Chapter Text
Prowl did not groan as his alarm woke him up, much as he might have been tempted to. His entire frame ached, every joint and cable. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation to him, his frame had felt uncomfortable since the moment he onlined in the Petrex Cold Construction Facility so many vorns before. It was different, now, though.
His frame was no longer his own. His mind was no longer his own. Everything had been taken from him. Even his wings, which was why phantom pain shot through his backstrut every time he tried to move his non-existent sensor panels.
Taking all of that discomfort and pain, Prowl balled it up and shoved in the back of his processor. It wasn’t important. For now, he had an appointment to go to. One which he desperately did not wish to attend, but Optimus Prime had made it clear that it was not optional. If Prowl ever wanted any form of Command position again, he had to attend.
Stepping out of his small habsuite, Prowl resisted the urge to face-palm at the sight of five hulking, purple and green frames.
“Morning, Prowl!” One of them chirped. Prowl did not care which one.
“Yeah, morning, Boss!” Another, the tallest of them, gave a little wave.
“Where we going today, boss?” A third. How was Prowl ever supposed to tell them apart?
“I am going to a meeting.” Prowl said firmly. “You, I don’t care what you do. Don’t get into fights.” HE amended after a moments thought.
“But we want to go with you!” “Yeah, boss. We want to stick with you!”
This time, Prowl gave into the urge to reach up and rub his chevron tiredly. “I don’t care. Go off and build something. I am attending this meeting alone.”
Before the Constructicons could say anything else, Prowl folded down into alt mode and sped off. Their bulkier alt modes would have a hard time keeping up.
Unfortunately, with how small Iacon had become, his meeting wasn’t very far away. A small office building, spared from the worst ravages of the war, intact enough for a temporary office to be setup.
At precisely the appropriate time, Prowl knocked on the door and was almost immediately summoned inside.
The mech he had been sent to see was even smaller than he had imagined, all spindly limbs and thin plating. And bright orange. Though Prowl had read about Rung, after all, the mech had worked with the Wreckers for vorn, he had never actually met the psychologist. Well, until now.
“Hello, Prowl.” Rung set aside the model spaceship he had been assembling to greet him. “Please, have a seat.”
Prowl sat on the indicated couch, embarrassed for no good reason at the way the unit groaned under his weight. His mass had increased substantially with his new frame. Prowl was used to being, if not skinny, then at least lithe.
“How are you feeling today?” Was Rung’s opening salvo.
There were a thousand answers Prowl could give. Sore, lonely, in pain, alone. He did not voice them. “Foolish. I do not need to be here.”
Rung’s gentle smile did not waver. Doubtless, he had heard this sort of objection before. “I am sorry you feel that way. But Optimus Prime feels you would benefit from these sessions. He is worried about you, Prowl.”
“He has no reason to worry.” Prowl dismissed. “He is only concerned that recent events may have diminished my effectiveness at my duty. But here is no need for such concerns, I am as capable as ever.”
“You don’t think your friend should be worried about you?” Rung’s voice stayed carefully neutral.
“I don’t have friends.” Prowl bit out, with venom that surprised even him.
“You have friends, Prowl. And they are worried for you.”
“Where was their worry when I was being mind-controlled?” Prowl questioned. “Not a single mech noticed that there was a Decepticon controlling my every motion. For weeks!”
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Prowl.” Rung offered. “I cannot imagine how difficult that must have been. But that does not mean your friends do not care about you.”
“I thought I had a friend,” Prowl wasn’t sure why he was revealing all this, but something about the skinny orange doctor made the glyphs tumble out. “He injected his needles into me while my back was turned. Gave the Decepticons a perfect backdoor in.”
Rung just nodded solemnly. “Did you press charges?”
“What’s the point?” Prowl sagged back into the couch. “He is the one with friends, and mecha who like him. The memory he deleted was inconsequential. To press charges would only be to reveal to everyone that my processor was compromised.”
“I still recommend pressing charges.” Rung said gently, “Though, of course, I cannot make you. But performing mnemosurgery on a non-consenting individual carries a hefty sentence.”
Prowl glanced away, unsure about bringing charges against Chromedome for reasons he wasn’t sure of. Maybe the mech had done something else while in his processor.
