#ricochet the dead beat geni

[anon-e-miss]

Brothel au maybe?

"Hey Prowler," Jazz crooned at Prowl and stroked his face.

He knew how hard it could be for his Prowler to wake up and it seem like it had only become more of a struggle. Jazz was worried, no he was terrified about what sort of damage had accumulated as he had suffered in the brothel. The bitlet was recharging against his well and Jazz did not know how well magnetized he was, and Bluestreak was tucked into his side, awake but delicate. Jerking Prowl felt wrong. Jazz knew Barricade was watching and he did not know what he was thinking or if he was going to intervene. He remembered how he used to like to wake Prowl up.

Prowl's doorwings could be so ticklish and though it was probably improper at this point for him to touch Prowl's doorwings, he lightly brushed his digits against the corner of Prowl's doorwing, a feather soft touch that would itch almost. Prowl squirmed a little and reached a servo up to catch Jazz's servos. His optics, dull with the static of recharge but still the most captivating blue, locked with Jazz's, all Jazz could do was smile like a fool.

"We're here, Prowler," Jazz said. "Ratchet's jonesin' to get ya in his medbay so he can y'all feelin' better."

"Is it safe?" Prowl asked. His optics were bright but still dark. Even though his voice was even, Jazz could hear the panic in it.

"There's no safer place," Jazz promised and he meant it and he believed it. He worked hard to make it true.

The trailer door opened and the ramp lowered. Jazz helped Prowl stand, conscious of the pump Ratchet had strapped to him, and the bitlet he was holding. He automatically scooped up Bluestreak, thinking the mechling was too weak to really walk far on his own. Prowl watched him, watched Bluestreak and when the mechling set his helm on Jazz’s shoulder, his foster origin visibly relaxed. Jazz gave Bluestreak a gentle pat and grinned down at the Twins. Their lives were about to given. 

“Time to get each of you into a medberth,” Ratchet groused,

Prowl looked over to Barricade and Jazz  could taste his anxiety. His batchmate, his brother, stepped up with Tripwire. The mechling held tight to his originator’s servo and then, as Jazz watched, he imperiously stretched out his free servo to Ricochet. Jazz watched Ricochet take Tripwire’s servo with an unmasked awe. Prowl watched it unfold as well and Jazz wondered what he was thinking Punch walked up with Smokescreen.

“Can I take yer servos, Sweetsparks?” Punch asked the Twins. He had the mechling/femmeling twins securely magnetized. Punch did not need to rely on the bitlets’ natural magnetic instincts.. They looked at each other and nodded. Jazz was glad they were giving Ori a chance. He was going to spoil each of these sparklings if given the chance.

“Y’re safe,” Jazz promised and he took Prowl’s arm and guided him down the ramp, with the others, specifically Barricade, close behind.

Under his servo, Jazz felt Prowl’s tension and it only grew as they walked onto the runway, away from the trailer. Prowl froze with his doorwings flared wide and Jazz held tight to his arm as those doorwings circled over and over even as he roughly turned to face the Convoy. The trailer disappeared into subspace and the Convoy transformed, Optimus Prime obviously knew he had been identified. There was nothing but concern in Optimus’ face as his optics met those of the Praxian; Jazz did not know if Prowl even saw it. A horrific screeching grind from Prowl’s helm had Bluestreak and the Twins crying out with alarm. Though Jazz tried to catch Prowl, he shoved the bitlet into Jazz’s already full arms. Prowl fell, optics dark, Optimus lunged forward, covering the distance in a speed that would make Blurr proud. He caught Prowl, holding hims against his broad chassis as Prowl’s limbs jerked with a fully blown crash. Ratchet ran up, scanners deployed.

“Fragging Pit,” he cursed.

Tripwire snapped: “Language!”

[anon-e-miss]

Is Ratchet in the trailer? Did Punch drag Ratchet all the way to Polyhex with him? Do Rico and Jazz know?

Though the newling was rooting at Prowl's chassis, he did not expose his wells or attempt to reignite that bit of code. He had no idea what disease might be hiding in his frame. Prowl had not had a purge in nine quartexes, there was no telling was contagion he might be carrying in his energon. Speaking softly, Prowl rocked the bitlet and encouraged his creations to be patient with the young twins who had become instantly enamoured with them. They rolled a ball on the floor, the Twins, Bluestreak, and Tripwire and the little ones.

As the newling became increasingly distressed, Prowl removed his narrow band of armour. There was a time the idea of Ricochet seeing his wells and spark would have made him recoil but they were hardly sacred anymore. He laid the newling over his spark chamber and hoped the radiation of his spark might be a comfort. The little one seemed to soothe. Prowl stroked his helm as he cooed softly at him. He went silent when the door opened and Jazz appeared, with his originator this time and not with anymore bitlets.

"It's time to go," Jazz said. "Ori, think ya can get those lil bits?"

"Oh sure," Punch replied. Prowl felt his spark race as Punch, just a stranger, an intimidating one at that, coaxed the toddling mechling and femmeling to magnetize as he settled the femmeling on his back and the mechling his front. "Ya don't forget these things."

"Ori carries us like that!" Sideswipe exclaimed.

"Well sure," Punch replied. "It's the best way to carry twins. Yer geni 'n uncle are twins too." "Oh!" Sideswipe exclaimed. "We took after our geni!"

"In more than a few ways," Punch declared, fondly and Prowl had to to like him, a little.

"Trip, can your geni carry you?" Barricade asked. "So I carry Blue? You know he's a little shy with strangers."

"Uh huh!" Tripwire, leapt right into Ricochet's arms. The look of awe on the mech's face when he held his creation for the first time soften a little of Prowl's anger on his batchmate's behalf. "You wouldn't drop me? Right?"

"Never," Ricochet promised and Prowl was prepared to believe him. Barricade scooped Bluestreak up, watching Ricochet with Tripwire. He was anxious, Prowl understood that completely.

"I call Geni's back," Sideswipe declared and Prowl watched as Jazz froze as his/their imperious mechling climbed him like a jungle gym. Sunstreaker looked between Prowl and Jazz. Jazz knelt to his level.

"I can put ya on yer ori's back," Jazz offered. "Or I can carry ya, whatever ya like, Sunstreaker."

"Ori's tired," Sunstreaker said.

"I am never too tired to carry you," Prowl assured him.

"Geni can carry me," Sunstreaker said, he stretched his arms out to his progenitor. "Just this once."

"Thank ya for trustin' me, Sweetspark," Jazz said. He wrapped his arms around Sunstreaker and Prowl's spark fluttered as he watched his first breath in their first emerged's scent. The youngling hung back as they sorted out the mechlings. "Ya good, to walk, Smokey?"

"I'm fine," the youngling said. "You're taking me with you?"

"Of course," Jazz said and Prowl echoed the sentiment.

"Let's get movin'," Punch declared. "We got a friend waitin' in the trailer to see to y'all."

"Who?" Prowl asked, feeling alarmed.

"Ratchet," Jazz replied. Prowl's knees locked. Prime's medic. Prime's own medic. Why was the Prime's medic here? Why? His processor was grinding and it hurt to think. Jazz's digits massed the back of his neck, the magnets pulsing low. Prowl sighed and his helm drooped. "Soon as he got wind what we was comin' after, Ratchet declared he was comin' long. Since he'd o' stowed away if we refused, it was better to say yes. Better to let'm get started sortin' ya out."

"You are intimately involved with the Autobots," Prowl observed as he adjusted his hold on the newling. He only then realized he had not replace his armour, he had become so used to being nude in public. Even after this revelation, Prowl did not bother reaching for. None of the mechs presented teeked of arousal at the sight of him. Why would they be aroused?

"'M Commander o' Spec Ops," Jazz replied. "The left servo 'o the Prime."

"I see."

"Optimus isn't who we thought he was back then," Jazz assured him. Prowl did not care for his assurances. "Y'll see for yerself."

The brothel was dead silent as they walked to the backdoor favoured by those clients who needed to employ discretion. A grey trailer was parked immediately next to the stairs, its ramp already lowered. Maybe they were about the be ferried into the pleasure work for new masters. Prowl looked at and could not believe that this was possible. Ratchet appeared, the Iaconian medic's crisp red and white paint served to identify him as the medic he was. He made a sound, a gruff rumble as they walked up the ramp and Prowl resisted shrinking as he was forced to step passed him. The back of the trailer was covered in pillows and blankets. It was not a crew carrier, but a cargo hauler. Perhaps it would not be the most comfortable of transports, it would be utterly discrete.

