So, I'd like to apologize for the long wait time between postings, unfortunately, the long waits are looking like they may continue for at least another few months thanks to an increase in traffic at work. The good news is that even if I don't get to post on time I will continue to write whenever possible and it may happen that several chapters get posted at once.

Thank you all for your patience and enjoy!

Warnings: past physical abuse of a minor, past unwilling (nonsexual) trine bonding of a minor.

Chapter 2:

Jazz sat on the floor in his room, faceplates bunched up in deep contemplation, a forgotten datapad hanging limply from his servo. Before this moment the saboteur had been busy organizing and packing away the load of crystals he had collected in Praxus. Prowl and Smokescreen had been too focused on the survivor to retrieve them from Jazz and he wanted them to be safe until his friends were available to collect them. He had placed all the fragments and seeds into ops grade crates and was just starting on the bookfiles when one of them caught his attention. It was on the use of crystals in Praxian courtship. As he read his thoughts began to drift, which parts of this courtship would Prowl use, had he ever courted any mech before, would he want a suitor to do this type of thing for him?

It was not long into this vein of thought that Jazz brought himself up cold. Why was he considering this? Prowl was his friend, not his potential lover. Right? He needed to think, this kind of change of spark was not to be taken lightly, and he needed to figure out how deep it ran. He began to examine his recent actions around Prowl and the emotional tags associated with the memories. It, was very revealing. He had become increasingly protective over the Praxian, more than a best friend would be, and his smiles tended to be more genuine around him, if the tags of happiness and bliss were anything to measure by.

Then, Jazz pictured what it might be like to hold Prowl's servo and knew he was in trouble when his spark skipped.

He thought of Prowl holding him close, nuzzling his forehelm, or kissing him. His spark began to pound.

His thoughts ran away from him then as he began to imagine what it would be like to see those proud, regal doorwings spread over them as they lay together on their berth, those ice blue optics darkened and focused in pleasure. To be looked at with desire and love.

The first crackles of charge skipping over his plating jolted Jazz out of his fantasy. He dropped his datapad and scrubbed his servos over his faceplates.

He was helm over pedes for his best friend. It was a disaster and a nightmare. What was he going to do?!

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Mirage was procrastinating. Not that he would admit to that, no, he was only… being patient. Yes, patient... for two vorns.

He liked the idea of being courted, but not by two strangers. Even though such practices were considered the norm in the Towers, Mirage had never agreed with it. He told Hound that he wanted to be friends before considering their suit and they consented. Mirage had expected it to be a long distance relationship since Trailbreaker was not stationed in Iacon, but a certain meddling saboteur decided that would never do. Two decacycles after Mirage's release from Medical Jazz arranged for Trailbreaker to transfer to Prowl's tactical unit.

If he was not so cross with his commander, Mirage would admit that he was impressed with the Polyhexian's machinations. The sneaky black and white had arranged for Smokescreen to become Tactical Liaison to Ops, thus freeing up space for a defensive tactician. Prowl had been hesitant to let his trine-brother go, but Jazz was a silver-glossaed devil in convincing the Praxian of the merits of such a trade. Thus, Trailbreaker found himself assigned to Iacon and within easy reach of Mirage.

Hound and Trailbreaker had been patient with him these last few vorns and he had been dragging his peds.

Well, no more. This orn he would tell them he was ready to court, and he would see if they could win his spark, at least more than they already had.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

The mechling was dying and Ratchet could not save him. The third frame youngling was behaving like the living half of a severed bond, which should not be possible as Cybertronians could not bond successfully until they reached their majority, ten vorns into their adult frame.

There was a slim chance that it was some sort of unknown Praxian quirk and it was for this slim hope that he called Prowl and Smokescreen to the Medbay. Ratchet had intended to only summon Smokescreen, but after Praxus they had become inseparable. The psychologist cum tactician had submitted a request to Prime for a short vacation so he could stay by Prowl's side while he worked, since the younger Praxian refused a leave of absence, citing the greater need to create contingency plans for the rest of Cybertron's neutral cities. Optimus had approved of the request and added a note for Smokescreen to attempt to get his brother to take at least a small portion of time to grieve.

Thinking of the Unmaker's spawn seemed to make them arrive quicker as he could hear them in the main bay. Ratchet left the private room he had allotted for the mechling and greeted his guests. "Well it's about slagging time. Argnian mud sloths would have gotten here faster than you two glitches."

The matching glares he received told him that this was not the time for his usual commentary and Ratchet sighed. "My office mechs, we're going to need some privacy."

