Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“There, it’ll be your room from now on. Do you like it?” the young, smiling mech accompanying him said, sounding cheerful.

Prowl looked at him with a blank expression, not answering, and the smile dropped a bit. “Please, kid, just look and tell me what you think,” the mech nudged him. Prowl still didn’t say anything, and his temporary… guardian, he supposed he should call him, sighed. He knelt to look at Prowl in the optics -- something the black and gold mech still had a hard time processing.

He didn’t know what the Decepticons had done to him, but now he was… small. Smaller than Bumblebee, even. He looked quickly at his hands, still feeling overwhelmed by their small and delicate appearance. He wondered if everything he had been experiencing lastly wasn’t some sort of bad recharge cycle. The Decepticons winning, him and his team captured, being dragged to that medical bay and being… shrunken,...

And now… that!

“Kid… Prowl?” the mech before him asked him gently. “I know you’re not happy. I know you really don’t want to talk to me, or to anyone, really. I know you must feel pretty… confused,” he allowed out after a moment, obviously searching for the right word to say and apparently not quite finding it. “However, I swear to you we don’t mean you any harm.”

“Funny way to show it, by keeping me prisoner, and by seizing Jazz like that,” he found himself saying without meaning to, the words slipping out of his mouth without thinking.

The mech sighed. “You’re not a prisoner, Prowl. You’re a ward. That means you must live here with a guardian who will be responsible for you as you grow up -- and yes, I know you don’t really understand, but you will. As for Jazz…” the mech trailed off and sighed. “He did try to attack Chakra and to run away, so he had to be punished. You understand that, I take?”

“A soldier’s first duty is to escape captivity,” Prowl stated, trying to sound cold.

“But you aren’t a soldier, Prowl,” the mech stated. “You should have never been on a battlefield to begin with! No, you’re not a soldier -- or rather, you’re not anymore, since the Decepticons have won,” the mech stressed, and Prowl flinched. He didn’t think he would ever get used to hearing those words. “I can understand your uneasiness, just as I can understand Jazz’s own. But the truth remain that he did something wrong, not only in trying to leave this place when he was explicitly instructed he couldn’t do so alone, but even more so when he attacked a fellow martial artist when doing a mad rush for the door.”

“And what else was he supposed to do?” Prowl said icily, almost snapping.

“Be calm. Be patient,” the mech answered. “We would have taken him outside had he asked, for example. And yes, I know it’s not why he did what he did, Prowl, but I’m trying to give you an example and smooth things. You aren’t prisoners of war, kid. There is no more war, and you are now part of the Decepticons.”

“I’m not!” Prowl snapped.

The mech smiled thinly at him. “No, probably not,” he acknowledged. “But you can hardly pretend to still be an Autobot, can you?” Prowl didn’t answer to that. “Will you try to run away too? To attack the students if they stand in your way to ‘freedom’?” The gold and black mechling didn’t answer once more.

“That’s what I thought,” the mech sighed. “Prowl, understand that it is not necessary. This is not a prison. You just have to ask for something, and provided it is reasonable, there’s no reason it won’t be granted to you.”

Prowl turned his head to the side, unconvinced. “This is not a prison,” the mech stated again, more softly. “You know it; you lived there for a good while, from what I heard. With Master Yoketron. You were his very last student, weren’t you?” The gold and black mechling froze.

“How… how dare you?!” he hissed, fists tightening as he considered throwing himself at the other mech to punch him -- even with his current size problem and the various way it impaired his body. “How dare you speak of…?!”

“Master Yoketron was a good mech,” the other stated quietly, and with so much respect in his voice that Prowl actually relaxed some. “He had an habit to take in mechs of all horizons, some of them real troublemakers, and to turn them into great warriors and great mechs in their own rights…”

“Exactly,” Prowl growled. “Mechs from all horizons, including Decepticons, and you ended up killing him! Your very presence in this Dojo is an insult to his memory!”

The mech looked startled. “Wh…? Ah,” he said, snapping his fingers. “You’re speaking of Lockdown, do you not?” Prowl glared, teeth bared, and the mech winced. “I take it I’m right. I’m curious about how you know about him and the Master’s untimely death. I had been lead to believe the Autobots didn’t know who dealt the moral blow and stole the protoforms,” he said curiously, watching Prowl warily.

The gold and black mechling bared his dental plates, snarling silently and refusing to explain. Kick-Off watched him for a moment before sighing.

“Very well, I won’t ask again if you don’t want to tell me about it, though I’d like to. Kid… Prowl. Lockdown isn’t a Decepticon,” he started to say, only for Prowl to actually shout.

“Liar!”

“Lockdown isn’t a Decepticon,” the mech continued as if Prowl hadn’t interrupted him. “Actually, he was sparked as an Autobot, I can assure you that. Yourself, you must have also guessed?” Prowl didn’t answer, and the mech continued. “Master Yoketron never took a single Decepticon as a student, for he had a very peculiar idea of who he should or should not give training to, and war-types weren’t part of his teaching goals.”

“What does it change? Whoever Lockdown was… He still joined the Decepticons and killed him! And you...” he said, seething, glaring at the mech facing him. “You’re also a traitor to his teachings! You think I haven’t recognized your face, Kick-Off?”

The newly dubbed Kick-Off offered him a pale smile. “Lockdown never joined the Cons, Prowl. He doesn’t bear the purple sigil, does he? As for me…” he stated. “Do you see a brand on me?”

“As if it makes a…”

“It makes a big difference, especially for hardcore loyalists such as General Strika or her Consort Lugnut,” Kick-Off cut him off. “You can’t call someone unmarked a Decepticon, just as you can’t call an unmarked citizen of the Commonwealth an Autobot. They’re… I’m a civilian,” he explained. “The brand is for soldiers who took an engagement, an oath to serve faithfully. Lockdown, for all his works for neutral species, Quintessons, Decepticons -- and also the Autobots, do remember that, for the Elite Guard also dealt with him under the table --, was… no, is merely a bounty hunter. A rogue.”

“A civilian… right,” Prowl stated with some disbelief as he looked over the mech.

“It’s true. Really, what else could I be? I’m not yet old enough to join the military, even if I wanted to,” he chuckled. “They don’t allow young mech to join up until at least ten to twenty vorns in their final adult frame, which I’m not. Anyway,” he said, shaking his head, “it wasn’t the subject, was it?”

He looked down at Prowl gravely. “So you think us being here is an insult to the Master’s memory? But the Decepticons aren’t the ones who dealt the blow, Prowl. And as fellow martial artists, the New Kaon Dojo’s students always respected him and…”

“If you respected him so much, why order his death?” Prowl seethed.

Kick-Off hesitated. Should he say the truth? Granted, he himself didn’t know the full truth, but he had managed to pierce a few things together over the stellar cycles by asking, listening and drawing conclusions between what was being said and what went untold.

“As far as I know,” he said carefully after a moment, “there was no specific orders to take him down. Yoketron was considered an annoyance by the Decepticon High Command, as he had trained and was still training various soldiers and martial artists. However, since he had never joined the battlefield himself and was mainly training his pupils in non-lethal techniques, he wasn’t ranked that high on the Decepticon troops ‘hit-list’. The general consensus was that he was to be taken down if possible, but not necessarily killed off. If Lockdown chose to deal a mortal blow, he might have very well decided to do it on his own. So long his primary objective was fulfilled, I don’t think the High Command cared much about how he did it. Yoketron was collateral damage at best, and a bonus tally at worst. Granted, I can only guess, because I was still a captive at the time…”

Prowl didn’t latch on the ‘captive’ thing, but his mind went back to that terrible cycle, and he could still feel the pain, the grief… and the rage over seeing the protoform cache emptied of its precious treasure. “You ‘Cons still did steal the protoforms… and he laid his life to stop you…”

“The protoforms…” Kick-Off sighed. “I can’t tell you much about them, but they were stolen for a reason… One I may not know, for I’m just a lowly civilian and barely an adult in the optics of the Decepticon’s laws, but a reason all the same. As for the Master…” he shuttered his optics briefly, and Prowl wondered if he shouldn’t have taken advantage of it to try and run. But run where? He may have known the place, but Decepticons were roaming everywhere, and his equilibrium was off.

Kick-Off steeled himself. “Master Yoketron did what he thought he had to do. I do miss him,” he said softly, and there was real, pure emotion in his voice that made Prowl look at him closely. He realized, suddenly, that the two of them really had had the same teacher, and had loved him like a caretaker. They would have been brothers, once upon a time. Just how many were they, fellow pupils of Yoketron he had never met before?

As the last of the students, and given Yoketron rarely took more than one or two at once, he had never met the others, too busy fighting on the first line. He had seen the holographic busts, of course, but he had never met the mechs… and the busts were only those of Master Yoketron’s best pupils. He had only understood Lockdown had been a pupil of Yoketron himself through meditations and rethinking about a few details he had felt were off about the bounty hunter.

He hadn’t known about Lockdown… And that made him think. How many more had the old mech trained before him? How many, because they had failed or because they hadn’t completed their training or decided not to become full-fledged members of the Corps, had been forgotten about? How many had died fighting in the war? How many were still alive today?

“I do miss him too.”

Prowl swallowed as he admitted it aloud without meaning to. He could remember the way his sensei had laid on the floor, mortally injured. He could remember his desperate attempts at giving him a new life, using one of the protoforms still present in the secret room, one of the fews not stolen… And he remembered just how his teacher, his mentor, had refused. He swallowed again. He didn’t want to be reminded of that…

Kick-Off other mech looked at him with a small, sad smile and held his shoulders.

“I guess this is part of why you feel so uncomfortable,” he mused quietly. “Knowing he died here?” Prowl didn’t answer that. “I admit I’m not fond of the idea too,” he sighed. “But this place is… it’s a real Dojo, and it’s a place of learning. It must be used. And now that the New Kaon Dojo decided to rejoin Cybertron… It’s the best place for them all,” he murmured, holding Prowl awkwardly.

Prowl’s lips twitched as he remembered the various mechs and femmes still walking the corridors of this sacred place. “Who are they anyway?” he asked, looking at Kick-Off straight in the optics. “They’re…That mech… he took down Jazz with Diffusion. I thought Yoketron was the only one who could teach...” he trailed off, unsure of what to say, unsure of how he should speak to the obviously older, and also taller, mech.

Part of him wanted to just remain silent, to spit at them by never telling them a single word. But part of him felt just so lost and, should he say it? Afraid, that he wanted to try and find some reassurance, no matter the source. Granted, he would probably never turn to Lockdown, especially now he knew the truth about him. But Kick-Off, even if he was mingling with the Decepticons… even if he had dragged Prowl away when the black and gold mech had wanted to go after Jazz and help him… even if he was basically an unknown and someone he shouldn’t trust at all…

Kick-Off felt safe… somehow. Not safe as was Optimus, or Ratchet, or Bulkhead or even, Primus forbid, Bumblebee. But he felt safe enough Prowl felt he could speak to him, if only a little.

“Let’s just say that Master Yoketron wasn’t the first one who decided to fund a Dojo,” Kick-Off mentioned in a rather cryptic way. Prowl raised an optic ridge. It was hardly helping him. Was he referring to some species who had shared around their knowledge of martial arts? It was well-known that Yoketron, as well as Ultra Magnus, had travelled a lot in order to learn more about the art.

Or… was he referring to something else entirely?

