Chapter Text
Prowl stumbled back through the rift, body swaying as he fought for equilibrium. It had been centuries since he’d last accessed the timestream, and he knew this would be the final time; he’d forgotten the extent of the effect it had on his frame. His spark was burning hot like an inferno within its chamber, the photons excited beyond their normal capacity, and his sensors were trying desperately to recalibrate while he still felt himself about to crash back to the floor.
Large hands caught him, shoulder and waist, and he leaned gratefully into the hold, letting it stabilize him while he waited for his vision to stop spinning.
“Easy, Prowl,” Long Haul murmured into his audial. “We’ve got you.”
He knew it was true. Though he was not well enough yet to see them, he spark still could feel the presence of the others around him, the beacons that had guided him back to his place in time. They were nearby, but not pressing, giving him space to come back on his own terms before they showered him with the worry he knew them to be feeling.
“I know,” he said, his voice rough with static. “I’ll be alright. Just give me a klik.”
“Need anything? Energon?” Sweet Scavenger, who Prowl knew could not stop himself entirely from offering aid, though he still kept his distance while he waited for the okay.
“I think I might purge it,” Prowl admitted. His entire frame felt delicate, hypersensitive as it readjusted to being back in a space physical bodies were meant to inhabit. Long Haul’s fingers, wide and blunt, were about all he could handle at the moment, though bit by bit the zip and sting of off-balance tactile sensors were fading.
“As soon as you’re up for it, we should probably get you somewhere cooler,” Mixmaster’s voice said. “You’re not overheating yet, but it’s a near thing, and if you can’t take in coolant, we’ll need to stay on top of it.”
“I’ll get the fan going.” Retreating footsteps accompanied Bonecrusher’s words. They were a good pair, Prowl mused, a solid unit that bolstered the cohesion of the team as a whole.
“Hey, you still with me, Prowl?” Long Haul asked, gently lifting and tilting Prowl so they were closer to facing each other. His tone, though calm, revealed a hint of anxiety that Prowl’s spark ached to soothe, a feeling greater than the waning discomfort left by the timestream.
Prowl cautiously onlined his optics and smiled at the sight of the familiar faceplate, the gentle glow of an optic band whose purple matched his own.
“Of course,” he said, “where else would I be?”
“None of that slag,” Long Haul chided, his tone light again. “You got this dopey look on your face. Needed to make sure you didn’t fry your processor or something.”
Prowl realized that he was smiling. It was something he did a lot now, though he hadn’t realized it before going back and seeing how foreign the concept had once been to him. He remembered the constant anger, the fear, the ever-present sense and expectation of betrayal, but in a distant way. Those were memories he’d learned how to suppress and dilute, so the old emotions didn’t infest the present and drive him to the same behaviors that had so nearly cost him this. He didn’t want to think about those things right now, so instead he focused on the feeling of Long Haul’s hands, the smell of so many living engines around him.
“Was just thinking,” he said.
“About?”
“The team.” He tossed his gaze aside to look on the assembled members and his optics landed on Hook, stood behind Mixmaster and Scavenger and watching Prowl was a nervousness that should have had no place here. Before he could think about what he was doing, he was wriggling to get free, and despite a concerned hesitation Long Haul did let him go. Prowl stumbled, reached out and let Scavenger be his support.
“Hook,” he got out, and at the request the named teammate stepped forward, taking Prowl’s arms when they were offered to help him keep his balance. Prowl leaned in, capturing Hook’s lips in a warm, soft kiss that tasted of iron and crackled with a sparkling twinge of electricity. A gentle glossa swept across his bottom lip and Prowl hummed, sinking into the feeling he’d steadfastly refused himself in the confines of the timestream.
The kiss lasted a klik, probably longer, and Prowl only broke it off because he felt himself starting to get dizzy again. Still, he stayed close and rested his forehelm against Hook’s, grateful when the other lowered his optic lights so they weren’t glaring into each other.
“Did I do alright?” Hook asked, quiet. It wasn’t a secret, what they’d done, but there was still something private about it, something shared only between the two of them. Prowl’s processor was still reeling from the revelation that Hook had managed to keep it a secret for all these years, trying to compute how many times he’d missed clues or near-admissions.
“You did perfectly,” Prowl said. “I’m so proud, my dear, and grateful.”
“Grateful?”
“You gave us this chance,” Prowl said. “Everyone has played a role in making it work, but you were the one who made it possible. I always knew that, but never the full extent of it.”
“I was just following your orders,” Hook said, though he was beaming under the praise. It was a gorgeous sight, and Prowl could not help stealing another kiss to that grin before he reclaimed his place.
“And I, yours,” he pointed out. “We make a good team.”
“We do,” Hook agreed.
“We all do?”
Prowl turned to look at Scavenger, still standing nearby with a posture that said he wanted to be involved but didn’t want to invade their moment. If his frame had been up to it, Prowl might have laughed, but instead he let go of Hook with one hand to reach out to Scavenger, drawing him into their huddle. He leaned over to kiss Scavenger, too, grateful for though unable to reciprocate his enthusiastic nibbling.
