AN: I don't even know. I just wanted mourning!Prowl+Miles friendship. Incomplete, plan to have this span several chapters and eventual finding out about Prowl, from both the Lancasters and the Autobots. Review if you like it, especially with any suggestions you might have! I'm torn between having Jazz brought back or not

When Prowl woke up from his self-induced stasis the first thing he felt was a mind-numbing pain. Then he turned off his emotional cortex, and he no longer quite felt like he was dying. He kept his battle computer off as well; he knew quite well, even despite the fact that he'd been asleep for quite some months now, that there'd be no use for it wherever he was. He had planned for it that way.

As the official Second in Command of the Autobot army, and the head Tactician, Prowl knew full well he had duties that needed to be attended to. He knew, should he wish to turn on his signal, that the Autobots on Earth would find him as soon as possible and take him in again. Ratchet would welcome him back with a well thrown wrench, Bumblebee and Optimus would be waiting with open arms, and Ironhide would grumble and curse, maybe even try to fight him to get his point across, but would allow him back as well. Ja-

Warning: Energy depletion at critical level.

Prowl dismissed the warning flashing across his HUD. Had he been with the Autobots his Energon levels would never have been allowed to get so low, even if he had ignore his rations several times in a row. Ratchet had made a habit out of bringing him an Energon cube, and in the CMO's place First Aid had started to do the same. Even while apart Jazz would

Error: Code Alpha enabled. Line of thought encrypted. Emotional cortex turned on.

For a moment, the Tactician's mind blanked. Then his emotional cortex gave a powerful surge as it came to life once more, and everything went dark.

Warning: Energy depletion at critical level.

Warning: Emotional cortex unstable.

Warning: Battle Computer off for—

Prowl dismissed the warnings one after the other, not even bothering to read the last one in full. The only thing he could be thankful for at the moment was that when he woke up his emotional cortex had already crashed and automatically turned off. He risked running a complete systems scan to check what needed the most attention, watching as his energy level took another nose dive but with his emotional cortex off he couldn't bring himself to care out of a logical thought process.

There would be no Autobots, not anymore. He had to resign himself to that fact, one that had slipped his mind while he'd been asleep. Or maybe he'd just coded that away too, along with—he pulled his mind away from the thought before the error could even pop up.

The greatest war Cybertron had ever seen was over. The Autobots had just barely managed to scrape by, and finally a total could be put on their losses. Had Prowl's emotional cortex been on he might have scoffed at the thought. The Autobots had won, but their race as a whole had lost. He had lost the most precious thing to him on this little planet. To make it worse, Prowl knew for a fact that most of the Decepticons would never stop fighting even though there was now no Allspark to fight over. No way for them to bring back Cybertron in all of her glory. No way to bring back all that had been lost, all that would be lost.

Prowl had known, what with the fact that his entire being felt like it was being ripped in two, that his world had ended on the very world that started the Autobots' new life. First Aid hadn't needed to break that particular news to him, but the Medbot had been rather excited to tell him Megatron was dead. It was one of the last things the Tactician could remember, staring up at the Medbot's animated optics even as he felt empty inside.

After that he was drawing a large, self-induced blank. He knew that it was the only time in his life he had let his emotions solely dictate how he acted, but it hadn't been until he woke up on Earth that he realized just why he so hated illogical actions. He didn't remember resigning either of his positions, or quitting the Autobots, or stealing one of the only remaining one-bot navigable pods on the ARC to get to Earth. All he remembered was wanting a fresh start, a new life. He wanted to erase his past, but he'd been unable to access that far into his own coding despite how much he'd tried.

"So if you fill it up it will go vwoom vwoom?"

Prowl should have paid more attention to his surroundings, but as it was his relays didn't have all the much energy to do so. Logically, it was reasonable to assume he had been moved from his previous location. His alt mode was a car, of course, and the humans knew how to move them even when they were off. It was also easy to assume that, as a car, and a fairly decent one, he would be sold to a human to be used as transportation. He pulled up his internal clock on the HUD, but quickly shut it down again when he realized it had stopped keeping track as it should quite a while ago. It had stopped when—

Error: Code Alpha enabled. Emotional cortex unable to turn on.

Warning: System stability at risk. Energy level at 6%.

Warning: Initiating shut down in 3 seconds.

Prowl tried to focus on the voices even as he felt his systems shutting down one by one.

Warning: System shut down in 2 seconds.

He had to remember… remember what? Ah, his energy level was low. Staying alive was imperative; his coding would allow nothing else. And he was taking the risk of death a lot more seriously now that—

Warning: System shutting down.

The next time Prowl woke up he felt more energized. Sure enough, when he checked his stats, his energy level read at least 75%, which was a huge improvement over what it had been. Slowly, he activated his sensor relays. He scanned the area around him and could only find one organic, so focused on that organic.

Said organic was touching him, and appeared to be washing off his exterior. Logically, if Prowl had been correct in his assumption that his self-induced stasis had kept him asleep for months, he was in need of a washing. Prowl scanned the organic in it's entirety, and realized it would be recognized as a he on earth. He appeared to be one of the younger ones, most likely in his teens or early twenties, with shoulder length dirty blonde hair, tanned skin, and blue eyes. Prowl assumed the organic was of average height. Taller than five feet but less than six.

