tired

Jazz is caught in a rip in space and dies, well he should've. Primus took one look at this creature who just saved cybertron and decides to save him the only way they can.

So Jazz becomes a cybertronian, kinda. Theres still a human in his sparkchamber but he can transform and partially control bebop remotely.

Then the rest of the continuity soup as we are going off of happens, jazz becomes 3rd in command and befriends prowl n optimus n ratchet. They find out that jazz is a loadbearer but he never takes off his exo suit, which by now half of it is part of him but he is still organic by soul.

Of course jazz became his usual frame n height, and just never tells anyone that he had frame the size of a combiner. This is JAZZ we are talking about he is more masks than mech.

Of course im imagining a magical artifact fucks this all up. And of course it's in a long abandoned temple, which is underground.

Its a temporary truce between autobots and decepticons due to the increases quint swarms (still not at their full strength since Jazz destroyed 97% of their entire military)

And of course theres an artifact with the ability to turn bots into their "original self" it gets used on Optimus and he gets turned into his Orion pax form. Memories are not affected, prowl gets hit and the only thing that changes are his decals.

Jazz disappears, not that it destroyed him but that in the 10 second flash of light he managed to squeeze out of the main area of the temple and into the adjoining area. Drastic? Yes. However Jazz has a little bit (read: an entire cybertronian lifetime) worth of trauma about the others finding out who he was (is)

No one can track Jazz even when he is the size he currently is because surprise surprise he kept his t-cog and he is making that everyones problem.

Many bots leave to deal with their new forms and accept that once the effect wears off (something that Jazz missed by his quick exit) that jazz will return.

Prowl finds him, not through tracking or hunting. But by realizing that Jazz was acting like he does when he came back from long infiltration missions. And so he plays music, for a while nothing happens, the temple feels less like a ruin but more alive. The strange cyberplants sway and move in time.

It stays this calm until a song finishes and one of the old tunes that Jazz used to play comes on, the song hasn't been played in vorns. But it is still the same slightly crackly velvet smooth that it was when Jazz first showed Prowl the piece. (Its elvis presley's "cant help falling in love")

{i started listening to it at this point so i suggest doing it too}

The cyberflora move slow and smooth with the beat, the water dripping from the ceiling resonates, the creaking of the structure becomes gentler.

Prowl could never understand the language, there was simply never enough time to learn it and a Jazz never accepted an interface deep enough to learn it. And on the times a deep coding dive was required Prowl never went into the areas not allowed (the dives were to check for spyware)

Jazz moves, it's a slow and careful movement as to not make a sound. Walking on all fours so as to fit through the doors, wings held tight to his back out of instinct to protect the melted thrusters.

Claws clicking so faint that the music covered it, Jazz sits in the room nearest. The rumble of Prowl external speakers familiar enough to sooth some part of him he forgot about.

Jazz reveals himself, eventually. Song after song passes with just him sitting there, and then Jazz turns around.

Stalking towards a back exit, the music gets quieter. Until the sound is gone and all Jazz can hear is his plating shaking and his own thoughts rattling in his head.

Jazz sits, it's quiet. No voices join the wind, theres no rhythm to the water dripping, theres not even any light filtering in through the cracks in the ceiling anymore. Theres nothing ahead of him, open rock for miles with no illumination.

His engine stutters, mechs don't have tear ducts but he feels something wet sliding down his cheek. Three fingered hands trace the path but theres no wetness, not until he presses harder and feels the gentle press against skin.

Jazz waits in the dark.

And waits.

And waits.

Theres no one out there.

Not even a moon to guide his sight.

Theres light at his back.

His visor is the only light ahead of him.

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Jazz turns around.

His claws make noise, tapping with the drip of water in a rhythm that makes no sense, his vents curl and heat the air until the whistles line up with the wind.

Jazz steps towards the light.

He walks slow, he stops often, looking behind him as if the darkness will reveal all if he can just look a second longer.

Jazz walks forward.

