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Characters: @starsaber Location: Autobot Outpost - the roof Content Warnings: n/a Plot Summary: Prowl's carrying has made him prone to violent panic attacks and paranoia. In an attempt to maintain his composure and his reputation he seeks the quiet of the roof, hoping no one has seen him make a run for it.
He was not okay. He was so past not okay that it had accelerated his intakes and put his frame into the concept of running for it. His doorwings vibrated against his back, frantically processing information in an attempt to give his tactical programming something to work with. He wasn't safe, he was never safe here unless he kept to his own quarters. Or he was around Ratchet, whom he knew would never hurt him. Others should have been trustworthy, but they weren't. His carrying had seriously shattered his ability to trust and understand even the barest part of what little social interaction he'd learned to accept in his life. Without Jazz he had no means of navigation, and without a point of safety and trust he couldn't push through what overwrought carrier protocol and instinct were insisting inside his processors. He wasn't safe here. It was totally illogical, but he couldn't fight his way through it, and his every plan told him to just get off the base. Which he couldn't do. Alone, out in the open, he could easily be picked off by some Decepticon. That was even more intolerable than remaining at base, and so he was stuck between his need to be somewhere else and the cold logic that told him there was nowhere else. Not for him. Not right now.
And just what had brought this on? He'd run straight into Optimus Prime, startling his leader and causing his processors to lock up in alarm. He hadn't even tried to be subtle about it, he'd just run for it. For the first time in his life he'd run from his commanding officer, even as Optimus called after him, even as every comm sent by the large mech inquired after him, wondered what was wrong and why he'd left so abruptly. All those were ignored.
This entire matter was illogical and he hated it! He couldn't control himself, couldn't focus on the logical facts and deal with matters in a timely, methodical manner. He couldn't work because he couldn't focus, and when he could focus he was so tightly wound that he worried his newspark would abort from the stress of it. And his processors looped on the problem and cycled over and over again until he was just overwrought and in no fit state to be around anyone. He wanted Jazz! Jazz would know what to do, Jazz could fix anything, but Jazz was gone. Jazz was a Decepticon now. The other mech was well beyond his reach and with him any hope he had of dealing with this. His spark clenched in pain as thoughts of the other mech made a whole new set of problems roll through his processors. He'd been betrayed, lied to, his trust taken advantage of and broken.
The doorwinger shook even as he held onto the last vestiges of his control with all the tenacity he had in his frame. An inner voice told him he should calm down, that he needed to just let it go. That it wasn't good for him to do this to himself, but all he could think about was how alone he really was here. Surrounded by comrades and he was completely, painfully alone. And his processors drowned him as the overactive nature of them, usually one of his strongest attributes, bombarded him with all the data of what could go wrong. He was alone. If he perished his newspark would have no one else to care for him or her. He didn't have a bonded mate, his closest and dearest friend had broken his promise to help him raise his sparkling and defected, and the only other 'bot he trusted had more things to deal with than a paranoid tactician with no idea how to raise a sparkling properly. On his own.
His intakes hitched and warning messages flashed in front of his optics. The roof was the most likely place to be secluded, which was why he'd come up here. He put his helm to the wall near the door he'd come out of and focused just on his intakes, on trying to keep his frame from overheating or his processors from crashing. He was so close to term, he didn't want to lose his newspark now. So he had to keep this crash that wanted to happen to him from happening.
Star Saber was going in for a landing at the time.
Another day, another quiet patrol. He was beginning to think that he was going to have a lot of these. Given the Town was so small as he’d already indicated several times. It was a little weird compared to the war torn Cybertron though he supposed it was better than nothing, or at least he hoped so.
Of course - he took immediate notice of the Praxian already on the roof. Was that Prowl? Of course, he knew the mech - albeit in passing. They were both high in the chain of command so it was a little hard to completely avoid each other. But he was absolutely concerned at the fact the first time he saw the mech on Earth, he was obviously in complete and utter disarray.
What had happened?
Slowly, he came in for a landing before carefully transforming as he turned to him. “Are you alright, Prowl?” He questioned almost at once as he began a careful approach - unsure of what to do. “Your stress levels seem astronomically high.”
He was so far into his own processes that he didn't notice when the flier made a landing next to him, or even that he'd been addressed. But the little life inside him certainly did, and it wailed for attention. It knew that its carrier needed help, and if Prowl couldn't help himself then his newspark would take care of it for him. So close to term, it could vocalize even though it was only a spark. It was more of a pitched tone than a vocalized sound, but the effect was the same.
Prowl pushed his helm against the wall again, doorwings fanning out in a protective arch behind him as he crossed an arm over his chassis in response to the wailing.
He continued to be otherwise non-responsive to the outside world.
What on earth had that been? And why was it coming from Prowl? He tilted his head and approached with extreme caution towards the mech, what would he do if he shook him? Or at least tried to speak louder? It was hard to tell at this time considering the mech looked as though he was in a fair amount of shock about something - though he wasn’t very sure what it was at this point.
After a long moment of thinking it through, Star Saber took a hold of one of Prowl’s shoulders.
He wasn’t sure the firm, but gentle shake he gave wss the best idea. But then again he also wasn’t sure what he was dealing with either. So he guessed it didn’t matter much at the end of the day. “Prowl? Prowl are you still functional?” He asked, rather loudly this time. “Do I need to get Ratchet?”
The wailing cut off as a strangled growl tore its way out of the tactician's frame at the touch. His doorwings flared out into a high arch and he swung around, backing himself against the side of the building and assuming a fighting stance. Not his own, he didn't do melee combat. His optics had bled crimson and his stance was a reflection of a mech with a wider stance than he had normally. He'd done this before, slipped toward someone else's disposition, but not since Jazz had left.
