Chapter Text
Like Ants Ch 1
There were over a thousand mechlings packed into the temporary medical facility. They were in various states of itchy, moody, or flat tired. Yet every single one was revving to go. Unlike a typical Praxian, their wings looked lumpy and long with a thick shiny polymer wrapped around them.
To Prowl they seemed unnatural after having looked at only regular door-wings all his life. His own were heavy on his back, numb to the touch but starting to pulse inside with his fuel pump, a dull ache that wouldn’t go away. He had been there for a week, supplied only with a pad that had limited datanet connection and homework he was missing as entertainment while he and all of the others were monitored.
Currently, he was sitting on his temporary berth, in his temporary hab, with temporary “walls” on either side to give him privacy from his neighbors. His allotted space was only as long as his berth and twice as wide. He had a real wall to the back and the curtain serving as his door was pulled back. He had opened it so he could watch as the orderlies and nurses rushed around to take the vitals of each mechling. Prowl envied the way their wings twitched and flicked and generally gathered data. His own received little but muffled noise and sometimes strong vibrations. They hurt if he tried to lay down on his back or bumped them into the tiny cabinet that also served as his table and nightstand.
A scuffed pedestep and the scrape of his clipboard drew Prowl’s attention to Nurse Clipper, who was checking his charts. The femme was pleasant enough, he supposed. She was all sharp angles with an equally sharp tongue. No mecha argued with her and got away with it.
“Time to do your checkup. Lay down on your side, please,” she said after a moment. He set his datapad on the table and did as she asked, allowing her to check his fuel pressure and other minutiae until she was pleased. Then she went around to his back and gently prodded his leaden wings. He could only feel the harder pressure and generally couldn’t tell what she was doing except to move them this way and that.
An orderly carrying a large box stepped in to set down what looked like a bracelet at the foot of the berth before moving on. Nurse Clipper finished examining him and had him sit up again.
Almost offhandedly, she commented, “Your wings and vitals look good. You should be ready to shed the wing casing any day now. Have you experienced any odd feelings or urges since you were last examined?” He hesitated before answering.
“My spark… I’ve occasionally felt a burning sensation from it.” She nodded.
“That’s perfectly normal for a positive spark at this stage. The burning feeling should turn into more of a pull when you’re physically ready to go find your sparkmate.” Then she went over and picked up the bracelet.
“Hold out your arm.” He obeyed, watching her snap it around his wrist. Once done he examined it curiously. It was protoform gray with a small square box inset into it. It sort of looked like an ancient external chronometer piece that old bots sometimes wore. The band was flexible enough to move with his wrist when he twisted it but not stretchy enough to get it back over his servo. The latch didn’t look like he could easily undo it.
“What’s this?” He asked, picking at where it was trying to wedge into his wrist seam already.
Clipper was updating his chart but answered in a slightly distracted way.
“A tracker and vitals monitor. Most of you mechlings won’t leave the city, but a few always end up flying to the next city over. This makes sure no mecha gets too lost and we can find you quickly in case you get injured.”
After that brief explanation, she moved on to the next mechling in the ward.
Later that cycle he and all the other mechlings were given gigantic cubes to drink. It was a decent quality medium-grade with an extra packet of additives to mix in. He surprised himself by finishing the whole thing in one sitting, uncertain how he had fit so much in his tanks.
The next morning all the mechlings were gathered into a large atrium for a group announcement. Prowl’s wings ached all the time now; he hoped they were getting let outside to shed their wing cases and GO today.
It took a long time to round up the mechlings and get them seated. He was sitting in a chair being nudged by his neighbor every time the excitable yellow mechling gestured wildly, trying to have a conversation with his friend three seats down. They had to yell to hear each other even that far.
Prowl hunched forward in his seat, plating clamped tightly as he leaned away from the mech in a bid to not get jostled.
Unfortunately, leaning forward exposed his wings and the next swing of the yellow mechling’s arm whacked him along the broadside of his right wing. He wasn’t sure at first if the snap he heard was from the wing casing or his patience.
