early police work, of him and Tumbler. Of profound stillness, and --
and of wire keeping Prowl bound while Tumbler traced fingertips down his back--
Prowl felt the heat rush through his systems -- part rage, part dizzying, overwhelming embarrassment. His head swam. He struggled to keep his expression neutral. He’d found power in his connection with the Constructicons, but he sometimes forgot just how much vulnerability he’d been forced to accept in trade.
They must have noticed his change in temperature, and Long Haul had probably seen the brief flinch he was sure slipped past his guard. But they were trying to get on his good side today, apparently. They didn’t mention it.
“We’re doing this for you, Prowl,” Bonecrusher said from his left arm, surly at not being appreciated.
“It’s true,” Scavenger said from his right, faintly hurt.
“You need to relax,” Hook said, hints of ‘scolding doctor’ in his tone.
“Yeah, but you aren’t good at it. So we found out how to help you.” Mixmaster, his voice a familiar rumble.
Long Haul leaned hesitantly on Prowl’s hood. “We aren’t gonna do anything to you,” he said. “Just hold you down for a while.”
They sounded so reasonable. So calm. And the restraint was already having the intended effect - Prowl’s onboard statistical simulation processor displayed a very limited set of options on his HUD, a far cry from its usual chatter. Prowl couldn’t fight his way out of this situation, but:
“I’ll yell,” Prowl said stiffly. The very idea of it filled Prowl with shame - someone finding him here in this condition, overwhelmed by his supposed inferiors, held down without even any traces of a physical fight. “Someone will hear. You’ll be arrested, all of you, and--”
Long Haul pushed two fingers into Prowl’s open mouth, silencing him. The Constructicon had big hands. Prowl could feel all the little imperfections and dings of his fingertips against his tongue. His fingers tasted like Earth grit and asphalt fumes and cheap wax.
Some part of Prowl was disgusted. The rest of him was utterly indifferent; those were Long Haul’s fingers, as much a part of Prowl’s body as his own, so how could he be repulsed?
“Don’t make Hook turn off your vocalizer,” Long Haul said.
It wasn’t a bluff. Hook could do it. He could deactivate Prowl’s horn and siren too, if it came to that. And maybe Prowl could make enough noise before that happened to attract attention - his statistical processor eagerly chewed through the odds in the background of his mind. But even if someone did hear, and did come to help him, Prowl cringed to visualize just what they would find. It would be more than just personally painful - it would impact his ability to command respect.
Prowl rejected the option from his HUD as unworkable. He rejected his simulation processor’s other suggestions as equally unlikely, their odds of success laughably low; talking his way out of this, with charm or reason or threats.
Long Haul eased his fingers out of Prowl’s mouth, rough fingertips sliding slow across his tongue and hesitating on his lower lip before pulling away entirely. Prowl licked his lips before he could stop himself. His mouth was free again, but he didn’t speak.
Only one option remained. He would lay here and wait for the Constructicons to free him. Until then, he was powerless. The current situation, the immediate future, even the long games he was playing, gambits put into play years ago, plans stretching centuries into the future -- all were, for the time being, entirely out of his control.
Prowl's statistical processor went entirely still and silent -- a blessed rarity.
Prowl had done this before -- induced silence in his constantly-chattering statistical processor by stripping it of any options or input by use of physical restraint. When he’d been very young - before he’d built up a tolerance for his unique and uniquely demanding additional processor, before he’d become so important to the war effort that he couldn’t risk such behavior - he’d bound himself in ways that took specific steps to free himself from. It didn’t silence the processor, but it limited its input to one simple piece of information at a time.
With Tumbler, Prowl had gone one step further.
Not often -- Prowl could count the number of times that Tumbler had tied him up one one hand. And after Tumbler had left him, Prowl had never met anyone else he trusted enough to try again.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this. How much he’d needed it.
“Is this enough, Prowl?” Hook asked, voice breaking through the stillness of Prowl’s near-trance. “If you need us to tie you instead, we can rig something up.”
“We just thought this would be nicer,” Scavenger said.
Of course they had. The Constructicons jumped at any opportunity to be close, with a shameless neediness that disgusted Prowl as much as it flattered him. It had been a long time since anyone had openly wanted and accepted him, and no one had ever expressed it so blatantly.
Prowl tried to respond to Hook’s question, even though he’d already decided not to speak, even though he wasn’t sure what he was going to say. Nothing came.
“No, it’s enough,” Long Haul said, awe in his voice. “Look at his face.”
Their bodies shifted on him, but not enough to weaken their hold. One of them made a small noise. The rest were quiet. Prowl could feel them staring.
“You look calm,” Scavenger said to him, finally.
His voice shook the rest of the Constructicons from their awed silence.
“I didn’t know you could make that face.”
“You don’t even look like that when you’re asleep.”
“It looks good on you. Peaceful. Didn't know you did peaceful.”
“Shut up, you guys.” Long Haul’s command was a relief - it meant Prowl didn’t have to give it himself. “You’re bothering him. Everybody just shut up. And stop staring. Let him relax.”
They muttered complaints, but still fell silent. Prowl could feel them settling in again, secure and heavy.
“We’ll let you up in an hour,” Long Haul said quietly. He crossed his arms across Prowl’s hood and rested his chin on them. “You’re stuck until then.” Then Long Haul fell silent too, red optics dim.
Prowl relaxed into the stillness, the silence in his own mind overwhelming. Peace of a kind he hadn’t felt in four million years.