Disclaimer: Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun.

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort

"Balsam"

Prowl sighed as he dragged down the basement stairs to their new hideout in someone's old flat. There were still Autobot, Decepticon, and neutral skirmishes breaking out all over the city, so the beast-modes moved them in jagged, backtracking routes. No one else was here at the moment, they were all scouting. It was just he and Jazz.

The Polyhexian was a little better. Instead of miserable and in pain, he was grouchy and in pain, but at least he was awake. In his current state, Jazz just loafed around, looking like death warmed over, and eerily silent. They hadn't spoken since the initial attack on Uraya. Prowl stayed as far as possible from him. He wasn't quite sure how to approach the subject of being stuck to someone forever as their replacement twin. It just seemed wrong.

On top of that Lockdown was out of it as well. Arcee had just managed to dull the shooting phantom pains he was getting from his missing arm. Being that he'd butchered the internal workings of his limb installing that stolen saw, the pain was harder to manage. The painkillers Arcee gave him somehow had the opposite effect, he was hyper lucid and actually being nice. Or whatever Lockdown's version of it was.

Prowl had expected him to lash out at Jazz for being the cause of his missing arm—instead he let him loaf around next to him. Then Lockdown had stolen his acid pistol. Every time he asked about it he got cuffed on the helm with his good servo.

At least the green mech had two now, even if the other was trapped in a sling. It had been excruciating to watch him grab at something with his and realize his servo wasn't there.

Everyone else was fine, he still felt like scrap, though. He missed Praxus with a biting fury and if the reports were to be believed it was the last place you wanted to be right now. While his spark ached for those caught in the crossfire, he steeled himself. He had no home, no family, nowhere to run to… There wasn't anything else to lose now. If Arcee's threat-laced rambling was to believed he could actually get something useful from the arrangement. It was time to get this over with.

The nano he set ped in the basement an angry flare slit his spark and Jazz's visor onlined with a flash.

"Go away."

"I can't very well do that," he replied coolly, "Now that we're stuck together. Thank you for telling me by the way."

Jazz sat up with his back to the wall, "Fragging leave."

"No. I've been waiting a mega-cycle to yell at you and I'm going to take it." Prowl pitched a cube of diluted medical grade at him which the mechling just barely caught.

"I got a lecture already, don't you start," he snarled, nearly toppling out of the berth.

From who, Prowl didn't bother asking, it had to have been Stepper. He easily pushed Jazz back over the edge only to have his arm twisted to an uncomfortable angle.

At least his strength was back.

Said mech kept twisting, trying to get a reaction, "Why are you doing this?"

"Payback: a thank you for not killing me. Right now, you're still sick and I want to help you...also Arcee threatened to eat me if I don't."

"So, don't let her see," Jazz growled, "Just leave me alone and go back to being an aft."

"What's your problem?"

He assumed Jazz couldn't get more than a few steps without something misfiring and him falling. So, it was a surprise when he suddenly stood and marched over to a table dragging Prowl with him. Out of one of his many subspace compartments came at least a hundred of scarred, shattered, and bent data-slugs, whatever was on them now clearly unreadable. He dropped the final one, an unscathed black slug, on top of the pile.

"That's you, everything someone needs to know about you: daily routine, weaknesses, and all of that. Your sire paid me to kill you. I took you somewhere fun and I was going to kill you that night, but I didn't. That's why you're here." He grabbed his audio horns out of frustration. "Now I don't know what to do with you."

"Oh," Prowl said flatly. He'd gotten what he'd asked for without the fight he'd expected. Unfortunately, that only spawned more questions. "You keep all your former kills' information?"

"Nah, I clean it out every vorn, best average was ten an orn."

"Scrap, that many?" He breathed, "And I'm going to guess you fooled Cabal well enough to get him off your trail. Tell me how."

"I've. Been. Trying. To," Jazz punctuated with a flat servo banging against the table. "Ersatz wasn't part of the plan. He was just there and then he went and got your colors and believed I wanted to hang out around Miz. It was too perfect. Then I felt bad. The pay was good, but besides you not keeping in line there wasn't any reason to kill you."

