Chapter Text
This wasn’t the first time the Autobots had seen snow. In fact, they rather enjoyed their previous visits to the icy polar regions of earth. But this was the first time it had started snowing at the Ark, leaving many bots in curious awe as they watched the cold white fluff falling from the sky.
Bumblebee had instantly leapt out of the doors the second the snow had gathered at least 5 inches above the ground, laughing and sticking his arms out to catch the flakes. He quickly goaded the twins into a snowball fight, who immediately dragged out a protesting Wheeljack and Cliffjumper.
Ironhide was eager to teach the young bots how to properly throw a snowball, and of course Grimlock wanted to be a part of the fun. More bots enthusiastically joined the playful chaos, and so what was supposed to be a friendly snow spar, was now an all-out winter war.
“Look out! Duck!”
“Huh? Wha- OOF!” Cliffjumper grunted in surprise as a packed snowball struck him hard in the face, and he fell backward onto his aft. He blinked in stunned silence before angrily yelling obscenities at his defeat.
“Man down, man down! Hold on, Cliff, I’ll avenge you!” Bumblebee called, grinning evilly as he pelted Optimus with a series of fast but cheap shots. It did virtually nothing against the convoy aside from his chassis being covered in puffs of leftover snow. He pretended to stumble anyways and hide against the large snow barrier built by Wheeljack.
“I’m hit!” He cried, his mask covering his amused smile as he heard the yellow minibot cackle with victory.
“I’ll get em, Prime.” Ironhide smirked as he readied another snowball, packing down the cold snow tightly in his servos before lopping it towards the opposing team without even lifting his helm over the barrier. He heard a yelp as Sideswipe had to dive out of the way to avoid getting hit, exclaiming loudly. “You’re cheating! You didn’t even look!”
“How is that cheating?” He yelled back, snickering as Optimus started gleefully preparing more snowballs for Ironhide’s impeccable aim. He made a large pile, servos swift and accurate as he made perfectly round snow ammo, stacking them neatly together.
But they never got to use them, as Bumblebee let out a loud, squeaky war cry, and the snow barrier exploded. Ironhide and Optimus were thrown aside as Grimlock burst through with a roar, a laughing yellow minibot perched on his back who began showering the two with as many snowballs as he could carry. The two large mechs helped each other up and stood by the sidelines to watch, currently out for this round. Instead, they happily got to pre-planning their next attack strategy.
Bluestreak suddenly popped up from behind another snowbank at the far right, aiming a chunky and very fake-looking gun, before firing out an iced snowball with a bright grin. Wheeljack cheered excitedly at his side when it nailed Sunstreaker in the chassis, and he went down with an oomf .
“That’s for stealing the blanket last night!” Blue scolded with a laugh, watching as Sunny picked himself up and glared back. Sideswipe was hiding his own snickers as he dragged his brother back behind the snow blockade. They were going to talk about the blanket later.
Grimlock charged for Bluestreak and Wheeljack next, but a well-placed and heavily thrown giant snowball from a sneaky Hound sent the dinobot careening off into an empty snow mound, groaning at the impact.
“That cheating!” He whined, laying there limply as Bumblebee squirmed under his heavy frame in an attempt to get free. “Green bot aimed too low! That hurt!”
“Sorry, Grim. You were just too easy.” Hound said with a wide grin, suddenly appearing out of a pile of snow that shimmered with his holograms. He stood up, laughing and hefting up another giant snow bomb.
“HEY! No outlier or modded slag!” Sides yelled from across the battlefield, ducking away from another ice ball from Blue. Hound shrugged, holding his servos up in surrender before tucking and rolling over to join the sniping group.
Sideswipe grumbled as he shoved at Sunny, who was technically out of the round, the pair scrambling to recollect snowballs. He glanced around to see any incoming bots and his gaze stopped at the Ark, blinking at a certain Polyhexian that loitered just at the entrance of the ship. He usually loved these kinds of games, always managing to win, even against his own Ops team.
“Jazz? What’s wrong? C’mon, we could use your help to take them down!” He called, gesturing to the large pile of misshapen snowballs ready for launch. Jazz jumped a little, having not expected Sides to notice him lurking from a distance.
