Chapter Text
Eight gentle chimes signaled that the day was about to start at the Lost Light Orphanage (‘Where We Guide Sparks Out of the Darkness’). Little helms perked up from their breakfasts, while a good few still snored on their energon jellies. There was no need to rush, the teachers always patiently waited for the kindlings to finish their morning fuel.
Corridors started filling up with the sound of small pedes and idle chatter. Friends in different classes would greet each other too little loudly for the less enthusiastic bitlets. A teacher would say shush, but would never raise their voice. In here, nobody gets yelled at. In here, everybody is as loved as they could be.
In the Lost Light orphanage, the day started like the usual solar cycles, except today, Mister Drift had come in with two new bitlets hanging onto his servo. One of them had a miniature electric bass slung over their frame. A grin took up almost all of the bitlet’s visored face.
Prowl had never seen a happy orphan before.
Morning sunlight streaming through the wide glass window, noisy bitties with full tanks, a clean and organized classroom—a positive aura. Drift’s EM field bathed the room in a more pleasant atmosphere as he smiled down at his cute students, meeting fifteen sets of optics darting between him and the newcomers.
“Everyone, today we’re having new friends join us. This is Jazz and Ricochet, they are split-spark brothers. Please be nice to them, okay? Why don’t we say ‘hello’ to welcome them?”
“Hello, Jazz and—!” the whole classroom chorused, until it was time for the other twin’s name.
“—Richey!”
“Risho..sho!”
“Rishishey!”
Tinny laughter erupted in the room. Jazz in the lead. Everyone was rolling around in mirth save for Prowl who kept glaring at the musical instrument. Why did his Sire allow it inside the classroom when he was very strict with what they could play with? His dermas thinned into a straight line. Hmm, is Sire a rule breaker now? Prowl’s not impressed.
Drift finally took pity on the little struggling glossas. Chuckling, he turned to Ricochet, “Is it okay if we call you by your nickname? Do you have one?”
White helm nodded. “I’m Rico.”
“Rico.” Drift nodded back with an encouraging smile. “You can call him ‘Rico’, class, but everyday we’re going to practice saying Ricochet’s full name, okay?”
“Yes, Meester Drift!”
A blue arm shot up in the air. Drift gestured at the bitlet.
“Skids?”
He pointed at the strange instrument. “What body part is that, Jazz?”
“Oh!” Jazz’s visor gleamed happily. “Not my body!” He said with a giggle, and Prowl’s chevron reacted to the sound. Strange. “This is my Agha... gaharta...gagar, uhm, this is my guitah! I can play music, if ya like?”
Hmph. It was an Aghartan electro-bass. Even Prowl could say it right and he didn’t like music that much. His optics flew to the wall clock. They should’ve began the lesson ten kliks ago. It was his turn to raise his servo.
“Yes, my sweetspa— I mean, yes, Prowl?” The same, exact scowl as Ratchet’s painted his bittie’s face. He was truly his Carrier’s son. But he was just as Drift’s, because he already knew that his little one was going to say something a bit unpleasant. Drift braced himself, his processor already running possible explanations.
Serious gaze fell on Jazz. “No playing. Class time now.”
Prowl being their teacher’s creation was the only thing that stopped the other kindlings from groaning at him. Why must he always be a party pooper? He never joined them in the playground, doesn’t play with toys and preferred reading a datapad none of them could understand! And when asked what was his favorite color? Black and white, he said. Ugh, boooriiiing!
Jazz who was rarin’ to go, little aft shaking and all that, drooped at the harsh reaction he got. Did they not want to hear his music? The big smile melted away from his face. Ricochet moved to hug his twin. Sadness pulsed in their bond, and he glared back at the smallest mech sitting at the very back of the class. Ricochet hated him already.
“Oh, you’re absolutely right.” Drift pretended to jump at the clock for Prowl’s sake. He wasn’t wrong, but it would be taken as so by the bitties. “Good job on reminding us the time, Prowl, thank you! Today, we’re going to start our lesson by allowing Jazz and Rico to play us a little song.”
Phew. There, crisis averted. Prowl ‘s efforts were recognized, at the same time he let Jazz and Ricochet introduce themselves in a way they’re most comfortable with. Everybody wins. Drift’s spark warmth at its casing as the all-dentae grin returned to Jazz’s round, plump face.
“Then I play, and Rico will sing!” He announced, but the moment he switched the bass on, they couldn’t hear Ricochet at all from how loud Jazz was going. His singing was even less coherent than a bawling newspark. Prowl couldn’t help but flinch at the assault on his audials. His tiny processor was correct in its assumptions. The instrument was merely a toy. It played a pre-recorded, cheap-sounding tune, but Jazz was going at it as if he was performing for the whole of Cybertron.
Soon, his classmates followed, and then worse, his Sire started dancing too!
