Sparkeater

“I think I can manage that,” stated Prowl.  He wasn’t sure how often he would be down here toward the end, but it was a good idea to spend as much time as Prowl could with Nitro.  Try as they might eventually the sparkling would get curious about the basement.  Plus this was the combined CNA of Lockdown and Prowl.  There was no guarantee that any amount of baby proofing could stop the kid from getting what he wanted.

There was also no guarantee that Nitro would not view the sparkling as food, but trying to get the sparkeater used to the sparkling was better than not doing it at all and something bad happening to the new spark.  “We are starting to clear out the trophy room to make it into the sparklings room, so I’ll be down here to visit when I can.“  Prowl would probably be down here visiting when they started painting the room since he wouldn’t want to damage the sparklings development with the paints fumes.

                    “I’m surprised he parted with it. He always had issues with parting with things that were his.” There was no malice in his tone, instead, simple remembrance and amusement. Talons clicked together on the feelers that protruded from his back, they lifted and lowered, twitching all the while.

It was true there weren’t many names that had the same pronunciation, spelling, and definition in both languages.  Prowl was partial to Praxian names, mostly because he was Praxian. 

“It’s the accents.  None of them can really get it right,” explained Prowl.  “I will tell you the name of the sparkling as soon as we’ve decided on one.”

                         “Have you ever seen them try to write it?” There was something fond hidden underneath all of the static in his voice. He almost tried to pull up the memory but stopped, knowing it wasn’t his story to tell or not knowing how Prowl would react. Especially in his current state.

                         “If it is not too much trouble... visit often.” His frame shuddered faintly and the tapping slowed. “I will not promise that my processors will always remember, but I can try to disassociate the smell and sound of the spark from prey. I do not want to scare them.”

“We don’t know yet,” answered Prowl.  “All we do know is that we want something that is the same in both Kaonite and Praxian.”  While what he had done to Lockdown was far from okay no one deserved to live like this.  The feelings Lockdown had for Nitro were muddy at best.

“We are taking suggestions though if you have any,” asked Prowl.  He’d contact Megatron to get the cure, then he’d figure out how to implement the cure.  And hopefully, it would work.

He wasn’t sure how Lockdown would feel about the entire thing but Nitro did not deserve to be trapped in this condition.  He might deserve to sit behind bars but that wasn’t for him to decide.

                         “You should go Praxian.” Nitro wouldn’t suggest an actual name; it would be foolish to, it wasn’t like he would see this child at any point. Getting attached to it was a bad idea. “Kaonite is a rough language, I used to hate speaking it. You’ll have difficulties finding one with similar meanings in both. Or won’t be difficult for Neocybex speakers to say.”

                         The clawed ends of his feels snapped together, then the appendages coiled as though they were trying to slide back under destroyed armor. 

Prowl would literally mother anything right now.  It had to be part of the carrier instinct protocol, he wasn’t sure but he’d mother a toaster right now if someone said something in the right tone.  “Like it or not Nitro, you’re apart of this family too, Lockdown cares about you besides I made you a promise didn’t I?  That I wouldn’t let you miss a feeding again?  You forgave me once, I know better this time. Next time it won’t be so easy to forgive me.”

Prowl wasn’t sure Nitro could be brought back, psychologically he might not ever recover, [hysically it was possible if the Spaerkeater ‘lifestate’ was an illness rather than an actual life state, besides there was no guarantee there was even a cure.

“Honestly?  I’m not sure.  I think it’s worth a shot to try though.”

                         Nitro had never had that tone used against him, but he had used it once upon a time. There was a brief moment where he wondered if he could use to get the doors open but decided against it. He didn’t trust himself enough.

                         “You would not be doing it out of fear or malice,” came the simple response and a servo against the glass. Something both sad and appeased covered his face; helm tilted to the side but optics remaining dimmed. “I would have forgiven you. I’m used to it.”

                         Not just in this life but in the one before it, the one with an angry-faced guardian and rebellion seeping into his spark. A vague memory that sometimes taunts him.