“Well, perhaps it is something you can think about. No need to make a decision now.” Rung, fortunately, didn’t push. “I can see he was a good friend, and it can be difficult to bring charges against someone you know so well.”
“We have known eachother for a very long time.” Prowl confirmed. “Since before the war. Back when we were . .. partners. It has not been like that in a long time, though.”
“I see.” At some point, Rung had produced a small datapad and was taking notes. “So, after that incident, you were controlled by the Decepticons. Do you want to talk about that at all?”
“What is there to talk about?” Prowl shrugged with faux casualness. “I was trapped inside my mind, as my frame went out and committed atrocities. As no one noticed. I shot and killed someone, and still they didn’t realize.”
“You did not shoot someone.” Rung interrupted. “The Decepticon, Bombshell, was it? Everything that happened was his fault. There is no mech else to blame except Bombshell.”
Hearing that was surprisingly cathartic. Prowl bowed his head, not used to hearing someone else be blamed for everything. Normally, everything that happened through the entire war had been laid at his pedes. “And Megatron.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Bombshell, and Megatron.” Prowl clarified. “Megatron is the one who ordered me controlled, and ordered my frame altered.”
“And Megatron.” Rung agreed. “You say your frame was altered. To become a part of Devastator?”
“Yes.” Prowl bit out. “While I was under mind control, I was changed to interface with the combiner. Megatron wanted to test the modifications on someone before he underwent them myself. I was available.”
“I must admit, I am not that familiar with combiner technology.”
“Nor am I.” It wasn’t like anyone had felt like explaining what they were doing to their helpless Autobot subject. “But my exo-frame was replaced with this one, I was made heavier and sturdier. And my spark-“ His voice cut out. He couldn’t admit it.
“Was something done to your spark?” Rung didn’t seem horrified, his voice stayed perfectly neutral.
“Did you know that combiner teams are tied together by a form of spark bond?” Saying it clinically helped Prowl actually get the glyphs out. “And that they are also known as ‘Gestalt’ because the sparks of all the components actually combine as well, creating one mind?”
“So you are now spark-bonded.” Rung interpreted.
“I woke up and found myself with five sparkmates.” Prowl said the word like a curse. “Bound to five of the worst Decepticons, cruel and ruthless.” His mind had been invaded, his frame butchered, his very spark lain bare. There was no part of him left that was his.
“And how have you been coping with that?” Rung asked gently.
Prowl was surprised by the question. “I keep the bond closed at all times.” How else would he cope?
“That must be very painful.” Rung sounded almost . . . sympathetic.
“It is tolerable.” Prowl dismissed. “And preferrable.”
“It is also not healthy.” Rung pointed out. “Bond withdrawal is, unfortunately, a real and serious condition, whether caused through distance or done purposefully.”
“I will not let those Decepticons into my spark.” Prowl stated firmly, a snarl in his voice. “Not again.”
Rung, thankfully, did not press the point. “We’ll discuss some other coping mechanisms, then. Would you like me to speak with Ratchet about bond withdrawal prevention?”
“If you feel it necessary.” Prowl responded stiffly.
“I can also speak with Ultra Magnus about the non-consensual mnemosurgery, if you aren’t comfortable bringing it up.” Rung offered. “I can leave your designation out of it.”
Again, Prowl shrugged. “It does not matter to me.”
“Well then.” Rung smiled in a way probably meant to be disarming, hands clasped in front of him. “How about we discuss what you would like out of these sessions?”
“I would not ‘like’ anything. I am here because I was ordered to.” Prowl pointed out. “I want nothing more than to be declared fit for duty so that I can return to my job.”
“And I wish for you to be happy, Prowl.”
“I am happy when I am doing my job.” It sounded false even to Prowl’s own audials.
“Are you?” Rung questioned. “Every mech needs a support system, Prowl. Mecha who will be there even in the hard times. I think our goal here is to build you a support system. Everything else will come in time.”
“And how do you suggest I do such a thing?”
“Well, the first step is often to build connections and friendship.” Rung explained patiently. “What about your relationship with your gestalt?”
“I do not have a relationship with them.” Prowl snarled. “I hate them and I wish they would stop following me around.”
“Well, perhaps it is time to change that.” Rung suggested delicately. “I will speak to Ratchet about bonds, but from what I know, the gestalt process cannot be reversed. I think it will serve you much better to build something with them, rather than spend so much energy hating them. It’s something I think we can work on.”
