Okay, Chapter Three was written surprisingly fast, mostly due to the fact I'm on vacation and have otherwise no life. Our friends're a bit older now, I'd guess maybe, like, what we'd call thirteen-ish?

I had to add Cosmos, because I love him almost as much as Prowl. And, since in other unfinished fics, Cosmos and Em are buddies...ANYWAY, kind of deep, I got the lists out of a health textbook. Prowl seriously says "Just dandy" because my granddad influences my life profoundly.

I own no one! R&R! Enjoy! Chapter Four'll be out soon.


"Cosmos, you sure ya can reach it?" Jazz asked.

"Yes. I'm--ugh--positive!" The green and yellow mech was standing on Flareup's shoulders, reaching for a throwing disk that had gotten stuck on top of the high wall around the outdoor play area. The damn thing was taller than Blaster, Cosmos, and Flareup combined, and they were all in their adolescent frames already, which were basically the body frames they were stuck with for the rest of their sentient functions made smaller. "Okay...maybe not."

"Problem?" Ember asked her fellows, arching an optic ridge. She and Prowl had wandered over the see what the heck their friends were doing.

"Yeah. We were playing catch, and Jazz--"

"Whaddya mean me?! Cosmos was the one who didn't catch it!"

"Well, he's shorter'n you, ain't he?"

Prowl rolled his optics. "Cosmos, let me get on your shoulders."

"You sure?"

"Prowler, if ya fall, ya could get hurt!" Jazz protested.

"So?" came the reply, sounding almost...bored? "Ember, give me a hand."

Jazz backed off. "Fine, but I'm not callin' anyone when ya fall on yer aft!"

The femme bit her lower lip component, but braced herself against the wall and interlocked her fingers. Prowl put one foot on her interlocked digits and kicked off with the other while Ember lifted. Luckily, the combined height between the pair of them gave Prowl just enough leverage to achieve his goal.

The black and white climbed from Ember's shoulders to the kibble on Cosmos' back, where he pulled himself up onto the green mech's shoulders.

"Can you reach the disk, Prowl?" Cosmos asked.

Prowl didn't answer, he merely reached for the toy. Once his fingers closed around the thin aluminum, he grabbed the wall with one hand while throwing the disk down with the other. That's when Blaster's knees gave out, and he, Flareup and Cosmos crashed to the ground, leaving Prowl clinging to the top of the wall.

"Prowl! Hang on! I'll get help!" Jazz said, racing off toward the group of mature 'bots.

"No t--JAZZ!" Cosmos yelled, running after him with Blaster and Flareup on his tail.

Ember looked after them, then up at Prowl, trying to figure out what to do. Sadly, she wasn't given enough time.

Prowl let go of the wall.

*****

"...fell over a hundred feet, I can't believe he's not offline, or at least more badly damaged than this," Ratchet's voice was saying. Prowl's optics flickered back online as he looked around.

He was lying on his back, and in so much pain. "What...What'd I break?" he asked.

Wheeljack looked down at him. "Surprisingly, you just cracked one doorwing. Rachet and I fixed that up easily."

The younger mech sat up slowly and looked around for the others who'd been involved in the "Wall Tower". Flareup sat beside Ratchet's foot, Blaster stood half-hidden behind Perceptor, and Cosmos was perched on Beachcomber's shoulder. Jazz was the closest, literally within an arm's reach of his friend. The only one Prowl couldn't see was Ember.

"Where's Em?" Prowl asked Jazz.

"Red Alert saw what happened, an' totally freaked out! He beat us back, grabbed Em, and took off."

Ah, good. So Ember wasn't a reliable source if she suspected anything. "Oh."

"Prowl?! Oh Primus, are you all right?" Chromia appeared out of nowhere, panicking. Ironhide followed closely.

"I'm fine, Chromia. Just fell, that's all..."

"Prowler, that wall's pretty h--mhmn!" Jazz's statement was muffled by a hand over his vocalizer.

"What?! All right, boys, we're going home, come on." Chromia grabbed Jazz's arm, leading him away, and Ironhide held out a hand to help Prowl up, but the young mech climbed swiftly to his feet on his own.

After stellarcycles of torture by Machete's hand, it had been hard-written into his processors that the touch of a mature mech would be instantly followed by pain.

*****

The next day

"So, Prowl, I heard you had a nasty spill yesterday," Nitroblast stated kindly, optics scanning a data pad she'd been reading since Prowl'd walked in. She would mark something on it every now and then, but elseways...

Prowl just shrugged, continuing drawing. Nitroblast had asked him if he liked to draw, he'd said he'd never had much time to, and so a datapad was placed in front of him with an art program open, and he had been asked to "draw whatever he felt like". He felt a bit stupid doing it, drawing was for younglings, but he did it anyway. It didn't really matter to him what he felt like.

