MEDICINE


READ THIS: I would like to state that I don't write slash. Ever. In one of my Fanfictions - Objectives - it states in the first chapter that it was a slash piece. That is entirely incorrect. I was newer to the site then, and did not know these terms. If it seems like slash, trust me, it is not. I do write romances, but it is usually between a cannon character and my OC. I never have, and never will, write slash. Thank you. This Fanfic is not slash. If it seems like it, it is not. It is also much darker than any others I have written.


THE ARK

19: 04 P.M

Prowl sat at his office desk, quietly going over reports. The day had been eventless. No explosions, no Decepticon attacks, no pranks. Just a peaceful, calm, normal day…

His office door slid open to reveal the Twins along with Ratchet, Ironhide and nearly the entire crew of the ark. All covered in…

Maple syrup.

One thought went through his mind – You have got to be joking.

Releasing a weary vent, he placed down the datapad he was reviewing, and turned emotionless optics on them, mask of neutrality in place. "Care to explain?"

"Yeah!" Cliffjumper exclaimed. "These glitches thought that bombarding us from the Ark's air vents with these… sticky bombs… to be entertaining!"

Prowl's door wings flinched minutely at the loudness of the Bot's voice. He turned his attention to the Twins. "Do you deny this?"

Sideswipe shifted on his pedes while Sunstreaker scowled – as usual. They made no move to answer. The SIC refocused on the – evidently ticked off – group behind the front liners. "And what do you suppose would be an ideal punishment?"

Almost instantly, suggestions were flying. There were ones like 'Brig' then there was 'Monitor duty' and then there was a 'Hang them!' – The last one was not considered, although it was widely visualized. During the chaos, the tactician opened the lowest draw in his desk to see if he still had a few cases left. He frowned. The substance was running particularly low. He would need to restock later.

He closed it again and focused on the arguing mechs. "That is enough." Silence. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, you shall spend two weeks in the brig. Then you shall assist Wheeljack in his scientific endeavors until he finds no more need for your help."

At this though, the Twins immediately decided to object. "No, anything but that!" Sideswipe shouted.

Sunstreaker nodded. "Just kill us now why don't you?"

Prowl ignored them. "Ironhide, please escort them to the brig. Wheeljack will be informed of his new assistants presently. Please go clean yourselves up and report back to duty." He stood up, grabbing several datapads, and went towards the open office door. The gathered mechs parted as he walked by.

The terror twins looked pleadingly at the others, but all they received were glares. Ironhide shoved them. "Come on. Aint got all day… oh wait. Ya do." He grinned evilly.

Once the front liners were around the corner, the others voiced their opinions. "I know they deserved it, but that was very harsh." Bumblebee stated.

"Hmph! If you ask me, it wasn't harsh enough." Ratchet interjected. He stormed off then, muttering something about acquiring spare parts from the recently locked up brothers. Nearly everybody cringed in pity, regardless of what had happened. And some smiled in anticipation.

Prowl stalked down the hallway, door wings stiff. He hated doing this, but the pain was far to excruciating to allow. Ever since leaving Cybertron and arriving on this planet, his main supply had been from stealing the cases from Wheeljack's lab.

The inventor hardly noticed, because he never touched the stuff. But, as was with all science extremists, they apparently must have extremely rare substances that they don't even use. He supposed it was a closure thing. As long as you had it, you were an inventor.

Typing in an access code to Wheeljack's lab, Prowl braced himself for any explosions or flying objects, or a crazy Autobot who eventually lost it after so many failed attempts at inventions.

He was surprised – but hid it – when he found the mech going over calculations on a datapad. He sent an entrance ping to the Bot, signaling that there was another being in the room. Wheeljack looked up, startled, but then spotted Prowl. Once again, this was unusual, as the SIC hardly ever came near this room. Thinking about it, nobody ever did. For safety reasons.

"Hello Prowl, what can I do for you?" He greeted the tactician, before instantly going back to his calculations. He had something that he was working on currently, and the algorithms needed to be placed in very soon, or… boom.

The Praxian took that opportunity to enter, and make his way round to where the substance he needed was stored, while simultaneously talking. "I have come to inform you that in two weeks time, you shall receive assistants to help you in your… attempted inventions."

"Is this volunteer, or punishment?" The inventor asked, already knowing the answer though. Prowl kept walking.

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker." That was all that needed to be said. He stopped in front of the usual shelf, and saw the three glass vials containing it. It. His optics trained on that for a while, till eventually he snapped out of the daze.

