a/n: This will be a collection of background story fics for characters in my Event Horizon universe that aren't a part of TF: Prime canon (or might be a part of canon but the backstory isn't present in canon). It will be updated as the ideas come to me. Expect to see a lot of different characters.

Title: Left of the Middle

Universe: TF Prime, Event Horizon

Characters: Bluestreak, Prowl, OC

Disclaimer: I own not Transformers, except for the toys.

Description: Bluestreak wasn't deprived as a sparkling. He wasn't. Except when he actually was.

Inspired by Madonna's "I'll Remember"

He remembers wandering the streets of Praxus, dazed and confused, wondering how things could have gone so terribly wrong. His life recently has been a string of unfortunate events, one thing right after the other in a never-ending line of hurt and humiliation.

All sparklings should be raised with love and affection and nurturing and a kind but disciplined hand. Bluestreak can't honestly imagine why anyone would want to behave differently.

He recalls his caretaker. Silverstorm wasn't necessarily unkind, but he wasn't affectionate either. Whether that was the fact his partner had abandoned them not long after they decided to apply for a sparkling or because Silverstorm didn't know how to be tender, Bluestreak will never know. Silverstorm wasn't ever cruel to him, and all of his physical needs were met. He never lacked for energon or a comfortable berth or a sturdy roof over his head to protect from the occasional acid storm.

But there was always something lacking in his life, something he was certain was as equally important as all those tangible needs.

He never realized that Silverstorm believed him an obligation. Never once thought that his caretaker felt he owed Bluestreak certain things. Up to a point. And once that point was reached, Bluestreak was on his own.

He'd never even seen it coming.

Coming home from yet another rejected application to join the Elite Guard, Bluestreak finds all of his belongings packed into a personal subspace trunk. Silverstorm has changed the locks, keying a new code that Bluestreak doesn't know and assigning the systems to recognize him as a guest. One who requires permission to enter.

His spark twists within its chamber, a painful enough lurch that his vents briefly stall. He has only reached his majority within the last three orns. Most wouldn't even consider him an adult. Not really. He's barely more than a youngling. Still new to the world and everything in it.

But that doesn't seem to matter to Silverstorm.

A datapad is sitting on the trunk. Bluestreak picks it up to find that it contains only one file. It's very formal, impersonal, explaining only that Bluestreak no longer lives there. That it's time he accepts his adulthood and lives on his own. That he doesn't need Silverstorm in his life.

That Silverstorm doesn't want Bluestreak in his.

Bluestreak hasn't seen his caretaker since.

Understandably, he's confused. Lost. Uncertain where in all of Cybertron he's supposed to go. He has friends, associates even, but it feels wrong to impose upon their personal space. He's a mech with no home, no credits, though Silverstorm was thoughtful enough to at least leave some energon. He has nothing to his name but several rejected applications to the Elite Guard and even more to come.

He remembers lingering in the market, using his trunk as a seat because that's the only way to be absolutely certain no thief could whisk it away from him. He stares blankly as mechs passed him by. He knows that he has to resemble a pleasure bot. Or worse, one of the Empties from the underhalls of bright, shiny Iacon.

Few mechs spare him a glance. One drops a cred chip at his pedes, like he's a beggar desperate for a sip of energon. His doorwings droop; he hasn't the wherewithal to hold them upright.

And then, someone actually stops. Bluestreak sees the white pedes before slowly looking upward, tracing over black plating and the familiar sigils of an Enforcer. He goes rigid, wary even. Wondering if he's about to be detained, locked away like the rest of the dregs of society.

"You have been here for several cycles," the mech states to him blandly, almost as blankly as Bluestreak feels. "Loitering is prohibited here."

Bluestreak shoots to his pedes and stammers out an apology, desperate to not be jailed. He'll never be allowed to join the Elite Guard if that happens! But when he leaps up, however, he knocks over his trunk.

The Enforcer doesn't miss the resulting sound. Raising a single optical brow, he tilts a degree past Bluestreak to look.

"Or perhaps you have no other place to go," he comments then and gives an assessing glance. "Designation?"

"Bluestreak," he answers as politely as he can manage. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know I couldn't sit here. I didn't see any signs. Sorry. So Sorry. I'll get moving as soon as I can, sir. Please don't arrest me. I'll just be moving now. Right now." He reaches for his trunk.

"I'd hardly take someone in when a single warning will suffice." The Enforcer looks him over from the crest of Bluestreak's helm to the tips of his pedes. "I have seen you before. Do you often visit the gunnery?"

His doorwings perk excitedly before Bluestreak can control his emotions. "I want to join the Elite Guard someday, sir."

"I seem to recall you having excellent marksmanship," the mech says, still businesslike but now with a hint of interest in his tone.

"Yes, sir."

The Enforcer pauses. He turns his head in such a way that Bluestreak assumes he was accessing either his memory banks or attending to a personal comm.

"I also recall that your close combat skills are abysmal."

The doorwings droop again.

"Yes, sir."

"I can help with that," the mech adds. His voice is completely even as is his gaze, but there's something there. Some hint. Some sign.

Bluestreak's spark spins out of sheer excitement.

"You can? I mean, you will? I mean..." He stills, performing a systems check to regain his composure. "I'd be grateful, sir. I don't have many creds, but I have two servos, and I'll work hard. I will. I promise. I won't let you down. I won't."

"I know you won't," the mech puts in effortlessly and gestures to the trunk. "Fetch your things. You will come home with me."

Bluestreak nearly shakes with excitement and relief both. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much," he gushes before he can stop himself. "It means so much to me, sir. It really does."

The mech looks at him with something almost like amusement. "You may call me Prowl. Sir is not required."

"Yes sir." Bluestreak jolts at the sharp look he receives. "I mean – Yes, Prowl."

Bluestreak remembers following Prowl back to the Enforcer's home. A martial arts studio with an attached apartment. Prowl gave him a room, gave him access codes, offered up fresh energon, and generally made Bluestreak feel welcome.

For half a vorn afterward, Bluestreak lived with Prowl. He trained with Prowl. He worked on his application to join the Elite Guard. He made every effort to succeed. And he did his very best to lock away thoughts of Silverstorm.

Prowl was not an openly affectionate mech either, but there were ways that Bluestreak could tell he was different. Little smiles. A hand to the shoulder. Words of praise when they were due and even when they weren't.

He was everything Bluestreak could've wished for in a caretaker. Everything he wished Silverstorm could have been.

Prowl gave him a home. For that, Bluestreak will give Prowl his loyalty. Then. Now. For the rest of his life.

Bluestreak never forgets Silverstorm, but he does archive those memories. Silverstorm is the past, best to be left behind.

He is stronger without his caretaker and has nothing he needs to prove. Not to anyone save himself.

a/n: Bluestreak will appear in a future origins fic again. I hope that I've done Bluestreak's character justice. He's one of my favorites.

Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.