The organic looked like… Prowl accessed the internet quickly, feeling that he was safer in doing so with a higher energy level and the fact that there was a connection he could hack into nearby, and made sure he had the right term. The blonde looked like a hippie. Had the Autobot's Saboteur been alive—

Error: Code—

Prowl vehemently redirected the coding. He could allow himself this thought. Had Jazz been alive, he imagined it would have been an appearance the Saboteur would have leaned towards in regards to a holoform.

Prowl imagined that if his emotional cortex would have been on, he would have hated the organic.

Miles righted himself from his kneeling position beside his family's new car. He stretched his hands above his head farther and farther until his back gave a satisfying crack, and then he rolled his shoulders to try and work some sort of normal feeling into his arms again. It had taken longer than he had thought to clean the car, but then again it had been covered in a combination of dirt and who knows what else. The car definitely hadn't been out in the open or to a car wash in months, possibly even a year or more.

But it worked, and that was all that mattered. As long as Miles could use it to cart his sisters to wherever they wanted to go and get the groceries, it was okay in his book. He could care less that it was just a plain black ford. He'd already refilled the gas tank, so now hopefully he could start the vehicle up with no complications. He'd already subjected himself to begging Mikaela to make sure the car could run; his dad would have been furious if they'd needed to pay for repairs from a mechanic on top of everything else going on.

The blond teen opened the driver's side door and slipped into the seat. He slid the key into the ignition and turned it, satisfied as the car's engine growled to a low rumble before evening out. He turned on the radio and found a distant station, before turning the vehicle off and putting the key in his pocket. He gave a satisfied look around the freshly cleaned car—he'd had to do both interior and exterior and it had definitely been worth it—before remembering the final touch he'd been meaning to add.

He carefully took the picture he'd been keeping in his pocket and unfolded it, staring at it for a moment before opening the glove compartment and putting said picture inside of it for safe keeping. Then he got out of the car and locked the doors, heading inside his house to start up dinner.

Prowl listened throughout the night and picked up what information he could. The teen that had cleaned him up was Miles, oldest child of the Lancaster household. Then there was the younger Mila, and even younger Millie. The father's name was Milton, and the Tactician only found that out because after Mila and Millie had gone to bed the father and Miles had gotten into a small argument, which they took into the garage to make sure neither Mila or Millie would get woken up by it.

Miles was adamant that Milton understand he can't take Mila and Millie to school because his school starts before theirs, even if it is Millie's first day of kindergarten, and that her father should be the one to take her. Milton shot that down with the fact that the morning was the only time he was going to get to sleep considering he still had some work to do even now, and that he was wasting time even talking to his son.

Milton had won that argument. Prowl'd had to access the internet several times to keep up with the conversation and understand why Miles was angry, but he was unsure as to why his father was unable to take the girls. Apparently the father worked odd hours, but Prowl was unable to pick up a job title as it was never thrown around. He did understand, even without the use of the internet, that Miles falling back on calling his father Milton was an insult, the only one the teen used.

The next morning, Prowl was woken from recharge by Millie's shouting as she ran outside. Miles soon came running out of the house after her, juggling two backpacks, a brown paper bag with Millie's name on it, Millie's favorite stuffed animal, and a thermos. The little girl opened his passenger side door and slid excitedly into the seat, and Miles opened his driver's side door, handing Millie her rabbit before tossing his backpack in the backseat.

By organic standards, little Millie was well dressed for her first day of school. A simple, navy blue dress with a bit of white frills at the bottom, with a pair of shiny black dress shoes on her feet. Prowl looked up the cartoon character on her sparkly blue backpack, and found out that it was Bubbles, a member of the PowerPuff Girl triad. Millie hugged her stuffed rabbit close to her body, and Miles put her backpack down by her feet.

"Can ya do my hair like Mommy did?" Millie asked, widening her eyes in just the right manner as she looked at Miles.

Prowl already knew what Miles answer would be even before the teen gave a reluctant yes, and told her to wait while he went and got her favorite ribbon. It was easy to see that the older sibling was metaphorically wrapped around both of his sister's little fingers. Prowl wasn't at all surprised when the teen came out with a blue ribbon, because it was easy to see what little Millie's favorite color was.

The older sibling had the younger turn so she was sitting with her legs hanging out of the passenger side, her back to Miles as he kneeled in the driver's side seat. He gathered her hair and pulled a small brush out of his pocket, brushing it before separating it into three relatively even sections and starting to braid her hair. Prowl noted that he was unsure in a lot of his movements, and concluded that Miles had most likely never had to do this before as it took the teen a good five minutes to be satisfied with his work on the younger organic.

Miles turned Millie around and tilted the rear view mirror down just enough so she could admire her new hairdo, so when Millie's eyes filled with tears and she gave a little whimper Miles jerked in surprise.

"That's not the way Mommy does it!"

"What?" Miles appeared lost, "Mom always used to braid your hair, Mills!"