“Ahh, sorry mech, I’ve jus’ got a heater problem. Pro’bly shouldn’t.” The saboteur explained politely, waving it off as he simply watched the chaos unfold before him. It did look like fun, and he already ached to be out there kicking their afts.
After a few moments, he couldn’t contain himself anymore. “Oh, frag it. Move over, incomin’!”
Jazz suddenly dived into the fray, racing over to Sideswipe who happily offered his stash of ammo for him to use. Together they grabbed huge armfuls and charged out from hiding, sweeping the other team with excellent dodging and perfectly thrown snowballs. It was wild, chaotic, and Jazz loved it.
They won within eight minutes, Sideswipe triumphantly placing a homemade little red flag atop of the opposite team’s highest snow barrier. He cheered his victory, and his team clapped and raised their fists together. Everyone joined at the center of the field to go another round of ultimate snowball fight, this time changing up the teammate roster to make it more interesting.
Jazz shivered when he stood up from the snow and dusted himself off, having received a pretty hard hit from Bluestreak to his midsection. The young Praxian had hurried up to check if he was alright the second the battle was over, and Jazz assured him he was okay. But upon second thought, he wasn’t so sure. He couldn't stop shaking, and there was a very uncomfortable chill that had settled in his tanks.
He excused himself as the fight began anew and made his way back into the Ark, wondering if that iced snowball had knocked something loose. Were his servos locking up? He tested them by curling his digits, staring as the joints merely twitched and the metal squeaked. His audios stung from the burning cold and his own pedsteps were muffled by internal static.
How long had he been out there? His chronometer told him only 30 minutes. Slag, that was too long! He wasn’t even playing for half that time, just standing outside of the Ark and watching. He should have stayed inside. The Polyhexian’s shoulders convulsed as his frame shuddered and his plating rattled together in a desperate attempt to create heat out of nothing.
Jazz placed an arm against the wall as he stumbled, struggling to keep himself upright. Was he always this unbalanced? He felt nauseous, insides curling in a knot and he suddenly feared that he caught some sort of virus. His vision blurred as his frame felt even colder, systems sending him alerts of an incoming emergency shut down. He didn’t know exactly where he was going anymore. The walls all looked the same even as he squinted and touched them. Jazz quickly found himself standing in front of a familiar door, keying it open out of sheer force of habit.
Instead of enjoying the rare moment of snow and engaging in fun tactical warfare with fellow comrades, Prowl sat behind his desk. No doubt the Praxian was doing extra work, as usual, demonstrating the definition of a workaholic. The Praxian wings twitched slightly as the door opened without an announcement, but he didn’t glance up. He knew exactly who it was.
“Hello, Jazz. Finished playing in the snow?” He asked mildly, setting a datapad down atop the neat stack of completed reports. There wasn’t a response as he picked up another one to review, the silence stretching over the span of a minute. He ticked off the report and placed it in the pile, reaching for the next one. He started reading but paused halfway through a paragraph to finally look up. Jazz still hadn’t said anything, not even a concerned comment about how Prowl was working while on break, or if he had his energon yet.
It only took a few seconds for Prowl to understand why; Jazz was trembling, his vibrant colors were rapidly fading, and he looked like he was about to collapse where he stood. His engine sputtered quietly every now and then in a pitiful attempt to start up.
Prowl shot up from his chair and rushed around the desk, wings flared in alarm. Jazz never looked like this before. He made it just in time to catch the mech as his knees gave out and he fell forward against his chassis. An unsettling chill ran up Prowl’s spinal struts at the physical contact. The saboteur was absolutely freezing. His mouth opened in an attempt to say something, but only the chattering of his denta could be heard. His frame followed with a violent shudder that rattled his plating like a sad maraca. Jazz would have laughed if he didn’t feel like he was dying.
“Jazz!” Prowl gasped, a sense of dread rising in the Praxian as he held him up from under his arms. Was he going into a shutdown? Jazz couldn’t even seem to speak, his helm lolling onto his shoulder. He looked half-conscious.
