coldlogicwarmstatic

Now after another 15 years I'll probably be cringing at what I'm writing now🫠

Summary: Smokescreen had needed a place to crash, and his brother had been all too kind to let him stay with him and Jazz until he got back on his pedes. However, in Jazz’s opinion, Smokescreen started to overstay his welcome, and emergency action was required.

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Jazz groaned in frustration. “It’s not that I don’t like having Smokey over at our place. He’s Prowl’s brother.” He shot Blaster a look. “But he practically lives with us now.”

Blaster leaned back, clearly entertained. “He was going through a rough patch. You can’t just kick him out.”

“Was,” Jazz stressed, pointing a finger at him. “Key word. Was. It’s over now. And he’s still not leaving.”

“Why is this bothering you so much?” Blaster asked, chuckling.

Jazz slumped back in his seat with a dramatic groan. “Because it’s putting a stop to my love life.” He gestured vaguely in frustration. “Prowl won’t even touch me with his brother passed out on the couch in the living room.”

“Well,” Blaster smirked, “he is a prude.”

Jazz waved him off impatiently. “There’s a beast in me, Blaster… and that beast is hungry. And Smokescreen is standing between me and my meal.”

Blaster blinked. “Did you just refer to Prowl as food?”

“That’s beside the point!” Jazz snapped, slapping the table. “Tell me how to get that mech out of our apartment without being rude.”

Blaster’s grin widened slowly. “The answer is simpler than you think.”

Jazz narrowed his optics. “Go on.”

“Mark your territory.”

“…And how exactly do I do that--ohh...” The idea hit mid-sentence. Jazz went still, then slowly smiled. “You are a genius.”

Blaster raised his cube in a lazy toast. “I know.” ~~~~~

Later that orn, Prowl and Smokescreen were in the middle of a card game, the table scattered with half-played hands. Prowl sat with his back to the door, fully focused, while Smokescreen leaned forward, competitive as ever.

Neither of them noticed Jazz at first.

He sauntered in like he owned the room, moving to a rhythm only he could hear. No armor. No plating. No interface covers. Not even chest armor, spark chamber on display (but thankfully his spark was the only thing still hidden). But still!

Nothing.

Smokescreen’s cards slipped right out of his hands.

“…Uh-”

Prowl, hearing the shift, turned slightly. “Smokescreen, focus-”

He stopped.

His own cards fell from his grip.

“…Jazz?”

"Sup?.” Jazz rocked lazily on his heels, completely unbothered, visor angled right at Prowl as he continued that slow, deliberate sway.

For a moment, Prowl forgot how to function. Then he noticed where Smokescreen was looking.

Prowl turned sharply.

His brother was staring like a mech who hadn’t seen energon in cycles.

“Smokescreen,” Prowl said flatly, voice dropping.

No response.

“Smokescreen!”

Still nothing.

“Get. Out.”

That did it. Smokescreen scrambled to cover his optics theatrically.

“What? I- I didn’t-”

“Out. Now.”

Prowl was already on his feet, pointing at the door with absolute authority.

Smokescreen scrambled up so fast he nearly knocked the table over before bolting out of the room.

The door slid shut behind him.

Silence.

Prowl exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “You could have been more subtle.”

Jazz tilted his head, amused. “Love, that was me being subtle. He ignored every other hint. I just made sure this one stuck.”

“Or traumatized him for life,” Prowl muttered.

“Details.”

Prowl shot him a look. “Put your armor back on.”

Jazz stepped closer instead, slow and deliberate. “Why? You don’t like me like this?”

“Oh, I do.” Prowl’s voice dropped. “But first, we are helping my brother pack and find his own place.”

Jazz’s grin turned sharp. “And then we can finally frag?”

Prowl sighed, but he was smiling. "Yes, Jazz. Then we can finally frag.”

Jazz… hated sweets.

Which was actually a lie. Or at least Jazz didn’t know if it was the truth. He had never had a sweet treat. After all, he was a street rat. And energon treats were only for the royals, the chosen ones. The ones who couldn’t make a difference between the filth on the street and Jazz himself.

Jazz would often gaze at the sweets store as he walked by it every orn. He would sometimes stop and try to imagine what all the different colors would taste like. He knew how the slimy, low-processed energon tasted. He even knew how low-quality energon tasted.

But a sweet treat? How did a sweet treat even /taste/ like?

“Hey, get lost!”

And of course the vendors inside didn’t like it when street rats like Jazz stood too long and stared. “Scaring the guests” would often be thrown at him.

Jazz didn’t give one iota.