"Well, are you okay?"

The mech nodded. "Yeah."

Nitroblast nodded as well, set down her data pad, and walked over to him. "So, can you explain your drawing to me?" she asked brightly, sitting down beside him.

Prowl sighed, then turned the data pad toward her. "It's pretty self-explainatory."

The psychiatrist looked the picture over, and mentally gasped.

The younger was an impeccable artist, but it wasn't any imperfections or inaccuracies in the drawing. It was what seemed to be the focal point. In the foreground was a grey, lifeless Autobot who bore an uncanny likeness to Prowl, leaking Energon from his mouth, several gashes in his armor, and around his optics. Behind him was smoke and a few scattered flames, with a shadowy figure looming overhead.

"Uh...well...that's..." Nitroblast struggled for the right thing to say.

"It's horrible, isn't it?" Prowl's optics shuttered.

"No. It's a really good drawing," the red femme reassured. "You draw very well."

Prowl tried to decipher her meaning, but he found he couldn't.

Soon, their time was up, and Prowl left. Nitroblast saved the picture to the data pad just as a timid knock sounded from behind her. She turned to see a dark young femme with violet optics and a blue ponytail blade standing in the doorway.

"Oh, Ember. How are you?"

"Just fine, Miss. Uhm...are you busy?"

"Nope. Do you need me for something?"

Ember closed the door gently. "...Can we...talk?"

Nitroblast looked stunned, but recovered quickly. "Of course. What about?"

"...Well...no doubt, you heard about the accident yesterday? Involving Prowl and a large wall?"

"Yeah, I heard about it. Why?"

"It was not an accident."

The red femme blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I would bet my spark that Prowl let go of that wall. His fingers were not slipping, there was no way he merely 'fell'. I felt I had to tell someone, but my sire would not listen, and Red Alert...well...you know Red."

"Yeah. Thanks for telling me. I definately have to keep an eye on this."

"That was all I had to say," Ember finished, getting up and exiting the room.

With a sigh, the red femme clicked open the communication relay on her desk.

*****

"Ratchet, are you alone?"

"Yeah."

"Can you come down to my office?"

The medic looked over his shoulder at the comm. relay. "Why? Full staff psych evaluation?"

"No."

"Why, then?"

A sigh from Nitroblast. "Not over an open comm., Ratchet. Just get your aft down here."

*****
A data pad clattered onto the table in front of Ratchet. The medic picked it up and read it over.

Recognizing the Risks: Suicide

A mech or femme might be suicidal if he or she:
Talks about committing suicide
Has trouble eating or recharging
Withdraws from social situations
Loses interest in hobbies, friends, etc.
Has attempted suicide before
Takes unnecessary risks
Is preoccupied with death and dying

"Nitro, what's this about? Someone think I'm out to kill myself?"

"Not you. But, I've reason to belive Prowl is."

"Hang on, now. Doctor-patient privillage clearly--"

"I know, but if I suspect someone's hurting themself, or is going to hurt themself or someone else--"

"You and your loopholes. Okay. How many of these criteria does Prowl fit?"

"At least five, if not six. He seems tired all the time, there's your trouble recharging. I've noticed little social interaction between him and the other adolescents, withdrawing from social situations. He hasn't mentioned a single novel he's read recently, loss of intrest. The unnecessary risk was yesterday when he fell. He didn't need to be the one to go up there. And as for preoccupation with death...he drew this." Nitroblast showed Ratchet the picture Prowl had drawn. "See the doorwings? It's him."

"Primus, are you sure?"

"Positive. And, I'll not say who, but a little aerialbot told me that Prowl's 'accident' yesterday wasn't exactly an accident."

"He let go."

"Yeah. Keep reading that article. Think about Prowl's already unstable mind."

Ratchet's optics turned back down to the data pad.

These are some of the things they experience:
Can't stop the pain
Can't make decisions
Can't see any way out
Can't get out of depression
Can't make the sadness go away
Can't see a future without pain
Can't see themselves as worthwhile

"We need to help this kid before it's too late."

*****

"Hurry up, Barricade. You might miss the shuttle," Machete called to his son.

Prowl waited outside, sitting cross-legged on the railing, waiting with his stepsire for his "perfect" older brother to get out there so they could leave. His mother was already on her way to take Bluestreak, the baby, to Day Care so she and Machete could go to work. Barricade was heading to a sports camp for a few weeks, which left Prowl at Machete's mercy.

Barricade swaggered out the front door. He seemed to be having an issue moving his trunk.

"Boy, go help your brother with his trunk," Machete snapped at the younger mech.

"Yes, sir," the young one replied. He grabbed the back handle, and together, the stepbrothers lifted the luggage. It had been carried about two yards before Barricade purposely dropped the trunk on his own foot, crying out.

"You dropped it on my foot, you idiot!" he howled at his stepbrother.