“They are terrible.” Prowl was aware he sounded like a petulant newspark, but couldn’t stop. “Constantly crowding me, grabbing at me. Never taking no for an answer-“
“It’s alright, Prowl. Calm down.” Rung soothed. “You’re alright. And I promise, things will get better. The Constructicons will also have meetings with me. I cannot share information between yours and their appointments, but rest assured we will be addressing all your concerns.”
“You- they do?” Prowl was surprised. He hadn’t realized that anyone else had gotten orders to see the psychologist.
“They do.” Rung nodded. “Relationships require effort from all parties. You are not the only one with work to do.”
For some reason, that mollified Prowl, to know that he wouldn’t have to do it all on his own.
Overall, the session with Rung was not as horrible as Prowl had dreaded. He could not say he felt better, instead, he mostly felt tired. But optimistic, at least. He would pass this test, as he had all others, and would be allowed to return to his work. If it meant playing nice with the Constructicons, well. He could manage that. He would.
Hook, Scavenger, Bonecrusher, Long Haul, and Mixmaster took up all of the available space in Rung’s small office. They wouldn’t fit onto the couch, so it had been shoved aside and the 5 enormous construction mecha sat on the floor instead. They promised Rung they could build him some larger furniture by their next visit.
“So, I take it we’re here primarily to talk about Prowl.” Rung started off.
Affection flickered through the other mech’s EM fields, and Hook and Mixmaster smiled.
“He’s great, isn’t he?” Scavenger wrung his hands together. “But he doesn’t like us.”
“That’s why we’re here.” Mixmaster added. “To-to-to get Prowl to like us.”
“I cannot make him like you.” Rung stopped them there. “And to think that way will only end in failure. But we can talk about your behavior, and how you can change it to help build a better relationship with Prowl.”
“Our behavior?” Bonecrusher snorted, arms crossed. “What’s wrong with our behavior? It’s all him. Constantly yelling at us, shovin’ us away. Keepin’ the bond shut.”
“He’ll give himself bond withdrawal if it keeps it up.” Hook pointed out. “But he refuses to listen.”
“What is it that you like about Prowl?” Rung redirected.
“He’s so smart.” Scavenger said dreamily.
“We’ve been taken advantage of.” Long Haul observed. “A lot. Prowl won’t let that happen. He’s too smart.”
“The way he sees everything is beautiful.” Hook said slowly. “The numbers, the percentages. It’s all so clear.”
“He hates Spike Witwicky.” Bonecrusher shrugged. “Good enough for me.”
“Yes, the human who killed your previous leader.” Rung noted solemnly. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Scrapper was. . . the best foremech a crew could ask for.” Scavenger said sadly. “I liked him very much. I miss him.”
Bonecrusher put a burly arm around Scavenger, offering wordless comfort.
“We-we-we know that Prowl isn’t a new Scrapper.” Mixmaster reassured. “He’s Prowl. But-but-but we like him anyway. His processor is so. Brilliant.”
“He’s our head.” Long Haul said simply. “Of course we like him.”
“That is good to hear. I think Prowl is someone who could use some support.” Rung gave them a small smile.
“Yeah, if only he’d let us anywhere near him.” Bonecrusher groused. “All he does is yell at us.”
“And how do you approach him?” Rung asked.
“With hugs!” Scavenger said excitedly.
“He keeps the bond shut, the only remedy is physical proximity.” Hook explained. “We need to be close to him.”
“Have you asked Prowl if you can touch him?” Rung pointed out.
A chuckle ran through the group.
“He’s gestalt.” Long Haul said the word as if it explained everything. Maybe, to him, it did.
“He’s our head.” Hook explained. “Do you ask permission before touching your own head?”
“He needs us. Nobody is nice to him.” Scavenger pouted. “Nobody else hugs him.”
Clearly, frame autonomy was going to be difficult to explain to them. Rung did not frown only through vorns of practice. “How long have you all been a combiner team?”
Again, the five all glanced at eachother.
“Since before the war, why?” Hook finally answered.
“And how long as Prowl been a part of your gestalt?” Rung continued, though he already knew the answer.
“A few weeks.” Scavenger put in.