"I was expecting four," Ratchet's tone was accusing as he spoke to Ricochet.

"So I didn't actually know Prowl'd had twins," Ricochet replied. "Or that he'd adopted a sick bitlet. The littlests Jazz found abandoned after their originators flew the coop and then there's the youngling and he's got his own story."

"Get comfortable," Ratchet ordered. He placed a servo on Prowl's shoulder and urged him down. "That newling looks fresh."

"I found 'm by the smelter," Jazz expained softly.

"Leaking lubricants," Ratchet cursed.

"Language!" Tripwire scolded as he wagged a digit at Ratchet, he was still held snuggly in Ricochet's arms. Ricochet would not let the medic discipline him. Ratchet looked at the fearless mechling and laughed.

"My apologies," he said. "Why don't you settle in? Make yourself a pillow fort."

"Sooo many pillows," Sideswipe sighed and he hopped off Jazz's back and tugged at Sunstreaker's ped.

His twin followed him and his cousin and they dove into the pile. Barricade lowered Bluestreak down next to Prowl and then sat himself, watching, not only the mechlings but the medic and Prowl. Punch sat next to him, with the mechling and femmeling twins. Ricochet joined them. Smokescreen did not seem to know what to do with himself but Punch took his servo and urged him to sit with them. He was safe. They all were and it felt so eerie. Jazz looked between the sparklings and Prowl before deciding to sit with Prowl.

"I'll start with the newling," Ratchet declared and he sat across from Prowl. Though he did not want to, Prowl gave him the bitlet. "Have you initiated the code to fuel him?"

"I have not," Prowl replied. "I had Pox and other ITD, I do not know what I could be carrying now, I am concerned my fuel is contaminated."

"It's unlikely," Ratchet replied at the same time as he examined the bitlet with his servos, he ran scanners over Prowl. "Your self repair systems are non existent. Literally, the programs have gone into standby due to your complete lack of nanite's. Jazz, get some pillows for his back."

"I think Bluestreak may have something of the same problem," Prowl replied, forgetting his fears of this mech. Below him, the trailer rolled as the Convoy took off for parts unknown to him. "He was addicted to Syk, his originator gave him small doses to keep him quiet. He has not put any mass on since we weaned him off it."

"I'll sort him out," Ratchet promised and Prowl believed him. Jazz guided him to lay back on the stacks of pillows and blankets he had claimed. Ratchet strapped a pump to Prowl's belly and inserted a line from it into an energon line near his hip. "The nanites will act as an external self-repair system while yours recharge. You'll wear the pump until I say otherwise."

"Yes, Medic," Prowl replied.

"I'll give you a booster divert energon to your wells," Ratchet said. "And take a sample before we put the bitlet on."

It was startling how quickly Prowl felt his nozzles stiffen as his wells swelled. Ratchet declared his frame must have initiated the code on its own at the sound of a hungry newling. Prowl was wary of such a loss of his autonomy, though the medic said it was common with experience origins. He and Barricade had nursed each other's creations when one or the other had been forced to work passed the fuelling time. They had both over produced in the end but it had allowed their creations to be well fuelled despite their surroundings. With a professional, plantonic touch, Ratchet stimulated Prowl's nozzle and energon leaked from it. He ran a tested on the rich fuel.

"Perfectly clean," Ratchet declared. "You want to try nursing him?"

"Yes, please," Prowl said and he reached for the bitlet. "He has been so hungry. I do not believe he has ever fuelled."

"Since he's dehydrated, I'd agreed," Ratchet replied. Prowl looked at the medic with alarm and Jazz brushed a thumb over his shoulder. "He's sort out quickly after he's fuelled from you."

There was no hesitation from the newling, he latched onto Prowl's nozzle and suckled greedily. Bluestreak watched with a little wonder as the bitlet drank from Prowl's well. He was lurred from Prowl's side with the offer of a treated and he sucked on the lollipop as Ratchet examined him with servos and scanners. When Ratchet said Bluestreak did indeed have no self-repair systems in place, he was encouraged to cuddle into Prowl's side before Ratchet installed not one but two pumps.

"He has Fuel Malabsorbtion Syndrome," Ratchet explained. "The external pump will give him constant infusions of vital nutrients until I can sort him out. This brave mechling is going to be fine and healthy in no time."

"Do you hear that?" Prowl asked as he stroked Bluestreak's helm. "You are going to be chasing after the Twins in no time."

[anon-e-miss]

I’m guessing Jazz is going to reunite with Prowl next?

His Prowler. Jazz stopped dead in his track as he pushed through the barracks’ door. Prowl stood, turned towards Barricade, cradling a Praxian mechling against his chassis. He looked... tired, his doorwings were drooping and his optics were dim, Prowl helm lulled towards Barricade. It had never been easy for Prowl wake up, not after a proper recharge, and certainly not in the middle of his recharge cycle. Jazz had always adored his drowsy Prowl, when he grumbled and hid his face from the light. He had enjoyed bringing him that particularly potent pressed energon, smuggled in just for him and seeing that little smile every time. That little smile, just for him.

With his spark in his throat, Jazz walked toward his twin and the Praxians. As he got closer, it because clear that the mechling was sick. He was so gaunt, like the Empties of the nearby Dead End. Jazz felt horrified. His creation had been wasting away all the while Jazz had not known he even existed. Prowl turned his helm and his celestite optics fell on Jazz and Jazz was paralyzed. Those optics still held the power to steal Jazz’s ventilations. Still, it was not only Prowl’s optics that stole his ventilations. His beloved Prowl was gaunt. Like the mechling, he had been or still was sick. It was shocking, it should not have been surprising but it was. Maybe Jazz could blame his state of shock for missing the pair of mechlings clinging to Prowl’s legs until one of them spoke up.

“Who’s this, Ori?” Jazz looked down and saw the pair for the first time. They were Polihexian-coded, like him. The one who had spoken had red paint the colour of Prowl’s chevron, the other was a sunny yellow, though the mechling was not sunny. He had his face hidden in his originator’s side as he glowered at Jazz from the corner of his optic.

“Jazz,” Prowl replied in the cool tenor that had first caught Jazz’s attention. “He is your progenitor.”

“Does this mean we’re gonna be short?” The mechling asked. Jazz chuckled, this was his creation alright.

“I am not precisely tall, Sideswipe,” Prowl replied, dryly and the mechling grinned.

“But you’re taller than him!” Sideswipe said and Jazz already adored the cheeky bitlet. He though Ori would too. Ori would love each of them.

“Ain’t about how tall or short ya are, Mechlin’,” Jazz declared, smiling at the mechling. “It’s ‘bout knowin’ how to use what ya got to yer advantage.”

“Jazz would know,” Prowl said. “His stature has never put him at a disadvantage. You are looking well, Jazz.”

“I can’t complain,” Jazz said. “Ya been sick, Prowl.”

“Pox,” Prowl replied and Jazz felt sick to his stomach. Not only did Pox ravage a mechanism’s frame, the treatments were brutal. Jazz saw the way Barricade looked at Prowl, lingering worry.

“Ratchet’ll get ya right,” Jazz promised. Prowl’s tired optics became flinty and his doorwings twitched sharply. Without thinking, he stroked Prowl’s shoulder and tried to reassure him. “I promise ya, Ratchet isn't like the medics that tortured ya in the enforcers. He’s got Unicron’s own temper but he’s an angel at spark.”

“I suppose we have no other choice but to trust you,” Prowl replied.

“I will take ya anywhere ya want,” Jazz said, hoping to allay some of Prowl’s fears. Prowl did not move away from his touch. He did not flinch when Jazz touched his sickly mechling’s back. “As soon as y’re healthy, ‘n this bitlet is healthy, I’ll take ya anywhere ya want if ya don’t wanna stay.”

“I have your glyph?” Prowl asked.

