Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The mission had been a resounding success.

This, of course, meant that good ole Murphy’s Law was about to kick in, despite Jazz not even being in the same solar system as Earth. 

Because anything that could go wrong did go wrong that day.

So much for that party Blaster was planning to host in the wake of this mission’s completion. Survival instantly took precedence to celebration the instant the Quints and their engineered lackeys swarmed the building.

And Jazz had just gotten to the chorus of a song he was blasting from rigged speakers while pointedly singing to as loudly as he could. What a mood killer, especially when it came in the form of blaring alarms all around as enemies began to appear from all directions.

“Looks like we got company, ‘Hide!” Jazz shouted to the leader of their mission team. “How you wanna do this?”

“Get to the portal.” Was the quick response, the mech’s tone indicating he expected no argument.

That was fine by Jazz; he didn’t have much more fuel to spare. There were also some concerning indications that poor Bebop had taken damage to the lower legs and feet earlier while approaching this facility on uneven terrain.

And the damage had only piled on when scouts were taken out on the way into the facility.

Jazz swung his mecha around to one side as he braced both feet, digitigrade legs bent as to slow the momentum when a large Quint barreled into him. Had Jazz been facing the other way, it would have driven him backward to the floor. The position would have left Jazz vulnerable within Bebop’s chest, directly in line with claws that would eventually reach the pilot.

A ping of warning brought Jazz back to the Quint that he was grappling with. The ping was informing him that the claws had merely caused superficial damage to Bebop’s armor, but thankfully hadn’t skewered through. Having an emergency in an enemy base where Jazz had to get out of the pilot’s seat and out of his mecha entirely wouldn’t be pretty. Jazz wasn’t keen on finding out what kind of air the Quintessons found acceptable for organics, though based off some bodies Jazz saw earlier in a lab of this facility…

It was a sobering reminder to just how far spread the enemy had brought people from other worlds that were universes away from here.

Jazz unsheathed the blade in his free arm and drove it into the large head in front of him, forcing the Quint off of him, the claws releasing. Jazz’s mood soured from the imagines in his mind from minutes before rose up. A distraction in the form of fighting was helpful in pushing those images back. Because hey, fighting the Quints and their fodder is what Jazz was here for. And Jazz would use the tools he had available to him to destroy as many of the enemy as possible. In a way, Jazz supposed that it was decent of the enemy to wait so long before coming to check what happened.

The Quints could do could do fuck all about the sabotage done to the facility here, meaning the deranged experimenting and such was at an end, at least in this place.

A sick feeling settled in the pit of Jazz’s stomach. His current attacker was not much of a hindrance after being stabbed, so his mind wasn’t as occupied as he’d have liked. It was still on the implications of what he and the others had found. Jazz had a very bad feeling about the discoveries as a whole. He was not looking forward to the debrief where Jazz would have to confirm that some of the corpses seen were human like him.

Jazz pulled the blade back from another go and stabbed with a vicious punch into the fleshy skin. When Jazz had pulled the blade free with a twist, the Quint toppled over limply to the floor.

Dead.

Shaking Bebop’s arm to remove most of the blood, Jazz retracted the weapon. There were a few Quints and mutated monstrosities in view, but they were all currently being driven backward by blaster shots.

::Retreat back to the portal:: Ironhide ordered via comm, the rest of the team backing away in the direction of the corridor that would lead a winding path to the room with the portal.  ::Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, do not engage unless they’re on top of us::

Jazz didn’t hear the comm response, which meant the twins likely sent a private comm to harass Ironhide about not taking out more of the enemy along the way as they retreated.

::Jazz::

The pilot’s head lifted, Bebop’s visor glowing brighter at the familiar sound of Prowl’s voice, even if the tone indicated the carefully collected tactician was not so collected in this situation.

::I’m movin’, Prowler. Dont worry ‘bout me::

That Prowl didn’t respond meant the mech was likely calculating all the odds of this ambush and its possible outcomes.

Jazz was going to have to get the Praxian to take a breather after the inevitably long debrief.

Tilting his head, and unable to ascertain whether or not Bebop’s legs were compromised, took a careful few steps forward. Jazz let the pings of the damage come in while he kept an eye on the direction the enemy had temporarily retreated toward. The pilot let out a relieved sigh as Bebop’s digitigrade legs held the mecha’s weight despite the staggering bodyslam it had been hit with. Risking further damage, as a readout and a growing headache indicated, Jazz swiftly turned and loped along the corridor to catch up with the others.

Music echoed along in Bebop’s wake.

May as well annoy the enemy during a retreat now that stealth was no longer an option.

A mech with a familiar pair of doorwings and a frown was waiting for Jazz at the end of the corridor.

Prowl was a welcome sight, a small smile tugging at the human’s lips as Bebop’s helm fins perked up. The Praxian had ignored the call for a retreat in order to make sure that Jazz was not left behind. He did that often, and Jazz wondered if Prowl was aware of this.

Jazz was never left behind by Prowl; not even back in the relative safety of Iacon.

Whenever Jazz was going to eat, Prowl would find and join him as the Praxian fueled. Prowl would even wait on the human to enter his office before proceeding to pour through a near-endless amount of datapads containing reports (Jazz always delighted in being able to gently pet the doorwings that were usually held stiffly; Prowl seemed to incrementally relax when he carefully ran Bebop’s fingers over the sensor covered wings). Recharge and sleeping would only happen when one or both of them ended up running out of energy, or until one of the medics harassed them into resting.

Prowl always made a fantastically toasty heater when Jazz had the right air conditions to crawl out of Bebop, where he’d happily curl up near Prowl’s wired neck behind one of the collar farings. Maybe that could happen later tonight, once Prowl was released from the confines of a debrief.

“Thanks for waitin’ on me, boo.” Jazz cheerily greeted as he fell into step with Prowl, trotting alongside him when the Cybertronian about faced to briskly walk along the corridor after their comrades. “Not gonna send a parting shot?” Unfortunately, Jazz didn’t receive whatever dry response Prowl would have given him, as the sound of close range fighting came from up ahead.

Dammit.

There was another way into the facility that no one had known about.

When Prowl spoke, it was in the manner of a tactician making a status report.

“Three of our teammates have been prevented from entering the corridor that leads to the portal.” Prowl stated without being asked, rather calmly taking a rifle out of his subspace.

Jazz was never not going to be jealous of that; it was like having an inventory in a video game that you had access to all of the time.

“They’re cornered.” Prowl must have received a comm as his optics narrowed. “Theres a 47% chance the ambush will result in major injuries at such close range.” Prowl’s door wings flared out, his derma flattening into a thin line. “We are being boxed in from all available halls leading up to the room containing the portal.”

“Then we better crash our way on through and ruin some Quints’ day.” Jazz rocketed forward with a kick of his feet, digitigrade legs able to propel him along faster than Prowl, who shouted something before hastening to catch up.

“I don’t worry, Prowler, I got ‘em!” Jazz shouted from Bebop’s speakers, music briefly cutting out before thumping beats began anew. Blades sprung free from Bebop’s arm sheathes as Jazz leapt blindly through a large doorway. He went sailing over Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, both pilots dragging Bluestreak backward by either arm, one of the Praxian’s wings held at an awkward, painful angle.

A ping of a comm from Prowl went unheard.

Sideswipe whooped in encouragement as he caught sight Jazz as he rammed into a Quint. Since it hadn’t moved out of the way, Jazz ended up making it fall backward with the momentum. With a few quick slices, the Quint hit the floor dead. Bebop rode the body down and used it as a platform, bracing spread feet and bending legs to sharply bring an arm around. The blade stabbed through an opponent trying to bite a shoulder.

Another ping, another denial of a comm from Prowl. A different tone of ping followed, indicating that Bebop was taking more damage despite Jazz evading potential attackers. A throbbing headache had already settled into Jazz’s head, and the pilot knew it was there to stay for the foreseeable future. He couldn’t rid himself of it. Jazz knew it wouldn’t be gone even if he detached himself from the neural network he had established with Bebop. Not a good idea right now.

Prowl continued to bombard him with comm requests. Something must have happened, but what else could have possibly gone wrong?

Jazz kicked off of the corpse and spun on his heels to face the incoming enemies while Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were out of sight with Bluestreak. They must have gotten through to yet another corridor on the way to the room with the portal. They needed more time to get the injured Cybertronian to the portal.

“Jazz! We need to retreat!” Prowl, having not appreciated his comms being ignored, opted to raise his voice instead. “There are too many incoming Quintesson forces to handle on your own, even with my assistance.”

Jazz heard Prowl, sure, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was going to listen.

“I’ve got this!” Defending a retreat against Quint forces was something that Jazz’s mecha was built for. He could handle taking down enemies and stalling them for a little while longer, in order to ensure that everyone escaped. Jazz clumsily raised a hand to aim a blaster he’d picked up from where another mech had dropped it. That had been a delight in the moment between then and now. With a little finessing, Jazz was able to handle the blaster with only three fingers and a thumb.

The first shot was satisfying as he managed to get it directly through an eye.

The second shot hit another in its torso-ish area, bringing that Quint to a halt.

A third shot that wasn’t Jazz’s ended up sniping a Quint that had lunged for him directly in the middle of its brain (if it had one there). It must have had enough importance, whatever was struck, as the Quint dropped down, unmoving, just short of Bebops’s already gore-splattered feet.

“Nice shot, babe!” Jazz spun on one foot to chop a smaller enemy in half, right before he shoved a blaster into another one’s mouth. The blaster fired, splattering organic chunks.

It stunk.

Jazz bemoaned his malfunctioning filters and hoped that he didn’t have a bigger leak in Bebop, lest the atmosphere change from this facility, through a portal, and into an outpost on Cybertron kill him.

“You are aggravatingly stubborn.” Prowl commented from close by.

A quick glance with Bebop’s sensors (and a mirror) put the Praxian at the side of an open doorway, presumably to use as cover as Prowl lifted his rifle again.

“I believe we are due for another discussion about respecting the chain of command, regardless of you not being the same species.” Prowl growled, a sure sign of stress, as was the way his tone slipped into something more emotional than he intended to allow. “You are taking on a lot of damage, and although you cannot feel the physical pain, you doubtlessly are experiencing the pain connected to your neural network.”

Prowl not talking about their chances of survival was more concerning to Jazz than possibly making his brain a puddle of fleshy goop if he pushed himself too far.

“Jazz.” Another rifle shot went directly into a larger incoming Quint. “The medics will not be pleased if you break your brain in a way they are unable to fix, along with whatever state your mecha is in after this. They will have harsher words for you than I.”

