[FIC] Reasons To Believe
Title: Reasons to Believe (1402 words) by ren
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Jazz & Prowl
Characters: Jazz, Prowl
Series: Part 3 of Masked
Author's Notes:
- Written for the prowlxjazz anniversary challenge.
- Challenege found here.
- Week: Two
- Prompt: Faith
Summary:
Prowl doesn't understand why mechs pray to Primus. Jazz answers.
0000000000000000
Prowl sat atop an abandoned building, optics staring unseeingly at the stars above him, legs swaying over the edge in a childish manner revealing the young spark hidden within his frame.
All around him silence reigned, the ruins of the destroyed city serving as his solace, his young mind searching for answers in its shadows. His servo came up to his chestplates, resting above his real form. Dimming his optics, he tried to feel his spark beating through the thick platings, all sensors seeking within for signs that he was truly there.
After his panic attack, Ratchet had uploaded more softwares to keep him from feeling his true form. It was necessary, but Prowl could still remember how trapped he had felt, the feel of cables jacked into his ports and processor, restraining him.
This, this pain. This was why he found himself away from base, the source of his questions, his doubts. Why had this happened to him? Why had his sire left him, tortured, and used him as a weapon? Why, why, why?
The sound of approaching pedes startled him out of his thoughts.
"Taking in the sights Prowler?"
Jazz.
He should have known. The saboteur had a knack for knowing when he was distressed and always managed to track him down, whether that was Prowl's intention or not. He was really starting to hate seeker programming.
"No." He responded drily, not even glancing at the newcomer.
The visored mech sighed, carefully sitting on the ledge of the building beside the youngling.
"What's eating ya up?"
Shooting a quick glance in his direction, the Praxian took a moment to answer.
"I went on patrol with Hound the other joor." He started.
"Yeah?"
"We found a temple."
Jazz kept silent, allowing Prowl time to arrange his thoughts.
"Hound he- he walked up to the altar and he- he knelt down and prayed." The youngling finished quietly, wonder and bemusement all mixed in his tone.
"I- do not understand this custom."
The saboteur waited a few klicks before answering.
"Ya know of Primus, yeah?" He received a nod and continued. "Well, Hound was praying ta Primus."
"Yes but, for what?"
"For what does he pray? It could be a number 'o things. End the war, more energon…" He looked at Prowl with a smirk. "That Mirage will notice 'im."
The tactician shook his head in frustration. "That is not what I meant, what I don't understand is why he can pray to Primus in the first place."
"Faith."
Prowl turned to look at Jazz with a frown.
"Faith?"
"Yup, faith. Hound, like many 'o us, me included, believe in hope, goodness and we trust in Primus ta guide us. "
The youngling shifted.
"I do not understand…Why do you pray to a god that has created evil? Allowed bad things to happen to good mechs? Why is there so much suffering, pain, and death when he could have spared us?"
Prowl's voice had a desperate tone in it, frantically searching for answers in the starry sky. These were the questions that plagued him, questions he linked to his own misfortune. Jazz brought up a servo to gently cup the youngling chin and slowly turned his faceplates to look at him.
"Bots pray 'cause they know Primus never wanted any of his children ta suffer."
The youngling frowned.
"But we are. Primus didn't stop this war, hasn't stopped mechs from dying." He paused, optics distant, expression pained. "Didn't stop sire."
"Oh Prowler." The saboteur hugged the doorwinger close, spreading his field to incase the youngling and flood him with love and comfort. "Ya got it wrong. Yeah we're suffering. But it ain't Primus' doing. He created us and gifted us with free will, ta choose fer ourselves what we want to do, how we want ta think. We abused of this gift Prowl. Primus never killed a bot, and he certainly never created anyone evil. We chose ta kill, ta be evil. It's our actions that caused this war, all the suffering. Not Primus. Ah bet he cries every joor watching how he's creations are hurting each other. Bots like to blame Primus because he's there ta blame, convenient even. But deep down, they know. We did this. Not Primus."
"And sire?" Prowl asked, voice small and vulnerable. "He did this to me because he wanted to?" The tactician had held stubbornly to the belief that his sire couldn't have possibly willingly hurt him like this, to use him as a tool. Jazz was right, ever since he had learned of the god, Prowl had wanted to blame someone for what he had been forced to endure, and Primus had been an easy target.
Jazz's spark broke, seeker programming making him empathetic, and he realized the hope the youngling held; that his sire hadn't meant to harm him, that he had been forced to. The saboteur hated crushing that hope, but Shockwave deserved no love from anyone, specially Prowl. Jazz also didn't want the youngling to have false illusions of finding his sire and trying to gain back his affections.
"Ah'm sorry Prowler. But that's the truth."
The doorwinger kneed. He had suspected it, his battle computer and logical center presenting him with the undeniable facts. Yet, he had hoped there was a chance.
