Once Upon a Time Ch5
My apologies for the lengthy delay in posting another chapter. I have written several beginnings to this chapter, but could not find something I liked. I finally decided on this one.
Hot chocolate with sprinkles and extra chunky cookies to the person that can name all the guest stars in this chapter.
Title: Once upon a Time...
Chapter: 5
Links: Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4
Rating: R
Warnings: Drug Abuse
Characters/Pairings: ProwlxJazz eventually
Setting: G1 with a lot of AU.
Summary: Just how exactly did Prowl and Jazz meet up? Set on Cybertron just before the outbreak of war
Authors Note: I am upping the rating due to drug abuse mentioned in this story. And no, I'm not referring to me being a review junkieXD
Disclaimer: No ownage - no sueage
Everything I learned about Transformers I learned from the great fanfic authors. So if I have used something, thinking it's canon and it’s not. Please let me know and I will rectify, replace, or give credit where it is due.
Great thanks given to
dark_daebereth for making this into the presentable story you see before you, and for being a wonderful sounding board in trying times. *Worshipping you from afar*
Again my thanks to all who reviewed last chappie, and continue to read this story. You are all an inspiration XD
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It had been explained in the communiqué that, due to his excessive length of time given to Field Service, it had been decided that Prowl had earned a promotion within the Enforcer ranks.
This news had sent off various alarms within his processors and on further reading, he discovered that he had been promoted to the rank of Captain, with all privileges that came with said title, and with that came the glorious position of heading up the Central Administration Department that consisted of a team numbering…one!
In short, Prowl had been shoved into a Desk Job.
On reporting to the Duty Officer, he had been given directions to his new office. The burly mech didn’t even bother to disguise his snigger of laughter at Prowl’s new location within headquarters.
He’d eventually found the office and had frozen inside the doorframe as his optics swept over the room. The sheer amount of fossilised dust layering the workstation alone gave an indication of how long the office had sat unused. It must have been megavorns since someone last occupied this room, and he suspected it had been forgotten about until very recently.
Never one to look at the energon cube being half-empty, Prowl reaffirmed that this position meant he would be on a steady shift pattern and located within the city. It also meant he would be bored out of his processors, but at least it would give him ample time to think.
It didn’t take any processing power on his part to determine that this was a subtly disguised punishment, handed down by the Adjutant. Whether it was on orders from someone higher he wasn’t sure, but it did add a new slant to his steadily growing convictions.
Out of sight, out of processor, I suppose, Prowl grimly smiled at the old platitude. The High Arbitrator was displeased with Prowl, for both his recent digging through the mainframe archives, and his failure in the potential ruse to return that vexing black and white mech for reformatting.
Prowl adamantly refused to even think the mech’s name, seeing as every time he did, the imprint memories would flare up in his processor.
A hard thump to the back of his thigh had Prowl turning around, staring at empty space. He looked down. A maintenance bot stared up at him, tapping his foot impatiently and Prowl moved into the office allowing the bot to enter and begin the cleaning.
“How long will it take for this office to be,” he wanted to say ‘burned to the ground and rebuilt;’ he offered instead, “Cleansed?”
“A couple of joors, three at most,” the bot turned his back to Prowl as he began unloading the items required from subspace.
Prowl nodded, advising the bot he would return in three joors.
He left the Security Force Headquarters with the no real idea where he was going. He did not intend to go far, until he spotted a very anxious, very familiar white and red mech, hastily walking away from the medical facilities.
Quickly Prowl crossed the large square that made up the forecourt separating Senate, Medical and Security Headquarters and blocked the speeding medic’s way. “Ratchet,” he tilted his head in welcome only to be nearly brushed aside by the medic colliding with his shoulder.
“Prowl, good to see you, can’t stop and chat, things to do,” he swerved around the Enforcer, taking a direct path to the wide thoroughfare that ran the length of Iacon City. Prowl turned on his heel, rapidly descending on the medic once again and grabbing his arm.
Although Ratchet had seemed friendly enough, Prowl hadn’t missed the intense frown that crumpled his brow ridge and the stern set of his mouth. “Where are you off to?” Prowl tightened his grip as Ratchet tried to pull away, only to result in the medic rebounding back, jolting Prowl as metal scraped metal.
Ratchet narrowed his eyes, speaking between clenched mouthplates, “Let go of me Prowl, I have an emergency to attend to.”
Prowl stepped in front of Ratchet instead. He could tell when a mech was hiding something and Ratchet was tense enough to shatter into a pile of scrap. “Medical emergencies within the city are not attended by a medic on their own, let alone warranting the attention of the Chief Medic.”
Ratchet cast his gaze off to the side before his optics darted back to Prowl. “Fine,” he admitted, “but you need to let me go, I have something to take care of.”
Prowl shrugged. “Fine,” Ratchet smiled briefly in thanks, “I will escort you,” Prowl continued, watching the friendly smile drain away.