“A few weeks. Compared to a lifetime of being alone. Of being the only mech in his spark.” Rung kept his voice gentle. “You cannot approach a mech like that and start touching him without permission. He is not used to being part of a gestalt.”
Again, the five mecha glanced between themselves, this time in mild confusion.
“I know it seems strange, but if you wish to be closer, you will need to learn how to give him space.” Rung pointed out. “Do you recall what happened to Prowl just before he became part of your gestalt?”
“Well, Bombshell had him workin’ under a cerebro shell for awhile.” Bonecrusher tapped a finger to his chinguard. “We was busy building a new exoframe.”
“His spark took to the new frame rather well.” Hook reminisced. “I had a slightly harder time supporting it through the gestalt bond addition, but Cold Constructed sparks tend to be pretty good at accepting mods.”
“He was mind controlled, then had his frame and spark changed.” Rung summarized. “Do you think a mech like that might have some trouble having things done to him without permission?”
Clearly, none of them had thought about it from that angle before.
“If Prowl gives you an order, do you follow it?” Rung tried a different approach.
“Of course!” They all immediately chorused.
“Even if he is ordering you to be quiet, or to go away?” Rung pressed.
The Constructicons shifted uncomfortably.
“But. But he needs us!” Scavenger cried.
“Can you respect his wishes?” Rung continued. “Can you respect another mech’s frame autonomy and leave him alone when he asks for it? If you can’t, then we have a lot more work to do.”
“We’ll do it.” Mixmaster said firmly. “We-we-we will, right guys?”
There were firm nodes of the helm all around, and “yeah!” “right!”
Rung relaxed slightly. It was always good to have patients dedicated to change. “Great. Now then, I have a short presentation to give on types of consent, then I’ll have some homework for you.”
Another few days and Prowl found himself back in Rung’s office. Prime’s orders would have him visiting twice a week until he managed to achieve whatever mysterious goal Prime had for him. If only he knew what it was.
“Hello, Prowl. How have you been?” Rung greeted him warmly as he entered.
“I am fine.” Prowl replied stiffly.
“And how did your homework assignment go?”
“I walked to the park. And had a drink at a bar.” Prowl’s ‘assignment’ had been to spend more time outside in public, preferably around other mecha.
“That’s wonderful.” Rung praised with a brilliant smile. “Did you talk to anyone?”
“No.” Mecha didn’t willingly speak to Prowl.
“Well, just getting out is a great start.” Rung was not deterred. “Hopefully, in the future, you’ll be able to have conversations as well.”
“Why?” Prowl didn’t see the point in having random conversations with random mecha.
“A mech cannot live in isolation.” Rung explained. “You say you have no friends, and this is how you make some. By talking, about something other than work or the war. Just casual conversation. It’s something that takes practice, but I have no doubt you are capable.”
Prowl still didn’t see the point, but he would have to obey if he ever wanted out of this arrangement.
“Speaking of which, how have things been with your gestalt?”
Prowl bristled at the Constructicons being called ‘his,’ but couldn’t deny that they were. “It is fine.” He bit out.
Rung just looked at him politely from behind those big, round glasses, until Prowl felt compelled to say more.
“They are. Less pushy lately.” He admitted. “They have stopped grabbing at me, and are more readily obeying my commands.”
“That’s really good to hear.” Rung seemed quite pleased. “I do have a new homework assignment for you, in addition to the last one. It has to do with the Constructicons.”
Prowl grimaced. That’s just what he needed.
The Constructicons showed up to their session with a brand-new couch, massive enough to hold all five of them. It took up half the office, but Rung appreciated it. He was still working on getting warbuilds to attend therapy, and having a piece of furniture that could actually fit them would go a long way towards that goal.
“Thank you.” Rung watched as the 5 enormous mecha carefully deconstructed the old couch and installed the new one in its place.
“No prob, Doc.” Bonecrusher dismissed. “Old one was a cheap piece of scrap.”
“This new couch will serve you much better.” Hook directed the placement of the new unit with a careful optic. “The last one would have collapsed under one of us. I’m surprised it didn’t collapse under Prowl.”
“You enjoy making things for others, don’t you?” Rung observed.
Snickers ran through the group of Decepticons.
“Of-of-of course we do. We’re Constructicons.” Mixmaster chuckled.