Night would come and the sweets would be taken away from the glass window, and Jazz would stay there for some orns and wonder what would be on display the next orn, dreaming of tasting one. Just /one/ sweet, so that he could officially declare he hated them.

“I really hope you are not up to no good.”

Jazz didn’t even bother to turn. He saw, in the reflection of the window, the silhouette of an Enforcer.

“Since when is staring at the window inside the store illegal, copper?”

The Enforcer frowned. “It is not. But there has been an increase in break-ins as of late.”

Finally, Jazz turned and nearly glared at the Enforcer, but knew it was always a bad idea to antagonize them. Instead, he smirked. “No worries, I’ll be on my way.” Without waiting for a response, Jazz turned and left, licking his cracked lips and thinking about the rust sticks from the orn before. They were probably sold out…

Two orns later, the store was still open, and Jazz tried to stay inconspicuous as he took in all of the sweets. Okay, there were some rust sticks, but they had different colors. And oh, were those cupcakes? They seemed soft…

“You should go inside.”

Jazz tried not to sigh as he turned to apprehend the Enforcer again.

“If I go inside, the vendor will be calling for you before both my pedes step inside.”

“Just because you work in the mines does not exclude you from buying yourself treats.” The Enforcer frowned now.

“Ha!” Jazz actually gave a real laugh. “Mech, you speak as if I could afford treats.”

The Enforcer was still frowning. “Surely you’ve had a treat before.”

Jazz tusked. “Well, sorry to burst yer bubble, but I haven’t. And I don’t really need one either.”

“Is that why I see you every orn staring at the window and gazing at the treats?”

“Hey, you been following me or what?” Jazz turned to frown at the Enforcer.

“No, I’ve been doing my job. And I easily recognize a pattern when I see one.” The Enforcer seemed almost offended.

“Whatev.”

Jazz turned and walked away, leaving the mech behind and trying not to think about how uncomfortable he felt. He /hated/ sweets.

It was several orns later that Jazz found himself again in front of this horrible store. He hated it. He hated it so much. He hated the bright colors, the vibrant sweets, the clean mechs that came in and out of it. He hated how his reflection looked like a stain in the window as he gazed at the rust sticks. He hated how his tanks rumbled.

Just as he was about to leave, the door to the store opened and out came the Enforcer. Jazz frowned and was about to walk by him when suddenly the Enforcer opened the small bag he was holding and offered Jazz a rust stick.

Jazz, for his part, stood frozen, as if this Enforcer was pointing a weapon at him. “Mech, wha…”

“For you,” said the Enforcer simply.

Jazz felt his helm shake and even took a small step back. “Ah, no thanks.”

The Enforcer frowned. “You stare at them. Every orn. Every mech should know the taste of sweets.”

“Ah, no.” Jazz suddenly tried to walk past him.

“And why not?” the Enforcer didn’t let him.

“Mech, I don’t want to! Jeez, what kind of a cop are you?!”

“The one who is protecting all mechs /equally/.” The Enforcer was deeply frowning now. “I got them for you.”

“And I don’t want them.” Jazz now tried to back away.

“Why not?”

“Just because…” Jazz started walking away again, but again he was blocked.

“I assure you, I don’t want anything in return for them.” The Enforcer kept insisting.

“I just don’t want them!” Jazz almost exploded. “Not like this, not from you!”

“Why? Because I’m an Enforcer? Now who’s being biased?” The Enforcer was still frowning, and not in a good way.

“It’s not that! Primus, would you go away?!”

“No, not until you take a damn energon treat.”

“Primus, yer crazy!” Jazz exploded and tried to leave again, but this insane Enforcer blocked his way again. In the end, Jazz huffed and rounded on the mech.

“I don’t want to have one! I…”

Jazz looked at the offered sweets, at the Enforcer, at the store that was selling them, then at his own dirty and banged-up frame before looking back at the mech, pained.

“…it is easier to hate something you have never tried before, rather than miss it after having it once and knowing you will probably never have it again.”

The Enforcer suddenly froze at that.

“…Let me have this illusion, that they taste horribly, so that it’s one less thing I am missing,” Jazz said quietly.

This time, when he tried to walk by, the Enforcer let him. Jazz turned to look at him, and this time he managed to smile, even if it was a sad one.

“But thank you. You gave me hope that not all of your kind are cruel. And that there are mechs who truly fight for equality for everyone. What… what is your name?”

The Enforcer wasn’t frowning, but he had an expression that Jazz couldn’t read.

“I am Enforcer Prowl. And this is my district to protect.”

“Well,” Jazz smiled gently, “I guess then I’ll be seeing you around, Enforcer Prowl. I’m Jazz.”