“You can’t,” Ratchet snarled at him, keeping his voice low. “Prowl, I need to go somewhere you cannot go.” Ratchet tried to pull free of the grasp again, tsking venomously at Prowl’s refusal to relinquish his hold.
“Where is it that I cannot go?” Prowl dipped his head, purposefully annoying Ratchet with the chevron nearly scraping the medic’s cheek.
“Frag it, Prowl,” the medic cursed, “I have to go, you’re putting lives at risk, please.” The medic’s voice had turned into a soft, pleading whisper, his free hand clutching Prowl’s arm.
Prowl had never heard the medic beg, not like this. Though he knew the words were more than likely true, and Prowl did not want to put lives at stake, he wasn’t going to let the medic go until he had some kind of explanation.
“Ratchet,” Prowl dropped his voice to an effective threatening growl.
“Slag you, “Ratchet replied. “Just make sure you keep up, and when we get there, stay the frag out of sight.”
Prowl nodded, falling into step as they both hurried over to the thoroughfare, transformed into their alternate hover mode vehicles and raced off.
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Prowl kept up with Ratchet, even after they had left the main road and had began taking winding streets and back alleys in the south quadrant. The medic never slowed his pace, and neither did Prowl as they whizzed past seedy little establishments and grubby rows of buildings that housed the forgotten mechs of Iacon.
It was not a part of Iacon that a Bot of higher stature would ever frequent. This was the side of Iacon everyone wanted to forget existed - the slums.
Finally, Ratchet slowed and stopped by a small alley, next to a large, bulky mech. Prowl knew the red and black mech had noticed him, as his face fell into a threatening glare and he took a purposeful step towards the Enforcer.
Ratchet quickly straightened from his transformation and placed a hand on the taller mech’s chest plate, reaching up as he whispered something to the mech, and they both left without a backward glance to him.
Prowl transformed and followed at a careful distance, though he could have been invisible for all the attention the two mechs gave him now.
Further into the dimmed alley, Prowl finally got a clear look at what the emergency was. A small Bot, barely into his youngling build, was propped against the wall. A large yellow mech crouched beside him, holding the youngling’s hand. The little mech shook and his vocaliser buzzed with hissing static, his optics wide and glazed as he turned his head everywhere, looking around at everything. Prowl wasn’t sure the mech was actually seeing anything.
He heard Ratchet curse, as he crouched on the other side of the youngling and started examining him. The mech turned to stare at Ratchet, his optics clearing from the fuzzy blue that had made them occasionally wink out, before coming back on full strength.
Optics should never be that bright, Prowl thought. He stood off to one side of the mechs, noticing the red and black mech’s gaze pinned on him.
“There we go, that’ll make it easier for you to see, young one.” Ratchet’s gentle voice had Prowl stepping sideways to peer at the little mech, and the youngling nodded before looking in his direction. Those optics lit up the alley as they burned a bright blue, a sign of absolute fear. The next moment a loud wailing pierced the alley, as the youngling began struggling, feet sliding against the ground, sending up a spray of sparks as he tried to slide away from some kind of threat.
Prowl whipped around, already pulling his rifle from subspace and aiming it, expecting to see an enemy behind him and finding nothing. He turned slowly back to the group, noticing the youngling was still glitching out at something. His face was frozen in terror as his vocaliser kept releasing the awful shrill screams.
“Get back,” Prowl looked down at Ratchet, the medic was waving at him, “get fragging back.” Prowl realised Ratchet wanted him to withdraw. Puzzling over that quandary, Prowl obeyed, moving to the mouth of the alley and sliding around the corner.
The screams died away and the puzzle finally made sense as he peeked around the corner, discreetly watching Ratchet soothing the youngling. Me. The youngling is terrified of me. The thought of any innocent citizen of Cybertron fearing an Enforcer was a foreign, almost unthinkable concept that had his logic circuits groaning in unwanted contemplation.
Prowl lent his back against the wall, ensuring he was out of the youngling’s sight at all times. From what Prowl had seen of him, of his blue, black and white paintwork, etched onto his frame in a fashionable zigzag pattern that sparkled with newness, he was not the sort of mech who would hail from this quadrant of the city.
Those from this area usually adopted two tone colours that didn’t deviate into any specific patterning. Black and white, red and black, grey and blue, each half having one colour, top half white, bottom half black. It was the cheapest way of getting a coat of paint, and usually by the time they became mature mechs, that one coat would be faded and scraped, bits of primer (if they could afford it) showing. No, a sparkling with fresh paint was an oddity in this part of the city.
This presented Prowl another mystery - why was the youngling here and what had happened to him?
After a joor and a half of waiting around, staring at the curious mechs who passed him, obviously wondering why an Enforcer was standing on some street corner, Ratchet wandered out of the alley, this time accompanied by the yellow and black mech, who he was speaking quietly to.
“He’s safe to move, get him down to the place; I’ll meet you there later.”
Prowl wasn’t sure if Ratchet knew that he could hear every word said, but he kept his gaze locked on the opposite side of the street, not ready to give himself away just yet.
