Chapter Text
Every Autobot knew the scream of jet engines. They parted the sky, raining destruction from above. Entire battalions fell to them. Their leader—an impossibly large mech with two alt modes—stood against the atmosphere, plating stained energeon blue from the carnage. The name was whispered among civilians, then carried to the soldiers themselves: Energeon Seekers.
Over time, this shortened to just Seekers. They were created to protect Cybertron, with weapons and the long since lost power of flight to aid them. But when they ran out of enemies, they turned against their creators. None of them were left alive, and the blueprints were lost to time.
The battlefield, long gone silent, was scattered with corpses. Some were Seekers, but even more were Autobots. A mech stepped over one of the corpses, then paused. He knew this one. He turned on his datapad, marking the mech as dead.
He was here to search for survivors, but he could multitask. The probability of finding any was low, anyway. He did a quick calculation—two percent. One of the doors on his shoulder twitched as the wind picked up.
The Seekers were gone. He would've heard the scream if they returned. Still, he didn't want to take any chances. If he was dead, he couldn't get that promotion he was vying for. Lead tactician had a nice ring to it, and his strategies were superior to all others. They would see that soon.
He marked another mech dead with a sigh. Their population was dwindling with this endless war. If they couldn't take out the Seekers soon, there may be none of them left. Sixty percent and climbing. He didn't like those odds.
Corpse after corpse, mark after mark. He stepped over one of the few Seeker bodies that littered the field, then paused. It would be useful to see what exactly took this one out. He crouched, examining it.
One of its wings was mangled. The other had holes. But there was no damage to its spark chamber. He jostled it. There—a wound in its back, below the wings. That likely severed a main fuel line. Not something that could be done from a distance, but helpful nonetheless.
Sometimes, it was easy to forget these creatures could be felled just like any other mech. They had fuel lines and ventilation fans just like an Autobot. It was all the same systems, at the end of the cycle. Even shrieking monsters bled.
He stood, turning away from the corpse to continue noting the dead. A quiet peep stopped him in his tracks. He turned back toward the corpse. There it was again.
It was familiar. He searched his memory banks. Eighty percent likelihood it came from a sparkling. Another peep. Ninety.
Prowl crouched back down and listened. The noise was coming from the Seeker's cockpit. He reached over, prying open the tinted glass. As it lifted, the peeps got louder.
One hundred percent. A miniaturized seeker was splayed in the cockpit, optics scrunched shut as it vocalized with all its might, calling to a creator that would never answer. Its little claws were stubby, and its wings were much too large.
Prowl reached into the cockpit and scooped it up. It let out one final startled peep before quieting. It looked up at him, tiny orange optics fuzzy and unseeing. The lack of visual acuity proved its youth—the tiny thing was likely only a few cycles old. It was barely the size of his cupped hands.
If he left it here, it would die. This was a Seeker, Prowl reminded himself. It would grow up to be a merciless monster. But it was also a mech, a sparkling at that. A helpless little sparkling.
The likelihood it would turn against him if he raised it? Thirty percent.
The likelihood it would run away once it grew independent? Ten percent.
The likelihood raising it would yield a loyal, flight-capable Autobot soldier? Sixty percent.
The likelihood a loyal, flight-capable Autobot soldier could infiltrate the Seekers? Eighty percent.
Prowl liked those odds.
!!!
Thundercracker didn't realize he was different at first. His… Prowl—Prowl got angry when he called him his creator—had projections on his back just like he did, and they moved just like his, too! They twitched when he was angry, or when he noticed something. But Thundercracker's were large. They often got in the way.
He tucked them in as he passed through the doorway. Why were they always so narrow?
Prowl was at his desk, reading through a datapad. Thundercracker had asked to see them once. It was just some boring scrap about supplies.
"You told me we were gonna do something cool! You're just looking at boring datapads!" Thundercracker complained.
Prowl looked up. He turned off the datapad and placed it on his desk.
"We are," he said, standing up. "Follow me."
Prowl led him through the halls. Thundercracker was familiar with them, and realized their destination immediately: the main entrance. But why? He wasn't allowed outside!
Prowl opened the doors and stepped through. Thundercracker hesitated at the edge. Were they really going out? Prowl scowled and grabbed his hand, leading him over the edge. They were!
It was so bright. A light wind blew, rolling over Thundercracker's wings. The trees danced in the wind.
"Do you remember when we talked about cybirds?" Prowl asked.