Twins sets of doorwings flared up and concerned glances were thrown in the direction of the youngling's room as the adult Praxians crossed the Medbay. They entered the office and settled into the wing-friendly visitors' chairs.

Both of them looked unsettled and Ratchet had barely made it into his own chair before Prowl broached the question. "What is wrong with him?"

The medic could see in their optics that both of them were picturing the worst of fates for the last of their frame-kin.

"His spark is failing." There, no molly-coddling, just a clean removal of the proverbial mesh-bandage. Of course Ratchet immediately regretted his abrupt reveal as his friends' whole frames seemed to droop.

"Well, it was to be expected. The chances of him surviving his wounds were astronomically low. Thank you for telling us." Prowl was trying to be strong, but his voice was wavering dangerously. Smokescreen was gripping his brother's servo like it was his last life-line. "If you will excuse us Doctor we would…"

"No Prowl, you don't understand!" Ratchet exclaimed. "His wounds are completely healed and he should be growing stronger! Instead, he grows weaker by the joor and, were he an adult, I would have sworn he was bonded! I was hoping that you might know of some sort of Praxian specific malady that would present the same characteristics."

Prowl frowned. "What are his symptoms?"

"Spark frequency fluctuations, black streaks across the corona, intermittent energon pump failure, cold sweats, bouts of overheating, and seizures."

The Praxians traded a dark look, then Smokescreen spoke. "We need to see his spark."

Ratchet huffed. "You know I can't do that. Consulting you like I am is barely legal as it is."

"Ratchet. He will deactivate if you don't." Smokescreen replied firmly.

They watched the indecision war across the CMO's faceplates. "Fine. But I want level eight seals on what you see."

He received two sets of confidentiality agreements in his message cue in lieu of an answer. He huffed at them again for their impertinence and strode out of his office without a backward glance. Prowl's pedsteps were silent as always, however, Ratchet could hear Smokescreen's and knew they were following him. They entered the private room and Ratchet sealed the door with the highest encryption he possessed. Exposing and examining a spark was not a light matter. The two Praxians knew this and offered no protests. Ratchet then began the process of overriding the mechling's chassis locks. The click of the locks disengaging had Prowl and Smokescreen leaning forward in apprehensive anticipation. The wee thing's spark would have been truly beautiful were it not for the marring black streaks the two observed silently. Their trine bond was alive with commentary as they examined the cerulean, teal, and purple soul. If Ratchet was unnerved by the silence he gave no indication of it and waited patiently until they were done. He knew when that moment came as Smokescreen's doorwings flattened and Prowl's flared high. The opposing reactions of sorrow and outrage told Ratchet that was unlikely to like what they were going to tell him and he braced himself. "Well?"

"He has been prematurely trine-bonded." Smokescreen answered and Prowl's engine growled in punctuation.

Ratchet frowned. "How can you tell?"

Smokescreen indicated to the spark. "Do you see how some of the teal and cerulean streaks are darker than others?"

"Yes, but what does his spark color have to do with anything?" Ratchet groused.

"Well, contrary to the rest of Cybertron kind, doorwingers' sparks are monochromatic, a fact that is largely unknown outside of Praxus." Smokescreen paused as that grief surfaced again. "By the time a non-Praxian doctor sees our sparks we have already bonded or trine-bonded and taken on some of our mates' colors."

"But that is two-thirds of his spark." Ratchet said numbly. "I'll never be able to restore his spark enough to overcome that. He's going to deactivate."

The Praxians nodded and Ratchet bowed his helm. Until a thought occurred to him. He frowned up at the doorwingers. "But I've seen your sparks and you don't have more than the tiniest hints of each other's colors!"

"When a sparkling or youngling is trined before their majority their developing sparks can't handle it and they develop something more along the lines of a mate bond. As they mature they leach spark energy from the other trine members and by the time they reach adulthood their spark is more the others' colors than their own. Smokescreen explained sadly.

"Wait," Ratchet exclaimed. "Why is it that you know about this and I, the CMO, have never heard of it!"

"Because it is illegal." Prowl gritted out.

Smokescreen placed a servo on his younger brother's arm guard. "I worked as a psychologist for the Praxian Enforcers before the war, and, well, the mob had the habit of using this dependency as a way of ensuring loyalty. I saw more force-trined younglings in my vorns on the force than I truly wish to contemplate."

Ratchet zeroed in on the last statement like a starving gyrofalcon. "But if you were counseling them there has to be a solution, there has to be a cure."

Prowl looked at Smokescreen and a few wing twitches were exchanged. Then Prowl answered the medic. "There was a treatment available, but at this stage in the degradation the chances of it working are exceedingly low."