“On my life,” Jazz promised. The yellow mechling cocked his helm at Jazz. “I give ya my glyph, mechlin’, on my spark, ‘m I’ll give my all to make sure yer ori ‘n all y’all mechlings are safe, healthy ‘n happy.”

“Even Blue?” The dour mechling asked and he pointed at the Praxian mechling.

“Bluestreak,” Prowl replied. “Sunstreaker’s and Sideswipe’s best friend. He emerged addicted to Syk and his originator fed him small amounts for vorns to keep him placid. I purchased him from Rapidfire for five hundred shanix. Barricade and I have gotten him through Syk withdrawal but he is... fragile.”

“Oh Sweetspark,” Jazz crooned and he felt a new awe and love for Prowl. “Ratchet’ll have the lil bit feelin’ better too.”

“Promise?” Sunstreaker asked.

“Pinkie promise,” Jazz said, sombrely. Sunstreaker reached out his servo and they linked their smallest digits.

“Ya can’t break a pinkie promise,” Sideswipe said.

“That’s right,” Jazz agreed. “Rico, I think we outta get’em settle, before we clear house.”

“What do you intend to do to... clear house?” Prowl asked.

“Ori got into Blue Swindle’s accounts,” Jazz revealed. “He’s just finishin’ up splittin’ it onto credit slugs. Everyone’s gonna get their share so they can start fresh.”

“Your originator?” Prowl asked. There was a horrible grinding sound from his helm and Jazz’s optics brightened with alarm. It terrified him that the mechlings did not even flinch. Prowl’s rasping laugh sounded so alien to Jazz’s audials. “You brought your originator to retrieve your fr...”

“My lover,” Jazz interrupted, refusing to hear Prowl call himself a frag toy, frag buddy or anything so demeaning. Neither descriptor was true. Whatever they could be called now, until Jazz had defected, they had been lovers and even when he had defected, it had not been because he had loved Prowl any less. He still did not love Prowl any less. His Prowler. “He ain’t really on speakin’ terms wit me or Rico right now. Safe to say ya ‘n Cade are his favourite creations.”

“He has not even met us,” Prowl argued.

“Don’t really matter,” Ricochet said. “The way he sees it, we outta left some comm access, somethin’. We didn’t. So it’s our fault ya ended up here wit the bitlets we sired on ya. Ori don’t think much o’ us at all right now.”

“I do not understand,” Prowl said and he looked at Jazz and he looked... lost and confused. “You are his creations. We are... of no consequence to him.”

“Y’re the originators o’ his grandbitties,” Jazz said. “Just ‘cause he ain’t met ya yet, don’t mean ya don’t mean the world to’m.”

[anon-e-miss]

If Rico spends the hour taking care of Cade, does he find injuries/signs of poor health/etc under a layer of glamour paint? Possibly even a brand?

There was a brand low on Barricade's back, a tramp stamp. It was the brothel's logo. Ricochet tried to picture how Jazz would react when he saw the same on Prowl and it was hard to imagine Jazz is a white-hot rage. Such a rage felt natural to Ricochet, he was the hot-tempered twin, and he wished with everyone in him to go down, to the brothel keepers office and to rend him into spare parts while he screamed. Ricochet looked into Barricade's tired red optics.

Under Ricochet's digits, he felt the roughness of Barricade's plating. His servos had roamed every micrometre of Barricade's frame countless times. He knew how smooth the plating under his palms had once been. The dullness of ill health had been covered up well with glossy paint. Ricochet felt knots of tension, dense that had scarred instead of heal. More than just the mental torture of this life, service as a buymech was wearing down Barricade's frame. Remembering just how to touch and to sooth, Ricochet itched to rub and to work the knots from Barricade's shoulders.

"You don't want to frag me," Barricade said, tiredly. "You have no idea what I'm crawling with. I won't know until I get another purge in four quartexes."

"Ya won't be here in four quartexes," Ricochet replied. "'M gonna take ya to the best medic on Cybertron 'n he's gonna set ya right."

"Rico," Barricade sighed.

"I don't wanna frag," Ricochet said. "I don't. I want to... I want to take care o' ya."

"Do what you want," Barricade replied. "You paid for the joor."

Ricochet did not rise to the bait. He felt disgusted, with himself, with the situation. It had been a conscious decision to destroy their comms. Erasing the last link to Barricade had made moving along without him easier. Jazz... Jazz had not moved on, not really. Though he never talked about Prowl, never uttered his designation, he never dated, never had a quick clang with a friend or stranger. Ricochet had dated, Artfire was a nice mech, a rescue bot. He had been too nice in the end and Ricochet not nice enough. Artfire was Barricade's exact opposite, maybe that was what had attracted Ricochet to him, of course the relationship had been doomed to fail.

"Can I touch yer back?" Ricochet asked.

"You paid for the joor."

"Cade, I ain't a trick," he said. "I want yer consent."

"You can touch my back," Barricade replied.

It was more than knots. At some point, Barricade's doorwings had been damaged, the cables around the joints were stiff and surrounded by a thick cushion of wiring. Ratchet could fix this, or at least make it better. Ricochet knew a little about massager therapy, and he kneaded the tight cables and those running along Cade's back. He still knew what he was doing because Barricade sighed, Ricochet rested his helm between his shoulders and hugged his arms around Barricade's waist.

What a stupid way to figure out he loved this mech. Jazz had closed off after they had left. Leaving Prowl had been outright agonizing and even though he could think of no alternative, they had agreed there was no alternative, those first mega-cycles, the first stellar-cycles, the first vorns, Jazz had dragged himself bitterly on and loathed Megatron with each step he had taken because he had not been able to get the mech he loved to even talk about leaving the Decepticons, let alone make the move. Ricochet had gone with him because Jazz was his twin and where Jazz went, Ricochet needed to be. It had been easy to leave. He had told himself it had been fun while it had lasted and he had jump right into berth with the first mech he had seen. Ricochet did not deserve Barricade.

"Don't come back," Barricade said as they ran out the clock.

"'M gettin' ya outta here," Ricochet said. "In an orn, at most. 'M takin' ya 'n the bitty, 'n yer gonna be free."

"Swindle isn't going to let me go," Barricade said. "He isn't going to let Prowl go. There's nothing you could hold over his helm, nothing you could threaten him with and nothing you could offer."

"Cady, Babe, 'm not gonna go into that fragger's office to talk business," Ricochet replied. "When I come back, it's gonna be wit blasters 'n when I leave that mech's gonna be a puddle o' scrap."

[anon-e-miss]

So in deadbeat, now that they have them safe, where are Jazz and Rico taking them?

None of the others were in perfect health. Barricade had an active scraplet infection in his throat. He did not look scandalized by it or even the slightest bit surprised, Barricade only sighed, like it was a common thing. It probably was. Jazz kept an optic on Ricochet, on how he reacted. Nothing showed on his face but he held Barricade's servo and Jazz thought was relieved. Ricochet had been so quick to move on with Artfire and Jazz had always wondered what that said for his relationship with with Barricade. Maybe it had just been Ricochet's way of ignoring his pain.

Eventually, the mechlings tuckered themselves out playing in the pillows and blankets. The toddling twins started fussing and Ori scooped them up and sung softly to them. Tripwire dragged a pillow and blanket over to Barricade, placed the pillow against his originator's side and cuddled up. After Ori's song, he asked for a story. Ricochet tucked the blanket around him as Barricade told him a story about a turbofox and a petrohound. Jazz could feel the intense, anxious love in his twin's spark. He looked over to Prowl.

The Twins dragged pillows over. Ratchet helped them tuck in their foster brother before they climbed into the small gap between their originator and progenitor and quickly fell into recharge. Sideswipe rested his helm against Jazz's side and Jazz did not dare ventilate. Prowl watched him and Jazz could only hope he was making a good impression. The newling rooted about and Prowl switched him onto his other well. Jazz thought back to his fears of what Prowl would say about the sparkling centre he had unknowingly bombed. Now he feared if Prowl would hate him for taking innocent young lives.

Prowl tilted his helm as the transport Optimus had rolled onto took off. It was not really a surprise that Prowl had noticed. He had always been hyper aware and he had probably become more focused forever on guard for his and Barricade's creation. After a long bream Prowl looked at him with an air of suspicion.