With a roar he leaped from his seat, rounding on the other mechling as he did so. Barely restraining himself from punching the other, he instead shouted “FRAG OFF!” At the top of his vocalizer.
It effectively silenced half the room as hundreds of optics turned to zoom in on him. The other mechling about fell out of his chair with surprise. After a nanoklik, a lot of whispering and giggling rose from the crowd.
Mortification made his circuits heat up. It didn’t help that his wing felt really weird now where it had been hit. With an awkward twist over his shoulder, he was able to see that the casing had split a little. He hoped desperately that the wing itself was fine; they were warned when their wings started to grow that they were easily damaged.
The yellow mechling was wringing his servos awkwardly when he turned back around. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you.”
Prowl frowned. Out of the corner of his optic, he could see an adult mech with a security tag on trying to wade through the sea of chairs towards them. Probably to break up what they thought was a fight starting. However, he was being slowed by how close together the rows of seats were, further complicated by the occupants of said seats.
“Don’t touch me.” He muttered, thumping back into his chair with his arms crossed.
The mechling cringed away as they waited for the security mech to reach them.
“Hey, what’s going on over here?” The big security mech puffed when he finally made his way over, looking around like he wasn’t sure who the culprit was.
The femme on the other side of the yellow mechling pointed at them. Her paint was a little scuffed, likely from being treated the same way Prowl had been. “He was swinging his servos around and hit him-“ she had to lean forward around Yellow to gesture at Prowl specifically, “in the wing. I think now his wing casing is falling off.”
“Wha- no it's not!” Purple defended.
The security mech frowned and Prowl scowled at the femme.
“Get up then, let me see.”
“It’s fine, he didn’t hit me that hard. And it wasn’t on purpose.” Prowl nonetheless stood and turned, aware of the optics still on him from the rows behind them.
The security mech thankfully didn’t touch him, just gave it a quick look over before motioning him to sit again.
“Looks like you’ll be fine. The casing is going to come off soon anyway. Just be careful with it.” He turned to Yellow. “You, be aware of people around you and keep those servos in your lap. I don’t want to see them in the air. Are we clear?”
Yellow nodded rapidly. “Yes sir, sorry sir.”
The security mech accepted this and slowly shuffled back down the cramped row.
Finally, a mecha walked up to the podium, effectively killing the interest in Prowl since that show was over. The mecha introduced himself as the governor of Praxus.
“Gentlemecha, today is the day! It is a momentous occasion for you, the first lacewings in four generations! The doctors have determined that your wing casings are now ready to come off. Even better, the sister facility of Negative Sparks has also announced that they are ready to go!”
The mechlings burst into cheers, eager to run outside and let the suns dry out the casings. Many hopped to their feet in excitement.
“Hold on! Hold on!” The governor called, and the various adults observing from the side had to help calm the younglings down so they could hear him.
“Just to remind you; while all traffic and major roads have been blocked for the duration of your flight, make sure you are careful in any side streets and populated areas. We don’t want any accidents!”
With that, the governor signed off and the chief physician stepped up.
“Your families are being called as we speak. They are going to meet you all at the gyroball fields in an hour. To make sure everybody can find each other, you have been assigned a specific field and the list has been shared with your family so they know where to go. It is being posted to the exit and will be broadcast to everyone’s HUD’s shortly. Please find your name and assigned field.”
Prowl was pinged on a generic comm line with the list; it only took a moment to find that he was supposed to go to field 14.
“The transports to take you to the fields are lining up outside. Please be careful not to bump into each other's wings and be mindful of your own. Good luck, everyone!”
The thunder of a thousand younglings surging to their pedes drowned out any further communication. Luckily, there were multiple exits leading outside. Each transport had a big sign stating the field number that it was going to go to.
The heat of the sun on Prowl’s wings felt divine. He gave into the urge for an indulgent stretch once he had the space. It had been an entire orn since he was allowed outside. The crack in his casing stopped causing him discomfort in just a few kliks of exposure.
