Happy Autumn Everyone! This is my favorite season of the year for so many reasons(all the colored leaves, Thanksgiving, the list goes on)! I hope this chapter finds y'all in good spirits.

Warnings: mentions of past rapes (non-graphic), mention of childhood trauma (non-graphic).

FYI: November is NaNoWriMo, which means I won't be posting again until December. I hope to get the large majority of this story finished during that time as my goals is to finish this story by January. I'm thinking 5 or 6 chapters to the end, but we'll see.

Chapter 15:

Prowl rose from recharge to a summons from Ratchet. There were no urgency tags on the message, but the phrasing hinted that Prowl was not to delay. He checked his schedule for the first shift of the light cycle and decided that if he pushed the mid-orn tactical session back he could fit a half-joor meeting with Ratchet in after the morning staff meeting at first light. The tactician pinged Ratchet with the offered time and received a grumpy acceptance along with an annotation to bring 'the fragging overcharged dipslag that moonlights as Smokescreen' with him. Prowl made a note to inquire if Smokey had been skipping his physicals again and get up to prepare for his busy orn.

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Jazz awoke to the helmache of the century, and red plating. He shook his helm to clear his vision and immediately regretted it as a massive wave of nausea passed through him. Jazz buried his helm in the conveniently warm plating. When he no longer felt like he was going to toss his tanks he began to investigate his recent memories. Jazz was really hoping he had not interfaced with anyone as it would really put a crimp in the continuation of his courtship with Prowl. From what bleary memories he could piece together, he had well overcharged at Mirage's reception, tried to pull a not-overcharged Prowl in for a dance and snog, succeeded with the dance but not the snog, and then been left in the capable servos of his amica endura for the remainder of the dark-cycle.

Jazz groaned. He was going to have to apologize profusely to Prowl for his overly forward behavior. The saboteur was not used to going slow in his relationships, few as they were. However, he knew that Prowl was his One and would do anything, including be completely celibate, to ensure the Praxian knew he was serious. The remainder of Jazz's fragmented memories depicted him stumbling through the halls of the base with Blaster, singing about homesick mechs going home to longing lovers, until they reached the hostmech's quarters and stumbled to the berth. What followed was an increasingly incoherent discussion about doorwings and luscious bumpers in white and black, and red and blue.

Jazz frowned at the memory. It really sounded like Blaster was crushing on Smokescreen there for a klik, but that just could not be correct. Right? Refreshing the memories did not change their content however, and Jazz was forced to conclude that, yes, his best friend, his amica, had the hots for his prebonded's brother.

The warm chassis under the saboteur rumbled and shifted as Blaster came back to the land of the functioning. Jazz could hear the gears in the bigger mech's chest compartment cycle through their paces as a self-diagnostic searched for signs of damage or interfacing. Jazz could also hear the moment that the communications mech registered that he was not alone in the berth, it was highlighted by a skrrrklunk as Blaster's pump double-timed at the same moment his flow valves seized closed. Jazz winced, that had to hurt.

A servo was raised to point a digit imperiously at the ceiling. "One,… we didn' in'erface. We didn'. 'M sure 'f it. Ah,… Ah, think. Two… Ah don' 'member two… i'was 'portant." He poked Jazz in the side. "Ya 'member i' 'f meh, k?"

Jazz rubbed his aching helm against the red plating in a facsimile of a nod. Whatever Blaster suggest Jazz was going to agree to, it was less painful that way. The saboteur knew if his pain levels hit a certain threshold his ops codes would trigger its pain management system. He could manually trigger the system, but the instant relief would come with emotional suppression that he did not want. Not to mention that once an opsmech got used to using those systems whenever it was convenient, it often became an addiction. Since the start of the war there had been one hundred and thirty one documented cases of programming abuse, and of those, forty deactivated from compromised decision making, twelve had lost the ability to use the systems and subsequently succumbed to Decepticon torture, nineteen became so dependent that they lost the ability to emote normally, and two, only two, were rehabilitated successfully. Yeah, Jazz was not going that route. Not now, not ever. Of course that meant making the other choice and retrieving an overcharge patch from the Medical Wing. Neither Ratchet nor any of his subordinates were in attendance at the reception which meant the CMO was unlikely to part with the patches willingly, he was rather cold-sparked towards overcharge acquired at unsanctioned parties.

