Title: Sweet Child o' Mine
Continuity: G1-ish (early wartime, Cybertron)
Character(s): Prowl, Starscream, OC (Blackfoot)

Genre: family/hurt/comfort

Rating: T
Warnings: some mentioning of violence, swearwords

Summary: Prowl takes pity of an abused youngling. He discovers a secret that has far-reaching consequences.

Disclaimer: the usual. OC is mine, nothing else is.

Sweet child o' mine

Meeting

It was a brief calm between the storms. Megatron seemed to be hesitating, waiting for something, having inside troubles – or planning an insidious maneuver somewhere. But here, among the few mountains of Cybertron it meant that the weapons were silent and the survivors cautiously moved around, picking up the pieces of their broken lives. Few lived here even before the war, as the Copper Mountains were –despite their name – poor in metals and therefore not worthy of mining. Their only items of value here were the pretty crystals, emeralds, rubies, diamonds found in the cracks of the reddish stone – all quite worthless, especially since the war put a stop to carving pretty baubles for decoration or jewellery. Artificial focusing crystals had long replaced their usually impure natural relatives in weapons, like lasers – and with those discoveries even the former crystal hunters left the mountains and their meager villages.

There was only one small base among the peaks, such as they were; any human mountain worth its name would disdain their meager heights. Cybertron is not a topographically entertaining planet, as it never had any tectonic movements to fold up high mountains or create deep canyons; those few that exist became so through other means, like the unique sonic qualities of a region that split the ground to establish the Sonic Canyons. The Autobot base nestled in between two small peaks, guarding the pass that was once a major thoroughfare from Polyhex to Kalis, but losing its importance since the destruction of both towns vorns ago. Since that time the base quietly became one of the more peaceful ones as neither the region nor the pass was contested by the Decepticons.

Prowl consequently wasn't really sure why he was needed to inspect the smallish base and its operations; true, he was only the third tactician in the Autobot army, climbing steadily in the ranks since his joining and as such sometimes he got the less interesting problems. But he couldn't even see any problems here, the region and its base was so lacking any strategical value that no plans existed either to conquer it or to defend; it just quietly existed here, among the rocky peaks that might have looked small for a human mountain, but were still an impassable barrier to the ground based, wheeled Cybertronians. The officers and soldiers stationed here consequently were all of the off-road types to be able to negotiate the ground – and as Prowl found matching in temperaments to their alt modes as well. Morose, terse and close-knit bunch they were, wary of outsiders, even their Autobot comrades apparently, as he observed.

Not that they hindered his evaluation in any way, at least not in a way that he could point at; only a general unhelpfulness and indifference that he wasn't used to from Autobot officers. The Second in Command, a big, dark, red-brown coloured mech called Powerdash was particularly suspicious of the tactician and avoided him whenever he could. His commander, an old, bitterly disappointed soldier, feeling cast aside from active fighting was no better either and between the two of them, Prowl's work progressed far slower than he anticipated. But he hasn't found any untoward secrets or illegal actions in the base, so he decided to put up with their distrust and get back to Iacon as fast as he finished with the investigation.

Working mainly with the officers and quartered in their part of the base, he rarely saw any of the soldiers stationed there, only as numbers in the statistics; as usual, the tactician never visited the common areas of any place only for refueling. But it was there that he first saw the smallish bot who awakened his interest for some reason; Prowl later couldn't exactly put a finger on what it was that made him notice the dirty-looking grayish bot. Maybe his dirty, battered armour – but then off-road Transformers usually sported those characteristics. Or his ducking, almost fearful manner with which he darted through the mechs waiting for the morning briefing, shoved aside by some of them carelessly, and his disappearance when he noticed Prowl at the energon dispenser. Whatever the reason was, after that incident he kept looking for the small bot and was interested to see that even among the elusive mechs of the base he was particularly hard to catch. He couldn't even find him among the base personnel data, which was unusual and made him look even harder.