Jazz’s music was still playing loudly enough that he was going to pretend that Prowl hadn’t just told him that in addition to being scolded for taking damage for the team, he’d also be scolded if he turned his brain to mush. But if he could hold out here, and be able to get into a low power state for Bebop to wait for repairs, then Jazz wouldn’t be taking up space in the medbay when others would actually need to be repaired for their health.

Prowl held perfectly still, likely putting as much processing power as he dared to finding a way out of this alive, trusting Jazz to shield him from their enemies until he moved again after about thirty seconds.

But that was thirty seconds more time for Ironhide and the rest of the team to continue on to the portal unhindered.

For now.

Prowl didn’t go in that direction; he moved toward Jazz instead.

“You stayin’ behind to join in on this dance with me Prowler? I’m flattered.” Jazz actually danced Bebop rather gracefully out of range of an enemy on digigrade legs. The pilot pivoted to put his back to Prowl’s, mindful to not bump into the doorwings. Jazz reached down to retrieve a vibroblade that was magnetized to one of his legs.  The human half-turned to proffer the blade to the Praxian with a flourish.

Prowl accepted the vibroblade without any fanfare.

Wearing a giddy grin, Bebop’s blue visor brightened as Jazz forewent the defensive back to back. The human even dared to turn his attention away from the enemy to offer his partner a half bow, one clawed metal hand invitingly held out. “May I have this dance?”

“You are ridiculous.” Prowl stated in resigned, if fond, manner.

“Gimme a number, boo, you know I love hearin’ you put percentages to our chances of gettin’ out alive.” Jazz wiggled his fingers, beaming unseen when as Prowl gripped the vibroblade tightly while reaching out with his free servo to take Jazz’s.

“We have a 15% survival rate if we do not successfully reach the portal.” Prowl’s servo clenched around Jazz’s as he suddenly swung Prowl around in an approximation of a dance, avoiding a splash of acid. “62% survival with some injuries if we get through the portal and no Quintessons follow through after us.”

“There’s a big difference in percentages there, Prowler.” Jazz said as he tugged the other mech close, chest to chassis, to punch a quint.

“Give me more data than us being surrounded by enemies and currently cut off from our escape.” Prowl returned as he backstepped to jam the vibroknife into his would-be attacker’s face, tearing it back out when the Quint reeled back.

“Ain’t cornered if we don’t let them take us out.” Jazz pivoted and stooped, Bebop’s longer legs bending at an awkward angle. “We can take ‘em out and catch up with the others.” Jazz spun them about again, both mecha and mech lashing out, right before Jazz tipped Prowl backward, allowing the Praxian to evade a retaliatory strike from a blinded quint. Jazz drove his own longer arm blade into it and jerked the weapon to the side, ripping it out. Then, retracting the blade up out of the way, Jazz righted Prowl on his pedes. Once balanced, with a flustered if faintly irked expression on the other’s facial features, Jazz merely tugged on Prowl’s servo before letting go. “C’mon, let’s open up a path.”

“24%.” Prowl sighed, as if put upon by Jazz’s actions.

“Love ya too, Prowler.” Jazz teasingly called over his mecha’s shoulder as he crouched to retrieve the blaster from where he dropped it. 

A rifle round flew over Bebop’s head with unerring accuracy.

“I’m sending the schematics of the floor plan. Follow the path I’ve set on it.” Prowl stepped forward, vibroblade out of sight (in subspace?) as he held his rifle at the ready.

“Gotcha.” Jazz was unsurprised to see that the map and the coordinates were perfectly in order when he pulled it up. There was a logical path set out to get to a room three very long corridors away. “Off we go!” Jazz cranked up the volume of his music (some of the gathered enemies didn’t appear to appreciate it) as he made for the first fork in the large room he’d entered.

Prowl, following after Jazz and allowing for plenty of space for the human pilot’s more chaotic fighting style. The tactician covered Jazz’s back with calculated shots. In the middle of another corridor, Prowl spoke. “We have approximately two minutes and twenty-seven seconds to reach the portal before further reinforcements arrive, based off what I have gathered from this facilities’ data.”

“Hear ya loud and clear Prowler.” Jazz noticed, despite pushing Bebop’s systems to the limit, that the Praxian was using his doorwings. Jazz thinks that Prowl’s trying to pick up on any Quints that may be getting to close to their position. But Jazz couldn’t quite make out the subtle way those doorwings moved but man, would Jazz love to have sensors like that on Bebop. It would be very convenient to more accurately pinpoint enemy locations.

“One minute, thirty seven seconds.” Prowl said, sounding grim as he moved closer to Bebop.

Jazz continued to lead the way, turning down to go through the second to last corridor, this one covered a gore splattered, slippery tacky mess. The twins must have used up most of their fuel reserves in here, based off the damage that was visible on what was left of pieces of Quint scattered about.

An alarming series of beeps suddenly hit Jazz all at once.  

Well, shit.

His shielding from the outside world was beginning to fail. 

So much for not having to go to the medbay to make sure Bebop didn’t fall apart on him.

Jazz was going to have to go to the outpost’s medbay anyway, seeing as those were one of the few places on Cybertron where the atmosphere was prepared for Jazz’s human body to be exposed.

“Jazz? What’s wrong?” Prowl apparently heard Jazz curse out loud, as the speakers had failed about three minutes ago, according to the readout the human could find.

“I’m fine.” Jazz lied through his teeth, a splitting headache threatening to make him more nauseous than he’d been in a long time. “I just need to get through the portal without it possibly breaking Bebop into scrap metal while I’m inside of it.”

Prowl’s doorwings shot up in an alarmed ‘V’.

“There’s still some integrity so that shouldn’t happen, but that means I can’t chance gettin’ hit again.” Jazz admitted as his mecha’s long legs moved him at a rapid clip that had Prowl stomping along heavily in a jog to keep up.

”That is not reassuring.” The Praxian said simply, optics roving over Bebop in a way that suggested he expected to see Jazz jettisoned out of the mecha in some way.

It was a funny mental image, even if the consequences in an uncertain atmosphere was not.

Jazz didn’t dare tell Prowl of all the incoming failures and warnings that Bebop was currently pinging Jazz with one after another. Jazz grimaced over each, knowing that he was the closest he’s ever come to in years of being a mecha pilot of having Bebop fall to pieces on him. The sheer amount of damage that his mecha had taken…

No.

Jazz couldn’t focus on this. 

Not on the damage.

Not on the concerning numbness he felt in his body from being connected to Bebop for much longer than he ought to have been.

It would be fine.

Jazz was fine.

It wasn’t, but he was going to pretend that he was perfectly fine, so as to not worry Prowl.

Another alert pinged the pilot.

Shit.

Jazz's vision, his human vision, wavered for a split second before he was back to looking out of Bebop’s visor.

That.

Oh boy, that was not good.

At all.

Of course the integrity of the drift was rearing its head now, and there was nothing Jazz could do to remedy it until he was somewhere safe.

Disconnecting from his mecha was the only way to prevent hurting his human body and ruining the comparability with Bebop as a whole. Not only that, but if Jazz were to disconnect from his mecha now, Bebop would collapse. The pilot seat would keep Jazz from falling out of it and being tossed around, but it wouldn’t help Jazz while he endured a painful tearing of his mind from where it had been linked up to the mecha’s. There was no telling how much damage that would do to Jazz himself, but he wouldn’t really be able to worry about that, seeing as he’d also be stuck within the pilot seat. The failsafes that would go off the moment Bebop reached critical damage and no fuel would see to that.

Stupid failsafes made for the preservation of the mecha and its useful material, with absolutely no safety for the pilot in mind. Corporate assholes, making this situation much more dangerous than it had any right to be (though they likely hadn’t expected one of their mecha pilots to end up among alien allies when fighting the Kaijus…the quints, somewhere far away from Earth).

“Reinforcements inbound.” Prowl commented grimly, cutting into Jazz’s self-assessment of his mecha, along with his aching human body and mind.

“Damn, they’re quick today.” Jazz hesitated, then decided to hell with it. He had to let Prowl know the state he was in after all, since Prowl was the only one nearby to possibly help if things went wrong. “And I hate to say it, Prowler, but Bebop’s close to shutting down on me like a Cybertronian would enter stasis after taking too much damage.”

“You-“ Prowl was suddenly much closer to Jazz, those brilliant blue optics roving over the damage Bebop had accumulated. A  serious expression became a pinched one as the implications settled in. “How much longer do you anticipate being able to move on your own.”

“Prowl, the moment Bebop drops to the floor, I won’t be able to do anything to get back up. Not only that, I’m gonna be stuck in the chest…erm, the chassis.” Jazz slowed down instead of speeding up.

One more corridor.

Then, they’d reach the doorway that led to the portal.

“And, one last thing.” Jazz had to be more careful with the way he stepped, lest he trip and fall, which would make Prowl try and attempt to drag Bebop’s deadweight while their enemies converged on them. “If I take much more damage, I’ll have to rely on the oxygen from my mask.  There’s a limited amount of time before I’ll have no more air to breathe if that happens.”

“You did not mention that before.” Prowl scrutinized Jazz’s mecha, frown deeper (worried?) than before as door wings twitched.

”Didn’t think I’d need to worry ‘bout it ‘till now.” Jazz’s helm fins pinned back, as if to reflect exactly how much he didn’t like the idea either. Bebop actually shuddered in response to the pressure being put on Jazz’s mind. He was running out of time to not be a mental wreck once he disconnected from Bebop.

“Ironhide has informed me that the room containing the portal is free of our enemies, for the time being.” Prowl noticed Jazz’s discomfort, because of course he did. “We had best get there before that changes.”

Jazz, as proof of his waning cheer and general state of being, could only flick his helm fins in agreement.

Chapter Text

There was perhaps a nanoclick where Prowl just stared at Jazz with mounting horror over the implications of what had just been said.

With every new facet that Prowl learned about the way the human pilot’s mecha worked, the more horrified the tactician became. Understandably, some of the worst of the knowledge had moved from wondering if Jazz had been a victim of empurata to general disgust with the way that Jazz’s own people treated mecha pilots like they were disposable.

In a way, they were, on Earth.

From what Jazz said before, resources were not plentiful enough to repair mecha well enough to ensure a new battle would be lived through. The pilots would either win a fight against a Quintesson, or the pilot would die if the repairs to their mecha had not been fully completed, if done at all.

Prowl’s own plating had flattened close to his protoform after what Jazz had just said could happen should the human pilot be exposed to currently unknown atmospheric conditions. It had not even occurred to Prowl to try and discern the atmosphere of this facility. Why hadn’t he? It would stand to reason that at some point Jazz might be forced to come out of his mecha at some point during a mission. What if had been like a previous mission? What if the mecha had had to pass through space, however briefly, on the deck of a spaceship?