Jazz sighed and assessed his ability to successfully stealth through the Hatchet's impenetrable lair. The twinging through his chassis and helm indicated not good.

A horrendously loud noise shattered the blessed silence of the room.

Jazz and Blaster both flung their arms over their poor over-sensitized audials, but to no avail. Had their sensory horns been independently sentient they would have revolted and crawled away.

The hideous sound assaulted them again and they moaned twin pleas for mercy. None was forthcoming as it rang again.

Rang…

…Rang…

Wait,… Jazz struggled to sit up. The noise was ringing. That meant it was not an attack on the vulnerable audials of the impaired victims of an unwise overcharge!

Jazz slipped sideways and fell out of the berth. Crashing to the floor did his tanks no favors, but Jazz was determined. He stumbled to his peds and tried to affect a vague resemblance to his normal graceful glide. The stumbling and missteps made it really difficult though. Absently Jazz wished he was still overcharged enough to blame his poor balance on an unstable, semi-sentient floor out to trip him. Finally, the aching saboteur made it to the door where he leaned against the cool frame for a blessedly relieving long moment. He could sense the mech on the other side reaching up to ring the chime again so Jazz swiftly keyed the door open.

Black and white plating gleamed in the bright hall lights, so silky smooth that it took everything Jazz had not to reach out and stroke it. Delectable doorwings tilted in the saboteur's direction and he smiled to know his Prowler was worried about him. Jazz's smile turned goofy as he remembered he was now openly courting and being courted by this beautiful, intelligent mech.

"Hey Prowler." His own intelligence however, was in the proverbial waste receptacle.

Jazz watched in a happy daze as Prowl reached up one slim servo to touch the Polyhexian's forehelm. "Jazz? Are you well this morning?"

Jazz tried to stand up straight, the wall was not supporting him, no sir, not him. In fact, he was holding the wall up. Mmm, Prowl's servo felt so good as it soothed over the frazzled nerves in Jazz's sensor horns and helm. Oh, and look, the thoughtful mech was offering him a cube of coolant and an overcharge patch. Aww, Prowl was the best. It did not occur to Jazz that he was not communicating verbally with the tactician until the black and white leaned closer to peer into a still-fuzzy visor.

"Jazz I do believe you are still overcharged. I do not believe I have ever seen you in such a state before."

The saboteur finally found his vocalizer in the pit it was hiding in and dragged it back from the depths. "Ah ain' evah had highgrade li' tha' b'fo'."

Prowl frowned as he helped the other black and white to the nearest couch. "Jazz, I have personally seen you imbibe approximately twice what you consumed last dark-cycle at the sanctioned victory celebrations. Do not pretend to me that you are naïve when it comes to highgrade." A secondary thought thread presented itself to the Praxian. "Unless the drinks last orn were doctored! Jazz, are you detecting the presence of any contaminants?"

Jazz chuckled as he snuggled deeper into the proffered shoulder. "Now, Prowler. The drinks weren' spiked. Ya spendin' too much time wit' Red Alert."

Prowl looked down at his courtmate. "Then explain why you are visibly affected by what you consumed last orn."

"Well, 's like this. The highgrade we normally drink 's sad slag, even tha good stuff b'fo' tha war was nuthin' ta meh, 's a side'ffect o' mah 'nhanced systems. Bu' tha' stuff yesterorn was Towers ultragrade. It's twice or thrice refined highgrade fermented fo' at least a cent'ry n' left to cure fo' a couple gen'rations."

An old memory triggered in Prowl's meta. He had been attending a gala with Sentinel shortly after their relationship had truly taken a more intimate turn and the false Prime had offered Prowl a shimmering cube of what the buffoon claimed was highgrade. Prowl had never had opportunity to try even mild intoxicants before, but he was eager to please his new lover. He was never able to clearly remember what happened after that first taste, but the remaining fragments insinuated a nasty picture of Sentinel allowing several other mechs to use Prowl's frame before the giant red mech took his own turn. The next morning, after getting medical aid for his overcharge and abused parts, Prowl had giveb Sentinel a stern lecture on consent. The false Prime had given a half-sparked apology and the excuse that he himself had been overcharged. Prowl had foolishly believed him; it had been the beginning of the long arduous end.

