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Prowl is a bit of a hard-ass, yes.
He’s not going to pretend he’s the victim. He knows, he knows; he’s the rules guy. But he’d rather be the bad cop to Optimus’ good cop than let Autobot high command suffer from a lack of anyone reigning it in when it’s time.
Prowl’s got a tough skin like that, you see; he doesn’t mind people not liking him so much.
He has Fortress Maximus, and his boys, and Optimus. They understand him.
However, the one thing that tested him was something “flying in from left field”, to put it in Earth lingo.
Flying was especially relevant, what with Starscream making his life a living hell for the past two weeks.
Starscream was a problem prisoner.
...That’s not true; he behaved for everyone but Prowl.
Before Fortress Maximus’ deployment, he was picture-perfect. Dead silent during frisks, never struggled in his restraints.
To be fair, Fort Max had a way in the brig; prisoners liked him, or at least respected him.
Prowl did both.
And when he said “Prime needs me in Arizona”, Prowl wanted to prove that.
“I’ll keep things from burning to the ground.”
“Don’t slag my inmates.”
“It’ll be like you never left.”
Prowl, you stupid bastard.
Ironhide, who is a quartermaster —not even brig staff — could whip Starscream into better shape than Prowl could.
For the first few days, he thought they were all much too soft on Starscream.
He still does.
He just wonders how.
“Prowl? I have a question.”
“You asked me a question five minutes ago.”
“Really? It felt like an hour.”
It’s easier to blame Starscream for being obnoxious than to acknowledge that his chronometer is getting interference.[1]
It’d make losing his temper and punching him feel just a bit more satisfying.
Don’t slag my inmates.
“...Prowl? Hey, Prowl? You never answered my question, though. Can you come down here?”
“Can it wait?”
“No.”
So much for getting his actual duties done.
Starscream was indifferent to him when he’d first been assigned.
He didn’t show any interest until Prowl made it clear that his usual warden would not be returning for a while.
And then only asked stupid questions.
“How long until I can get out?” Starscream had asked, wings flicking, “I want to go for a fly.”
“Tough luck; you’re going to be locked up for a very long time,” Prowl had sneered.
In retrospect, foolishly.
“Uh-huh,” Starscream murmured, paying more attention to his cuffs than the riot act.
“...Is this a game to you?”
“A really boring one,” Starscream slouched in his cell. “Don’t I get visiting hours or something?”
“You really think anyone wants to visit you?”
“No need to be rude,” he’d pouted, “you don’t know that I don’t have friends.”
“You’ve murdered more people than—”
“Than crew members on this ship? Autobots in this star system?” Starscream asked hopefully.
Trying to get info out of him.
Prowl stands up, his holster clinking.
“If that were your business, I’d have to kill you.”
“Like all those people I’ve murdered?”
Starscream did jump when he slammed his fist on the table.
“You just don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“Where you’re going, you’re never going to see light again. You’ll be lucky if they give you enough room to stand when we get you back to Cybertron. Bide your time and play nice all you want, but the one thing you can count on is getting what’s coming to y—”
There was a ZAP! And a loud clack.
Prowl remembers the icy horror in his tanks as Starscream’s cuffs fell to the ground, their hinges fatigued.
He scrabbled to grab his gun, before Starscream made a break for it—
That was when Starscream laughed,
“That was harder than usual! Do I get a new pair now?”
He was always five kliks away from changing Starscream to Level Pink.[2]
And he almost did.
To which Ultra Magnus said “like hell you are.”
This was an Earth outpost with the resources to support just enough war prisoners for hostage exchanges.
It was not equipped with the security to keep a Pink Tag Prisoner.
Prowl would respect that. If keeping Starscream wasn’t a huge liability in the first place.
He should’ve been a Pink Tag to begin with, on account of being the Second-in-Command of the Decepticon Army.
Were it not against Optimus’ wishes, Prowl would have turned Ultra Magnus into a deck chair.
“Prowl?”
“What?”
“Can I buy something from Commissary?” Starscream finally asks.
Prowl does his best not to sigh; Starscream can smell annoyance.
“Do you have money on your books?”
“Has anyone put money on my books?” Starscream smiles and bats his eyes.
That lead to a long and completely unnecessary call to Optimus to “please, if it’s not too much trouble, check and see if Decepticon high command will put money on his books so he leaves me the fuck alone.”
To which Jazz had said “like hell you are.”
Because apparently Megatron is so stupid that he can’t even tell when his Second is MIA, and Intelligence wants to keep it that way.
Prowl misses Fort Max.
Prowl made it a habit not to talk to inmates.
Max did.
But Max was practically forged for this; he could keep Starscream’s very busy brain engaged while at an arm’s length.
Prowl wishes that were him.
“So can I buy something?” Starscream asks for the umpteenth time.
This time there is money on his books.
“Just tell me what you want,” Prowl gets out his datapad.
“I wanna go down to the commissary.”
“Absolutely not. You’re high-profile.”
“I saw you let Blot go down there.”
“Blot was quiet and didn’t like to cause trouble; that’s why he was returned in the last hostage exchange.”
“I don’t cause trouble,” Starscream huffs. “You just hate me because I’m not sad all the time.”
Prowl could throttle him.
Don’t slag my inmates.
Prowl hated asking for help.
...But not more than he hated unplanned circumstances.
He knew when to cut his losses.
The twins had helped in the brig before; they weren’t unfamiliar with the risks.
You could say it surprised him...well, all of them.