All that could go wrong back when Prowl had first been made aware that Jazz was organic. Between that and what Prowl had just learned was causing Prowl to experience the worst processor ache he’d had.  At least when it came to the six years that Jazz had come to the combined forces of Autobots and Decepticons when battling against Quintesson attacks with stereos blaring and blades viscously slicing the enemy.

Six years…

Such a short time to Priwl, but to Jazz, how long did it feel like to him?

”Did I break the tac net, Prowler? Ya got yer pained thinkin’ face right now.”

Prowl heard the words but he was currently incorporating the newest information Jazz had just calmly informed him about. The calculations of Prowl’s tac net then began to spit out scenarios at rapid fire speed. It  painted a very grim picture. There were man ways that Jazz could possibly die in this situation they currently found themselves in.

A sobering reminder of just how fragile Jazz truly was as a human,  compared to a cybertronian.

The percentages currently being shown were only going to be a distraction to Prowl while he and Jazz made a plan to get out of here. Prowl needed to focus on the here and now, so he shunted all of the processing data to the back of his processor. The decision was also made so that Prowl didn’t have to continue to see how easily or how many different ways Jazz could perish. The Praxian examined the corridor, then took a step to one side, ensuring he had clear aim to cover Jazz should another enemy show up. But in doing this, Prowl was unable to help but see the concerning state of the mecha Jazz was piloting.

See the undeniable fact that the human was no longer emoting the way he did to show an upbeat attitude. It was such a drastic change from the Jazz who first entered this facility, joking about ghosts and wondering if Quints had them.

The longer Prowl stared, the more he noticed tiny indicators that he was right to assume there was more wrong than his partner was letting on. For one, Jazz was moving far too carefully, which was not unheard of when his mecha was damaged. But that Jazz was being specifically careful was cause for concern, solidifying that the mecha would be unable to withstand much more pointed damage.

Another thing of note was the way that Jazz was favoring both pedes of his mecha, which again aligned with the earlier comment.

Priwl didn’t want to ask what would happen if more damage occurred. What if it ricocheted back on Jazz in some way that would harm his human body as well? With that possibility in mind, along with the rest of the information in his processor, Prowl continued to run data in the background. Mainly about Jazz’s chances of getting out of this facility if the mecha were to take theoretical damage. Oneof the scenarios would quite possibly be fatal to Jazz, while another would be painful, but perfectly survivable, for Prowl.

A decision was made after Prowl had accepted a vibroknife from Jazz, and was indulging the pilot in his ridiculous little dance that Prowl couldn’t help but smile at.

But then, he saw them.

Two large Quintessons making a direct beeline for Jazz’s back when he and Prowl paused in their ‘dance’.

Those incoming claws and tentacles were  outstretched, prepared to do as much damage as possible.

Prowl made his choice as he turned on one pede in a half-spin. The motion drew out a delighted whoop from Jazz, the human taking another step as if to resume the earlier destructive dance.

There was no time to think.

Only act.

Jazz, unaware of Prowl’s swift decision, did not move into the range of danger as the tactician let go of his partner’s hand. The action left Prowl with his back to the enemy, but Jazz remained safely out of direct line of fire. Prowl knew that he would be unable to join Jazz in this momentary area of safety.

It mattered not.

There was no time to consider the inevitable consequences to his health.

With rifle back in subspace, Prowl turned on his heel then surged forward with a heavy shove from one pede. His door wings flared out and up as Prowl lunged the rest of the distance to stab one of the Quints with the vibroblade. At the same time, Prowl braced himself as the larger of the two enemies shifted its bulk to plough heavily into his back. The Praxian just barely managed to disconnect some pain sensors in his door wings before he was rocked unwillingly forward via gravity and a heavyweight enemy. Then Prowl’s focus was on the sudden agony that lit throughout his frame as the Quint used him as a barrier as Prowl crashed into and then through the reinforced wall of the corridor.

Face and bumper first.

Prowl collapsed to the floor under the rubble that fell down onto him, his attacker continuing further into the room. Hissing out through vents, Prowl only held breifly still to note that his left doorwing had waddled the fate of his right, which was pinioned under a large chunk of debris. Movement from in front of him had Prowl moving, but not quickly enough as his left doorwing was roughly seized by the Quint that had been flung further into the room. Prowl grit dentae against the rough handling and then slicing of metal as he jerked his left arm up to seize the enemy’s nearest limb. Venting through the negligible pain, Prowl stabbed the Quint as hard as he was able at this angle, causing it to rear back. Prowl twisted the blade and dragged it out, the limp body falling backward to hit the ground.

Not dead, unfortunately, but temporarily stunned, perhaps?

Prowl spared himself a moment to vent, knowing he had little time to recover from the new injuries to his wings. Ex-venting, Prowl made a frantic scrabble trapped under the debris, removing one of the heavier chunks, allowing the other ones to topple off of his right doorwing. Once clear, Prowl painfully yanked the wing the rest of the way out from beneath the remaining lighter pieces of rubble. He winced at the sound of grinding, scraping metal against the sensors of the door wing. It was painful, but not as bad with most of the sensors shut off. Prowl ignored causing further damage to the appendage in favor of levering himself up out of the pile of metal and other pieces of material.

Pain sensors went off one after another. 

Pausing in place with a grunt of cut-off pain, Prowl realized his left leg was still pinned by a piece of wall that had refused to completely fall apart. Twisting to the side, Prowl gripped the piece of metal wall, and heaved it up just far enough up to drag the damaged limb close to his body. Alert for enemies, Prowl let the hunk of wall drop, internally running what little he had in the way of diagnostics.

Not ideal.

Prowl’s left leg was damaged quite severely, but he would have to risk hobbling along on it to escape this place. Testing the ability to put weight on his pede, Prowl pressed it down onto the floor while seated upright.

A slight twinge.

Prowl waited in place, but he soon heard the sound of the second Quint from earlier enter through the hole in the wall.  Another press of his pede produced a very distressing crunching grind. Prowl winced, then lowered his helm as he released a sharp vent, the pain sensors near-overwhelming Prowl. Long enough that he could have been attacked had he not gotten lucky in that moment, the Quint closest to him still recovering.

He’d…get up soon.

Hopefully before his enemy did.

Thinning his derma, optics half closed in agony, Prowl scooted backwards on his aft.  He moved to the nearest wall of the room, and as soon as Prowl raised his helm, his damaged doorwings were able to pick up on a tiny bit of motion. This was enough of a warning that Prowl was able to raise the vibroblade to stab the incoming head of the Quint scout that had since recovered. It was a struggle to remain upright, but the wall behind him helped. Unfortunately, while Prowl succeeded in killing the scout, it flailed backward in its death throes.

And took the vibroblade with it.

Temporarily weapon-less, Prowl was left open to an attack as the larger Quint that had just entered the open hole in the wall lunged for the seemingly defenseless Praxian. 

Swiftly and painfully bracing himself against the wall, door wings scraping roughly, Prowl retrieved his rifle from subspace. He fired off a shot before the Quint was even across the room.

Quiet.

Wings sagged down along the wall.

A short lull in the fighting.

It was quiet.

Even so, Prowl held his rifle at the ready. Optics briefly shuttered as he took a slow invent, then released it just as slowly. Prowl  reassessed his initial calculations, unable to fully make use of the sensors in his wings. This meant he was currently unable to pick up on how far away other enemies were to his location, unless they were nearly upon him. With a twitch of the damaged doorwings, Prowl pried his optics back open, watchful. He couldn’t see Jazz nor hear the music that the human had been playing.

Chances were low that Jazz would move on without him.

A sudden comm hailed Prowl as the tac net continued to churn out the chances of getting out of this alive. 

::Prowl, we’re out of time. We need to leave afore this portal gets destroyed::

Prowl cleared the damage warnings in his HUD; he sent his current state and the statement from Ironhide about the portal’s possible impending destruction through the tac net. Prowl was unsurprised to hear that the portal was compromised now that the Quintessons were aware of their presence here, but he allowed the calculations to run nonetheless. Prowl didn’t even need to see the resulting numbers to know that the likelihood of him reaching the portal had dropped with the additional injuries he’d taken.

Jazz had a better chance, but not by much.

While Prowl ran additional possibilities with varying situations, he was also compiling a packet of information. It contained data that had been gathered from the facility today, and what it meant for cybertronians as a whole based off of the data that they’d already compiled over the years. Prowl ran those through some simulations too, and saved the results to the packet he was creating. The statistics within would be of use to Smokescreen and the others in tactical, allowing them to come up with strategies, should Prowl be unable to escape this facility. Once finished with his calculations, Prowl sent the data in a burst as quickly as he could to Ironhide, lest a Quint be able to intercept it.

Ironhide confirmed acceptance of the heavily locked and coded packet of data without a word. But when the mech spoke, Ironhide’s tone made it known that was aware of what that data meant without Prowl saying anything. ::Quintesson reinforcements are inbound. Get to the portal with Jazz:: There was a short pause. ::Try not to get yourself deactivated::

::I will attempt to do so. With Jazz accompanying me, I’m sure he will somehow have us defy the odds:: Prowl dryly commend back.

::If anyone can get out of this pit-forsaken place alive while surrounded by enemies, it’d be the two of you:: Ironhide commed back before signing off.

Incoming forces meant that the tac net’s calculations ran well below 10% success. Without further data to go off of, it would remain as such. 

…it was time to get going.

Prowl attempted to stand, only to collapse in an ungainly manner back down to one knee.  His HUD unhelpfully indicated that he’d taken on more injuries than he’d noticed. More than just his door wings and left leg when Prowl had been unceremoniously thrown through the corridor’s reinforced wall minutes ago.

Jazz suddenly sent a comm.

But Prowl had just turned off non-essential systems after communicating with Ironhide. This allowed for tac net to run wild in hopes of finding better odds, and for Prowl’s self repair to do some work while he was not currently dealing with enemies. Prowl ought to have responded to Jazz’s comm, as not answering ended up making the human go near crazy with a frantic burst of energy over what might have happened to the tactician. Since Prowl was usually good with at least sending an acknowledging ping to receiving the attempt at communication.

But he hadn’t.

Though Jazz arriving to assist Prowl sent the tac net’s percentage of getting to the portal without fatal injuries up to 11%.

-

It was like watching a car crash in slow motion, only worse.

Witnessing two big enemy aliens go for Prowl and seeing the larger of the two physically collide with his partner made Jazz freeze in place. For a fraction of second, Jazz watched as Prowl was body slammed through the thick reinforced steel and concrete/like substance that made up the wall. In the immediate aftermath with the plume of dust and debris rising high into the air, Jazz saw red.