Kick-Off released his shoulders and rose to his feet in a swift move. He smiled at Prowl once more. “So, kid, you still didn’t tell me… Do you like the room?” he asked, optics glinting a bit.

The shrunken Cyber-Ninja looked around, optics narrowed in concentration behind his visor.

As he had lived at the Cyber-Dojo for a long time as the war raged on, Prowl was familiar with most rooms and guest quarters. Most of them were simple, almost bare places, for Yoketron had encouraged his pupils to let go of most material things in order to achieve enlightenment and serenity. The walls had always been painted in dull, neutral colors such as grey or white or pale brown. Aside of a futon, and sometimes a desk and a chair, there had never been much to look at.

This room, he guessed as his olfactive sensors picked up the faint scent of freshly applied paint, had been renovated and redecorated recently. It was of pale green and brown colors, the walls adorned with a slightly darker patterns of organic leaves -- and Prowl briefly wondered where or when the Decepticons had had a chance to look so closely at the organic flora he had spend so much time looking at on Earth. A round window, closed and barred, let natural outside light under through the panels of thick reinforced glass, the kind of which Prowl knew was not unbreakable but damn hard to break, especially without making a noise. Not a prison, he reminded himself sarcastically. He wasn’t a prisoner, but he was watched, of that there was no doubt.

He inspected the rest without showing too much emotion. Two traditional lanterns in soft white, cream and green colors hung from the ceiling. Rolls of parchment on which were painted some meditation sentences and proverbs, as well as a few pictures of Cybertronian wildlife, hung as decoration along the walls. A flute and a traditional Protyhexian guitar hung to hooks in the wall. There was a desk and a chair, but also two low tables, on which pots were lined up, empty, but obviously eagerly awaiting seedling, be it crystals or organics lifeforms.

There was a futon in the center of the room, though with a much thicker mattress than the one Prowl knew was in use in the normal living quarters. It was covered by two large pillows and two neatly folded covers. On top of them sat something that made Prowl blink. A stuffed pewter-panda toy, munching on a leaf of crystal-bamboo. Actually, he noticed, there were other toys lying around or perhaps enclosed in a chest just under the window. On display on a small shelf, he could see two puzzle boxes next to a few datapads.

All in one, it gave a nice, homely feeling.

Prowl glanced at Kick-Off briefly before nodding, his face unreadable. “This is… acceptable,” he said briefly before closing his mouth and refusing to add another word.

Kick-Off looked at him and chuckled. “‘Acceptable’, eh? I think we can work with that…”

Chapter Text

His backside was on fire. Trying not to moan, Jazz shifted a bit on his futon. Lying on his front, sore aft in the air, optics dims, he was looking at the wall without really seeing it. His mind was wandering, trying desperately to make sense of… everything, really.

They had been betrayed. They had been betrayed and they, the Autobots, had lost. The Decepticons were controlling Cybertron. He was… they were all prisoners. And to top it off, the Cons had done… something to them. Something he really didn’t understand, and that bothered him, probably even more than his current situation.

He glanced at his fingers, lips thin. He didn’t understand… what was the point of… of shrinking them like they did? So they were smaller; that didn’t meant they’d stop fighting! Except, Jazz had to reluctantly admit, most of the ‘bots he knew wouldn’t be fighting for a very, very long time, given their current size. Supposedly, from what he had heard, they were supposed to ‘grow up at a natural, normal pace’. Whatever that meant. Were the effects of… whatever the Cons did supposed to go away on their own? If so, Jazz couldn’t wait for it to happen.

Then he’d stood a serious chance to leaving this place.

His lips curved outwardly. If anyone had ever told him he’d be eager to run away from the Cyber-Dojo, the one place almost all of Yoketron’s students had called ‘home’ at some point, he would have laughed his head off.

But now that Decepticons were running the place, it didn’t make him laugh anymore. More like raging.

Why, of all the prisons possible, had they took him here? Granted, the dojo wasn’t much of a prison normally, but if the Cons had taken him here, then a prison indeed it had become; besides, it had been clear from the very first moment he set a foot inside the complex that neither he nor his fellow captives were allowed outside, hadn’t it? But seriously, for a Cyber-Ninja like him, why not a more secure location? He had sort-of heard that some of his fellow students such as Grandus or Dai Atlas had been dragged to Trypticon, as a ‘temporary location’. So why had they not taken him there as well? Was it a way to jab at him? Didn’t they consider him dangerous enough?

Not that Jazz really wanted to be imprisoned somewhere else -- he’d settle to not be imprisoned at all, actually -- but he couldn’t wrap his mind about the ‘why’? Why make him come here? Why make Prowl come here? Or… or that youngster Dai Atlas had started training, Drift? He knew there were other Autobots prisoners here -- he had recognized Sky Garry’s voice at some point and… He shifted uneasily as a wave of pain overcame him. He had briefly seen Tap-Out in the crowd which had gathered to seem him… punished.

He didn’t understand. Why them, and not the others? And why the Dojo, for the Allspark’s sake?

And why, since they were prisoners, had the Cons taken the time to… to decorate his ‘cell’ like they did?

He didn’t bother to move out of the futon, but his optics narrowed as he looked keenly at the old redecorated guestroom he had been told would be his from now on. Pale and darker shades of blue, mixed with grey decorations alongside the walls that looked like musical notations. The room was almost bare, but to his trained optics, it was clear it had contained furnitures aside of the futon he had been laid out on when his ‘punishment’ had been over with. His fists tightened in the fabric of the dark grey covers patterned with red musical notations -- rather striking against the duller, calmer colors of the whole room.

How humiliating it had been.

Not just the ‘punishment’ itself, mind you. It had also been quite humiliating to get flattened by a Decepticon using Diffusion, a move that Jazz should have been able to counter easily. Actually, he had thought he had managed to counter it when he had recognized the position taken by the ‘Con he was charging at. Normally, Jazz wouldn’t have tried to directly fight like that -- he would have tried to evade. But he had, stupidly, panicked upon seeing the place, and the Decepticons who were basically desecrating this place by their mere presence, and he had wanted out and it had seemed the perfect moment, when attention was more on the very tiny Drift being handed to a white and red mech without sigil, a large sword strapped to his back, and Jazz had launched himself toward the exit.

The ‘Con had been in his way, and ‘fight’ had been his natural first reaction.

A big mistake, he had to acknowledge between clenched dental plates.

He had landed flat on the ground, arm wrenched behind his back and a knee forcing him to stay still before he had even fully processed what happened. He hadn’t even managed to land a solid hit on the Decepticon -- Chakra, he thought he had heard him being called. At the most, he had just scratched his paint.

So yeah… humiliating, given he had been one of Master Yoketron’s star pupil, and the best Cyber-Ninja the Corps had had for vorns. Prowl had potential, sure, but the mech wasn’t quite at Jazz’s level yet.

Jazz’s fists clenched in the soft fabric of the futon as another lightning of pain shot through him again. Slagging Cons…

Of all the ways he could be punished, he hadn’t expected… that. To be cuffed hands before him and dragged to the dojo’s main room, where there was a place to gather everyone, he had sort-of understood. Obviously, the sick slaggers wanted to make his punishment for trying to escape public and would probably get a kick out of it. He had more or less expected getting beaten down, unable to defend himself, and had braced himself for that.

Beaten, he had been, but not exactly the way he had thought he would be.

Guarded on either side by two mechs, he had stared straight ahead, glaring at the Cons gathering in these sacred rooms his former sensei had defended with his life, when a mech Jazz had never seen before entered.

His appearance… Jazz had felt a pang at seeing him. The colors were wrong, and so was the face, looking far younger than the one of his late Master. The Con was also bigger and bulkier. Still, there had been something in his way to move… and in the helmet… that had reminisced Jazz of the old Dojo Master.

He remembered that face looming down at him, red optics watching him impassively, studying him before nodding and speaking...

“My friends, pupils and charges,” the deep voice of the Decepticon martial artist rumbled in the silently silent room. “We’re gathered here to sanction the acts of a misbehaving member of our community who, without any provocation and outside of the terms of a formal duel or spar, attempted to lay servos on one of our brothers-in-arms. Such acts can’t remain unpunished.”

So, basically, they were saying they were going to punish Jazz not because he was trying to escape, but because he had tried to attack someone in doing so? They had a rather twisted way to rate things, the Cyber-Ninja decided.

“Yes, Master Banzaitron,” several mechs and femmes whispered in a hushed, respectful way, and Jazz noted the name. So he was the leader here? Good to know; he’d have to try and make use of the info… and try to gather more intel about the mech. It didn’t sound like any ‘Con name Jazz was familiar with from the War.

The mech nodded curtly at the hushed approval of the crowd before looking at Jazz again, making the black and white mech feeling slightly uncomfortable. Absentmindedly, he tried to tug his arms out of the hold of the two Cons holding him, but without avail.

“Now,” the mech dubbed Banzaitron, continued, still looking at Jazz, “I understand that the one who committed such a senseless and should I say, heinous deed, is only a mere Youngling who, no doubt, is confused about a number of things in the wake of the changes affecting Cybertron. For that, perhaps we should feel some understanding and preach leniency.”

Jazz’s shoulders tensed. He felt a ‘but’ coming.

Sure enough, the one he was tempted to call ‘Dojo Master’ continued. “However, this is a leniency we can’t afford. Age, although it must make you ponder on what is forgivable or not, doesn’t excuse everything. As well, his unprovoked attack on our brother Chakra isn’t his only crime: this young mech also disobeyed one of the commands given to him upon his release in our care. He was told, several times over the course of his journey to this sacred place of learning, that he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the compound, and that he was to obey his new guardians. Shamefully, he did not listen, trying to force his way outside the very moment he arrived. His acts set a bad example for the other young Sparks we have been entrusted with, and for that reason alone, he should be punished. Perhaps, since it’s his first offense, he could be forgiven…” he trailed off, and Jazz shuffled, feeling more and more nervous.

So, despite the earlier speech, that mech fully intended to punish Jazz for the escape attempt. Simply, he considered it the lesser ‘crime’. Eh. Nice to know where things stood, he supposed, not that it helped him much, or any.

“But forgiven he shall not be,” Banzaitron finished. “Each action has its consequence, and this young mech has to learn. However, since he’s young and learning, I will consent to lower his punishment,” he rumbled. “In turn, I trust the young charges who will watch it to know what they shall risk by their misbehavior, and I want them to know that whatever punishment they’ll face for breaking the peace and trying to disobey the rules laid before them will be worse, for if the act of this mechling are somehow excusable today,” he said, gesturing at Jazz, “any who do and try to imitate him will be punished much more harshly.”

He was looking at the crowd, optics searching and finding the other former Autobots present in the room. Jazz tried to look at them, but he didn’t have time to meet their optics before he was forced to turn his back to the crowd. A shudder went through him.

“What do you intend to do, Decepti-creep?” he said with as much bravado as he could.

Banzaitron rumbled. “And insolent, at that. I fear your punishment might last longer should you not get an handle on that cheeky glossa of yours,” he warned darkly, though there was no real malice in his voice. It was a simple observation. “As for what we intend to do to you…”

Jazz gasped as a hand slapped his aft, even as the mech holding him forced him to bend over a bench, making his aft rise and baring it to more hits.

“You’re a misbehaving Youngling,” Banzaitron said. “And there is only one good way to correct the misbehavior of Younglings…”

Spanked.