Now, it was Ratchet's turn to growl. "Any chance is better than none at all."

Prowl nodded. "Prematurely trined mecha would have been given a surrogate trine. The surrogates would merge with the youngling until all the old spark essence from the previous trine was gone. However, this procedure has never been attempted on a mechling whose spark was already turning black."

Ratchet sighed. "And you two are the only trined Praxians left…"

"We are willing to try Ratch." Smokescreen said hesitantly. "But we need to have your help."

"No! I cannot ask that of you. I know it would violate your moral coding." Ratchet replied.

"Ratchet, this practice is normal to us, for a given value of normal. The only part of this that bothers us is the fact that he is unable to give consent, and even then, the idea that he is deactivating because of someone else's cruelty is far more objectionable." Smokescreen stated.

Prowl confirmed his trine-brother's declaration. "We will do whatever it takes to save this, the last of our frame-kin. Even if it damns our sparks to the Unmaker."

Ratchet sighed in relief. There was no stopping his friends when they were determined about a subject. "Fine, but we are doing this my way."

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

It was dark.

It was dark, and he was alone.

Where was he?

He cast about for something that would make sense of the darkness and found nothing. He was starting to panic but he calmed himself telling himself to look at what he did know.

His designation was Thing.

There was always something that felt off about that, as though he had possessed a different designation at one time, but he could not access any memories where that had been so.

He also belonged to someone, two someones. The Spiteful One and the Hurtful One. They had real designations, but he was not allowed to use them. He was supposed to call them Master, that is, when he was allowed to speak.

Thing knew he probably had memories of why he knew these things, but those memories were surrounded by bad feelings that he really did not want to touch.

He continued to look around for a reason for the darkness and, quite by accident, he brushed against one of those bad memories.

It was a punishment. Darkness was always a punishment. He had spoken without permission again and Spiteful had locked him in the closet. The darkness was scary, but it could be much worse. If he was quiet, accepted his punishment, and apologized properly to Spiteful, then he would not tell Hurtful, who would not beat Thing.

It was during this flashback that the other two presences made themselves known. He thrashed away from them as hard as he could. It was not time to renew his trinebond! The vorn was not yet up! Had his masters come up with a new punishment? He had been attempting to run away, but maybe if he convinced them he was only trying to see the Garden then they would not punish him as harshly?

He pushed the thought of 'not running, pretty crystals' over to the other sparks and waited fretfully. If they believed him he might only get beaten.

He was therefore completely unprepared for the gentle wave of soothing reassurance.

He did not understand. They had never been nice to him before, not even once. This had to be a new trick of some sort.

*We are not your old trine, little one.*

Oh no, oh nonononono. Masters had given him away to someone else, someone worse just like they always threatened. Nonononono!

The wave of calm swept over him again, and then the second spark spoke. *We will not hurt you little one, we promise. We just need you to listen to us for a moment.*

Thing shied back even further, nothing good had ever come of opening himself willingly to his Masters. Besides, it was not like his participation mattered, the merge would go forward anyway like always.

Nothing happened.

The two other sparks just sat there waiting. Thing was confused. He edged his presence closer at an infinitesimal pace, then dashed back after the barest brush against the other sparks. Thing examined what he had picked up during that tiny transfer while also keeping a close optic on the others; it had happened before that Masters would lull him into a false sense of control only to sweep him into a harsh reliving of his worst memories. What he found in the transfers was as strange as his new Masters. Kindness, affection, protectiveness for him, and deep sorrow. Thing did not understand, Spiteful and Hurtful had always made it very clear that he was not worth kindness, affection was wasted upon him, and the only protection he deserved was from those who preyed upon younglings for interfacing. The idea that anyone might feel that way for him, even temporarily, was incomprehensible. He wondered if it were possible to make such rare treasures last and only hoped that his previous lack of compliance had not already ruined his chances.

Thing sidled over to the sparks and braced himself for the potential consequences of his next actions. He opened his spark and offered himself fully. *I am yours to command Masters.*

A peal of shock ran through the two and Thing shook in the fear that he had already caused offense. The other sparks were quick to reassure him though. *Easy little one, you are fine. It was the term you used, nothing more. We are not your masters, you don't have any masters, and so long as we live you never will. We are your trine.*

*But trine is Masters.* Thing replied plaintively, he was so confused.

