Crashed

by regdog

Summary:

Prowl awakes in Medbay after a devastating crash.

Notes:

I was reading different prompts for story ideas. One that struck me was about unusual pairings and others not getting the couple. It inspired me to write about how much Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Prowl loved each other.

Prowl slowly opened his optics. The glaring lights and lurid orange on the wall assailing his optical sensors. The pungent odor of astringent, charred metal and wires and energon mixed with the telltale scent of burning plasma filled his olifactoy sensors. The beeps, clicks and whirs of medical machinery and monitors filled the background. Medbay. The pounding in his cortex and helm telling him it must have been one Pit of a crash he had.

But wait, why would he have crashed from a battle? He was loathed to admit, even to himself, he was used to battles. Mechs fought, mechs were wounded, mechs died. It was war.

“Ratchet,” Primus his vocalize was raw and sore. Perhaps he had been caught in a fire zone.

“Easy, Prowl. Do you want to sit up?” Ratchet said, moving to the tactician’s side.

“Can I?”

“Yes. Here let me help you,” Ratchet moved the wires attached to Prowl’s helm and chestplates, as the SIC shifted from his side to a normal upright position. An unnatural silence filled the Medbay.

Looking down at himself, Prowl saw no evidence of damage. His doorwing sensors were all within normal parameters. His spark ached though. That explained the cables attached to his chestplates. He looked up at Ratchet, the medic’s optics were lined with static as he shifted from pede to pede.

Turning towards the rest of Medbay, Prowl saw Cliffjumper in stasis, but repaired. Mirage was sitting by Jazz’s berth, holding the mech’s servo. Perceptor was sitting next to Wheeljack. On the far berth, was Starscream, his optics dark as Thundercracker and Skywarp wiped his plating.

Soundwave stood against the far wall, A repaired and resting Ravage cradled in his arms.

On the floor, in the corner sat Optimus, His helm in his servos.

Prowl tried to recall the battle, nothing, instead a blinding pain hit his cortex. He keened in pain and grabbed his helm.

“Prowl!” Ratchet cried out. Adjusting the setting on the machinery, causing the pain in Prowl’s helm to subside.

“Ratchet, what? What happened? I can’t remember. It hurts.”

“Prowl---” Ratchet began but his vocalize broke into static.

“War over. Megatron dead. Starscream badly injured, Soundwave surrendered,” Soundwave said, from his place against the far wall. “Ratchet best medic to repair badly wounded Decepticons. Autobot Medic tired of death. As are we all.”

Prowl looked at the Decepticon’s TIC.

“How?” Prowl looked from mech to mech, but none would meet his optics. Ratchet sat heavily in the chair opposite Prowl’s berth.

“Prowl killed Megatron,” Soundwave finally answered.

“I did? I don’t---” again Prowl dropped his helm into his servos.

Sighing, Soundwave retracted his mask and visor. His golden optics shimmering with sadness. “Megatron killed Sideswipe and in effect Sunstreaker as well. Megatron shot Sideswipe through the spark, Sunstreaker took three steps before collapsing and following his brother into the Well.”

Prowl’s spark began to race and twist. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker! Not his beloveds. NO! It couldn’t be. His helm began throbbing.

“Prowl’s scream echoed across the battlefield, momentarily stopping all combat,” Soundwave continued.

Prowl couldn’t take an invent. He was suffocating, but he couldn’t break optic contact with Soundwave.

“The pause in the fighting gave you the edge you needed. You shot Megatron in the optics with your acid rifle. The shot disabled him. You never broke stride, walking across the battlefield shooting. You alternated shooting him with acid in the optics and at his spark. You emptied your rifle capacity, 150 shots. Then loaded a new magazine and continued shooting. You emptied that one as well. Megatron’s helm and chest melted.

“You stopped, stared at his burned out sparkchamber and spoke. ‘They were my everything. You took them from me.’ You dropped your rifle on Megatron’s shell and walked to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, grabbed your helm and collapsed.

“I am so sorry, Prowl,” Soundwave said, sliding his mask and visor back into place.

NO! NO! NO! Soundwave had to be lying. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, his lovers, his best friends, the very reasons he onlined his optics every morning, they couldn’t be gone. They just couldn’t.

His helm was burning, he could feel the syntax and synapsis crackling and tearing apart. He couldn’t survive without his beloved Twins. Rarely used claws emerged from his fingertips and dug into his helm. He could hear screaming, but it was distant, harsh, tormented. Error codes flooded his HUD.

Ratchet was yelling at someone. Who was he yelling at? Why did the senior medic sound so panicked. Something cold slammed into Prowl’s processor, it felt like ice and then nothing.

***************
“Soundwave apologizes, Ratchet. Soundwave knew no other way to stop Prowl from offlining himself or causing permanent processor damage,” the Decepticon TIC said.

“It’s okay, Soundwave. I can fix his physical injuries. I can’t fix---” he broke off, gently pulling Prowl’s claws from the SIC’s own helm.

“Will he recover?” Optimus asked, rising from his place on the floor.

“I don’t know,” Ratchet said, placing Prowl into a deep medical stasis. “I don’t know if I should even try. They were his everything.”

Optimus closed his optics, servo on his chestplates, directly over the Matrix. Swaying slightly, he onlined his optics and turned off the machines attached to his SIC. “Go. They’re waiting,” he placed a gentle servo on Prowl’s helm and gave a muffled sob.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Prowl Week