Publicly spanked before a whole crowd of Decepticons and a few Autobots. Jazz swallowed. Humiliating didn’t even start to describe it. He had been supposed to receive a spanking until he presented his excuse to the Dojo Master for his ‘intolerable behavior’ and to his ‘victim’. The Cyber-Ninja had internally scoffed; as if he would do so! They could hit him as much as they wanted, he wouldn’t do that!

At least, that had been his resolve in the beginning. Until the spanking became more painful.

‘Banzaitron’ hadn’t just used his hand. Jazz had cried out in surprise the first few times, but after that, the black and white mech had clenched his dental plates and refused to let another sound escape him. It had lasted for a moment. His ‘torturer’ hadn’t been impressed with him, and decided that since the punishment was supposed to be an example, he should as well show Jazz and the rest how much the Cons weren’t kidding.

So he had started to use a paddle to hit Jazz’s aft over and over again, and not just any paddle either. One that send burst of electricity each time it touched his sore, sensitive aft, messing with his sensors and pain receptors, and making him break his resolve not to cry or shout. He had thrashed and wiggled, trying to free himself, but the mechs holding him hadn’t bulged. If anything, their hold on him had tightened to the point he couldn’t even move anymore.

The hits had increased in frequency and Jazz had started to just cry and wail helplessly, the pain overwhelming him for a while. He didn’t know when he had started begging for Banzaitron to stop, but he did.

‘Please, Sensei! Please, stop!’

The cry had escaped him and Banzaitron had paused, allowing Jazz to brokenly sob and say he was sorry, and he had ask for forgiveness, and please, stop…

Released, he had been forced to bow and kneel to the mech as well as to Chakra before Banzaitron had nodded and ‘graciously’ accepted his ‘excuses’.

“I dare to think this young mech will have learned his lesson,” he had said before Jazz had been dragged away, unable to stand on his own and much less to walk. “But I will warn him: should he display such actions again, his punishment will be more severe. As it is, his punishment will not be only physical this time. He will be confined to his quarters for the next five solar cycles, and his room will be barred from any and all entertainment items. Hopefully, it will allow him to better meditate on his actions and what he did wrong with a clearer mind. He shall also receive no healing help for the next solar cycle. So I say, and so I will be obeyed,” he had finished saying before the door had closed as the two mechs carrying him away dragged him off and Jazz had briefly blacked out.

When his processor had started to reboot, he was being gently laid out on his front on this futon, in what the two Cons -- who had presented themselves as Chokehold and Backslap, not that Jazz really cared -- had told him was now his room. They had ordered him to rest and try to recharge, saying someone would come by later to give him some fuel. He wasn’t supposed to move from here, and the Cyber-Ninja had heard the sound of a lock when they had left.

Mind you, Jazz didn’t think he’d have moved even if he had been able to. He needed to let them drop their guard before he tried anything again. But anyway, given the state of his aft, he didn’t even dare to try and do anything.

Slagging Decepticons...

Primus, and to say everyone saw him breaking down under the stress and the pain! How could he pretend to be a true Cyber-Ninja if he wasn’t even able to endure for a bit? Granted, it hadn’t been something for which he was prepared, and his pain receptors had been oversensitized by the electric current, but…

Gosh, what kind of example had he given to his fellow captives? Had seeing him in that state decided them against making escape attempts of their own? He didn’t know about Tap-Out -- the guy had never been… quite right since the War and had become a very passive mech -- but he thought Sky Garry and Prowl would attempt something, or would have. Prowl particularly; the younger mech hadn’t struck Jazz as the kind to lay low. But he didn’t really know him enough to guess what he would or wouldn’t do, and it wasn’t impossible the other Cyber-Ninja just decided to stay still…

And after that… ‘display’ in the dojo, who knew what they might decide to do?

His mind wandered back to Prowl. The black and gold mech had stayed very still while Jazz was… spanked. Jazz had made out clenched dental plates and tight fists when he had managed to glance behind him at the crowd gathered. He remembered… someone had had his hands on Prowl’s shoulders keeping him still and forbidding him to throw himself at Jazz’s defence. It was, the black and white mech decided grimly, just as well. Had he tried to, he didn’t doubt the other mech would have been punished just as ‘harshly’ as Jazz. Besides, if Jazz, one of the best pupils of Yoketron couldn’t fight his way out, what chance did his cadet have?

Seriously, the young mech needed some more training; it surprised the black and white mech that Prowl had even gotten himself qualified for duty with such gaping holes in his style. Then again, he was assigned to a maintenance team, so they didn’t need a top-of-the-line fighter. Still, Prowl’s style didn’t seem quite complete, like he hadn’t finished… learning…

Oh, Allspark, he was an idiot, wasn’t it, he thought with a wince that came from both the sudden thought and the pain in his backside.

Prowl had not finished learning. Of course. There was no bust of him among theirs in the dojo, and Jazz hadn’t seen his name down in the lists of Yoketron’s students… students who had dropped out, or students who just stopped their formation, having reached their full potential. He knew the mech was younger than him and had seen the last days of the war, and that he was probably Master Yoketron’s last pupil.

It just… hadn’t quite sunk in that the sensei’s death had halted Prowl’s training. But that explained why the other Cyber-Ninja had been on a maintenance team instead of serving as a Council guard or helping Dai Atlas try and recruit new pupils to reopen the Cyber-Dojo.

He felt a pang of sadness for Prowl. How unfair it was. The ‘bot must have been crushed when Master Yoketron had died, but probably less so than the Autobot who had reported the old Master’s death and the stealing of the protoforms that had been entrusted to the Cyber-Dojo’s care.

Jazz had known the ‘bot who did. A fellow Elite Guard’s soldier who had dropped by on Ultra Magnus’ orders, for their leader had gotten worried of a lack of communication with the Dojo. Granted, it wasn’t so exceptional, since the Master sometimes made trips in the surrounding crystal forests to meditate out in the open, and ever since the Decepticons had started to try and intercept or jam signals, the transmissions between the Dojo and the Metroplex had become less and less. Still, Magnus had worried for some reason and send someone to check on things.

Ultra Magnus had been right to, the black and white mech thought dejectedly. If only they had found out sooner… perhaps they’d be able to save the old mech. Wistful thinking, he knew, but slag… By the time the thievery had been discovered, Master Yoketron had been beyond all help. All they had been able to do was to give him a worthy funeral. Prowl hadn’t attended, now that Jazz thought about it. Probably in shock over the death…but his absence had intrigued some of his fellow students. Granted, he hadn’t been the only mech absent. Them pupils had been scattered on a number of planets, trying to stall the Decepticons, and not everybody had been able to make it in time.

Most of them hadn’t know Yoketron had been training someone at the time. Of those who knew, most didn’t know the name of the student -- they had asked around, but the only one who could have answered was Warpath, and Warpath had suffered some processor damages during a battle and didn’t remember either. He knew he had escorted a draft-dodger to the Cyber-Dojo at some point, but hadn’t remembered much more about the event, and certainly not a designation.

It had lead to a lot of speculations in their small group, Jazz thought, lips thin. He vividly remembered Star Saber wondering if it wasn’t that new student who had killed their teacher before escaping with the protoforms, having been a turncoat all the while. Dai Atlas had scoffed at the idea -- Yoketron would have seen it coming. Beside, according to Warpath sketchy memories, the student hadn’t been with Yoketron so long he could have learned enough martial arts to fight on an equal pede with their teacher, let alone vanquish him. It hadn’t explained why Prowl had not been found.

It had been Tap-Out who had quietly suggested the then-unknown student may have fled upon discovering that their Master had been assassinated, too much in shock to think rationally. Eck, it could have been Yoketron himself who asked him to flee and hide when the dojo came under attack. In a way, he had said, that would have make sense. His training uncomplete, faced with too many enemies at once, Yoketron would have prefered protecting his pupil in some way than letting him die a senseless death. And if he hadn’t come out… perhaps it was because he was too ashamed to show himself, especially before ‘bots he didn’t know and who would probably judge him for something he couldn’t have helped.

That had pretty much calmed everyone. Tap-Out’s words made sense, and given the way he had looked back then, so scarred and in shock himself over some recents battles and fresh, painful loses, nobody had dared to argue with him. At the most, Star Upper had dared to say Prowl may have less ‘fled’ and more just ‘left’ upon learning the news. If he hadn’t been at the dojo at all when the attack happened, and only learned about Yoketron through an official notice, he may have decided to just not return, thinking no one would help him finish his formation.

Which was false, of course. Prowl was a comrade-in-arm, a fellow student. They would have helped him along, had he only asked. But he didn’t, and he had just vanished. And with the War still going on, they hadn’t been able to properly search and inquire about it, and by the time everything was over, Yoketron’s death and the fate of his mysterious last student had faded from their immediate concerns, having been replaced with the need to rebuild their home and their lives…

The black and white mech sighed. In a way, they had all failed Prowl, and without that Earth mission, they would have continued to fail him, never knowing exactly who he was. Jazz had only realized the exact identity of the other Cyber-Ninja after observing him for a while and checking over the Cyber-Dojo’s records. Had he known… well, he didn’t know what else he could have done at the time, what’s with the black and gold mech being assigned to Team Earth and Jazz serving in the Elite Guard, and the rest too busy to drop by and meet him, let alone train him.

Beside… Jazz didn’t know how to approach Prowl. They hadn’t spared, or compared their respective techniques. They hadn’t spoken of their past. Eck, they hadn’t even spoken of the Master, so whatever had led Prowl to join Optimus and the rest of the maintenance crew was only guesswork at this point. It wasn’t too late to ask, of course, but… it seemed a bit pointless, now.

The black and white mech shifted and winced again as his more pain shot through him. He couldn’t help but continue thinking about Prowl, and how lucky he had been not to be here when the worst had come to pass...

Jazz frowned. There was something here… Something he wasn’t seeing, and that bothered him greatly. It concerned the Master… and his death.

His memories scrambled to bring forward the actual report on Yoketron’s death. He knew he had read it… sort-of. At the time, he had been far too unsettled and, should he say, furious to read a file. He had glanced through it, though, hoping to find the name of his Sensei’s murdered, but there had been nothing on it. Prowl’s name wasn’t even mentioned at all, now that he thought about it. There were references to him, sure, but no name, and as far as the Cyber-Ninja knew, nobody had ever linked Yoketron’s student with the case. However, he thought he had read something… something about the corpse… Something had bugged him...

Damn… He couldn’t remember!

Toc. Toc. Toc.

The black and white mech jolted, gritting his dental plates to avoid screaming as he mover to try and face the door. It was still closed, but he could make a mech’s silhouette through the panel of thick, reinforced crystal. A familiar silhouette at that. “Jazz?” a low voice asked at the door. “May I enter?”

Jazz bit his lips. Was he really asked his permission? That was almost laughable. He was a prisoner, was he not? So why would he have anything to say about who could come in or not? Still… He knew that ‘bot. And if he had the occasion… there was plenty he wished he could ask him. He needed answer… and a damn good explanation for why one of his former brother-in-arm had betrayed them like he did. “Yes,” he choked out. “You can come in, Kick-Off.”

Chapter Text

The lock, Jazz heard it distinctly, was deactivated before the doors slide aside. Kick-Off entered, bearing a tray, and quietly closed them behind him. A small, sad smile on his lips, he came closer to Jazz and knelt by the futon, sitting on his heels.

