Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bluestreak came to Prowl’s office in the middle of the alpha shift. That in itself was a little bit out of the ordinary.

He was always welcome to come talk to his eldest brother, of course, unless Prowl was in an important meeting. But this time he was dragging Smokescreen along with him and his doorwings were twitching and jittering anxiously.

Then he requested that Prowl lock the door and the black and white mech knew that something was wrong.

After Prowl acquiesced to his request, the younger mech blurted out, “I can’t retract my claws.” He held out his servos almost guiltily, sharpened digits on display.

“What do you mean?” Smokescreen asked in alarm while Prowl frowned. “Is something wrong with your transformation code?”

“The code is gone!” Bluestreak nearly wailed.

“Gone?” Prowl said with a brightening of surprised optics and a concerned flare of his doorwings.

“I tried to manually access it like you taught me, but it’s just not there anymore! Please Prowl, you have to fix it again! I don’t want to become like them.” His voice was becoming more upset with every word.

Prowl got up and came around his desk. He gently took Bluestreak’s servos in his own. He spoke steadily and confidently, “You will not become like them. I promise. Let me take a look.”

Bluestreak unhesitatingly offered Prowl his medical wrist port. The white and black Praxian connected in with his wrist cable and then delved into his brother’s code as gently as he could. Bluestreak still had to control a wince; Prowl was no medic, after all.

As the grey mech had said, the micro-transformation for his claws was simply absent, as if it had never been there. Prowl checked the code for Bluestreak’s fangs as well. That code was still present, but it had a marker on it that tagged it as disposable and awaiting deletion. It even had a tiny timer attached to it and nothing Prowl could do on a surface level was going to stop the countdown and save it from removal. He could, however, tweak it just a little to trick it into adding a couple of 0s to the timer.

It was a well kept secret between the three of them that Prowl had altered their codes to the best of his ability. Something that would bring down the wrath of Ratchet upon them if he ever found out, no doubt.

Prowl continued to look through his younger brother’s code, finding many of his homebrew changes being overwritten by Bluestreak’s natural coding.

Normally, this was a healthy response; Bluestreak’s self-repair taking care of what his systems had identified as foreign coding stunting his growth, but for the three brothers it was an unwanted evolution. Prowl delved into material percentages and coding restraints, numbers running in front of his optics.

“Can you… can you fix it?” Bluestreak asked, hope and dread mixing in his voice.

There was a moment of silence while Prowl concentrated on his calculations, then he said regretfully, “Not as such. It looks like we may all lose the ability to hide our fangs and claws, but those can be explained away as combat mods that we felt were unnecessary until now. Or you can file them down, though your nanites will grow them back fairly regularly. In slightly better news, a full transformation will be impossible without the proper equipment and materials. There’s just no way to do the upgrade at this time.”

He took a mental step back from looking at Bluestreak’s code to focus back on the real world and gave the younger mech a gentle nudge of warmth from his EMF.

Bluestreak sighed, doorwings sagging. “Okay… okay. That’s good. It’s only a little change a-and no bot will really notice right? We’re still safe.”

Smokescreen rubbed Bluestreak’s shoulder pauldron soothingly. “We’ll be alright.”

Bluestreak’s doorwings still twitched anxiously. “Th-there’s something else...”

Both of his brothers waited patiently for him to continue, EMFs open and encouraging.

After a klik longer of hesitation, Bluestreak couldn’t contain it any longer and admitted, “I think my emotional routines are changing too. I-I… When I’m near the twins… I mean, I’ve always liked them, but now…” He looked back and forth between his brothers uneasily. “I’ve never wanted to keep them before.”

A flare of heat and embarrassment through his field accompanied his words, cluing Prowl in to just exactly what he meant by “keep”.

“H-have either of you been experiencing, um, anything like that? I mean, um...” Bluestreak stuttered and trailed off.

Somescreen shook his helm. But Prowl couldn’t lie to either of them.

“Yes.”

Bluestreak and Smokescreen looked at him with apprehension.

“How long?” Bluestreak asked.

“Only recently,” Prowl said. “After we awakened on Earth.”

“And it’s the same thing that Blue’s feeling?”

“Yes. I find myself focusing on one bot to the exclusion of others. And a need to… possess.”

Bluestreak’s doorwings flicked up. “Is it Jazz?”

Prowl huffed, “Has it been obvious, or have you gotten more perceptive?”

“I only noticed because I know you.” Bluestreak said, uncharacteristically quietly.

Smokescreen managed a ghost of a smirk, “I’m pretty sure it’s only obvious to us.”

At least he’d been moderately successful at hiding his new reactions to the Polyhexian SpecOps. Recently, even just thinking about the lithe visored mech made his lines heat with a strange sort of avarice. The shining plating and glittering visor drew him in like a lumen-moth. Prowl often invited him to play games just to draw out and examine the razor sharp intellect that Jazz hid behind his carefree attitude. Every time he made the mech laugh had begun to feel like a personal victory.

“Smokescreen,” Prowl said, giving himself a mental shake, “let me connect with you as well and I can look over our emotional routines as well to see if anything has changed. Since you don’t seem to be experiencing the same thing as Bluestreak and I, I might be able to pinpoint a difference.”

With a nod, Smokescreen offered his own wrist port. Prowl connected them and delved into code again, this time splitting his focus between the code from all three of them. His HUD split into three screens so he could compare and contrast.

This took longer, but when Prowl came back to himself he sighed. Then, carefully he disconnected from both Bluestreak and Smokescreen.

“Well?” Smokescreen said impatiently, with just a touch of fear in his voice.