Prowl shuddered and shook away his dark thoughts. It was in the past, he had Jazz now and always would if things turned out right. Since that long ago orn though, Prowl had never touched highgrade again, not even when Ratchet visited after a bad battle. He wondered now if what Sentinel gave him was ultragrade and if so, might he be able to try highgrade without losing control of his faculties. He would wait until later in their relationship to inform Jazz of this though.

"Ah kno' ya don' drink highgrade as'a rule, bu' ya have tried it b'fo' right?"

Or perhaps he would have this conversation with his extra-perceptive courtmate now. Drat it. Prowl was not ready to tell Jazz about Sentinel, so the question was, how to phrase his aversion without raising suspicion? "I have tasted something that my friend claimed was highgrade. It deleted nine joors of memory, left my memory banks for the entire orn fragmented, and made me very ill. Since then I have not partaken in any form of highgrade."

Surprisingly Jazz said nothing, merely hummed in sympathy until he got his thoughts in order. "So, ya were tricked inta drinkin' ultragrade?"

"Yes." Prowl still had no idea how Jazz was taking this information, the mech's usually expressive frame language was very muted.

"So, tha question 's if you'd be 'nt'rested in evah tryin' tha real thing in'a safe settin'."

It was not a question, not really, and Prowl chose to answer it neutrally. "Perhaps, someorn in the future, if a mech I trusted were to ask."

Jazz hummed again and discretely changed the subject. "So, Prowler, please tell meh ya brought meh more than one overcharge patch, cuz Ah don' think Ah'm'a make it through tha staff meetin' like this."

Prowl chuckled and rumbled his engine soothingly, to the apparent delight of the snuggling saboteur. He dared to reach up and softly stroke a tender sensor horn while he retrieved the desired patch from subspace. Jazz moaned and made grabby servos at the proffered blessed-device-of-miraculous-relief. Prowl chuckled again as Jazz oozed down across his lap after the application of the patch. "Perhaps this will teach you not to overindulge next time."

Jazz 'pfft'ed and draped himself more firmly over Prowl's lap. The amused tactician poked him down his side until he found a ticklish place. Then the devious Praxian circled that spot, flirting as close as he could to the edges. Jazz tensed in anticipation.

"I'm afraid Jazz," Circle, circle. "That we do not have much more time to dawdle." Circle, circle. "Really, we should be getting you to the racks." Circle, circle.

Jazz grumped a 'noooo' and buried his faceplates in Prowl's lap. Prowl smiled faintly and squired his digit inward. Jazz wwrithed and laughed until he wheezed. "Ah surrender, Ah surrender!"

Jazz flopped back as Prowl smoothed the last convulsions out. "Ya've vanguished meh Prowler, Ah'm at ya mercy."

Prowl leaned down until their nasal ridges almost touched. "Then, my beautiful prisoner, it is time to get up and make yourself useful. The ornly staff meeting is in a joor and you need to be presentable for your portion of the tactical report."

Jazz chuckled and oozed his chassis towards the floor until he was about to fall off, then flipped over onto his peds. He held out a servo to his prebonded. "Well then, what're we waitin' fo'."

Prowl stood with smooth grace. "After you."

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Prowl watched from the Tactical Department's holoprojector lectern as the Iacon-stationed members of the command element filed in. They were using Tactical's battlefield staging center for this orn's staff meeting due to the number of necessary attendees and the scope of what was to be discussed. Optimus entered last and plugged his authorizations for Departmental Lockdown into the console. Blaster queued up the secure lines to the other bases. The commanders and senior staff of those bases came online and activated the prepared mobile holo-emitters. The emitters were a new invention from Wheeljack to allow absent officers to physically interact with the other officers during meetings. This was the inaugural run for the devices due to delayed rollout while Red Alert tested and encrypted the pit out of them.

Once everyone was settled Prowl began. "As previously discussed, Megatron is planning a progressive attack across and around Cybertron, see report 691541 subsection 5 for the relevant supporting data. The Prime has tasked Tactical Department with finding a plan that preserves the most Cybertronian sparks disregarding all else. We have done so."