“It’s okay,” Jazz promised. “Safer ‘n faster than drivin’ straight through to Iacon.”

“Why did we not disembark?” Prowl asked. “You are hiding us.”

“It’s a cargo hauler, just a coupla jump seats,” Jazz replied. “We wanted to get y’all safe in a hurry.”

“You think Iacon is safe?” Prowl asked.

“Safer than Darkmount ever was,” Jazz replied. “Y’ll see for yerself, ‘n decide for yerself. I told ya I’d take ya wherever ya wanna go after Ratchet fixes ya up. I meant it.”

“I have little choice but to trust your glyph,” Prowl murmured and Jazz could hear the displeasure, muted but there. It was disheartening, his Prowler did not trust him but Jazz understood.

“Recharge, Prowler,” he said. “‘M keepin’ watch.”

Prowl was tired enough to listen, though he only managed a couple of joors before the bitlet stirred. He did not complain when he was woken and hardly even onlined his optics. Jazz thought of how difficult Prowl could find it to wake up and how long the drowsiness could linger for him when Jazz had not managed to smuggle in a stash of crystals. Still, Prowl managed to get the bitlet settled and latched on his well. Obviously, he had learned to manage when the Twins had been little. Jazz was more than a little in awe of Prowl. He was exhausted, he was sick but he had not hesitated to take on the bitlet, to love a newling someone else had thrown away. Jazz loved him so much, it hurt knowing how unworthy he was for ever thinking Prowl would see bitlets as collateral damage.

Jazz dozed lightly, when the bitlet stirred, Jazz helped Prowl settle him. He was so perfect, Prowl and the bitlet that had imprinted on him.

[anon-e-miss]

For some reason, I really want an AU with accidental deadbeat geni Rico… Like he assumed he and Cade weren’t a serious couple and didn’t tell him before bailing to become a neutral, because admitting you’re about to defect is too dangerous. He’s gone for several vorns—off planet, I expect—and when he returns, Cade isn’t with the ‘cons anymore. Which sucks, but that’s war, isn’t it?

Except a few vorns after that, he finds Cade doing some kinda desperate/dangerous/unpleasant work to keep fuel on the table… for Rico’s bitty. Who’s just kindergarten aged at that point, maybe. And has lil audial horns.

Maybe he’s a buymech and Rico sees him in one of those display windows at a brothel or something? Hmm…

Cracks knuckles. A'ight. A'ight. Prowl gets a break from my evil.

So much had changed. In Ricochet's time off world, Cybertron had gotten harder, bleaker. The war had not been done in a millenium. Jazz had been right, then a broken chronometer was right twice a mega-cycle. Ricochet walked down the pockmarked street. Red lights flickered above his helm. It had been an artists district, once upon a time but the Lower Pool of Polyhex had been consumed by the brothels and Syk dens.

He paused on a once familiar corner. Ricochet had shared a studio with a few other starving artists. Now the converted warehouse had been converted again, into a brothel. There was a buymecha in every window, wearing either the barest of armour or nothing at all. Some had tricks in the window with them, already trying to attract their next customer. What a wretched existence.

"Hey, that's mine!" A little Praxian came running from around the corner and jumped as a taller sparkling tangled a worn ursanakor plushie above his helm.

"Oh yeah?" The bully said. Ricochet so him smirk at another mechling. "Here you go... Oops."

"Ha ha," the other mechling laughed. "Oops."

"That's mine!" The little Praxian had perky little audio horns and and a full mouth that quivered in temper.

"I don't see yer designation on it," the bully laughed, tossing the plushie above the little bit's help."

"Yes you can!" The mechling yelled. He stomped on the closest bully's ped and the scraplet dropped the toy. Victorious, the small mechling held the toy by its arms. "It says Tripwire right here."

"You little..." The injured bully hobbled. He and his friend loomed over the little mechling. Or they did until Ricochet stepped up behind him and loomed over them.

"Scram," he ordered and scram they did. The mechling looked over his shoulder at Ricochet and smiled.

"Thank you, Sir!" He said.

"Couple 'o bullies," Ricochet said. "Tripwire, is it?"

"I'm not really supposed to talk to strangers"

"That's fair," Ricochet replied. "Can I walk ya home? This don't seem like a good place for ya to be playin'."

"Oh, I live in the brothel," Tripwire said. "Ori's got a customer so I have to play outside until he's done."

"Maybe the alley's better?" Ricochet asked, feeling sorry for the bitlet. Why was his origin working in the brothel instead of watching him? Syk maybe? Or engex?

"Oh, yeah," Tripewire said. "I'm not supposed to look at the windows."

"No, I bet y're not."

Ricochet left the clever, feisty mechling in the alley where a number of sparklings were playing. It was devastatingly tragic. Anyone could walk up and take one of these bitlets away. Monsters probably did. The sparklings seemed surprised with was returned by him. They had probably gotten used to losing friends to shadows. This had once been a place of creativity and beauty and it had become a den of depravity. He grieved. Something stopped Ricochet in his tracks, the twitch of a broad panel on the floor above street level. The rooms along the sidewalk would have the best billing. The higher up you worked, the worse your pay and the worse you customers. Ricochet ran across the street and looked above.

Narrow digits curved into a large silver swell as the gold face of the buymech was pushed against the window. In horror, Ricochet watched as the skinny little wraith rutted into Barricade's aft. He knew when the trick paid when he saw silver transfluids trickle down the Praxian's legs. Ricochet looked back to the alley and then back to the window.

Oh no. Oh no.

[anon-e-miss]

Do they get everyone out safely? In the deadbeat au?

Barricade had never been a heavy recharger. He had come off the production line immediately after Prowl. Had the ATS not taken to Prowl, it would have been installed in him, as it had been installed in all the batchmates that had come off the line before Prowl. They had never met their batchmates, the ATS’s installation had been lethal to all but Prowl. Their manufacturers had not wanted to waste a construct so Barricade had been programmed, armoured and trained to be Prowl’s guard and he had taken to that training well, too well, so far as their handlers had really been concerned.

Every time they had come to take Prowl away for painful maintenance, Barricade had resisted their efforts, he had known how much Prowl detested that maintenance and had seen it as his duty to protect Prowl from pain. They had installed a hard reset switch in Barricade’s helm. When they had wanted to tweak Prowl, they had flipped the switch from the control centre and Barricade had shut down. It had become Prowl’s helms up that he was going to be tortured yet again. Barricade had hated onlining without Prowl there, or seeing him in pain in the aftermath. Before the door even finished opening, Barricade was online, sitting up in the berth ready too...

"Cade," Ricochet sighed with what sounded like relief and Barricade shuttered as tears gathered in his optics. He had actually come, for him. "Cade, 'm takin' ya home."

"You actually came," Barricade wheezed. Ricochet's visor brightened.

"I told ya I would," Ricochet replied.

"I didn't believe you."

"Yeah, I don't blame ya," Ricochet said. "Get everyone up, we need to get rollin' so the place is clear before the tricks turn up."

"Swindle..."

"Is well in servo," Ricochet replied. "We spent some time gettin' to know each other. He wasn't keen on given me the keys to the barracks."

"Are you going to kill him? Barricade asked.

"Yes," Ricochet said. "Me or Jazz, we're still sortin' it out. Would ya rather to it yerself?"

"You know better than me how to make it hurt," Barricade said.

He did not mean it as an accusation. Ricochet and Jazz had been, must both still have been specialists. Interrogations, assassinations, they had the expertise in death. Barricade had never even been in a proper fire fight, unless you counted the dark-cycle he and Prowl had escaped. His place had always been at Prowl's side, watching his back, keeping him safe in his cage.

Shaking, Barricade crawled from his berth, not trusting himself to stand, and made his way to Prowl. Prowl had always been a heavy recharger but it had gotten worse with the Pox. Though the medic had declared him cured after the infection had ravaged Prowl's internals for a quartex before the appropriate treatment had been applied, Prowl had yet to regain his strength. Barricade worried constantly about the damage the Pox had done and the strain the infection had put on his already strained self-repair systems. He shook Prowl's shoulder and lightly pinched his doorwing.

"Mmm," Prowl grumbled, slowly lifting his helm.

"Prowl, they're here, they're here," Barricade said as he shook Prowl wake. "They're here for us."