"I-I didn't mean to, I-I'm s-sorry!" the other whimpered, having set down his own end of the trunk. He put his hands up, as though that would save him from the beating he was sure to recieve.

Machete advanced and backhanded his stepson across the face. "You clumsy glitch!" he spat. "If it weren't for your mother, I'd gladly get rid of you. You're not good for anything but screwing up."

A voice shook Prowl from his memories.

"You sure it's him?"

"I'd know that son of a retrorat anywhere," Prowl snarled, optics locked on Barricade.

"I know that look, Prowler. Don't do it!" Jazz warned, but Prowl didn't hear him.

Barricade was older, and much more sturdily built, made for combat, but Prowl didn't care. All he knew was that he was going to get back at the slag who'd helped Machete beat him up for most of his early life. Who'd lied to Whirlwind to cover it up so she wouldn't leave the family.

Without warning, Prowl leapt at his stepbrother, one fist striking the weak point on Barricade's neck.

The bigger mech wrestled the younger around and drove the heel of his hand into the shoulder of his assailant.

There was a crack as Prowl's shoulder was knocked out of joint. The younger's face twisted in pain, but he didn't cry out as his left arm fell limp and useless to his side.

A crowd soon grew around the mechs. Prowl dodged the bigger mech's fist before going in low for the abdomen. Barricade's knee connected with Prowl's face and the latter felt several of his dental plates break.

Spitting out mech fluid and a few bits of broken dental plates, he lunged for the other, clawed digits connecting with the firm forearm. Barricade cried out and grabbed the younger mech by the back of the neck and landed a solid punch to the left side of his face.

Prowl's vision turned to static as his left optic shattered. Golden glass hit the ground as fluids poured down the side of his face, and he tasted Energon as they trickled into his open mouth.

Onlookers shouted, femmes screamed, mechs jeered, the fighters snarled. The only thing that Prowl registered was the repetitive chant of "Fight, fight, fight."

"Boys, BOYS!" several mature 'bots yelled as they approached the scene rapidly. Two younger femmes, one dark and one lavender, sprinted over in their wake, Red Alert hot on their tails.

"Barricade!" the lavender femme yelled.

"Prowl!" the dark female screeched.

The young femmes shoved their way to the front of the crowd and broke the young mechs apart. Comet twisted Barricade into a headlock, and Ember held Prowl's right arm against his leg while wiping the Energon from his face.

"What in the PIT is going on here?" Megatron demanded.

"Ask him," Barricade growled, pointing to Prowl. "He started it."

"I doubt that very much, Barricade," Ironhide said.

"He did!"

"Not fragging likely!" Ember fumed. Then, she looked over her shoulder at her sire. "Pardon my language."

"Whatever. Barricade, you're less wounded, get your aft home."

A scornful look from the dark mech before he and Comet fled.

*****

After Ratchet fixed the young mech up, Prowl, Jazz, and Ironhide headed home. Chromia had already made dinner, after which the young mechs went to bed. After a few megacycles of tossing and turning, Prowl finally fell into recharge from sheer exhaustion.

Unfortunately, the reluctant recharge gave rise to another unwanted dream.

The mechling knelt in the middle of the floor as he cleaned up the plates he had dropped. His stepsire stood over him, glaring down. The youngling knew that he had less then two kliks before Machete started yelling.

Prowl was less than a hundred stellarcycles old. In any other household, if a youngling Prowl's age dropped something, the parent or parents would laugh good-naturedly, and say that accidents happened.


Not Machete. No,
Machete's son never made mistakes. Accidents were virtually non-existent. There was no such word as "oops", no, not to his perfect little Barricade. Every accident was always the fault of the youngling on the floor in front of him.

"Whirlwind tells me she doesn't even remember your sire's name. Hmph. You were probably the product of rape, and Whirlwind kept you out of the goodness of her spark."

The youngling looked up at his stepsire. "We were both in an accident. She could have lost all memory of my sire."

Rather than waste time bending down, Machete kicked him. "I didn't ask your opinion, slag. You'll never amount to anything you little slag, now clean that up and get down in the fragging basement where you belong, ugly little freak!"

Prowl woke up, panting and looking as he always did toward Jazz. Then, he lay back down and stared at the ceiling. Images and voices ran through his head, reminding him of his failures.

"Glitch."

"You'll never amount to anything, now get out of my sight, you glitch!"

"Freak."

"There's no way a freak like you could happen on purpose!"

"Mistake."

"What did we do to deserve a glitch like you?!"

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Prowl yelled to the darkness.

His outburst woke Jazz, who sat bolt upright. "Whowhawhenwhere?!" He turned to Prowl. "Prowler? Ev'rythin' okay?"

"What?" Prowl looked at his friend. "Sorry. Yeah. Everything's just dandy."