Audials flick forward and claws scramble on stone as the sounds of music ring through the air.

Prowl is still waiting.

Jazz walks faster.

The music changes.

Jazz shifts into a run.

Jazz stops before the main door, it is the only door big enough to fit him, and behind it is prowl.

Jazz had made a request, a formal one via written comm that had clear signs of being rewritten multiple times.

:could I stay in your office during your work shift?:

Prowl intended to say no.

:yes, however if you are a disturbance I will have to remove you:

:deal:

Without a time stamp Prowl awaited the knock at the door to his office. 7.4 breams later a tap barely audible over the whir of fans, unusual Jazz's knocks were usually loud enough to be heard over multiple voices and routinely left prowl questioning how he did not leave dents. A tactic to not disturb prowl as much? (76%)

Sending a command to open the door Prowl paused when the corner of his optic caught sight of Jazz. With no EM field to speak of most considered Jazz hard to read, however prowl knew it was easy. The bot had a tendency to bounce and droop depending on mood, and the length of his audials made it easy to tell.

Jazz was drooped, he moved slower than any record (including when right out of recharge), and the extendable claws on his servos were half out (injury? 35%, no recent battles and Jazz had been coerced into the med bay after the last one, but Prowl has seen him use his claws to stabilize things when moving stock as was his job within the Ark)

Jazz's steps seemed. Heavier? (13%, unlikely since he had no subspaces nor anything similar, but he did have some method of internal storage) Jazz reached the small couch Bluestreak had insisted on giving prowl months ago. Jazz seemingly lacked the control his movements usually portrayed, and seemingly collapsed onto the couch. After 6.3 ticks a large amount of air cycled through his vents before slowing down drastically from his usual fan speed.

Prowl wasn’t sure how to handle the silence, Jazz usually filled the air with sound and motion at every (78%, of all) chances. Prowl turned back to his work, the repetitive nature of analysing old battle reports and cataloguing battle tactics taking over not enough of his processor.

Jazz moved, the motion slow and near silent. Prowls doorwings twitched in the silence, Jazz stops moving and Prowl can feel the depth of his stare. Jazz sits up slowly, servos in between his legs claws fully extended, hunched over the glow of his visor lights up the datapads left on the lower table.

Prowl does not know what to do, something was happening with Jazz, but Prowl was in no way knowledgeable to handle it.

Silence reigned; Prowl turned his processor back to the datapads. They seemed unfulfilling compared to the puzzle that sat to his right, but still he deciphered the contents. Lost in the rhythm of data conversion Prowl nearly missed the click, loud within the silence but quiet within the storm of data.

Distracted, Prowl turned his head, calculations on how to tell Jazz kindly to leave died before they could finish.

Jazz was still hunched over, his claws still extended had moved to brace against the table in front of him. Likely to counterbalance the giant wings on his back.

They loomed over his back, until the overhead light lit up the back so bright the black looked white. His gleaming paint was swathed in darkness, the harsh blue of his visor only lighting up the bottom of his face and claws.

Prowl turned in his seat, doorwings flared out to match. 

Jazz was not still, micro tremors ran from his wings and spread out the rest of his body. Where his back normally had a large section of extra armour previously thought to be extra armour for his spark, was now transformed out. The exterior armour was pressed flat to his sides while what was clearly the rest of it sat as wings.

From what was visible in the low light lacked the dark grey paint that previously covered his plating, swirls of wind and water arced across the plating. On top of the colours were what looked like transformation seams in his plating connecting four pointed stars in what appeared to be carefully placed formations. (percentage unavailable)

Jazz looked up and his helm snapped to look Prowl dead in the optic, the brightness of his visor (90% optic) burned into Prowls optics as Jazz shook.

Prowl does not know what to do… but he can try (99% +/-1%).

Prowl moves from his chair, slow with clear intentions. Jazz shakes harder, venting in chunks (89% chance of injury)

Prowl stops outside of contact range, Jazz’s longer limbs could reach but Prowl’s would fall short.