Drift maneuvered his way around bouncing pedes, bobbing afts, and pudgy arms swaying madly to reach his own creation. He knew Prowl wasn’t a social bittie, but it broke his spark to see his son the only one not having fun.
“Want me to hold you, sweetspark?” He knelt before Prowl’s table. In the end, Prowl was just a baby who couldn’t refuse an uppie from his Sire, so he nodded. Drift picked him up, swaying them together to the joyful beat from the world’s greatest musicians. Atleast at that moment.
Prowl hid his face in his Sire’s chassis, but not before Drift was able to land a kiss on the little chevron. So much like his conjunx! From his mannerisms to his features, Prowl was a mini Ratchet through and through. Drift pulsed love-happiness-comfort in their creator-creation bond. The little mech was a lonewolf, and unlike his classmates, still has parents who he meant the entire world to, but he didn’t want to make him feel that he was alone, or that his Sire preferred to listen to Jazz and Ricochet that’s why he ignored Prowl’s little effort from earlier.
Every little bitlet was important too. From the day they were given to the orphanage until the time a family could adopt them, all the Lost Light staff are their parents and guardians who would work every fibre of their being, down to their last nanites, just to make sure that everyone was happy, loved and cared for.
The moment Drift saw Jazz, he knew that music played a vital part in the bitlet’s well being. That was why he let Jazz cling to his toy bass. It was his comfort object. He very much knew how it felt like, as he was the same all those years ago.
If delaying lessons meant making the twins feel welcome by letting them do what they love, then so be it.
Speaking of, the duo had finally ended their duet in a thunder of claps and cheers. Jazz and Rico held servos, each bowing to opposite directions, until they met in the middle and accidentally bumped helms. Laughter joined the encore. Drift had put another kiss on Prowl’s cheek before he set him back on his seat and rushed forward to check on the twins’ helms.
“Thank you for that wonderful performance, Jazz and Ricochet! You two were awesome! Did you all have fun?” Drift asked the room, to which he was given back a very enthusiastic ‘YEEEES!’ Good. They should be perky and alert enough for Brainstorm’s math class next. Since their time was greatly cut short, Drift declared the next fifteen kliks as a free period and allowed the kids to do whatever they wanted as long as they’re behaved.
Most ran to the toy boxes, others flipped on picture datapads. Jazz and Ricochet went to sit at the only empty table, much to the latter’s annoyance. Well, Ricochet wasn’t the only one irked.
“Hi!” And the next thing Prowl knew, a visored face was leaning too close to his own. “Woah, pretty optics! They’re so...so blue!”
So was Jazz’s visor. Prowl’s surprise was the only thing that kept him from blurting out that it reminded him of a night sky with how dark and blue it was and how small pixels shined like the stars twinkling down at him whenever he and Sire stargazed.
Heat spread across Prowl’s cheeks. Nobody tell him, but his face was also as red as his Carrier’s helm as he pushed Jazz away with a high-pitched whine.
Somebody called him pretty...
“I’m Jazz, whatsyar name?” The little musician wasn’t deterred by cold reception this time. “Why are ya sittin’ alone? Don’t cha have friends?”
“He’s very mean, cant you see?” Ricochet butted in. “I dun wanna sit with him!”
“Aww, but there’s no more seats!”
Just then, a thin orange bit from the neighboring table overheard and approached them. His own yellow visor-optics shimmered brightly in excitement. “I—I’ll change seats with you, if you like?” Small pointer digits twirled around hopefully, but Jazz shut him down with a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“Nah. It’s okay, mech!” Jazz grinned at the newcomer. Wow, a potential new friend! “Whatsyar name and can Rico and me become friends with ya?”
White, pointed helm nodded shyly. “C-Chromedome, and y-yeah we can be f-friends.” But he wasn’t looking at Jazz at all when he said that. Prowl carried on with his coloring tablet, totally unaware of the longing stare aimed at him.
“Cool! Nice to meet ya, Chromey!” And that was that. With one last look at Prowl, Chromedome walked back to his table with his helm drooping down in disappointment.
Encouraged by how easy it was to make new friends, Jazz turned back to the smallest mech in their table. Ricochet said he was bad but maybe the black and white (just like him!) bittie was just shy around people? Okay, he was rude earlier. Nobody had rejected Jazz’s offer to play before! Surely now that he had heard how awesome he was...?
“Ah, Prowl!” Jazz shouted in triumph, like he had uncovered a treasure. He pointed at the messy ‘signature’ on top of the page Prowl was coloring on. “So ya name’s Powarl?” His tiny glossa stumbled in excitement. “Pow..Pow..Pro..Prowl.” he practiced.
“Heh!” Ricochet scoffed. “His name too means ‘quiet’, maybe that’s why he wun speak?” Jazz laughed out loud, it was a funny joke. A joke Prowl didn’t find amusing at all. How dare this newbie make fun of the designation given to him by his creators?