“Hello, Jazz,” he said quietly. “It is… good to see you again,” he added rather awkwardly as he put down his tray on the floor next to him.

“I wish I could say the same,” Jazz answered as frostily as he could -- which, sadly wasn’t much. He tried to glare at the other Autobot -- former Autobot? Traitor? Fellow Yoketron’s student? He didn’t know how to call him anymore -- but found his resolve to try and act coldly toward him waning before the other mech’s sorry look. He swallowed, before sighing, trying not to move and not send more shots of pain through his frame. “Kick-Off…” he trailed off, not knowing what to say.

The other mech chuckled humorlessly. “I take you’re not as happy to see me as I am?” He looked a bit sad, but not overly surprised.

“Slag it, Kick-Off… How do you think I should react -- me, or anyone else from the Dojo?” he mumbled “We thought you dead! And then, we found out you’re not -- which is a good thing and had us overjoyed, even if you were a prisoner and they never tried to exchange you back -- and then we find out that you… you just betrayed us all!” His fists clenched in the mattress of the futon and he tried to change position and kneel as to look at Kick-Off properly, feeling somewhat vulnerable and ridiculous in his current position. He renounced and let himself drop back with a cry of pain. His aft felt like it was on fire still, and heat pooled between his legs for some reason; it had started at the time he had been ‘punished’ and it hadn’t totally gone away.

Slag it all… Coolant gathered in his optics under the pain and confusion he felt, and he had to struggle to not let them fall. How easy it would be if Kick-Off wasn’t looking at him like that, if he didn’t actually know the mech and could hate him. But he couldn’t, by the Allspark, he couldn’t.

“Did I?” Kick-Off asked simply as he watched Jazz struggle to keep his composure. “Why do you assume so, without hearing me out first?”

Jazz bit his lips, and he avoided Kick-Off’s gaze, preferring to bury his face in the pillow and stay silent. Kick-Off didn’t say anything for a moment, respecting the other Autobot’s silence and much aware of the uncomfort Jazz probably felt. There was much he wished to speak with the other mech, but unless the black and white mech started the conversation, he knew anything he could say would fall in a deaf audio receptor. He knew him enough to know when Jazz was receptive or not to someone else’s arguments. The Cyber-Ninja was, in Kick-Off’s memories, someone very open, but the moment he backed off… Well, nothing could be done to change his mind.

He finally coughed, breaking off the tenseness, and Jazz finally decided to look at him again. He looked him over in silence, optics narrowing behind his visor.

“... you look… different,” he finally said in a low voice. “Like… bigger. And your face…” he trailed off.

“Younger?” Kick-Off completed with another small smile. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Jazz tilted his head to the side, burying his cheek in the pillow without breaking off optic contact with the boxer. “Did they do that to you, when they caught you during the War?” he asked quietly. “Shrinking you, I mean.”

“Shrinking?” Kick-Off’s visor flashed and he chuckled ruefully. “Yes, I suppose this is a way to describe it. Though I wasn’t so much ‘shrunk’, as you’d put it, than put into a frame matching my proper Spark-age,” he said quietly, gathering his hands in his knees and looking at Jazz with a calm, contemplative face.

“I don’t understand,” Jazz whispered. “What’s the point of doing so? I don’t even understand… so we’re younger than most of the ‘Cons I have seen; so what? That didn’t stop us from getting assigned to a job, to live a good life, to fight them when the War started…”

“That’s part of the point, I guess,” Kick-Off stated slowly. “I mean… yes, we got assigned a job, or were released from the factory to live our lives, working in plants or such. But for most Decepticons, we shouldn’t have, because, well, we were too young,” he tried to explain, and Jazz snorted.

“Is that so? Us being ‘young’ didn’t stop them from decimating our population and killing as many Autobots as they could. Didn’t stop them from offlining yet another few ‘bots when they invaded Cybertron through the Space Bridge.”

“This was war, Jazz. You can’t stop all loses,” Kick-Off answered, back straight but optics dim. “All protoformed mechs weren’t mere Sparklings or Younglings. Some were actually quite old. And even if they weren’t, the moment mechs took the Autobot brand, they had to be considered as dangerous and fully willing to cause injury and death on their own troops; they couldn’t afford to spare everyone,even though they could have inflicted more losses on us. And they did spare civilians,” he stated more quietly.

Jazz noted the use of the ‘us’; so Kick-Off still considered himself an Autobot? That was… Spark-warming. Sort-of. It didn’t change much to the situation at hand. “So… the shrinking?” he asked again, trying to keep his voice level. “Did you end up as lithe as me? Or smaller, like Prowl? Ah, Prowl is…” he started to add before Kick-Off cut him out.

“I know who is he, don’t worry. Our ‘baby brother’,” he added, lips quirking before he became more serious. “And, to answer your question, no. I ended much smaller. Like Drift,” he said, referring to Dai Atlas’ pupil.

Jazz’s visor brighted. “Really? Wow…” he mused over that for a klik before speaking again. “But it wore off in the end?”

Kick-Off sighed. “It didn’t as much ‘wore off’ as I grew up at a natural pace for a kindled mech.” He leaned a bit back and sighed. “I won’t lie to you. It was very hard on me when… when it happened. They were still testing what they were calling Project Regen at the time, and they didn’t know if there would be side effects. I was lucky, in a way; I wasn’t affected by any, unlike some of the other ‘test subjects’. I kept my mind and wits -- which until then hadn’t happened -- but I was so small… I could barely do anything. I was a Sparkling, one who was still depending entirely on an adult mecha to survive. Although I wanted to escape very much, I had no way to.”

Jazz stared at him. “So, what happened?”

Kick-Off looked at him quietly. “I was kept in observation and served as the basis of further researches -- oh, I wasn’t mistreated, and none of their tests were very invading,” he reassured the black and white mech. “But I ended spending much time in the laboratories with a bunch of scientists, growing more and more distressed at my state. That’s it, until my Papa put his pede down and stated he wouldn’t let them use me like that again and that I was going with him,” he finished with a small smile.

“Papa?”

“Ah… a caretaker, if you will,” Kick-Off explained. It wasn’t the full truth, but it would be easier for Jazz to understand this way. “When I ended up as a Sparkling, a very small cybernetic lifeform that is the first stage of kindled mech’s growth, the Decepticons immediately decided I needed someone to watch over me and take care of all my needs. I ended up with my two Papas, who decided that, as fellow practitioners of the arts, they’d be able to oversee my development and take good care of me, especially given the fact I was still pretty much me despite my small frame.”

“And you never tried to escape them? When you grew up enough?” Jazz had to ask. It seemed so… so unlike Kick-Off not to have tried anything!

“Of course I did,” Kick-Off said ruefully. “For vorns, as I kept growing, I tried. I ended up caught and punished each time -- not too unlike the way you were, in fact. My Papas were always disappointed with me when I did that, and over time I had started to feel ashamed to see them so worked up about me, but they never…” he paused. “What I mean is… over time, I grew used to them,” he tried to explain carefully. “They were… they were supportive, you know? They didn’t… they never behaved badly toward me. They always were fair, and they never punished me outside of the time I did something very stupid. They… they cared for me. They loved me,” he said quietly.

Jazz looked at him as if he had lost his head. “Love? A ‘Con?”

Kick-Off gave him a look. “What, you think they are Sparkless? But never mind, I know you didn’t mean it that way,” the boxer added as Jazz tried to protest. “When I say they loved me, I don’t mean ‘love’ in the way the couples we see at Maccadam’s did; the ones who used their cables to plug into each others and share datas and feelings and memories.” Jazz blushed upon hearing that. What Kick-Off was describing was some of the most intimate things their species could do, and he mentioned it so casually, as if they were nothing! What had the ‘Cons do to him he didn’t think such things were a big deal?

“No, my Papas loved me in the sense they wanted to protect me, keep me safe,” Kick-Off continued. “They wanted the best for me, and they wanted me to be happy. They were willing to do anything and everything for me. And they did just that.”

“... They didn’t release you and let you go back to Cybertron,” Jazz pointed out, trying to find some way to show Kick-Off that his ‘Papas’, whoever they were, hadn’t really do everything they could for him.

“Hmm, they would have, had I insisted,” the boxer mused. “But after a while… well, I didn’t want to go back anymore,” he sighed.

“You what?!” Jazz looked at him in pure disbelief.

The other Autobot rubbed his helm. “Yes, yes. I take it’s hard to understand. It’s just…” he sighed. “I was introduced to many things, Jazz. A whole new way of life that I didn’t even know existed, because the ‘Cons back before the War were a private bunch, and as a protoformed mech, the rules that had been laid out for me by the Council had kinda restricted my curiosity or any want I had to experiment something different. I had been assigned a function a first time -- and it’s by deviating from this function I ended up as Yoketron’s pupil. But I hadn’t considered just how many more options I could have really had, outside of being a boxer/soldier for the Elite Guard. And when I started to discover and see, while I was being literally showered with love by mechs who cared about me in a way that I hadn’t thought was possible…” he sighed.

“I chose to stay with them, even when the occasion presented itself. I… made a hard choice, but one I feel comfortable living with, even today. Even if I know not everybot will agree with it.”

Jazz stared at him for a moment, fists clenched as his processor analyzed the conversation. “You say you stayed because they loved you… but we loved you too, Kick-Off,” he said, voice waving a little. “Master Yoketron was so worried about you… We all were. We had always hoped you’d find your way back, and now you tell me…? What was so special about those ‘Cons you’d forsake your family?”

Kick-off looked like he had been hit. “I never forsake anyone, Jazz,” he said forcefully. “As to what was so special about my Papas…” he paused and vented. “I can’t exactly explain it like that. I… it’s something you’ll have to see and experience by yourself.”

“As if it will happen,” Jazz snorted.

“Who knows?” the boxer stated. “Nobody knows what the future will be made of.”

Silence installed itself for a while between the two martial arts practitioners before Jazz broke it.

“Kick-Off? You said earlier… you spoke about stages in a growth? Is that why I’m not… not small like Prowl or Drift?”

“Yes,” the other mech nodded. “Prowl’s Spark is a bit younger than yours, and he’s still in his Sparkling stages, though in the lasts of it. Drift, by contrast, was created long after the War, thus why he’s like a newborn Sparkling,” he explained. “You, you’re in mid-Younglinghood. Like most kindled mechas of your age, you’ll have a good number of vorns before you until you reach an adult frame. And there’s a good possibility you’ll end up taller than you were, as your protoform will grow as your Spark ages. That’s why you thought I looked taller; I did grown a bit,” he chuckled.

So, it hadn’t been his imagination? Good to know. Jazz took a deep breath through his vents, mind working to sort all the informations he had learned. It was almost too much in too little time.

“Kindled… I still don’t understand what it means, or what is so different about the process of creation,” Jazz whispered, trying to move again and wincing, barely refraining from gasping aloud. Kick-Off noticed, though and frowned before sighing.

“I’ll explain it to you later. But first off, I think we need to take care of you, eh?” he said as he reached for the tray he had set aside earlier. Jazz followed his moves, optics widening slightly in hope as he took notice of a sealed cube of energon. There was also a box and a folded linen. Kick-Off pushed the cover of the box aside and took out a small pot adorned with familiar glyphs.

“Nanobots-filled salve?” the Cyber-Ninja asked almost hopefully. The stuff was always handy to have when someone scorched himself, for example. Applied on damaged plating, it acted fast and soothed small pains while also repairing external damages when there were some.

