1Yo. Something random. I got really, really, really, extraordinarily bored and depressed. So I'm pairing. Mild to mid range yaoi. Don't like, skiddadle.
I'd like to point out that the title is "Tears on Our Memories". Tears, like the stuff you cry. Not tears, like rips and-.
Italic sentences equal flashbacks.
Prowl crept silently through the heavy tree cover. Rain soaked branches hung almost to the mossy forest floor, dripping softly. The trees here were old, but now he wasn't really concentrating on Earth nature. The forest was indeed old, but the trees were sparse here. One per every square yard, he judged. His feet made no noise on the ground, but the mud did. He swore softly at it as it squelched. He glared at it, then noticed a chip of paint on a sharp stone half buried in the ooze. He was getting closer.
Prowl sped up slightly. The sooner he found him the better. It would be better. It could be fixed, he said; lying to himself. The part of his processor, the part that made him so fierce and formidable an opponent, reminded him of the truth, flashing the scene before his eyes for the thousandth time. Prowl ground his teeth, driving away the vision. He hadn't believed it, but the security cams was all they had to go on. And those cruel 45 seconds had all pointed in one single, terrible, direction.
The playground was empty and abandoned except for him.
The Ciebir-Ninja rested against a tree for a minute. He wasn't physically tired, but for once, his processor was in tatters. He turned his face upward to let the cooling mist of rain run over his mask. He relaxed, letting all his senses fly out in all directions. The forest resounded with that wonderful silence that always accompanied the rain on Earth. Only the trees moved, creaking in the wind. Suddenly, he detected another movement, nearly half a kilometer away. His head snapped toward it, optics flashing open. This was it.
Prowl pushed himself slowly back and forth on the swing. Wind blow softly across his face. He was alone.
He took off in the direction of the motion. It wouldn't take long to get there, but his meter-clearing steps felt like they were pounding out a death sentence for his dearest friend.
He watched the other Sparcklings playing on the wide green field. He wasn't welcome with them. He looked down at his feet, dragging in the sand below the swing.
After what could have been hours, but in reality was only seconds, later, Prowl come to an abrupt and silent stop. He stood stock-still, waiting. His optics switched to thermal as the lenses in his mask slid down. The rain was his ally and enemy here. It would cool everything down, making anything living a glowing signal. But by that same quality, it helped him destroy the one and only love he had.
One of the young mechs across the field stopped playing and looked at the lone figure sitting on the swing. Slender and spiky. Lonely. He started toward the swing.
Prowl clicked out of thermal, and used his own eyes to look. Sure enough, if the shape hadn't been enough, the color was. That sickeningly familiar color. He would be strong.
"Hey." Prowl looked up. It was one of the mechs from the game on the field. He was smiling, bent at the waist with his hands curled up on his back. The posture was a bit feminine, but the voice was male. Kind, and open.
He stepped forward. The trees thinned out even more as he went further. He quickly flipped to thermal and back, registering the position and direction of his trace. He silently extended his blade, then stepped out of the trees. There he was. Under a willow. Prowl's favorite. Leaning against the smooth trunk, using it as support. He was facing away from Prowl, heaving and gasping. He looked ready to collapse.
Prowl's heart stung, but he brushed the feeling aside as best he could. Would be strong.
Under the willow's branches, the trace turned, probably picking him up on radar. The familiar face-plate looked desperate and scared. His face was soaked with rain and coolant tears. Prowl faltered. He couldn't. No! he told himself firmly, he would be strong.
"Prowl," the voice from the figure was trembling and weak. "Prowl, help."
Prowl shook his head, at once saying no, and trying to shake out the voice. He wouldn't listen. He would. Not. Listen.
"Why don't you come play with us?"
"Prowl, please?"
"Um, no, I can't really-"
"No." Prowl leveled his blade, stepping closer.
"Oh, come on! You'll have fun!"
Prowl stepped forward again, but the trace took a few stumbling steps towards him, and he stepped back warily.
"I really can't-"
"Prowl, please," he said.