At the end, giving up the futile search he asked the base medic who so far seemed the most friendly of the officers. He too was evasive at first, but after Prowl's indirect assurance that he wasn't pursuing anything, only his curiosity, the mech relented and started to tell the tale. It was an all too familiar one those days, war-torn villages and towns yielding survivors one by one, gravitating towards the fortified bases that meant safety. That the bot was only a youngling wasn't unusual either; some bases stretched the rules to collectively adopt these small survivors, instead of sending them away to the remaining off-planet care centers; everyone knew how precarious the safety of those were in neutral hands, against the cunning of Decepticons. Mechs often found that younglings, old enough to cope with the situation, fared better in military bases.

So, knowing the story of the youngster Prowl was more or less satisfied with the reason and not intending to do anything about it. After some orns he was finishing off his work too and got ready to travel back to Iacon. But at the last evening refuel, he saw the small bot again, and looking at him with the knowledge recently obtained, the tactician suddenly noticed how battered he looked, dents and scratches decorating his thin, dirty-gray armour and followed him out to the base corridors. The medic told him that Blackfoot was clumsy and fell a lot, which could have accounted for the dents – but still he found it disconcerting to see a youngster in such condition. Nor did he really like the obviously disdaining manner with which the medic talked about the mech; together with the humiliating prank that he observed one cycle it didn't paint a particularly welcoming atmosphere to the youngster. They may have adopted the bot, but it looked that they didn't particularly liked him; and Prowl wanted to get to the bottom of this.

He followed the smaller bot through the base corridors, letting him space, not wanting to scare him away again, like the first time. But at a smaller walkway he lost sight of the youngster, and since it was a dead end, Prowl grew a bit concerned. There were no rooms at this part of the base, only some storage spaces, he knew from the inventory – and no reason for a young bot to be around. He stood in the middle of the corridor, undecided as to what to do when he heard a small noise coming from behind one of the doors. Opening the storage cabinet's lock with his officer's code he was shocked by the sight that greeted him; the youngster was curled up on the floor of the small cabinet, lit by a single light-strip, sipping his cube of energon, surprised and visibly afraid seeing him leaning into the small space.

"Blackfoot, is that you? Why are you hiding here?"

The youngster looked back to him with wide, frightened optics and curled even more into himself. - "I… I recharge here." – he answered in a small, quietly hesitant voice.

"Here? Why? Don't you have quarters to recharge? With your caretaker?"

"Powerdash doesn't like me in his quarters. He told me to get lost when I was noisy at night." – the small voice was shaking and Prowl started to get a sinking feeling. Powerdash was rough, insensitive and he couldn't imagine the mech as caretaker for a youngster. He didn't even want to contemplate anything more serious than that - yet.

"Is he your caretaker?"

The nod that answered him was accompanied by a strong flinch, throwing the smaller bot's dents into a totally new light. The youngster was afraid of the base SIC, or rather terrified, if his reaction was anything to go by. Prowl didn't know what to do. It was impossible to leave the youngster there in good conscience, but at the same time he didn't think he had any authority to take the youngster's custody away. Unless…

"Has he hurt you?"

"No!" –the nervous exclamation was anything but sincere. Blackfoot's optics were wide, frightened, avoiding his gaze, like he was told to deny any such accusation.

"Do you like him?"

"I… he is my caretaker… I must obey him."

"A caretaker who cannot put up with you? Besides there is no record of him being legally your guardian. Or you being in the base for that matter."

"N-no?" – the youngster was staring at him like Prowl just gave him a huge present." – "He… I… don't have to stay with him?"

"Not if you don't want to. Do you?"

"I… I don't know… he told me that I must…"

"I see." – Prowl saw that the youngster needed a little time to make a decision. – "I am fairly sure that I could find you a better caretaker – if you trust me and were willing to leave this base. Do you have many friends here?"

"Nobody." – the voice was bitter now, wrought with deep-seated disappointment and hurt. – "They call me a Con spawn, because I have red optics."