Prowl had to act fast. Something told him it would only get worse if he didn’t find a way to warm him back up immediately. He quickly bent down and scooped Jazz up into his arms, tucking him against his chassis like he was cradling a youngling. He revved his engine loudly to try and give the poor mech some of his own heat, racing to the washracks without a second thought. Stabilizing Jazz’s internal core temperature was his first priority now.
Prowl burst into the washracks without any caution, entering an empty stall and kneeling to prop Jazz against the wall. He hurriedly twisted the knobs, turning on the solvent spray and setting it to hot. He knew it would take a moment to heat up, so he waited beside his friend, running his engine at full force as he held him close to his side with an arm around his shoulders.
Jazz managed to make a low groan with his near-frozen vocalizer, his visor flickering dimly. His tanks were burning after all that movement and he suddenly spat up globs of half processed energon onto Prowl’s chassis.
The acidic smell made the Praxian’s nose wrinkle with distaste, but he didn’t comment on it, simply rubbing Jazz’s middle to help ease the pain of indigestion. What was worse, was the thrown-up energon was ice cold against his plating. It meant Jazz's internals were failing to function properly, which was extremely dangerous.
Prowl reached his arm out to test the solvent’s temperature, and let out a soft sigh of relief as it was finally warm enough. He picked Jazz back up gently, cradling the trembling mech in his arms as he stepped under the solvent, letting it hit the saboteur’s side and front. Jazz flinched from the stark contrast in temperatures, causing shocks of hot and cold to wash over his frame.
It took about half an hour of standing in the washracks for Jazz to eventually wrap his arm around Prowl’s shoulders, hugging him as his systems seemed to be fully conscious. Prowl slowly lowered him to the floor, keeping him in the direct line of the hot shower. “Feeling better?”
“Y-yeah.” Jazz coughed harshly. His vocalizer felt dry and underused. “That was nasty. Thanks.”
The Praxian frowned, his digit lightly touching an audio horn. It had been turning grey, but thankfully the color was slowly coming back. “You were dangerously close to emergency stasis, Jazz. What happened? Did your internal heater break?”
“Not exactly.” He mumbled, lightly shivering at the touch and Prowl quickly pulled his servo away for fear of harming him. “Ah jus' don’t do well with the cold. S’all.”
That frown deepened into a scowl. He was lying through his denta, and Prowl’s doorwings flared with irritation. “Being cold is an understatement. You almost froze to death.”
The saboteur shrugged, not answering as he subconsciously snuggled closer against Prowl; he was very warm, and he soaked in the heat greedily.
Prowl felt his spark twist painfully in his chassis at the lack of response. He needed to know what happened, and it hurt that Jazz refused to tell him.
“Jazz, answer me." He said quietly, lowering his voice. "Are you damaged?”
“No, it’s… It’s a Polyhexian thing. We jus’ don’t like the cold.”
Prowl’s optics narrowed sternly. He was still avoiding the truth. “Aren’t Bumblebee and Cliffjumper also Polyhexians? Why are they able to handle it better compared to you?” The Praxian prodded. He would not yield until he heard what the saboteur was hiding.
Jazz let out a soft snort of amusement. He was laying against Prowl's large hood like a cat now, his engine finally purring without making odd rattling sounds. Prowl would never admit it, but he was relieved to hear that sound again.
“They’re Iaconian minibots, mech, not polys. Don’t confuse em.” The saboteur scolded him playfully, sounding better the more he talked.
“I see…" Prowl frowned and looked away, suddenly embarrassed by his lack of knowledge. He never really had time to study the other frame types besides his own. "I wasn't aware of this. My apologies.”
“No no, s’fine.” Jazz waved off the apology, giving him a sideways grin as he pulled away to stand on his own peds. His joints felt weak and wobbly like jello, but he forced himself to stay standing. “It’s hard ta’ tell sometimes, since we're all a lil’ small. Ya’ must've neva’ been ta’ Polyhex. It's hotter than Iacon, or yer freezin Praxus.”
“Praxus was not that cold.” Prowl protested, worriedly keeping his arm around Jazz to prevent him from falling over.