"I begged for help Jazz." Prowl said after a few kilcks, voice and expressions pained, doorwings quivering in stress. "When I was being ripped apart inside by those cables, data being pushed into my processor without mercy. I begged! No one answered, Primus didn't answer me Jazz!" He wasn't ready to believe the god innocent just yet, no, there had to be something that explained the pain he had gone through.
"Oh Prowler. Don't ya see? Primus answered you." Jazz said gently.
"How!" Prowl demanded, leaning away from the saboteur's embrace.
"Bluestreak."
The tactician stared at Jazz, doowings wilting as memories flooded his processor; his brother soothing him after unforgiving training and forced program uploads, calming him when his sire and other scientist were gone, how he managed to get him out of the Enforcers' clutches, taking him to Ratchet and Prime. Regaining back his life. If only for a short time.
"Brother?"
"Blue saved ya Prowl. He knew what Scheme was doing was wrong, and he got ya out, protected ya, took care of ya. Ya really think that wasn't Primus answering yer prayers?"
Prowl leaned back in, his anger vanishing.
"How do you do it? How can you have so much faith even when bad things keep happening?"
Jazz smiled.
"Ah see the miracles Primus grants us every joor Prowler."
"Miracles?"
"Yeah! Remember that last neutral camp? Ratchet managed ta extract a sparkling, healthy little femme, full of innocence and energy. And when we were crossing the barren lands? Don'tcha remember finding that brilliant blue crystal wedged between two large rocks? A place where it was impossible fer it ta grow in the first place? How the last spy team survived the flames and wreckage of the last city, when there was no hope for them at all? Finding energon, and even, finding someone ta talk ta are small miracles Prowler." Jazz finished gently, locking his gaze with Prowl's. "There is so much good in this world, even in the midst of this war, there is good, and there are miracles. Many don't see 'em, but Ah do, and that's why Ah got faith."
Prowl smiled at Jazz's descriptions. He wasn't all that convinced yet but part of him was already searching his memory banks for those small miracles Jazz had witnessed, and he promised himself he'd keep an optic out for more.
It still hurt to realize that his sire had chosen to trap him in this frame on his own. For now, he would trust Jazz, and he would pray. Pray for his friends and family, and pray that he would one joor know why his sire had done this to him; Blue's explanation was not enough. He would find his sire, and ask him for the truth.
They sat in silence for many breems, watching the stars and basking in each other's company. Suddenly, the silence was broken by a loud snort from Jazz, followed by his laughing voice.
"Ah mean come on Prowler. Even ya have ta admit it's a big fragging miracle the Hatchet hasn't killed the twins yet!"
Prowl burst out laughing.
00000000000000
Like?
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Jazz & Prowl
Characters: Jazz, Prowl
Series: Part 3 of Masked
Author's Notes:
- Written for the prowlxjazz anniversary challenge.
- Challenege found here.
- Week: Two
- Prompt: Faith
Summary:
Prowl doesn't understand why mechs pray to Primus. Jazz answers.
0000000000000000
Prowl sat atop an abandoned building, optics staring unseeingly at the stars above him, legs swaying over the edge in a childish manner revealing the young spark hidden within his frame.
All around him silence reigned, the ruins of the destroyed city serving as his solace, his young mind searching for answers in its shadows. His servo came up to his chestplates, resting above his real form. Dimming his optics, he tried to feel his spark beating through the thick platings, all sensors seeking within for signs that he was truly there.
After his panic attack, Ratchet had uploaded more softwares to keep him from feeling his true form. It was necessary, but Prowl could still remember how trapped he had felt, the feel of cables jacked into his ports and processor, restraining him.
This, this pain. This was why he found himself away from base, the source of his questions, his doubts. Why had this happened to him? Why had his sire left him, tortured, and used him as a weapon? Why, why, why?
The sound of approaching pedes startled him out of his thoughts.
"Taking in the sights Prowler?"
Jazz.
He should have known. The saboteur had a knack for knowing when he was distressed and always managed to track him down, whether that was Prowl's intention or not. He was really starting to hate seeker programming.
"No." He responded drily, not even glancing at the newcomer.
The visored mech sighed, carefully sitting on the ledge of the building beside the youngling.
"What's eating ya up?"
Shooting a quick glance in his direction, the Praxian took a moment to answer.
"I went on patrol with Hound the other joor." He started.
"Yeah?"
"We found a temple."
Jazz kept silent, allowing Prowl time to arrange his thoughts.
"Hound he- he walked up to the altar and he- he knelt down and prayed." The youngling finished quietly, wonder and bemusement all mixed in his tone.
"I- do not understand this custom."
The saboteur waited a few klicks before answering.
"Ya know of Primus, yeah?" He received a nod and continued. "Well, Hound was praying ta Primus."
"Yes but, for what?"
"For what does he pray? It could be a number 'o things. End the war, more energon…" He looked at Prowl with a smirk. "That Mirage will notice 'im."
The tactician shook his head in frustration. "That is not what I meant, what I don't understand is why he can pray to Primus in the first place."
"Faith."
Prowl turned to look at Jazz with a frown.