                         “I...” Nitro paused; Lockdown never spoke of cures or anything other than trying to spark something in his memory long since faded with abuse and time. It was... strange to have someone so obviously unnerved by him to offer such, to say that Nitro was worth the effort in trying. 

Someone had to feed the sparkeater.  But what worried him more was Lockdown wasn’t ready to put Nitro down.  Lockdown still seemed sore about putting the other one - Phantom - down.  Prowl didn’t see a situation short of Nitro going after Prowl or the kids where Lockdown would put Nitro down.

The other thing that bothered him was so many mechs were turned into sparkeaters, it was a virus rather than a life state.  Would the cure they found for those mechs work on Nitro?  It would be cruel not to try, wouldn’t it?  Megatron had gotten better and returned for his family, he had been infected with the Sparkeater virus, so there had to be something there right?  He’d talk to Lockdown about it.  See what they might be able to do.

He’d talk to Megatron about it, see what they did.

“Lockdown couldn’t make it in time to feed you today so I volunteered instead.  We’re going to do what we can for you Nitro.  mechs have come back from being Sparkeaters before.”

                         “I went months without eating; one day isn’t going to kill me.” He shifted in his crouched position but did not remeet the glass that separated them. “You need to worry about your family, Prowl. Not me.”

                         His optics moved to the Enforcer’s visor, then to his doors; watching and searching for anything out of the ordinary. A sign of lies, of trickery. Vague memories of a Praxian similar to him--Phantom--played in his processors; Phantom couldn’t be trusted but Prowl could. Couldn’t he?

Prowl nodded at the others question on if Lockdown knew or not.  Lockdown was the first to know, he deserved to know even if the sparkling guttered out next to his own he couldn’t keep this from the ex-Bounty Hunter, he shouldn’t keep it from Lockdown.  He had a right to know. 

He hadn’t expected Nitro to be from Praxis.  It was true that Prowl had never been a people person even in his Praxis days but he should have caught onto the subtle hints on the Praxian frame. 

“The little one is as healthy as it can be at this stage,” answered Prowl.  “This is actually a high-risk carry, because of Lockdowns and mines medical issues.  So they predict there will be complications in the future but that they will be manageable with bed rest and a stress-free lifestyle.”  Prowl still wasn’t sure how he was supposed to manage a stress-free lifestyle when he spends a majority of his day stressing out.  

“This little one has a fighting chance and We’re going to do everything we can to make sure he arrives happy and healthy.”

                         Nitro was silent again; listening both to Prowl’s words and the carrier/new spark’s sparks pulses. The latter relaxed while the former seemed to unnerve him. A stress-free lifestyle wasn’t possible with a sparkeater in the basement, he figured quickly. Master would get rid of him; he wasn’t sure if he would be killed or simply sold off to as some test subject.

                         “I see.” The sparkeater murmured, allowing the faint glow to light up his optics. He moved them to the Praxian and the feelers on his back lowered to lay across the floor. Submission to the younger mech. “What are you doing down here? Out of your berth? You need to be resting as suggested by your doctor.”

Prowl wasn’t all that surprised to know that a sparkeater could tell he was carrying, probably had been able to tell from the second it was merely a pixel large.  That part hadn’t really bothered him other than the fact be probably didn’t have to go buy those carrying tests in the first place all he would have had to do was have a conversation with the sparkeater in the basement.

What did catch him off-guard was the Praxian that came out of the others vocoder.  “Uh, yeah.  I’m carrying Lockdowns sparkling,” replied Prowl in his native tongue.  “The new spark is due in mid-January.” There is another pause as Prowl attempts to figure out how Nitro knows Praxian.  “You know Praxian?  It’s rare to find someone who knows the language anymore.”

                         When Prowl had responded in kind, something almost content slipped over the broken mech’s face. Optics dimmed and then closed, allowing the words to swirl around in his processors for a few moments, then the golden glow returned. 

                         “Does master know?” He still kept with it; it kept him centered and focused, kept the secret from getting out should Prowl be hiding this. “They are so small. Bright and pure, but small. I do not know the current date but you will show soon, I’m sure. You will need to tell him.”

