Chapter Text
At around 6:00 AM, Scarlett woke up with Prowl held securely in her arms, his systems still in recharge mode. She gazed down at him with a gentle smile, quietly wondering when he had last experienced a truly restful recharge. Carefully, Scarlet tried to slip away without disturbing him, though it proved nearly impossible—Prowl’s sleep grip was unwavering. Once free, she tucked him in again, pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to his helm, and moved to the door. Using the control panel, she selected the manual setting to make a handle appear, allowing her to open the door silently and avoid waking Prowl.
As Scarlett stepped out, she encountered the nurses on their rounds, maneuvering white and red sci-fic hovering carts. She mentioned that Prowl would require some attention to his left optic, a minor issue that would need buffing.
The medical bay buzzed with life—perhaps even more so than the city outside, where at least some shops closed after hours. Stepping outside, Scarlett took a moment to appreciate the cityscape, wondering how Prowl would react upon learning it was a replica of Praxus. The architects had worked to ensure the buildings reflected the spirit and traditions of Praxus, even recreating the iconic pyramid topped with a large glowing orb. This orb shone in blue, orange, and white, and to Scarlett, it was the jewel of the city. The orb broadcasted “Welcome aboard The Nova!” in every language known to alien cultures. The feat of constructing The Nova was a complex one; even with the ability to bend metal, the task remained formidable.
The ship itself was built into the moon, with only the command tower and trade wing visible from the outside. In case the ship ever needed to leave the moon, a spell had been cast to separate the moon, allowing the vessel to fly out before reassembling the structure. Earth’s diverse cultures were represented throughout The Nova, drawing from the fragments of memories Scarlett retained from family and friends. Where gaps existed, they were filled in, and so far, no one has voiced any complaints.
Scarlett flew over the city toward the trade wing, where her office awaited. She greeted both friends and citizens along the way, bracing herself for the inevitable mountain of work. Upon opening her office door, her suspicions were confirmed—three columns of data pads awaited her on the desk. With a deep breath and a muttered curse, she closed the door and prepared to tackle the workload. She ordered coffee and breakfast, realizing she hadn’t eaten properly in days. After consuming a few cubes of diluted energon to recover from using her thruster, Scarlett began sorting through, modifying, and signing proposals and orders.
By noon, she had worked her way through two columns of data pads when her communicator beeped urgently—never a good sign.
Scarlett attempted to answer, but her aunt’s high-pitched voice cut in first. “GET HERE, NOW!” Squeaker yelled through the comm, forcing Scarlett to cover her sensitive ears. When Scarlett tried to ask why, explaining that she was nearly done with her workload, Squeaker interrupted again, explaining the severity of the situation: “Prowl is having a paranoia episode, and don’t ask me how but he somehow has a gun in his possession!! Goldeneyes was the one to receive the shot!”
Scarlett didn’t wait to hear more. She bolted from her office, her urgency alarming everyone she passed. As she reached the exit of the trade wing, alarms sounded, instructing everyone to stay clear of the medical bay.
Without hesitation, Scarlett commanded, “Be there in ten, try to persuade him somehow!” Squeaker replied tersely, “Working on it.”
Immediately after Scarlett ended her call with Squeaker, her communicator began to beep incessantly, signaling that the entire pack was trying to reach her. The line exploded with questions: everyone wanted to know what was happening, why the alarms were sounding, if there were any injuries, and who might be attacking. Though their concerns were valid, Scarlett needed a moment of silence to provide answers. Once everyone quieted, she explained, “Prowl’s having a paranoia episode and somehow he’s in possession of a gun; unfortunately, Goldeneyes took the first shot when she went to check up on him.”
The news was met with a mix of shocked curses and stunned silence as the group processed the gravity of the situation. Without waiting for them to begin issuing orders, Scarlett took charge. She addressed Silverfang and the Thunderbolt trine, aware that they were close behind her, and instructed, “Silverfang, I know you and Thunderbolt trine are right behind me, enter from the top of the building and work your way down to his room.” Silverfang responded with a crisp “Ten-four,” his voice resonant and calm.