He only had to take this every other orn so he didn't use it up very quickly. It helped that he had been technically dead for four million years so that it wasn't exhausted immediately. The Bot just worried about the day when he would eventually run out. On Cybertron, this substance could be found or produced, but in small quantities. It had been given to him by a Cybertronian on the street when he was very young, barely in his second frame. It was a 'Supposed' medicine for a 'Supposed' problem that his creators had said he had with his processor. It was called Quasson. He always kept telling himself it was medicine, but a voice in the back of his mind just kept whispering that it was an addiction. A drug. It soothed the sharp thoughts of his processor, and allowed a continuous reprieve from having an avalanche of answers and calculations batter his mind. He had forgotten what it was like to think clearly. Everybody aboard the Ark believed that he did. But if they knew how much more he could process without this… it could possibly be deadly. And it was thanks to his sire that he needed to take this. If he had just been taken to a proper medic, he may not be addicted to this substance. But, if he quit now, then he quit living as well.

Prowl had never told this to anyone, not his leader, nor his closest friend. Even Ratchet didn't know about this and he was a medic. The Bot was reluctant to say anything for the reason that he would most likely be locked up, and not deemed fit for service. He would be scorned. What SIC set an example like this?

He still remembered the seedy part of Praxus where his creators had taken him all those millennia ago. Surely they could have afforded enough to take their own sparkling to an actual doctor? No. It was deemed cheaper to go to a half baked slagger on the corner. Twenty thousand credits for a proper treatment. Only a hundred for a few cases of Quasson.

He reached for the closest case of his 'Medicine'. Quickly sub-spacing it so that Wheeljack did not see, he made for the exit.

Evidently, he did not get out in time, for the next thing he knew, the inventor was scrambling around grabbing all sorts of things and placing them in subspace. The Praxian watched him, before asking. "What are you doing?"

"Uh… let's just say that something is going to blow, and it is going to blow big. I couldn't get the formula in to the machine in time, so…" He left the unfinished sentence hanging, and continued to grab equipment. Prowl now understood the severity of the situation. If Wheeljack was endangering his life to gather things from his lab, then it was very likely that this explosion would destroy many items.

He instantly ran over to the Quasson, and sub-spaced it. He picked up other things as well, so as to help the other mech, and not make it look suspicious. He grabbed the strange equipment that the inventor had scattered around, not knowing what most of it did.

A sudden screeching sound from the machine had Wheeljack shouting that they needed to get out. They just reached the door when it went off. Till this day, residents of Portland claim that it was an earthquake.

The fiery explosion surrounded them, and Prowl could feel the intense heat melting through his armor. How was this fire powerful enough to destroy Cybertronian alloy? He cried out in pain as his door wings turned to slag. He could vaguely hear the other Bot he had been with, but the corners of his processor were beginning to fade away, as he tried to scramble away from the lab – unsuccessfully I might add. He cursed his sire again. If he hadn't come here for the Quasson, he would never have been caught in this.

His legs buckled out then, and he lay on the floor, as the fire ate away any armor he had left. He could no longer see through his optics. Prowl had never experienced pain such as this. He knew that Wheeljack's inventions usually ended up… not working. But this one topped it all.

His spark constricted in pain, as the covering was eaten away. He now knew what it felt like for his victims, when acid destroyed their sparks. He clawed at the now almost liquid metal floor. His optics cleared briefly and he saw the fire. He saw the now open wires that covered his arms, noted that the familiar black and white covering no longer existed. He didn't know how long he had been there, it felt so drawn out.

The pain was all consuming. The Praxian wished Primus would take him. Take him from this war, take him from this pain. Take him from the never ending cycle of addiction he had fallen into. Prowl didn't bother lying to himself at this point, it would do nothing. This was the closest he had ever come to death… just a little bit longer and he would be freed.

His optics began to offline as darkness consumed him. But before slipping into the eternal world he had been hoping for, a sense of coolness settled over him. Then he was being dragged. But that was all he knew, before blacking out.


THE ARK

19: 12 P.M

Jazz sat in the rec room. There were still traces of maple syrup there, but mainly in one corner, where there had been a screen that had been playing an intriguing video. The saboteur had to hand it to the Twins. They sure knew how to pull a prank. Luckily for the master spy, he had been spared such an atrocity.