“Ya got the coldest season fluxes in all of Cybertron! Ya literally had ice on yer plating!”
“On the contrary, we had a thick layer of frost that kept our wings and frames warm during the winter solstice.” The Praxian countered.
"Yeah, cause frost is so warm n cozy." Jazz snarked back with a huff. The vent of air felt warm against Prowl’s plating.
Prowl gave him an unamused scowl while he reached over to turn the solvent off. Clearly, he was healthy enough to crack jokes and he didn't need it anymore. Jazz quickly stopped him by grabbing his wrist before he could touch the knobs, giving a sheepish smile. “Not yet! I’m still warmin’ up...”
He just about rolled his optics and relented, letting them stand together a little longer. “So, I take it the rumors of Polyhex being a scorching city were true?”
“Eh, partly. Half of it was." Jazz muttered with a shrug, starting to lean on Prowl again just because he felt comfortable. The large shiny hood made a very nice headrest once the solvent washed away the energon. "The other half was underground, so we managed to keep cool, ya know? But yeah, it was definitely warmer than this fraggin blizzard.”
Prowl’s lips turned up in a small, rare smile as he gently patted Jazz's back. He successfully turned off the solvent without interference this time and began to lead the saboteur out of the stall towards the drying station. Jazz wasn’t limping, but his knees wobbled under his weight.
“Since your frame struggles with producing enough heat, I’d advise you to remain indoors until the snow melts.” He mentioned lightly, standing before the drying machines and pressing the button. The fans whirred to life, blowing hot air to dry their frames.
Jazz whined and sagged dramatically, grasping Prowl’s arm and pretending to melt to the floor in distress. A part of him really did just want to lay on the floor. “But Prowler! That’s gonna take daayyyss!”
“Perhaps.” He admitted, brow quirking with amusement. “You’ll just have to find something to preoccupy yourself with in the meantime. ”
Jazz’s helm lifted instantly. “So, like hangin out with you?” He looked hopeful, but Prowl was impervious to his turbo puppy stare.
“No, more like getting some decent recharge. Your systems are far too taxed to function properly without adequate rest.” Prowl supplied and hummed thoughtfully as they both flared their plating to help dry off faster, taking note that Jazz was still struggling to keep his balance.
The pair made their way out of the washracks once the fans shut off and moved towards Jazz’s quarters. The poor saboteur was doing much better, but he still seemed out of it. Prowl wasn’t about to make him walk by himself like this.
“Did ya know that Polyhex nev’ got cold?” Jazz slurred, suddenly feeling exhausted and sluggish out of nowhere. He slumped against Prowl, who assisted him back onto his peds properly with a concerned frown. Sometimes it was hard to tell if Jazz genuinely felt tired or if he just wanted to cling to his frame like a parasite.
“Never? You’ve never experienced an ice season?” He asked, curiosity piqued by this new fact and asking questions to keep Jazz talking. Which for once wasn’t a bad thing.
“Mmmm’nope!” He said a little too cheerfully, his visor giving a soft flicker as stasis called to him. “We had nasty heat, though, like ya said. So bad we couldn’t come outta the tunnels fo cycles.”
Prowl blinked in surprise. He knew Polyhex was a particularly hot and wild place, but he had no idea the heat waves were so intense it made survival difficult even for the natives. “So, Polyhexians are created without internal heaters?”
“Nah, we got em. They jus… don’t work all tha time. Not as strong.”
That didn’t explain anything. “And what happens if you’re caught in the cold? Do you experience similar frame results like earlier?” Prowl automatically keyed Jazz's door out of habit, raising an optic ridge when it opened for him without needing to be hacked. He made a mental note to ask Jazz about that later.
“Depends ‘n’ how cold it is. It goes ‘n’ stages.” Jazz was sagging more and more against the Praxian, clearly ready to pass out.
Prowl helped him inside and lay him down on the berth. He eyed the many blankets in mild surprise and gently laid a few over him to help retain the heat he just gained. “Rest, try to get some recharge. You need it.”