Kick-Off nodded. “Yes. I asked Master Banzaitron if…” he started, and Jazz growled in agitation. Kick-Off raised an optic ridge under his visor. “Calm down, Jazz…”

“How can you call that mech ‘Master’?” Jazz hissed. “He’s a freaking Con! And after what he did to me…!”

“He punished you for attacking one of his pupils outside of the training ring. Had Master Yoketron ever acted differently when one of us did something stupid?” Kick-Off stated rather matter-of-factly, standing straight.

Jazz’s cheek reddened a bit. “That was different!” he said in a low voice. “He never raised a hand against us in that way!”

“No,” Kick-Off agreed, “but he did wipe the floor with us more than once. Do you remember Lockdown and what happened when he tried to get the drop on Devcon, after he lost that series of spars?” He looked at Jazz pointedly.

Jazz grimaced. “Yeah… Yeah, I remember. But it was…”

“It wasn’t so different in the end,” Kick-Off stated. “Lockdown had done something against the Dojo’s rules. The Dojo Master reacted and decided of his punishment -- a humiliating series of defeats in the training ring, under the cover of sparing, knowing full-well Lockdown wouldn’t win a single match. Master Yoketron never raised a hand on us in anger, since he didn’t believe in physical punishment, but he had no qualms making us repeat exercises and katas until we felt too exhausted to move. Banzaitron is a Dojo Master -- even if you don’t acknowledge it fully. He choose your punishment and applied it. He acted, even if you don’t believe it, fairly.”

“Fairly?” Jazz snorted. “Yes, right. Not only did he beat me, but he also forbidden me medical care, company or about anything, if you remember right. Actually, I’m surprised you’re here at all,” he added, looking at the other mech a bit crossly.

“Yes,” Kick-Off stated firmly. “He could have chosen a worse punition, and you know it.” Jazz didn’t answer and turned his head away. Kick-Off sighed again. “Jazz… He did send me to sooth your injuries. Despite what he said, he did realize you must be in great pain and decided to alleviate it. I’m here with his permission to help you.”

“... am I supposed to feel grateful?”

“You could try to be, but I won’t ask it from you, not when you’re so upset,” Kick-Off answered. Jazz hummed noncommittally, and Kick-Off chuckled dryly. “I do happen to know you, Jazz. Who do you think gave them tips to decorate your room? Not that there’s not much decoration around, given you’re still on punishment detail, but…” he shrugged.

Jazz looked around with a critical optic. “... the color and musical notations were your idea?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

Kick-Off shrugged again. “I thought you might like. I remembered just how much you liked music back when we were both in training, and I thought you might not have changed too much since then. Also, you always struck me as someone who liked pale or neutral colors. Was my guess wrong?”

“... no,” Jazz was forced to acknowledge. “Though I could have done without the ‘zen’ thing,” he said, waving at the lack of furnitures or any entertainment.

“As I said, punishment details,” the boxer stated, lips twitching. “You stay nice, you’ll get all the stuff that was here for you back. Speaking of,” he said as he reached for his subspace pocket. “I have been allowed to give at least that back,” he said, putting a plush toy on the pillow next to Jazz’s head.

The black and white mech blinked, puzzled. “Is that a pneuma-tiger? What am I supposed to do with it, ‘xactly?” Still, his hand moved to touch and poke at the smiling mechanical feline. He blinked, surprised at the softness.

“Cuddling, most likely,” Kick-Off answered very seriously. “It is the adults’ idea that every Sparkling and Youngling should have a ‘teddy’ to keep them company.”

“... I can’t figure out if you’re kidding me or if you’re serious,” Jazz sighed. “I must be seriously losing my game if I can’t do that.”

“I’d rather think you’re just tired and that you are in need of some care,” Kick-Off answered smoothly and gently. “Now, if we put some of that salve on your aft? And after that, I bet you’ll be more than ready to refuel,” he added, waving to the still sealed cube resting on the tray.

Jazz nodded slowly and buried his face in the pillow again, his hand almost absently reaching for the stuffed pneuma-tiger, lightly stroking it. That thing was so soft, it felt amazing against his plating receptors… The simple gesture, one he guessed was unconsciously done, made Kick-Off smile a bit; it was very telling, the way a protoformed mecha reacted to the presence of fluffy fabric. His Papas often joked it was the ultimate proof, if there ever needed one, that a Spark was young. For all his kicking, wailing and general grumbling upon starting to live with Decepticons who had, should he said, ‘babied’ him, the boxer had never rejected a stuffed toy and had loved cuddling with his growing collection. Officially, he had pretended it was because it helped keep his small frame warm, but in truth… well, he had been pretty much addicted to the contact.

“Brace yourself,” he warned Jazz as he spread the healing salve upon his hands and reached for the younger mech’s backside. Jazz tensed in preparation, and hissed in pain and discomfort as the other Autobot started to rub the salve over him.

“It’s cold,” Jazz hissed painfully.

“I know,” Kick-Off said simply. “Don’t worry, the sensation won’t last, and it’s going to help cool your plating down,” he rumbled as his hands worked in small circles over the slightly scorched plating of Jazz’s aft. He winced a bit as he saw the results; Master Banzaitron had truly been… thorough in his punishment, using the maximum electricity setting of the paddle to hit the black and white Youngling.

It made Kick-Off both sad and angry to see that. Truly, his friend shouldn’t have suffered so much. He himself had never been so beaten up, despite having tried multiple times to escape the New Kaon Dojo when he had been very small. Surely, Jazz’s… ‘disrespect’ for the Cyber-Dojo’s rules shouldn’t have warranted such consequences?

However… well, Kick-Off was pragmatic enough to know there was a big difference. Kick-Off may have been just as ‘unruly’ as his fellow Yoketron’s student, but he had also been in a more diminished state, being so small he could barely walk. His tentatives had been short lived and totally ridiculous in retrospect. He had had to depend entirely on his ‘jailers’ to live, and in doing so, he had learned about them, and come to respect and even care for them, before really starting to love them. The Decepticons, and most specifically the Dojo members, had been able to afford leniency toward him in order to ‘raise him right’.

But with Jazz… Jazz wasn’t as fragile as Kick-Off himself had been. Unlike him, once hit by the Project Regen’s effects, he hadn’t been reduced to a Sparkling, but to a Youngling.

A Youngling that was, despite some trouble getting adapted to his frame and being less graceful and quick than he normally was, still able to rely on his previous training and make full use of it.

In a way, it wasn’t so much the fact he had attacked another full-fledged Cyber-Ninja that was the problem, nor was it that he had tried to escape. Kick-Off knew it had been fully expected by every member of the Dojo, and that they had readied themselves for that possibility -- eck, the Dojo had been prepared and fortified to cut short any tentative escapes coming from the new ‘pupils’. In truth, there was little chance Jazz, or any of the others, could manage to escape.

No, it wasn’t Jazz reacting ‘badly’, to put it mildly, to the present circumstances, that had made Dojo Master Banzaitron decide on a painful sanction. In another time, in different circumstances, perhaps he would have attempted to first sooth the black and white Youngling before dealing with him in a way that was less… invasive or humiliating, especially for a first offence.

However, the Cyber-Dojo didn’t have just adults training in its halls. The Corps was also training a number of Sparklings and Younglings. Real, kindled Sparklings and Younglings, who had none of the deathly grace and competences the ‘Regenerated’ protoformed mechs had. And if said protoformed mechs didn’t realize that, and tried to attack them the same way they did a Decepticon adult, just because they were in the way between them and ‘freedom’… Kick-Off grimaced.

For that reason alone, if anything, he could understand why Jazz had been dealt with so harshly. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, though.

He rubbed Jazz’s aft with extra care, trying to be as gentle as possible while the nanobots-filled salve sunk through his plating. the Youngling Cyber-Ninja whimpered a bit has he was touched, but stayed mostly quiet and still. It helped that the nanobots’ action was almost immediate; it showed in the way Jazz’s body relaxed as pain receptors were temporarily turned off or rerooted, and Kick-Off noted with satisfaction that the scorch marks were fading a bit even as he continued to massage the younger mech’s backside.

Jazz sighed at some point, startling Kick-Off, though he still continued to massage the other mech. “Eh? Kick-Off?” he asked softly, almost whimpering -- only, it wasn’t quite the whimpering of pain of earlier. “Can I… can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“I… did they do… something else to us? Aside of shrinking us, I mean?”

Kick-Off frowned. “What are you asking me that? Have you noticed something wrong with your systems?” It was… worrisome. Normally, Project Regen shouldn’t have any secondary effect -- the Decepticons had spend much time making sure mechs and femmes who underwent it didn’t suffer through any bad lasting effects. Sure, there were still some exceptions, but they were rare and far in between. And had Jazz been one of the affected ones, it would have been noticed much earlier -- the very moment he opened his mouth to ask who he was supposed to be.

Jazz bit his lips. “Not… wrong exactly,” he allowed. “It’s just… I… I keep receiving notice for systems I never seen before,” he explained. “And… when that mech was… spanking me,” he said with distaste, before his cheeks started to redden a bit, “I… the heat… I sort-of… felt heat pooling between my legs, at the apex of my thighs,” he mumbled. “And… when you’re touching me like that… it… the heat… it seems to increase,” he finished, looking a bit flustered. “And… I keep receiving more notice and something has to be wrong,” he insisted. “Uh, Kick-Off?” he asked after noticing how silent the other mech had become, and also noticing the mech had stopped massaging him. “Kick-Off, are you feeling well?”

Oh… My… Primus! the boxer thought desperately. Oh nononono! He resisted the urge to facepalm or bang his head against the nearest wall… or the floor. He didn’t want to have that conversation! Oooooh, he knew full well what Jazz was talking about, of course, but he didn’t want to be the one who explained the ‘facts of life’ to the Cyber-Ninja! That would be far too awkward!

Granted, Jazz needed an explanation that wouldn’t traumatize him, preferably before he stumbled upon a couple going at it and went into shock -- just like Kick-Off did when he had learned what an interface array was. He had never looked at his Papas quite the same way after that… Then he had learned about his own parts, and hadn’t it been awkward as the Pit?

How was he supposed to tell the other mech how kindled mechs were created? How was he supposed to tell him about interface arrays and the fact they were kept inactive in protoformed mechs by codes put in them the moment they onlined? And how was he supposed to tell him that going through Project Regen had literally erased these codes, reactivating his interface protocols?

Kick-Off had gone through the different Sparkling’ stages before he reached that point, and he had had time to let the knowledge sink in. With Jazz being at the age he was… discovering himself… at the same time as he tried to make sense of the world now that it had suddenly spun on him and left him reeling… Oh, that wasn’t good at all, he thought with some dread. He definitely needed to ask someone more experienced to handle that. Someone who could handle a possibly panicking Youngling. Then again, Jazz might not panic; he was rather… open-minded, and he might be more interested than traumatized…

Perhaps Kick-Off should tell him right away… It was entirely possible his old comrade would react better if it was him who told him about his body’s ‘new functionalities’. At the same time, Jazz could decide to not believe him, and ask for proof. And wouldn’t that be awkward as the Pit? Primus, he didn’t want to think about what some of the older mechs prowling in the Dojo would say if they ever caught him with his interface array bare before Jazz. Probably something about the lines of him being trying to ‘defile’ or ‘take advantage’ of the black and white Youngling, and then Kick-Off would be shoulders-deep in trouble.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and took a deep breath through his vents. How was he going to explain…? “I… think I know what you are referring to,” he allowed. “However, I’m not the one you should ask explanations to. You should see… well, the Dojo-Master, or the tutor who will come to give you lessons,” he said, trying to stay as nonchalant as possible.