Ironhide stalked into the room, still covered in the sticky substance. Jazz held back a laugh, and watched him walk to the energon dispenser. As if sensing the suave Bots amusement, the weapons specialist turned to him with a scowl on his faceplates.

"What? Ya find something amusing?" He demanded. The TIC smirked.

"As a matter of fact, Ah do. Why are ya still covered in this stuff?" Jazz asked. The scowl fell from the large mechs faceplates, and he came and sat next to the social mech, a cube of energon in his servo.

"Because I just got back from putting the slaggers in the brig. For two weeks. Then, they are gonna be Wheeljack's scientific volunteers." An evil smile graced his expression.

And now, the saboteur couldn't help but laugh. They sat in silence for a few moments after, and watched as other Autobots filed into the room, ones that were now currently off duty, and had cleaned up their appearances. Glances were sent towards Ironhide, as he was still covered in syrup, but he just replied to them with a glare which sent mechs scampering.

Ratchet eventually stalked in, muttering curses. He as well looked over at Ironhide, but then turned his attention to getting an energon cube.

"Ya gotta hand it ta them, they sure pulled of one pit of a prank." Jazz restarted conversation. The reply was a non-committal grunt. The saboteur downed his cube and waited for a moment. He was now off duty for the night, and he'd be able to get a good recharge. He wondered if Prowl had recharged in the last few weeks. He worried for his friend's well being. The SIC was one of those Bots who believed that he could run on fumes. Usually the only way to get him to refuel or recharge was to pester him, or crash him. Either one worked. "Hey, ya saw Prowl today yes?" He asked Ironhide. The weapons mech nodded. "Did he seem like he hadn't refueled or recharged?"

The large Bot thought that over. He knew that the Praxian hardly ever looked after his own needs, so it was up to others to make sure he remembered, "Uh… I don't think so. I only saw him quickly, and then he left after punishing the twins."

That was news to the saboteur. The tactician rarely left his office. And it was for good reason. "Where'd he go?"

"Don't know. I was too preoccupied in dragging Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's afts to the brigs. I tell ya, one day those Bots are gonna end up killing themselves. It'll either be trying to fight Megatron, or by our servo when they eventually push us to the breaking point. It would be my personal honor to do tha-" His joking – debatable – was cut off by a loud explosive noise. Louder than normal explosions. Everybot was now on guard.

"Do ya think that came from 'Jack's lab?" Jazz asked. It was a possibility. Ratchet was already moving as he knew that the inventor would most likely need medical attention. In fact, a lot of the Autobots there decided to take a look.

Even Ironhide – regardless of the fact he was still covered in syrup – wanted to go see how the craziest mech aboard the Ark finally accomplished such a huge and spectacular explosion that it made the metal beneath their pedes shake. The saboteur sighed as nearly half of the rec room was cleared out. They were always so nosey. Human expressions.

The medic arrived at the scene first to see the scorched walls, and then the leaping fire that came from the lab. He then saw a dark servo reach out of the door, and went to it. He stopped instantly though as he neared, and felt the extreme heat coming from the room. He knew that if he didn't get Wheeljack out in time… well then the Well of Allsparks was gonna have a new member.

Hoping he himself didn't die, but also having his medical instincts override any personal discomfort had, the CMO went forward, and grabbed the servo. Being careful to not hurt the inventor anymore than he already may be, Ratchet pulled him out. He gasped at the brutal sight of a barely conscious Wheeljack. He began working immediately, absently noting the presence of many other Autobots, some who were staring at the burning lab, others who were staring at the terribly battered form of the 'Crazy' mech. His armor had thoroughly melted off in places, and he was drawing in ragged vents of air, so as to cool his heated frame. Ironhide came closer, and kneeled next to Ratchet. The medic looked disconcerted at so much damage to one Bots frame, and his hands shook very slightly.

Wheeljack turned his optics to the medic and weapons specialist with great pain. He lifted his servo towards them, in a meek attempt to gain their attention, for other than his wounds. He tried to speak, but instead a static gurgle escaped. He tried again, and this time accomplished something. But it was to quiet for them to hear. The trigger happy weapons specialist leaned in closer, as Ratchet was far to preoccupied in keeping the inventor alive.

The Bot said it again, and this time, Ironhide heard perfectly. "P… Prowl…" the servo pointed towards the still burning room.

"Slag!" The large mech shouted, which startled everyone. The CMO didn't falter in his work, but sent a questioning ping to the Prime's bodyguard. He didn't get a reply, as Ironhide was already barking orders.