Strikingbolt, his voice gruff but tinged with concern, asked, “What are we looking for?” Scarlet paused, momentarily doubting the possibility, and replied, “I doubt it… but see if there is anyone that isn’t authorized aboard The Nova.” The silence that followed was thick with disbelief. Rex broke it, his deep voice cutting through like a blade: “In other words, we have an infiltration.” He spoke the words quietly, sharing the incredulity of the group.
Scarlett admitted, “I can’t say for sure, but it’s a possibility. A strong one.” She made a sharp left turn onto the tunneled highway for Praxus, noticing the sirens from her parents and the security guards as they rushed behind them. As she flew above the aerial highway, Praxus came into view, and her father signaled his acknowledgment with short bursts of the siren.
Good, that way I don’t have to worry about the evacuation. Scarlett thought, though her concern for her aunt lingered after the incident.
As Scarlett emerged from the tunnel, she shot diagonally up toward the medical bay, using her thrusters and wings to propel herself in a dramatic mid-air leap. The sonic boom from her thrusters echoed throughout the city, and within seconds, she landed at the medical bay entrance.
Sliding to a stop to avoid falling, Scarlett navigated through the panicked crowd evacuating the building. As she reached the stairs, an invisible force tugged at her right arm—her shadow. She recognized Jax’s silhouette holding her and allowed herself to fall into the shadow realm. Inside, she encountered Aurora and Marigold, their bronzed, towering figures imposing yet familiar. Aurora’s short ebony-black hair and burning amber eyes contrasted with Marigold’s broad shoulders, cropped honey hair, and star-like golden gaze. Both exuded a powerful presence, dwarfing Scarlet. Jax, with his lean build, dreadlocks, and distinctive eyes—one the color of a flame’s core and the other icy blue—completed the group.
Jax spoke gently, handing Scarlet her black cowgirl hat adorned with a wine colored ribbon around it, and explaining that they had retrieved her armor and hat from her house. His voice was mellow, though he tinged with hurt.
Scarlett, relieved to get her hat back, asked after her armor. Marigold explained that it was left in Scarlett’s office, as they had been headed there when the alarm sounded.
Scarlett nodded in acknowledgment.
Aurora’s fierce voice pulled them back to urgency: “We need to hurry, Scarlett.”
With another nod, Jax guided them through the shadows—his domain—floating in silence. Scarlett noticed Jax watching her, sensing he had something he wanted to say. She reached out her hand to him, and he pulled her close.
“What is it?” she asked.
Jax replied, “If someone had infiltrated the ship I would have known, after all, every shadow here is mine to command. No matter what, I would have known.”
Thought so.
Scarlett explained, “I’m not doubting you, Jax. It’s a possibility that shouldn’t be discarded just because you know every shadow here. I trust you with my life in your hands, no matter how stained they are, I trust you. There’s a reason why you are my second in command, Aurora is my third, and Marigold is my personal bodyguard. If anything happens to me, I know you will handle it perfectly. And I’m sorry if I hurt you by suggesting it, but it’s a possibility I’m not going to ignore.”
Jax rubbed his face in frustration, admitting, “You’re right, I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I guess I got mad when you suggested it because I didn’t feel anything wrong and got frustrated.”
Scarlett assured him she wasn’t offended or angry; it was simply a consideration she couldn't ignore. They continued in silence for several minutes until they reached Shadow, her majestic black Percheron, illuminated under a beam of light. Scarlet had wondered about his whereabouts, as he was usually the first to greet her in his shadow realm. He looked up with a deep frown, signaling that the situation was escalating.
Spotting Scarlett and the others, Shadow called out, “Hurry, I don’t think they can reason with him and Terracota is getting desperate trying to.”
Shit!