Prowl queued up the first projection. "In response to the parameters given to us by Prime we have formulated a plan of resistance. The first portion of our counter-campaign consists of an evacuation plan for those cities scheduled for eminent attack. We will not be evacuating wholesale, instead we shall begin with a sort of whisper campaign wherein we encourage mecha to 'visit' family and friends in other citystates only to evacuate them once they are safely out of the path of danger. While this is occurring we will speak with the city leaders about requiring firewall updates for all sparklings, elders, and those chronically ill. When these mecha are brought in to the medics they will be spirited away by the femmes and the able-chassised members prepared for later evacuation. When the Decepticons are close to the city we will alert the remaining citizens to leave, giving it the appearance that we simply placed the cities on high alert. When the last of the citizens are gone we will release drone 'mecha', afforded to us courtesy of Wheeljack, that will appear and behave like panicked mechs fleeing before the Decepticons. Without any real mecha to reveal the truth, the drones should fool the 'Cons into believing they have slaughtered the city."

The Ultra Magnus hologram raised a questioning servo. "Won't the Decepticons notice the difference when they begin gutting the frames for parts?"

Prowl shook his helm. "No, the drones have ben manufactured to be nearly identical to proper mech frames down to the faux spark chambers. The only difference is that there will be no spark present."

Ratchet's servo went up next. "Define 'nearly'."

"As in not possessing a spark or proper mech programming. It shall be impossible for the Decepticons to reactivate the drones as 'deactivation' will render them inert with mech-like shadow programming just as any newly deceased Cybertronian would."

"Have you thought of planting false information in the memory banks to further throw the 'Cons off our tracks?" questioned Blackshot.

Prowl nodded. "That is an excellent suggestion, I trust your department can handle the exact nature of the data that is to be left, General?"

Hums and nods of assent circulated the room until Red Alert clued into something important. "Where exactly are we planning to put all the refugees? Iacon certainly does not have the space for so many; we're full up with just the minibots! Not to mention the security nightmare such an undertaking would be! Already we are stretched thin trying to prevent the 'Cons from accessing our bases! To expect it to extend further would leave so many gaps. There is no way my staff and I would be able to stop the leaks! We would be overrun in decacycles!"

Red Alert's panicked rant was halted by Inferno dragging two digits down his dorsal column. The Helm of the Search and Rescue Corp continued the motion until he was sure the profuse shower of blue sparks would stay gone.

Prowl politely waited until Red was focused fully in the present then answered his amica's question. "To give a satisfactory answer I must first remind everyone that this plan is sanctioned by the Prime himself after much deliberation with the Matrix's counsel."

He waited until the officers acknowledged this fact before continuing. "We will be abandoning Cybertron."

The room exploded in an uproar. Prowl noted that of all the officers presently protesting, Magnus, Jazz and the rest of Ops, and ElitaOne were moving closer to him in a show of support. Odd, he had not predicted any would understand the need for this portion of this plan without extensive explanation. It finally took direct interference from Optimus for Prowl to regain the floor.

"Despite that such a measure seems extreme, leaving our planet empty for the Decepticons is actually the best option on servo to both protect the remaining civilians and possibly end this war with the Autobots the victors. It is no secret that energon is in shorter and shorter supply. The reason for this is largely attributed to our steady path away from Binaura, but even when our path was close to the twin stars the mines were drying up."

There were a few disgruntled faceplates, but most seemed disinclined to contradict him.

"By leaving Cybertron we accomplish a two-fold mission. One, to seek out new sources of energon amongst the stars. And two, leaving the Decepticons alone long enough for them to destroy themselves."

"How in'd Allspark ahre yah figurin' that?" Ironhide asked.

"The large majority of the Decepticons are used to a war-based society. They were promised a world without restrictive laws and this is what they will expect when they conquer the planet. Once we are no longer around to divert their attention they will need to start rebuilding. Without respect for law and order they will chafe at needing to return to jobs and facilities they were once slaves in. Megatron and his officers will likely try to establish some sort of authority but the Decepticons will rebel. Projections show a 99.8256% probability that infighting will become rampant within five vorns and subfactions should split off soon after. Within one century the internal fighting will have almost completely decimated the Decepticon army and the few subfactions remaining will be so entrenched in grudges they will be easy to pick off by our returning forces. Especially when you further consider the effects that energon deprivation will have on them, all while we remain healthy with offworld resources."