"Get that fire out now! We need to get in as soon as possible. Don't question me on this, just do it!" As if by some act of fate, Inferno came forward with a much larger version of a fire extinguisher. Fitting.

Ironhide took it from him, as well as barking more orders for larger quantities of the human water, which was usually used on fires. If anybody questions me on any of this, don't bother. I am very bad at anything 'Fire', so don't complain.

Wielding the transformer sized object – which had been simultaneously invented by Wheeljack, henceforth there was more potency against the fire – the large mech braved the heat, hoping that the SIC was not too far in. He felt the flames lick at his armor, and he hissed in pain. He cleared a section and spotted what looked like a Cybertronian frame. He instantly began clearing in that direction. He didn't have a perfectly clear view, but it was viewable enough for him to grab onto the SIC's servo and pull him out of the lab.

Once out he released a vent of air he had been cycling. Looking down at the form he had removed from the inferno, he held back a horrified cry. If this was Prowl, it was now very hard to tell. Nearly all armor had melted away, mainly leaving wire, and open internal components.

But what shocked him most was that he could see the mechs flickering spark. That was never a good sign.

He looked around for Ratchet, but the medic was no longer there, having taken the already extremely injured inventor to the med bay. This was a set back. Prowl needed to be seen to immediately or else…

He didn't want to think about it.

He noticed that the mechs who hadn't gone to get other means of putting out fire were staring open mouthed at the sight before them. And another thing he noticed was that there was another Praxian in the midst of those watching. A young Praxian.

Ironhide turned his optics towards Bluestreak, and saw the look of horror that graced the young gunner's faceplates. His door wings were shaking at the sight of his mentor. While it might be hard to tell who the mech was physically, his faction ID gave a pretty clear indication.

The weapons specialist turned away, and picked up the SIC. "Get the fire out. One of you inform the Prime of this. Then return to your duties." Currently, nobody questioned his authority, and went along with it.

He made his way down the halls, careful to keep his view away from his superior. Ironhide did not know how much pain the tactician was in, and he didn't want to think about it.

He kept at a slower pace, so as not to have the Praxian be in more agony than he already was experiencing. But that resolution was thrown out of the figurative window, as he knew that if Prowl wasn't treated soon, no matter how much pain he was in, it would be better than death.

Slamming into the med bay, he drew Ratchet's attention away from the instable Wheeljack – both in mind and body. The CMO stared at the mangled frame in Ironhide's arms, and instantly directed him to a berth. It was times like this that the medic wished he had other help.

The weapons specialist placed down the unidentifiable body of the SIC, but found his pedes rooted to the ground in an act of fear.

Ratchet hooked Wheeljack up to an energon line, after sealing off all the cut… Cybertronian veins. He then went over to the worse frame of Prowl, shooing the larger mech out of his way. With great difficulty, Ironhide left the med bay, and returned to the rec room.

The weapons mech found Bluestreak sitting next to Jazz, while the saboteur tried to gleam what happened from the young gunner. He was refusing to speak though, as his processor played back the gruesome images of what just transpired.

Ironhide – still covered in maple syrup, which somehow didn't get burned in the grand fire. Turns out that experiment isn't affected by the human substance from trees. Make of it what you will – walked over and placed a servo on the Praxian's shoulder. He jerked up in surprise. While his mind had been so distracted, his acute sensors had not detected the presence of the weapons specialist beside him. Bluestreak sent him a questioning glance. "Is he…"

The larger mech's optics softened. He knew that Prowl was basically a father figure for the young Bot. So he opted for truthful lying. "Ratchet is taking care of them."

That evidently did not lift the other ones spirits, and Jazz continued to look confused, as no one had informed him on any of the events happening. "What's goin' on 'Hide?" He asked, instantly serious, as the usually hardened warrior was letting his guard down to comfort a mech.

His gaze snapped over to the saboteur, and he gestured the mech outside of the room. The spy stood, and walked ahead. Ironhide sent one last comforting glance to the Praxian, before following.

Jazz stood outside, arms crossed over his chassis as he regarded the larger Autobot who had just stepped in front of him. A serious expression covered his features, one which he incorporated whenever undergoing an interrogation or being the interrogator.

"Alrigh'. What was so important that ya couldn't simply tell meh in there?" He pointed back at the rec room.