Carrier Ratchet said that he was named such because he moved so quietly that they only noticed his existence when he already came down from Carrier’s spark and started forming in his tummy. They said that he came to them as a surprise. ‘Prowl’ is a special name, and not because he’s so quiet he didn’t want to talk! Well, maybe if those bitties are Jazz and stupid, stupid Ricochet, then he won’t at all!
“Shut up.” he mumbled to himself. Neither Jazz nor Ricochet heard him, and the twins proceeded to ignore him until it was time for Mister Brainstorm’s subject.
Prowl loved mathematics, loved crunching numbers in his wee processor. It was all so easy! He didn’t get why his classmates fall sleepy or stopped paying attention in the first ten kliks. And no offense to his Sire, but Mister Brainstorm was his favorite teacher, and he would sometimes become sad when nobody could answer his questions so Prowl would speak up everytime to make him happy. Then he would be rewarded with lots of Very Good stars stamped on his pudgy fist, which he would proudly show off to his creators.
Today, however, Prowl could barely focus. No thanks to his new deskmates.
Jazz and Ricochet kept whispering and giggling at each other non stop even if Mister Brainstorm was discussing in front. So disrespectful! Prowl’s dislike of the twins grew stronger and stronger by the nano-klik. They annoyed him, made fun of him, and now they’re disrupting him from enjoying his favorite subject?
“S’cuse me, Meester Brainstom!” Prowl raised a servo. “Jazz and Ricoshey are very noisy and not listening!”
“Snitch!” Ricochet hissed through a harsh ex-vent, while Jazz’s aft went frigid on his seat. Does Prowl ever just talk when he’s telling on someone? What a suck up, kiss-aft, irritating brat! Lucky for them, Mister Brainstorm did not scold them. In a hushed, gentle tone, he only asked if they were feeling okay, and that they’re allowed to talk to each other but make sure to keep their voices down.
The ‘punishment’ was too lenient for Prowl’s liking but he puffed up his chassis, and held his helm high smugly when Ricochet glared at him.
Jazz hated badmouthing other people. He hated it more when Ricochet was upset. Anger bubbled in his tank. Ricochet was right. Shame, he thought Prowl was really cute, but he turned out to be a meanie after all!
“Why are ya so grumpy?”
Prowl was already in a bad mood. He wasn’t able to hold back his rebut, “Why are you so noisy if your singing and stupid guitar sound annoying?”
Ricochet’s seething look was expected, what was not was Jazz going completely silent, mouth agape in shock.
Then the whimpering came, his pliant chin quivered as his normally happy face contorted into hurt. Coolants started dripping down his plump cheeks and louder than he had ever been, Jazz dragged out an audial-shattering, sparkbreaking wail.
Brainstorm hasn’t even reached the holoboard yet.
“Dear me, what’s going on now?” He rushed back to their table. Poor little Jazz’s intake was wide open for all of Cybertron to see. Whispers floated around the room, most saying It’s Prowl, I heard Prowl—the bittie in question sat hunched in on himself, optics not quite meeting his favorite teacher’s. “Jazz, look at me.” Brainstorm swiped the tears away with his thumbs.
“It’s Prowl, Sir!” Ricochet confirmed the whispers, one stubby digit pointing at the cowering little mech. “He...he said that Jazz’s guitah and singing was stoopid!”
“Prowl, is that true?” Brainstorm brushed his student’s cheek with his other servo’s digits. Classroom fights are not uncommon. He had handled his fair share of arguing bitlets. First thing he had to do was push out reassurance in his field, that he wasn’t angry at anyone, they could talk to him openly. Very slowly, Prowl nodded. Brainstorm didn’t need to read his field to know that he was regretting what he said. This matter would have to be escalated to the higher-ups. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to the Counselors and talk about this nicely. Jazz, Prowl, you’re both excused for my subject. Ricochet, do you want to come?”
Ricochet clung to his brother in an instant.
Brainstorm instructed the rest to behave, to which they obediently did, servos clasped together on desks and all, Primus bless them. Prowl’s grip on him tightened the nearer they got to the office. His field brushed comfort against the small mech. He knew why was he anxious. The Counselor’s Office doubled as the compound’s clinic. Prowl’s Carrier Ratchet, who was the head medic, and a psychiatrist named Rung also acted as the Guidance Counselors. Prowl had never been summoned before. He’s probably thinking that he would disappoint his parents.
Indeed, Ratchet perked up at the sight of his own creation tagging along with a crying bittie and his very angry twin. They spelled ‘trouble ‘at first glance, but he was able to pull back his surprise before it could upset any of the children, especially his son.
“Doc, we have a situation.” Brainstorm greeted. Ratchet didn’t get to ask what happened, Ricochet launched into a furious, impassioned rant, determined to sentence Prowl into the worst punishment ever. Nobody makes Jazz cry! Uhm, ah, except him! Sometimes...