With a sudden motion, Jax acknowledged Shadow’s warning and leapt from the shadow realm, pulling the entire group with him into the hallway. Shadow, recognizing that the medical bay was not a place for a demon horse, remained behind, his presence lingering as a silent guardian. The group materialized at the final turn before reaching Prowl’s room, tension thrumming in the air.
As they arrived, Scarlett caught Terracota muttering “Frag it” under his breath, just as he attempted to step into the room. Swiftly, she grabbed his collar and pulled him back, positioning him on top of Echo. The others, judging by their startled expressions, hadn’t noticed Scarlett’s approach until that very moment.
“Prowl?” Scarlett called gently, her voice so patient and calm that the tension in the hallway seemed to lift. Jax, Aurora and Marigold stood behind Echo, followed by her parents, Samuel, Leah, Paul, Ezequiel, Nox, Jason and Rex. On the opposite side stood Silverfang, Thunderbolt, Lightningbolt, Strikingbolt, Doughboy, Cheeto, Rapid-fire, Nitro, and Roadkill—everyone was on edge, united in concern and fear.
From behind the door, Prowl’s voice was ragged with static and desperation: “S-Scarlett… Help, please…” The sound of his anguish made everyone hold their breath.
“I’m coming, I’m coming baby,” she responded, her tone soothing. She slipped off her jacket and carefully reached her hands through the open door, speaking softly: “Don’t shoot Prowl, please. It’s just me, okay?”
She approached him in measured, careful steps—slow but deliberate—determined not to alarm him further in an already tense situation. He watched her every movement warily, his gaze sharp and guarded. As she reached for the gun in his hand, he instinctively tried to pull away, but her grip remained steady and reassuring. Speaking in gentle tones, she persuaded him to let go of the weapon. Reluctantly, he surrendered it, and she quickly tossed it to the far side of the room for safety. Without hesitation, she gathered him into her arms.
He trembled violently, clutching his left side with such force that she could see he was denting his armor—likely causing himself to bleed beneath the protective plating. The severity of his distress was unmistakable.
“Prowl…” she called softly, her concern evident. But his reply was barely audible, sending a chill through her. He recounted, in broken murmurs, a harrowing memory: Jazz had come for him and taken him back to Cybertron, leveling accusations of treachery. With the sensitive information stored in his processor, they decided he could not be allowed to live. Jazz stabbed him on the left side and prepared to twist the knife, intensifying the agony. In the chaos, Prowl fell from the bed. The sound of heavy footsteps and unfamiliar voices approached, heightening his panic. Desperate, he located his gun in the nightstand and began firing as soon as the door slid open.
Scarlett stood, uncertain of what to say. No one had informed her whether an intruder had infiltrated The Nova. She glanced over her shoulder at Silverfang, her silent question clear in her eyes. Reading her concern, Silverfang replied, “We didn’t encounter any intruder. Everyone present was either a staff member or had the visitor’s pass required to be here.”
Scarlett gave Silverfang a quick nod of gratitude. Lowering herself to the cold floor, she gently cradled Prowl in her lap and tried to reason with him. “Prowl, there’s no one here to take you back to Cybertron or hurt you in any way,” she assured him softly.
Prowl’s response was desperate. “No, no! He was here, Scarlett! I… I’m not imagining it!” His optics were wide and pleading, his lower lip trembling as he begged her to believe him.
Scarlett believed him—just not in the way he hoped. She nodded and reached out, gently wiping away a single tear threatening to fall from his face. At her touch, Prowl let out a soft whine, but his trembling began to ease. It was either a nightmare or a hallucination. Which one, she wasn’t sure yet, but her priority was to prevent him from hurting himself further. She reached for his servo, clenched tightly over his left side, but before she could touch him, he screamed, “No!” She froze, knowing they needed to assess any injuries. Leaning close, she whispered softly into his audial, “Let me help you. I know you’re scared, Prowl, and no one here shames you for it. Yes?”