“Mm… thanks, Prowler.” He said, voice muffled from the cozy blanket pile that he happily retreated under. His black audio horns poked out the top. Prowl wouldn’t admit how the cute sight warmed up his spark, and he patted the lump with a tiny smile.
“Goodnight, Jazz.” The small mech underneath gave a soft grunt in response, already too deep in recharge to hear him.
Prowl left him there, shutting and locking the door behind him to let Jazz get some peace and quiet. He headed back to his office to return to work, but as he sat down and picked up the datapad he left behind, he couldn’t help but wonder… What else was there about Polyhexians that he didn’t know? What was Jazz not specifically telling him? His curiosity was too great to ignore, so he set down the report and began searching on the terminal in front of him. ‘How hot was Polyhex?’ Prowl blanched at the high number. Oh. Jazz wasn’t exaggerating when he said it was scorching.
He frowned as he looked at the range. It never dipped below Praxus’ average temperature on a good cycle. Prowl kept scanning, stunned by the recorded accounts of what happened during the heat waves. He needed to know more; ‘How can Polyhexians deal with the heat?’ He blinked in surprise, silent at the answer he received.
They had high-powered cooling systems, they emerged with thin and flexible plating (which explained a lot about Jazz, honestly), and they often had visors to shield their optics from heat exposure. Prowl wings twitched with interest, clicking on that thread of information. He always thought Jazz had a visor for Ops reasons. Were Polyhexians created with visors? Was it a cultural tradition?
He was falling deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole. Prowl forced himself to refocus on how Polyhexian systems handled the cold, and was horrifyingly dumbstruck to discover that they didn’t. They went through an emergency stasis shut down and prolonged exposure could actually induce termination.
Jazz didn’t throw up his energon because he felt sick; his tanks had failed and regurgitated on reflex. Prowl felt disturbed as he scrolled through the list of all the side effects and the pain that Jazz felt whenever he was on a mission in colder climates. He physically winced when it said that extremities often died and fell off, making the death slow and agonizing. His wings gave a sympathetic twitch and he finally closed out of the terminal.
Prowl sat back and stared at the wall blankly, processor racing as he suddenly understood why Jazz was the only Polyhexian on board the Ark. Cybertron had gone through a temporary deep freeze when Praxus was bombed, the temperature dropping as everyone suffered from the devastation. The whole planet's global weather pattern had been thrown off, and Polyhex wasn’t spared from the wave of ice.
His spark sank and his tanks twisted painfully as he looked down to his servos, feeling ashamed of himself. When he lost Praxus, Jazz had been there as his comfort, his solace in the horror and grief. Jazz was grim and quiet as he held Prowl and let him silently cry on his shoulder.
Now Prowl knew, with a sickening sense of guilt, that Jazz had been mourning at the same time. He hadn’t said anything during the long nights that they sat together. Jazz never spoke about Polyhex’s destruction, never mentioned if he missed it, missed his family or his home.
Prowl picked up his datapad to try and get back to work, but he couldn’t focus. The tactician set it down again and rubbed at his face with a sigh. How was he just supposed to ignore Jazz’s sacrifices now that he knew? He got back up and opened his office door, stepping out and flaring his wings.
The Autobots had already returned from their day of fun in the snow, shaking off the excess and laughing with each other. Prowl slipped past them, wings raised high as he hurriedly made his way down the hall.
He didn’t know why he was doing it. He didn’t understand why he felt so incredibly guilty. But suddenly he was opening Jazz’s door, letting himself in again. He stared at the unmoving lump of blankets on the berth, spark lifting just a little at the sight. He was still here, safe, whole, and happy.
He quietly walked forward, gently placing his servo on top- Was that purring? A tiny smile grew on his face, and he took a seat on the edge of the berth beside the comfy pile where Jazz lay. He seemed to be doing alright now. Prowl’s wings flicked as he leaned back against the wall, relaxing only a little.
He was still going to ask Jazz once he woke up, he would make sure of it. He still had so many questions that he hoped Jazz would answer. For now though, he would wait and prepare, so the next time it snowed, Prowl would be ready to keep Jazz from feeling cold and alone.