Ironhide nodded his approval. "So, thah end result is us retakin' Cybertron permanently."

"Yes, the Decepticons' original goals were to acquire justice for their lives as slaves. We once desired to end this war with a peace treaty and mutually beneficial restructuring of the laws for all of those mistreated by the elite. However, the Decepticons have proven time and again that they will only be satisfied with complete dominion of this planet and a direct reversal of the old status quo. Their determination to exact revenge to the detriment of all else will result in the extinction of our entire race. When they have extinguished themselves, we will then come in and remake this world the way it should always have been."

"Until all are one." The room intoned.

There was a moment of silent introspection as the officers came to terms with abandoning their home even for a short time. It brought home just how dire the war situation was.

Of course it was Red Alert, ever focused on the details, who got them back on track. "That still leaves the question of what, exactly, we will be doing with the refugees."

In answer Prowl activated the first diorama. "Extensive examination of the Scout Corp's star charts has yielded fifteen obscure planetoids that orbit stars strong enough for solar harvesting. The planets themselves have neither free-forming energon deposits, nor were they ever seeded. This lack of conventional energon should prevent the Decepticons from actively choosing to explore the systems. Additionally, all save one of the systems are surrounded by nearly unnavigable nebulae, magnetic anomalies, and other such deterrents. We shall send the refugees from each citystate to their own colony in one of these systems along with a corresponding Autobot garrison in case the Decepticons do choose to brave the natural protections of the systems. The engineering department will be tasked with supplying the appropriate solar harvesters as well as technicians to maintain them and manufacture more."

"What about the poor cogs that get sent to the unprotected system?" Ratchet interrupted.

"I was coming to that." Prowl replied as he brought up the appropriate star chart. "The last system is a nine planet infant system whose juvenile star still tends to put out massive solar flares. There will be no colony sent here due to the need for any Cybertronian inhabitants to live underground. Solar collectors on the surface of the planet will need special shielding as well."

Air Commander Thundercall frowned in confusion. "If the system is unusable for our purposes, why mention it at all?"

Prowl observed them all carefully. "Because this is where High Command will be going."

The declaration was met with mixed opinions. Red Alert and Ironhide were in definite favor as they envisioned how the natural defense would help then protect the Prime and the Command Element. Ratchet and Thundercall disliked it immensely. The former because of all the ways stupid idiots could get hurt in an environment that and the latter because of the lack of free sky.

"How will you deal with the sky hunger the flight element will suffer?" the seeker asked.

"Air Command will be stationed with a garrison on a planet with mostly landmass, little water, and little inclement weather. Perfect for flying." Prowl stated with a faint smile.

Thundercall's wing's twitched in pleasure, he should have known Prowl would see to even the little details.

Prowl looked about the room for more questions and when none were forthcoming, moved on. "Now, since you are all aware of the broad overview of the plan, I shall turn the podium over to Jazz to tell you the specifics of your jobs."

The two mechs exchanged places and Jazz began. "Ultra Magnus, let's start wit' ya…"

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Unlike the majority of the Autobots, Prowl had never been afraid to visit the Medical Wing. Ratchet was not some plasma-breathing, acid-spewing, rust monster like some of the soldiers believed, thank you Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Since the orn Optimus had first introduced them, the medic and the tactician had been fast friends.

Even now, when he could feel a cold chill creep down his dorsal column he did not fear the medbay. Prowl looked for the doctor in his office first, but he was not there. A subsequent search of the medical storerooms and records room also yielded no results. The Praxian stood in the middle of the primary medical ward and contemplated where to look next. He momentarily considered pinging Ratchet, but the medic had been in an odd mood. Such moods generally meant that the good doctor should be left alone until such time as he contacted you, and attempting to comm him before he was ready would result in a blistering tirade just before he hung up on you.

Fortunately for the tactician, the grumpy doctor in question emerged from a private room to glare at him balefully. "What are you waiting for?! My plating to rust? Get your aft in here before I decide to make you a wall ornament!"

Prowl rolled his optics, but complied with a minimum of snark. "One of these orn I shall sneak a tracker under your plating so you can actually be found when I seek you."