"Yeah," Thundercracker said.
What did that have to do with anything? Thundercracker dug his pedes into the dirt. It felt funny against his pedes, almost ticklish.
"You're going to fly."
Thundercracker stiffened, wings shooting upward. He turned back toward Prowl. His creat—the mech rarely joked. He didn't seem like he was joking now.
"How?" Thundercracker asked.
"I don't know," Prowl said. "You can figure it out."
Where was he supposed to start? Thundercracker didn't know the first thing about it! But Prowl said he could, so clearly he could. Thundercracker puffed up his plating to make himself seem larger.
"Of course!" He said. "I'll be flying before you know it! And it'll be the best flying you've ever seen!"
His first attempt resulted in something activating on the back of his legs, sending him facefirst into the ground. Prowl called them thrusters. His second attempt, he hovered. His third…
Something clicked. His plating shifted, and suddenly, he was something else. He just transformed! He hadn't done that before! He activated his thrusters, and it worked! He was flying!
A bunch of numbers and diagrams popped up in his vision. He didn't bother reading them all. They must've been boring flying stuff. Numbers were always boring.
How fast could he go? He turned up the power and made a few turns. The air rushed over his plating. He laughed, exhilaration lightening his spark.
"Thundercracker!"
This was amazing! He bet no other Autobot could fly! That meant he was super cool! He'd show them all, and they'd tell him how awesome he was!
"Thundercracker!"
Yeah! They would think he was so—
Pain seared his side. He spun, the diagrams and numbers turning red. Something slammed into him, and he let out a squeak. He fell, panic enrobing his spark as he unraveled from his alt mode—just in time to hit the ground.
He curled in on himself, his spark thudding against his chestplates. His wing hurt. His leg hurt. His helm hurt. Everything hurt. He sniffled.
"Thundercracker," Prowl said gently.
Thundercracker looked up.
"I tried to warn you," Prowl said. "You clipped your wing on a branch."
Thundercracker buried his helm in his knees. Why didn't he see that branch? He should've seen it!
"Come on," Prowl said, offering a hand.
Thundercracker forced himself to uncurl. He took the hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. He clung to it.
"Let's go to the medbay," Prowl said.
!!!
He got better at flying after that. Prowl let him go out for flights, but only short ones. His wings got sore if he didn't fly, and he got snappy. After the third time in a decacycle he'd snapped at another mech, Prowl had acquiesced, allowing him a flight once a decacycle.
He already had his flight when it started. His claws were itchy. At first, he tried picking at them. There was a thin covering on them that seemed almost dead. He couldn't quite tear it off.
It was all he could think about. Recharging? Itchy claws. Refueling? Itchy claws. Playing video games with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe? Itchy claws.
He couldn't stand it! There had to be some way to fix it. Frustration bubbled up in his spark. He turned, raking his claws down the wall. To his surprise, the covering gave way. He kept scratching.
It was… relaxing. Tension he didn't know he had seeped out of him.
"Hey!"
Scrap! Thundercracker fled down the hallway. He used his thrusters to boost himself, but he was big enough now that he couldn't shift into his alt mode in the hallway anymore.
He turned a couple of corners, but his pursuer was still behind him. Slaggit, why Arcee of all mecha? She was fast!
"Catch him!"
Oh, no, no, no! Thundercracker pushed power to his thrusters, trying to turn away from the massive mech ahead. But his pedes slipped. Bulkhead caught him, gently wrapping his arms around him to keep him from escaping.
He was carried to Prowl's office, where he was carefully deposited as Arcee explained the situation. They left him with his crea—Prowl, who glared at him in what Thundercracker had quickly learned was disapproval. Thundercracker sank in on himself, his plating snapping tight and his wings falling low.
"The walls of the base are very important, Thundercracker," Prowl said.
"I know," Thundercracker said.
"I taught you better than to destroy property."
Thundercracker cringed. "You did. But—"
"But what?" Prowl said.
Thundercracker clacked his claws together. There was no excuse, was there?
"I'm sorry," he said.
If he sharpened his claws on a few cliff faces during his flights, no one had to know. He would just deal with the itchy claws until then. It was better than getting in trouble.
!!!
Thundercracker couldn't sleep. It wasn't new. His spark just… hurt when he had to sleep alone. He tried explaining it to Prowl, but he didn't get it.
"You're too old to not be sleeping alone," Prowl said.