“I’ll bleed… bleed out,” Prowl stammered.
Goldeneyes stepped in, her tone firm yet gentle. “We won’t let you.”
Scarlett did not notice when Goldeneyes knelt beside her, but she kept her gaze fixed on Prowl. He buried his face in her shoulder, his processor working feverishly. She took the moment to place her hand over his, her thumb gently rubbing his wrist, silently pleading for his trust. Minutes passed—though they felt like an eternity—before he finally let go of his side. With a trembling servo, he reached for her, and she squeezed his hand, praising him softly, “Atta sweet spark.”
Scarlett allowed her two aunts to begin examining Prowl’s midsection. Meanwhile, Terracota moved to her other side, asking if he could check his helm, suspecting he might have been injured during his fall from the bed—potentially damaging his processor. Prowl, however, curled up in Scarlett’s arms at the suggestion, prompting a string of curses in Vosian from her aunts. Terracota remained undeterred, his intense gaze silently pleading for Scarlett’s cooperation; Prowl’s condition was clearly serious, and the last thing they needed was an undiagnosed neurological problem.
“Prowl,” Scarlett began gently, “is Terracota.”
“Hello,” Terracota greeted with a sheepish smile.
Scarlett reassured Prowl, “He just wants to make sure you didn’t hurt your processor, okay? Neurological issues are not a walk in the park, and you don’t need to suffer more than you already are. Hm?” She pressed a soft kiss to his chevron, and he let out a shaky breath.
After a brief pause, Prowl asked, “P-Portals…?” His grip on Scarlet’s hand only tightened.
“No,” Terracota replied. “I’m just looking for dents now; I’ll be using only my paws. Okay?”
Before Prowl could respond, Goldeneyes announced that removing his armor would be necessary. The process would be extremely painful, as he had crushed the plating down to his proto-form, causing perforations. Shit! Scarlett’s thoughts raced, but before she could speak, Terracota declared he would start preparing the operation room. Scarlett turned to the crowd gathered behind her, instructing them to help evacuate the area downstairs and expressing her gratitude for their help and concern.
Squeaker addressed Silverfang and Jax, assigning them tasks to support the urgent situation. “Since the two of you decided to stay,” Squeaker said, “go and fetch us a stretcher and find Echo. He took the gun and disappeared from the room like he just saw a ghost or something.” Silverfang responded promptly, volunteering to search for a stretcher, while Jax explained, “Mari followed Echo. Alongside Ezequiel and Nox, I’ll comm them,” as he reached for the communicator on his armor gauntlet and stepped away from the door.
Scarlett’s aunt knelt behind her, advising, “Let’s try and get him flat on his back, that curled position only worsen his crunched side.” Scarlett agreed, sharing the same concern. As she carefully attempted to lift Prowl, he cried out in pain, revealing injuries sustained from his fall out of bed, including cracks in the plating on his back.
Frustrated, Scarlett cursed under her breath and asked her aunts if they could remove his upper armor to help him lie flat without aggravating his injuries. They agreed but handled the situation with great caution to avoid causing further harm. Squeaker gathered a blanket and pillow from the bed while Scarlett and Goldeneyes worked to remove Prowl’s armor. The process was challenging; removing his gauntlets, shoulder pads, and arm guard went smoothly, but his back plate and chest plate were more problematic. The group needed to maneuver Prowl carefully to remove both plates simultaneously and minimize his pain, especially since his door wings were already suffering from broken glass.
With the difficulty of the procedure and Prowl’s upcoming operation, the only viable options for pain relief were administering a pain patch or putting him in stasis. Scarlett proposed, “Can we put him in stand-by mode? That way gives him a relief from the pain, and he is already close to stasis for the procedure.” As she spoke, she noticed Prowl moving his helm, indicating that he was listening.