Ratchet swatted at his aft for the impertinence, but Prowl danced out of the way with an equally insolent flick of his doorwings. The private room was mostly dark except for a consultation screen over the berth. The holographic screen showed some sort of data comparison, some of which had already been highlighted. Prowl looked at it, helm cocked, wondering what precisely Ratchet had found that would need a tactician's aid.

Ratchet circled the berth and pulled up a color scan of a spark. Prowl recognized it as Bluestreak's and had a nanoklik to worry that something might be wrong with his trinebrother before Ratchet addressed him.

"As per protocol, I took specialized spark cans of Bluestreak yesterorn. The results, while much improved, have raised additional questions."

Prowl stepped closer to examine the proffered scans, glad to see the black 'dead' spaces were nearly gone. "If it is within my ability to do so, I will answer as many queries as I can."

Ratchet nodded. "I need to know if trinebonding affects more than just spark color."

The white and black Praxian tilted his helm as he perused the historical data relevant to the medic's question. "Can you be more specific please Ratchet?"

The medic sighed. "Can the dual influence of your sparks on such a young, developing spark alter the spark coding?"

Prowl frowned deeply. "No. Our spark coding is cemented at the point of emergence. It is possible for it to be altered before emergence, which is how prenatal adoption is finalized, but not after. If so, all of the forced trined younglings would register as members of the spark lines of their captors."

"Then how in the seventh pit do you explain this?!" Ratchet exclaimed, throwing up the initial comparison Prowl had seen when he entered the room.

"I confess that I do not know what I am looking at Ratchet."

The medic huffed irritatedly. "This is a direct comparison of your spark code, Smokescreen's, and Bluestreak's. You and Smokescreen share certain markers because you are brothers, but Bluestreak is unrelated. There is no reason for him to be showing those markers too unless your coding is changing his!"

Prowl pondered the quandary and ran it through his battle computer for help. The computer examined the situation and began comparing it to incidents from the Praxian database and events from Prowl's own past in search of an answer. It kept pinging on a certain timestamp and Prowl had to keep rejecting the result as it was impossible. When the battle computer finished its analysis, the erroneous result was its only solution. Prowl tried to make it run the data again, but it pinged him with the supporting data to prove its conclusion. Prowl's logic circuits sparked and began looping on the impossibility that was the only answer.

Ratchet noticed his flickering optics and sprang around the berth to try to stave off the logic loop, to no avail. Just before Prowl crashed he managed to gasp out. "Call Smokey."

Then all went dark.

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Prowl woke to the sound of flipping cards, murmured bets, and clinking credit chits. He sighed mentally, Smokescreen knew he did not approve of him gambling in his presence. Then the black and white's memory files pinged him. Ah yes, he had crashed. Well, might as well face it now rather than risk a subsequent crash because he ignored it. The content of his memory files still threatened to destabilize him again. It was impossible, but it had to be true, there was no other answer.

Prowl reached inward, carefully bypassing his link to Bluestreak, to pull on the calming sensation of his brother's spark. Smokescreen sent him the sense of a question; it was very unusual for Prowl to react so badly post-crash. Prowl transmitted the results of his research and waited. Despite not having similarly delicate logic circuits, Smokescreen was still nearly overwhelmed by what he received.

:: What the holy forgotten slag is this! ::

:: When all other possibilities have been eliminated, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be true. ::

:: Okay, I know that was Sheerlock's favorite saying, but even he would tell you there has to be another solution. ::

:: I have reviewed the data and there is not. ::

:: Well then you had better start explaining all this to Ratchet 'cause he got kinda worried when I dropped my cards and started ignoring him. ::

Prowl unshuttered his optics and sat up carefully. "Ratchet, I believe I may know how this problem is possible."

The medic helped him remove the diagnostic leads and monitoring devices before helping him down from the berth. The three adjourned to Ratchet's office where he pulled out the comfy visitors' chairs from a hidden closet, which made Prowl smirk. "Still tailoring your seating to your moods are you?"

"Oh hush." Ratchet huffed. "And sit down before I decided you deserve the unpleasant chairs."

Smokescreen sat, he certainly was not going to take any chances with the medic's temper, but Prowl moved over to the intact wall file cabinet to pull out the secret stash of highgrade. He poured generous servings for both Ratchet and his brother and served the cubes to them.