Ironhide sighed. "Because the things I'm gonna tell you don't need to be heard by Bluestreak. Though he already knows a lot about it, there are a few things I'd like to leave out." He paused as the saboteur eyed him with cold optics. "The explosion caught two Bots in the crossfire. Wheeljack – as it was his lab – and Prowl." Jazz's helm jerked back in surprise, but didn't comment.

The weapons specialist continued. "The explosion was slagging powerful. I don't know what 'Jack was doing at the time, but the whole lab ignited. And not just with normal human fire. Anyway, Ratchet dragged Wheeljack outta the inferno. We then later learned that Prowl was in there as well. I went in and dragged him out. Neither of them was identifiable physically. Their armor was totally gone. Prowl's spark was visible for slag's sake! And… well I'm not holding out much hope on either of them surviving. Their internal components had been subjected to the heat coming from that fire, and…" He trailed off, leaving the inevitable hanging in the air.

The TIC just stared in shock. Why in Primus was he always the last to hear about these things?

"Do we 'ave any idea what he was workin' with when tha explosion went off?" Jazz asked.

"No, not a clue. Skyfire may know, but he's currently in Siberia, going over something about… I don't know, something science like." The larger mech replied. "We can't get a communications signal to him, as there's a storm raging. It'll be some time before we hear from 'im."

They lapsed back into silence as both mechs thought about the events of the day. Everything had been going just great- no, spectacular, till the Twins decided to pull that prank on those unfortunate enough to watch the video. The video of a cat playing a piano.

Eventually Jazz broke the quiet. "So… not much hope, huh?"

"No. For either of them. Ratchet's gonna be allowin' us in to say goodbye before they'll ever survive-" The weapons specialist's dark musings were interrupted.

"Remain optimistic Ironhide. They may yet pull through." The powerful voice from which the reply came from was tinged with a slight amount of sadness. Optimus stood a few meters away, his presence automatically calming. "I am positive that Ratchet is doing fine. And we shall be seeing them soon. Alive."


THE ARK

20: 08 P.M

The CMO cursed under his breath as his patients spark rates slowly began to decrease. "Slag it Wheeljack! You're usually the Bot helping me with this! And Skyfire just has to be away at the moment doesn't he!" Rushing over to the inventor, he began to work. Prowl had been placed in a medical stasis so that any other conditions would not worsen.

The extensive damage on his friend's form overwhelmed Ratchet. While Wheeljack had gained a lot of injuries over the vorns due to his failed inventions, this one topped the lot. Now if only Prowl hadn't been there, his job would've been so much easier.

Drawing in a draft of air, he began working on the more sever internal damage. He would need to install replacements, splice destroyed energon lines, reconnect wires…

The list goes on.

Oblivious to him, Prowl was locked in his mind, looking back on everything he knew. The war, his work, becoming SIC, meeting Jazz, meeting Prime, fighting, Cybertron, Praxus, the crystal gardens, circuit su, his home…

He went back to his past. He had been told that there was a problem with his processor. That if he wasn't helped, there would be pain. But he had never experienced pain from it. His mind had worked perfectly. The pain began after.

Every time Prowl had to wait for the Quasson his mind would feel as though it was being torn apart. When he was younger, he had never even thought about it. But now…

Now he had control.

He had control when he was away from reality. His mind may still be a haze after years of the drug. He wanted to know what it was like to see clearly. To be able to analyze everything with perfect clarity. To know. It would take a while. The substance wouldn't be out of his system instantly. And there would be pain. He just had to stick it out.

The Praxian was distantly aware of a presence beside him, but the haze blocked anything else. That and being in stasis.

Prowl knew that his condition was serious. But he was not going to die this day. Not until he was… clean.

That was the word.

A small amount of pain shot through his spark, but subsided almost instantly. The tactician knew he was in the med bay. He knew that Ratchet was trying to repair both him and Wheeljack. And he knew it must have been hard on the medic.

Prowl tried focusing his mind. He wanted the peace of knowing he was free from the bonds that had held him back from his full potential.

He continued this for a long time. He did not know or even notice the passage of hours or days. He remained focused on his mind.

Till at one point, the sharp tearing pain entered his processor. It was agony but he could not cry out. It was consuming. His mind felt as though it was being eaten away. Acid against his thoughts and memories.

He wished to give in.

He couldn't.


PLEASE REVIEW

I shall update as soon as I can. I hope you enjoyed this, and again, reviews would be great. Much darker than usual works.