                         He paused and dimmed his optics again, just listening to the sounds of the two sparks pulsing just on the other side of the glass. “I am Praxian.” It was said as though this was common knowledge. “I was... Praxian.”

                         Something felt wrong about saying that. Did he even count towards the people now? He was barely Cybertronian and it seemed that every day the scratching took longer to cease without a meal to still his hunger. 

Why not do both? I love weird headcanons

Another surprise, the creature had forgiven him, he refused to let it happen again now that he had the proper knowledge in taking care of him.  Nitro would continue to be well fed and while he might not be happy, at least he’d be fed and free of extreme hunger pains, should Lockdown go on a business trip or something.  Prowl refused to think Lockdown would go missing again.

While Prowl disagreed that he had nothing to apologize for, not knowing wouldn’t absolve him from the neglect he had put the creature through.  He would apologize to Lockdown as well for neglecting the creature as soon as they found the time to talk about it.

Prowl relaxed against the wall opposite the cell with Nitro in it.  “We’re not entirely sure what happened to him.  We both have an idea, but I have a friend and his colleague coming over to look at some data I found, hopefully, to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”  He hoped his alternate and Tarantulas would be able to make heads or tails of what had happened.

“What do you mean he makes the noise leave?  Did you not like the other one?” 

                         While he didn’t necessarily dislike Prowl, there was something warm where his sickened spark resided at the news they were going to try to prevent further disappearances from Lockdown. A beast always loved its master and perhaps a part of the original Nitro had always cared for the gladiator as well, but the latter is difficult to remember and it is rough enough to try to keep track of Prowl’s conversation without trying to battle through the fog for memories that would just slip through his fingers anyway.

                         “I don’t remember him. Not really. Bits and pieces, a resentment that something was his fault; if he hadn’t done something, I would be... not this.” The sparkeater shuddered but made no motion to lash out at the glass separating them, or even acknowledge it with the taps as he had before. “If he had just... listened to me...”

                         His servo found his helm, damaged talons dug into a seam before armor creaked under the pressure of a tug. The brittle metal somehow didn’t break but it was enough to focus the creature, jaws stretching then relaxing again.

{ PHYSICAL INFORMATION }

ARMOR COLOR: faded green with teal detailing, silver protoform. EYE COLOR: yellow. HEIGHT: 8m. TATTOOS: n/a. PIERCINGS: n/a.

{ FAMILY INFORMATION }

SIBLING[S]: None that he knows of, Solace may have adopted more after Nitro took off. PARENT[S]: Solace, Praxian politician. CHILDREN: None that he knows of. PET[S]: None.

{ RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION }

He grew uncomfortable watching the creature’s jaw split like that.  It was obvious that Nitro had little to no good things to say about Swindle.   Which was fine, everyone was entitled to their own opinion, even the undead. Nitro might have had good reason to dislike Swindle, Prowl wasn’t going to pry but he was going to answer his questions.

“I asked him some questions about you and your needs,” answered Prowl.  “Lockdown, your ah… master? Before he was taken he never got the chance to tell me how to take care of you, to ensure you don’t perish?” Could Nitro die due to starvation?  Could he die due to anything other than outside interference?

“I also wanted to apologize, for not feeding you while Lockdown had been missing.  I wasn’t aware of your ability to communicate nor what alternative methods of feeding you were,” explained Prowl.  He had locked his door wings into place the second after his door wings had twitched the second time.  His confidence still held strong in the containment units Nitro was currently staying in.

Prowl still didn’t understand why Lockdown kept Nitro if he didn’t like him, Swindle had said that Nitro hurt him, Prowl wanted to know how.  Prowl wanted to know all he could about Lockdown, they both had parts of their past they didn’t like talking about, but he knew better than to ask Nitro what had happened.

Prowl stood waiting for an acknowledgment of the apology he had given the other.  He wasn’t sure if the other would say anything or just ignore his apology.  He calculated that Nitro reactions most lily to be either an angry outburst or more questions centered around Swindle or Lockdown.

