I
These things were magic. There was no other word for it, because by the Smelter, it wasn't any kind of science. Nothing in the collective brilliance of Skyfire, Perceptor, First Aid, Beachcomber... no field of science really specialized in the resurrection of the dead. Even Ratchet, who seemed himself to turn back the dial on the old death clock several times for numerous mechs, had been taken by that darkness.
Sideswipe knew that darkness. Even waged with such noble ideals as the Autobots boasted, the only immediate and direct effect of war was death. Fighting on the front lines had him flirting with that darkness, that one line drawn in the sand that could only be crossed once. He had seen his share of mechs over to the other side, with blaster or his bare hands. Yes, Sideswipe knew that darkness very well, and he knew that once it was dark, there was no more light.
No, that kind of stuff was for the movies. Only on the silver screen, their human friends would say. Only when the movie had Walt Disney stamped on it.
Their leader? He was as much of a myth to those under his command as he was to the people of Earth. No one had really been surprised when he'd returned; it wasn't just from shock, Sideswipe supposed, that no one had believed Optimus Prime had died. And no wonder - he'd come back easily enough, hadn't he? All the others, he knew, weren't so lucky. Wheeljack, Ratchet, Ironhide.
Prowl.
Only Prime, the mystical wonder, and a few others with the aid of Unicron.
He wondered vaguely when he first saw the other mech that if suddenly, existence in this universe had Mr. Disney's - or perhaps a Mr. King's - name stamped on it. Because that was honestly the only way this could be happening, the only slagging way his optics were seeing what his processor was telling them they were seeing. That is, if Sideswipe were truly awake.
If he wasn't, it was one slag of a vivid dream.
x
When Prowl had come stumbling out of the wilderness, Sideswipe had been on guard duty. What more, the graveyard shift - it was creeping towards 3 am. Long ago, the Lamborghini had decided he much preferred guard duty back at the Ark. There was less of it to cover. With Autobot City, it was a hassle and then some.
There was a strangely dry sound - what he soon recognized as the scrape of weary, dirty pedes on the metal platform a level lower and behind him to his right. Startled, the red warrior spun, blaster in hand, and found himself gaping at a ghost. Sideswipe stared at the figure that very simply couldn't be what he was seeing. Surely he'd fallen asleep at his post. If he had been back at the Ark, he would have thought it a mirage. (Never mind that it was night, logic could be tossed into the furthest reaches of space by this point.)
But that sound had been real enough, barring the possibility of his processors hallucinating. The apparition of Prowl still approached him, looking undeniably solid, and walking with every bit of the tactician's familiar poise despite his obvious weariness.
When it spoke, Sideswipe knew that there could be no doubt. Despite all the impossibilities, he knew that dry tone all too well. "I don't recommend discharging your weapon, Sideswipe, but perhaps you could close your mouth. I doubt your tanks are a comfortable habitat for any poor insect seeking momentary warmth."
The Lamborghini was too stunned even to snap off a remark that would have undoubtedly lead to Prowl replying he should have known better, Sideswipe couldn't keep his big mouth shut. The game was a familiar one, the smart and dry wit from the tactician achingly so. It was as though Sideswipe hadn't realized just how much he missed it – or, he thought ruefully, he hadn't let himself realize. Yes, the latter seemed more likely.
"It's really you," he said. Whatever small reverence he might have felt, his voice was blank and his expression between that and confused. As though his processor and his spark knew the truth, but his frame was sluggish, just barely catching on and still stubbornly not believing.
Prowl arched an optic ridge. "Who else would I be?" he replied matter of factly.
Who else, indeed, Sideswipe wondered.
x
First Aid had responded immediately enough when Sideswipe called that he possibly needed assistance. A mech had wandered in from the wilderness, he'd said. And when he'd asked the frontliner if he recognized the mech, he got an answer he didn't expect.
Prowl? Nonsense. Nonsense and more nonsense, and First Aid had unenthusiastically scolded the mech for pulling his leg - especially at such an hour. Sideswipe had said nothing more.
And then the medic - now the CMO, with Ratchet's passing - had laid eyes on the mech Sideswipe presented in medbay. Indeed, he was half-carrying the Datsun, and yet after resting a cautious hand on the mech's shoulder he didn't believe it.
Eventually, though, he had no other choice. It was Prowl - his frame, his spark, his sharp mind and all his mannerisms. All the fluttering of doorwings and the cant of his head and the steady quiet gaze.
And Prowl was no fool.
x
Things were suspicious. He wandered in from the other side of the mountains, and once First Aid had repaired and cleaned his joints and supplied him with energon, the medic took Sideswipe aside and they spoke in low voices.
Prowl just watched them quietly, and took a sip of his energon. He overheard nothing, but he didn't seem to need to in order to get the gist. They were both puzzled. Troubled. Most certainly by his presence.
If only he could reason why. First, the mountains. How had he ended up there? He certainly had no memory, though he surmised he must have been part of an expedition or… He had a vague memory of going on a trip to Cybertron and back. Had they crash-landed? Was there some kind of an attack by the Decepticons? And if so, what of those he'd been traveling with? Why had he awoken alone in a thick cluster of trees?
He couldn't know for certain, his latter memory files seemed to be glitching, but he could certainly simulate plenty of scenarios, each more dazzling than the last because there was only the thread base of logic and extrapolation for them to be based upon. Never had deductive reasoning seemed so frail before. There were far more questions than answers; it was maddening.
That, if nothing else, seemed to shake the tactician, and he felt it was the only reason he was longing to hear even a few whispered sentences. Still, he knew these mechs, and he knew they wouldn't keep him in the dark for too long.