Ratchet raised an optic ridge at the fortifying substance. "That bad?"

Prowl sighed as he settled in his doorwing friendly chair. "I'm afraid so. The trail of events and facts my battle computer has constructed is both far-fetched and perfectly logical."

"Which is why you crashed?"

"Yes, and also because of the emotional ramification as well. The computer requires one more piece of evidence to prove or disprove my theory. When precisely was Bluestreak unfurled?"

Ratchet rattled off the date and Praxians buried their helms in their servos. Smokescreen emerged first, scrubbing his servos down his tear-filled faceplates, to stare sightlessly at the ceiling. Prowl took a moment longer and Ratchet could tell he was trying to detach so he could share what had happened. The black and white Praxian composed himself and began speaking.

"Our genitors passed away four centuries ago. Roughly one century before that our carrier expressed the desire to have a third sparkling. He had this romantic notion that the three of us would be a trine and therefore family forever. The doctors were hesitant about clearing him due to complications he suffered when I emerged, but he was determined. He sought out another doctor that would approve his carry and found a practitioner in the South End named Syringe who agreed to pass him.

"Our genitors sparked quickly and the carry seemed to be going by the textfile." Prowl paused with a bitterly chagrinned smile. "We were all so excited, but none more so than our carrier, he was ecstatic. Then in the final quintex of the carry Doctor Syringe began to notice some anomalies in the sparklet. He assured us that the sparklet was still strong and should make it through to the emergence. Our carrier went on berth rest to maximize the sparklet's chances and it appeared to be working.

"The day of emergence came and we all gathered at the private medical facility, it was the last vacation I ever took while serving under Sentinel. The emergence lasted what felt like forever and I will never forget the sight of that precious little spark as Doctor Syringe raised it from our carrier's spark and placed it in the containment chamber. His nurse wheeled that bitty spark into the framing room, and… and…"

Prowl's vents hitched and Smokescreen reached over to grasp his brother's servo as they both began to cry again. Ratchet had a horrible feeling that he knew where this story was going, even if he did not know what it had to do with Bluestreak. He downed his highgrade in one long pull.

When it became obvious that Prowl could not continue, Smokescreen took over brokenly. "Our sparkling brother,… well… he didn't make it. Syringe's nurse pulled him away from post-op cleanup a few kliks later and directed him to the framing room. Next thing we know… he's telling us that the bitlet rejected the frame and… and… dissipated! Our carrier never recovered from the spark-deep grief and always swore he could still feel his bitlet.

"That grief eventually caused his deactivation and our sire followed close behind him. Less than a vorn later Doctor Syringe was brought before the courts for over one hundred and fifty counts of malpractice. We couldn't help but blame him for what happened, assuming his incompetence killed our wee brother and indirectly, our genitors."

Prowl had managed to calm enough to continue the narrative at this point. "We put it out of our metas after that in a desperate need to heal. Then Smokey got into his gambling and I was forced to cut all ties lest Sentinel catch hint that I still had living family. Fortunately, the battle computer has a connection to the global database, what remains of it, and it delved deeper. It found mention that the good doctor was reconvicted two centuries later as a member of an elite sparkling-napping ring. The sparkling-nappers would take infant sparklets from hospitals and clinics where their paid doctors would fabricate the deaths of the stolen sparkling, thus making them undocumented sparks. They would sell them to middle class mecha who could not have sparklings of their own."

Ratchet sat stunned as he processed that. "So, he's a victim of sparkling-napping too on top of all his other traumas?!"

Prowl nodded solemnly. "Yes, and the most horrible question that remains from this conclusion is, how do we tell him?"

"Frag. He's already so damaged, I don't know if this would regress him back to square one." The medic commiserated.

Smokescreen leaned forward and held his servos before him in a beseeching manner. "We cannot leave him in the dark. We tell him carefully, but we exclude some details until he is old enough to understand them."

Ratchet nodded, it was a sound solution. "Prowl, call whoever has him right now and let's get this over with."

[:].[:].[:].[:].[:]

Optimus Prime jogged through the halls towards the Medical Wing, putting an extra hop in every few steps. The little grey youngling on his back shrieked with glee every time, which only encouraged the big mech. They sprung into the outer area of the main medbay to the surprise of the three occupants.