Jazz frowned. “What are you hiding from me?” he asked almost icily. “What did they do to me, aside of the oblivious?”

Kick-Off raised his hands, attempting to placate the agitated Youngling. “Nothing, I swear. It’s just… Well, I’m REALLY not the one you should speak with, because there are things I… don’t know how to properly explain,” he said carefully, “and an adult should be present anyway.”

“What, aren’t I adult enough?” Jazz quipped with a strained smile that made Kick-Off chuckle humorlessly.

“Not from the point of view of most, if not all of the mechs here. Jazz, please… I don’t ask you to drop the subject, but at least to let it go, just for a while?” he pleaded.

There was a silence. Jazz stared at him for a long while, and Kick-Off stared right back. Finally, the Cyber-Ninja Youngling turned his head first with a sigh. “Very well,” he stated simply. “I will let the matter go… for now. But I expect answers, and I expect them soon,” he warned, a hard edge in his voice, and Kick-Off nodded.

“Trust me, you will get them. But for now… care for a cube?” he asked the younger mech, handing him the energon he had brought. Jazz shifted and turned to his side before carefully trying to sit up. His moves were uneasy, and he was still grimacing, but he managed to sit on the futon, legs crisscrossed, and reached eagerly for the proposed fuel. He hadn’t realized he had been so hungry. His backside still hurt, but much less so than before. He didn’t think he’d be able to remain sitting for too long, but at least he was able to now, which was a big progress.

He glanced at the door, wondering if perhaps he should… But he quickly abandoned the idea, even as Kick-Off coughed, probably having guessed what he was thinking.

“So… what are they going to do with us, now?” Jazz asked him between two mouthfuls.

“Well… they’re going to watch and take care of you until you’re fit to do so by yourself, after reaching your adult frames again,” Kick-Off said, seeming a bit put out.

“Is that so? And then what?”

“And then you’ll be free to live your life,” Kick-Off shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to say. They’re not Unicron’s spawns, Jazz. They won’t hurt you -- unless you force them to,” he added when Jazz raised an optic ridge and waved in the direction of his aft. “Jazz…please, don’t do anything stupid,” he sighed. “If not for you, then for the sake of the others. You think they’re dealing with everything that happened better than you? Well, they’re not, and they could beneficiate having you around to cheer them up. Especially Tap-Out and that Prowl Sparkling.” Jazz twitched and Kick-Off knew he had found something of use. “I mean, he’s really out of balance…”

“Aren’t we all?” Jazz grunted, but there was a softness in his words. “Is he alright? Are they all alright?” he corrected himself.

Kick-Off nodded. “They are. Don’t worry; I’m keeping an optic on them. They’re feeling a bit… depressed, but it’s normal, I suppose,” he added carefully. Jazz gave him a look that clearly meant ‘no, you think?’ which made Kick-Off cough in embarrassment. “As it is, they’d all like to visit you -- even Drift, I guess, but it’s hard to say what he’d like because his vocalizer has regressed to a much simpler model, and he can’t really speak yet…”

“I get the point,” Jazz said, cutting the rambling. “But I’m not allowed visitors, am I? Besides, it’s not like they’d let us have free contacts even if…”

“Actually… that’s not exactly true,” Kick-Off said, shifting. “You could go visit each others in your rooms if you wanted to -- but so long you’re punished, you aren’t allowed to leave the room or see anyone aside of the person who’ll come to give you your daily fuel. Though once it’s lifted… well, just so you know, Prowl’s room is down the corridor to your left,” he mentioned almost casually. “Tap-Out is on the second level, as well as Sky Garry. As for Drift, he’s in the other wing, with the other Sparklings…”

Jazz’s optics narrowed. “Other Sparklings? Who? As far as I know, the others were all send to Trypticon or some other prisons. Are some of them…?”

“No,” Kick-Off answered immediately. “There are no other Autobots, Jazz. You, Prowl, Tap-Out, Sky Garry and Drift are the only ones here… for now,” he amended. “I heard there was a possibility to get another one or two added, but so far, you’re the only ones the New Kaon Corps decided to take into custody, due to your young age. The Sparklings I have mentioned are Decepticons Sparklings… real Sparklings, if you prefer. Kindled ones,” he insisted on the words. His optics narrowed. “And you better not raise a hand against them, Jazz, or all bets will be off,” he warned.

Jazz frowned, but didn’t say anything and opted to finish his cube. Kick-Off watched him for a moment, looking at him speculatively. Should he have avoided to speak of the Sparklings and Younglings also living at the Dojo? Granted, they weren’t going to live here long, since they were only doing so until enough habitations had been constructed for all new residents -- Autobots accommodations weren’t always sufficient for the larger Decepticons, and they had to tear down quite a few buildings in order to construct larger ones, able to hold whole family units.

At the same time, Jazz was bound to come across them, if only during lessons time. Better he be warned about it so no incident would happen.

As Jazz put the now empty cube down, the boxer rose to his feet swiftly. “Someone else will bring you a cube tomorrow morning. The door will be locked behind me the moment I leave. If you could avoid screaming your head off at anyone or everyone, or kicking the door or the wall, it’ll be greatly appreciated,” he said as he recuperated the empty cube and put it on the tray he lifted.

The black and white mech shrugged. “Don’t see why I’ll do that. Sure, it would annoy my jailers--’ Kick-Off bit his lips at the word “-- but it won’t help my case or the situation. I’ll keep quiet.” The ‘for now’ wasn’t said, but Kick-Off understood it well enough and had to refrain himself from sighing. “Should I give it back to you?” Jazz asked as he held the stuffed pneuma-tiger up.

That drew a laugh. “No. It’s yours, Jazz. Nobody will take it from you, ever,” he insisted as Jazz didn’t look convinced. “No matter how often I misbehaved, they never took my own teddy away, not even when I used it to hit on my Papas’ heads,” he winked.

Jazz’s lips twitched, obviously amused at the idea. Kick-Off nodded at him before leaving the room in silence.

After he left, the black and white Cyber-Ninja leaned back on the futon, the stuffed pneuma-tiger held tight against his chest. Five… no, four and half more cycles to spend in solitude, bored out of his mind. He sighed. If anything, it would give him a lot of time to think…

Chapter Text

“Forgive me for being so bold, Master Banzaitron, but I fear we’re taking too much of a risk with these ‘bots.”

The well-aged Dojo Master raised an optic ridge as he considered the one of his pupils who, kneeling before him, head low in submission, had spoken aloud his distrust. The mech tilted his head to the side and considered.

“Please, elaborate, Takedown,” he finally said, giving his pupil an encouraging nod.

Takedown flushed visibly, to the Dojo Master’s secret amusement. He shifted nervously, obviously searching for the most polite and careful way to present his concerns. It was a core point of his student’s personality, Banzaitron knew; a deep ingrained respect toward authority and elder figures, which in turn made him extra careful with his words in order to never show disrespect, even when he disagreed with them.

That he had dared to breach things with such a statement was proof enough of his deep uneasiness, for never would he had done so had he been in his normal state.

Patiently, the older mech waited while the teal and grey mech struggled with his words.

“I’m… worried that they’ll be too unruly for us to handle them without resorting to violence or unsavory methods, Master,” he finally said, still looking at the floor. “While I do praise the fact these young ‘bots are given a chance at enjoying a true Sparkling or Younglinghood, I can’t help but be concerned that they’ll be the source of great unrest in the future, for they some of them won’t just accept your estimated help. That Youngling Jazz’s attempt at escaping these hallowed halls is proof enough they’re not going to listen, for I have no doubt that, if he was the first to act, the others all entertained similar thoughts.”

“I know,” the older mech answered simply, and Takedown raised his head to look at him, surprised yellow optics widening slightly. Banzaitron smirked. “I’m not so naive, my young student, and I recognized the light in these Younglings’ optics. They’ll bear watching, though I think today’s… ‘demonstration’ with their comrade quelled some of their immediate plans. That said, we have always known it would be a possibility when we decided to take them in. We aren’t unprepared for… ‘difficulties’.”

“Yes, Master,” Takedown said, lowering his head again. “However, I remain concerned we may have made a mistake by taking in so many of them at the same time,” he tried again. “For one is manageable, and so is two. But all four of them together…” he trailed off.

“Don’t you mean five?” Banzaitron asked, optics twinkling.

Takedown’s lips twitched. “I think the fifth will not give us as many troubles, given he is a mere babe barely able to crawl and spending most of his time in recharge or nursing from his caretaker,” he said humbly. “I’m sure he’ll grow up to be a very productive member of our society.”

“But you don’t share this belief regarding the others? When they are some of the best martial artists ever produced, thank to the teaching of Master Yoketron?” Banzaitron asked casually, and Takedown flinched and looked ashamed.

“It wasn’t what I meant, Master Banzaitron,” he answered hastily. “It’s…” He paused, searching the right words. “The problem is that they are older Sparklings and Younglings, with all of their adult’s core programing and memories, as well as their abilities in the art,” he finally said, looking a bit chagrined by the admission. Banzaitron nodded once, encouraging him to continue. “When a protoformed mech is reduced to the size of a Sparkling in its first stages, one has to rely a lot on the care he is given, forming bonds even if he’s unhappy, and in time these bonds grow even as the mech grown up and learn to see things in a different way than he used to. We had proof of that with Kick-Off, who despite having been a most wary mech and an unruly Sparkling, grew up into becoming more a soft-spoken, respectful mech, who don’t wish harm on us and our owns,” he said quietly. “But when a protoformed mech who went through project Regen is already older… or is Youngling aged, like some of our new charges… he is less willing to stay still and listen, or to form the necessary bonds that’d allow him to trust a caretaker or an adoptive parent. He’s harder to reach out to, if only because he’s not as dependent as a newborn Sparkling is,” he sighed. “I won’t even speak of what they might think of their caretakers, after having lived through the War. As such, as much as I would love nothing more than to see our new charges settle down and find their place among us, I can’t help but feel wary of them, especially since they, as you put it, were among the best martial artists of their generation.”

Banzaitron hummed thoughtfully. “So you’re afraid that, due to their ingrained dislike -- or perhaps, hatred -- of the Decepticons due in part to their indoctrination, in part to what they may have witnessed or done during the Great War, and in part to their defeat and the subsequent changes on their bodies but not their minds, they’ll be forever unwilling to allow us to help them and will, in turn, try their hardest to try and kill us?” Takedown nodded hesitantly.

The old Master sighed. “Well, I can’t say that your concerns are totally unwarranted,” he allowed. “As it is, we just ended a conflict that had lasted for millions of stellar cycles, and for some of them, I’m afraid the conflict stayed on their mind like a fresh wound. They might, in true, be unlikely to want and listen to us and embrace peace under the Decepticons’ rule. However,” he added, “I don’t think you should worry so much.”

“But Master, you just said…!”