So, Thundercracker was in his room. It was cold. He didn't remember it being that cold in the morning. He got out of the berth, stepping carefully to minimize noise as he crept into the hallway. He made his way to the nearest storage closet.
There had to be something warm here. He scoured the shelves. Nothing but old paint. Then, a flash of light caught his optics. A set of metal sheets rested in the corner of the room. Something clicked in the back of his processor.
He gathered up the metal sheets and carried them back to his berth. Then, using his claws and dentae, he tore the sheets into strips. The back of his processor whispered to him—bend them that way, no this way—until he was forming some sort of structure.
He admired his handiwork. The metal was woven together, forming a wall. He dragged the sheets from his berth and laid them inside. Then, he curled up.
His spark still sent quiet pangs of pain to him. Something was missing. But at least he wasn't cold anymore. He shifted, burying himself deeper into his little craft.
"Thundercracker!"
Light streamed through the window as Thundercracker's optics snapped open, Prowl's furious voice reaching his audials. Thundercracker pushed himself upward, wings lowering as he met Prowl's optics. Irritation rolled off the mech in waves.
Prowl motioned to Thundercracker's late night craft. "What is this?"
"I dunno?" Thundercracker said.
He really didn't. It was just something to keep himself warm that his processor knew how to make.
"I told you not to destroy property!"
Thundercracker shrank in on himself. "I was cold—"
"That's not an excuse!"
The little structure was dismantled. Thundercracker resigned himself to cold nights. Prowl offered him extra bedding, but it wasn't the same.
!!!
There was something in the walls. It skittered, making tiny scratching noises. Thundercracker stiffened, pausing mid sip of his morning fuel. He placed his cube on the table.
"Thunder?"
Thundercracker put a claw to his lips. Sideswipe furrowed his brow. Slowly, Thundercracker extracted himself from the table. Where was it?
There! There it was again! Thundercracker followed it along the wall.
"Hey, Thunder?"
The skittering stopped. Thundercracker shook himself, frustration welling beneath his plating. He almost had it! He had no idea what it was, but he almost had it! He let out an angry hiss, his plating rattling.
"Woah."
He turned back toward Sideswipe. Putting up his hands, Sideswipe shrugged.
"Looked kinda like a cybercat, there," he said. "Stalking around like that. Hissed like one, too."
Thundercracker shook his helm, settling back at the table. He picked his cube up again, taking a sip.
"I almost had it," he grumbled.
Luckily, it wasn't the last time he heard the sound. As he was about to sleep, it was there again. He leaped up immediately. This time, with no other mecha to impede him, he tracked it across the halls.
It took turns, but it was easy to follow. Thundercracker knew the halls like the backs of his wings. When the hall ahead had a crack in the corner of it, he knew it was time to strike.
He settled a short distance away from the hole, body tense like a coiled spring. A flash of metal emerged from the hole. Thundercracker launched himself at it, claws ready to tear. He sank his teeth into the creature, biting and clawing until it stopped moving.
Then, he broke open one of its energeon lines, sipping on the liquid. It was sweeter than the energeon he normally got from the dispenser. There was more depth to it. He licked his lips, savoring the taste.
What was he supposed to do with the rest of it? After a moment, it came to him. He picked up the creature and carried it through the halls. He punched in Prowl's code, then set the creature on the floor.
Gently, he tapped Prowl on the shoulder. Prowl's face scrunched before he opened his optics.
"What is it?" He said.
Thundercracker crouched on the floor next to his prey. Prowl rolled over and sat up, staring down at it. Thundercracker puffed out his plating with a smile.
"I caught it," he said.
Prowl scowled.
"That's a scraplet," he said. "Get it out of my quarters. It's leaking on the floor."
Thundercracker's spark sank.
"I caught it all by myself," he said. "Isn't that impressive?"
"Get it out!" Prowl said.
Thundercracker picked up the scraplet and fled. He brought it to his own room, still not quite sure what to do with it. The next time he heard skittering, he forced himself not to follow it.
!!!
Thundercracker woke in agony. He rolled over in the berth, squirming, as he searched for the source. Eventually, his claws landed on his chest. He curled in on himself, pressing his palms into his chest.
His spark always hurt a little bit, but never this much. He silenced a whine, forcing himself to get up. The pain wasn't impacted by his movement, so at least he had that going for him. He exited his room, forcing himself to stand up straight.