Like hell he was gonna let two of those bastards try and kill his partner.

Jazz sure as hell was going to remember to demand what the fuck Prowl thought he was doing. Even if Jazz had fallen for the way Prowl had played along with his earlier antics, he should have been able to notice the change in his partner’s mannerisms. But the mecha pilot had been so eager and ready to continue the dangerous dance with the Praxian while killing their enemies that Jazz hadn’t realized the second go around had been a distraction. Jazz picked up on this when Prowl had abruptly let go of Jazz’s hand, leaving Bebop awkwardly standing there alone with the mecha’s  hand still held outstretched.

Jazz realized what happened, though.

He damn well knew what had happened.

Jazz wouldn’t even have to question Prowl, actually, because the damned idiot had gone and protected Jazz.

All because the mecha pilot had told Prowl that Bebop couldn’t take on much more damage.

It made sense that Prowl had intervened to protect Jazz’s human body within Bebop’s slowly deteriorating armor (much from wear and tear as it was from taking too much damage on this mission and a previous one). Prowl probably ran the numbers and knew that he could take on multiple injuries versus the damage that could have been done to the glorified hunk of metal that Jazz was hiding within.

The sound of grinding and snapping metal, along with the falling debris and telltale sounds of continued fighting jolted Jazz back to the present.

Time moved forward.

Jazz swung Bebop around, tearing through several oncoming Quints like a demon possessed, slashing and stabbing anything that wasn’t Prowl. Once the immediate threat in the corridor was gone, Jazz made for the newly created hole in the walls within seconds. Using his blades to clear a tall pile of debris, Jazz made a careful leap with the help of his digitigrade legs. He went through the hole, heedless of danger to himself as the jump took Jazz into a room. He landed on a dead body, nearly falling over, but stubbornly managing to keep himself upright. Jazz stepped off the body, shoving aside the rest of the offending blockage to better move further inside the new room. The visor covering the majority of Bebop’s ‘face’ glowed as Jazz turned his head around to take the place in.

Prowl was on the opposite side of this large room, propped up against a wall.

Jazz perked up at this as he clambered over a larger dead Quint before going to possessively hover in front of the tactician, alert for any more enemies with an upward flick of his head fins.

It was quiet.

For the moment.

“Prowl!” Jazz called out, pitching Bebop’s speakers low, so as to not attract enemy attention. He lowered Bebop down to check on the Cybertronian, aware that he was leaving himself vulnerable to an attack. “Hey, Prowler, ya online?” Jazz questioned, reaching out to lightly clasp one of Prowl’s shoulders. The touch was mainly for balance to allow Jazz to properly focus Bebop’s visuals on Prowl, and the damage the Praxian had taken in the very short time they’d been separated.

Prowl’s doorwings had taken the brunt of the injuries from being forcefully tackled through a reinforced wall. The sensor-packed appendages were currently lowered and tucked close to Prowl’s back. From the angle he was looking from, Jazz noted that one door wing appeared to have been crushed by the rubble that had fallen, while the other appeared to be torn in several places, leaking energon. The rest of Prowl’s armored body was covered in dents and scrapes, but those looked more like rubble collapsing onto him, or from the initial impact into the wall, then the Quints. Luckily, those scrapes and dents appeared to be more superficial than anything.

Prowls optics were currently closed, but the second Jazz leaned his weight onto Prowl’s shoulder, the tactician stirred.

“Please do not jostle me.”

“Heya, Prowler.” Jazz’s helm fins happily swiveled up.

“Hello, Jazz.”  Prowl’s optics shuttered open, blue light flickering on, dim but aware. Prowl’s face pinched in obvious pain, but relaxed once his sight settled on the mecha pilot. “I see that you still have all your limbs.”

“Despite the best efforts of the Quints tryin’ to tear ‘em off.” Jazz agreed, grin hidden by the expressionless visor, even if he did brighten the glow in an attempt to convey this.

It appeared to work, as Prowl’s derma quirked up in what Jazz clocked as fondness. Then, it thinned in clear agony as his optics shuttered shut again. Jazz lifted his head when received a wordless comm from Prowl with a packet of data. Jazz barely gave most the info a quick once over, only to let out a laugh when he found the short communication between Prowl and Ironhide. “Aw, Prowler, you know that we’re gonna be just fine.”

“I would suggest that you go on ahead to the portal without me, but I know you better than that to think you’ll listen to reason.” Prowl’s pained expression leveled out to exasperation.

And fondness.

“You know me well.” Jazz agreed. “Are ya able to stand? We can go test out the whole beatin’ the odds together.” Jazz gripped Prowl’s shoulder. “We can make yer tac net raise our chances for succeedin’.”

“I had a feeling that was your intention.” Prowl managed another small, if weary, smile. “You do so enjoy throwing my calculations into complete disarray.”

“You know it, babe, that’s why I’m chaos incarnate!” Jazz boasted cheerily, letting go of Prowl’s shoulder with a pat as he rose and stepped back to give the mech some room. “C’mon, Prowler, up and at ‘em. We got a date with a Quint portal and a honeymoon in the medbay.” The pilot encouraged as he bounced up and down on digitigrade feet. Humming a song under his breath softly, Jazz watched Prowl test his arms and legs right before maneuvering back up into a seated position, no longer leaning back against the wall. Jazz continued to keep his attention on Prowl, pointedly ignoring the warning pings that he was now receiving.

Basically, the internal pings now meant that Bebop was on her last fuel reserves.

This, in turn, meant that Jazz needed to get somewhere safe to get his exhausted ass disconnected from the neural network and out of the pilot seat before he found himself trapped. But it would be a damn miracle for Bebop to stay together long enough to not only get through the portal, but through the outpost and to the medbay that was there. Jazz could only imagine how long repairs would take before he’d be able to pilot Bebop again, without worrying about whether or not there was unbreathable air seeping into the cockpit without notice until it was too late.

“You should not put any more undue stress on your mecha if you’re only making an attempt to lift the current mood.” Prowl commented from where he was closely and carefully examining his legs. He sounded amused by Jazz’s upbeat antics, even if the he knew damn well that it was a facade to make things appear as normal as could be after the human mentioned the state of his necks. Prowl pressed in between a seam of one leg, optics abruptly shuttering then opening.

Jazz made an inquiring noise, causing the praxian’s helm to turn toward him.

“There’s some damage to my left leg.” Prowl held up a servo to prevent commentary. “I will be all right, just as you have indicated to me that you will be fine. Both of us can hold onto this mindset for the remainder of the time it takes us to reach the portal.” The pain smoothed out to dry humor. “I’m sure the medics at the outpost we’re returning to will happily inform us just what terrible condition we are in, then subject us to their tender mercies.”

Jazz laughed more genuinely at this, smile unseen while helm fins perked up and visor glowed brighter to convey it being genuine. Then, Jazz stepped forward to where Prowl continued to hold one of his servos up. Jazz firmly grasped it and held on tight as he assisted Prowl up onto his pedes. Jazz swiftly reached out with his other hand to prevent Prowl from toppling over when the Praxian’s vents released in a sharp whoosh. It was only then that Jazz saw just how managed to hell and back Prowl’s left leg was, wires poking out and metal peeled or torn aside.

The Quints’ attacks and the debris falling on Prowl had taken a toll after all.

In minutes.

But since the two of them were pretending that everything was a-okay to get through this, Jazz waited for Prowl to adjust to being upright on his pedes, those doorwings held firmly to his back to mitigate further damage.

Prowl wasted no time in sending Jazz a new updated map and coordinates from Ironhide.

Path set, Jazz heaved Prowl’s left arm over his shoulders, right arm under the doorwings to help take some weight off of Priwl’s left order. Limp-hopping with Jazz’s slightly hunched over assistance allowed less shock absorption through to the damaged struts of Prowl’s practically shattered apart left leg.

No words were spoken.

None were needed with the map and silent agreement between them to focus on getting to the portal. The new coordinates had the two of them leave through the door instead of the hole Prowl had made when thrown through it.

This turned out to be the right decision.

A minor detail, but one that would get mecha pilot and cybertronian to the portal with less fighting than had they backtracked. Whether their destination would be swarming with Quints or not remained to be seen, but it didn’t really matter. Jazz and Prowl had successfully gotten through a situation much worse than this, without any initial backup, and that had also been with a language barrier at the time.

This mission gone sideways today?

It was nothing.

Beating the odds was something that the two of them were proficient at.

Jazz was so looking forward to winning that bet with Smokescreen and Bluestreak. Alien credit could buy so much cool shit. Jazz already planned to purchase or commission some awesome mods that would be compatible with Bebop. An artificial EM field was first on the list of mods that Jazz really, really wanted, as he liked the idea of Prowl finally being able to sense his field. Even if that field was an artificial one made to translate Jazz’s mood. But grand plans and thoughts about the other mods were interrupted by Prowl, whose vocalizer was suddenly taut.

“There are a number of scouts and vanguards incoming to our position.”

Well, shit.

”Then we better go greet them.” Jazz replied, blades revealing themselves from Bebop’s arms.

It was time to prove that he and Prowl were more than capable of continuing their crazy streak of pulling off victory from the lowest odds of success. 

Chapter Text

Had there been any enemies in the corridor while making a near-blind run to the portal, Jazz and Prowl would have been hard-pressed to fend them off with the state they were in.

Though Prowl would risk further injury in exchange for Jazz getting back to base without the mecha he piloted being fully breached, thus putting the human in danger.

“How ya holdin’ up?” 

Prowl considered the upbeat (if worn-out) query as he staggered. There wasn’t too good an answer, considering all the warnings that were continuing to show up across his HUD.

“Need to slow down for a sec?”

“We cannot risk slowing down. This will raise the chance of an ambush by 38%. In our current condition, such a scenario will not be in our favor.” Prowl debated clarifying if ‘sec’ meant a nanoclick, but shook the thought away; that wasn’t important right now. “I am ‘holding up’ as best I am able considering my current state.” Which was all Prowl would tell Jazz at present. The tactician would not let slip the fact he was fast approaching imminent stasis.

“Then I guess we keep goin’.”

With a low sound of agreement, Prowl did what he could to keep his doorwings pressed firmly to his back, though the appendages still fluttered from the he phantom sensation of the delicate sensors there. At the very least, Prowl had cut off most of the pain receptors.

Prowl limped along, dentae grit firmly together as other areas of his frame began to ache more than before. Especially as his left leg became further unsteady with each step he took. Even with Jazz’s assistance, Prowl’s pede threatened to give. Despite the agony it caused his leg’s struts, Prowl couldn’t help but take the weight onto his left pede. He forced himself remain upright and balanced, despite not having his doorwings out and away from his body.