With that, Jazz started to walk away.

“One orn,” Prowl suddenly said, and Jazz paused. “One orn, you will have treats, Jazz. I refuse to accept that something as simple as an energon goodie is so out of grasp for the normal, everyday mech.”

Jazz’s smile actually grew, and he waved Prowl goodbye. “Till next time, Enforcer Prowl.”

“Until next time, Jazz.”

Author's Notes:

“Hurts.” Jazz complained as he rubbed his temples in a futile attempt to stop the processor ache that was slowly getting stronger and stronger with each passing click.

Prowl’s gaze suddenly focused externally on Jazz and not simply on the readings he was studying. There was currently a three-way connection between him, his prototype on an advanced tactical computer, and Jazz, a slave he had purchased not long ago.

He disconnected something inside Jazz’s helm and Jazz suddenly felt a lot more relieved, only to realize that Prowl had turned off his visual. Jazz tried to turn it on but couldn’t. He gave a soft sigh, used to being prodded like this. The first time Prowl hooked up with him after purchasing him from the slave market Jazz was certain the other simply wanted a frag and an easy overload, but Jazz was more than surprised (and not a little terrified) when Prowl literally took over his processor and nearly stripped it clean – he deleted nearly /everything/. Jazz didn’t even have an internal clock any more.

At least Prowl was straightforward and told him his goal from the start.

“I do not intend to hurt you.” Prowl had said that time, connected to Jazz who had tried to cower and run away after Prowl had started deleting parts of his processor. Jazz was terrified the other would reprogram him.

“But you’re changing me.” Jazz dared to say. Prowl had stopped him by turning off his motor functions and even if he wanted to run, he couldn’t.

“I’m not.” Prowl said and for the first time Jazz thought he heard emotion in his new master’s voice. “I’m making space. I’m deleting anything that isn’t vitally necessary in your processor. I need a blank canvas if my experiment is to work.”

That didn’t reassure Jazz at all and Prowl clearly (and quite literally) saw it.

“Can’t you just frag me and get it over with?” Jazz asked.

Prowl’s optics trailed over his frame for a moment, lingering on where he was connected to Jazz before responding, “As pleasant as I am sure that would be for me and not so much for you, I did not purchase you with this intention. I dare say the fate that awaits you with me will be much more pleasant than with any slave owner who would use you until you break. But I need you to cooperate. I don’t want to force this.”

Jazz found it slightly absurd, it’s not like he had a choice now, did he?

“You have a choice in how this goes. And it will be a lot less… /uncomfortable/, if you are willing.”

Jazz wished the other would just stop reading his thoughts at that moment.

Prowl didn’t respond this time, but he did tilt his head for a moment. Jazz blinked. The other probably heard that too but chose not respond to it. Jazz wondered what this was. Why would a Praxian Enforcer purchase a slave? Wasn’t that forbidden? Unethical? Slavery was still legal in some parts of Cybertron, including Iacon, but Praxus? Last Jazz heard Praxus had abolished slavery a long time ago. The fact that a Praxian Enforcer…

“Ex.”

Jazz blinked, confused. What?

“I used to be an enforcer. Not anymore. I work for the military currently. The Autobots.”

True, Praxus did not exist anymore---

Suddenly Jazz felt anger over the connection. Pure, hot, burning. He would’ve flinched if he could still move.

“…I truly believe we can win this war. The Autobots.” Prowl suddenly started speaking. “My processor is powerful. I was created with the intention to handle large quantities of data, of variables, to be a tactician to my Enforcer Unit. But I know that I can expand – I’ve done the calculations, I’ve done the research. I can… boost my processor. I can help even more and save lives. I can prevent another Praxus—“ For a moment there was pain in the connection. “I can make something that will enhance my tactical abilities to a whole new level. But I can’t do it on my own. I need… a blank processor. I need someone to work as a canvas for me. You were the fastest and easiest way.” And from all the slaves Prowl had scouted this one seemed the healthiest.

“But what does that mean for me?” Jazz asked, confused.

“You can have a wonderful life. Energon, roof, allowance. You can walk as a free mech—“

At Jazz’s shocked look Prowl hurried to elaborate. “I will remove the slave markings from you but I will not remove the slave coding. I need to know you will not run away.”

That’s not very autobot like…. Jazz thought, nervous.

“Maybe not.” Prowl told him quietly. “But in war, there are no rules. Not anymore. And if my fellow Autobots refuse to do what’s necessary, then I will. Even if they call me a villain at the end. I have made my peace with that.”