"Jazz," Prowl whispered Prowl designation as he sat, swaying as he did. Maybe it was the lack of his rocket fuel that had Prowl so unsteady, or maybe it was unseen damage. When Prowl looked at Ricochet his processor ground and Barricade rubbed his back.

"Is he okay?" Ricochet asked, looking worried.

"We haven't exactly had access to that kind of frame maintenance," Barricade said. "He's fine. Just scrap. We're all scrap."

"Y'all gonna get better," Ricochet promised. "Jazz is comin', he's just havin' a disagreement wit Swindle's safe."

"We need... to wake the mechlings," Prowl said as he snapped out of his tactical systems.

"We're getting out here," Barricade wheezed. Prowl nodded and squeezed his shoulder.

"We are," Prowl said.

It looked to Barricade that his batchmate was no less in awe. Ricochet did not intervene or try to step in as they roused the mechlings. He seemed to only now be realizing there were four mechlings, not two. Without really fully waking, Bluestreak crawled into Prowl's arms and wrapped his arms around his neck. Sunstreaker and Sidesipe grabbed their ori's servos. Sideswipe looked owlishly at Ricochet, Sunstreaker gave him the stink-optic. He was as bad at waking up as Prowl could be.

"It's you!" Tripwire said, waking up bright and cheerful right out of the gate. Barricade picked him up, though Tripwire could easily have walked, or run. "Ori, who is he?"

"That's your geni," Barricade repied. "His designation is Ricochet. He's come to rescue us."

"I can't wait to get to know ya better Bravespark," Ricochet said, he brushed his servo over Tripwire's helm and Barricade had to lock his knees to keep from trembling. "It's gonna have to wait 'til yer all safe."

[anon-e-miss]

Does Punch already consider Prowl and Barricade as his creations? They’re going to be so confused about being adopted!

Swindle's office was unchanged from the mega-cycle he and Barricade had signed on to his brothel. It had been strange seeing him sitting in the large, opulent chair, a face and frame familiar save for the blue paint. Neither Prowl nor Barricade had mentioned working with one of his former business partners. Prowl still wondered if the blue Swindle would think himself the more successful Swindle given his counterpart within the Decepticons was but the weakest link in the Combaticons' gestalt. He had never and would never ask. Barricade pointed to Swindle's chair and sat in the one across the desk, he supposed that had been decided. Sunstreaker jumped from his back and Prowl sat, almost immediately the Twins clamored into the chair to join him.

"Have some energon goodies," Jazz said, opening a large box and setting it on the next. "We'll check back in a bream, holler if ya need anything."

With that Jazz was gone and Prowl... did he miss him already? Rather than ruminate on this question, Prowl offered the sweets to his creations. Still halfway in recharge, Bluestreak nibbled at his. As the condensed energon hit his systems, the little wraith perked up. Prowl did too, the sweet fuel eased his helmache, though he knew it would return on twofold with the sugar crash.

Barrcade held Tripwire in his lap and supervised the mechlings as they feasted on energon goodies. Prowl popped one he knew was his batchmate's favourite and told Tripwire to give it to his ori. He knew his long time keeper was feeling broody, he worried by his programming for Prowl and the mechlings. Putting himself second had been etched on his spark.

They could not talk about their shared sparkbreak right now, not with the mechlings here but Prowl knew how deeply Barricade was hurting. Ricochet had at least in part seduced him to give Jazz easier access for his seduction of Prowl. If not for his brother's interest in Prowl, would Ricochet have been interested in Barricade? Prowl knew Barricade had never stopped asking that question and Prowl’s spark ached for him. He was broken from his reverie when the door flew open. He wrapped his arms around his creations and tried to roll his chair towards the trap door, as if they would have any hope to escape.

"Easy," the newcomer said, he nudged a youngling into the office. "Y'all are fine."

"Smokescreen!" Prowl exclaimed. "I thought you had left with your originator."

"He sold me to Swindle to pay hid debt," the youngling explained. He was training me to be... to be his attendant."

"Gods," Prowl cursed as Barricade muttered a similar oath. He eased up his hold on his creations. "Come here. Have energon goodies."

"Okay," Smokescreen said and he came to sit at Prowl’s peds, folding his legs and servos as he did. It was instinctual. Prowl felt renewed horror.

"You will reached the treats better if you sit on the desk," Prowl suggested, hating the image his processor painted. "Come up... there you go."

"Looks like the mechlin's in good servos," the newcomer said.

"You are with Jazz and Ricochet?" Prowl asked.

"'M those miscreants originator," the mech replied. "Ya can call me Punch. Rest a lil longer, Loves. We'll be on our way soon."

[anon-e-miss]

I cant wait to see more of Punch!!! I cant wait for him to finally meet Prowl and Barricade and the bitties when this mess is over with

Prowl’s ventilations caught when Jazz lifted Sideswipe up. His mechling, their mechling went willingly. It looked so natural to have Sideswipe tucked into Jazz's hip. Sunstreaker, eyed his progenitor and, not to be left out climbed Prowl's back and crossed his legs over Bluestreak's as he helm his originator's shoulders. Though he had been tandem carrying mechlings for vorns, Prowl still winced a little under the strain. His legs trembled a moment before he steadied. Jazz watched him and Prowl schooled his expression.

"I don't wanna leave 'em in the Convoy," Jazz said. "Just in case someone comes up."

"The bar?" Ricochet suggested, "Or the fragger's office?"

"Language!" Tripwire scolded and Ricochet stared down at his creation. Prowl felt the corners of his mouth tug up. Jazz chuckle.

"Ya tell 'm," Jazz replied. "Ori's been on 'm forever."

"Y're no better," Ricochet shot back.

"I don't swear 'round bitlets," Jazz countered. "There's a time 'n a place, Bro."

"Swindle's office has a trapdoor," Prowl interjected. "It leads to a get away tunnel, in case of raids."

"Office it is," Jazz declared. "Are ya sure ya can walk, Prowl? I can carry ya."

"I can walk," Prowl replied.

He could. Of course he could, he had worked, gotten fragged by ten mechs over the course of the dark-cycle. The low grade he had fuelled on felt like a cannonball in his fuel tank. In just a dark-cycle he had taken ten mechs spikes into his frame, over the orn it had been much of the same, over the vorns. Prowl was standing next to the mech who had been his first. His only, before Prowl had become a whorebot to stay alive. Instead of feeling enraged by Jazz's audacity to act like he gave a damn, Prowl just feel soiled and used.

"Are ya sure?" Jazz asked. Prowl forced himself to straighten, forced himself not to feel vorns of ill use.

"Should we not be going?" Prowl asked. Jazz inclined his helm and they retreated to Swindle's office. Blue Swindle... had the brothel been operated by the Combaticon's Swindle... there could be no escape but Blue Swindle could not keep a business partner, not even another of his alter dimensional selves.

[anon-e-miss]

I’m loving the deadbeat au and all the omegaverse stuff. Thank you for all the delicious ficlets!

🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤

"Please step away from the window," Ricochet begged. Barricade locked optics and leaned back against it, arms still crossed.

"Why?"

"So no one sees ya," Ricochet replied. "So ya get a break."

"I have a minimum number of clients I have to see a dark-cycle," Barricade replied. A part of Ricochet died.

"Haven't met it yet?" Ricochet asked, hating the question. He wanted to know how many customers Cade saw in a mega-cycle but did not at the same time.

"The sun's still up," Barricade replied. "I've barely started."

"Is he, are they all just out on the streets as it gets dark?" Ricochet asked. He was afraid of offending Barricade but at the same time, he was terrified for the mechling he had not known he had sired.

"Normally Prowl and I trade off but we both got tricks at the same time," Barricade replied. "He'll be wrangling them now."

"How did you end up here?" Ricochet asked Barricade snorted.

"You two sparked us up!" Barricade replied. "You skipped out on everything and we... we realized we were carrying and Megatron concluded the best course of action was to artificially age our bitties to grown mechs rather that worry about the resources needed to raise bitlets. Just like MTOs but instead of sparks from Vector Signa he was going to use ours so we skipped. Since we don't exist, we couldn't get jobs. This was the only place that'd hire us."

"Surely..."