*Oh dearspark! Is that what they told you? Nono, trine is family, brothers, best friends, but never masters.*

*I don't understand.*

*It's okay dear one, you will eventually.*

*Okay.* Thing capitulated to his Masters. It was better to pretend understanding than to show his true lack of comprehension. Less chance of ruining their good opinion of him.

*Now then little one, the reason we are here and not your old trine is because they are… well, gone.*

*Gone?* Thing tried not to let his hope rise, just because Masters were gone right now did not mean they would not come back later.

*Yes, there was… was…* the sparks became infinitely sad and Thing wanted to go make whatever was making the nice sparks sad go away forever. *There were bad mechs, little one, who attacked the city, and now everyone is gone except for us.*

*Where did they go?*

*They went back to Primus.*

Oh, that kind of gone. Thing knew he should feel sad that everyone was deactivated, but the joy at knowing Masters were gone forever swelled through him. The other two were understandably shocked by his reaction and Thing shrank back a little. The second spark stopped his retreat and spoke. *Youngling, may I view your memories please?*

Thing began to shake in fear, they were going to punish him after all!

*Sh, sh, little bit, you do not have to observe while I look.* the second spark stated quickly. *I can shield you from feeling or seeing while I am in your memories.*

Thing sat quietly for a klik. *You promise?*

*I promise.*

*Okay.*

The first spark spoke to him again as the second moved further into his meta. *While my trinebrother goes hunting why don't I tell you a little about us as a distraction in case anything slips through his control?*

Thing nervously transmitted the equivalent of a nod. Knowing about his new trine would help keep him from irritating them, and would mean less punishments for him.

*Okay then, where to start… Well, first, my designation is Smokescreen and my trinebrother is Prowl. We are brothers sparked not brothers made as you will be to us. Oh, and don't let that worry you, it won't matter that you are not of our spark line, we will still love you as our family. We are both soldiers in the Autobot Army. I am a psychologist and diversionary tactician while Prowl is the SIC of the whole army and the head of the Tactical Department. Because he is so highly place our dear Prowl often has to act as though he cares about nothing and no one. This is actually, in part, to protect us from the Decepticons and also to allow him to appear impartial to the rest of the troops. However, we are both very affectionate in the realm of our trinebond. If, when you wake, you ever have doubts about our intentions or actions, check the bond. We will only ever be our true selves in the bond, and I apologize ahead of the time for the discrepancies you are going to see.*

Prowl's presence returned from the depths and to Thing he seemed even sadder than before. *We need to complete the bond Smokey and let our youngling rest. He has a long recovery ahead of him.*

Smokescreen sent a pulse of affirmation and the two sparks huddled closer to Thing. He surprised even himself when he let them near willingly. The tiniest pieces of their essences were traded off, not enough to bind them as mates, but just enough to make them Trine.

Thing's new trine brushed him with that unfamiliar affection again and bid him farewell. After how wonderful they had been to him he almost did not want them to leave.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Prowl and Smokescreen came up slowly from the merge and signaled to Ratchet that they were ready to be unhooked from his monitoring equipment. As the medic moved around them Smokescreen caught Prowl's attention and whispered solemnly, "What did you see?"

His answer was a single coolant tear sliding down Prowl's faceplates to land on a white servo desperately clasped around a small grey servo.

theoHIangurl: thanks for the positive feedback and welcome as a new reader to my stories!

Starfire201: I'm glad you thought it good, I remember agonizing over several portions as possible being too weak and then Jazz took over most of the chapter... However, if my readers liked it that is all that matters.

kkcliffy: high praise as always, glad to see you following this one too!

Neon: welcome new reader! So, first question you had, the 'bonding request', it is my head canon that the various city-states had their own cultures, but the Praxians, being frame cousins to Vosians, were very insular about their practices, something you will find out as this story develops. The Praxian culture revolves around crystals and different crystals, when given as gifts, signified different things. What Jazz did was give the equivalent of engagement rings, Praxian style. Second question, Blaster's bro, his identity is intended to be a bit of a mystery since he is a spy, but I will leave little clues as to who he is (he is a canon character not an OC) throughout my stories until the grand reveal in the sequel to this story's sequel. Third question, a trine with only two members, Smokey and Prowl are considered an incomplete trine since they have not found their third, but by Praxian law and culture they still refer to themselves as trine. Hope this answers all your questions adequately and don't be afraid to ask more!

Guest #1: a lemon is a gratuitous sex scene with no plot for the sole purpose of vicarious sexual gratification. It's sort of a fan-fic code word for Porn-without-Plot.

Guest #2: thanks! Hopefully I will be able to post more often in the future.

Praxian: thanks for the sentiment and hopefully I will get to post more often.