“This is my home. It’s a small unit in Iacon, but it should suffice. You will have your own small room, your own personal space. Washracks, fuel – I’ll provide everything you need. And you will lend me your processor in return.”

“If… if I refuse?” Jazz asked quietly.

Prowl’s cold optics looked at him. “You can’t.”

Jazz would’ve shivered if he could. He… he didn’t want to be changed.

Prowl shifted slightly, coming clearly in Jazz’s sight. “I will /not/ change you. Not a single strand of code that makes /you/ will be touched.”

Jazz however was still scared.

“You do not have to be.” Prowl said quietly, as if tired. Suddenly, Jazz felt he could /move/ and shifted to sit, looking at the cable connecting them and then at Prowl, uncertain.

“They took /everything/ from me.” Prowl said quietly and the next words that followed surprised Jazz. “Once this is completed, I will remove the slave coding and give you enough credits to start a new life.”

It wasn’t easy to escape the slave world. Not impossible, but… difficult. Jazz had heard of philanthropists who like to buy slaves and set them free but now… this…

“Your medical port will stay locked at all times unless I send the command to unlock it. Medics have overrides, so if an emergency occurs they will manage to open it. With your periphery cable you are not allowed to plug into anything unless I allow it. I will remove /everything/ - the last thing we want is you getting a virus, that will set progress back and it might hurt you indefinitely in the long run.”

“What are you making?” Jazz suddenly asked.

Prowl reached into his subspace and pulled out a strange looking device. “This is a prototype of what I like to call an advanced tactical center. With you connected to it, I can run scenarios and fine tune it, so that it can handle large pieces of data. In an active battle field or a large-scale battle in space, usually there are a dozen tacticians needed to operate the mission. With this device, I can theoretically do both. And much more.”

Jazz still felt hesitation and uncertainty in his field but he had felt… something from the other. The anger, determination but also… pain. And it was so raw. He had never felt anything like it before. “…You used to be an Enforcer.” Jazz started. “You still have on your door-wings /to serve and protect/.” He hesitated. “Does… that include slaves?”

Prowl’s optics held his. “I will protect you, if that is what you are asking me.”

Jazz paused, glancing at the cable connecting him to Prowl and then to the battle computer. “…even from you?”

Prowl paused, as if not expecting the question and glanced at the device in his hands before looking back at Jazz. “Yes. I may have gray morals, but I will not intentionally hurt or harm you.”

Jazz processed that. He… he didn’t have a choice, did he? Trusting this mech was the only thing he could do and if the other succeeded, he would gain his freedom and Prowl would have something that will help the war effort and… himself as well.

“…Alright.” Jazz said and it felt like he sealed his fate. “I won’t fight you. I won’t run.”

Prowl nodded and almost felt relieved as he settled into removing everything he deemed /unnecessary/ in Jazz’s processor. Jazz just watched and felt as more and more of the other’s presence kept sipping into him.

That was their first /interface/.

There had been many others that followed, to the point where Jazz had gotten so used to either having Prowl or the computer plugged into his helm that it nearly felt strange to be on his own when he was alone.

This is the first time Jazz however felt a processor ache forming in his helm. It was always a lot, but it had been more of a strain, nothing with pain.

Jazz didn’t like the darkness. It made him uncomfortable and he felt his frame slightly start trembling. There was so much data, all he could see was the data. Especially now, when his visual was cut off. He felt his spark starting to beat faster, fear suddenly sipping into his field. He was currently too overwhelmed so that even crying out Prowl’s name was difficult and he tried to pull away---

Stop. You will hurt yourself if you disconnect now.

Prowl! Please let me see again, it’s-it’s too much!

Prowl clearly hesitated before responding. You are hurting from the extra external stimuli. If I turn on your visuals it will hurt you more.

Jazz didn’t respond, instead felt his spark spinning faster and fast as he felt claustrophobic. Suddenly images of being locked in a small space started resurfacing and it became difficult to vent. Warnings about overheating suddenly started appearing.

Jazz. Calm down.

Prowl, /please/. You said you wouldn’t hurt me!

He didn’t even see as his core temperature kept rising and the warnings became more aggressive before suddenly it felt as if the world spun and there was a sudden visual, even if he felt dizzy beyond reason. Everything was /spinning/. Oh, wait, he was being moved. And then suddenly something cold hit him like a ton of bricks and he saw steam coming from his plating. Jazz blinked, confused as suddenly Prowl, still connected to him, crouched before him and gently shifted Jazz’s helm to look at him. Jazz blinked tiredly back. “Ow.” He said pitifully.