Jazz continued to offer quiet encouragement, which was either a sign of failing mechanisms of the mecha’s vocals (33%) or, more likely, to prevent his voice from carrying (78%) to give them away to enemies. Though it could also have been that Jazz’s mecha outwardly struggled to remain in an upright position, (47%).

Prowl wouldn’t let him fall.

Not just because of the help Jazz had been against the Quintesson, but because Prowl found he enjoyed the human within the mecha’s company as time had gone by.

They’d escape together, or remain behind together if it came to that.

Despite the height difference, it was not difficult for Prowl to wrap an arm around the back Jazz’s lower back. Though the tactician did find it problematic to grip the armor without his servo sliding away. Then again, it was very concerning to find a loose piece of armor for Prowl to firmly lock his digits in. Thankfully, this allowed better balance for the both he and Jazz as they staggered from one corridor to another.

The alarms in the facility continued to blare overhead.

It was background noise at this point.

Their disturbance of this place had been discovered but it wouldn’t matter for much longer, so close to now escape.

“You gettin’ any comms from the rest of ‘em?” Jazz suddenly questioned, likely in an attempt to distract Prowl from his damaged, and now worryingly sparking, left leg.

“I am not.” Prowl said once he checked. “We can assume that they have already escaped, based off the last message I received from Ironhide.”

“Just to let ya know, I got maybe one last fight left in Bebop before she goes critical and shuts down on me.” Jazz replied, visored head turning to Prowl’s face. “But no throwin’ your wounded body in from of me. The area around my pilot seat is heavily reinforced.” Jazz’s head fins dipped down. “I don’t want to see a Quint tryin’ to dig around inside of your chassis for yer spark.”

“None of them will get a chance to do so.”Prowl said dryly, not calculating his chances of this happening. His attention was becoming focused on remaining both upright and moving forward. But the mere idea of his spark chamber potentially being breached by enemy attack was a real concern that could potentially happen in the not so distant future. “I will not let them damage you further.”

“I can take care of myself.” Jazz emphasized. “I don’t know how to fix you, Prowler. We gotta get through portal and get ya to the medics.” Jazz’s mecha tightened its hold around the Prowl. “There’s only so much I can do with a welder to patch ya up. And I don’t think I’d want to try puttin’ a heat source up so close and personal to yer core unless absolutely necessary.”

Prowl absently rattled off some percentages about the possibility of losing a wounded Jazz within the chest of his mecha that the tactician couldn’t easily access.

“I told you ‘fore I like when ya talk numbers, but how ‘bout we just try an’ aoid a direct fight with the squints as long as we can?” Jazz said, voice taut.  

“I agree.” Prowl ducked out from under Jazz’s arm, letting go of the human pilot’s mecha to retrieve his rifle from subspace. “It appears that our time of avoiding our enemies has ended.”

”Damn, and here I thought I’d get to half hug you the rest of the way.” Jazz teased, even as his mecha crouched on digitigrade legs, feet planted firmly.

“You may ‘hug’ me later once we are safe back in the base.” Prowl carefully peered into the room before drawing back. “It’s going to be close quarters; they’re waiting for us to begin their attack.”

“I gotchu, boo.” Jazz let the blades exit his mecha’s arms, visor brightening. “No human cuddles until we’re no longer being harassed by the Quints.”

Allowing himself a hint of a smile at Jazz, Prowl allowed his tac net to begin to churn out possibilities. Bracing himself on unsteady pedes, Prowl exchanged a slow nod with Jazz, feeding along info over their comm system of the best outcome to follow that had a 73% success rate. It was the best Prowl had with the immediate info he had from the quick once over of the room, the portal on the opposite side.

It was just as well that Prowl had drawn his weapon, with more Quintessons milling about than he first noted.

“Prowl.”

“I have them.” The tactician was already braced against the side of the open entryway, shooting a large Quint that was attempting to sabotage the portal. “To your left.” Prowl said, a second shot taking the large Quint down, where it remained.

Jazz spun to the side and viciously buried one of his mecha’s blades into the head of a scout attempting to take out his digitigrade legs.

Prowl made an effort to track Jazz’s movement with his battered door wings head slightly away from his back.

Jazz ripped his blade back out of the scout while brandishing a stolen blaster to shoot it to ensure it was dead.

Once in the room, Prowl limped his way over to where his partner was clearing the way in the right side of the room to portal.  But just as Prowl reached him, Jazz was sent stumbling backward by a rough strike from a long limb of one of the thrashing, angry Quinesson. 

“Whoa!” Jazz practically draped himself backward over Prowl’s chassis, but was able  to keep himself upright, the Praxian’s servo reaching out to further stabilize him. “Thanks, Prowler.”

“Jazz?” Prowl didn’t like the way Jazz’s visor suddenly brightened in what he interpreted as alarm as Jazz looked past his shoulder. Prowl turned his helm slightly to see why, especially when he heard the human curse. 

Another Quintesson had just struck the console that controlled the portal. Instead of destroying it, however, the portal flared brightly, and changed to a color different than Prowl was used to.

The portal began to pulsate, a rippling reverberation that went across the surface.

“That doesn’t seem normal.” Jazz commented with a nervous laugh.

“No, it is not. A portal should not make such a display.” Prowl agreed, the servo on Jazz’s shoulder going to grasp the mecha pilot’s left arm. “Nor should it be able to disrupt gravity as it is.”

“Wait what.” Jazz grabbed Prowl in return, presumably noting that the pull of gravity was growing stronger the closer he and Prowl were drawn toward the portal. “Damn, why do I keep on experiencin’ the shitty sci-fi stuff instead of the cool stuff?”

“Meeting other alien species, seeing other planets, and multiple space ships does not count?” Prowl asked dryly despite the situation.

”Shush, you, lemme vent about the Quints ruinin’ space fer me.” Jazz couldn't brave his mecha enough to resist the pull.  

”But you do not have a vent intake?” Prowl didn’t think he world 

“Aww, Prowler, mine’s just called a mouth and I just breathe insteada taking a vent. All I was sayin’ is I’m infuriated the Quints keep ruinin’ things fer everyone.” Jazz leaned back into Prowl to evade a shot aimed his way. “By the way…I don’t think we’re gonna be able to get to the portal controls to reverse whatever they did to it.”

There was no reaching the controls for the portal now, so there was no way to reverse what was happening.

”No, there isn’t.” Prowl decided to not comment on different words for similar features on cybertronians and humans. Right now, the only thing that the two of them could do was evade as many attacks as possible, and face whatever was done to the portal. “Brace yourself.” Prowl readied himself as he tightened his grip on Jazz. “Unstable portals are quite unpleasant to traverse through.”

“Joy.” Jazz deadpanned as he hunkered down with his mecha and clung harder to Prowl in return. “Don’t let go.”

”I do not plan to.” Prowl responded, feeling the slow pull of the portal on them slowly grew stronger, until not even their combined weight mattered.

The Quintesson and their soldiers sounded like they were regrouping, which meant one of two things.

Either they were going to shout at Prowl and Jazz with renewed violence, or the two of them would be pulled through the portal before it was destroyed, if the enemy happened to want them alive.

Prowl could tell from the jerky motions that Jazz was making that he was unable to make use his blades, and had even retracted them before they could possibly be wrecked out of their housing in the mecha and into the portal before them. Likewise, Prowl could not reach his fallen rifle. He’d already lost the vibroblade Jazz had given to him earlier.

They had a choice.

A terrible one, but a choice all the same.

Enter the malfuncting portal before it could pull them in.

Prowl knew what Jazz’s would do. And with the crazy luck the human had in such situations where survival was in the single digits…

There was no choice at all.

But before Prowl could voice this to Jazz, the tacticians pedes were yanked up off the floor just as Jazz’s mecha was torn up and away similarly due to the strength of the portal's malfunction.

It appeared another choice had been made for him and Jazz.

Prowl saw the way some Quints aimed weapons at him, and therefore, Jazz. But neither of them could as they were practically dragged through the air toward the portal’s surface.

As this happened, the weapons the Quints had were triggered.

It was not the anticipated electrified shots.

Whatever it was that was shot hit Prowl, Jazz, and the portal itself just as the two of them touched the portal’s surface. The force of which the attacks struck (which had somehow not destroyed either Jazz, Prowl or even the portal on impact) made going through the portal almost a relief.

Apart from stasis being initiated in an incredibly unnatural manner.

Instead of emerging on the other side of the portal as he ought to have, Prowl found himself being held within the unseen grasp of an all-encompassing darkness.

Jazz’s voice could be heard in the distance, yet it was oddly muffled, right before the mecha went completely silent.

Before Prowl could be properly alarmed by this, he found himself inexplicably drawn down into stasis, as if the darkness around him couldn’t be bothered to keep him there, wherever it was, any longer.

-

Being suspended within a darkness so deep that nothing could be seen around him despite Bebop’s lights should have been terrifying to Jazz.

Wherever this place was, it was where he and Prowl ended up.

What kind of malfunctioning portal sent people to a place where the darkness all around almost seemed to deepen, if that was even possible.

Talk about hella creepy.

Jazz had the unnerving feeling that he was being watched, despite just kind of floating there, suspended in the dark within Bebop.

Though Jazz didn’t have time to contemplate or panic about the wrongness of it all, because he was suddenly close to passing out.

The air was fine inside the cockpit.

So why?

Why did it feel like Bebop’s armor had been breached to the pilot’s cockpit, when there were no warnings that indicated that had happened?

Jazz’s body felt heavy, his eyelids drooping then closing, going limp. That should have kicked him into action but instead Jazz couldn’t muster up the willpower to do so. All around him, Jazz heard Bebop begin to  power down, bit by bit.

While he was still awake and aware.

Jazz managed a displeased twist to his lips. He struggled to grasp at threads of consciousness, despite his body’s protest while trying to force his mind to make Bebop remain online.

It hurt.

A sharp ache built in his mind, the neural links straining until Jazz could no longer fight the strange way those links began to pop and make other worrying noises.

Thanks, universe, for continuing to give him nightmares he’s have to contend with later on.

Unconsciousness finally taking him was welcome, as it took away the agony of Jazz’s neural link being stretched to the limit.

Then, there was silence.

Nothingness.

Right until there was a light, followed by the quiet yet unmistakeable sound of nature.

Jazz’s awareness snapped back into being almost as soon as he lost it, but Jazz didn’t know what to think other than that he must be dead.

Why else would he be hallucinating hearing the sounds of Earth’s nature?