He was going to meet Sunstreaker and Sideswipe for morning fuel, then take a flight. After that, Bulkhead promised to show him some moves. He was almost as large as Bulkhead—and still growing—so he was looking forward to learning from a mech closer to his size. Some spark pain wasn't gonna keep him from that!
He made his way to the mess hall, nodding at the mecha who greeted him as he passed by. He had to keep it cool. Natural. If anyone noticed he was hurting, they'd drag him to the medbay and he wouldn't be able to do what he wanted. There was a mission coming up to retake some lost ground, and all three of the mecha he was hanging out with that cycle were going to be on it. This could be the last time he saw them for decacycles.
"Hey, Thunder!" Sideswipe called as Thundercracker shimmied through the door.
The doors hung low, now. Thundercracker had to duck to make it in. His frame was finally thickening out to match his height, and it was growing steadily difficult to fit through the small, narrow doorways. He had to turn himself to the side a bit to keep his wings from scraping the sides, even when he kept them tucked in.
He waved to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. They waved back. Sideswipe motioned to a cube beside him. Thundercracker took his seat.
"Saved you a spot!" Sideswipe said with a grin.
Thundercracker grinned back. There was never a spot to save—the mess hall was almost always empty. There weren't that many mecha in the base. Still, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker protected the empty seat beside them as if they were, and it had become a sort of game for the three.
"I'm sure you had to fight real hard to keep it," Thundercracker said, popping open his cube.
Sunstreaker paused between sips. "So hard. You don't even know how many mecha wanted to sit there."
Thundercracker laughed.
"Well," he said. "Thanks for saving it."
The distraction was momentary. As soon as the conversation drifted, Thundercracker was reminded of the agony in his spark. He gripped the sides of his cube and forced himself to sit up straight as he took a sip. The conversation continued without him as he drifted in and out, doing his best not to look like he was in pain.
"—I hope we see that little magenta one again," Sunstreaker said. "I want revenge."
"The one that scratched your badge off?" Sideswipe said.
Sunstreaker swung his cube, nearly spilling it. "Yeah! That one! Ratchet had to get me another decal."
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were the Autobots' primary in-air defense, despite their lack of flight-capable alt modes. They learned to fly with jetpacks, using them to attack the Seekers from above. Thundercracker was the only flight-capable Autobot in the base, potentially in the entire faction, something he caught onto quickly.
"When they finally let me join you guys, I'll take those Seekers out before they have the chance to do that again!" Thundercracker said.
It was true. Spark pain or not, he'd been training for battle since he was barely half of Prowl's height. Now, he was nearly a full helm taller than him. Any cycle now, they'd have to give him the brand and let him fight.
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchanged glances. They weren't sad, or upset, or even happy. Thundercracker could feel that much. But he didn't know exactly what they were feeling. It was sharp-edged, almost tingly. Anticipation, maybe?
"Yeah!" Sideswipe said, his smile falling just slightly. "We know you will."
Everyone always got like that when he said something about joining the fight. Maybe it was because he was the youngest mech on the base? That was probably it. Prowl already told him he couldn't take his badge until he was at least sixteen vorns. Everyone else in the base had long taken theirs before he showed up.
But they didn't have to feel bad about him joining! He was smart. He wasn't going to get himself killed out there. And he was the only one of them that could fly, so he'd be able to take the fight right to the Seekers! Surely, they saw that!
Slowly, the conversation returned. There wasn't much to talk about beyond the war, but somehow, they managed. Eventually, they all finished their fuel. Thundercracker bade his friends farewell and headed into the halls.
First, he checked the training room. Bulkhead wasn't there yet. He'd have to find him. Thundercracker moved through the halls, wings tucked close to his body. They were starting to pinch again—he was due for a flight soon.
Eventually, he found him. Bulkhead was in one of the spare rooms, crouching over an easel. He squinted at the canvas below him, carefully running a pigment-covered brush down it. Thundercracker waited until he took the brush away from the canvas to speak.
"Hey!" He said.
Bulkhead startled, nearly dropping the brush. He turned toward the doorway, quickly shifting from a frown to a smile as his optics met Thundercracker's. Warmth radiated from him.
"Oh!" Bulkhead said. "Hello, Thundercracker."
Thundercracker shimmied awkwardly through the door, ducking his helm as he entered.
"You promised we could train before you guys left!" Thundercracker said.