"In that case it wouldn't be that hard to leave, right?"

"I… no… but I'd just be a Con to other Autobots too, they said."

"I admit that red optics usually signify Decepticons, but there are exceptions and not all Autobots are so prejudiced. And you can always get a visor if you want to cover them up."

"I don't have any credits to buy such things."

"Look we can talk about details somewhere else. If you want to come with me, be there in the morning when I leave."

Talking

The youngster was there at the next morning, unobtrusively slinking behind the mechs' backs, clenching a small, meager bundle of belongings in his servo until Prowl was ready to leave – and he joined the black and white car just after the first bend in the road, obviously wanting to keep his leaving in secret as far as he could. They spent the way in silence mostly, Prowl going over his report and the possibilities about the youngster as well, while he was following the officer cautiously behind, not wanting to intrude on his thoughts. It worried Prowl a bit; a mech at his approximate age should be far more curious, especially at such a huge change in his life, and not silent like this. He hardly got any livelier even when they reached Iacon and the barren, ruined landscape gave way to a city that was only superficially touched by the war and showing at least some of its grandeur remaining from the golden age.

"Have you ever been to Iacon?"

"No. I only know the mountains."

"Were you created there?"

A silence for answer, like he was thinking what to say, before he blurted out. – "I don't really remember. Only the base and the mountains. Not much… from before."

"It is all right. We are not in a hurry, so you can have a look around."

But finally they arrived to the Iacon Command Central and the youngster was again nervously frightened, drawing close to Prowl, even as he was trying not to touch him; the two incentives were clearly battling it out in his processor. His access got them through the checkpoints without a question and Prowl turned towards the med bay, hoping that Ratchet was on duty there. He didn't truly appreciate the mech's manners – or lack of it – but he knew the medic to be compassionate under the harsh words. He was lucky in this regard, seeing as they stepped into the brightly lit and immaculately clean space that Ratchet was the one going on with one of his famous lectures while one of the twins was in the receiving end, as it often happened. Prowl was patient and waited it out until the medbot finished and the unrepentant Sideswipe jumped off the med berth and left with a swagger, showing clearly that the lecture left his processor without sticking in it in any way.

"Prowl. What have you got now?" – Ratchet closed on the tactician, canting a measured glance at the clearly frightened small bot beside him who looked like a street rat. The tactician was about the last mech he would've picked as a likely candidate for going all compassionate and bringing in a clearly homeless and abandoned youngling. Especially one with red, Con optics… where could he pick such a kid up? There weren't any in Iacon, that's for sure.

"Ratchet. This is Blackfoot, who was so far living in our Copper Mountain base." – that statement made Ratchet lift an orbital ridge. The kid definitely didn't look like living in any civilized setting, much less an Autobot base. Prowl switched to comm, while Ratchet motioned the youngster to the med berth and started scanning him.

"I suspect abuse of the youngling by base personnel. I intend to start an investigation and I'd like your input on his injuries and condition."

"If he was abused you will of course have my support."

Aloud he growled a bit at the implications but stopped when he saw the youngster's frightened flinch at the sound. – "Primus! I won't hurt you, kid. I reacted to your injuries. How did you get so dented and scratched?"

"I… I stumble and fall a lot..."

The answer sounded by rote, learned and artificial and didn't fool the experienced medic for a single klik.

"Stumble and fell… don't give me slag kid. You'd have to fall every nanoklik for this many dents and you seem to have good coordination in the limbs."

"S-some mechs enjoyed tripping and pushing me…"

"Now, that might be closer to the truth than the nonsense you said before. Who was it? I must tell you kid, since you look an intelligent one to me, that we don't take this kind of abuse lightly. It is not tattling to report when someone takes advantage of you. We have laws." – Ratchet was cataloguing the dents and injuries on the small frame, while fixing them up. Most were just slight, superficial damage, for which he was thankful – it was always harder to see critically injured younglings than soldiers. Only one of the shoulder joints looked suspicious, like having a deep weakness inside, but it wasn't urgent either.