He missed the first bus going to 14 due to the crowd but was then able to choose his seat on the next that pulled up right after the first left. He sat in the third row, up against the window so he could look out of it and ignore whoever sat next to him.
The trip wasn’t very long. The gyroball field, a big circle of grass surrounded by old creaky bleachers, was full of families waiting to see their younglings.
He spotted his own almost immediately since it was hard to miss Bluestreak balancing on his creators' shoulders and yelling his name as loudly as he could.
Once he made it off the bus and through the crowd, Bluestreak practically leaped off their Creator’s shoulders to run over and hug him. “I missed you, Prowl! You’ve been in there forever! You missed the little league gyroball tournament last cycle; my team got second place!”
Prowl couldn’t help but smile and pat his little brother's helm where it barely reached his waist. “That’s great, Bluestreak. I’m sorry I missed it.”
His creator approached more sedately, and after another hug, they walked to the other end of the field. The third bus was pulling up and it was getting crowded. Bluestreak chattered the whole way, hardly letting Prowl get a word in.
His wing casing was drying out quickly- it felt more restrictive than ever and he was itching to get it off.
“Oh my, it’s already split open on this side.” His creator commented, gently putting his servo on the casing above the open seam. Prowl grimaced from the weird prickling sensation he got.
“Yes, I had a small accident while we were waiting for them to let us out. It doesn’t hurt at all.” He reassured. His creator looked briefly worried.
“Well, my info packet said we just need to help the casing come off if it gets stuck in your seams. Otherwise, the suns will take care of it if we wait. If there is any damage we should see it when it falls off properly.”
“Can I tell you about my gyroball matches?” Bluestreak interrupted earnestly.
“Sure, Bluestreak.”
Prowl spent the next joor being regaled by Bluestreak’s play-by-plays of each match of the tournament he missed. He turned his back to get the most direct angle of the sun onto his wings, gently waving them to ensure even exposure to speed up the process. It itched and squeezed horribly, a sensation he tried to ignore until it simply became unbearable.
The other mechling’s wing casings were coming off rapidly now, with their friends and families helping. His hadn’t split any further than the initial crack.
“Creator, can you please see if it will peel off? I can’t stand this much longer.”
“Oh, well…” his creator debated himself silently for a moment, having seen the same thing Prowl had. “It does look like yours needs a little help. I’ll start with the split here, it’s starting to lift away anyways.”
With that Prowl kept very still as his creator gently took hold and gave it a tug. “Oh! It’s coming right off.”
The section of casing coming off of his wing was divine, taking the itching and prickling with it. It made him shudder involuntarily. “Please get the rest off!”
With that, his creator and an enthusiastic Bluestreak began helping it to detach from his wing. With a gasp of relief, his wing was finally free to unfurl for the first time.
“Wow, Prowl, your wing is so pretty!” Bluestreak crowed, gently touching its edge. Having been cramped in the casing, it was now filling with energon and straightening out to its full size slowly. Prowl could feel his fuel pressure drop. He set his pedes to brace himself so he wouldn’t fall over.
“The other one?”
His creator obliged and started on his other wing, picking at the edges where the casing met his backplates until it started coming free.
Shockingly, once it started, the casing only ripped a little as it came loose in one whole piece.
Prowl nearly fell over as his other wing unfurled, actually feeling dizzy now. His creator braced him by grabbing him by the shoulders. “Are you alright?”
“I think I need fuel.”
Luckily, his creator had brought cubes for everyone. Once Prowl drained his, his creator simply exchanged Prowl’s empty cube for his own. “Creator…”
“Drink up, Prowl. It could be a while before you get a chance again. I can get something on the way home.” He chugged his creator's cube with only a little more hesitation.
After that, they took photos to commemorate the occasion. It also allowed Prowl to see himself. He was surprised to find that his wings were considerably larger than his peers.