Bulkhead glanced between his half-finished painting and Thundercracker, then swirled his brush in a cup of water before gently placing it on the table.
"I did," Bulkhead said. "Let's go."
Training was fun. Thundercracker nearly forgot about his spark pain in the midst of it. As a larger mech, Bulkhead had a lot of techniques the other mecha on the base didn't. Most of them were small and lithe, making up for a lack of physical strength and size with complicated weapons and swift movements.
Bulkhead's wrecking ball could've killed one of them, if he weren't so skilled with it. Thundercracker could catch it with his bare hands, no damage sustained. His plating was thick and sturdy, and his frame was large enough to take the hit.
Thundercracker never wondered why there was such a discrepancy. After all, Bulkhead was big, too. Thundercracker just happened to be the strongest bot on base. That was why he was so awesome, and why they needed to clear him for missions.
"Good work!" Bulkhead said, reaching up to pat him on the helm. "You've improved a lot."
Thundercracker muffled a purr. He fluffed up his plating, sticking out his chest. Bulkhead smiled.
"Thank you for noticing!" Thundercracker said.
When the others went on missions, he had plenty of time alone. Playing video games by himself could only be fun for so long, so he filled the time with training.
"Do you think they'll give me my badge soon?" He asked.
Bulkhead's smile fell. The air around him faltered.
"You'll have to ask Prowl," he said.
Thundercracker flicked his wings. "I already asked him! He said I have to wait until I'm sixteen vorns!"
Bulkhead shrugged. "Then you'll have to wait. Prowl will know when you're ready."
"But that's so long," Thundercracker muttered.
It wasn't, but it felt like it was. Every time they went on missions without him, he had to wonder whether they'd be okay. Not all of them returned. It was war, mecha were going to die—Thundercracker knew that. But sometimes he wondered if he could've saved them if he were there.
The cycle passed. It was time for them to go. Thundercracker said his goodbyes, wishing them luck. Prowl was coming with them this time. He wasn't an affectionate mech, but he still pulled Thundercracker in for a hug before he left.
"Guard the base for us," he told him.
So Thundercracker planned to do just that. It was quiet without the pedesteps of other mecha throughout the halls. Only the newest of recruits and a couple of experienced soldiers stayed behind. The location of their base still wasn't known to the Seekers, so there wasn't much risk of them being attacked.
Still, Thundercracker was the strongest mech left. So, he patrolled the halls, and took short flights around the perimeter every cycle. But every morning, it grew more difficult to climb out of his berth. The spark pain was getting worse.
One morning, he laid in the berth, curled in on himself. It hurt. He let out a quiet whine that crescendoed into a call. He didn't know what or who he was calling for, just that he needed to.
He laid there, motionless and crying out, until his fuel gauge ticked down. A warning popped up, but he couldn't do what it asked. There was no way he could get up now.
The door to his room clicked, then opened. The mech in the doorway wasn't one he recognized—yellow plating and doors sticking out from his back—so he must've been one of the new recruits.
"Hey," the mech said. "We noticed we hadn't seen you around, so—"
His optics finally landed on Thundercracker. They widened. The doors on his back shot up.
"Oh," he said.
!!!
"You can't keep him forever."
Prowl paused stroking Thundercracker's wing. The Seeker stirred, letting out a quiet chirp. Despite the reaction, he was completely unconscious, knocked out by a combination of painkillers and sedatives.
Ratchet stood before a screen, various readouts from scanners running across it. His arms were folded in front of him, a stern set to his brow.
"I know," Prowl said.
That was why he took him in, after all. Thundercracker, when he was ready, would infiltrate the Seekers and take them down from the inside. The issue was that he wasn't. Prowl looked down at him and all he saw was that tiny seekerling, crying out with all its pitiful might.
And this, whatever it was? It just set the timeline back even further.
"Will he be alright?" Prowl asked.
Ratchet grunted. "He's fine, physically. There's a new organ growing near his engine, but that shouldn't be enough to cause any pain—"
"A new organ?" Prowl asked.
Ratchet rolled his optics.
"Yes," he said. "A new organ. Congratulations, Prowl, your Seeker is an outlier."
Outliers were rarer among Autobots than among Seekers. That was why the Autobots carried such powerful weapons—they needed to even the playing field. Prowl understood the possibility of Thundercracker developing a special ability, but he assumed it would have happened already.