"My caretaker said that I just have to cope with pranks and mechs not liking me. He said nobody likes Con spawns and I should be grateful for what I got…" – the voice was so small and almost inaudible that Ratchet had to listen carefully to catch it all. But at the end he still didn't know if he heard it well. – "Primus! A Con spawn…? Now why would he call you that?"

"He said only Decepticons have red optics."

"That was your caretaker?" – Ratchet still couldn't believe his audios. Who could be so careless or insensitive to entrust a youngling to a mech behaving that way with his charge? He turned towards Prowl, silently standing to one side and observing the proceedings. At Ratchet's incredulous look he shrugged and elaborated.

"I have found no record of any official adoption. In fact no sign existed of Blackfoot's existence in the base records. But I did find him recharging in a storage closet, because and I quote 'his caretaker couldn't stand the noise he made at night'."

Ratchet couldn't answer for a full breem, he was so shocked and spluttering, stopping even with his work until he could collect his wits again.

"Well, I'm glad that you decided to bring him with you. Anything here will be better than that."

"That is what I thought. I intend to start a real, legal adoption as soon as we have some ideas of who would be suitable. Until that time he can stay with me."

Ratchet smirked a bit at the uncharacteristic emotion colouring the normally unflappable tactician's voice. The youngster must have touched him more deeply than he showed and it promised little good for the base personnel responsible for the abuse.

"Who were your creators, youngling, do you remember?"

He looked lost, frightened and sad, turning his red optics downwards, curling in on himself in a characteristic sparkling-motion, as much as the examination allowed. Clearly the memories were painful and Ratchet wasn't surprised; the war caused innumerable such stories all over their planet.

"I remember my Carrier... a bit. He was deactivated when the village was destroyed. I run away and Powerdash found me. He… he was mean at first but then he told someone that he would be my caretaker. But he was… he was always mean…"

"By mean… do you mean that he has hit you?"

"Sometimes… he was rarely satisfied with me and always 'disciplining'. I heard him once telling someone that it is the way one has to raise a Con spawn."

"I guess there is no way I can hit this Powerdash mech right now." – he directed the comm to Prowl who only sent a negative answer, but with a flash in his optics that told the medic that he would likely to be joining him in that, had the mech been around. But aloud they gave no sign of the notion.

"Kid, younglings like you don't belong to factions, no matter what some slaggers say. You are no more Con than me or Prowl here. The red optics aren't a sure sign, all old military models had such, not only those who turned Decepticon when the war began. Your Carrier was a neutral I guess?"

"Yes… I think he was. But Powerdash said my Sire must have been a Con… and my Carrier his whore. What is a whore? Is it like bonded?"

"Prowl, I hope you make sure this Powerdash figure is removed from our forces and maybe his vocalizer too from his chassis. Or just sic me on him."

"I'll do what I can." – apparently it was too much for the tactician too, who looked like he had trouble to keep his tanks from purging.

"No, kiddo… it is very different. Whore is an insult. A grave one. Nobody should say such thing about anyone's Carrier."

"It felt bad… but he said many things that felt bad." – the youngster looked like he was falling into recharge in any klik. It must have been a tiring cycle for him and he didn't have a lot of rest before either.

"Prowl, I did what I could right now. I'll have a look at his shoulder tomorrow, but a thorough cleaning is in order before that. Will you take him to your quarters?"

"Yes, and give him some fuel too."

"I wanted to suggest that but it is all right then."

They left the med-bay, the youngster looking much better than before without the dents, even though his cheap armour was still dirty and scratched-looking. They stopped at the common room, Prowl drawing a cube for Blackfoot and one himself, patiently explaining the rules about refueling. He listened carefully, even though he looked tired; he didn't want to make a mistake, it had been painful so far to make any. The room was almost empty and they sat at a table, the youngling almost hiding from the ones around, until Prowl asked him about it.