"And that old sci-fi story, Aequitas, was code for you trying to tell me you killed someone, because if you don't have the password you need a spark to activate it…" Prowl supplied, "That was a waste. You should have just taken me out."

Jazz's face went stony, "Stop saying slag like that! You're scaring me and you've got Lockdown more paranoid than usual. Besides, I have my reasons. Wasn't like he felt anything."

"Good."

Jazz flicked one of many neon colored slugs back and forth between servos, "Well?"

"What?" he asked, genuinely flummoxed.

"GET MAD!"

Prowl had thought about it for what felt like mega-cycles but as callous as it sounded, he couldn't. "There's little reason to. I won't condone it but, you know, I've never had anyone that's tried to make my life better or even wanted to. You're the closest I've ever had to a friend. Don't ever do that again. Thank you, though."

The Polyhexian stood stunned, "Ah…no problem?"

"Besides we're stuck together," Prowl added.

Jazz snorted, leaning majority of his weight on the junky table, "Between Arcee and Lockdown blabbing you know what's wrong with me. Relax, bonds can be severed. You're not going to want me around for long."

Prowl spoke frankly, "Are you joking? I befriended my assassin. You're the ultimate slap in the face for my sire. Besides, you're not too horrible and your taste in music isn't awful... I could get used to traveling together."

That predatory glint crept back into his visor, "You really think I'm your friend?"

"Absolutely. I don't have much to choose from and from the looks of it you need one just as much as I do." He ignored the Polyhexian's covert rub at what he knew was a scarred gash on his abdomen and continued. "If anything, this can work to both our advantages. You can make me bond literate and I'll make sure you stay in the land of the functioning."

Jazz looked down and pretended to scratch at his hidden optics, "You're pathetic, mech."

"I know." Prowl shrugged. He started picking through the pile of dead records only to have the assassin quickly snatch several back and begin stowing them all away.

"Yah don't wanna see all that's on these." Jazz immediately grabbed the undamaged slug, shattering it like the rest.

Prowl watched the internal workings of the device compress, "Out of everyone why'd you pick me?"

"Pity," Jazz said quickly, "It's not about an exact replacement…that's impossible. But nobody likes you and you know it. Even Deadlock has friends. Your own family dumped you…that's gotta be hard. Stepper…he was tough, he would have been fine on his own. You wouldn't. I don't know… Yah actually look alive when you're smiling."

Well that was unexpectedly… empathetic. He watched Jazz manage to gather all the data-slugs and limp back to his berth before speaking again. "You know, I can handle being alone. I understand I'm unpleasant, but I can't imagine being connected to so many and still feeling like the odd one out."

He must have struck an insecurity.

Jazz dropped to berth with a thud, "I don't feel good again."

Prowl got the message to shut up. One ped kicked a waste can flush with his berth side and began to make his way out, "If you need anything, yell." He didn't get very far.

"Ey, Prowl…" he paused awkwardly, "Hard tah watch your own back in half-stasis… Stay here?"

The Praxian shrugged, "Of course."

~o~o~o~o~o~

Lockdown came back to the hideout festooned with glitter and holding an excitable pup with his left arm, his right strapped to his side like a bad wing. Arcee had found the yellow limb and reattached it, saying it was the best they could find. It synced a little too well to be harvested, but he didn't dare ask. He'd have his mobility back, that's all that mattered.

He did have a strut to pick with Rave, though. Even compared to the Decepticon she was suspicious. She was flirting with every mech in their group and it was giving him the creeps. With only one good arm and a hound that recently discovered she had a tail, he wasn't getting caught alone. He'd lived with Jazz; nothing good ever came from that amount of chatter and smiling. Lockdown ditched her in a party supply store rife with mannequins so she'd feel right at home and immediately turned for their base. He had a feeling Arcee would thank him.

On making it to the basement he was met with laughter from Prowl, "Ohh, you look preeety!"

The flame printed mech very nearly fell down the rest of the stairs. Nope. That wasn't their Praxian. Someone had replaced their miserable prick with this weird one. He didn't know his wings could stand up that high without five cubes of engex clotting his lines. Naturally, Lockdown showed his relief with a blunt, "Stuff it."

