anon-e-miss - Tumblr blog

anon-e-miss · 24 days

Text

Touch of Sight - 11

A Cornerstone’s bells rang out calling the faithful to worship. Prowl lay on his belly, face buried in his pillow and listened to them ring. There was no mistaking the call of lesser temples for that of a Cornerstone. Minor temples had only a single bell in their bell towers, where Cornerstones had three octaves at least of bells that were not rung haphazardly, but in a score written by some ancient temple musician. He should not have been able to hear them at all, tucked away as he was in the market. Might the wind be blowing in just the right directions? With the haze of recharge still thick in his helm, Prowl listened. It was odd, he had never heard a Cornerstone’s call so clear and yet they sounded one dimensional, flat. There was something missing. Prowl stretched out his doorwings to “hear” a little better, only to realize he could not “hear”, could not “feel”, could not feel his doorwings, could not move them at all. He was blind, truly, completely blind. Imm. His audials heard his strangled cry as he tried to push himself up, digits clawing at the berth under him. He tried to reach behind himself but Prowl was not strong enough to hold him even partly upright.. His whole frame ached and his arms trembled. His voice was hoarse as he keened. A gloved servo brushed his helm and Prowl collapsed back down on the berth, the keen fading into a weak sob.

“Shh,” it was Jazz. Prowl felt the berth sag as Jazz sat on the edge. Prowl could almost feel tears wet his face, but he had no optics. He had no tears. Jazz’s gloved servo left his helm and covered Prowl servo. It took a long time before Prowl realized Jazz was writing glyphs against the back of his servo, only then did the panic roar fade in his help enough that Prowl could actually hear and understand. “Y’re okay. Y’re doors got burned in the fire. Ratch, my medic friend’s lookin’ after ya. He turned off yer relays so ya don’t gotta feel as yer sensors heal.”

“Fire...” Prowl frowned as his whispered the glyph, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded and how raw his voice felt. He remembered. The madmech, he had set fire to the apartment, set to killed them all, to kill him, the mech he had declared a demon. “My mechlings?”

“Are perfect,” Jazz promised and Prowl prayed he was true. “A bit o’ smoke was all they got, Ratch made sure their intakes are good. Got’em in class. Ori thought it was important for’em to have a lil normalcy.”

“Where am I?” Prowl asked. His sentio-metallico still prickled with anxiety as the panic ebbed. He was blind, wholly blind but he was not alone. Still, his spark continued to race. How was he supposed to live on like this? How was he meant to care for his creations?

“The Celestial Temple,” Jazz replied. Prowl felt the scarred sentio-metallico of his face strain to stretch as he raised his brow ridge with surprise.

“Why?” He asked. His spark pulsed out of control and he trembled with fear. Had Smokescreen said something? Had they discovered who they were, who they had been? The Celestial Temple was not just a Cornerstone, it was the Prime’s residence. Why would paupers be brought here for medical treatment?

“It’s sorta Ratch’s home base,” Jazz replied. “He runs other clinics but his apothecary is here. My home base too. Seemed like the best place to put ya were ya could be safe.”

“There is no more danger,” Prowl replied. He rested his helm on the pillow. How had he ever mistaken it for his own? It was far too luxurious and its cover too soft against his scarred sentio-metallico. “The voices haunting that mech told him to jump into the flames.”

“Sounds like ya feel a lil sorry for ‘m,” Jazz said.

“His processor was broken,” Prowl replied. He was tired. He had only just woken up but he was so tired. “He genuinely thought I was a demon. He genuinely thought Primus and the angels were telling him to cleanse me. He never should have been let out of the sanitarium. Let me guess, they deployed mnemosurgery, erasing the voices from his memory and declared him fit?”

“That’s right,” Jazz replied. “How’d ya guess?”

“Because that is what they do,” Prowl said. “They address the symptom without searching for the cause.”

“Sounds like ya got some history with mneumosurgeons,” Jazz replied.

“I have a processor glitch,” Prowl explained. “Every time I would crash, they would erase the thought or feeling they thought triggered it. It took until I was a mech grown and could refuse the mneumosurgeons that I was actually able to learn to manage my affliction. I do not know what would have helped that mech, but I know mneumosurgery was not it.”

“Y’re a wise mech,” Jazz replied.

“Mm,” Prowl hummed. He turned his servo around around to touch Jazz’s palm. It was not gloves Jazz was wearing. His servo was covered it gauze. “What happenened?”

“Servos go burned climbin’ the buildin’,” Jazz explained.

“You were hurt saving us,” Prowl said, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. “Punch... he tried. The sheets I tied, they tore. He said he was going to try the stairs.”

“He did, they’d collapsed, he didn’t think he could make the jump,” Jazz replied. “If I hadn’t gotten there when I did, I think he woulda gone back in ‘n risked it anyways. Y’re bitlets are worth it. So are ya.”

“I am sorry you were hurt,” Prowl said. “I am sorry Punch was in danger because of us.”

“It was nothin’ ya did,” Jazz told him. “I’m just glad Swindle put more into that place than I thought. Fire didn’t spread near as fast as it coulda and when the floor collapsed, the walls still held.”

“I think he invested in the struts of that building and not the facade,” Prowl replied. “If he had done the latter, he could have charged more for the habsuites and no one would have thought any of it.”