There weren't exactly any detailed development timelines for Seekers. Thundercracker was already much larger than Prowl had expected for his age. When he hit thirteen vorns, the seekerling had shot up in height, ravenously hungry for fuel.
"Do you know what it is?" Prowl asked.
Ratchet shook his helm. "No. It's not developed enough yet. But as I said, it shouldn't be causing him any pain. Everything is functional and within normal limits."
Prowl stroked Thundercracker's wing again. The sleeping mech let out a quiet trill. Even in sleep, he leaned into the touch.
"What's the issue, then?" Prowl said.
Ratchet hummed, glancing at the screen again. He scrutinized it for a moment. Then, he turned back toward Prowl.
"I think this is psychosomatic," he said. "I'm not certain on the cause, but… have you ever seen a Seeker alone?"
Prowl had, but only once. It was a mess—rusted plating, rattling vents, and consistently hunched over as if in pain. Prowl rarely regretted killing an enemy, but that was the first time it seemed like a mercy. Rather than bring up the memory again, Prowl shook his helm.
"Exactly," Ratchet said. "We don't know if they can even survive alone. Thundercracker is in a very unnatural position right now. His frame could be trying to search for company he doesn't have."
Prowl sighed. "Nothing can be done about that."
Ratchet's gaze sharpened.
"Something can," he said.
Thundercracker began to purr beneath Prowl's touch.
"He's not ready," Prowl said.
"Him or you?" Ratchet said, taking a step closer. "You told him sixteen vorns—"
"They'd kill him, Ratchet!" Prowl hissed.
His… project was naive. He was nothing like the other Seekers, who pulled limbs from mecha for fun and flew to the edges of the atmosphere just to drop soldiers from the sky. They would know immediately that something was wrong with Thundercracker.
Prowl knew what they did to weak Seekers. He'd witnessed it himself, after a particularly grueling battle.
At first, he thought they were after him, but they passed him over. Prowl waited in a ditch, knee joint too damaged to move or transform, as he waited to call for extraction. The Seekers stopped before another that laid on the ground, one wing missing and the other mangled beyond recognition.
One knelt, resting its claws on the downed one's chest. It chirped at them. The kneeling one's gaze hardened. It plunged its claws into the other's chest.
Energeon flooded the ground. The downed Seeker's optics went dark.
Prowl could see it now—Thundercracker in that position, another Seeker slaying him mercilessly. He was too kind and inexperienced. The moment something went wrong, they would terminate him.
"This may just kill him, too," Ratchet said. "At least with his own kind, he might have a chance."
Prowl closed his optics. Ratchet was right. He always was. Hadn't Prowl taken him to send him back in the first place? Thundercracker would need to accomplish his purpose eventually.
"Twenty vorns," Prowl said. "After his extra locks grow in."
All mecha past eighteen vorns grew an extra set of locks on their storage spaces. These locks only engaged when a mech both went through and sated Data Hunger, preventing the opening of their storage space. It marked them capable of creating new life, and thus, as fully physically mature mecha.
Ratchet's pursed his lips, as if he wanted to protest. Apprehension clung to the air as his plating tensed and untensed.
"Twenty vorns," he said. "I'll hold you to it."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Prowl said.
Thundercracker stirred slightly, his purrs pausing as he shifted position. One of his wings flicked lazily. His optics opened a crack, squinting in the light.
"Prowl?" He said, voice quiet and weak.
Prowl moved away from his wing, reaching over to pet along Thundercracker's olfactory ridge. Thundercracker sighed quietly, closing his optics.
"How are you feeling?" Prowl asked.
"I dunno," Thundercracker said. "Can't really feel anything right now."
Ratchet chuckled, a smile slipping onto his face. "That would be the painkillers."
Thundercracker responded with a sleepy trill, his helm sinking onto his arms. After a few moments, the air around him leveled out, signaling that he had reentered recharge. Prowl checked his chronometer. He had a meeting soon.
He dug around in his storage compartment and pulled out a box. He showed it to Ratchet before placing it on a table near the berth.
"Energeon candies," Ratchet said. "How long have you been saving those?"
"Since before Bumblebee joined us," Prowl said. "So, not too long. They were going to be for his Finding Cycle, but I think he needs them more now. Can you tell him they're there when he wakes up?"
Ratchet smiled at him. "I will. But you could do it yourself."
Prowl shook his helm. He made his way toward the door.
"I have a meeting," he said.
"You always do," Ratchet said.
Prowl left the medbay.