Goldeneyes responded enthusiastically, praising Scarlet’s suggestion. “That’s a brilliant idea,” she said, lightly tapping her forehead. “Guess the energon loss is weighting on me.” Scarlett frowned, noting Prowl’s delicate condition, and shifted her focus to seeking his consent. Lowering her head and cupping his cheek, she asked gently, “Is it all right with you, Prowl? That way we can give you relief and get you more comfortable.”
After considering Scarlett’s suggestion, Prowl agreed to enter standby mode. Scarlett responded with a warm smile, praising him for his decision. Her fingers instinctively found the back of his neck, gently touching the area where his portals were located. Unlike previous times, Prowl willingly exposed his portals to her touch, a sign of progress that pleased Scarlett. Squeaker arrived promptly, handing a data pad to Goldeneyes, then began arranging blankets on the floor to ensure Prowl’s comfort. Meanwhile, Goldeneyes provided Scarlett with the TRS cables, recognizing Prowl’s rational cooperation and choosing not to step back from the procedure.
With preparations underway, Goldeneyes initiated the stand-by upload while Squeaker supported Prowl by holding his legs by the tibulens. Once Prowl relaxed against Scarlet’s arms, she and Goldeneyes carefully removed his back and chest plates, resulting in a moan of relief from him. Squeaker continued to manage his lower body while Scarlett shifted her position, aligning her full body with his upper body and facing Squeaker directly. Together, they gently laid Prowl down, taking extra care with his injured back and door wings. His head was softly placed on the pillow, and his grip on Scarlett’s hand remained steady throughout the process.
Witnessing Prowl’s current condition weighed heavily on Scarlett. The progress they had made the previous day seemed undone by the recent incident, leaving her feeling as though they had taken twenty steps backward. Letting out a deep, exasperated sigh and rubbing her face, Scarlett settled beside Prowl, still holding his servo. Squeaker and Goldeneyes exchanged glances, both recognizing the toll the situation was taking on her. Squeaker gently placed a servo on Scarlett’s shoulder and asked, “What you thinking baby?”
Scarlett paused, looking at the floor before responding. “A lot of things, for starters I really want to know how he got a gun in his possession. Secondly, we managed to have an honest conversation yesterday, that I honestly thought, you know, that we’ll make it through. But no!” Her voice rose in a hush, her frustration clear as she sat straighter and lifted her arm slightly.
Squeaker tried to reason with her, acknowledging both Scarlett’s frustration and anger. “Healing is a long and steep progress, there will be good and bad days, and like today, very bad days,” she said, understanding her niece’s emotional turmoil.
Scarlett nodded in agreement, though the situation was still infuriating for her. She shifted topics, asking, “By the way, where’s Silverfang with the stretcher?”
Goldeneyes echoed her question, agreeing it was an important one.
Squeaker left Scarlett’s side to peek through the door, soon reporting back that Silverfang was on the way with a stretcher. Securing one had been a challenge amid the chaos. Once Silverfang arrived, the team quickly moved Prowl onto the stretcher. He tried to protest, refusing to release Scarlett’s hand, but she transferred his grip to her wrist to facilitate the move. How she would get him to let go once they reached the operation room was uncertain—a problem to solve later. For now, Scarlett brought Jax along, while Silverfang headed downstairs to explain the situation.
Earlier that day, those across from Prowl’s room had been moved for tests, which brought some relief to Scarlett—no one else besides her aunt and Prowl had been hurt. Her parents, along with the alphas of her pack, were preparing a speech for the ship to address the emergency. The thought of having to speak herself added to Scarlett’s stress.
When Silverfang finished his explanation downstairs, Jax chimed in. Despite her experience and long life, Scarlett was reminded that life always had new surprises in store, often unexpected and challenging. Apparently, Echo had handed the gun to one of the nurse flying bots, distracted by Prowl’s shoulder-mounted missile launchers. Goldeneyes had then instructed the bot to give her the data pad, and the gun was ultimately left in a drawer of the nightstand.
Magnificent. Just brilliant.
