Chapter Text
Prowl knew something was off the moment he booted back up.
There was an obvious lack of green-and-purple frames taking up all the space in his habsuite. Everything was clean, tidy, and organized.
It was horrifying.
Usually, Prowl would be ecstatic at the cleanly state of the room, but living with five largely-proportionate ex-cons didn’t exactly leave a room untouched. Accidents and fumbling servos never failed to produce and leave messes of varying severity all over the hab.
Seeing everything so empty was more than a little worrying.
The only sign that Prowl hadn’t gone off the deep-end was the white box on his work-desk.
Prowl fluidly sat up and moved off the berth. His pedesteps left no crunch or echo as he came to stand before the desk.
On the box was a note reading, ”For our favorite Prowl” in blocky, wobbly characters.
It was oddly charming.
Prowl put aside the note and opened up the box.
His glossa suddenly became very heavy in his mouth.
In the box were eight donuts. Five of the eight were a mix-match of green and purple frosting with red sprinkles. The Constructicons. The last three were black and white, black and grey, and black and blue. Each of the last three had ornamental frosting resembling wings—doorwings.
The thought pulled a smile onto his faceplates before the Tac Net smoothed it back out again.
Prowl took one of the purple and green donuts, held it up for inspection, and popped a piece into his mouth.
Receptors tingled with enjoyment. A nice, classic donut with quaint taste and marvelous quality. The underlying bitterness spoke volumes of both the Constructicons’ perceptiveness, and talent. The perfect gift.
Trying hard not to shove the rest right onto his glossa, Prowl carefully selected and ate each donut. His methodical ingestion quickly decimated the treats until naught was left but the box… And the frosting.
Prowl held himself back from checking the room. He already knew no one else was with him, and there was really nothing to be ashamed of. Whatever camera Red Alert had in his hab already recorded the Donut Destruction a few kliks prior, what was a bit more?
Prowl picked up the box and sat on his desk—an indulgence he hardly ever gave himself and never allowed his associates—barring Red Alert—to see.
A digit dipped into the box and scooped out some green frosting. He popped it in his mouth and hummed at the taste. He repeated this motion until all frosting was gone from the box. Prowl wished he knew where Red’s camera was so he could give it a wink.
Prowl shook himself of his uncharacteristic thought.
He pursed his derma the slightest bit as he reviewed the contents of the donuts—magnesium, copper, energon, spiridium, nothing that would inebriate him.
It must’ve been the rarity of it that discombobulated him.
Prowl folded the box back—neat and flat, before putting it into the repurposing bin.
He was, unfortunately, free for most of the orn—Ratchet’s orders—so he would endeavor to find and thank his gestalt.
Prowl prodded at the bond, the Constructicons pulsed back excitedly from different latitudes, but were otherwise in the same central area.
Prowl took off from the Ark. The ex-cons were at the back of the space-station—now safely removed from the mountainside—at the supply dock.
After receiving such a sweet present, Prowl wasn’t truly expecting what he saw.
Boxes were uncapped and hazardously stacked, materials were laid out atop their containers, and Prowl’s gestalt was wheeling around, disturbing the dirt.
Prowl’s lights and sirens came on automatically—the bond seemed to flip around in anticipation and the Constructicons sped off.
Prowl raced after them in confusion, attempting to herd them to a halt.
The larger construction vehicles swerved as well as they were able to—Long Haul and Bonecrusher—managing to overwhelm Prowl into backing off by blocking their smaller gestalt-mates from the irritated enforcer.
It was a nano-klik later when Prowl realized that they were doing—this was a chase.
Prowl gripped by a new idea, pretended to drag—skidding and fishtailing after Bonecrusher once more forced himself between Prowl and Scavenger.
Prowl executed a roll in his vehicle-mode—which did hurt a bit, but it was nothing under the lift of his plan—scraping his side as he laid on the side of the path.
The shock that streaked across the bond was laughably sweet. The Constructicons scrambled, transforming into root-mode and back-tracking as quickly as they could, panic in their visors.
Prowl made a show of puttering and pinging as the heat steamed off his plating.
“P-Prowl!?” Scavenger fell before him, servos poised to help him back to his tires.
Prowl gunned his engine as he transformed, startling his gestalt-mates, and slapped a pair of debilitating-cuffs on Scavenger.
Bonecrusher realized what happened a klik too late, and Prowl threw his pedes from beneath him before cuffing him as well.
The other three ex-cons booked it—two taking off in alt-mode, which was the only thing that saved them.
Prowl managed to tackle and restrain Hook before he could shift and on went the cuffs. He felt exhilaration surge from across the bond from his stubborn mates—those both free and cuffed.
Prowl fired his sirens back up and raced after the last two Constructicons. He drove his way past them and transformed just as they grasped what he was planning. Prowl took both construction vehicles by their kibble and lifted them to his sides before locking his joints. Captured.
Though Prowl marched them all back into the Ark in cuffs, there was no humiliation. In fact, the Constructicons seemed victorious as they filed in behind the tactician.
Prowl felt proud of them too. They would be spending their brig-time in his habsuite. Just, of course, as a precaution.