But it sure as hell felt a lot like Jazz was laying sprawled on his back on grass. It was as if he’d just decided to take a nap after exiting the portal. That the strange darkness he’d been suspended in before had all just been a dream. Jazz remained in place, uncertain if he could move wherever it was he’d ended up.

(it couldn’t be Earth, it just couldn’t be)

Jazz allowed himself a short amount of time to lament over a busted portal being what took him out, instead of a battle where Bebop losing power and with no one was around to save him.

Jazz had to be dead, which was a shame, as there’d been so many things Jazz had wanted to accomplish in his life; both simple and grandiose.

Was it too much to ask that this wasn’t the end?

…what kind of end was this, anyway?

Kind of lame, if all Jazz was capable of was to ponder all the things he wanted or would have liked to have done. Such as telling Prowl he liked him a lot, even if they were different species. Jazz had hoped the tac net was able to pick up the signs so Prowl could process through the resulting emotions. That he would at least know how Jazz felt.

Huh.

Could this be Jazz’s mind’s way to make sense of things in his last moments? Maybe it was for the best that it ended like this.

…nah.

Jazz wasn’t a quitter; no the hell he was not. He would have kept on fighting against the Quints alongside his alien allies. But Jazz knew there was only so long he would live, should he survive each of the battles. He hadn’t quite broached the subject with Prowl yet, but surely the cyberteonian had to have picked up on it. That humans, as an organic species, did not have as long of a lifespan as they, mechanical beings, did.

Jazz drifted along wherever he was for a time, back touching what his mind provided to him as grass, as it had before, until he heard the distinct sound of metal shifting.

Wait.

Wait just a damn minute.

Jazz heard the noise again, shifting his supposed laying on his back body and realized with a jolt of surprise that he was the one responsible for making it.

He was…alive?

He was alive!

But how?

That portal hadn’t actually killed him.

Huh, how about that for crazy shit happening?

Okay.

This was good.

Jazz could work with this. He had already established that he wasn’t actually dead.

That was great, really.

But what, then, were sounds around him?

Was Jazz actually hearing something from his home planet?

Only one way to find out.

Jazz figured it was about time to open his eyes, and see what he could see. Only, upon doing the action of opening his eyes, Jazz noticed a weird sensation. For some odd reason, opening and closing his eyes felt like…the best Jazz could explain it was a shuttering instead of the simple action of opening his eyelids. Jazz blinked a few times, frowning at the sensation, before he stared up at the bright afternoon sky overhead.

The visuals were sharp and crisp.

Bebop allowed Jazz to receive visuals that were much better than his won human eyes, but this crispness of the clouds drifting across the sky was on a whole other level.

The next oddity Jazz took note of was that he didn’t feel the usual discomfort that came when his mind connected with the neural link while in the cockpit within Bebop. Nor did Jazz feel the deep ache in his mind that came from when he passed through the shitty experience that was portals.

Headache central, that.

What was going on?

Jazz listened to his current surroundings, swiftly learning that even his hearing was much better than was usual. The sounds of  nature, of birds and insects around him indicated to Jazz that he was laying in the middle of it. With a soft sigh, he turned his head, barely noticing that even that felt much different than how Bebop’s head worked. Jazz only had eyes for what his gaze just fell upon.

While the trees, plants and animals appeared to be much, much smaller than he thought Bebop would display to him, Jazz felt a slow build of excitement build in the center of his chest.

Earth.

It looked like Earth.

Was this Earth?

How?

Jazz jolted upright, because how the fuck did that work? How had he ended up back on Earth despite being so very, very, very far away.

Like galaxies away.

Had that portal really jettisoned him all the way here?

That seemed too good to be true and yet…

Jazz stared a moment longer before he made as if to get up to his mecha’s feet, only to flop right back down on Bebop’s metal ass.

Or more accurately, aft.

Something about that was wrong. Not a bad wrong, but certainly a concerning wrong, because Jazz was not in his mecha like he thought he’d been.

No, Jazz was…

He was...

Jazz slowly lifted his metal hands to stare at them, flexing the black plated, segmented digits experimentally. His gaze crept down along white and black segmented armor that was only broken up with red and blue stripes here and there.

Jazz was the mech.

The only reason Jazz didn’t believe that Bebop had undergone some design overhaul while he’d been unconscious was due to how closely Jazz paid attention to his body. While it currently felt like when he piloted Bebop…it was also different. It was like there was another, smaller body that was him, like the one he was currently back to staring at the hands of.

The best Jazz could come up with now was that he was looking at the bigger and thicker armored him that was actual armor to protect the smaller him.

Shoving that idea on the back burner, and for now dismissing the way the idea seemed to be placed as such on his mind, Jazz resumed inspecting his mech self. He patted himself with his…servos (?) as he passed over a chassis, then moved to down abdomen-like plating, down over the sides of armored hips, then further to legs that were no longer digitigrade. Jazz stared. They now resembled Prowl’s legs, with only one bend in the knees, which was also armored.

This was…unexpected.

Jazz must be in shock, releasing a breath that exited him via his intake, but also from the vents around his frame to release built-up heat.

Jazz was somehow a Cybertronian.

Jazz was a Cybertronian!

How cool was that?!

Maybe he was still dreaming?

This could open up a lot of avenues, including but not limited to; being able to ingest energon like everyone else, participate in longer spar sessions, but also be able to sleep in the base without worrying about the air quality and whether or not it would kill hin.

Oh!

Yes!

Jazz could also take the opportunity to properly catch Prowl in a hug while being similar in height to the other cybertronian.

Nice.

He’d been wanting to do that for a long time. Maybe Jazz could even use his EM field to let Prowl know how he felt about him.

Jazz perked up in his seated position. Oh, hell yeah, this also meant that he could listen to music with Blaster without having to worry about the speaker volume potentially damage his hearing. Jazz patted back over his body and grinned when he located something that could possibly be speakers and he was certainly going to figure out how to make that work as soon as was possible.

This was awesome!

Jazz was delighted with all of what he could be able to do now. He gad a sudden thought, and quickly reached up to feel along his face, giddy over the thought of mech-him having a proper face, unlike Bebop. Jazz felt carefully past plated lips, over a nose, and then lingered over a visor that was in place over his eyes (optics). He hoped it was the same lighter blue Bebop had; Jazz was quite attached to the color.

Prowl always seemed to appreciate it, too.

Jazz reached his helm after passing over vents that were on either side of his face by cheeks. He delicately touched the stub-like horns that were there on his helm, instead of the longer, flexible ones that Bebop had that moved.

What had Prowl called these?

Audial horns?

Eh, Jazz could ask him later.

Speaking of, Jazz ought to look for Prowl, and hope that the praxian had ended up in the same general area. Though when Jazz made as if to get up, he paused as a thought struck him. If Jazz had been turned into a cybertronian due to portal fuckery and possible Quint interference, then what if Prowl had also-

“Jazz?”

A bare whisper of incredulity broke through the ambient sound of nature.

Jazz turned his head (helm), his facial expression falling into one of concern when his gaze landed on Prowl. The sight answered his sudden thought; the tactician was no longer a cybertronian with an (mostly) expressive face and those beautifully emotive door wings.

Prowl was now an human pilot inside of a mecha much like Bebop. A featureless visor covered most of Prowl’s mecha’s face, blue glass that passed for the eyes of the visor contained a lot of sensors. A red chevron was at the crest of helm of the mecha, just above the visor. It was a little different in appearance than when Prowl was a Cybertronian, to match the mecha it was now a part of.

Seeing Prowl from the side as he was, Jazz spotted two sensor wings twitching, both bisected in two different places to allow for the panels to move up or down, depending on the speed Prowl would want to go. The wings were a black and white mimicry of the door wings Prowl used to have, now with what were likely less effective sensors. And from the way they moved and twitched, Jazz hazarded a guess that they covered up thrusters to aid with swift motion.

It was really neat, appearance-wise, for a human to pilot.

But it was not so good for Prowl, as someone who was reliant on data to process and help make sense of the world around him.

“What happened to me?” Prowl spoke again, a thread of panic building. “Jazz, why am I…” A small thunk came from within the mecha’s chest, accompanied by an uncomprehending gasp. “I don’t…understand. What-“

Jazz just barely heard a thunking sound, but it was enough of a warning for him to awkwardly get up on his feet (pedes) and hasten over. He got to Prowl’s side right the mecha’s visor went dark and the armored mecha that distantly resembled a Cybertronian Prowl buckled over from its knelt position. Jazz grimaced as he carefully turned Prowl’s mecha over in his arms.

Yeah.

The revelation that Prowl somehow become human was never going to have gone over well with him.

A tiny, distraught keen suddenly echoed from within the chest of the mecha.

Jazz winced in sympathy.

Time for some damage control, and to figure out what the hell they were supposed to do now. The elation of somehow ending up back on Earth from a random portal, and becoming a cybertronian out of the blue was set aside for now.

Jazz had a tiny human Prowl to reassure:

They were both safe, for now, so long as nature continued on without being interrupted by an incoming Quintesson raid.

“This is so damn weird.” Jazz adjusted his grip on Prowl’s mecha, so as to not let the armored slip out of his grasp. “I really hope yer in the pilot seat so that I’m not knockin’ ya around in there.” Jazz hoped his partner was all right, because he desperately wanted to ask him a question. He vented slowly before resting a hand over the shoulder of Prowl’s mecha.

“It’s gonna be all right.” Jazz wasn’t sure if he was trying to tell himself that, or Prowl at this point. There were also some distracting warnings and numbers on the inside of his visor that Jazz would have to examine at another time. Specifically after he was able to help coax and/or walk Prowl through detaching from the neural network so that he could come out of the chest of the mecha.

“Jazz.”

A quieter tone, this time confused as well as concerned.

“I gotchu, babe. You’re fine. It’s probably a shock, yeah, but now I guess ya get to see what it’s like to be me. As a human, that is.” Jazz didn’t think he’d ever heard such a hysterical little noise from Prowl. “Can ya…breathe fer me? Vent? It’ll help ya out in there until we can get ya to come out.”

The sound of frantic breathing, increasing in speed, could distinctly be heard.

“Slower, Prowler, ya don’t wanna pass out, do ya?” An unhappy groan met Jazz’s audials but thankfully Prowl’s breathing evened out, even if it shuddered out now and again.

Yeah.

Prowl was definitely not taking this well.

“Hey, Prowler?” So much for Jazz asking his question at a better time, but he just couldn’t help himself. “Is being turned into a different species like this actually possible or are we just special like that?”

It was not a particularly good sign that Prowl released an uncharacteristic, and rather hysterical giggle at such a question, especially since it became a strangled, if muted, sob from within the mecha’s chest.