His processors barely recognized the mech in front of him, and only did because he was of high rank himself. The mech was massive, and it set him off all over again, but towards a sense that he simply wasn't safe here. He shook his head hard, trying to make himself see logic, see reason. Star Saber wasn't going to hurt him. They were allies, they were on the same side.
"Carrying...does not...agree with me." He managed, crossing an arm over his chassis as his intakes seized and his spark squeezed painfully inside of him. "I am having...a panic attack. No reason to...have medical intervention for it...Should be able to...manage myself..." He knew he needed to calm down, and a mental voice in his head agreed with him.
His newspark cooed and wailed again, making little pitched tones to indicate it was trying to communicate with the large mech.
That was certainly not the reaction he was expecting from Prowl. In fact, those red optics weren’t something he’d probably expect from anyone one base. What the pit was wrong with him? Had someone tried to attack him? Was this not Prowl but some spy? He went for the sword on his back, prepared for an attack at any given moment as he didn’t know exactly what would happen.
Then he mentioned carrying, and the panic attack. He sighed a bit in relief, releasing his grip on the blade silently, he stood there for a moment. So he was carrying, huh? That was certainly... Not what he expected. “Another sparkling on the way then? Seems to be quite a few young ones on base as of late,” he explained - between the sparklings, hybrid, and human it was rather... Unusual. “I offer my congratulations on the sparkling. But suggest you sit down and attempt to relax. All the stress cannot be helpful to the young one.”
He noted the others move towards his weapons, his processors immediately going over what he could do to either disarm and deal with the threat or remove himself from the danger altogether. The logical route would be to simply remove himself, not put his frame in a stressful state and thus risking his newspark. But the other stood down, and the thought died away. Prowl acknowledge that he should not have been considering battle options against one of his fellows, but it was par the course while he was in this particular state of being.
His doorwings were pressed to a wall, which didn't make him feel any better. The sensation wasn't painful, just uncomfortable for the time being. He realized he'd brought himself flush to the wall, a place he couldn't escape from, and pushed from it slowly.
Sit down and relax? Easier said than done. "I can't. I am physically incapable of calming down." Hence the panic attack. "I don't feel safe. Its illogical, I acknowledge that, but its true." He didn't know why he was explaining himself to this mech, who was about as large as Optimus and engineered about the same reaction. He needed to get away from him. Now, preferably. But he couldn't move, and his newspark was upset. He didn't know what to do.
"Jazz helps me, but he's gone." He knew that most of the mechs that knew he was carrying assumed Jazz was the sire, and it was better that way. He vented loudly again, heat coming off of him due to the stress he was currently under.
Prowl had always had a hard time trusting others, it was simply the way he was. He would never be outgoing, never be one of those 'bots that could be friends with everyone. And right now, the way he was acting, it was best he wasn't as social as some of his fellows. Someone would have been hurt by now. "I need to feel safe, and my processors are in a state where most of those I would call my allies are not to be trusted. I'm not safe, my newspark isn't safe. I don't know what to do." His tone never rose, though he was getting steadily more distressed.
That was definitely not helpful then. He didn’t mean to suggest anything that was a stupid or a bad idea. But at the same time he knew that he had to help the mech in some way. He nodded his head a little though. He had never been a carrier himself but he had watched his carrier have two sparklings that were his siblings so he definitely understood. “I understand. I have not carried myself nor do I plan to. But it seems you are of the same opinion as my own carrier.”
Ah Jazz was on Earth then? Emphasis on was he supposed. Which was too bad, Star Saber had found him, and his antics pleasant back on Cybertron. And might have honestly enjoyed getting the chance to interact with him again. “I assume Jazz was the sire then?” He questioned honestly. “Or was he not?”
Ah that also made sense. “I believe as you are carrying new life in you that is just instinct. To protect the new spark from any harm that may come to it,” he then noted. “Especially on a base such as this. If you factor in the antics of people like the twins. Or the human Dylan. Or any of the young ones really... Its only natural some things will make you “freak out”. Even if it seems illogical.”
He felt his doorwings starting to vibrate, flicking and shifting to give him immediate access to any and all information he wanted if he chose. He was the second in command, if he tried hard enough he could get into pretty much anything on the base. He didn't want to. He didn't want to know any further information than he already had. His paranoia was bad enough, thank you. He vented, pushing at the instinct he had to run, to make a bolt for the door and down the steps. Perhaps even all the way to his own room, where he could then lock the door and put up so many traps on all the available exits that getting in wouldn't be worth the effort.
His tactical processes started up at that thought, making it a viable option. But he didn't want to run. He was tired of this, he wanted to go back to normal. He concentrated on his intakes, on cooling his systems as the warning messages warned him of the need. Talking about Jazz, mentioning his friend, now that made him focus. Made him pay attention.
"Jazz is." He would claim the other as the sire of his newspark, no matter that he was no longer with the Autobots. "But he has chosen to defect." He deadpanned it, doorwings fanning out slowly. Made to focus he could process things. Made to talk about Jazz hurt him, but at least he didn't feel the powerful drive to get out of the situation any longer.
Star Saber spoke logically and seemed to be calm in the face of the sheer amount of panic Prowl was exhibiting. It was helping him, just slowly. It helped that he spoke of seeing this behavior before, and seemed to even agree that what he was doing was normal. He didn't think so, but it made him feel somewhat better. A hand curled protectively over his chassis, shielding the newspark within. "I would be much more content if I could work. However, this state of being makes doing so completely impossible." A busy Prowl was a happy Prowl, and he couldn't concentrate enough to do any of his normal duties.
@starsaber
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altria : please dont be dead?
Jun 14, 2023 22:40:34 GMT
Partia: Is this still alive?
Dec 17, 2022 6:02:02 GMT
Partia: Is this still alive?
Dec 17, 2022 6:01:34 GMT
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