He plonked himself beside Prowl, ignoring how the berth creaked ominously with three 'formers on it. Any other time there would have been an annoyed groan or a knife in his cabling from Jazz. This time the Polyhexian didn't even flinch. He hadn't seen Jazz that relaxed in—ever. He looked like he was dead. Lockdown poked him for good measure.

"He's out cold," Prowl confirmed, "Has been for joors. This is the first time he hasn't looked feverish or close to death. And he's got my arm in a vice lock. Help?"

Lockdown felt his plating flatten marginally, unable to pin down that venomous sensation in the back of his processor. No one ever relaxed around him…just the hound and that was because she didn't know any better. He leaned back into the wall, pushing Prowl over, and nodded to the lump nestled into his arm. "He's finally got someone to watch his back, let him rest. You two stopped avoiding each other."

"We came to an agreement," he said in that too sanitized tone, still a boring prick.

Lockdown finally let Flamewar go to entertain herself. "At least someone gets a happy ending. You're gonna hate sharin' your helm."

Prowl sat up, "Is that what having siblings is like?"

Of course, he'd ask that. He was a typical, clueless, only spark.

He gladly filled him in, "You'll have no privacy, they always go through your things, they won't call you until they're really in trouble, and you'll want to kill them on a regular basis—"

"So, it's like this whole roadtrip?"

Lockdown cut him a stale scowl, "And you'd still do anything for them, so yes."

Now he'd done it. Prowl was staring at him like he'd grown a second helm. That's what he got for showing some other emotion than indifference or rage. "Stop looking at me like that, freak. Out of everyone here, I think I hate you two and Arcee the least."

The Praxian still stared at him blankly before forcing out a "Thanks." Then he turned back, "Don't you miss your family?"

"Of course, I'm not a monster."

Debatable as that was Prowl had the decency not to bring it up. Now he looked confused. "Your family isn't screwed up?"

"No. They're pretty great; they don't think I'm completely crazy."

He looked as if someone had handed him the world's most confusing puzzle, "So why don't you want to go back to them? You don't have to be out here, they're probably worried."

Leave it to him to barrel into a situation and rip open old wounds like a bag of rusty daggers. He sighed, "Sometimes it's better to keep your distance to keep from poisoning everyone else. Besides, I don't do normal or healthy relationships."

A giant panel nearly clipped his helm as his doorwings swung downward. "In the spirit of forgiveness…" Prowl sighed, "I am sorry about taking a metaphorical stab at you. I didn't mean it. I had no right to bring up something that I know nothing of and that's a source of such pain. Thank you for stopping Arcee—"

"Don't thank me," he bit, cutting the formal apology. "Only reason you aren't as unconscious as Jazz is I'm not about to pound the guy whose city-state has a crater in it. But I will get you back for that stunt. That was low. CABAL low. Never sink to that. Maybe not now, not an orn from now, probably not a vorn, but I'm gonna get you back."

"Great…" Prowl groused.

It wasn't going to be that bad…mentally scarring, maybe, but nothing permanent. "Don't worry—"

"Yeah, yeah. In your tiny moral code log, it says 'killing isn't cool' for some reason. What happens when your victims come back to get you, though?"

Lockdown lifted his healing arm with the clear indication he was going to be working on it soon, "Then I change tactics." His digits weren't responding quite the way he wanted them to yet and he didn't have a full range of motion just yet. It would be a while longer until he could upgrade but he'd talk with Arcee on the proper way to rewire yourself. It couldn't be soon enough; this arm itched. "Doesn't feel right without the saw…"

Prowl shook his helm, "You're so cracked. You know, I have not met a sane mech, femme, or mechanimal since I left Praxus."

"Says a lot about you that you're still here, following us through pit. Welcome to the real world."

It was a nice stretch of peace that followed. No arguing or threats of questionable fulfillment. Just quiet. Lockdown almost forgot he was in a warzone stuck with younglings he wasn't sure he wanted to care about. He was back in Obelisk hiding under something with Tsui half dozing nearby. Those kinds of feelings were rare now so he soaked up every nano. All full ten kliks of it.

Then Arcee vaulted down the stairs, vents whirring as if she'd driven ticks at maximum speed. "Guys! Get Jazz up, you need to hear this."