Chapter Text

Jazz carefully maneuvered Prowl’s mecha into a supine position, taking care not to let the sensor wings be flattened. The weight of the upper torso where the cockpit would be tended to be densely reinforced. But Jazz hoped that the sensor panels would be hardier than Prowl’s more sensitive cybertronian door wings.

It didn’t sound like Prowl had unbuckled himself.

Jazz tilted his helm while he leaning over the mecha’s cockpit area in order to listen carefully for any human noises of pain.

Nothing.

Jazz didn’t hear anything small knocking about inside the glorified hunk of metal with tech inside, so Jazz was mollified that he wouldn’t be dealing with a bruised and battered human Prowl. Which was a good thinks, as Jazz already knew he’d have his hands full with a panicked cybertronian struggling to make sense of suddenly being human. Unlike Jazz, who was thrilled to be experiencing what life was like as an alien species.

Prowl would have to be subjected to a crash course in being an mecha pilot, and it was almost a certainty that this experience would be much worse for his partner.

Jazz himself had at least spent a year learning all about a mecha’s interior and what the sensation was going to be like when he eventually used the neural link in practice and bot theory. And while learning to pilot Bebop while integrated with the link, Jazz was gaining the experience of viewing the world from a larger metal body. The increased strength that Jazz, as a human, would never had. He experienced firsthand what it felt like to use this enormous power to protect, since Jazz had been given the chance to do so.

It hadn’t mattered at the time he might not live through his first battle. What mattered was that Jazz finally had a way to fight back against an enemy that had taken from him and his home without care.  

Jazz turned his helm anxiously at the continued silence from Prowl within the mecha’s cockpit. Prowl would not have the luxury to train ahead of time to use the mecha that was now his temporary body, nor was there a gentler way of easing him into coming to terms with being a human who was much weaker than a cybertronian outside of the mecha. 

Jazz could finally begin to understand why Prowl was always so worried about him being surrounded by so many Cybertronians who were both bigger in size and so much stronger than Jazz’s human body. Jazz always knew they were stronger, even when fighting in Bebop, but he didn’t realize just how much stronger than his mecha they were. Not until he witnessed that first brawl between two mechs that showed the sheer strength and damage the could cause to one another.

How one small, unintentional touch could harm Jazz if a mech or femme weren’t withholding their strength.

With that thought in mind, Jazz practiced controlling his strength as he rested a servo over Prowl’s chest plates. When it garnered no response (a message should have alerted the human that there was pressure where there shouldn’t be) Jazz explored the smooth metal of the chest plate. It confirmed there was very little in the way of grooves in the armored mecha. This was specifically done in designing the mecha to prevent the human pilot from being damaged within the cockpit. Focusing back on the chest, Jazz began to look for the manual hatch release. But once he located it, Jazz realized that he couldn’t reach the mechanism because he was too big as a cybertronian. His digits were not going to be able to get to such a small area (another intentional design for the mecha; didn’t want to have a quintesson or its lackey be able to pry a pilot out).

“C’mon, Prowler, you said no rechargin’ on the job.” Jazz muttered as he looked the mecha over again, lingering briefly on the visor. Jazz couldn’t help but feel a sense of  unease over seeing him without a face. A red chevron above a blue visor; no mouth to frown with in disapproval at some crazy scheme.No optics to cycle when Jazz did something truly off the walls batshit crazy and somehow made whatever it was work. No EM field to pulse reassure in through, which Jazz knew that Prowl must have tried on occasion until he found out why Jazz’s mecha Bebop didn’t have a EM field.

Jazz blinked as his own optics cycled under the visor, the blue dimming.

Was this…how eerie it felt for Prowl and the other cybertronians when they first met Jazz? For them to have believed the mech they saw before them as alive as they were? The pain they imagined Jazz would have gone through with the way his face had been removed (and from the sound of it, it was done in a horrific manner). When every cybertronian he’d met had learned that Jazz was actually organic? Instant relief that Jazz hadn’t been some distant relative to their people, and that he hadn’t, in fact, been tormented.

Not in the way they may have thought.

Jazz had a feeling that the medics (and Prowl) would likely be more appalled to learn how Bebop worked, with Jazz’s brain neurally linked up to his mech.

Ah, shit.

The neural link!

With the way Prowl had possibly fallen unconscious within the bench after letting out that strangled sob from before…

Jazz knew that the tactician was going to find so many issues with how the mecha pilots were treated, apart from the short lifespan they tended to live that Jazz had let slip at a meeting with the command staff.

Megatron hadn’t liked it.

Optimus Prime exuded a worried aura.

Ironhide and the others gathered had darted a concerned look at Jazz and his fellow mecha pilots at the time. But the reaction was worse at the time for those who knew exactly what Jazz and the others were (Prowl and Mirage, possibly Bluestreak, who’d looked at Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in worry and alarm).

Jazz shook thought of fellow mecha pilots and cybertronians who were now so very far away from where he and Prowl were on Earth.

Maybe it was for the better.

Prowl was going to learn the one big secret that Jazz had been keeping from him. The other reason why mecha pilots died younger or in only a few years if they were older, like Hound was concerned about.

It was the damned neural link; if it severed or the link became over-clocked?

That could lead to the death of a mecha pilot.

And Jazz knew damn well that if Ratchet was still alive here on Earth, the older doctor was doing whatever he was able to try and prevent that from happening, even if it meant breaking away to go rouge for mecha pilots who didn’t care to die from something like being overworked while linked to their mecha.

Jazz was lucky to have met Ratchet when he had, as a few weeks more hooked up to Bebop without some adjustments to the mechs and Jazz’s helmet (and head) he very well could have died.

But he was fine.

For now.

Jazz was alive and currently a living being of metal.

Prowl wouldn’t have been hooked up to his mecha for very long, so Jazz wouldn’t have to worry about being hooked in for to liking to the link, but…

Jazz looked over his partner again.

Prowl wasn’t responding, so inside of that chest cavity he had either passed out, or was currently frozen up while he struggled to comprehend his sudden species change.

Time to intervene, if that was the case.

Looking around the immediate grassy area, Jazz had a sudden idea click into place upon seeing a nearby tree. He reached out to grab a branch of a tree limb.

It snapped.

Oops.

Jazz’s visor flickered.

Right.

Jazz would need to be more careful with his strength. He would do some testing with pressure, just to be certain that he didn’t hurt Prowl when he did come out of the mecha. Finding another, sturdier-looking branch in the ground to his left, Jazz slowly picked it up, using much less pressure this time.

It didn’t snap.

Okay.

He’s got this.

Jazz delicately moved the branch to poke the tip of the branch to cleverly hidden buttons, one after another, to manually release the chest of Prowl’s mecha to reach the cockpit inside.

Thankfully, that did the trick.

The inert mecha’s chest cavity unlatched, and swung outward with Jazz’s assistance (being very, very careful to not bend or break any of the metal).

Jazz leaned his helm over to peer down, not questioning the cycling of his optics, or the visor brightening, while he took in the sight of the slumped Prowl in the pilot’s seat, thankfully strapped in.

Alive, he was alive!

Prowl was perfectly fine.

Well, as fine as he could be in this situation. And since Prowl was wearing the pilot gear and helmet, Jazz couldn’t quite see what Prowl looked like as a human.

Yet.

But Jazz was inwardly gleeful when he saw the cutest mini red chevron on that pilot helmet, and just barely resisted the urge to prod it. Which was just as well, because upon the change in air, Prowl seemed to come to. He was dazed and groaning, however, heaving out a muffled sigh while remaining slumped in the seat. Prowl’s hands were twitching, legs included.

The whole mecha twitched in response.

Yeah, okay, Jazz knew that posture.

Prowl was not handling the neural link well.

“Heya, Prowler.” Jazz pitched his voice low. “Need some help disconnectin’ from the neural link?”

“It is barbaric.” Prowl finally spoke, his voice flat as he uttered the words. The fingers of one hand spasmed again, which moved the mecha’s corresponding hand too. “What are these connections? It is a shoddy patch job to the mind controlling such a large machine. They…the connections are not stable.” The helmet with the mini red chevron lifted, visor hiding Prowl’s eyes . “How did you function like this, Jazz? How were you able to stand moving this…mecha, with all the variables of the link?” A grimace. “Not to mention the considerable strain and the agony that accompanies it?”

“Why do you think I never mentioned the link too much? It gets worse if yer not manuverin’ the mecha and don’t disconnect right away. Shut hurts when ya dwell on it too much.” Jazz responded with. Sympathetic wince. “I knew you wouldn’t like it. S’why I didn’t say anythin’.”

“It is dangerous. You ought to have brought it up before this point. The other pilots. They have similar experiences? Mirage mentioned once…that he was concerned for Hound. Something about his presence not feeling altogether there…” Prowl murmured, head tilting.

”Yeah…we all kinda have different degrees of experience when it comes to how we feel bein’ neurally linked up to our mecha.”

“We will have to table that discussion for a future time.” Prowl remained slumped, before he went as still as he was able, as if the stillness would make the link hurt less. “If you will please assist me in disconnecting from this mecha? I have some memory of your complaints about the intricacies of it, especially if you were to remain within the mecha longer than you intended to.” Prowl let out a very slow, calming breath. “I didn’t realize just how closely wired your organic brain would be to such an machine.”

“I gotcha, Prowler.” Jazz said, unable to help but smile fondly. Despite being human, Prowler just had this way with how his mind worked through things, and his manner of speech.

Good to know that such things remained the same.

With remarkable patience, Prowl listened to Jazz’s directions, which Jazz made precise, even if Prowl continued to murmur about the dangers he know knew more about behind the neural link.

As if Ratchet didn’t always harp on Jazz years ago about how reckless he was being by using the mecha so often in battle.

While Prowl slowly and carefully unhooked his now-organic body from a large robotic machine, Jazz couldn’t help but want to really, really poke his partner.

So he did.

Carefully, and with less pressure than was used on the branch used to open up the release hatch of Prowl’s mecha.

Jazz expected a response, only to realize that Prowl had knocked himself unconscious upon disconnecting from the neural link. Thankfully, Jazz didn’t have to wait long for the man to stir. The moment Prowl’s head tipped back to stare up at Jazz, the now-Cybertronian lightly poked a digit to the tiny chevron on the helmet. “If you’re disengaged from the mecha, you can take that off.”

“It is rather stifling.” Prowl agreed as he reached up to fumble with the helmet, finally able to wrest it off.

Jazz immediately cooed; he couldn’t help himself. Not only was Prowl now a diminutive size, but the short white hair with short bangs (and a streak of red in the bangs to echo his Cybertronian chevron) was adorable with how it had been mussed up from the helmet.

And his eyes.

Prowl, as a human, had amazing icy blue eyes.