“This was unexpected, but not bad that it happened even though I had to disconnect you from the battle computer.” Prowl said, “Any anomaly that happens is worth studying. You had a panic attack. Were you ever punished through being locked in a small, narrow place?”

Jazz wanted to answer but no sound came out, he wondered briefly if Prowl had turned off his vocalizer but he was too tired to care. He simply nodded in the end.

“Alright. We made good progress this orn. I’ll let you rest once you’re dried up.”

Jazz nodded and wanted to get up but he didn’t even manage to lift his hands. Rest. Yes. Jazz gave an exhausted sign and allowed his visor to flicker off, still connected to Prowl, feeling the solvent drip down his frame.

The next time he woke up it was in his room. It was a tiny room, with a window (that was currently darkened so no light came through). It had a berth and a desk with a digital clock on it. Since Prowl deleted even Jazz’s internal chronometer he relied on external clocks to know the time. Jazz still hadn’t really made this room personal to him. He didn’t have any personal belongings, especially as a slave. He shifted in the covers, reveling in how soft the berth was and cuddled into the warmth there. Briefly he glanced at the digital clock and realized it was morning. Prowl should leave soon for his shift.

Jazz sat up and rubbed his head. He had a processor ache,though a light one. No wonder if what he remembered from last night was true. And it was cold. Jazz went to the window and opened the covers, seeing the acid snow. Well, there went his plans for going out of the apartment this orn. Taking the old blanket and wrapping himself with it, Jazz left the room and found Prowl sipping a hot morning Energex at the kitchen table. The apartment didn’t have a separate kitchen, the living room was actually connected with the kitchen. Jazz saw a dark pink cube next to Prowl.

“It’s medical grade.” Prowl elaborated, as if reading his mind even if they weren’t connected.

“Why?” Jazz asked, confused. Not that he refused. No one refuses energon in the slave world, even more so /during war/ - you take what you can and when you can.

“That was a strenuous session with your panic attack. The extra additives should help you keep your strength up and also help you recover faster.” Prowl explained as he kept scrolling through the data pad and the results from last night.

“Ah, okay.” Jazz went to sit at the table with Prowl and took a sip, making a face. Blah. “…do we have anything sweet?”

Prowl looked up from his data pad. “No.”

“…can you get something sweet for tonight?”

“If I have time after work.” Prowl explained. “But this was an interesting turn of events. If this happens again, I may have to consider turning off your emotional center during simulations.”

Jazz froze at that. “You’ll turn off my emotions? But-but-”

“Only during simulations.” Prowl tried to reassure. “And I /might/. If this happens again. I couldn’t manually stop your panic attack and you nearly fried something in your processor. Combined with the strong simulation we were doing last night, you got off easy.”

Jazz seemed uncertain and stared at his energon, holding the covers of his blanket closer to himself.

Prowl studied him for a moment before speaking again, an unexpected question leaving his lips. “You said you wanted something sweet. Do you want sweet energon or sweets in general?”

That had Jazz lifting his head and almost perked up at that. “…I don’t really care. Just… sweet. One time I was given an energon goodie, I don’t even know which type, and I swear it was the best thing I had ever had!”

Prowl nodded to himself before getting up and placing his cube into the sink to wash later. “I should get to work. With the snow it will take longer to reach Autobot HQ.”

Jazz nodded. “Will it snow the whole orn?”

“Seems like it.” Prowl said as he looked up the forecast internally.

Well, Jazz was stuck in the apartment.

“You should use the time to rest. We need to pick up where we left off last night.” Prowl explained as he placed a thick military cloak around his shoulders with the autobot insignia.

“Till later then.”

Prowl nodded his goodbye as well and left Jazz alone in the apartment. Jazz gave a soft sigh and pulled the covers tighter around himself as he glanced at the snow outside.

Author's Notes:

Okay, so hear me out. I've always imagined that Prowl somehow creates his tac net. I even have a super old fic with Skylar_Matthews called Battle Computer origninally published in September 2016 (and we have over 40k and that isn't even the half of it posted so... yeah).

But core premisis is that Prowl is hurting so so much after the destruction of Praxus, that he does the most Prowl thing he could do - boost his efficiency and try to fix (or avenge) things. He just wants to hurt back, at any cost. And collateral damage is something he is okay with. He doesn't want collateral damage and does try to actively avoid it, but in the end it's something he accepts as necessary. Everything for the greater cause, right?

I'm pjlover666, trying to rediscover Tumblr, never really used it before (there's one with my ultra old account pjlover666 here on tumblr that I almost never used and I created it while I was 16 and totally forgot which email I used or password...)