“I know what I said, Takedown,” the old Master cut him off. “I do agree that we need to use caution with our new charges and not take everything they’ll say to us or do at face value, in case they’re trying to get us to lower our guard. There is no reason for us to become paranoid, however, nor is there any reason to not show them love and care as we’d do for any Sparkling and Youngling. Pampering and love, my young student, can do a lot to tame even the most aggressive spirit.”

Takedown hummed, not looking perfectly convinced, but not voicing his doubts aloud. Banzaitron looked down at him with a kind expression. “It is risky, we all know this, but what choice do we have? Would you have wanted to see them executed? Or condemned to remain imprisoned in Trypticon or any prison that could have held them, seething in their rage and pain and grief?”

The teal and grey Cyber-Ninja reeled. “Of course no! Executing them would have been wrong, and wronger still to keep them imprisoned with adults! They’re so…” he trailed off.

“‘Young’,” the Dojo Master finished. “Which is exactly why they’re so tricky. The body and Spark maturity of a Youngling, but the mind and processor of self-entitled adult. I know some of our kin want nothing more than consider the Regenerated mechs and femmes as tiny Sparklings and will treat them as such. It might not be a bad idea for some, who could definitely beneficiate from such a treatment. However, it is not something we should do with our own charges. We need to treat them with more respect than that.”

Takedown nodded slowly. “Should we treat and speak to them as we would to a fellow adult?”

“Not quite. Be courteous and understanding, but remain firm and don’t hesitate to correct misbehavior as you would with any unruly Youngling. However, don’t overly infantilize them -- aside of the little one, Drift; him, you can baby as much as you want, for he should be, considering his age. For the rest of them… such tactics would end up in failure and resentment. As to how we should deal with them individually...” he trailed off, thoughtful. Takedown raised his head, looking eagerly at him.

“I won’t pronounce until I met them all during lesson,” he finished. “Only then will I get a good grasp of their respective characters and know what to expect and what to do for each of them.”

“You truly intend to have them participate to classes, Master? Is that wise?” Takedown found himself saying before he realized it. His cheeks reddened in shame at having spoken so boldly and out of turn.

Banzaitron chuckled, though the sound held little humor. “I don’t see why not. To practice the martial arts, one need focus and discipline, something that our new charges need. A distraction of sort and a way for them to clear their minds.”

“Still…”

“Yes, I know it isn’t without risks they will outstep their bonds and do something unwise,” Banzaitron nodded. “Which is why I was thinking of trying to already appease them and have them… calm down and properly settle down before we even include them in the young pupils’ lessons plans. Do they seem to like their rooms?” he asked the Cyber-Ninja still kneeling on the floor.

Takedown’s lips twitched upward briefly. “As far as we were able to see, yes. Young Kick-Off provided valuable tips on his comrades preferences, and so did Shockwave’s intel. I must admit the room for that Prowl Sparkling was a bit harder to furnish, given he hadn’t known him before, but observations made by troops on the planet Earth let us know of his interest for… organics lifeforms and lifeforms in general,” he said, frowning a bit. Obviously, he was a bit put out by the young black and gold mech’s interests. “On the whole, however, they seem to be comfortable with their accommodations, although puzzled by them. Obviously, they had not expected to be well-treated.” He seemed a bit sad about it.

Banzaitron nodded slightly. “Well, this is a relief at least. Having them comfortable is a most important step in their acclimatization to the Dojo. And speaking of comfort… How is the Consort doing?” he asked, tilting his head to the side to mark his curiosity.

Takedown shifted uneasily. “I don’t know what I can tell you, Master. Some of the stuff I hear and see are confidential…”

“I know. However, if Lord Megatron wants my students to continue assure his mate and adoptive Sparkling’s security, I must not be held in the dark over some matters. Knowing the mood of the Consort and with whom he’s most familiar with is very valuable in order to have him comfortable with his security detail,” Banzaitron pointed out. He looked at his student, his features softening slightly. “I take he’s still being difficult?”

Takedown lowered his gaze and his shoulders sagged. “Not… exactly. He doesn’t try to leave Lord Megatron’s mansion anymore and he is polite when he talks to us… But that’s about it.”

“It was to be expected. Some mechs will take longer to get used to the new order than some,” Banzaitron said calmly. “Did he seem to be more relaxed in anyone presence?”

“Aside of young Prince Optimus? I’m afraid not,” Takedown sighed. “I’m still hoping he’ll pick up some conversation with us, but so far, he does prefer staying silent and sulky whenever we watch over him.”

The Dojo Master hummed thoughtfully. “Hopefully, it will resolve itself in time. So, I don’t need to add more or take some of your fellow students from the guard roster for the present time?”

“No, Master,” Takedown said humbly. “We manage the situation well enough. Just, perhaps…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, Footsweep is getting frantic, with his mate being so close to delivering their Sparkling, and…” Takedown said, fumbling, and the Dojo Master raised a hand to silence him.

“Say no more. Backslap is currently free outside of guard duty, he’ll cover more shifts at our Lord’s mansion. In turn, Footsweep will be able to come back here more often to keep an optic on his mate. Is it to your satisfaction?”

“Greatly so, Master. Is there anything else you desired to talk about?” he asked humbly.

“Hmm, yes. Make sure that whoever will be back at the Dojo in five solar cycles be finely polished and in a proper thoughtful, meditative mood.” At his student’s puzzle look and unspoken question, the older mech elaborated. “It seems proper for us to hold a small ceremony in honor of the late Master Yoketron’s memory, don’t you think? After all, we’re now residents in this place he build by himself, and we’re now the guardians and caretakers to his last students. And,” he added as he saw his pupil’s optics widen, “for all our differences of opinion, Yoketron remained a great martial artist who brought glory and honor to our art and to his Dojo. He merits our respect, if nothing else.”

“Of course, Master,” Takedown said, bowing low to the point his forehead almost touched the floor. “You’re right. Though I must humbly wonder how his own pupils will react to such an event.”

Master Banzaitron’s lips twitched. “Yes. I must wonder too. It should be quite the sight to behold, won’t it be?”

Chapter Text

The wind was howling strongly tonight, Prowl noticed as he tried to curl up even more in his futon, tightening his hold on the blankets that were covering him. He should have expected it, really. Even when he had first been a young trainee here, under Master Yoketron’s benevolent gaze, the area had been known for its storms. There were fews and far in between, thankfully, but they stayed quite destructives. How many times had he helped his Sensei secures the shutters and the doors as the wind picked up outside before holding watch as long as the storm didn’t calm down?

Had he been allowed to, he would have done so once more. Sadly, despite his sincere offer to help the Decepticons -- for he didn’t want the Dojo to suffer harm, despite his dislike of the current residents -- the black and gold mechling had been sent to his room to recharge.

After being cooed at by a behemoth of a mech who found him ‘so cute to try and act like a grown up’ and being patted on the helm by an amused but more down-to-earth femme, he might add. His cheeks flushed in remembrance. That had been truly humiliating, and he had almost succumbed to the temptation to throw himself at them with a fight on his CPU. Kick-Off, however, had caught him before he could and dragged him aside to talk.

Prowl’s offer was generous, of course, but as he had pointed out to the shrunken Cyber-Ninja, the special shutters and extra panelings they put over any opening of the Dojo were heavy, even for a full-sized mech. In his current Sparkling size, Prowl wouldn’t be able to make them slide the slightest. And besides, there were plenty of mechs already designated to stand watch, and furnitures and necessary items should a loss of power happen had already been gathered. There was, truly, nothing Prowl could currently help with, even if the Decepticons had allowed him to. So, the boxer had gently nudged him toward his room, telling him he needed to go and rest, as he had training tomorrow.

Kick-Off’s explanations were, sadly, reasonable, Prowl had been forced to acknowledge as he went to lie down. The Dojo had dozens of mechs around now. What habits he might have had with Yoketron when they were the sole inhabitants couldn’t be followed anymore. And… it was true his current small size was more an hinder than something else in those circumstances.

Still, that was no reason to just send him to his room like a newly online mech or a random Sparkling, he thought with a huff as he hugged his stuffed Pewter-Panda to his chest, optics half-shuttered as he continued to listen to the howls of the wind in the crystal trees.

There was a ray of line in the corner of his blurry vision and he sat up, onlining them fully to greet whoever was visiting him. Probably Kick-Off or one of the Decepticons checking is he was recharging…

“Prowl? Can I come in?” The black and gold mechling blinked.

“Jazz? Ah, yes, of course,” he said immediately, surprised as the older mech closed the door behind him and walked over the futon, the light of his visor the only thing visible in the dark, casting a soft blue light on his face. He was, Prowl noted as he saw the small head pressing against the black and white mech’s shoulder, clutching a stuffed Pneuma-Tiger in his arms. How… unusual. He tried not to smile as he realized that, like him, the more experimented Cyber-Ninja had fallen into the habit of cuddling with the soft toys for comfort.

“What can I do for you?” he asked as Jazz sat cross legged on the floor next to the mattress. He pushed himself to the side to make him room, patting the mattress to show him he could sit or lie down on it if he wished to. Jazz shrugged even as he crawled on the mattress and slide under the blankets, looking grateful.

The heating system had been cut off earlier to save power during the storm. Decepticon adults didn’t seem to be too bothered, their systems easily adapting to the temperature difference, but for the shrunk Autobots and the Decepticons Sparklings, it wasn’t so easy. Some of the youngest Sparklings had been handed ‘sweaters’, scarves and other items to help regulate their core temperature. Prowl had been offered some as well, but he had discarded the items before trying to recharge. As for Jazz… Prowl had the feeling he had just rejected the offer out of spite or pride. He didn’t ask, though, and just nodded as the other Autobot settled next to him.

“Nothing. I just thought you’d like some company,” Jazz said as he laid on his side, face turned toward Prowl.

“Are we allowed to?” Prowl asked worriedly. Kick-Off had said they were allowed to visit each other, but so far, they hadn’t really dared to try. At least, not at night…

“No one tried to stop me while I made my way here at any rate,” Jazz shrugged. “They sure watched where I was going, but nobody said anything, so I guess it’s okay. Besides, I guess they’re too busy to care right. And if it really isn’t…” He shrugged again. “I’ll guess we know soon enough. Don’t worry, though; if anything, you won’t be the one in trouble.”

“That’s not why I care,” the younger ‘bot said, frowning and giving Jazz a look. Despite the darkness, the other Cyber-Ninja picked it immediately and smiled ruefully.

“I know,” he said softly, and for a moment, the two of them laid still and silent, just listening to the wind blowing outside full force. After a moment, Jazz shuffled, coming closer, until both mechling were almost touching. Prowl didn’t say anything still, just watching and looking thoughtful.

“You know, the storm… it brings me memories. With Master Yoketron, we…” he trailed off, but Jazz seemed to guess what he wanted to say.

“Closed down and shuttered the Dojo until it blew over?” he asked gently. “We used to do the same thing too -- with the other pupils, I mean. You haven’t know the Dojo before the war, did you?” Prowl just hummed negatively and the black and white Youngling’s face broke into a lopsided smile. “Guess not. It was… It was different,” he sighed. “Lots of people around at the same time; the Master was rarely alone. His door was open to anyone who wished to enter, be it for a spiritual quest, curiosity, or merely a shelter from the coming storms. There was almost always a class going on for big beginners who wanted to learn some self-defense moves, mostly civilians who lived in rough places. There were Autobots too, and a few dedicated practitioners who went on to become Master Yoketron’s star pupils, me included.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “No Decepticons, though. I don’t think Master Yoketron was truly against teaching them, but… it was more that his first priority was about teaching those who had less means to defend themselves. Besides, there weren’t that many military models who were interested into non-lethal techniques, and those were the ones the Sensei favored and taught to everyone. The more serious and dangerous stuff, plus weapon training, he reserved it for the dedicated ones.”