Most of the mechling’s wings were crystalline clear where they extended past their actual doorwing. All of them glowed pink from their energon visibly shining in their fuel lines. He could see where the term lace wing came from; the webbing of the lines resembled it. Each mechling had a different pattern that made theirs totally unique. Their wings brushed the ground lightly when folded back in a resting position.
Prowls, however, were a full meter longer than the average. They partially crumpled on the ground when he let them rest, forcing him to hold them up so they didn’t drag. His were also almost fully pink from the density of the veins in his wings. No wonder unfurling them had caused his fuel pressure to drop so much!
“Your wings are really pretty, but why are they so big?” Bluestreak asked, curiously petting the broadside of his left wing. While Prowl could feel it, it didn’t feel any different from touching any other piece of plating on his leg or arm.
Prowl shared a glance with their creator.
“I don’t know, Bluestreak. I just hope I can fly properly.”
His creator touched his arm worriedly. “Do you want to get examined by one of the medics?”
Prowl thought about it before shaking his helm. His spark had stopped burning while his wing casing was coming off but it was now back in full force. “No, I need to fly. That would take too long.” He looked around at the other mechlings, many of whom had begun climbing the bleachers to jump off the top, leaving their families behind as the drive to find their sparkmate overwhelmed them. Their optics were unfocused from the coding taking over. He didn’t have long if he wanted to be coherent when he took off.
“I’ve got to go, now.”
His creator surprised him with a big hug. “Good luck, Prowl. I look forward to meeting your sparkmate.” Prowl hugged back, then hugged Bluestreak before heading to the closest bleachers.
Any hesitation a grounder might normally have about jumping off a ledge was totally gone. All he knew, when he reached the top of the seats and younglings jumped off beside him, was that he felt it wasn’t tall enough. Looking around, he spotted the announcer's booth not far away. There was a ladder to get on the small roof, presumably for maintenance of the antenna up there.
It only took a minute to get over the bit of fence around it, climbing the ladder without fear. Someone was yelling below him but he was deaf to their glyphs. It didn’t matter, he had to take flight.
There was no further thought process before he threw himself off the roof.
The weightless feeling before he snapped out his wings did make his tank lurch, though.
He didn’t remember it well later. All he could recall was flapping his huge wings laboriously and barely dodging a wire that stretched from the stands to a nearby building.
The next thing he knew was that he’d found a breeze to help carry him to a higher altitude. All around him the other positive sparks wheeled around, darting this way and that as they got a feel for flight. His own was more difficult since he was unable to manage the tighter turns they performed.
The vast majority of them were heading east towards where he knew the negative-sparked lacewings were housed.
It was not where his spark was leading him. He considered it carefully; where before it burned, now it was pressing him into a certain direction. It wanted him to go south, directly over the crystal sea. He went in a few circles to make sure, but his spark was not mistaken. He needed to go south.
In that case, he needed to make sure he wasn’t struggling to stay out of the currently gentle waves.
Right now the wind was in his favor. If he angled his wings just so, his broad wingspan easily caught it and drove him higher. He soon figured out that he didn’t need to flap at all to remain airborne.
As he rose higher and higher, he eventually flew above even the highest of Praxus’s towers and was able to see all the other pink dots of his fellow’s wings as they navigated far below.
Once satisfied, he turned southward, gently angling to drop altitude some and gain a little speed.
He was several hics out over the water before a helicopter caught up to him. Praxus had receded into a tiny thing far behind him.
The helicopter hovered around him, disturbing the flow of the air and making him drop altitude involuntarily. He scowled at them, the blankness induced by satisfying his coding clearing some.
“Go away!” He shouted, tilting to swerve away.
They shouted something back but he couldn’t understand them. “Go away!” He shouted again, plating flaring in distress when they drifted closer.
They seemed to finally get the message and dropped back, apparently choosing to follow at a distance.
He didn’t care as long as he was left alone to fly towards his sparkmate in peace.