Prowl stayed perfectly still for a moment, then sprang. He put his feet out, slamming into his enemy's chest, sending them both to the ground. Prowl crouched on his chest, blade held to his neck.
"Surrender," he growled.
The mech from the field held his hand open to Prowl. "Come on," he coaxed, "I don't like seeing you so alone over here."
To his horror, he saw more tears in his old friends eyes. An even greater horror was discovering his own eyes were wet too. But he would not cry. Would. Not. Cry.
"I..."
"Prowl, please, don't let it," he began, but Prowl pressed the blade harder into the 'skin' of the trace's neck.
"Aw, are you sure? We all want you to play, and you'll have fun!"
"Enough," he snarled.
"Are you sure?" Prowl asked shyly.
More tears were falling from his friends' eyes. This was too hard. His blade put more pressure on the traces' neck, reacting to his emotions. It pressed too hard, and a steady line of Energon dripped down to his chest armour.
"Yeah! Come on, come play with us!"
"Prowl," he gasped, "I can't breath,"
Blood pounded in Prowl's ears, but he couldn't move. He was frozen, a feral gleam shining in his optics, blade inching deeper into his dearest's throat.
"Prowl," it was barely a wheeze, faint and desperate, "stop, I can't breathe."
Blood pounded harder, blade pressing-
One of the mechs' servos reached out and took his. Wide, happy blue optics gazed joyfully into his own-
Prowl stumbled off his chest, staggering backward. The trace coughed and choked as he pushed himself up against the tree trunk. Prowl looked, dumbstruck, at the deep cut on his neck, then numbly down at his hands. He was trembling. With a gasp, the Ninja dropped to his knees, shaking violently. His optics bored holes into the ground, and he watched as his vision blurred through a haze of tears. With a roar of uncontrollable emotion he raised his hand and sent his blade spearing down into the wet ground.
For long minutes, the two forms were the only unmoving things in the pounding rain. Prowl hunched miserably on the ground, blade stuck in the earth. He free hand curled into a fist, clawing long furrows into the ground. His forehead rested on the cooling forest floor. "Why can't I-" he began in a whisper, then stopped, shocked by the teary tremble in his voice.
"What's your name?" the mech asked.
"'Prowl,'"
Prowl's head lifted, responding instinctively to the voice that had called his name. The trace was choking, on blood and tears. His voice was weak, and he was reaching out for the Ninja he loved. "Prowl,"
And before he could think, Prowl stood up and walked shakily over to the mech. His blade vanished back into his hand as he walked. Prowl's knees buckled, and he collapsed at his foe's side. He sat there, dripping with rain and tears, head bent low in shame and sorrow, barely a foot away. "I..." Prowl murmured, trying to find words that could fit around his cracking voice.
"Who are you?"
The trace sat up suddenly, and wrapped slender arms around the Ninja. In an instant, Prowl fell forward into the embrace, curling his own arms around the familiar body. The pair slumped back against the tree, both trying to hold the other tighter, like children seeking comfort from a parent. They lay there together, crying under the rain and the willow.
Prowl no longer cared about his mission, about anything, just the feeling of his body pressed hard against his love's. He couldn't stop crying, but around the tears, he had to know. He whispered, "Tell me it's not true. Just, tell me it's not true."
Prowl's question was met by racking sobs. Prowl pulled away, staring deeper, more desperately into the blue optics. "It's not true," Prowl breathed, fear creeping over him.
"Oh, Prowl," He was crying harder, his entire body shaking.
Prowl let his firm grip fall away. "No," he gasped.
The mech smiled brightly at him. Prowl felt his face go hot, and he looked away.
"No." Prowl stood up, lurching backward, "No, no, no, no!"
"That one's easy!"
"Yes," sobbed the trace.
"It's not true!" Prowl shouted, emotions more powerful than he had ever felt before completely engulfing him. "You couldn't have, you're lying!"
The trace shook his head miserably. He sat up and stretched out for Prowl, but Prowl backed away, and he fell back to the ground.
"It is true." he sobbed. "I did it."
"I'm..."
"I killed him. I did it. I killed Optimus Prime," whispered...
' "Bumblebee" '
Dramatic enough?