The bulky mech glanced at Prowl; he caught the glare aimed at him from the corner of his optic. It was only his experience at being an Enforcer that stopped his brow ridges from overtaking his chevron and keeping his face neutral as the yellow mech lent over Ratchet and kissed him fiercely.
Allowing the medic to break away, the yellow mech gave Ratchet a stern nod before disappearing back into the alley.
Ratchet turned to Prowl, his lips quirked in a slanted smile, his optics looking a little dazed. “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.” Prowl noticed the slight quiver in the mech’s vocaliser and merely nodded, hoping he could at least get some information now.
Ratchet was kind to Prowl and didn’t force him to stop in one of the myriad energon bars that peppered the south quadrant. An Enforcer entering a drinking place would mean only one thing, trouble.
They arrived back at the city centre and Prowl kept pace with the medic as he led Prowl into the medical facility and his private office. After securing the door, Ratchet slumped in his chair and pulled out an overly large cube of high-grade from a small cabinet set into the wall of his office. He poured some into two cubes and nudged one in Prowl’s direction.
The Enforcer shook his head, “I cannot, I am on duty.”
Ratchet grimaced, lifting his in toast, he replied, “I’m giving you the rest of the day off on medical leave, your shoulder is still playing up.”
Prowl opened his mouth to refuse, but was interrupted with a stern, “Your shoulder is playing up, Prowl.” He didn’t dare defy that tone.
Reaching for the cube, Prowl sipped at the liquid. It was extremely strong, not something he was used to. He was notorious for not being able to handle his high-grade, the curse of possessing a sensitive Strategic Onboard Processor.
“I suppose you want to know what was going on.” Prowl didn’t see the need to reply to that statement and Ratchet forged on. “His system was forced into overdrive from a foreign substance being introduced to his main energon line.” Prowl quirked his head in question.
“Amps,” the medic explained.
Prowl looked down into his cube, swilring it around as he thought, that youngling is on Amps? What possess the young and foolish to try these things?
As though he had read Prowl’s thought processes, Ratchet responded, “Oh, he didn’t take them willingly.” Prowl’s head snapped up at that, his optics searching the medic’s. “He’s not the first, he won’t be the last.” The words were spoken in a sad monotone as Ratchet gazed into his own cube.
“Ratchet, does this have anything to do with the dead mechs?” Prowl questioned, recalling the information Ratchet had given him on the deaths of three mechs from the south quadrant in their recent exchange of information.
Ratchet sighed, swiping one hand over his optics, “Partly. Well, a lot, actually.” Ratchet stood, taking another sip of his high-grade he circled his desk, looking flatly into Prowl’s optics. “More than likely, this one was probably dragged off the street, like the others, and plied with too big a dose of Amps just so the buyers get to watch the effects.”
“Buyers?” worry etched Prowl’s tone.
“He isn’t an addict; he’s just some youngling that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Ratchet swigged back the rest of his cube before pouring himself another and offering some to Prowl, who only shook his head.
“The buyers want to make sure it isn’t tainted first, so they’ll find an unwilling volunteer, dose them up and watch them go crazy, before finally,” Ratchet paused sighing deeply, “Their spark finally gives out from the enormous strain put on their intakes.”
Ratchet wiped a hand over his face once more, “Primus, I can’t think of a worse way to die.”
Prowl knew the medic had just offered him an energon-candy-coated explanation. He was an Enforcer; he’d seen the effects of an overdose of Amps. The spark didn’t just give out - it exploded.
“Will he…” Prowl wasn’t sure how to phrase the question.
“No, thank Primus,” Ratchet seemed to understand what he was asking. “Luckily for him, he didn’t receive too large a dose. They were disturbed.” An evil smirk crawled across Ratchet’s lips.
Prowl wanted to pursue that line of questioning, as he presumed it had something to do with the two large mechs, but for a long time he had held back the one question that burned in him, and now he couldn’t hold back longer. “Ratchet,” the medic placed his attention on Prowl, “the youngling, he… he was afraid of me.” Prowl resisted the urge to stare down at his half drunk cube, keeping his optics locked with Ratchet’s needing to see if there was anything the medic would try to hide from him in his answer.
“Don’t you get it?” Ratchet asked, and Prowl searched his logic banks. Nothing was springing up at him letting him know what he wasn’t getting. Ratchet sighed, “Of course you wouldn’t get it. You would never consider it even possible.”
Now Prowl was truly intrigued and he prompted the medic to continue. The look that Ratchet gave him was mingled with sorrow and anger, though Prowl was sure it wasn’t directly aimed at him. “They,” explained Ratchet in a tone Prowl was sure was reserved only for a sparkling, “the ones that drugged up that youngling, the ones who were selling a transport load of Amps,” as he spoke Prowl couldn’t help but lean forward in anticipation of the answer, “they were…Enforcers.”
Prowl felt the bottom of his world drop out from beneath him.
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Again, please feel free to feed the author, just don't stick your hands in the cage ;D