Jazz stills, no change in his visors light output.

Jazz’s hand unclenches from the table, the claws have not damaged it.

Prowl reaches out, Jazz entwins their servos even as the shakes return.

Jazz moves like lighting. Prowl has no time to react, Jazz is standing and before his optics can process it 2 arms wrap around his and a helm is resting on his shoulder. Frozen as his processor catches up, Prowl gently wraps his arms around Jazz.

A line of his processor runs in the background, calculating the speed and motion. Something settles in his spark as Jazz shakes into him, Prowl could not see Jazz move, Jazz could have sent any one of his many weapons (98% that Jazz has more weapons than he has shown) straight into Prowls spark before his weapon systems could even online.

Jazz did not stab Prowl, Jazz is shaking apart in Prowls arms.

Prowl tightens his hold on Jazz, it is still difficult due to the shaping of Jazz’s plating (97% a modification, Prowl stops the calculation of if it was done with anesthesia or not before it can resolve)

Jazz does not move, his legs in all their multi jointed glory are finally still. Jazz’s servos do not touch Prowls doorwings, clenched on his back beneath them he can scan them with startling clarity. The claw tips are made of an obsidian steel alloy, one move and both doorwings could be severed from his frame cleanly.

Prowl clutches the space beneath Jazz’s wings tighter, Jazz is shaking less.

With nothing to do but run through previous situations and analyse the current situation Prowl’s optics rove over the large wings, thick struts are connected to each other by massive hydraulic pistons. In-between the struts paneling is thicker than a seekers wings but thinner than most doorwings, in the centre of Jazz’s back four thrusters sit. two larger ones that bracket his major spinal strut and two smaller ones sit outside those angled, so their fire points out.

Is it unlikely that these would hold up under the strain flight would cause, the connection points seem weaker than Prowls own, and the shape is wrong for cutting through the air.

The shaking is continuing to slow.

Prowls eyes continue in their wandering, roaming across the edges of the wings and down Jazz’s odd spinal strut now visible. Each piece is segmented and seemingly held together by long cables.

Prowls eyes roam up and onto Jazz’s shoulder which appear thinner, likely (87%) due to some of the material being moved to accommodate the wings. Closer to the neck Prowl notices a discrepancy, the lovingly laid paint patterns are cut across with jagged welds. They encircle the back of Jazz’s neck, and its clear now that more of the metal from his wings came from around his neck. The welds are splotchy, definitely not made by a medic and would likely need to be fixed if he wanted to move without pain. The welds appeared as if made by someone half blind and drunk.

Leaning back just a tad to follow the shaky welds, Jazz’s shaking gets worse. A glint nestled in Jazz’s neck shows exactly why, tucked behind the thicker plating sits an auxiliary optic, or as close as can be. The optic can’t move but theres light within it, and Prowl watches with his plating drawn as tight as possible as it moves to trace along the welds Prowl was eyeing ticks before.

The plating around Jazz’s neck is wrong, warped and bent in places that look painful. Prowl pulls back by millimetres. The welds encircle Jazz’s neck in some places they look too hot, like whatever was used to fix it wasn’t meant to be a welder. Jazz tracks Prowl with his visor, theres no optics behind it. The inner wires seem melted to the plating in some places, all of them have marks of being weld together.

Jazz’s servo, the one that entwined with Prowls breems ago lifts until the wrist is in line with the welds. A click rings out as a small port like panel opens and slides to the side, a scraping sound that makes Prowl cringe comes from it along with the whisper of pressurized gas from within the port.

Sparks fling from the port as the gas ignites, the flame pushes out once with too much heat, a warm spot against Jazz’s neck plating before it settles into a consistent blue. A small combat torch meant to make attackers back off or to ignite external incendiaries.

Jazz’s helm twitches up, until the centre of his visor optic is in line with Prowls.

The flame sends closer to Jazz’s neck, the size of the flame matches the welds.

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