Silverfang commented on Scarlett’s sarcasm, noting, “I think I just heard your sarcastic remark, Scarlett.”
“Good.” Scarlett’s reply earned a few laughs and snorts from the group.
Upon reaching the operation room, Scarlett’s aunt placed Prowl in locked stasis, making it easier to release his strong grip. The intensity of his hold had been remarkable, but with stasis, it was finally possible to ease him into the next stage of care.
The following ten hours proved to be utterly exhausting for Scarlett. After entrusting Prowl to the care of her aunts, Echo burst into the room, rushing to clarify the situation regarding the gun. Scarlett, however, interrupted his explanation, letting him know that Jax had already filled her in on the details. Echo accepted this, apologized again—even though he bore no fault for the incident—and proceeded into the operating room.
Scarlett joined her team, working diligently to ease the panic and fear that had gripped The Nova. Jax, Aurora, and Marigold followed closely behind her. Contrary to her expectations, reestablishing normalcy in the medical bay turned out to be easier than anticipated; she had assumed that neither the staff nor the bots would want to return after such upheaval, and she couldn't blame them for feeling hesitant. By calmly explaining that a patient with a severe mental illness had experienced an episode, but was treated without injury to anyone, she managed to reassure those around her. The news update provided to the rest of the ship echoed this message—there was no need to share Prowl’s personal details with everyone.
Scarlett braced herself for the inevitable wave of work awaiting her in her office. The columns on the data pad remained unchanged, except for two new additions—a reminder that her workload was only increasing. By 9:00 PM, she and her team decided to call it a night, leaving unfinished tasks for the next day. No one had updated her on Prowl’s condition, but she assumed he was still in the operating room.
“I’m gonna go home, get the hot tub on and die there for a few hours,” Scarlett murmured to herself. “Besides, even if they called me now, he’ll still be in stasis—no point in worrying too much.”
Scarlett tried to convince herself that things were fine, but it was a struggle. Her attempts at eating failed—she simply had no appetite. Even soaking in the hot tub could do little to quiet her racing thoughts.
Once again, Scarlett found herself in a painfully familiar position—seated beside Prowl, whose unconscious form was tethered to medical equipment designed to sustain his spark. The sight was almost unbearable; frustration etched across her face as she rubbed it with weary hands before settling back at his side. This was the part of the process she despised most. Despite all the power she and her pack possessed—enough, if they wished, to scorch the world with a mere snap of their fingers—Scarlett could do nothing but watch as Prowl faltered, forced to witness his decline without the ability to truly help him. The sense of powerlessness gnawed at her, leaving her feeling utterly impotent.
Scarlett knew she could wait—after all, she and Prowl had faced far more dire and uncomfortable situations together in the past. Each time, no matter how bleak things appeared, they had managed to find their way through. This time would be no different, she reminded herself. Most importantly, Scarlett held onto the memory of the storm, when Prowl had reached for her hand. That act alone proved he had not surrendered to despair; he was still fighting, still holding on. It was enough to reassure her that giving up was not in his nature.
It was as if he were falling into a cold, dark oblivion—an experience that was nothing like what he’d imagined. Prowl was all too aware of the reputation that clung to him: a genius, yes, but also a cold, emotionless bastard, at least in the eyes of those who knew him. Even his so-called friends saw him that way. Yet, as he stared down into the empty void, he felt no fear. Instead, her warmth still enveloped his numb and chilled frame, instilling in him a deep sense of peace he had never known. The thought made him smile. She had not abandoned him, nor reacted with violence—so unlike others who had always met him with pain and rejection.
Being held gently and spoken to with care caused his spark to ache with an emotion he thought had died out eons ago—longing. Someone had truly listened, had noticed his needs, and had answered with nothing but kindness and understanding. He yearned for more of this connection, but a cold realization crept in: to receive such warmth, he would have to offer it in return. That meant change, and the prospect deeply unsettled him. He had always struggled with the idea of change, his processor constantly searching for some logical, rational, or analytical explanation that simply didn’t exist. Failing to find one, he defaulted to rejection as the only reasonable response.
