"Absolutely (Im)Perfect"


Juana la Cliker-Rooster

Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure Hasbro knows I don't own any version Transformers.

Hey all! I'm back! It's been, what, a couple of weeks? Anyway, someone asked me to do Prowl's story after they read about it in "Puppet", so here it is! I'm still working on it, so I'll probably only update it once a week. Maybe twice a week if you review it. And remember, as always, don't give me flames. I report that kind of unhelpful, hurtful garbage. Don't send me crap.



"I can't keep him. I'm not capable of caring for a youngling at my old age." The old and worn police officer gazed sadly at his long-time friend, who looked back with an equally sad understanding. The small, restless child in the officer's lap was biting at his own tiny digits, looking upward with mild interest at his elders. He'd heard the word "youngling", which meant they were discussing him. Was this a bad thing or a good thing? He was too young to know, so, like any child would, he asked.

"PoPo? What are you talkin' 'bout?"

"Nothing, little one."


"Silence, Prowl. The grown-ups are talking. Don't be rude."

"Sorry." The little youngling went back to chewing on his digits, but continued to listen. He was small and very young, but he wasn't stupid.

Law enforcement officer Prowl, now getting on in years, looked back up from his nephew and resumed the conversation with his equally old friend, Autobot Medical Officer Ratchet.

"After Optimus Prime passed on, none of us really knew where to go or what to do. Even with the Decepticons finally banished after all these millions of years, it's like our lives were put on hold," said the aging Prowl. Ratchet responded,

"Yeah. I feel awful for Elita-One and their son. Barely a hundred mega-cycles after little Oppy's birth, old Prime's systems just faltered. There was nothing I could do. And old Prime wanted a family so badly. Once he got it, it was like his purpose in life was fulfilled and he had nothing left to live for, not even his son."

"Hmm. Bluestrak left me with his only child. He named the little guy after me, said I was some kind of war hero. I'll never believe that as long as I function. He wanted me to be his godfather." He looked down at little Prowl, whose optics were now fixated on his uncle.

"PoPo, are you talkin' 'bout my creator?" he asked innocently, tears welling up in his bright, yet thin optics. Prowl remembered his days on Earth, back when the Autobots were still at war with the Decepticons. There had been humans with optics…eyes, like little Prowl's. Asian, they were called. Little Prowl had 'Asian' optics. And they were filling with oily tears.

"Yes, little one," he murmured softly, "I am. I miss him just as much as you do." Little Prowl grabbed his godfather's big arm and sobbed softly into it. Orphaned at such a young age, he had no family save for Prowl Senior to take him in. The medical officer was on his way out; he knew he couldn't keep the child just to leave him.

Ratchet sighed and said,

"There're a few things we can do, Prowl. We can send him to a youngling facility, where he can grow up and learn with others his age. There're also a few Autobot boot camps looking for younglings. They have nurseries that help train future medics, caretakers, that sort of thing. Bumblebee owns a few of them, the ones that focus on the troubled ones, bless his spark. I doubt little Prowl here needs to be there, though, am I right?"

"Funny thing you should say that, Doc," said Prowl with a small laugh, "I asked Bumblebee if he was looking to adopt again. He can't take this little guy, unfortunately. He's adopted eight younglings already, and he and his spark-mate had made one of their own a while back. Both of them have their hands full, what with their facilities and their kids, it's just too much."

"'Bee was always such a good kid. Glad to see he finally saw how much he was worth, especially to Prime. The kid cried the most at the funeral."

"I remember. Hey, what's this?" Prowl reached for a data pad from Ratchet's desk and looked at what it advertised.

"'Master Wildburner, Master of Circuit-Su, sends this message to all Cybertronians interested in learning the ancient art of Circuit-Su. We have a program for younglings as well as older Cybertronians.' Circuit-Su, huh? That wouldn't be a bad idea. The kid would learn how to defend himself; it would help him develop a strong sense of self-esteem and confidence…. Maybe this is the right way to go. What do you think, Ratchet?"

"It wouldn't be a bad idea, no," said Ratchet. "I've been there for injuries before, and all the students seem to have confidence. Maybe sending little Prowl there would be beneficial."

"Would I be allowed to visit him?"

"Of course. The place isn't totally remote and isolated. They have several different programs. Wildburner is a good guy; we're not close, but I know for a fact that we can trust him with the little guy here."

"PoPo?" asked little Prowl a second time, looking up again, "What are you talkin' 'bout? What's circus su?"

"Circuit-Su, little one," answered Prowl Senior, "it's a very old, very special practice in martial arts. Would you be interested in learning it?"

"I wanna stay with you, PoPo!" The youngling jumped up for his godfather and tried to reach his face, but of course it was in vain. The little 'bot stretched his arms as far as he could before giving up and plopping back down on his behind.

"PoPo?" he asked quietly. There was something wrong; something was going to happen…something bad. He had to know, so little Prowl leapt off of his godfather's lap and onto Ratchet's desk.

"Doctor Ratchet, what's goin' on? Is something bad gonna happen?" Ratchet patted the youngling's head and said,

"Little one, Cybertron is constantly changing. People go away and new people come into our lives. It's like a big adventure. And sometimes…sometimes the grown-ups in our lives can't be here forever. Everyone has to…pass on and join the Matrix at some point." The little 'bot's optics grew even wider.

"Who!" he screamed, "Who's gonna die?! Is it PoPo? PoPo can't leave me, I can't be alone!" Prowl Senior plucked the distressed youngling off Ratchet's desk and cuddled him close.

"Prowl, one day I am going to leave you. Not because I want to, but because I am old. My spark is growing tired and soon it won't be able to take care of me. I don't want to leave you—"

"Then don't!" the little one cried again. "don't leave me!" Prowl Senior sighed, then said,

"Little one, I can't promise anything. I know it's very hard to hear this, no one ever wants to hear that someone they love is going to pass on, but it is inevitable."

"sniff What's that mean?"

"It means it has to happen."

"But why?"

"Cybertron would be very crowded if no one ever passed on, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but no one would be sad!" Prowl Senior smiled sadly at his godson—so naïve, so optimistic. Younglings thought they could save the world if they really wanted to. He sighed, then said,

"Little one, tomorrow you and I will go to meet Master Wildburner. He teaches Circuit-Su, and maybe he will train you. We'll talk more about passing on tomorrow, too. Say good bye to Doctor Ratchet."

"sniff B-bye, Doctor Ratchet."

"I'll be seein' ya, kid," replied Ratchet, giving little Prowl the best fake smile he could. It broke his spark to see a youngling so upset, especially when the subject revolved around going offline. He'd already lost his creator, now he was going to lose his godfather? It was devastating.

Prowl Senior nodded to his old friend, then carried the youngling back outside.

"Come, little one. Let's go home."

I made little Prowl cute.