“We like building things.” Scavenger said cheerfully, “And it’s really great when other mecha like the things we make and use them.”
“As long as they don’t try to tell us what to do.” Hook sniffed. “Or try to ruin our vision.”
“Y’mean your vision.” Bonecrusher muttered.
“Have you made anything for Prowl?” Rung asked curiously.
“Course we have.” Long Haul sat on the newly put-together couch and, as promised, it didn’t even creak under his bulk. “New desk and chair for him.”
“He kept breaking his.” Scavenger added.
“Besides that desk-flipping habit of his, he’s a frame class heavier and stronger now.” Hook explained. “His old equipment wasn’t good enough.”
“And what did he think of it?” Rung made a note to speak with Prowl about ways to manage anger and frustration.
The five mecha looked at eachother and gave a collective shrug.
“He ain’t broken it yet.” Bonecrusher threw himself down on the couch next to Long Haul.
“I thought maybe he frowned a little less.” Scavenger said tentatively. “And there was a little something over the bond?”
“He didn’t yell at us, which I consider an improvement.” Hook sat carefully on one end of the couch. “Actually, he thanked us.”
There was a happy rumble from all the Constructicons at the memory.
“Well, I think that is a wonderful start.” Rung said with a clap of his hands. “Handmade gifts can be a great way to show appreciation for a friend. Perhaps you should think about something else you might be able to make for Prowl.”
Another shared look between the combiner team, this one thoughtful and considering.
Prowl frowned when there was a knock on the door to his habsuite. He had already finished his “Homework” for the evening, in the form of going to the nearby bar and actually having a short conversation with Jazz about an amusing incident from early in the war. All he wanted to do now was to sit and read for the evening.
The knock came again, hard enough to rattle the door, and Prowl knew who was on the other side. With a heavy sigh, he stood up and pinged the door to open.
Fortunately, the Constructicons didn’t immediately flood into his Hab. They stayed outside, almost respectfully, and didn’t even reach out to try and grab him. It was a surprising, not unwelcome change, and Prowl supposed he should thank Rung.
“What do you want?” Prowl looked between the five Decepticons suspiciously. He didn’t trust the happy EM Fields flowing out to mesh with his tightly held one, or the way that Long Haul seemed to be hiding something behind his back.
Hook, their de facto spokesman, stepped forward. “We do not want anything. We are here, in fact, to give you something.”
To give him something? Hopefully not a pile a junk or abstract art sculpture. Prowl had seen the sorts of things Scavenger tended to collect. “What is it?”
After a moment’s pause, Long Haul finally produced what he was hiding. Two metal panels, long and shining with black and white paint. They looked awfully familiar.
“Are those-?” Prowl could hardly believe it. “My sensor panels?”
“They are new replacements.” Hook said proudly. “I used your old ones as blueprints, scaled up to match your new framesize. And made some sensory improvements. I can perform the installation any time.”
“I will schedule an appointment for installation with Ratchet.” Prowl said firmly. Like the pit he’d let Hook or any Constructicon anywhere near his offline frame again. He reached out and took the sensory panels. There was a pause as he briefly struggled with himself, before he gave them a stiff “Thank You.” Before shutting the door.
Hook was fuming a bit that his offer to install his creations had been denied, but the other Constructicons were too busy enjoying having been thanked to acknowledge his grump.
Two days later, Prowl walked into his appointment with Rung with a pair of wings held high on his back. It was an incredible relief to have his two limbs back, he hadn’t realize just how much he’d missed them until they were re-installed.
“Hello, Prowl.” Rung glanced up from a datapad he was writing on to greet his patient. “Oh! You have your wings back.”
“Yes.” Prowl sat down on the new, much larger couch. (He felt like he was pretty sure he knew where that had come from.) “I just had them installed yesterday. The Constructicons made them.”
“Well, that was very kind of them.” Rung gave him a beaming smile. “You look much more comfortable.”
“Well, they were the ones who removed my last pair.” Prowl said stiffly. “It is only proper they replaced them.”
“It was still nice of them.” Rung let the subject lie at that. “I must admit, I don’t know much about the culture in Praxus relating to wings. How important were they?”