"Not like that!" The little girl started to cry in earnest now, confusing Prowl. He'd read that a small child's temperament could change quickly, but Millie had been full of smiles just a minute ago, and he didn't see any logic behind what had set her off. What did it matter if her hair wasn't done the right way? By human standards, while her braid was a little messy, she still looked nice.

"Look, Mills, I'm sorry-" Miles reached out a hand to put on his sister's shoulder, but froze at her next words.

"I want Mommy! She knows how to do it!"

Miles hand hung there in the air, and Millie bolted out of the passenger side door and ran into the house, nearly running into Mila as she was coming out. The older girl looked in the car at Miles before promptly turning around and going after her little sister. Miles slumped in the driver's seat, putting his face in his hands. Prowl ran a cursory scan of the teen, but he didn't appear to be sick.

Half an hour later, Mila came out of the house, Millie following in her footsteps and sniffling. The little girl hugged her rabbit tight to her chest once more, following the older as Mila tossed her backpack in the back seat next to Miles', then went and held the passenger side door opened for Millie. Millie slid in next to Miles, and Mila slid in next to her.

Mila turned the back of Millie's head towards Miles, "She wanted the fishtail braid, like this. You just did a plain braid."

"There's different types of braids?" Millie sniffled, and Mila reached over the younger girl's head and pinched Miles on the arm. "Ow! Okay, you can teach me the fishtail later, or Mikaela can. I promise I'll learn how to do your hair like that, Mills, so cheer up, okay?"

"I still want Mommy," Millie whimpered, hugging her rabbit as if to emphasize what she said. Prowl focused his scans on her, cataloguing what being upset did to her body on a biological level. He didn't see how it mattered, and while there was a difference between the braids she still looked fine in the other one, but it obviously meant something to the little organic, and it kept her bringing up her mother.

Prowl knew that for an organic to be born there needed to be a biological femme creator, the mother, and a biological mech creator, the father. He also knew that while that was a fact to how an organic baby had to be born, that didn't necessitate the family order. There were homosexual couples, he'd found, or single parents. Up until now Prowl had assumed that Milton was a single parent, he'd not yet heard of their mother.

"I know you do, Mills." Miles responded, voice soft. This time he wrapped an arm around the little girl, pulling her against his side. "I miss Mom, too. We all do. But she's not here anymore, and we have to accept that. She'd want us to be happy. She'd want you and Mr. Bun-Bun to enjoy your first day of kindergarten, and Mila her first day of sixth grade. You know what…"

Miles let go of his little sister and reached across the both of them to reach the glove compartment. He pulled out the picture he had put in it the previous day, and attached it to the rear view mirror.

"See? Like this Mom can see both you and Mila off today. She'll always be watching over us."

The older organic pulled both of his sisters into a hug this time, and the three of them sat like that silently for a while. Prowl amended his earlier assumption; Milton was a single parent, but just recently so.

A few hours later, Prowl was parked next to a body of water. From his research and the placement of the sun, the Tactician could safely conclude that Miles was skipping the first day of school, though he had made sure that Mila and Millie had both arrived on time. After he'd dropped them off, Miles had actually gone and done a bit of shopping, then taken the groceries home. After he'd taken the perishables in, he'd returned and gone out once more, this time to a flower shop. Prowl was already making a mental map of the town they were in, Tranquility, and one he assumed was almost complete. Outside of all the adjoining neighborhoods it didn't seem to be that large.

Now two bouquets sat in Prowl's backseat, next to Miles' untouched backpack, and it appeared as if Miles was content to just stare out the windshield at the water. That was, until, Miles reached up and slid the picture off of the rear view mirror, holding it in his lap and staring down at it.

"Hey, Mom." Miles' voice was small, tentative even. "I don't even know if you can hear me, but… I'm trying. I really am. I bought a cookbook so I can cook different things for dinner, and I just took Millie and Mila to their first day of kindergarten and middle school. Apparently there's a difference between one braid and another, and I just… how did you ever do all this stuff? Dad's never even around, even less than he was when you were alive, and Millie cries at the drop of a hat now! Mila alternates between hating everything and being super clingy and I just… I don't know what to do anymore. It's so fucking hard without you here. I miss you so much, and I never even got to tell you I love you for a final time…" Miles' voice cracked, and Prowl realized that he was about to cry. But the teen's words were starting to hit uncomfortably close to home. "It's hard, and I miss you, and I want so much to just lock everything out for one day but I fucking can't, and I know you'd get mad if I did, and… I can't even see how it's supposed to start hurting less, but I'll make sure Mila and Millie stay happy and I'll learn how to braid a fishtail so just… don't worry. We're gonna be fine. Maybe not whole, but we'll be fine."

As the teen started to cry silently, Prowl accessed his emotional cortex and turned it on. It was the first time he'd allowed himself to actually suffer the backlash of turning it on after so long a time, of dealing with the pain head on, but it was simply illogical that a human could handle a great loss while he couldn't.

It was the first time Prowl truly allowed himself to mourn Jazz's death, irrationally spurred on by an organic's own mourning, but it was also the first time that Prowl truly felt at peace even with the pain. Like maybe he could live without Jazz there, without needing Code Alpha.