"Do you fragging think we didn't try everything else first? We worked under the table but those places get raided all the fragging time and we had Cons on our afts. You fraggers got new fragging comms so it's not like we could come you for help."

"You tried," Ricochet said. Megatron had put a huge price on Jazz's helm. They had destroyed their old comms to ensure they could not be traced.

"Waste of time," Barricade replied. "And credits."

"I'm sorry."

"I really don't care."

Ricochet extended his servos to Barricade and entreated him with his optics. Cade made a rough sound, a grumbled sigh. He uncrossed his arms and took Ricochet’s servos. Carefully, slowly Ricochet pulled Barricade away from the window and into His arms. He felt Barricade tense as he hugged him and felt him slowly relax. Eventually, Barricade wrapped his arms around Ricochet and lowered his helm.

"I'll, we'll, get y'all outta here," Ricochet promised. Barricade snorted.

"Empty glyphs," Barricade said. "Empty promises. You can afford me, let alone us."

"I don't plan on payin' the fragger."

[anon-e-miss]

So. Is Punch gonna have a ""talk"" with his creations after they get this all resolved?

When Jazz reached Polihex, all he wanted to do was find Prowl. He imagined what he would do if he found a trick with him, imagined the way he would hurt the mechanisms who used his beloved but Jazz knew better to than to give into energon lust. It was not enough to find Prowl, he needed to save Prowl, save their creation, save Barricade and his nephew, save anyone who wanted to be saved from that life. Striking in the dark-cycle, while the tricks cycled through the brothel would not serve this at all. That did not mean that patience came easy.

Jazz hugged Ricochet as soon as he found him. He knew his brother was hurting. It had never been clear to him what Ricochet had felt for Barricade and maybe still felt. When he had moved on so fast with Artfire, Jazz had pulled away a bit; he had wondered if Ricochet had not expected him to do the same. Seeing Ricochet now, Jazz wondered if his hunch had not been right all along and Barricade had been more than just a friend with benefits.

They did not comfort each other so much as sit together in their shared guilt. There could be no comfort, not until they had their mechanisms safe. He knew Prowl may not forgive him, safe for him and the mechling would not necessarily be in Jazz's life, if Prowl wanted him to stay away, Jazz would stay away. Whether they were in the same room or Jazz could only monitor from a distance, Jazz would make certain he would be safe and provided for, forever.

The brothers did not have long to wait for Punch to arrive. Jazz could not look at his ori in the optics. He felt his anger, his shame and his disappointment. It lashed his spark like an invisible whip and Jazz knew he deserved every strike. Next to him, Ricochet did not flinch, like Jazz, he knew this was a disappointment Ori was unlikely to forgive. Punch said nothing at first, watching his twin creations as they sat on the lumpy hotel berth and stared at the floor like a pair of scolded younglings.

"I thought I raised ya better than to use mecha," Punch said, softly.

He had. Punch was righteous. This world was more grey than black and white but there were rules to ever shade. In their craft it was easy to become wicked and Punch had a complex web of rules he lived by and he had raised his creations by to keep from becoming monsters.It was a complicated balancing act and Jazz and Ricochet had jumped off the rope with no net below them to catch them. He would have been angry, knowing they had left lovers without a glyph or a goodbye. Treating mechanisms like they were disposable was perhaps Punch's most hated character trait. Jazz had all his excused, had lived with them and by them for vorns but he knew they would be hollow in Ori's audials.

"Wasn't tryin' to us 'm, Ori," Jazz said, without lifting his helm. "Couldn't stay, he couldn't go."

"Ya gave 'em no way to reach ya," Punch said.

"No," Jazz replied. "Megatron mighta tracked us."

"Megatron mighta tortured 'em, thinkin' they knew where yous was gone," Punch countered and Jazz bowed his helm lower. They had been discreet but there was no telling how much Soundwave picked up, he never let on. "Ya left 'm to die."

"They didn't..." Jazz argued, snapping his helm up to stare into his originator's enraged faceplates.

"They coulda," Punch snapped. "They coulda died. 'N maybe they're alive now but it's been a livin' death."

"If I'da thought Prowler'd e'er leave..."

"What made ya so sure he wouldn't?"

"He hates, he hated the Autobots wit every filament in his spark," Jazz replied. "He hated everythin' they represented, everythin' they guarded. I thought... I thought he'da looked at those bitlets I killed 'n called 'em casualties of war... I couldn't talk to'em. I couldn't argue wit 'em. So I didn't."

"And ya, Rico?" Punch asked.

"Cade was constructed to be Prowl's guard," Ricochet replied. "He took it serious. They're close as brothers. I knew he wouldn't leave without Prowl. So I didn't ask'm to."

"Ya just left."

"Yeah, I just left."

"Neither o' ya deserve forgiveness," Punch said. "Gettin'em out don't mean ya deserve scrap. Ya left 'em, 'n they suffered for it. They watched their bitlets suffer for it. Gettin'em out is the least ya can do. 'N I expect ya to do more than the least, whether they give ya the time o' mega-cycle or not."

"Yeah, Ori," Jazz said. Ricochet nodded. "What do we do? It's a Swindle operation?"

"Which Swindle? Do we know?" Punch asked.

"The blue one," Ricochet replied.

"Oh good," Punch replied. "That's the dumb one. He ain't hooked up wit the Combaticons so none o'em will be 'round as armed guards... First things first, we get into the accounts..."

(Joke from Transtech, there are three Swindles and they run Swindle, Swindle and Swindle in Axiom Nexxus. They've split off into their own ventures here.)

[anon-e-miss]

Poor blue. Hurry up jazz/rico/punch!!!! They batchmates are plotting now too!

Though didnt prowl believe this a little too quickly? Does he still have that much faith in jazz?

When they had talked in the dark-cycle, as Jazz's faith in the Cause and in Megatron had waned, Jazz had only ever talked of leaving, he had never talked of defecting. Before Prowl had discovered he was with spark, he had seen Jazz's calling card in Autobot operations in Kaon and Helex. There had been no need to wonder if Jazz had merely left the war on gone Neutral or if he had defected to the Autobots. Seeing his mark had felt like the most awful betrayal.

There had been no time to linger on it, both he and Barricade had discovered they were carrying on the same mega-cycle and their focus had turned entirely on the matter of what to do. Like dutiful soldiers they had reported their conditions to Decepticon High Command. Prowl had been confident he could still perform his duties and he had been ready to pour his all into thwarting Jazz. Megatron had been displeased. More displeased than Prowl had seen him with anyone but Starscream. He had called them leeches.

Prowl had already been planning his and Barricade's escape when Megatron had brought Shockwave in to confer. The decision they had come to had been to wait for the newsparks to mature within Barricade and Prowl and to transplant the sparks into MTO frames. Both Prowl and Barricade had been aghast and it had shown on their faceplates. They had been scolded for not showing gratitude for the mercy Megatron was showing them. The implication had been clear, if they did not abide his plans for their newsparks, those newsparks would be extinguished. Before the sun had risen the next mega-cycle, they had made their escape from Darkmount.

They had not had any shanix, Decepticons did not get paid wages, all their needs were provided for by High Command, or the booty they looted from Autobot corpses. Given that Prowl was a tactician and Barricade his guard, neither had ever had the opportunity to do any looting. Ricochet and Jazz had given them gifts from their spoils but they were gone. Gone for good, Prowl had already known, their comms both offline.

Without IDs, which they did not have as MTOs, with their brands sanded off, they had gone to work in a warehouse, in the office, as their forges had started to swell. It had been raided by Turmoil's team. Prowl and Barricade had only barely escaped being spotted. The same thing had happened at the restaurant and at the bar. There was only one type of business in the Lower Pools that did not get raided, brothels. Prowl had spent an orn studying the establishments until they had settled on Swindle's.

Though Swindle had talked about earnings and savings and played it up like if they worked hard for him they could cover the debts they would owe the brothel for licensing, health checks, etc, Prowl had already known it to be a lie. He and Barricade had talked, they had talked for an orn straight before they had made the decision to register. They had known they would never be able to buy themselves out but they would have shelter and access to education for the creations still being forged in their frames. For their creations' futures, they had sold their frames to Swindle's service, knowing they would serve them til they expired.