Prowl relaxed slightly when the conversation turned away Constructicons. “Every Praxian citizen had some form of sensor wings, they were considered a hallmark of the city-state. Even Cold Constructs were thus equipped-“
As Prowl continued to speak, he relaxed back into the couch and his frame language became more open. There was a lot to dislike about his early years, like the hardline Functionists who had controlled the district of Petrex, and most of Praxus in association. But there was a certain nostalgia to it too. Things had been so simple back then. Before he had been force-bonded to a construction crew, before a galaxy-wide war had broken out, before he had been sucked into shady politics. When he had just been an Enforcer, a Detective, solving crimes and working with his cohort.
“Do you miss working in Petrex?” Rung inquired.
“No.” Prowl responded bluntly. “There’s no point in missing something in the past, especially so long ago. I have changed greatly since then.” He paused, and Rung waited patiently until he spoke again. “I do, perhaps, sometimes miss working on simpler cases. And being listened to by my superiors.”
“Do you feel that Optimus doesn’t listen to you?”
“Has he ever?” Prowl responded bitterly. “Sentinel always thought my plans were too soft. Optimus finds my plans to harsh. My only goal has been to end the war, and protect the Cybertronian mecha.”
“And I am sure you have.” Rung said indulgently. “Unfortunately, those around us will not always agree. That does not mean that you aren’t being listened to.”
Prowl snorted, obviously not believing him.
Rung decided to leave it for now. “How did your new homework go?”
His homework now, besides going outside and attempting to ‘socialize’ was to spend an hour every few days with his gestalt. Prowl was even less enthusiastic about that, but Ratchet hadn’t liked the look of his spark and backed up the orders. If he wouldn’t open the bond, then he had to spend time in close proximity to his gestalt, unless he wanted to suffer from bond withdrawal.
“We now have scheduled game nights.” Prowl recounted. “I go to their habsuite, and read a datafile while they play a board game. I stay until they start brawling, at which point I leave and go back to my hab.”
“That sounds reasonable.” Rung nodded. Hopefully, that would encourage the Constructicons to fight less as well. “Perhaps in the future, we’ll be able to progress to you interacting more with them. Maybe you can share a game.”
Prowl’s sneer showed what he thought of that.
Prowl sat in a large chair in the Constructicon’s habsuite, a bookfile in hand. The armchair was surprisingly comfortable, and he had a sneaking suspicion it had been built with him in mind. Oh well, he wasn’t complaining.
The Constructicons were behaving themselves, for once. All five were gathered around a board game, which was staying civil for now. Their voices washed over Prowl as a sort of background noise. A familiar noise, one which registered to his processor as comfortable and safe. As the night went on, he found it more and more difficult to keep his optics online. He’d read the same line on his bookfile multiple times, but the glyphs wouldn’t stay in his processor. Slowly, his head nodded, until finally, his chin sunk to his chest and didn’t come back up.
“Shh, guys, shh.” Scavenger glanced back at their snoozing leader with reverent optics. “Prowl’s in recharge.”
“He looks so. Calm.” Long Haul said in wonder.
“Good look on him.” Bonecrusher grunted. “Better than his usual sour face.”
“Hush.” Scavenger swatted him. “What should we do?”
“Whatever we do, don’t wake him.” Hook whispered. “Let’s just finish our game.”
And so they did, as quietly as they could manage. Mixmaster briefly forgot himself and did a victory dance, but still Prowl didn’t wake.
“Now what?” Scavenger hissed.
“He should be moved to a berth.” Hook observed. “Or he’s going to have a terrible backstrut ache.”
“I could just pick him up-“ Long Haul offered.
“N-n-not supposed to touch him.” Mixmaster reminded the dump truck.
“Here, lemme try something.” Bonecrusher stomped over and leaned down near Prowl’s audial. “Hey, Prowl. Wake up, Prowl. Wakey wakey.”
Blue optics flickered on dimly, and Prowl clearly wasn’t all the way awake yet as he looked around in confusion.
“You feel into recharge,” Hook went over as well, holding out a hand. Let’s get you to a berth.”
TO all their surprise, Prowl actually took Hook’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his pedes. Once upright, he swayed and his wings drooped low. The Constructicons almost stopped venting as Prowl allowed himself to be led into the berthroom. As soon as the Praxian hit the berth, he was in recharge again.
