Quick note: The episode Endgame totally wrecked me, so my imagination went absolutely wild and compelled me to write this. It's very "what if" while at the same time letting me connect my writing to the canon in a way that makes sense to me. I sure as heck wanted to make sense of what happened to Prowl. So this was born. It may not make sense unless you've read Light and Life is a Tree.

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Transeamus

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From energy he began and to energy he knew he'd return.

The incomplete crystal hovered before him, blue, shining and missing pieces--and he was about to substitute them with himself. He hummed its resonating frequency and felt the power within his Spark rising to fill the energy gap. All those years he spent trying to commune with it were about to end.

And Jazz--

Far below, Jazz cried out, "Prowl! No! We'll find another way!"

Prowl turned and smiled sadly in response to Jazz's stricken expression. Was it to hide his own fear? Or was he merely trying to reassure the other ninja that everything would be all right?

--someday, when your time comes, Jazz, you'll understand...

Prowl's circuits tingled as the past, present and future collided within him in a single, painless burst. Suddenly there was no more Spark-pulse, no more breath cycles, nothing beyond the weightless feeling of floating. Never in his life did Prowl see more clearly than right then. He was everywhere and nowhere. Time, space and memory were tangible. The battle within the city spread out before him like a storyboard where every panel branched into endless possibilities.

I know what I must do.

Prowl watched the power he expended engulf the Omega Supreme clone in blue light. He propelled himself towards Optimus, and the last thing he remembered was pulling him away from the ensuing explosion.

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And suddenly he is standing in the middle of an intersection unlike any he's ever seen before. The center is a circle and paths branch off like the spokes of a wheel. Above him, the sky is dark. There are no buildings, just cement sidewalks and black, tarry road marked by double yellow lines.

He is not alone. Someone is standing back to back with him in the silent stillness.

"Prowl," says a low voice so painfully familiar. Even after millennia, Prowl recognizes that deep, croaking timbre.

"Master Yoketron?" Prowl whirls around.

There stands the old Grand Master, adorned in his regal white armor and black helmet. His composed expression slips into a joyful smile. "You did well, Prowl."

And Prowl looks down at himself, realizing he's still wearing everything--even the helmet. He remembers his manners and bows. Yoketron responds likewise, and Prowl notices his Master looks younger than he remembered. Of course he would be, for in the Allspark everyone is at their prime.

"Why are you here?"

"I am here to guide you, Prowl."

"To the Allspark?" Prowl gestures to the surrounding area, "Isn't this it? Or..." He folds his arms, "Is this a fabrication of my dying processors?"

Yoketron shakes his head. "No."

"Then where are we?" Prowl asks with more patience than he feels. He's growing slowly aware that something here isn't what it seems, but can't put his finger on it.

"This is a place of choosing." Yoketron says simply. He folds his hands behind his back and walks slowly along the perimeter of the circle. His footsteps make no sound. And why does the light source in this dim area seem to come from him? "Some Sparks experience much in their lifetime, yet arrive here still yearning for more."

"I don't understand. I've lived my life--"

"Yes, and you lived it well." Yoketron stops in front of him and his wise eyes penetrate as if they know everything Prowl is, was and will be. "But you still want."

Prowl is silent.

"Choose a path, Prowl, and walk."

"Wait." Prowl holds out his hands. "How do I know which way to go? What if I end up in the Pit?"

Yoketron smiles softly. "You won't."

"How do you know?" Prowl feels the frustration stiffen his servos. Death is nothing like he imagined. He always thought he'd just slip seamlessly into the Allspark, but clearly that isn't happening. Where did he go wrong? Is there a sin he isn't aware he committed? He knew, the moment he made his decision to sacrifice himself, that he was giving up a lifetime of experiences he would've missed out on anyway if everyone else died.

The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few...or the one. It's a quote from a movie Sari made him watch once. Prowl snickers to himself when he realizes the truth of those words.

Yoketron's expression softens. He gazes at Prowl with knowing eyes full of unconditional love, and the truth is there. It isn't the environment that feels strange, Prowl realizes. The instant he's aware of this, his mind rises from within a chrysalis and he looks upon a blue and gold being of beauty beyond imagining. He wants to reach out and wrap his arms around him, and steps forward in awe to do just that.

Arms halt his progress. Gentle lips kiss his brow and soft eyes peer deep into his Spark.

This is not your time, Prowl.

It hurts, leaving the presence of such beautiful perfection, but he knows his maker is right because his maker knows him better than he knows himself.

Prowl is compelled to take the path on his left. He moves reluctantly away from the divinity before him and starts down it, yet turns to look behind him at the circle.

It is empty.

Prowl feels himself smile the same, sad smile he offered to Jazz. Facing forward again, he continues on the path that seems to grow darker as he walks on. Before long it's so dark he can't see anything--and all at once he can't even remember why he's walking, where he came from or where he is going. Even his name escapes him, but he's oddly unafraid.

The road ends without warning. He takes a last step and suddenly he is falling--the impact sends pain through his back and legs. He doesn't know how long he lays there in the void of metal that smells horrible. The only warmth comes from his chest. He cradles it protectively. He has to keep that part of himself safe.

"It's full!" A voice shouts.

A vibration and noise surround him. He sits up as the wall behind his back pushes him forward until his knees press against something wet and broken. This place is crushing him! Surely the voices outside don't mean for this to happen!

He bangs on the walls and screams. They continue closing around him. He climbs onto the piled metal, reaches up and cries out again for help.

The noise ceases. He feels another hand grip his own. He touches it with his other hand. This person has arms too? He pulls on the limb in his grasp. The other person's arm resists, and suddenly yanks him up into cold air and smells beyond his understanding. His hands are all over this other being, feeling a head with no features and then realizing his own face is the same--except he has a mouth that makes sounds.

And the other's hands are digging into his chest, painfully reaching for the warmth inside him. He clenches his fingers around powerful wrists and kicks his feet in a futile attempt to free himself.

"Don't!" he says desperately, not really knowing what it means other than he wants the pain to stop. "Don't!"

The fingers on his chest falter, and he grabs onto them again. They are strong, square fingers belonging to hands not much bigger than his own. And those hands tug him upright against a broad chest.

"Run," says a smooth voice.

He feels his mouth curve upwards in response to the kindness. Then he stretches out his hands and dashes into destiny.