“Alright, first off,” Ratchet ex-vented. He didn’t know who to attend to first. His carrier protocols screamed at him to check in on Prowl first, but it was the still bawling Jazz who needed the immediate attention. Coolants started pooling in the corner of Prowl’s optics. His mini chevron jolted. The tip of his olfactory ridge began to grow red from the impending crying. Pits, Ratchet’s spark felt like being yanked out of him. “Nobody was right, but also, nobody was wrong. Do you know why?”
Three helm shakes answered him.
“You all hurt each other. And I’m sure you didn’t mean to.” Ratchet wiped his bittie’s tears away, he did the same to Jazz. “Prowl was not wrong for telling the time, and Jazz wasn’t also wrong for wanting to play! But was calling each other mean names right? Was telling them that their talent is ugly correct?”
“No.” Prowl and Jazz said weakly. Only then did they remember their respective creators’ teachings. Jazz’s Sire and Carrier always reminded them to be kind and pure sparked, because kind bots are the strongest and happiest.
Jazz’s whimpering picked up the moment he remembered them. He truly missed them so much. Why did they have to leave him and Rico? His sorrow pulsed through their twin bond. Ricochet started sniffling as well. Jazz is the only one he had left, and him and his guitar were the only ones Jazz had too, why are they hurting him?
Ratchet, and even Prowl jumped when two identical wails filled the room. The medic picked up the trio and made his way to the reading corner. It was a raised platform bordered by low datapad shelves. Flat pillow seats and plushies were scattered all over to provide comfort. Ratchet fetched a petro-rabbit one, playfully rubbing it all over the three tear-soaked faces. Giggles reluctantly joined the sniffles.
A few bitlets crawling around the area spared them a glance but quickly went back to their business, others shoved their faces under a pillow to ‘hide’. These special sparks aren’t eligible to attend school yet, as Rung’s still working on some of their issues and traumas before they could let them run around in public.
Ratchet sent out a wave of friendliness. He got a spark-warming familiarity in return.
“Okay, Jazz and Ricochet. Do you mind telling me why you cried together?” Ratchet set the little mechs on his lap. Prowl leaned in to bask in his Carrier’s familiar warmth.
“O-Our creators—” Jazz began.
“—we m-miss them.” Ricochet completely broke into a spark-wrenching cry that had Ratchet quickly doubling the comfort in his field. An orphan longing for their dead creators wasn’t new, but each time it happened felt like inching a knife deeper in his chassis. Not long ago, Jazz and Ricochet were the ones sitting on this platform with Rung, and then they left therapy with dazzling all-dentae smiles on their faces. Relapses are normal, the staff are prepared for those. Doesn’t mean they weren’t hurting too.
Jazz sniffled, then pressed on. “M-My Sire...gave me mah guitar. Carrier...taught us singing.”
“I see.” Ratchet smiled. “My conjunx...you met Prowl’s Sire, Mister Drift, right? Your homeroom teacher?” Two sets of optics widen. Oops, they didn’t know that. Would they be in trouble for calling Prowl bad words? “He showed me your performance from earlier and I think your creators had taught you well!”
But there was no scary look in Doctor Ratchet’s face, only a cozy field, and amazement twinkling in his eyes—huh, it was the very same blue as Prowl’s.
A few more exaggerated (but no less than true) compliments later, Jazz and Ricochet were ready to get back to class. Prowl was no longer in the mood since he missed his favorite subject. Next up would be arts with Mister Wheeljack but he did enough coloring today to last him an orbital cycle. Carrier allowed him to skip his last class. He was sent back to their hab with his Sire who promised him marathons of (educational) holovid cartoons and a bowl of Pumice Puffs to go with it.
Drift, by no means, intended to reward his son’s misbehavior. This was merely a way for his bittie to de-stress before they would have that more serious spark-to-spark talk as a family after Ratchet clocked out.
Atleast Prowl had stopped sobbing. Primus, now that one was emotionally stressful. No creator ever wanted to see their creation in tears. When he was a newspark, Prowl was the one who made them cry from denying them their recharge because he loved to stay up all night.
Five joors later, Ratchet walked in. His EM field deployed nothing else but the same love-joy-warmth he always emitted whenever he’s home to his family. He was worried about Prowl, of course, but the doctor firmly kept it out of range, and he had no doubts that his conjunx was reeling his in too.
“I’m back!” he announced...to an empty room. Where are they? Out in the playground, perhaps? He frowned. There was a half-finished bowl of snacks on the center table. The holo projector was still hot from the overuse. Ratchet was about to turn back out when two frames suddenly leaped from behind the couch—huh, how did Drift manage to hide his fat aft in there, then he was tackled on the floor. He bowled over, and not for long, had his cheeks being smothered in kisses by the two most important mech in his life.