The Constructicons allowed themselves a collective moment of awe over the (comparatively) small, lightweight frame gracing their berth. Then, they realized they had just given up their berth for the night and set about (quietly) arguing over who was recharging where on the floor.
Prowl woke up confused and disoriented when he realized he wasn’t in his hab. Then he realized just where he was, and frowned. If the Constructicons had done anything to him-!
There was a rumbling snore, and Prowl looked over to see his gestalt in a heap on the floor. All of his plating was in place, as well, and nothing felt off or strange. Well, no more than normal, anyway. He had charged in their berth, and they hadn’t touched him.
Carefully, Prowl stepped around the snoring pile of Constructicon and let himself out.
Another night out at the bar, and Prowl had another conversation with Jazz. It was surprisingly pleasant, to sit and just talk with someone. About music mostly, which Prowl knew very little about, but he loved to learn and so he listened. Maybe there was something to Rung’s assignment of going out and socializing.
Then, Chromedome had entered the establishment. Prowl stiffed and, with a quick apology to Jazz, stalked out. The back of his neck itched, then burned, as he felt an orange visor follow his departure.
Prowl arrived at his habsuite and had barely opened the door when the Constructicons arrived as well.
“Boss! You okay?” Scavenger’s hands reached forward, though he managed to resist the urge to touch and reassure himself that his gestalt leader was still there.
“We felt something happen.” Hook explained. “Is there anything we can do for you?”
“You can go away.” Prowl hissed through gritted denta, a hand clapped to the back of his neck.
“You sure that’s what you need, boss?” Bonecrusher asked. “Cause we can do stuff for you. Give you a massage-“
“Warm you some energon-“ Mixmaster continued.
“Get you a blankie.” Scavenger offered.
Prowl stood and debated. Sit in his habsuite, alone and feeling miserable, or let in his gestalt, who had been surprisingly respectful lately.
Finally, Prowl keyed in the door code and stepped aside to allow them in. “Fine. But if I tell you to leave, you get out.”
“Yes boss!” They chorused as they piled in.
Prowl went straight to his couch and sat down, a hand still covering the back of his neck, as his gestalt bustled around his small hab. Mixmaster immediately went to the neglected fuel prep area, Long Haul trailing behind him, while Bonecrusher flopped down on the floor. Scavenger produced, as promised, a reasonable clean blanket from his subspace and draped it over Prowl’s lap, while Hook circled around the back of the couch.
“Will you let me have a look?” Hook questioned, indicating the hand covering the scars on Prowl’s neck.
Reluctantly, Prowl lowered his hand so that the medic could have a look.
“Yes, he certainly did a number on you.” Hook grumbled, restrained anger in his voice as he examined the raised marks just below the rim of his helmet. “May I touch?”
“You may.” Still, Prowl couldn’t repress a shiver as surprisingly gentle hands ran over the scars. Mercifully, Hook was brief.
“I take it he has something to do with why you are back early.” Hook guessed, coming back around the couch to sit in front of him. (He didn’t trust the couch to hold both of them)
“He showed up at the bar tonight. It is foolish, but I did not want to stay.” Now, Prowl was starting to feel silly for reacting as he had.
“He’s the fool.” Bonecrusher cracked his knuckles. “You want him taken care of, just say the word, Boss.”
“You will not be murdering Chromedome.” Prowl said tiredly. Mixmaster appeared next to him with a cube of warmed energon, which Prowl took and sipped from. The warmth spread through his frame, and he relaxed back into his couch.
“Who said anything about murder?” Bonecrusher chuckled. “Jus’ break him a little bit.”
“No.” Prowl most decidedly did not smile at the pout he got from Bonecrusher in response. “Well, maybe you can intimidate him a bit.”
Chuckles ran around the room, and Prowl felt his lips tug upward. He never thought spending time around the Constructions could actually be pleasant.
It was then that his comm pinged with a call from Jazz. He was calling to check up on Prowl, concerned about the mech’s abrupt departure from the bar. Prowl reassured him he was fine, and thanked him for the concern. That anyone was actually concerned for him was novel. The warm feeling growing inside Prowl had nothing to do with the energon or the blanket over his lap. Well, maybe it did a little. Because it had everything to do with the mecha around him.
Privately, Prowl made a note to apologize to Optimus for the things he’d called the Prime when he’d been ordered to Therapy. Maybe Optimus had had a point.