He was babbling, wasn’t he? Jazz thought briefly. Still, he wanted it to get out of his systems. He needed… he needed to vent off the frustration. And besides, wasn’t it a good way to try and bond with the younger Autobot? He knew little of Prowl’s story or of his hobbies -- though he had gathered the mech truly dug the ‘harmony with nature’ and observing organic wildlife during the small lapse of time Jazz spent on Earth with Sentinel and Ultra Magnus.

With a pang, he wondered if they were alright. Funny; before now, he hadn’t thought of them at all. What kind of friend and subordinate was he? The kind who had had to deal with a few nasty shocks of his own, he decided after a few breems of introspection before he looked at Prowl’s face again.

The stuffed Pewter-Panda the black and gold mech was hugging close to his frame made him smile; so he wasn’t the only one who picked the habit? Nice to know.

“Of course,” he picked as he saw Prowl watching him intently, “it was sometimes hard to say who could truly make it to the most advanced levels of training. There were a few talented ‘bots, but few who truly had the drive to learn a martial art, full time. Most prefered the brawl and street fight styles taught in the Bootcamps and were only learning additional moves because they thought it was fun, or useful. I think it annoyed the Master sometimes, but it’s hard to say; Sensei Yoketron had a damn good poker face. Anyway, he never refused to train anyone. He took everyone in. A street urchin, a clumsy big mech that was on the verge of failing Bootcamp training, a Cadet who was bored and didn’t felt at ease with the style they taught in the Academy--” he chuckled at that one and gave a wink, subtly telling the younger ‘bot he was referring to himself “--no matter what they were or where they came from, he always managed to make it right for them and give them a new purpose.”

“Always?” Prowl asked softly, so softly Jazz almost didn’t heard it among the howls of the wind.

Jazz paused. “Well… almost always,” he corrected himself, hugging his Pneuma-Tiger. “There were a lot of ‘bots who dropped training the middle of it, ‘cause they couldn’t take it anymore, or they felt they didn’t have the potential to go further, or who just shrugged the martial arts off saying it was just hocus pocus, especially when it came to the meditation part. And then there was the misbehaving ones -- at least that the polite way to say it. Bullies who tried to use what they learned from the Sensei to lord upon weaker ‘bots. Man, how Master Yoketron thrashed their afts when he learned about it,” he chuckled, optics half-shuttered in remembrance.

“Is that what happened with Lockdown?”

Jazz froze. “... I didn’t know you knew Lockdown,” he said neutrally, thinking back about his old comrade of training turned bounty hunter. Lockdown was a sore point for many members of the Dojo, and one they tended to avoid discussing about, as they had never been able to reach a consensus about him. On one hand, the bounty hunting thing was despicable. On the other, Autobots could and had use for bounty hunters, and Lockdown had been on their payrolls more than once. Still, he wasn’t a pleasant sort of mech to hang around.

Prowl nodded curtly once before burying his cheek again in the pillow underneath his head. “I did. He didn’t tell me he was a student of the Dojo, though. That much, I have pieced together by myself. I remember the empty place for the holographic bust, and I remember the Master’s reluctance to speak about it. I summarized it was his?” There were questions in his voice, and Jazz sighed.

“Yeah, it used to be,” he confessed. “The busts were always a big honor mark, rewarding only the most prized, the most hard-working and talented students. Lockdown always had an attitude problem, but he was just that good. He could have make a great career in the Elite Guard, or so we thought. But at the start of the war, Yoketron threw him out after Lockdown somehow brought shame to the Corps. We never got the full details, but I guess it was related to his growing addictions to new modes. Modes had always been against the Sensei’s philosophy, and Lockdown had grudgingly bowed to it, but…” he shrugged. “I guess someday he decided he wanted more. I don’t know what he did, but for Yoketron to cross his name out of those welcome at the Dojo? It must have been serious.”

“... you never arrested him.”

“He never provided us with motives to do so, sadly,” Jazz sighed. “And he managed to make himself some friends in high places, so…” Prowl just looked at him, optics deem. It unnerved Jazz for some reason, and it made a ball of dread sink into his Spark. “How did you met him, exactly?”

“... He came to Earth. Tried to capture Prime to hand him over to the Decepticons for a bounty,” the black and gold mech said curtly, holding the plush toy tighter.

Now Jazz winced. Oh yeah, as far as first contact went, that was bad. Very, very bad. “Lockdown takes about any job, so long there’s a good amount of credits as a reward,” he said almost neutrally, trying not to sound as if he was justifying the mech’s actions. Truthfully, he didn’t think them justifiable at all, and had he been able to, he would have arrested the bounty hunter a long time ago. Sadly, he hadn’t been the one calling the shots, and Lockdown had had surprising support from the members of the Council. “There’s nothing personal in what he does, ever.” That much was true; Lockdown never mixed personal business and ‘business’.

“So, when he killed Master Yoketron, it was nothing personal?”

Jazz stilled and stiffened brutally. Jazz choked on nothing. Jazz’s Spark and fuel tank sunk deep with dread and shock. Jazz’s optics widened behind his visor even as they became nearly white. Jazz’s processor almost crashed. Jazz stared, mouth agape as he shot up into a sitting position, sending the blanket flying. The stuffed Pneuma-Tiger fell from his arms limply upon the mattress.

“What… what did you just say?!” he almost shouted. Prowl just sat up slowly, looking at him with a blank expression.

“I asked you if Lockdown killed Master Yoketron just because it was ‘business’,” he repeated in the same blank tone.

“He… he didn’t… he can’t…” Jazz sputtered. “Nobody… nobody ever knew who killed him! There’s no name in the official report! Lockdown can’t have…!” It was impossible; inconceivable! Lockdown, despite his misgivings and being chased out of the Dojo, was still one of Yoketron’s pupils. He couldn’t have raised his hand against their teacher. He just… couldn’t!

But, a small, sly part of his mind whispered, hadn’t someone evocated the possibility, a long time ago? Who had it been again? Dai Atlas? Jazz couldn’t remember. It hadn’t even been an accusation, more like… like a snide comment Lockdown hadn’t showed up for the funerals. But who knew where he was back then? And besides, the mech must have known full well that most of his former comrades wouldn’t have greeted him with open arms, as he had left to become a bounty hunter, something they all found appalling and disgraceful.

Lockdown had never cared much for anything or anyone, aside of money and new modes and the thrill of hunting. Still… Yoketron had took him in, taught him everything he had known. Surely, that warranted him respect? Surely… surely Lockdown couldn’t have done it.

“That’s… that’s a very serious accusation to make, Prowl. Do you even have any proof?” Jazz choked, trying to control himself.

Prowl’s face was still blank, his little fists buried into the artificial fur of his stuffed toy. “... On his ship… I saw the Sensei’s helmet,” he finally said, voice heavy with grief.

Jazz stiffened again. Master Yoketron’s helmet… the one most distinguishing feature on the ancient mech’s armor… The helmet had been one of the items they hadn’t been able to find back for the funerals, the black and white mech realized, shaking his head in disbelief. “That… that doesn’t mean much,” he said shakily, trying to calm himself. “It wasn’t an unique model…”

“No,” Prowl acknowledged sadly. “But it stood on his… trophy shelves. Lockdown always takes trophies,” he whispered. “Always. And Kick-Off… he knows I’m right. I asked; he implied the Decepticons know.”

“That’s not possible,” Jazz repeated, desperately trying to convince himself. “He must be lying… or mistaken. The helmet wasn’t there when we melted his protoform, yeah, but it was probably lost during transport or something. Perhaps it even fell down in the protoforms room, knocked down by the rescue team. It… it wasn’t taken as a trophy by… by his murderer,” he tried to reassure himself.

“... He didn’t have it on when I came back to the Dojo and found him, Jazz,” Prowl said softly, and shock once again seized the black and white youngling’s Spark. “I found him lying there, on the bridge above the protoform containers, his Spark fading. The helmet was nowhere to be found. It was nowhere to be found,” he repeated again, even more softly, face falling. “I never thought about it until I saw it again on the Death’s Head, and then… I realized.”

“You were there… when Master Yoketron’s Spark faded?” Jazz asked with dreaded fascination. “You were there when he was attacked…?”

Prowl winced. “No, I wasn’t. I… It was already over by the time I came back! Master Yoketron had send me on a spiritual quest! If I had been here, I would have fought with him, I wouldn’t have let him to… But it was over, Jazz, over! And still, I did… I did everything I could Jazz, I swear it!” he babbled suddenly. “There were still protoforms left, and I really tried! I grabbed the nearest one and I tried to transfer his Spark, but it didn’t work! He… he died again,” he said, voice breaking. “I just couldn’t… there were those two grey frames with his face lying on the ground and I just… I just ran,” he whispered. “I just ran and didn’t look back. I didn’t know what to do, didn’t know who to call. I just… run. Run as fast and as far as I could,” he finished, head bowing, refusing to look at Jazz.

The winds howled louder, and the crack of thunder added itself to the noise outside.

Jazz stared in horrified realization, processor spinning.

That was it. The detail he couldn’t quite remember about the report. Two protoforms. Their Sensei’s normal shell, and another used body with his face, just as grey as his. A proof someone had desperately tried to save the old Dojo Master’s life only to fail for whatever reason -- probably the Spark was too damaged already to sustain the new body for long, or something like that. There had only been one body presented for the funerals -- the Master’s original body, minus his helmet. The other had been kept for an investigation before being reused or destroyed, Jazz didn’t remember and couldn’t bring himself to care at this point. The detail had eventually slipped his mind, because that hadn’t seemed important at the time.

He had thought -- they had all thought -- it had been the Elite Guard member who had found the corpse who had tried the transplantation. But it didn’t add up, he realized it now. The report said Master Yoketron had been dead for at least a megacycle upon his arrival, so he couldn’t have tried a Spark transplant -- there would have been no Spark left to try.

Someone had been there before him. Someone who had tried to save the old mech. Someone who deeply cared. Yoketron’s last pupil. Prowl.

It was more a reflex than anything else. Jazz’s arms shot out forward, grabbing Prowl by the shoulders and bringing him close. Quite suddenly, he was hugging the smaller mech hard against his own frame, the stuffed Pewter-Panda pressed almost flat between them. Prowl’s jaw hung open as he watched him in disbelief. Coolant tears started to fall from Jazz’s optics.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Whatever for?” Prowl asked, head low. “I wasn’t able to save him…”

“But he wasn’t alone, Prowl, and for us who were his pupils, it counts more than you might think,” the black and white Youngling answered, voice shaking. He hugged Prowl harder. A sob left the smaller, younger mech’s vocalizer and the black and gold Sparkling suddenly buried his face into Jazz’s shoulder. The older Cyber-Ninja felt the tears moistening his plating, but he didn’t care. He himself let go of any restraints and started to sob too.

And so they stayed for a long while, trying to comfort each other by their presence even as they wailed and cried, remembering the mech who had stood as their caretaker figure and taught them so much. They drowned their grief and sorrow together while outside, the storm seemed to calm down, just for a moment, as if the elements themselves were respecting their mourning…