"Young bots. Can't live with them, can't melt them down for spare parts."

– Ratchet, Transform and Roll Out: Part 1


The Youth and the Elderly

Of all the bots that Prowl now worked alongside with, the one he found himself most compatible with was Bulkhead.

Ratchet was too surly and crotchety, Bumblebee was too immature, and their leader Optimus was naïve and green, in the metaphorical sense.

The big bulldozer, on the other hand, was at least sensitive and empathetic. Still, however, Prowl kept his distance and maintained his silence. He still felt envious of how these four bots were content with their own fortunes, or at the very least able to hide their own conflicts, if they had any, behind a mask.

While he, a cyber-ninja for spark's sake, stood out from the rest – bitter, aloof, and very much alone.

So, as he busied himself with another day at work in the asteroid field with Bulkhead, Prowl was grateful that the big lug gave him his own personal space to silently vent.

But he soon found out that while Bulkhead was amicable and considerate, he was still young and very much clumsy.

As he shattered a rock mound with a stomping kick, Prowl heard Bulkhead shout a warning above him.

It came too late, as the rocky hill that Prowl was standing beside poured down a pile of boulders onto his thin and small frame.

His processor was knocked into stasis as stones of all shapes and sizes buried him alive.


Dim light was the first thing that Prowl became aware of as his systems rebooted.

He tried to sit up, but a steady hand kept him forced down on the operating table.

"Don't move. I'm still welding the cracks in your leg armour," the gruff voice of Ratchet filled his audio receptors.

Prowl groaned as he blinked his optics to clear his vision. "What happened?"

"With his typical unpolished aim, Bulkhead managed to bring half the mountain down on ya," the doc-bot answered.

"Oh," Prowl said simply.

"Ya know, I must admit I'm impressed with how well you've taken to this 'common maintenance bot' act," Ratchet continued, "Especially since you've been around since the Great War."

"How did you know that?" Prowl asked as he suddenly straightened.

"I have to keep medical records of my patients, kid. I know you were around since the tail end of the war, and part of the Cyber-Ninja Corps too, though the second point was a lot more obvious."

"Could you modify those records and not tell anyone else on this crew?" Prowl requested, "I'd rather keep my past in the past."

"It would be questionable for me to carry that out," Ratchet answered, "But I can understand your feelings. Fortunately, this is your first check-up, so I can easily modify your medical record – and it will be a long time before we return home, so we needn't worry about any legal issues. And any secret you share will be sealed behind my mouthplate. I can promise you that."

"Thank you," replied Prowl, as he relaxed back on the platform.

Ratchet continued his work, and there was a companionable silence between them over the next few cycles.

Then the doctor spoke once more.

"This has something to do with that outburst of yours when we met you a few stellar cycles back, doesn't it?" queried the medi-bot.

"To answer your question, yes. And that's all I want to say about that," the ninja-bot replied curtly.

"Ya know, you could also talk with Prime. You two are more alike than you think," Ratchet advised.

"I'd really rather not," insisted Prowl, "He may know grief and pain, but he lacks wisdom and maturity."

"Isn't that the case for all of us at one point, kid? Though I may not act like it often, I do not hold the belief that knowledge automatically comes with age," said Ratchet emphatically, "It must be earned through experience, and some of us learn faster than others."

The cyber-ninja thought back on his initial meeting with these strange band of bots, and he remembered the conversation he had had with their leader.


The boulder split and separated from Prowl's wrathful strike. The frustrated bot spun around to vent.

"Do you have any idea what it's like to embark on a path, only to find it so completely twisted and turned that you have no idea where you are?!"

The group's captain approached him, and placed a firm yet gentle hand on his shoulder plate. He looked straight at the ninja-bot, with optics that held its own history of sorrow. His voice also carried a certain weight to it – wisdom earned at such a young age, albeit at a high price.

"Oddly enough, I do," the young bot answered him.

Somehow, those words had lessened some of the strife within the ninja's spark, if only a little.


"I guess I can try talking to him. One of these days," Prowl said at last.

"No one's asking you to talk right away," interjected Ratchet, "But from one veteran to another, it ain't healthy to keep your trauma sealed up inside of ya. Sometimes it's the young bots who can pass a few wise teachings onto us."

"Point taken," conceded Prowl as the doc-bot finally finished welding him up.

"There you go. You're all back in one piece," Ratchet said as he lent Prowl a hand in standing up, "Now if I were you, I'd go report to Prime that I'm alright."

Prowl nodded, and made to leave without a word. However, he paused at the doorway, mulling over something hesitantly.

"You know, doc," he faltered, "Between you and me, I'm not really a veteran."

With nothing else to be said, the ninja left the doctor to his own privacy.


Prowl couldn't find Prime or anyone else on the ship, so he decided to drive back out onto the field until he found someone.

The first bot he came across was Bulkhead, busy clearing what remained of the rockslide at the hill where the incident had taken place.

"Bulkhead, do you know where I can find Prime?" Prowl asked as he transformed.

"He's out with Bumblebee on the far side of the field," replied Bulkhead, looking down, "And… sorry for the rockslide."

"Don't mention it – it's alright."

"No it's not!" Bulkhead continued, "You were almost crushed offline. I deserved nothing less than the mouthful that Prime gave me while you were in Ratchet's medical room. I'm nothing more than a clumsy moron who destroys stuff. That's the only thing I can do – smash things and leave them shattered."

Bulkhead angrily punched a boulder. It shattered into smaller pieces, which went flying through the airless void of space.

"I can never fix anything – I just mess it all up!"

"Well," began Prowl, "I guess we can teach each other a thing or two."

"Me? Teach anything? You think too highly of me," Bulkhead sighed miserably.

"I'm serious – trust me," Prowl persisted, "I may be logical and efficient, but there are things that even I don't know much about."

"Like?"

"Well, first things first, I can teach you how to be more graceful and light on your stabilizing servos," Prowl offered, "And in return, you can tell me what it was like for you growing up on Cybertron."

"You come from the colonies?" Bulkhead asked, surprised, "Even for an off-worlder, you're a long way out from civilization."

"Not necessarily. I hail from Cybertron. I just haven't been home in quite a while," Prowl admitted to the young bot, "I want to know what it's like these days."

"Well," Bulkhead rumbled, his left claw-hand opening to carefully shake Prowl's own lithe hand, "I guess we really can teach each other some things. You've got yourself a deal."

Prowl smiled – something that he hadn't done in thousands of stellar cycles – as he and Bulkhead got to work, clearing debris from the space bridge network and simply discussing. Passing on wisdom from one common bot to the next.

This tranquil and placid routine carried over for the next few deca-cycles, and all was well.

It was, after all, just as Ratchet had said.

Wisdom can come from anyone, no matter the age.

And that was enough to keep the peace among this eccentric band of bots.

At least until the Allspark eventually showed up.


1 Cycle = 1 Minute

1 Deca-Cycle = 10 Days