“Welcome back!” Prowl and Drift squeezed in amidst the storm of smooches. Between the mhmm-mhmms and the mwah-mwahs, Ratchet let out a loud coo as he was suddenly overwhelmed with love. He each wrapped an arm around his bittie and conjunx and pulled them impossibly closer in an embrace.
“Ep, ep, ep! Have mercy on my joints.” Ratchet grumbled affectionately. Pits, being around a pair of stealthy mechs wasn’t good for his spark. His dermas found Prowl’s helm next. “Sweetspark, why don’t you go in the kitchen and pick ingredients for dinner?”
“I—I pick?” His intakes lubricated from the thought of his favorite crystals already.
“Yep. Go on, darling.” Drift encouraged. Prowl didn’t need more convincing. He took off in a blur to start on meal prep.
The nano-klik he was gone, Drift and Ratchet were all over each other., kissing like they’ve been cruelly forced apart for more than a vorn. Passion and hunger empowered their already love-laced fields, sending white-hot charge all over their frames. The kiss continued even after Drift’s finials started quivering in delight.
Something clattered in the kitchen.
Whoops, should they be really doing this in the presence of an innocent? Prowl had walked in on them getting hot and heavy lots of times before, and it’s probably better not to risk traumatizing their bittie further.
“We’re gonna talk to him?” Drift nuzzled the tips of their noses together.
“Uh-huh.” Ratchet couldn’t resist one more peck on his conjunx’s lips. “We’ll do, but after dinner. I don’t want to upset him on an empty tank.”
It was when Drift had finished cleaning up their cubes and Prowl was getting lost in some math problems did Ratchet decide to broach the subject. They still have a joor and twenty kliks to spare before Prowl’s bath and berthtime. Hopefully, they could talk about the issue without problems. Ratchet didn’t want to make his bittie cry, but he knew he shouldn’t hold back either.
“Little Star, look at me.” Ratchet caught Prowl by the chin, and he was gifted with a scowling face. Either from the problem he was trying to solve, or he was pissed at being disturbed. It was adorable either way. He almost wanted to let him walk off scot-free. Almost. “Remember Jazz and Ricochet from this morning?”
Prowl’s aura had instantly darkened into a pitch black void of anger. Drift was exaggerating, of course. But there was no other way he could describe the truly terrifying tiny growls and the way his huge optics narrowed into slits like he had sworn vengeance.
Hngh, so fraggin’ cute! Drift wanted to roll around on the floor. He contented himself with settling Prowl on his lap. Absolutely not to smother him in love and protection and shield him against his Carrier’s probing optics, definitely not. For Primus’s sake, he and Ratchet agreed to talk about this!
“Noisy bitties. Bad and annoying.” Prowl spat bitterly. Because of them, he had missed today’s lessons, especially Mister Brainstorm’s! Totally unforgivable!
Ratchet shook his helm. “Ah, ah. What did I say earlier about saying mean things to others?”
Okay, maybe they’re not totally unforgivable—Carrier ‘s lips stretched flat, just like Prowl himself when someone’s not taking him seriously. Perhaps he could forgive Jazz and Ricochet if it meant making his Carrier smile again?
Prowl looked up to Drift Sire for help.
“If somebody’s annoying you, starlight,” Drift pressed a kiss on top of his son’s helm. “you tell them nicely first. Maybe they’re not realizing what they’re doing.”
“But...but—” Prowl sat upright in defense. “—I’ m angry! Because they talk and talk and talk while Meester Brainstorm’s teaching! I can’t listen at all!” Prowl emphasized his point by scrunching his face tight and pressing his servos on his audials.
“That was very, very wrong of them.” Ratchet agreed, his servos cupping the puffed up cheeks to smooth out his bittie’s expression. Pits, he sulks so much like Drift. Flattered as he was to comments saying he and Prowl looked very alike, he really didn’t want his child to develop permanent frown lines while his plating are still pliant. “I already spoke to them about it, don’t worry. They won’t be noisy during class anymore.”
What the Lost Light does was already explained and taught to Prowl from early on. He knew that his classmates lived with them in a big compound, because they didn’t have creators or guardians to look after them anymore. He knew that he would have to share his Carrier and Sire with the rest of the bitties who needed their help, and that includes taking some said bitties home with them if they’re too scared to sleep in the dormitory, or getting disturbed in the middle of the night because some poor tyke who had lost their way came knocking on their door.
Sometimes, the stress and burn out from dealing with younglings would reach an all time high, Ratchet or Drift would lock themselves up somewhere in their hab for long joors to calm down, lest they accidentally take their frustrations out on Prowl.
They hated dragging their creation in the ugly sides of running an orphanage. It wasn’t Prowl’s fault that he was conceived and emerged inside the compound. Expecting him to understand the reasons behind a bittie’s misbehavior would be too much to ask, no matter how powerful his processor is growing day by day.