"They never liked me around." – he mumbled over a sip of energon. – "Some just called me on names but a few times they kicked me out. Literally."

"No mech here will do that, I promise." – but Prowl saw in the tightening of his mouth that he wasn't really convinced by the promise; it would take time to see that this place was any different from the one he knew so far. But the kid made an effort not to burrow too close to him and even looked around to the few mechs who hardly noticed the two of them silently refueling there. They didn't stay long, Prowl saw that he was almost in recharge by the time he finished the energon and led him into his quarters. It was fortunate to have a two mech room for himself as it meant a free berth for the youngling, who looked at it amazed like he never before saw one. It twisted something in the normally unemotional tactician to see a youngling react in such way to having a simple berth to recharge on. But he was far too tired to stay shocked by it before he fell into deep recharge and Prowl left him there to make his report and set things into motion.

Deciding

Prowl usually reported to the SIC, Ultra Magnus, but with the youngling's story beside his report he decided to ask an appointment with the Prime. He got it without a problem; although he was only third tactician, everyone acknowledged his abilities and saw him as a rising star of the Tactical Division, destined for higher rank in times to come. Besides Optimus Prime was careful to be approachable for the ranks as much as his duties allowed; no matter the frowning of the remaining Council, he was a commoner, he more or less behaved one and never set himself above his soldiers. They went over his report in a single breem, having nothing unusual that would need to be reacted on and Optimus Prime saw it fit to ask what his tactician really wanted to say.

"Prowl, I can see that you have another agenda that you wanted to bring to me personally. Tell me."

"Yes, Prime, I do. I have discovered a deplorable practice during my time in the Copper Mountain base that I want an investigation for. It involves a minor, abused by base personnel."

The Prime frowned, mood turning to dark hearing the summary. – "That is a serious offense, if true."

"It is true, and I have Ratchet's report as well as my own evidence to support it. I enclosed it on this separate report." – he gave the datapad over and Optimus Prime scanned it quickly but thoroughly, noting the particulars of the case and the insinuations, as yet unsupported by evidence.

"I see. I will order a full investigation in the case – the evidence so far is more than enough for that. It pains me to see such behaviour in our ranks and we must cull it." – neither of them mentioned that the Council members sometimes tried to order or demand such or even more atrocious deeds 'for the good of the society' as they often put it. Prowl was secretly glad to see that the new Prime has so far firmly denied to order any such actions – it was why he dared to come to him with his problem. Sentinel Prime had been known to say that ends justified means and they accepted it for lack of knowing any better and none of them wanting to contradict a Prime; but many of them, who thought themselves true Autobots welcomed the new Prime's firm stance on sticking to their ideals, to truth and justice, and not only give those a lip-service.

"Thank you. If it is possible, I'd like the youngling to remain with us; he is close to his final frame and I'd be volunteering to rear him better than his previous experience indicates Autobots to be. It would be illogical to send him to a care center for only a few groons, where he knows no mech at all."

"I see that you feel strongly about it, Prowl. It is not like you to get emotionally involved."

The tactician bowed his helm as he contemplated how to answer to that. True, most mechs saw him as lacking emotions and being uninvolved in what they termed as caring for others; but his famed battle computer never precluded emotions, only put them in the background, so as not to interfere with tactical planning. But it was programmed with ethical values, since he was sparked as an enforcer and no amount of strategic necessity could overwrite those. Whenever he saw such blatant breach of values he was compelled to act against it; and the total lack of strategical importance of the base in the Copper Mountains let his background emotions take a larger role in decision-making than usual.

"My actions were not motivated by emotions, but the breach of laws that I, as a former enforcer must act upon at all times - when I am free to act outside my duties as tactician."

"In other words it was only logical to help the youngling." – a small smile played on Optimus Prime's lip-plates, entirely hidden – he hoped – by his ever-present battle mask.

"Indeed. I had hoped that the logic of my actions would be understandable to others."