Bluestreak chortled in delight. "Prowl, Smokey! Op'mus was telling me about the Knights of Cybertron and their spark swords and how they defended Cybertron from the Kin… Kintesses sons and that they were friends of Alpha Trion and they left Cybertron on a quest for 'Topia and glory! Then he aid you needed me and we decided that I should ride in style like a real knight, but I hadta promise not to tell 'Hide 'cause being a steed's not di'nified, but it's okay 'cause Primes needta not be di'nified sometimes. And now we're here!"

Ratchet and Smokescreen were hard-pressed not to fall over in laughter and Prowl raised an optic ridge at his Prime. "A Prime needs time to be undignified, hmmm?"

He received a sheepish grin and shrug in reply.

Ratchet moved forward and held out his arms to the youngling who leaped trustingly off the Prime's tall shoulder into the second best hug in the world, as Prowl clearly held first place in that category according to Bluestreak. The medic transferred the youngling to his brothers, who snuggled him securely between them on the nearest berth.

"Bluestreak, Smokescreen and I have something very important to tell you, is that okay?"

Bluestreak hesitated, then burst into tears. "You're gonna replace me aren't you!" He wailed. "You found somebody better and you're gonna love him instead of me!"

Prowl and Smokescreen gaped, but recovered swiftly. They wrapped the mechlet in their arms and purred reassurances through their sparkbond until he calmed. Prowl tipped his little chin up so they could be optic to optic. "We will not now, nor will we ever, stop loving you or replace you. You are ours, just as we are yours, and that NEVER change."

It was amazing how much Bluestreak trusted Prowl. A simple statement said with the stern tones of a tactician; most mecha would dismiss such as a breakable promise as all spoken words could be. Bluestreak knew better. He knew Prowl's word was Law, so if Prowl promised he would never be abandoned, he would not be.

Bluestreak nodded calmly and resettled himself. Assured that there would be no more tears presently, Prowl began an abridged version of the tale they had told Ratchet. How their carrier was supposed to have a third sparkling, but an evil mech stole the sparkling. How the mech told them their brother died and how they had cried for his loss. Then they told Bluestreak that someone had brought them evidence that their brother had not died, but been sparkling-napped.

Bluestreak, who had been looking rather weepy at the story, lit up brilliantly. "So I have another trinebrother out there somewhere?!"

Prowl shook his helm. "No Bluestreak, it is just us two."

Bluestreak was confused. "But, you just said…"

"That's because you are the mechling brother we thought we lost." Smokescreen interrupted.

"What!" the youngling exclaimed. "But I had a family, I remember them!"

Prowl scooped him up against his spark. "That family purchased the right to adopt you from the bad doctor."

Bluestreak gasped and clung tight. "So, you're my real family, my real brothers?"

"yes." The elder Praxians answered in unison.

Bluestreak suddenly pushed away and began running out of the medbay. Prowl and Smokescreen leapt after him to try and soothe the obviously distraught youngling. They were stopped in their tracks when Bluestreak spun around in the doorway.

The youngling was indeed crying but he wore a beatific smile. "I gotta go tell the twins! I have a real family! And they LOVE me!"

RainbowGuardian13: I'm glad you have been enjoying the story, hopefully this is not so bad of a cliffhanger for you.

canikostar99: hopefully this chapter answered your questions. =)

CNightJoy: yup, I love playing with the specops mechs, they get to be so crazy, but everyone sees that as normal which only gives them more leeway to be crazy. LOL.

Starfire201: thank you! I tried very hard not to make the bonding tropish and mimicry of every other bonding ever written in fanfic. Tracks' personality is heavily influenced by Crimson-Moon-Demon(now known as Sincerely Yours- C.M.D)'s stories and Ty-chou's art over on DeviantArt.

Vela513: first, welcome new reader! Hopefully this chapter answered the questions about Bluestreak, and I am glad you enjoy the world-building portions of the story. I too like a well rounded world to play in with my stories and I try to think of what different cultures might have developed over time in semi-isolated areas.

Guest, and QTHorror: thanks!

By the by, this chapter was the bunny that started this whole thing!