                     His head tilted like that of a bird; a jerky tip to one side but his optics stayed focused. The hazy remained still but he listened, processed the information at a much slower pace than he would have years before. Though it had been the name--Lockdown--that relaxed the tense creature, his palm resting flat against the glass and all tapping stopped.

                     His optics dimmed and stayed that way, even after the apology that he barely understood why he was receiving. He stood slowly, beginning to pace the length of the glass on uneven pedes and dragging the feelers behind him.

                     “I couldn’t sense them.” It was a gurgled admission, one that didn’t feel like it fit into their conversation. “I couldn’t pick up their scents. New scents. Unfriendly, fearful of what lurked below. Thought he sold me like he did the other one.”

                     He stopped and his servo went to the glass again. He kept his sights focused on the other mech’s visor, remembering the days in which he’d starved and clawed at the ceiling. The way the hunger dug its claws into his processor and frame, worse than what was normal--the agony and hunger were always there, regardless of how much he fed.

Tap. Tap. Screech. Tap.

                     He’d curled his digits to claw at the glass briefly, then tapped his knuckle against it. “You didn’t know,” he replied simply, watching for the former officer’s reaction. “There is nothing to apologize for. You will not be forgiven if it happens again.”

Prowl nodded to the spark eater as he asked the question.  His door wings twitched ever so slightly when Nitro had spoken.  He honestly thought Lockdown was fragging with him, he should have known better than to think his mate would mess with him over something like this.  He was surprised that Nitro knew his name.  Maybe it was possible Lockdown talked with Nitro like Prowl did with Grainger?

“How do I know your name?” Prowl didn’t really expect an answer, for him to repeat the question was more for Prowls benefit than for Nitros.  “Swindle told me your name.”

Under the yellow visor he glanced at the sparkeaters claws, then his servo.  He wasn’t sure what the beast was trying to do, scare him possibly, eat him?  Most likely, but he had confidence in Lockdowns ability to keep a sparkeater incarcerated.  Prowl wondered about the tapping, was it instinct? OCD? Entertainment?

“Swindle told me a lot of things about you actually.”  Prowl knows he should apologize for not knowing how to care for Nitro while Lockdown had been missing, but he wasn’t quite sure how to do that, nor what he would do should the beast have a less than ideal reaction.

                     The creature’s jaw split and extended outward at the merchant’s designation, a low and sickly hiss rattled with his frame. His claws curled, the sharp tips screeching against the glass--this was beyond a mild distaste but full-blown hatred. Though the moment overall short, as though he knew the glass would not break nor would Swindle appear out of corner to torment him.

                     “And just what did the minicon have to say?” He applied the servo back to his throat again, having moved it during his little episode, and resumed his ritualistic tapping. Louder this time, a faster rhyme in both an attempt to focus on anything other than the spark separated from him by the glass and a chamber. 

                     The feelers behind him clicked their claws but soon came to rest across the ground. He had already shown strength, yet Prowl remained and so terrorizing him became less amusing. Not to mention, his curiosity had not be quenched.

                     “I should have known though. It wouldn’t have been--” He paused and cocked his helm at an unnatural angle, expression blank as he sought out a signal name. What was it? Remember. Remember. Remember. Nothing.

                     It was evening when the noise started, as it always did. A mangled frame stood on the tip of its pedes, stretching upward with a lanky torso and limbs. An arm outstretched to the ceiling with a damaged talon extended, lightly tapping against the surface. The creature’s other arm was bracing its weight against the wall, palm flat and digits spread. Its clawed feelers trail down its back and rest flat against the floor.

Tap. Tap. TAP.

                     It can smell the youngster in the room above, sensing the brilliant spark that pulsed within a thick but all too small chamber. He’s back, it knows that. It missed him in some twisted way that it could not comprehend. It wanted him scared, afraid, terrified.

No. No. NO.

                     its claws curled against the scratched surface of the ceiling, helm bowing to rest against the corner. It didn’t want him scared. It wanted his attention. He reminded it of something, just beyond the hungry hazy and agony. Its claws extended again, leaving a shallow set of claw marks behind. It missed him because he was important somehow. 

tap. tap. tap.