"I do believe that it is. I was certainly convinced. What do you know about the youngling's background?"

"It is the only thing that can cause problems later; he seems to be a creation of a neutral and a Decepticon. If the latter were to be determined it can be problematic."

"Yes, I noticed the mentioning of the red optics. Perhaps they can be… corrected."

"Only if he feels like so. But I didn't mean the optics; the youngling seems to be hiding his background, as I find it unlikely that at his age he wouldn't remember anything about it."

"You think that he knows more than he tells and he has a reason not to say it."

"Exactly. I don't think it is a ploy – he is a bit young to be a spy – but I think we should be ready if he decides to come out with it."

"I trust you that you can handle when that comes up."

"Does it mean that you've decided that he can stay with me?"

"It does, Prowl. I can't think a better caretaker than you and he should be trusting you, considering the circumstances."

"Thank you Prime."

"As for the investigation, I'll set things into motion immediately.

They both stood and Prowl moved out of the Prime's office, when a last question reached him in the door.

"Prowl. Have you asked the youngling if he wanted to… rejoin his Sire if you think that he knows who he is?"

Prowl looked up, into the wise optics of his Prime. – "I haven't asked him that question, Sir. I want to see first if he knows what he is choosing between – or if he wants to."

"I see. Good idea. On a separate matter, I want you to have a special look of the new Decepticon Air Commander; his tactics so far have surprised everyone. It is almost like he is suicidal, we cannot plan a countermeasure for his moves."

"I'll do my best, Sir. Is this by any chance that Seeker, called Starscream whom Megatron discovered a few vorns ago?"

"Yes, I believe he is. I take it that you've already heard about him."

"Spec Ops Department had warned us about the mech, Sir. He is talented and as events proved it, innovative."

"To me, Spec Ops also called him crazy, almost to the point of insane."

"Indeed. It is hard to reckon with a mech like that."

Discoveries

He woke up in a dark place that was definitely not the usual one where he recharged. There was no softness of any kind in the storage closet and the space felt bigger too. Blackfoot didn't know how he sensed the space around him, only that it came handy sometimes when a prank was about to trap him somewhere or a malicious servo neared him. He touched the soft surface hesitantly with his servo and froze in apprehension as he identified it as a berth surface. Had he fallen into recharge on someone's berth? Blackfoot scrambled down from the surface in a sudden terror, frightened further when the lights came on to his movement and he saw a totally unknown room around him. Fortunately he was the only occupant of the room, which meant that he could escape before its owner came back.

Falling off the berth he landed with a thunk and stood up with rubbing his aft but moving towards the door immediately, slinking outside as it opened. The corridor was strange too, he didn't remember any such in the base and he knew the less-traversed walkways best out of all the mechs living there. But he heard noises from his right so turned left and started jogging down the corridor. After a few kliks' worth of running Blackfoot started to remember the events that transpired before he fell into recharge and stopped in the middle of the corridor. There was a mech, called Prowl who took him to Iacon and a medic who fixed the dents on his frame… and the berth that the black and white mech showed him to sleep on and what he left in a hurry when he came online. He should go back. The youngling tried to remember which way he ran and backtracking his steps but he quickly got lost in the unfamiliar place.

Corridor after corridor and he was sure that he got further from his goal all the time. It didn't help that he wanted to meet no mech and turned randomly whenever he heard someone walking his way; but eventually he was caught between Bots approaching from both ways and couldn't avoid them any more. The two mechs whom he almost run into on his way were bigger and much nicer than he was and for a klik he admired enviously their brilliant, shiny red and gold gloss, accented with deep, lustrous black. He tried to be even smaller than he was, to hide his poor, dirty frame, but the mechs noticed him of course and a sudden sneer appeared on the golden one's handsome face, accompanying the angry yell.

"Don't even dare to come closer, you rusted glitch!"

The red one was also sneering, although less angrily than his companion.

"I can't fathom why some mechs don't use the wash racks. Who are you, btw and how did you get here? I haven't seen you yet and we know every mech on the base."