Jazz smirked over the way Prowl’s face scrunched up, a frown across his lips while eyes squinted a bit.

It was in the moment of Prowl struggling to sit up while staring up at Jazz that the visored mech suddenly made sense of Prowl’s initial reaction upon learning that Jazz was human.

A very small organic being; not a large being made of living metal.

A sense of dread.

A surge of admiration.

The urge to protect.

Suddenly, Prowl’s frustration with Jazz’s illogical, sometimes dangerous choices during combat made a whole lot of sense.

Jazz released a breath (a…vent?) but managed to offer a smile to Prowl, whose frown only deepened.

Yeah.

The two of them were both going to have to figure out what to do about this unexpected situation. While Jazz was going to have a blast discovering what he could do, he just knew that Prowl was not going to enjoy this one bit. Being human would be a much bigger transition for Prowl than it was for Jazz to become Cybertronian.

“You doin’ all right there, Prowler?” Jazz questioned, remembering to pitch his voice quieter, as Prowl did when he woke human Jazz up. “Hearin’ okay?”

“I am not sure how to answer the first question.” Prowl’s voice sounded much the same, if a little softer, and rough at the edges. There were even less inflections in tone than Prowl had as a mech. “I am able to hear you just fine.” Light blue eyes sought out Jazz’s visor. “My vision appears to be poor at present.”

Huh.

”Anythin’ in the cockpit there with you?” Jazz asked. He didn’t think that Prowl needed glasses, since he didn’t appear to have anything like that as a Cybertronian.

“I do not see anything nearby.” Prowl said as he carefully observed his surroundings. Satisfied, he turned back to Jazz. “What happened to us?”

“Yer guess as good as mine.” Jazz offered with a shrug, figuring that Prowl meant their swapped species, and not the whole ‘falling unconscious after disconnecting from the mecha’.

“I find it difficult to wrap my processor around this.” One of Prowl’s hands reached up to rest against the side of his head, pausing at the sensation of hair, no doubt. “I do not… appear to be able to run my tac net as efficiently as before.” Prowl dropped his hand to squint at Jazz, as if in accusation, or perhaps appalled on Jazz’s behalf. “How were you able to function like this?”

“Less thinking, more action.” Jazz could think of nothing else to respond with, and tossed an unrepentant grin in to hide his discomfort at not exactly ‘functioning’ well when linked up with Bebop. Then, Prowl’s other words sank in. “Wait. You can still access your battle computer?”

“Of course I am able to.” Prowl said curtly, as if offended that Jazz would think otherwise.

“Really? It’s in that little organic noggin ya got now?” Jazz was unable to help but smile cheekily when Prowl fixed him with a no-nonsense glare. It took everything within Jazz to not crowd Prowl, but oh, that adorable human face with its itty-bitty scrunched up nose and squinting eyes made the glaring less intimidating. 

Prowl’s expression had become withering, icy blue eyes boring into his partner’s visor with a scowl.

Okay, maybe he deserved that, but Jazz wasn’t going to let a scowl get to him.

Prowl was human, but apparently still had a whole ass computer that ran simulations in his head.

“If you are able to give me some information about our current location, I can run some preliminary data.” Prowl commented dryly, as if picking up on Jazz’s thoughts and taking umbrage with them.

“You sure that’s safe? The neural link already gives the old brain a run around.” Jazz said in response.

“I will find my limits in this current situation.” Prowl said in his way of agreement. “Do you have any idea where we are? Other than your home planet, based off the way I am breathing the atmosphere without trouble.”

“I don’t want to make yer head pop from overheating it with wherever that tac net is stored.” Jazz said, though he was already attempting to map out the area they’d landed in with a nifty search of his own mind.

Cool.

Prowl didn’t say just how amazing a cybertronian’s mind was, even if Jazz had witnessed it for many years while living with an actual alien species. 

-

Prowl couldn’t linger on what he currently was now, or he was going to have a breakdown, and that just wouldn’t do in this situation.

At least Jazz appeared to be acclimating to a cybertornian body.

Prowl…would have to adapt, so he chose to focus on what he was familiar with, and what he was familiar with was his tac net, and he would defend it despite it no doubt losing much now that he was human.

“I am currently organic. I will not experience any melting that would come from overheating like my Cybertronian form would have without medical intervention.” Prowl said simply, finally seated upright in a way that seemed to be comfortable for him. “I will be sure to pace myself until I am certain of my limits in this body.”

Jazz stared at Prowl when he ran a hand through his short white hair, smile quirking up again at the sight. Why was it so interesting to see him check on the hair now growing out of his head? Prowl had shown his interest in Jazz’s, and this hair was a different texture.

Anyway…he was getting off track, though it felt like his calculations were out of his reach.

(don’t think about that)

“Jazz, if you would tell me-“ Prowl cut himself off when Jazz suddenly hunkered down very close to the mecha’s chest, servo very carefully cupping around the human. Prowl released a patient breath and brace himself for what was to come and-

“-Prowler, you’re so cute and tiny now.” Jazz couldn’t help but coo again when Prowl leveled a glare on him.

“I think it would be imperative if we discuss where it is we are, and what we are to do going forward.” Prowl turned his head to eye Jazz’s gleeful expression. “I will also ask that you make a guide for me, so that I may have a better understanding of how to use this mecha. We should consider the idea of enemies following us through that portal, and should not linger in this place for much longer. We need to travel as soon as possible, without delay. It won’t do to-“

The servo carefully closed around Prowl.

“Jazz, must you?!” Prowl exclaimed in exasperation, though he did not protest further as he was gently lifted out of the mecha in Jazz’s servo. Prowl did let out a disgruntled noise when he was held up to one of Jazz’s silicone-like cheeks, near a vent and just below the blue visor. “Jazz, please take this more seriously. We are both an entirely different species than we were after going through that portal and have no idea how that…Jazz!”

“You’re so tiny!” Jazz acted like he hadn’t heard the very reasonable scenario Prowl had just laid out. “I just want to hold you like this. You’re…like a tiny little heater on my face. Is that what it felt like for you?”

“Yes, I imagine so. I found your human form to be quite cute and had to resist many times over to not hold you held in my servo constantly, or kept on my collar faring near by neck to keep an eye on you, and keep you close.” Prowl released yet another sigh, even as he leaned into the touch. But just for a moment. Prowl then reached up to lightly swat Jazz’s nose, not in ire but in amused exasperation. “But not like this.”

“Aww, Prowler, you did want to cuddle with me. You shoulda done this with me.” Jazz grinned cheekily while carefully turning his head just enough to begin to pepper Prowl with kisses, snickering as he did so, but never hard enough to knock the human over.

Prowl issued out what might have been a huff of a laugh. One of surprise, really, as he’d not been subjected to such affection apart from Jazz’s mecha’s very intense nuzzles.

This reaction caused Jazz to wriggle in place, his armor fluffing up over protoform in sheet happiness over being able to bring out a laugh in the normally stoic Prowl.

“This smothering of affection is not going to inform me how to pilot the mecha I am expected to use while a human.” Prowl said, continuing to show extreme patience toward Jazz’s sudden cute aggression.

“I know it doesn’t, but it’s just…you’re so cute and tiny!” Jazz said as he practically danced in place, careful of his hold on his partner.

“So you have said.” Prowl agreed dryly.

“I’ma kiss ya again.” 

“You are going to make use of having derma in order to do this.” Prowl stated, not entirely understanding the need for all the kisses other than Jazz imparting visible affection. “Like you just did before.”

“That’s what we humans use for kissin’ too, Prowler. Just a different name for ‘em. Always wanted to kiss ya. And bein’ human was nice and all, but I was way too small to leave much of an impact with ‘em. So ya should’ve kissed me like this.” Jazz demonstrated with a careful press of his derma to Prowl, snickering when it got the human’s entire face and upper shoulders.

“You are incorrigible.” Prowl said with obvious fondness in his tone, before it dipped back into what Jazz would call his ‘normal Prowl inflections’. “Hold still.”

“‘kay.” Jazz agreed simply.

With careful motions, Prowl brought his hands up to rest alongside Jazz’s derma while Jazz held him within his cupped servo. Once assured of his balance, Prowl leaned and pressed his lips to the corner of Jazz’s derma.

The Cybertronian polyhexan) Jazz would later find out) practically jittered out of his armor on the spot. Not doubt his EM field was flaring out and going wild to broadcast his sheer elation, despite Prowl being unable to sense or reciprocate it.

“You are ridiculous.” Prowl said, shaking his head as Jazz carefully deposited him back onto the seat of the mecha. Prowl watched Jazz sprint around the forested area in a show of further excitement, playfully flaring out armor as he expelled excess heat. Likely due to Prowl reciprocating a kiss, even as a human. The now-Cybertronian was practically bursting with happiness when he came back to sit down alongside the inert mecha. Prowl indulged Jazz again by allowing him to lean over and nuzzle his cheek (and helm) to his body. Prowl returned the gesture in return, mainly by leaning into Jazz, unable to hide the faint twitch of a smile. “A guide or manual for this mecha I am to make use of, Jazz, if you will?”

“Yeah, I gotchu boo. Gimme a sec to figure out how to slap the info together into a data packet and find out how to send it over to ya.”

Prowl pretended not to notice the way that Jazz had practically splayed himself alongside the open cockpit in order to be closer to him. Jazz sank into the data, but he obviously didn't miss the way one of Prowl’s hands rested over his nearest servo.

“We’ll figure this out.” Jazz eventually murmured, more than likely distracted by his search within his processor. Time would allow him to multitask with ease, once more familiar with how it worked.

And speaking of that…

“Jazz, do be careful with your strength.” Prowl said when he noticed Jazz almost denting the arm of the mecha with the servo not under Prowl’s hand. “I do not believe I have to remind you that I am currently not study as a human.”

”Got it.” Jazz agreed distractedly. “Are the specs for data transfer the same as when we were our usual species?”

”As far as I am aware, yes, but it would be best to check the parameters once I…reinstate the neural link.” Prowl squinted at Jazz until the polyhexan’s visor angled down to look at him. “…I will have to do something about my vision, if it is like this once I am…connected again to the mecha.”

“I do like seein’ yer face scrunched up like that Prowler, but it does seem like ya probably need some glasses.”

”I do not need shards of glass over my eyes.” Prowl said.

”Not like that.” Jazz replied with a grin, like Priwl had just told him a funny joke. “Glasses are kinda like the visor I’m wearin’ now, but for a human.” 

Prowl closed his eyes for a moment. He did not believe he was ever going to understand human jokes and humor, but he did at least understand that a visor could enhance a cybertronian’s vision, so that, at least, made sense.