"Faith?"
"Yup, faith. Hound, like many 'o us, me included, believe in hope, goodness and we trust in Primus ta guide us. "
The youngling shifted.
"I do not understand…Why do you pray to a god that has created evil? Allowed bad things to happen to good mechs? Why is there so much suffering, pain, and death when he could have spared us?"
Prowl's voice had a desperate tone in it, frantically searching for answers in the starry sky. These were the questions that plagued him, questions he linked to his own misfortune. Jazz brought up a servo to gently cup the youngling chin and slowly turned his faceplates to look at him.
"Bots pray 'cause they know Primus never wanted any of his children ta suffer."
The youngling frowned.
"But we are. Primus didn't stop this war, hasn't stopped mechs from dying." He paused, optics distant, expression pained. "Didn't stop sire."
"Oh Prowler." The saboteur hugged the doorwinger close, spreading his field to incase the youngling and flood him with love and comfort. "Ya got it wrong. Yeah we're suffering. But it ain't Primus' doing. He created us and gifted us with free will, ta choose fer ourselves what we want to do, how we want ta think. We abused of this gift Prowl. Primus never killed a bot, and he certainly never created anyone evil. We chose ta kill, ta be evil. It's our actions that caused this war, all the suffering. Not Primus. Ah bet he cries every joor watching how he's creations are hurting each other. Bots like to blame Primus because he's there ta blame, convenient even. But deep down, they know. We did this. Not Primus."
"And sire?" Prowl asked, voice small and vulnerable. "He did this to me because he wanted to?" The tactician had held stubbornly to the belief that his sire couldn't have possibly willingly hurt him like this, to use him as a tool. Jazz was right, ever since he had learned of the god, Prowl had wanted to blame someone for what he had been forced to endure, and Primus had been an easy target.
Jazz's spark broke, seeker programming making him empathetic, and he realized the hope the youngling held; that his sire hadn't meant to harm him, that he had been forced to. The saboteur hated crushing that hope, but Shockwave deserved no love from anyone, specially Prowl. Jazz also didn't want the youngling to have false illusions of finding his sire and trying to gain back his affections.
"Ah'm sorry Prowler. But that's the truth."
The doorwinger kneed. He had suspected it, his battle computer and logical center presenting him with the undeniable facts. Yet, he had hoped there was a chance.
"I begged for help Jazz." Prowl said after a few kilcks, voice and expressions pained, doorwings quivering in stress. "When I was being ripped apart inside by those cables, data being pushed into my processor without mercy. I begged! No one answered, Primus didn't answer me Jazz!" He wasn't ready to believe the god innocent just yet, no, there had to be something that explained the pain he had gone through.
"Oh Prowler. Don't ya see? Primus answered you." Jazz said gently.
"How!" Prowl demanded, leaning away from the saboteur's embrace.
"Bluestreak."
The tactician stared at Jazz, doowings wilting as memories flooded his processor; his brother soothing him after unforgiving training and forced program uploads, calming him when his sire and other scientist were gone, how he managed to get him out of the Enforcers' clutches, taking him to Ratchet and Prime. Regaining back his life. If only for a short time.
"Brother?"
"Blue saved ya Prowl. He knew what Scheme was doing was wrong, and he got ya out, protected ya, took care of ya. Ya really think that wasn't Primus answering yer prayers?"
Prowl leaned back in, his anger vanishing.
"How do you do it? How can you have so much faith even when bad things keep happening?"
Jazz smiled.
"Ah see the miracles Primus grants us every joor Prowler."
"Miracles?"
"Yeah! Remember that last neutral camp? Ratchet managed ta extract a sparkling, healthy little femme, full of innocence and energy. And when we were crossing the barren lands? Don'tcha remember finding that brilliant blue crystal wedged between two large rocks? A place where it was impossible fer it ta grow in the first place? How the last spy team survived the flames and wreckage of the last city, when there was no hope for them at all? Finding energon, and even, finding someone ta talk ta are small miracles Prowler." Jazz finished gently, locking his gaze with Prowl's. "There is so much good in this world, even in the midst of this war, there is good, and there are miracles. Many don't see 'em, but Ah do, and that's why Ah got faith."
Prowl smiled at Jazz's descriptions. He wasn't all that convinced yet but part of him was already searching his memory banks for those small miracles Jazz had witnessed, and he promised himself he'd keep an optic out for more.
It still hurt to realize that his sire had chosen to trap him in this frame on his own. For now, he would trust Jazz, and he would pray. Pray for his friends and family, and pray that he would one joor know why his sire had done this to him; Blue's explanation was not enough. He would find his sire, and ask him for the truth.
They sat in silence for many breems, watching the stars and basking in each other's company. Suddenly, the silence was broken by a loud snort from Jazz, followed by his laughing voice.
"Ah mean come on Prowler. Even ya have ta admit it's a big fragging miracle the Hatchet hasn't killed the twins yet!"
Prowl burst out laughing.
00000000000000
Like?