Even in the short moments that Sideswipe and First Aid spent fervently whispering to one another, they came dangerously close to repeating the entire conversation three times.
How was Sideswipe to know how it was that Prowl was sitting on a medberth not six paces away? How he seemed revived, in need of no more than a few joint repairs and a healthy serving of energon? How he seemed to have walked right from his very grave with seemingly no memory of his death?
Somehow, maybe from virtue of having brought him in here, Prowl had become Sideswipe's responsibility. Or that's how it seemed, because suddenly he was the one who had to talk to Prowl about that. Hey Prowl, shouldn't you be dead? Yes, this was going to be fun. Best conversation of his life, surely.
Sighing, Sideswipe turned back, finding Prowl's gaze upon him. The energon cube that had been in his hands was now empty. Stepping forward again, he made a little gesture with his hand before he spoke. "Do you want another?"
Prowl shook his head. "I'm fine now, thank you."
Sideswipe nodded. "Then come with me, please?" The barest frown tugged at the tactician's lips. Since when did Sideswipe say please? And to Prowl, of all mechs. Prowl thought he might be dreaming, his subconscious playing a trick on him; he wouldn't be the first mech to think so, nor would it be the last time he'd have that thought.
x
The shock of seeing the report was a nasty one, no doubt. For a long moment, Prowl could only gaze at it and grow certain that he was indeed within a very convincing dream. An elaborate one, even. After all, how often does one read a report on one's own death?
Particularly chilling was that it was in exactly the format he himself had written such reports in. Countless reports, countless deaths of their soldiers... and this one for him. Signed in Jazz's hand, even.
"Prowl?"
Though he immediately heard Sideswipe's voice, his frame seemed to take ages to respond. Slowly, his head lifted and turned to face the younger mech standing by his side, maddeningly slowly, as though he were moving through some liquid and not air.
"This isn't faked," he said, as though in answer to his own question. Sideswipe only shook his head. "This is impossible. I mean to say, if this isn't faked, I assume there's a more extensive report in addition to a medical report, and..." Prowl looked back at the datapad held in his hands. "There should be no way I'm standing here, reading about my own death in the battlefield. Several years ago, for that matter."
"Yeah, that was our problem," Sideswipe replied, looking almost sheepish. A long silence stretched between them, before the Lamborghini spoke up again. "Your... Your rooms. Quarters and even your office, they're all... Well they're free. No one wanted to..." he trailed off, shrugging.
"I understand," Prowl replied simply, putting the datapad away in the proper archive again. "I need to see Prime. Then recharge certainly sounds acceptable."
Sideswipe nodded, a ghost of his jaunty smirk on his lips. Business first. This was Prowl, no doubt at all about that.
II
After the meeting, Prowl walked back to his quarters, still in Sideswipe's company. Normally so much exposure to the Lamborghini left him with a splitting headache (or a flutter of the spark – sometimes both), but for obvious reasons, the mech wasn't out to wear on his nerves. Yet, a rebellious thought persisted, and it brought a flicker of a smile to his lips. Matching wits never grew old.
After that was the next day. And the next. And the next after that. Slowly but surely, life slipped back into a familiar routine at Autobot City. Until he could be completely reintegrated and briefed on everything – or before he was even ready to resume active duty – Prowl was listed as taking a leave of absence.
How odd it looked on the record. Five Earth years after his unquestionable decease, he was reported present but on leave. For the most part, everyone treated him the same as they always did, not knowing how to otherwise do so; only Prime, First Aid, and Sideswipe seemed to act differently, to talk about things directly. Prowl wasn't sure which one he preferred, but he found Sideswipe's consideration to be pleasing – it wasn't strictly professional and he found that refreshing.
And though many times he was sure he'd ascertained that this was certainly reality as he knew it - as they all knew it - that he'd spent five years dead and inexplicably wandered in from the wilds perfectly healthy, a line or two from some poem, something he'd read from a human poet and author, floated and stuck through his processors. You are not wrong, who deem that my days have been a dream... All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. A dream within a dream; appropriate enough. And different poetry, written by the same human hand, filled his mind when another familiar face knocked at their door.
But in the interim, Prowl was privately delighted that with his own resurrection, a certain game between himself and Sideswipe resumed play. A dance of words, a battle of wits, and sometimes an electricity in the air that seemed to near exploding point on several occasions.
This had gone on for almost the entire command at the Ark. At first, troublemaker and punisher… until something gained momentum and was speeding and speeding, seeming that it might come to a head until-
Until he'd gone and died. The thought was both depressing and amusing, but Prowl could find the humor in it more easily with the whole thing reinstated. Picking up the pieces of his former life and planting them in this one. Would this be considered a second life? Or perhaps it was still the same one and he had just taken a five year leave of absence. Goodbye life, light, universe, I'm taking a short break. See you on the other side.
This thought was so absurdly amusing it would make the tactician laugh to himself; he was sure it might have that effect on Sideswipe as well, and he would certainly share that one day, perhaps if and when the game was played out, and without any interruptions this time.
He was sure nothing but good would come from that. Even when Wheeljack showed up on Ratchet's heels, with Ironhide not too long behind, when the mood in the air was a mix of reproach and delight, the mere thought of it was enough to keep his spirits afloat. It felt good. Despite the unease of the mystery, despite any doubts or worries, Prowl felt pretty damn good for a dead mech.
True, they might be going through a troubling time of nature working backwards, but for now, Prowl was going to take what was his. Dream or not, reality or not, he didn't really have a choice.
One pede before the other. Chin up. It wasn't as though he was walking alone, anyway. These days, his shadow had quite the red tint.