“The snoggers are at it again,” Long Haul complained. Prowl broke off the kiss to smirk up at their teammate, who stared down on them with his arms crossed and posture unimpressed. “Go easy on him, Scav. Don’t need him offlining because we literally blew his processor out.”
“If you’re so jealous, Long Haul, you could have gotten that mouth with your frame overhaul like I suggested,” Prowl pointed out.
“Nah, somebody on this team’s gotta maintain some dignity,” Long Haul said as his stance relaxed and he stepped forward, doing the best he could to wrap the three of them in an outer layer of hug. The closeness was a little much for Prowl, but it wasn’t uncomfortable yet and he knew, despite whatever fronts they put up, they needed assurance that he was okay.
To perhaps everyone’s benefit, it didn’t last too long.
“Hey, hey, this is the exact opposite of what I said,” Mixmaster said, stepping forward to break up the impromptu cuddle until it was just Hook and Prowl hanging onto each other. “Prowl’s temperature is rising. Hook, get him in front of that fan before he melts into a puddle of slag.”
“Sure thing, Mix,” Hook said, looping an arm around Prowl’s waist so they could walk over to the cooled pocket of the cave they’d set up ahead of time. Scattered around were a few stacks of extra energon, a basic med kit, and a few more heavy-duty supplies in case they’d needed to hold him together while they rushed to a proper hospital. Bonecrusher was standing by their industrial fan, adjusting its angle while Prowl sat down so he was in the center of the blast. Despite the noise and the extra sensory information getting force through his doorwings, the cool air felt wonderful against his hot plating, and he allowed his optics to dim a moment as he savored it.
“You good there, Prowl?” Hook asked from above. He’d stayed by Prowl’s side but hadn’t sat down yet.
“Could be better. Here.” Prowl reached up to lightly tug on Hook’s hand. As soon as his teammate was sitting, Prowl leaned over to cuddle against his side, grateful both for the contact and the support of a body much more stable than his own. Hook’s arm wrapped around his back, gently squeezing his shoulder.
“Aw, so sweet,” Mixmaster said, standing off to the side so he wouldn’t be in the way of the fan. There was a glint in his optic that Prowl knew too well.
“Are you taking image captures?”
“Just figured Springer will want proof when we tell him that we got you safely back from the timestream, then lost you again because you couldn’t keep your hands off Hook.” The mech whose rescue mission Prowl had framed as a bounty hunt all those years ago had asked to be kept informed of their status.
“Can you blame him?” Hook asked, though he started to shift away, something Prowl could not abide by.
“My temperature is dropping,” he pointed out. He leaned more of his weight on Hook, preventing him from moving unless he wanted to risk dropping Prowl on the ground. “Maybe not as quickly as if Hook weren’t here, but it’s not at such a critical level for that to be an issue.”
Mixmaster looked like he had more argument in him, but then Bonecrusher appeared behind him, wrapping his arms around Mix’s midsection while his chin came to rest on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, Mixer,” he said, so soft Prowl knew it was only intended for Mixmaster; that the rest of them could hear it was merely incidental of the cave’s acoustics. “We got him back and he’s safe. The worst part’s over.”
Prowl saw Mixmaster minutely lean back into the touches, his optics flickering as Bonecrusher’s hands brushed along delicate seams, playing at the wires underneath. It was an attractive scene, but Prowl knew that if he spent too long watching his frame would start to overheat again. He turned his attention to Hook, who he wasn’t surprised to find was looking at him in turn.
“What?” he asked, feeling playful.
“Just glad this worked out, Prowl,” Hook said, expression relaxed but a little more serious. “And, uh, sorry that I kept this a secret for so long. What with you trusting us and all.”
Prowl’s processor scrambled for something to say to that. To buy himself time, he kissed Hook again, offlining his optics so he could focus on the feeling of soft lips, smooth glossa. In the background, Bonecrusher and Mixmaster’s hushed conversation had devolved into pleasured moans and hums, and nearby the increasing pitch of busy engines said that Scavenger and Long Haul were finding their own fun. Later, once they were back in their own ship and Prowl didn’t feel like his frame was at risk of rattling apart, he was going to drag all of them into their berth and savor each one, their unique tastes, delighted voices and rumbling engines.
He’d forced himself to forget how willing he’d been to lose it all, how he’d been ready to sacrifice their lives as well as his own in his reckless rescue mission. The ache of four million years of exhaustion had still been heavy in his spark, and he’d hoped that some part of the plan, getting back at the Decepticons for what had been done to him, saving Springer from the timestream, letting himself extinguish in the attempt, would be the thing to finally ease it. He’d refused to know then what he did now, and he pressed deeper into the kiss, hoping Hook would understand it as his own apology.
When they broke apart, Prowl did not immediately online his optics, but lay his head on Hook’s shoulder, letting the familiar frame hold him up as it had for so long.
“We’re a team,” he said, which he now knew meant, in language the Decepticons had used to keep from sounding too much like squishy, softsparked Autobots, I love you.