So no, they’re not going to burden their son with others’ emotional stress. They’re not going to try and make him understand that Jazz and Ricochet couldn’t stop talking to each other because that’s how they assure themselves that they’re still in the present together, that their nonstop chatter, along with Jazz’s love for music, were the only normalcy that remained after losing their parents in a shuttle accident.
For now, the only things they could tell Prowl is to be kind, and if he hasn’t got anything good to say, then don’t say it at all.
“C-Carrier, Sire...” Prowl’s helm swayed to and fro his creators. “I—I wanna say ‘sorry’ to Jazz tomorrow!” He stood up in determination, chubby fists clenched in resolve. Because apologizing first will make him the better and bigger mech than those two!
Err, figuratively. He’s still the smallest in the entire school.
Drift’s entire face lit up as if the light of Primus bore down upon him on the spot. Pride burst forth from his field. He could practically hear the souls of long dead Primes singing at him. That’s my boy! Oh, Ratty we raised him right! “Then why not today? There’s still plenty of time before lights out, we could visit him in his room, if you like?”
“We don’t want to let him sleep on his bad feelings, right?” Ratchet seconded. It was a simple rule in their hab, never ever let someone go to recharge while they’re upset. Problems? Fix it before the solar cycle ends.
“I’ve got an idea!” Drift snapped his digits. “Today in Mister Wheeljack’s class, they made cards to be given to someone important to them. Maybe you could make Jazz one, and don’t forget to include Ricochet too!”
Prowl nodded. Art wasn’t his forte, but giving a card was better than telling Jazz what he wanted to say out loud. “Help me.”
So while Ratchet prepared Prowl’s bath, Drift helped his bittie with his special homework. He grabbed an empty datapad with a painting program installed in, and let his son color and draw his spark away while providing verbal assistance on what certain tools could do.
A drawing of a galaxy took up an entire page. Prowl and Jazz were depicted holding hands and floating in space through scrawls of sticks and boxes. Even Jazz’s Aghartan bass was included! Something gold and white and small hovered far away, which was supposed to be Ricochet? Oh, Primus. Prowl’s having a favoritism already. When the front piece was done, Prowl swiped on a new blank page to start writing.
Drift couldn’t help a sneaky glance. Unfortunately for him, Prowl had inherited his coding for sharp sensory. He only caught the words ‘beautiful’, ‘stars’ and ‘visor’ before Prowl’s chevron had sensed his prying optics. It twitched once.
“D-DON’T! DON’T LOOK!’ he cried out in panic, his whole face turning hot and ruby red.
Servos raised up to calm his toddler, Drift moved away with a grin he couldn’t shut down. “Okay, okay. I didn’t see anything. Sire is sorry!” Goodness, just what could be in there? What kind of poetry was Prowl spinning for Jazz?
After his bath, Drift and Ratchet accompanied Prowl to the dormitories where the little charges stayed. He was all nice and shiny and nervous, clutching the datapad to his chassis as they walked along the bright corridors.
“Good night cycle, Wheels.” Drift greeted a patrolling Wheeljack. Aside from being the art teacher, he’s also the designated guardian of the first floor residents.
“Just popping in for a quick visit.” Ratchet silently gestured to his jittery bitlet. From: Prowl To: Jazz peeked through the gap of his crossed arms where he hugged the datapad tightly.
Wheeljack always kept his mask on. An ill-timed surprise and atleast ten bitlets getting nightmares after had taught him a lesson. His smile, though, was visible from his flashing helm fins. “Ah, of course! I see Prowl had done his homework too! Well then, I give full marks to you, little one.”
“T-Thank you, Meester Wheeljack.”
Jazz and Ricochet were roomed with Chromedome and a green femme called Anode. All four of them were shrieking madly as they took turns on the slide attached to the staircase dividing the two sets of bunk berths.
Prowl’s berthroom was no different than theirs. Like his, they have a reading corner too, but unlike his, theirs was a mess of carelessly thrown pillows, scattered styluses, and open books all over the platform.
He has a double deck too, but his berth frame was designed as a police car (because he would like to be one when he grow up!) with a small ‘office’ cubicle built on top. It had a desk, a toy communicator, and a written list of crimes committed by his creators, like for example: Sire and Carrier kissing too much when they thought he was already asleep.
“Prowl!” It was Chromedome who noticed him first. He skated on his pede-wheels to reach him quickly but skidded into a sudden halt when he noticed his parents looming behind. “O-Oh, good night cycle, Misteer Drift and Docter Ratchet.”
Jazz, Ricochet and Anode stood upright with a salute. “G-Good night cycle!”
“At ease, my little warriors.” Drift chuckled. “Prowl here is on a visit before bedtime, is that alright?”