“He did good,” Jazz said. “‘N I told’m that. He was there, when the fire was goin’. Helped me wit yer mechlings. He’s terrified o’ poverty. ‘N I understand why, since we come from the same corner o’ the Pit. Sometimes he makes bad choices but he’s a decent mech o’erall.”

“Are you bothering my patient?” A new voice, rumbled. Prowl flinched. He had never been easy to sneak up on. It had become even harder since he had been blinded, when his doorwings had taken the place of his optics. Was this how he was to live for the rest of his life? It felt unbearable.

“Smokey wasn’t bout to leave’m alone, ‘n rightly so,” Jazz replied. He did not sound as if he felt any fear towards this new mech. “I stepped out for half a klik to speak to Hide ‘n he was awake ‘n right terrified.”

“Fine... what did I tell you about using your servos?” The medic asked.

“They’re fine,” Jazz replied. “Ain’t putting pressure on’em or nothin’.”

“I have no faith in you,” the medic said. “I know better.”

“Ya wound me, Ratch,” Jazz replied, with a chuckle in his voice. “Ratchet’s the best medic on Cybertron, Prowl. He’ll want me outta the way to look at yer doors. Mind if I sit at yer peds.”

“If you have business to attend to, do not delay it on my behalf,” Prowl said.

“I got nothin’ goin’ on,” Jazz said. “Even if I did, it wouldn’t be more important than this.”

Prowl could not help but believe him and it was a strange. He should have been nothing but a potential new minion to this mech and yet, Jazz had brought him and his creations home to his originator, not just for a meal but for friendship and... for Punch’s approval. Rather than discourage any attachment from Punch, his originator, Jazz seemed to encourage it and... Smokescreen glyphs echoed in Prowl’s memory banks. Though he had denied it to his creation, the observation felt like a peculiar truth. When Jazz had all but danced with him in the field, there had been pleasure and warmth in his field. It made no sense. Prowl was not a beauty. He had been... simply unremarkable before the blinding where Nightstalker had been the beauty. Their procreators had called him the Jewel of Praxus. Prowl, he had been an udder disappointment. How could Jazz look had him now, with a mottled face with two empty pits and feel anything like attraction? Pity did not explain it. Heavy pedsteps signalled the medic’s approached as Jazz moved to sit at Prowl’s peds.

“I’m Ratchet, Prowl,” the medic formally introduced himself. “I’m sure the miscreant told you but both your mechlings are in good physical health. It’ll take them some time to process the fear and trauma. I think they were both brought back to the Cataclysm, especially your little one.”

“What do I do for them?” Prowl asked.

“What you’ve always done,” Ratchet replied. “Love them and listen to them. It’s done wonders.”

“I have not been able to help Bluestreak find his voice,” Prowl countered.

“Traumatic mutism is difficult for anyone to treat,” Ratchet said. “You gave him a voice with chirolinguistics. You’ve done more than a lot of medics would think to with that alone. You haven’t focused on his spoken voice. You empower him by adapting to his needs.”

“Ya done right by them,” Jazz told him.

“I’m going to change your bandages,” Ratchet said. “Despite your sensory grid being offline, you may still feel pain.”

“I understand,” Prowl said. He remember the agony when the farm’s creation cleaned his infected burns and applied dressings. Every dressings change had been a renewal of that agony, pain that had been worse than the original burn.

There was a throbbing pain across his back as Ratchet pealed away the bandages. It was unpleasant yes but nothing compared to what he had already endured. Jazz would be suffering far more with his treatments and Prowl felt guilty. He was relieved as Ratchet disposed of the used dressings, he smelled medicinal ointment, not festering metal. The odor of his facial burns had been a terrible thing and something he still smelled in his memory-purges. It felt more like an itch he could not place, that bounced all over his frame. Jazz brushed his bandaged sevo over Prowl’s ankle and it was grounding. Prowl smelled the ointment Ratchet took out to apply to his burns and distracted himself in separating the smells and narrowing down what crystals he believed had been used in the blend.

“It’s looking good,” Ratchet told him. “No infection. Luckily, you only suffered partial thickness burns. Most of your doorwing sensors should heal to within normal parameters. You may have some holes in your perception but your processor will fill those in so you don’t even notice.”

“That is a relief,” Prowl sighed. “I could not imagine how I would live completely blind.”

“Ya woulda found a way,” Jazz reassured him. “For the mechlings.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said.

“Are you hungry at all?” Ratchet asked.

“A little,” he replied.

“Good,” Ratchet said. “Punch took it upon himself to make a melon soup. He thought you’d be up this cycle.”

“Ori’s got good instincts,” Jazz declared. “Not feelin’ too banged up?”

“I am fine,” Prowl asked. “Sore. Just sore and tired.”

“Ya fell through the floor,” Jazz explained his concern. “Maybe it was a good think the smoke already had ya in stasis ‘cause ya was relaxed when ya fell ‘n that helped ya not too get too hurt.”

“I do not remember that at all,” Prowl said. “The last thing I remember is giving Bluesatreak to you.”

“Probably not a bad thing to forget,” Jazz said. “Important thing is ya made it out.”

#valveplug #maccadams #tf prowl #tf jazz #anon-e-miss writes #mechpreg #tf punch #a touch of sight

50 notes · View notes