Chapter Text
The mission was straightforward enough. At least, in theory. The Constructicons and Prowl had been assigned to a remote location to assess the ruins of an old structure. The task was simple: salvage any usable materials, scout for potential threats, and then leave.
Yet, despite the straightforward nature of the objective, Prowl knew the true challenge lay in working with the Constructicons. Chaos was their default mode of operation, and Prowl’s patience—always in short supply—would surely be tested once more.
As the team arrived, the sound of their massive forms transforming filled the air, each Constructicon changing shape with a series of mechanical clanks and whirs. Prowl, still in his alt-mode, kept his doorwings alert, constantly scanning the perimeter for any potential threats. He didn’t trust this place—it reeked of instability.
The atmosphere around the old, derelict buildings felt unsettling, but he didn’t voice his concern aloud. Instead, he let his battle computer crunch the numbers, already predicting the likelihood of a safe mission, despite the Constructicons' inevitable chaos.
"Looks like a good spot," Hook said, his voice carrying that unmistakable air of superiority. His towering frame straightened as he surveyed the area, his red visor gleaming in the dim light. "I’m already picturing how I’d rebuild this place... if only they didn’t leave it in ruins."
Bonecrusher grinned, flexing his fingers in eager anticipation. "They’re all ruins to me. Perfect for smashing." His red visor glinted, his excitement palpable as he cracked his knuckles.
Long Haul, his frame towering and bulkier than most, let out a grunt of dissatisfaction. "Could be worse. I could be hauling more junk around. But hey, at least we’re not sitting in the warehouse." His words, though heavy with sarcasm, carried a hint of frustration beneath the surface.
Scavenger, never one to miss the chance for praise, gestured to a nearby pile of debris. "Bet I’ll find something useful here. You guys just wait and see!" His voice, though enthusiastic, was tinged with the desperation that constantly marked his attempts to prove himself.
Mixmaster, ever lost in thought, muttered to himself as his mixer drum spun in anticipation. "Could make some good material here... if the compounds are right..." He didn’t seem to notice anyone else’s comments, absorbed in his internal calculations as always.
Prowl, still in his alt-mode, kept his optics fixed on the surroundings, his doorwings twitching slightly in response to the banter. His AI battle computer ran through an extensive analysis of the structure, predicting an 87% probability of structural collapse if they weren’t careful. He’d long since calculated that the Constructicons’ chaotic nature would, somehow, work in their favor, despite the odds. And yet, the potential for disaster lingered at the back of his mind.
He stayed silent, his battle computer running through countless calculations, and ignored the teasing calls of the Constructicons. Their voices, though playful, were a constant reminder of how different they were from him. Where Prowl valued precision, they reveled in destruction and unpredictability.
"Hey, Prowl," Bonecrusher called out, his voice teasing, "You know, for someone who's always so serious, you could use a little fun now and then."
Prowl kept his silence, his doorwings slightly twitching as he transformed into his robot mode, his usual deadpan expression on his face. He shot Bonecrusher a glance, but his words came out quiet, almost resigned, "Halfwits."
The Constructicons grinned, their attention fixated on him now that he’d finally transformed. They enjoyed teasing him, knowing it would get under his skin, even if he never admitted it.
"Aw, come on," Long Haul teased. "You’re one of us now. Can’t you just have a little fun?"
Prowl rolled his optics and muttered under his breath, "Why did I ever start liking them?"
It was Scavenger, ever eager to poke at Prowl’s discomfort, who broke the moment. "Hey, remember the first time we noticed your little fascination with visors?" He grinned mischievously, giving Prowl a knowing wink. "You always seemed to gaze at them. Especially Jazz’s visor. Got distracted just looking at it, didn’t you?"
Prowl’s doorwings snapped to attention, and his faceplate flushed with embarrassment. His battle computer, ever observant, crunched the data of his response, but it was too late. The Constructicons had already noticed. He stammered, trying to regain his composure. "We agreed not to talk about that anymore, now that we’re dating."
The teasing didn’t end there, of course. Hook smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Well, it’s not like that changes anything. We still made an agreement, didn’t we? To deal with any bot who catches your eye with a visor." His voice was light, but there was a distinct sense of finality in his tone. "No competition, Prowl. That was the deal."
Prowl felt his spark skip a beat. Despite the teasing, a part of him appreciated the possessive undertone. But he couldn’t admit that—not out loud. He tried to maintain his cool, his voice thick with annoyance. "I didn’t need to. We’re bonded. You’ll know if anyone catches my attention." His words were firm, but something in the way he said them made the Constructicons pause, sensing an unexpected shift in his tone.
The teasing halted for a moment, as if the Constructicons were weighing his response. Then Mixmaster, with his usual grin, casually added, "It’s not so bad, Prowl. No one else can reach you like we do. No one else understands you the way we do."
Prowl’s doorwings fluttered involuntarily, a sudden warmth spreading through him, confusing and unfamiliar. He didn’t respond right away, his usual calculating expression softening into something more vulnerable, despite his best efforts to suppress it. He quickly looked away, hoping the others wouldn’t notice, but they could feel it. The pulse of his spark betrayed him.
"I don’t need your protection," Prowl muttered awkwardly, trying to regain control. His voice was strained, as though he didn’t quite believe the words he was saying.
The Constructicons didn’t buy it. Bonecrusher gave a deep chuckle, and Hook’s smirk widened. They could feel the affection through the bond—Prowl’s emotional vulnerability was something they reveled in. Despite the teasing, they were satisfied, content with the connection they’d forged with him.
But Prowl, ever the pragmatist, couldn’t help but remind them, "We’re on a mission."
The reminder didn’t last long, however. Scavenger suddenly asked, with a sly grin, "Why don’t you stare at Soundwave’s visor the way you did with Jazz’s? Soundwave’s practically perfect with his red visor, after all."
Prowl responded coolly, his tone almost dismissive. "Soundwave is our Communications Officer. And a significant threat. I’m not interested in distractions, especially not one capable of controlling my mind." His optics narrowed slightly as he added, "Besides, I already have five halfwit lovers."
The Constructicons couldn’t help but grin at the bluntness of his words. Prowl’s cool demeanor might not show it, but they knew he appreciated their chaotic nature in his own way.
"Yeah, but you like us the most, don’t you?" Long Haul asked, his voice smug but lighthearted.
Prowl didn’t answer, but the shift in the bond was clear to the Constructicons, and that was enough for them.
And so, despite the ever-present tension between Prowl's need for logic and the Constructicons' chaotic affection, they continued their mission, the teasing and bond between them growing with every passing moment.