Prowl watched and he listened. He stood in the window of his slot and watched the streets between clients and searched for some sign of Jazz. There were no power outages, not even flickers and it became hard to keep faith in the lover who had left him to serve the enemy. The Autobots were no less the enemy now, but the Decepticons and Megatron were perhaps the greater foe. Megatron was no different that Sentinel or Flatfoot and he did not believe Optimus was cut from a different sentio metallico.

"Recharge," Barricade ordered and Prowl lifted his helm from the pillow. "I can here you thinking from here."

It was unfortunately not an exaggeration. The sort of medic Swindle hired was not the sort that Prowl would allow near his processor and when his battle computer and emotional cortex real revved together there was an audible grinding. Prowl sighed and Barricade climbed out of his berth and knelt next to his and he pressed his crest against Prowl's and Prowl hugged the batchmate of his to survive, his only friend, his only brother. He had forgone all hope for his future from the moment he had signed himself to the brothel, why now was hope and hopelessness making him feel so sick as they battled in his spark?

"They're coming," Barricade said.

"You do not believe that," Prowl replied.

"I'm starting to," Barricade replied. "I want to. I need to. I just... I need to think for a klik that meant just a fraction to him what you meant to Jazz."

[anon-e-miss]

AAAHHHH THAT WAS PERFECT what happens next? Does Rico pay for some time with Cade? A lil Praxian with audial horns… Yeah you done did it now, mech!

Every window had a number above it. Ricochet took note of the one above Barricade's and ran straight into the brothel. As he stood at the desk and made the booking, Ricochet saw Cade's last trick saunter passed. He had the strut of one who was very self-satisfied and Ricochet desperately wished to snatch the mech off the floor, rip off his spike and choke him with it. Instead, Ricochet let the mech go and completed the booking.

It was a memory purge waiting a bream for his time to start. It was a horror to know it was only a bream Barricade got between tricks. He thought of Tripwire, the little gold-faced Praxian with itty bitty audial horns and felt sick. The longest bream of Ricochet's life passed and he immediately ran up the flight of stairs and straight to Barricade's door. Ricochet did not dare take a moment's pause, he opened the door.

"Ricochet," Barricade said his designation with such flatness. Ricochet knew better than to leap for him.

"Hey, Barricade," he said. He did not ask Barricade how he had been. Bad, would be the answer, how bad. Ricochet would have memory purges for ages as his processor wondered this. Barricade wore no armour. There was nothing blocking Ricochet from seeing his wet, swollen rim or his large, wells, that sagged ever so slightly from his chassis.

"If you expect a free ride for all time's sake," Barricade growled.

"No, Cade, I don't wanna... ride," Ricochet was sick with guilt. Prowl must have died. He never would have allowed his brother to end up like this. "I just wanna, wanted to see ya 'n talk wit ya."

"Well you bought a joor," Barricade replied, flatly.

"The bitty with the pretty gold face 'n lil horns," Ricochet said. "He's..."

"Your bastard?" Barricade interrupted. "Yes. You left me with spark and didn't even have the courtesy of being dead!"

"'M sorry."

"Bully for you."

"I'll get you outta here," Ricochet promised. "Ya have my glyph."

"Yer glyph ain't worth slag," Barricade replied. "I know what you're worth. You can't afford me."

"I swear to Primus, I'll get ya 'n the bitty out, " Ricochet promised.

Barricade crossed his arms under his wells. The way they hung, the extra mass on Barricade’s hips and torso, they were visual markers of the mechling he had carried. He was so beautiful. His angry scarlet optics didn't do anything to take away from it.

"What happened to Prowl?" Ricochet asked. "I know... I know he wouldn't've let this happen to ya."

"Prowl is upstairs," Barricade replied. "Birds of a feather. You and your twin left us both with swollen sparks before you skipped out."

"Oh scrap."

[anon-e-miss]

How does Punch feel when he sees his new creations and grandcreations for the first time? Since he’s adopting Prowl and Cade on sight.

They had a worn looked to them but that was to be expected. Interface work was gruelling, buymecha in brothels like this one did not get cycles off for anything but debilitating sickness or injury. The silver-faced Praxian who had taken seamless charge of the youngling had his arms and lap full of dear little sparklings. There was no doubt in Punch's processor that Jazz had sired the little Polihexians, who hard sired the sickly Praxian was in question. It ultimately mattered very little to Punch.

That little wraith was his, just as the bright opticked Polihexian twins and the gold-faced Praxian with little horns were his. His grandbitties. He was angry to see their originators in such a state but but they could be mended. The touch of a good medic, and lots of good fuel would see them loose their haggard edges. The dark, gold-faced mech, Ricochet's, there was no doubt, looked to wish he could extend his doorwings, to shield not only his creation but he batchmate as well.

His optics were sad, so desperately sad. Punch could understand that. He had been living a miserable life, and watched it eat away at his brother in code. The silver-faced one was sickly as well, like his mechling, though not quite so wraith-thin. Still when Punch had forgotten himself and had stormed in, he had turned himself, as his batchmate had, they had turned their vulnerable backs to him, to guard their creations.

They were good originators. Punch adored them already, just as he adored the mechlings. Unlike the mech that had sold that youngling, those mechs were wearing themselves away to provide for the mechlings. No amount of credits would convince them to part with even one, Punch was certain of it.

He returned to the store room where he had left the brothel keeper. Punch did not claim to hold the Combaticons' Swindle in high regard but this one was detritus compared to that shrewd schemer. Blue Swindle moaned in pain. The sound was muffled by the gag, the mech's own spike shoved down his throat. He should not have offered Punch use of the youngling if he spared him, now his death was going to hurt just that much more. It pleased Punch to see he was still alive, he wanted to hurt him just a little more.

A lot more. As Punch stalked up to Swindle as he hung from a hook already existing in the ceiling, he withdrew a vicious daggar from his subspace. The hook hung from the centre of the store room, who knew how many errant buymecha had been strung up here to face this mech's lash. Blue Swindle begged, his optics glowed pink with fear. His plating was already covered his welts as Punch had used the mech's own whips on him. Time was coming to a close and the Prime would shy from allowing Punch to take this monster home to play longer.

He stood face to face with Blue Swindle, jammed the daggar into his belly and dragged it up, then he reached into the gushing wound and tore the mech's internals out and through them on the floor. Blue Swindle wheezed in pain and shock. Energon loss would cause his spark to gutter shortly. Still, Punch hoped he lasted just a little longer. He whipped his servos and frame clean of the splatter of mechfluids and returned to the hallway.

"He done?" Jazz asked. Punch looked over his creation. The anger was still here and the disappointment still felt fresh but Punch loved the pair of fools he had given emergence to. It was impossible to ignore the pain they were feeling, even if the pain was well deserved.

"As good as," Punch replied. "Ya clear the place?"

"It's done," Jazz replied. "I just did another loop. No one's lingerin'."

"Yer twin?" Punch asked.

"Wit the mechs," Jazz replied.

"'N yer not?"

"Prowl asked me to make sure no one left any bitties," Jazz replied. "Good thin' I checked. 'Cause I found three, a pair o' toddlin' sparklings, a mechlin' 'n a femmelin'... Twins I think... they way their linked up. 'N I found a newlin' in the scrap pile by the smelter."

"Oh no," Punch exclaimed.

"Prowl's claimed 'em, I don't know how he can do it," Jazz worried aloud. "He's so sick 'n so week 'n he's got the Twins 'n the lil waif he bought..."

"Bought?"

"Bluestreak, his origin had 'm hooked on Syk," Jazz explained. "He's the Twins' best friend, 'n seein' how he was fadin' away, Prowl bot 'm."

"He's a better mech that ya deserve," Punch said. Jazz looked at him, the visor he wore hid nothing from Punch. He saw the bleakness and his hardened spark soften, a little.

"I know," Jazz replied.

"Ya best make yerself worthy o'm," Punch said.

"I promised I'd take'm somewhere if he wants to go, after Ratchet's fixed 'm up," Jazz revealed. "I won't break my glyph."

"I expect ya to follow 'm if he goes," Punch replied. "Ya owe'm."

"If all I can be is his shadow," Jazz said. "I won't leave'em again."

"Good," Punch declared and in an act of forgiveness said. "Ya can set the timer."