Prowl barely heard Chromedome’s very happy ‘YES!’. The moment he and Jazz met optics, Prowl immediately shied away from his stare. His arms tightened around the datapad. Kliks ago, he was very excited to give it to Jazz, but what if he didn’t like it because Jazz hated him?
But too late. Jazz had spotted a very familiar glyph on the card. “Hey! Is that my name?!” Excitement blazed through his field. Lots of it. The thing has his name! Just like the creation day and holiday gifts he received before! He had forgotten that he was supposed to be angry at Prowl, in favor of getting his servos on the datapad. Jazz made grabby hands towards him, but Prowl ran and cowered behind his Carrier.
“Prowl?” Ratchet urged as gently as he could. “Didn’t you make that card for Jazz and Ricochet?”
“F-For us?” Ricochet tilted his helm in question.
“Yes! Prowl worked hard for it, so make sure to read it well, okay?” Drift took his son by his shoulders, and very carefully, pushed him to step forward.
Prowl’s entire helm had metamorphosed into a tiny Hadeen at that point. There was a small, but high-pitched whirring as his cooling fans powered on. His face was drawn tight, save for his cheeks puffing up like a helio-hamster’s. “Hmph!” came a puny grunt as he looked away, and then shoved the datapad right in Jazz’s startled face.
“What do you say to them, Prowl?” Ratchet encouraged, his intakes forming I’m sorry to coach his still flustered bittie. Words failed Prowl, however. It was already written in the card, why should he repeat it? Just then, a conversation he had with his Sire popped out from his memory bank.
“Sire, why do you and Carrier kiss everyday?” Prowl’s nose scrunched up.
Drift laughed. Prowl wouldn’t understand it yet, so he went for the second truth. “Because sometimes, all you need is a kiss to tell someone what you wanted to say.”
Since Prowl had forgotten how vocabularies work, then he would use the next best thing to convey his feelings. He stepped closer to Jazz, grabbed him by his audials and much to everyone’s absolute shock, forced a very soundly smooch on his cheek.
“EEHHH?!” an audial-shattering scream from Chromedome snapped them out of their dazed states, Prowl included. Without another word, he stormed out of the room in panic.
“Prowl, wait, sweetspark—!” Drift ran after his blushing bitlet.
Meanwhile, Jazz was unresponsive for a few nano-kliks. And then he twitched, and then the twitch progressed into a vibration, his cries and whimpers spitting out bad static as well.
Kissed! He was kissed by the cutest bittie he had laid his optics on! His quivering legs gave away, luckily he was caught by a very amused Doctor Ratchet before his plumpy aft hit the floor. Chuckling, he set the poor, malfunctioning bittie on his bed for a quick check-up.
“What’s wrong with yah, Jazz?” Ricochet climbed up. Anode and Chromedome approached too. “What’s hapnin’ to him, Docter Ratchet?”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Just leave him be.” One of Ratchet’s optic flickered once at Ricochet as a wink. “When you have your first kiss, you will understand.” He couldn’t resist rubbing the bitlet’s helm in affection.
Later, when Ratchet left them with a recharge well, Ricochet picked up the forgotten datapad and began to read Prowl’s letter. Chromedome climbed on a top bunk to attempt reading it too. Poor little mech was just setting his spark to be broken.
“It’s unfair! He likes ya better, see?!” Ricochet pointed at the tiny him drawn by Prowl on the front cover. He could even be mistaken as a star if one’s not looking hard enough! And the letter—it’s all about Jazz! He was only mentioned once below when Prowl said he was sorry for getting mad at him too.
Jazz was still grinning, his cheeks’ protoform was starting to get hurt. “It’s okay, Rico. The candies are all yers!” Jazz ripped the taped pieces of candies off the datapad’s back cover. Sweet crystals! Ricochet’s mouth lubricated. They weren’t supposed to eat before berthtime but— “Share with Anode and Chromey, will ya? Night-night!” Jazz rolled over, Prowl’s gift securely wrapped in his arms, his imagination drifting off to space, just like him and a blue-optic’d, pretty bitlet.
Ratchet and Drift lingered by the dark doorway, watching their creation ease himself into dreamland.
“All of this is sending me on a trip down memory lane.” Ratchet swept his servo across mid-air as he pulled Drift closer in a side-hug. “I once had a classmate like Jazz, brought in his favorite toy and everything. But unlike our resident musician, this one was very shy when he came in that my spark couldn’t help but call out to him.”
Drift chuckled. “If I didn’t know who you were talking about, I would’ve been crazy jealous.”
Changing schools was mortifying, but no matter, his best friend Rodimus promised that he would show him around. After all, he’s going to attend in Iacon Elementary School too! How exciting! Drift enjoyed their playtime during summer vacations and he was so happy that they won’t have to be apart even if summer’s gone.
