Yeah, officially, every previous TF:Prime fic before this one is an AU, because I am dumb and just found Prime Prowl's bio this morning. This is gonna be epic. It's kinda like my fic Youngling for TFA, but it's cuter because all of the characters but one are canon, and she's gonna get pushed off sort of.

I did a cute. Love it.

The sounds of clanging metal and grunts of effort were ringing through the training hall as the Martial Artists sparred. Their sensei drifted through the fighters, nearly invisible as he observed each pair.

The bulkiest mech in the group was currently winning his fight. He was twice as tall as his partner, his plating brown and silver, and his faceplates drawn into the most focused expression. Heavy Load's nickname (courtesy of his fellows) was Payload, because when he punched you, you knew it. Despite his size, he moved as quietly as the others, and was even twice as graceful as some of them.

His partner was Road Rocket, a fine example of the phrase "size doesn't matter". The olive mech was the smallest fighter in the group, which meant that his choice in sparring partner provided him with a pleasing sense of irony, one of his favorite things in life. He was faster than his partner in terms of reaction time, but his punches didn't deal out nearly as much punishment.

Next up came Jazz and Lockdown.

Jazz was living proof that you could be as loud as the Pit you wanted, but could still make an effective ninja. He was painted white and silver, with a blue visor over his optics. He enjoyed loud music, and his neighbors in the living space had more than once approached their sensei about removing Jazz's sound system.

Lockdown was a tall, awkward mech, who was disfigured from many younglinghood injuries. Not disfigured in the normal sense, only that rather than one solid green, his plating was different shades of it, and patchy, from where pieces had required replacement. His face, however, was white, with black markings along his cheekplates.

The pair in the farthest corner was the last stop.

The shorter fighter was the only female who'd stayed this long in this line of training, mostly because every other female who'd been accepted had quit her training on the grounds that it was "too hard". She wasn't the only female student, merely the only female Martial Artist. She was dark, slight, with a blue blade on the back of her head.

Prowl, a black and white mech with doorwings and a yellow visor similar to Jazz's, was perhaps the quietest of all of the students, both in movement and in social settings. He, like many of the students, left the dojo most solarcycles for a "real job" as a law enforcer, but when he returned home, he didn't bother to greet anyone, he merely went about his routine, training and chores, before retiring to his room. His only "friend" seemed to be the student he was currently sparring.

Their sensei surveyed the room again, glancing over each fighter. Master Yoketron was an older mech. He was both stern in looks and in behavior, acting like the sire that several of his students had never had, and the one that all of them, from time to time, needed.

One of the Fencers, Springer, ran into the training hall. Yoketron held up a hand to cease the spars, and looked at Springer. "What are you shouting about?"

"There's a youngling at the door... I think he's been attacked... there's energon everywhere... I left Dai Atlas with him... why would he come here?"

"Because everyone who lives in the town below knows that this is a sanctuary, and that anyone can come to us in a time of great need, because he will recieve help." Yoketron followed Springer out of the room, and the Martial Artists crowded out behind them, peering around each other.

Under the fluid, the youngling appeared to be dark blue and black, with some purple detailing. He was shivering from the terror he'd faced, and flinched away from Yoketron's touch.

"It is all right, little one. We are here to help you. Do not be afraid." He picked the youngling up. Now that he was off of the floor, the assembly could see several small feelers hanging from the little one's back. "Can you tell us your name? Can you speak?"

The youngling barely shook his head.

Yoketron looked at the assembly behind him. "Prowl, come here."

The quietest mech moved forward, looking at his master.

"Help me clean him up. Ember!"

"Yes, Master?"

"Prepare something warm for him, he will need it."

*~*
Prowl followed his master into the infirmary between the training halls, and picked up a rag to clean the fluid off of the youngling.

Several cycles later, Yoketron's optics narrowed. "He is not cut. This fluid is not his."

Yoketron looked at the youngling again, and got a full view of his faceplates. They were purple. His mouthpiece was open, revealing pointed dental plates. His cheekplates were well-defined, every feature, in fact, was angular and sharp. But the real shock was his optics. They were red, wide, yet slanted, and rimmed with just a hint of gold.

They looked just like Prowl's.