"I have just arrived… I'm Blackfoot." – he was afraid of the bigger Bots but instinctly felt that they weren't that much older than himself. – "And I haven't found the wash-racks yet." Those were another of the traumatic experiences that made him shudder; the small cubicles were regular places to prank, trap or otherwise torment him since his sensors didn't work well in the wet, steamy place.

"Could you tell me where Prowl's quarters are? I got lost." – he blurted out the question, hoping that his dirtiness wouldn't preclude them an answer. The red one answered to him, while the golden mech just threw a disdaining glance towards him and continued on the corridor.

"Yeah, come on. I'm Sideswipe btw, and that was my ever-happy twin, Sunstreaker. You got a bit far from the officers' place. Do you stay with Prowl?"

"Y-yes. I think he is going to be my new caretaker…?"

"Ohh, so you are a youngling. But Prowl? I can't see him taking care of a kid…"

"Why? He was… nice to me. Nicer than the mechs in the other base."

"He is strict, sticks to the rules and has no emotions or humor."

"B-but… he wouldn't beat me…?"

Sideswipe looked at the battered youngling with a sudden understanding. Their background in the gladiatorial pits made them sensitive to perceived suffering and he saw all the marks of it on the kid beside him. Although he wasn't the most empathic mechs around, the red fighter wasn't completely sparkless and felt sorry for the youngling.

"No, he will never beat you. Nobody here would do that. Trust me, I've seen what you mean, but they are different."

"Yeah… but you don't have Con optics…"

"No, but half the mechs here says that Sunny would make a fine Con and we still get by. I don't know where you grew up, but I bet here will be far better."

"I hope so…"

"You'll see. And here we are."

Thank you Sideswipe, for helping Blackfoot." – Prowl was just approaching from the other way, seeing resignedly that Blackfoot has managed to meet the very mech that he was going to try and keep him away from. He so didn't need the incorrigible prankster to give the youngling all the bad examples, even though he and his twin were the closest to him in age.

"Okay. And when you got cleaned up, we could meet again…?"

"Yeah… I'd like to." – for Blackfoot it was a totally new experience to have a mech who didn't immediately resented him for one reason or other and hoped that he would be a friend that so far he never had.

They entered Prowl's quarters once more, the tactician explaining Blackfoot the arrangements that he put into motion and telling him the base rules that he should keep in processor all time. After that he sent the youngster to the communal wash-racks to get cleaned up; when he returned even the sharp opticked Prowl was surprised that the dirty grey-brown colouring gave way to some still scratched and much chipped, but brighter colours; predominantly black and white, but coloured with some faded red and some details that might have been gold if renewed. He basically looked a new mechling, albeit still a fairly battered one.

"What have you got there?" – he asked, noticing the small bundle that the youngling hid beneath the berth but took up with him after the wash. He noticed a few datapads, a trinket that might have been some kind of an ornament before it got all mangled up… and a distinctive piece of an armour plate from some mech's arm guard, black with a gold stripe. Must have been his Carrier's, Prowl noted with dismay; what a memento to have from one's dead Creator. But he asked the youngling about the datapads, not wanting to press him into answers, he was not yet ready to give. They were surprisingly not stories that he expected, but mostly medical texts on various topics.

"Are you interested in medical matters?"

Blackfoot just shrugged, not really wanting to go into the origin of the datapads. – "Better than the stories I found in the common room."

"You can read any that you find here, and I'll ask around for some that you can learn from."

"I'd like that!" – The youngster was enthusiastic about learning and Prowl was satisfied by that reaction.

"Come now, Ratchet will check your shoulder."

"Okay."