Prowl was looking at a datapad when it happened.
A soft “no.”
Then a louder one.
The crunch of circuitry, and Sunstreaker’s cry.
Prowl went running.
Sideswipe got their first, thankfully, and already has Starscream pinned to the wall.
Starscream spits something onto the floor, along with a splatter of energon—
“He fucking bit my finger off!!!” Sunstreaker shrieks, ducking behind Prowl for cover.
“Grope my cockpit again and I’ll take your whole hand!”
...That’s not normal.
Starscream is obnoxious.
He’s far too high a threat level to be in a place like this. He breaks his restraints because to him, they’re a fun puzzle instead of a punishment.
...But he doesn’t attack Prowl.
“Go see Ratchet, kid,” Prowl gives Sunstreaker a winglet flick of reassurance. “Starscream, don’t make me do it.”
Starscream wavers, suddenly realizing the weight of his mistake.
Sideswipe’s grip tightens.
“Please don’t—”
“I’m going to have to frisk you.”
The one time he wants him to talk, and Starscream is silent.
There’s no explanation.
No logic in it.
Prowl has done four separate checks on it, had Ironhide come down, collaborated with Skyfall over comms.
It’s a ratty, empty box of Cygarettes with a deck of playing cards shoved into it.
Even if he really bent over backwards, Starscream’s not breaking out of anything with this.
There’s not even any real tech on it.
“You don’t smoke. I’ve never seen you smoke, on the battlefield or here. The only thing I’ve ever seen you try to smuggle is shaving rasps. Which you can buy, by the way.”
Starscream glares at him from the cell.
“So what gives?”
It would be so easy for him to explain it. Prowl would give back the shabby box and they could pretend like this never happened.
Fort Max wouldn’t even have to know.
Instead, Starscream works up a very soft, sweet smile.
“Your perfect little angel does Liftoff.[3]”
“...Excuse me?”
“Sunstreaker. He does liftoff.”
...No.
Sunstreaker doesn’t do liftoff.
Because if he did, Prowl would know.
“Starscream, just because he groped you—”
“Turn that camera to 1w-4d-13h,” Starscream says, “since you’re so sure.”
He’s not smiling anymore.
It’s at a weird angle, so it’s hard to tell exactly what it is, but Prowl does catch sight of Sunstreaker putting something in his cabin.
“This doesn’t prove it’s liftoff.”
“I know what I saw.”
“Why should I even trust you?”
“He was pulling that from Syphon’s Cell. He services Decepticon shuttles; his artery wire pumps liftoff into his energon for that express purpose. For a big boy like Astrotrain, it’s a migraine reliever. Hell, for me, it’s a strong anesthetic. But for a dinky little car like your lambo? Class-A narcot—”
The crunch.
The way Starscream’s cheek caves under his fist.
The panicked yelp.
Prowl walks out of the room feeling better.
Sunstreaker doesn’t do liftoff.
Sunstreaker is well-adjusted, and professional, and clean.
...Sunstreaker is happy.
He doesn’t need to be drugged to tolerate his life.
He’s happy!
Prowl tosses and turns for three hours before comming Ratchet for an energon draw on Sunstreaker.
Just for his own peace of mind.
The prison is too muffled to hear the screams.
The slamming of doors.
The raw-throated “I hate you” that Sunstreaker roars before he storms out.
The deafening silence of Ratchet putting his head in his hands.
Starscream won’t know.
...Then...why?
Why, then, is it so quiet?
Starscream’s comms remain silent through the first half of his shift.
When he does his rounds, no sound comes from the cell.
Usually, he’d be working out at this time.
When he draws closer, he’s momentarily afraid that Starscream is tucked out of sight to ambush Prowl, or worse — already escaped.
But...no.
Starscream sits cross-legged on his berth, back to the wall.
Prowl decides he’s satisfied, and turns to leave.
“I don’t suspect you’re here to give my card box back.”
“It’s contraband; you’d be lucky if I didn’t destroy it.”
Something ugly and hot flashes across Starscream’s mug, not quite reaching his swollen cheek and eye.
The box sits in Prowl’s desk drawer, but it feels good to land a hit.
Starscream snorts, as if bored by Prowl’s presence, and turns away.
“It’s nearly midday.”
“And I still haven’t gotten an ice pack.”
“Aren’t you going to ask to go down to the commissary?”
“No.”
“...You’re not even going to ask if there’s money on your books.”
Starscream’s smile is acerbic.
“I don’t have any. Sunstreaker put it there in exchange for my silence.”
Prowl is a hard-ass.
He’s not going to pretend he’s the victim. He’s the rules guy.
Prowl’s got a tough skin; he doesn’t mind people not liking him so much.
He has Sideswipe. And Optimus. They...understand him.
They do.
1. ^ Most Cybertronian Brigs --both Autobot and Decepticon-- are outfitted with a jammer that prevents prisoners from receiving incoming comms, chronometer readings, and other relevant information that could be used to escape or launch an assault.
2. ^ Level Pink, or "Pink Tag" is the highest security level for Decepticon prisoners aboard Autobot vessels. It is reserved for dangerous and unpredictable prisoners that have a high escape drive and kill count. Though against Autobot code, Pink Tag Prisoners are often terminated after obtaining all intel from them purely for crew safety.
3. ^ Liftoff is the slang name for the Cybertronian drug Fentakine. It is an analgesic primarily used for larger individuals like Shuttles, Combiners, and Supreme Class Cybertronians.