But being in the big city meant that Rodimus had big city friends too. He wasn’t even there when Drift waited by the academy’s entrance, and when he had spotted him in the playground, he was busy playing chase with a pink femmeling and a green mechling. It’s okay, they were in the same class anyway! Drift was sure that Rodimus would introduce him to his friends, and they would be one, big, happy group.
All throughout the assembly, Rodimus didn’t even glance his way. Had he forgotten that it was supposed to be Drift’s first day there?
When he had come in his new classroom, he was trembling from helm to pedes. He begged his homeroom teacher if he could please keep his toy sword with him at all times? So he could protect himself? His teacher sensed his anxiety and thankfully agreed, but it still didn’t save Drift from introducing himself in front of the class.
“Huh? Who allowed him to bring in a toy sword?” One bitling yelled, and Drift trembled. They were all so big and tall!
“Forget that, what’s wrong with his finials?!” Drift didn’t realize that his nervousness caused the aggressive flapping of his horns. It happened sometimes, he didn’t know why. All he knew was that he didn’t choose for that to happen, why are they laughing at him?
A tiny sob escaped his intakes. His chin quivered, and his bright blue optics shimmered from unshed tears. The teacher’s scolding didn’t stop the teasing and the laughter. Everyone was so cruel, Rodimus wasn’t talking to him and his servos were too soft to wield his Great Sword. How could he even fight them?
Just then, something clattered so loud, it shut everyone up. It was a mechling too, but he looked older, and was bigger and boxier than everyone in the classroom! He knocked his chair back when he stood up, his glaring optics scanned the whole room, and then spoke in a booming voice,
“Some Cybertronians are made with more sensory nodes in their finials. They are more sensitive to things common bots couldn’t feel at first, and their finials react more to their own feelings of nervousness, anxiety, and happiness. Finial movement is very normal. One in your families have the same kind of finials, for sure, so don’t shame others for having it! Additional sensory nodes could be planted in other parts of your frame. I know all this, because I have sensitive servos, and because I’m going to be a doctor when I grow up.”
Silence stretched after the mechling’s impassioned speech. A few shut up because they couldn’t understand a word he was saying, while the majority knew that nobody should piss off Ratchet the Hatchet. His optics could freeze a grown bot on their afts, and he threw toy wrenches at people’s helms with a scary level of precision.
Future doctor? Drift decided then he would love to be this mechling’s first ever patient.
This mechling who he still didn’t knew the designation of, smiled down at him. Later, he would be told that it was the first time they ever saw him do that.
“Would you like to be my deskmate, Drift?”
“Then we entered Higher Learning and you started dating that rusty-aft, spawn of Unicron called Pharma.” Drift complained as they settled in their own berthroom. “The worst, the darkest, and the most tragic cycles in my life.”
“Hence the ‘Deadlock’ phase.” Ratchet grumbled.
“Hence the ‘Deadlock’ phase.” Drift very much agreed to that. The phase pretty much consisted of dramatic war paints, bad poetry that embarrassed Megatron, and murmuring death threats at anyone he came across. “And because of the classic case of I don’t wanna ruin our friendship so I couldn’t tell you about my feelings. What bullslag, we already made out years before that glitch dared to approach you! Remember our first kiss? Under that table in Mister Shockwave’s lab? ”
Ratchet could admit, it was quite hilarious to listen to Drift’s rants about their stupidities in high school. Part of the fun on looking back was the fact that they ended up with each other anyway and had a child together as a proof of their millenniums’ worth of love.
“Careful on the profanities, dear. Primus wouldn’t be so proud.” He teased, voice echoing in the washracks.
Drift caught up to him, his arms wounding around Ratchet’s thicker waist. For a moment, they swayed together, watching their lovestruck reflections on the sink mirror. “So...Prowler’s had his first kiss today, how are we feeling?”
“Oh, please Drift!” Ratchet scoffed without heat. “Don’t make me go activate my creator protocols on a baby!”
“Speaking of babies,” Drift murmured right on his conjunx’s audial. “Have you seen Prowl’s reaction to the bitties playing in their room today? It’s about time we give him a sibling, no?”
Drift ran for his life.
He was barely able to dodge the bottle of polish thrown at the back of his helm.
Dear Jazz,
I’m so sorry for calling you annoying today. My crators said I was wrong for saying that. Your singing and bazz guitar wasn’t annoying at all! You can play me a song everyday if you like? My Sire is frends with Mr. Blaster and Mr. Soundwave, I’ll ask him to ask them teach you! I think your creators will be proud in the well of allsparks.
Thank you for calling my eyes pretty. Your visor is very beautiful too! its like a dark sky full of stars and I’m happy whenever I look at them!
Sorry again for being mean. I hope we can be frends. Do you wanna walk to skool together tomorrow? I’ll have breakfast in the cafteria and we can go together!
Tell Rico I’m sorry too!
Love, Prowl.