"Thanks, Ori."

[anon-e-miss]

How is Jazz feeling in the deadbeat geni au as he races toward Polihex?

The very moment Jazz handed Mirage to Hound he put the pedal to the metal and raced towards Polihex. Prowl. Oh Primus Prowl. He remembered how shy Prowl had been when they had first gotten involve. Jazz had been Prowl's first everything. It was difficult to imagine him working in a brothel, his shy Prowler. To end up there, they had to have been desperate because Prowl was clever and if there had been any other way, any other way at all, Prowl would have gone for it, he was so clever, he would not have been lured in my a pimps promises. They would have registered with the brothel knowing they would not be getting out again. For buymecha, brothels only had one-way doors.

His Prowl. Jazz had never stopped thinking about Prowl as his. Though he had left Prowl vorns ago, left on a mission and never returned, Jazz had never actually let go of Prowl. It had not been an accident that Jazz had avoided Darkmount since his defection. His excuse had always been that he was too recognizable, but even as that was true, he had been afraid of seeing Prowl, afraid that if he saw his lover he would be unable to stop himself from going to him. He had been afraid of finding Prowl with another, afraid of finding him alone. Just afraid, Jazz grimaced, because Prowl's hold on him had never faded.

Prowl had emerged his creation. His beloved, an MTO who had been constructed by engineers, not forged in an originator's frame, would have been lost. He would have leaned normally leaned on Barricade with such a shock but knowing Barricade had been carrying too, Jazz knew Prowl would have taken up both their burdens. What had happened in Darkmount? Had Hook, had Megatron decreed the carrying be terminated? Something else? What had happened in Darkmount? What had chased Prowl and Barricade to the Red Lights of the Lower Pools? Primus. They had not even run far. If the right or wrong Decepticon had decided to go down and pay for their frag instead of clanging with a buddy, or attacking an empty, Prowl and Barricade could have been found.

Jazz could not imagine waiting even an orn to bring Prowl and their creation and Barricade and his creation to freedom. At the same time, if they went in guns blazing, the Praxians and the bitlets could be killed in the crossfires. They had to go in with a plan, which went actually stopping and planning. He imagined Prowl shaking his helm at his impatience. Prowl had always been the better planner.

[anon-e-miss]

Rico: Jazz, Jazzy, Jazzyyyyyyyy pick up yer comms frag it

Jazz: I’m BUSY

Rico: y’re a deadbeat! We’re both deadbeats! Get yer aft here NOW!!!

Jazz: what?

Rico: YOU LEFT PROWL WITH TWINS AND HES A DEBT SLAVE AT A BROTHEL GET YER AFT HERE N O W

Leaving Barricade was hard, so much harder than it had been the first time. Knowing a trick would be following, if not in a bream, within the joor was a living Pit. How many would he see this dark-cycle and the dark-cycles that would still pass? Ricochet did not want to know the answer, not really. It was enough to know the number would be bitterly high. "I love ya," he said. The glyphs fell off his glossa before Ricochet's logic processor caught up with his emotional cortex. Barricade stared at him, then he laughed, a hard, mean laugh and he turned away. "No," Barricade said. "You feel guilty, that's all. You feel guilty your frag toy's been raising your bitlet in a whorehouse." "Yes, but no," Ricochet replied. "I do feel guilty, I should feel guilty. But I do love ya Cade. 'M sorry I didn't act like it." "Don't come back," Barricade said. "I'll see ya within the orn." Ricochet looked down the alley when he left the brothel but Tripwire was gone. Barricade would not have forgiven him for taking him with him, even if seeing him out of that place was probably he dearest wish. He probably lived every mega-cycle in fear that his creation was going to follow him into the trade. If they stayed, there were good odds it could happen, though Barricade would probably died before he let that happen. Ricochet stood on the sidewalk for a moment, no he should not look up. He did not want to see Barricade in the window. He did not want to see Prowl. There was no way he could make his calls on the street, Ricochet transformed and raised by to the hotel he had been calling home since he had landed in Polihex. "Jazz!" Ricochet all but screamed into the comm their originator had programmed for them. Jazz was good, very good at encryptions for these things but Punch was still the master.

"'M in the middle of somethin'," Jazz replied in a snappy tone. "I'll comm ya back..."

"No, don't ya dare, don't ya dare hang up the comm," Ricochet screeched. "Ori's gonna kill us, Jazz. We're deadbeats. A coupla deadbeats. I found Cade in a brother. He had my bitty. He said Prowl's there do, workin' on an upper floor. He had yer bitty. They were gravid. They were both gravid when we left. Ori is gonna fraggin' destroy us."

"Prowl... Prowl 'n Cade are in a brothel," Jazz said, oddly hollow.

"I saw... I saw a trick wit Cade," Ricochet said. Alone in his hotel room, the tears fell. "I saw skinny creep overload 'n 'm. I didn't see Prowl. Cade said he was there... he wouldn't lie."

"Prowl," Jazz moaned with grief. Ricochet knew his twin, knew this was killing him. "My Prowler."

"Ya gotta get o'er here," Ricochet said. "I promised Cade I'd come for'em, I promised within the orn."

"I'll be there in the light-cycle," Jazz promised. "I gotta go, Rico."

"Seriously, Jazz?" Ricochet asked. "Where are ya anyways?"

"Helex," Jazz replied. "Tryin' not to get slagged."

"Don't get slagged! I need ya to help me save our mechs 'n mechlings before Ori sends us both to the Pit."

"I'll see ya 'n the light-cycle," Jazz promised. "Seriously, I gotta go, really hard to fight Vortex wit ya in my audial!"

Needing his brother's particular set of skills if he wanted to rescue their mecha, Ricochet dropped the comm. He needed Jazz in general, which is why he had followed him to Iacon without a second though. Ricochet needed Jazz more than Jazz needed him, or at least that was what Ricochet had always believed. He knew Jazz loved him as much as he loved Jazz, it was just one of those feelings, those things about being Jazz's twin that Ricochet could not explain. There had never been a question that if Jazz left Ricochet would too, between them it had been a given.

Knowing that Jazz was starting to see shades of grey he could not tolerate in the field as Meister, Ricochet had known their mega-cycles as Decepticons were numbered. He had looked at Barricade in berth with him and told himself to enjoy it while it last it. It would be fun while it lasted. Because he had known he would be leaving, he had not acknowledged that Cade meant so much more to him than a willing berth partner. Maybe Barricade would not have gone with him, not without Prowl, but maybe, between all three of them, they could have convinced Prowl. Maybe. Maybe. Ricochet shook his helm, it would not help Barricade to get black out overcharged on engex, he needed his mechs in place at his side, he commed Punch.

"Ori," Ricochet said as the comm connected, his voice was filled with emotion.

"Ricochet," Punch said. "Ya got me. Ya brother reach ya? He in trouble?"

"No, Ori," Ricochet replied. "But we need your helm, in Polihex."

"Jazz is in Helex gettin' Mirage outta Vortex's tender mercies. I just got evac hooked up."

"He's gonna be in Polihex by the light-cycle," Ricochet explained. "We need yer help, Ori, we fragged up bad."

"What ya do?" Punch already sounded exasperated.

"When me 'n Jazz were wit the Cons we each had a thing wit a pair o' batchmates, originally enforcers. They... Prowl wouldn't hear Jazz's talk 'bout leavin'. He got used up bad under Sentinel. Cade would never leave Prowl. When we left. We left. We left 'em 'n Ori they was carryin' 'n we didn't know."

"They didn't comm ya?" Punch asked.

"We didn't give 'em a way."

"What'd it cost 'em, carryin' yer bitlets?"

"Everythin'," Ricochet replied. It felt like the truest answer. He pictured Barricade. "They're in a brothel 'bout where my studio used to be."

"My grandbitties are in a brothel wit their oris," Punch said. It was a low, dark tone, one Ricochet knew promised pain, though it had never been spoken to him or Jazz. Ori saved it for his enemies. "My grandbitties have been growin' up in a brothel."

"We gotta get'em out," Ricochet begged. "I promised Cade I'd be back within the orn. Ya can slag me 'n Jazz after, but ya gotta help us get'em out first."

"I'll be in Polihex by sunrise."