In the med-bay Ratchet was tending a squirming Sideswipe who'd been sparring with his brother and it landed them both in the medic's care. They fairly much continued it verbally, even as Ratchet glowered at them angrily; Blackfoot couldn't imagine someone so much disregarding an angry adult and was reluctant to go any closer. But Prowl nudged him to sit on a med berth and he did so, still staring amazed at the arguing twins. After a while though Ratchet got to the end of his patience and shooed the incorrigible mechs out from his med-bay, turning towards Blackfoot, who was still watching the happenings with undisguised interest. Sideswipe didn't for a klik stopped poking at his twin who got angrier until he blew up and tacked the red warrior into a berth – unfortunately to the one Blackfoot was sitting on. He fell to the other side, the surprised medic on top of him and Prowl hardly remaining standing as the berth crashed into him.

Blackfoot felt a terrible pain ripping into his back and screamed loud, pushing the heavy medic off of him and scrambling to the corner of the bay, hiding under another berth. He felt this pain a few times lately, always in his back when he hit it into a doorframe; or when someone hit him there. The twins froze by the surprisingly loud sounds of pain and somewhat conscientiously stopped their brawl and helped the cursing Ratchet up. All of them turned towards the suddenly terrified youngling, trying to burrow under the med berth, keening in obvious pain.

"Blackfoot, sorry… I didn't mean to…" – Sideswipe babbled hesitantly until a wrench clanged to his helm and an irate medic threw them both bodily out of the med bay.

"Blackfoot, please come out. Nobody wants to hurt you. It was just an accident."

"How did you hurt your back so much?" – Ratchet was sure that a simple fall from the berth shouldn't have injured the youngling, no matter how cheap and light his armour was. – "If you come out, I'll check it for you. Has it hurt before?"

"Y-yes. Sometimes." – the youngling cautiously inched out from under the berth and let the medic and Prowl sit him on another one. Ratchet immediately started examining him with a scanner and soon had his optics widen with surprise; calming the youngling with a few words, he started to remove the back and shoulder panels to make sure.

"You should have told us that you have wing nubs."

"I do?" – there was no way he could have acted that surprise and… the utter joy that coloured his voice. – "I didn't know!"

"Well, you do now. That's why your back hurt; they started to grow and your chassis - which is totally a grounder one by the way - couldn't accommodate them any more. They were squashed and any movement or hit hurt far more than it should have. In time it would have caused you permanent damage."

"What can you do about it now, Ratchet?" – Prowl was silently pondering of the ramifications of this. Not only was the youngling's Sire probably a Con, but even more likely he was a Seeker – and Seekers were notoriously protective about sparklings, mostly up to obsession and violence. To see that one simply abandoned his sparkling in a Neutral's care and haven't even looked for him afterwards either – it was highly unusual, almost to the point of suspiciousness. Prowl's battle computer tried to make a possible scenario for the facts but so far it couldn't come up with a plausible one; but the tactician instinctly felt that there was more to this than he could compute right now.

"I can fashion some kind of a spoiler for his alt mode that would accommodate and protect the growing wings until he gets his final frame. Fortunately it won't be long."

Blackfoot almost couldn't contain his joy at what the medic said. He had wings! Or he would have wings in time anyway. It was the best news he has heard in all his existence. He remembered that his Carrier stressed so many times to him that he must not call attention to himself, that he must not talk about his Sire ever to anyone, for any reason; and that he had to have this cheap, flimsy frame for the same secrecy. But he never, ever told Blackfoot that he would have wings or he would have such nubs growing on his back. Maybe he didn't know? He would have to check the medical texts that he stole… umm, borrowed, to see when the wings would start to grow. Maybe Carrier didn't tell him, because they weren't visible then.

He had plenty of time to think about it, as the medic told him to lie on his front, gave him a painkiller that made him a bit drowsy and started to work on his back. Sometime during it Prowl left for his duties, but Blackfoot hardly even noticed it – he was already trying to imagine what it would like to be to fly one day. He had always envied Sire for his beautiful wings and despaired that he didn't have them. He just hoped that these Autobots would be nicer and give him a flier frame when the time came. But so far they seemed nice, much nicer than the always hateful, angry mechs on the base whom he tried to forget as much as he could.