And Primus, he realized now, he could not have been more wrong.
But could he really change? If only he could teach his processor to accept change rather than fight it, perhaps then he could become something better.
“You can’t change, Prowl. Never will.”
He whipped his helm toward the source of that warm yet piercingly familiar voice. No, no, no! Even in the darkness, even when all he could see was black, at least the light from his optics was still there.
“Where are you, Impactor?” he called out, his mind struggling to process the possibility that Impactor might actually be present. Before he could fully grasp it, another voice echoed through the darkness.
“Prowl. I want you back. I want us back.”
No! Anyone but him! He could handle anyone else, but not him. Tarantula.
He jolted awake, only to find himself colliding with something firm yet comfortingly soft. Scarlett’s soothing voice reassured him that he was simply dreaming, that he was safe. He was with her on Earth, far from Cybertron, and no one was coming to harm him. She promised, repeating the assurances until his venting slowed and he was able to take in his surroundings. The familiar beeping of the spark support machine and the antiseptic smell confirmed they were in the medical bay.
He wrinkled his nose at the scent, then buried his faceplate into her chassis. The smell of her leather steadied him, grounding him in reality. Her embrace was as strong as he remembered, one servo anchored to his back, the other behind his helm, tracing slow circles with her thumb. He drew deep, steadying breaths, gradually calming.
Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Just. A. Nightmare.
“Yes, just a nightmare, Prowl,” she murmured, resting her cheek gently atop his helm.
“I… I didn’t realize I was talking out loud,” he confessed.
“Fear does that to you,” she explained softly. “Your processor interprets the dream as real and makes you react to it. Nothing to feel embarrassed about.”
He opened his intake, but the words caught in his throat and refused to come out. Scarlett ended their embrace and looked him directly in the optics, seeking his attention. He wasn’t pleased with the separation; her presence was comforting, and he wasn’t in the mood to move or speak. He knew she sensed his reluctance. Despite this, he kept his gaze averted, unable to meet her eyes.
“Prowl,” she began quietly, her tone gentle but probing. “What do Impactor and Tarantula have to do with your nightmare?”
The question made him tense immediately. Of all the terrible things he had done, this particular memory was the most complicated, the longest, and the most painful to recall. His shoulders slumped and his door wings drooped all the way down as he struggled to find the strength to respond. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her—how could he? When she reached out to hold his jaw, he tensed at her touch, still unable to meet her gaze. Scarlett didn’t push him; she simply waited in patient silence. The two remained that way for a while, until finally, he gathered the courage to raise his optics to hers. Her unwavering scarlet gaze met his icy blue, and her warmth slowly began to melt some of the coldness inside him. He swallowed the knot in his throat and prepared to speak.
“I… I’m a creator… Scarlett,” he began, struggling to find the right words. “And so is… is Tarantula… Though, back then, he went by a different name—Mesothulas.”
Scarlett nodded, maintaining her hold on his shoulders. “Go on,” she encouraged softly.
Prowl drew a shaky vent. “He is—well, was—the kind of mad scientist who experimented on living beings. He’d cackle with that distinguished laugh of his, and if things went wrong, he’d be just as happy to consume whatever remained.”
Saying it aloud sickened him. He questioned how he could ever have been involved in such a relationship.
Scarlett listened quietly. “I don’t remember ever meeting him, and if I did, I’ve forgotten,” she commented.
“He was a non-affiliated scientist and served as my consultant during the early days of the Great War. He saw our partnership as symbiotic—my imagination, as he put it, fueled his drive to make the impossible possible. I truly believed that with his work, we could put an end to the war and stop losing lives.”
Prowl let out a bitter laugh, burying his faceplate in his servos. He searched Scarlett’s expression for disgust or horror but found only a gentle tilt of her helm—a silent cue to continue.
“He wanted to create a ‘Transformer’ so perfect it would end the war efficiently—though I didn’t know about the macabre side of it. He told me that someone with my genius would make the perfect incubator, that my processor should be replicated in someone with his strength. So, we… we interfaced.”
Prowl hugged himself in a fetal position, squirming with shame at the memory. Scarlett noticed his distress and, though horrified herself, cradled him gently in her lap, careful not to disturb the spark support or energon lines attached to him. Since he still didn't had his full armor on it was easy to do so.
“Continue, sweet spark. I got you. I got you,” she murmured, urging him onward, unwilling to let him shut down now that he was finally speaking.
He took a shaky vent and pressed on. “I got sparked with Ostaros. He already had a designation for the sparkling—figures. Eventually, I started doubting the ethics behind his inventions, especially after his last creation: a hellish prison dimension called the ‘Noisemaze.’ Carrying Ostaros weighed on me, too. He started giving me a concoction, promising it would guarantee the sparkling inherited what we wanted. I ignored the awful flavor and the way it twisted my spark, never questioning his methods.”
Scarlett tightened her hug and whispered painfully, “No, Prowl.”
He swallowed and continued, “I realized these depraved experiments couldn’t go on. I cashed in a favor with Impactor, asking him to dispose of Mesothulas by pushing him into his own creation—the Noisemaze. By then, Ostaros was already forged. I refused his concoction and the interface as much as possible, and he… well, he didn’t take it well. There… There… Frag.”
The final word came out as a choked whisper. He hated remembering those events, but knew he needed to speak out if he truly wanted to change.
“Shh, shh. Deep vents, baby. Deep and slow vents,” Scarlett reassured him, rubbing his shoulders and trying to stop his trembling. She disliked where this was going but refused to let him close himself off.
Prowl forced himself to continue, knowing that if he waited too long, he’d lose his nerve and shut down.
“He forced me on many occasions to interface with him. I tried to argue, but he always used the same excuse: the sparkling needed fluids. For us Transformers, carrying requires far more energon than usual, and the war was taking its toll. I hated it every time—his servos all over me. There was one time…” He paused, taking a moment to collect his thoughts and calm his racing spark.
Scarlett began leaving gentle kisses over his helm. It helped him, greatly. The comfort of knowing she was not screaming at him or abandoning him because of what he had to say, gave him the strength to continue.
“I was recharging in my room, utterly refusing to interface with him that evening. I didn’t care if the sparkling needed fluids or not; I was close to forging either way. I just didn’t want him all over me. He didn’t take it well. Later that night, he infiltrated my room, tightened me with what he later uses as his spider web, and forced his way with me.”
Scarlett’s growl rumbled through the entire room, and he was certain it reverberated throughout the whole building as well.
Looking up at Scarlett, Prowl found himself momentarily unable to recognize her. Her optics appeared as if hidden behind two separate, glowing crimson visors. Her glossa was pulled back in a snarl, baring her fangs, and a black, scaled texture covered the upper half of her faceplate. Even her nose had changed, resembling a blend between human and canine features. Was she shifting? He knew her true nature, but had never witnessed her transformation before. None of her kind had ever revealed their wolf form to any of them—not even Optimus had been granted that privilege. Yet now, he was the first. The realization made him chuckle softly, just for an instant, but it was enough to ground Scarlett. She only stopped snarling and shifted her gaze toward him.
When she spoke, her voice came out in a crosstalk, two tones interwoven. He recognized Scarlett’s usual strong and gruffly sweet voice, but it was layered with another: harmonious, colder, and edged with anger. Someone else spoke in sync with her, and Prowl had no idea who it was. She—no, they?—had asked him a question, but he’d missed it, distracted by everything happening around him.
She asked again, more firmly, “Did he mark you, Prowl?”
Oh!
He gulped and nodded in response to her question.
“I’LL FUCKING KILL HIM!!!” Scarlett growled, her anger reverberating in the air.