“We all have the new emotional routines.” Prowl responded. “But the difference between ours and yours is that yours has not, ah, attached itself to anybot.”

Smokescreen’s optics flickered as he considered the words. “Oh…”

Prowl’s expression wasn’t quite a grimace, but it was close. “I know that if we were… developing, that this would be normal. It would be in time with our physical changes.”

“I… I sort of don’t mind it.” Bluestreak admitted.

Both Prowl and Smokescreen gave him a startled look.

“Think about it.” Bluestreak braved ahead. “We’re not going to change and we’ve rejected everything else about-” He stopped pressing his dermas together for a klik, then continued, “If we’re going to live like this,” he gestured to his chassis, “then let’s live. I-I like the twins and I want to see where something with them could go.” He tilted his helm inquiringly at Prowl. “Don’t you want to see what could happen with Jazz?”

Prowl only balked for a few moments until his processor filtered through the probabilities and possibilities. His doorwings flicked up and down consideringly.

“You… have a few compelling points.”

Smokescreen still looked uncomfortable, but didn’t argue.

They were going to have to reconcile living with the changes anyway. Prowl could admit that their base programming was far too strong for him to circumvent. It seemed as if they would be unable to stop those emotional routines from fully activating no matter how much Prowl messed with their coding. And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

But more of their base programming would come out too. Something like what their human allies called “instincts”. And they wouldn’t be able to fight it.

They would all eventually feel the urges to chase, to display… and to fly.

Chapter Text

A few local cycles passed. Smokescreen had stealthily acquired a Cybertonian sized file so that Bluestreak could grind down his newly permanent claws. Prowl and Smokescreen had sat with him the first time he used it (Prowl refused to acknowledge that they were doing any sort of grooming ritual despite what his base programming was telling him).

It was the end of Prowl’s shift and he was feeling a restless need to be out of his office. The four orange walls pressed in annoyingly at his sensors. So Prowl voluntarily made his way to the rec room to get himself some fuel. He even contemplated going out of the Ark entirely to take a drive. As he entered the rec room, his optics were immediately drawn across the space to the pleasing, lithe form of the TIC. Jazz was sitting at one of the large tables with his normal circle of mechs and human.

Bumblebee and Spike were on one side of the table. The yellow mini-bot and Jazz had always gotten along. Prowl thought that was because of their similarly friendly personalities. Spike was sitting on the table, chatting along with the bots. The human and Bumblebee were nearly inseparable; really, if they hadn’t been separate species, one would have sworn that they’d been sparked together.

Mirage and Hound sat on Jazz’s other side. The blue and white ex-noble had been friends with Jazz for nearly as long as Bumblebee. He was leaning against Hound comfortably. The green tracker was at ease; his laid back nature making him a pleasant companion in any group.

The Twins and Bluestreak made up the last part of the group, sitting on the opposite side of the table. Sideswipe got along famously with Jazz. They both had a light-sparkedness that kept morale from dipping. And Prowl was almost certain that Jazz gave the red pit-spawn more than half of the ideas for his pranks.

Bluestreak was a joy to be around most of the time, but Prowl may have just been biased.

Sunstreaker seemed to be the odd one in the group. He wasn’t outgoing and usually stayed quiet, listening to the conversation flowing around him. Any comments he made were short, bordering on brusque. But he never tried to interrupt, never got annoyed at Bluestreak when he chattered on. The golden frontliner seemed to have a soft spot for the bots around the table; or at least for Bluestreak and Sideswipe. Though, pointing that out might start a fight.

As Prowl walked across the room to get his energon, Jazz caught his gaze and gave him a fond, inviting smile. Prowl’s spark spun with excitement, a small inadvertent smile making its way to his dermas in return. A wave of that new emotion that Prowl was experiencing every time he saw the black and white SpecOps welled up.

He wanted.

Jazz and Bluestreak both waved him over to join the group once he’d dispensed his cube. The table was already pretty full, but Bumblebee managed to quickly pull up a new chair as he was walking over and scooched over far enough to make room for it next to Jazz. Only Prowl’s iron self control kept his doorwings from fluttering delightedly at the turn of events.

“Heya Prowler,” Jazz greeted warmly. “Good t’ see tha’ ya escaped yar office.”

“It happens on occasion,” Prowl said dryly with a wry smile. Satisfaction bloomed in his chest when Jazz laughed at his (admittedly poor) joke.

The conversation was pleasant as the group spoke about different topics; from things they’d seen on patrols to the latest songs and movies. Jazz leaned his field warmly against Prowl’s, which made something deep inside the SIC purr happily.

Sideswipe suddenly leaned forward, interrupting the flow of chatter, and warned in a low undertone, “Helms up, Jazz. Romeo cometh.”

Something flickered through Jazz’s EMF that Prowl could only interpret as the exasperation that came with an optic roll. Prowl only had a few kliks to cross reference what a “Romeo” was before the brilliant blue form of Tracks sauntered up to Jazz’s side. He put an overly friendly servo on Jazz’s shoulder pauldron.

“Hey Jazzy, there’s a concert on Saturday night. I have… connections to get tickets, if you want to go see it.” There was an obvious unspoken ‘with me’ at the end of the sentence.

Prowl nearly missed Jazz’s response as he suddenly had to contend with his processor attempting to figure out just when Tracks had decided that he was going to attempt to pursue Jazz’s attention and a wave of intense aggression that followed on the heels of that thought. It was obvious that the corvette was only attempting to schmooze his way under Jazz’s panels.

Jazz gave Tracks an absent smile. It was a smile that, had Tracks known him better, was obviously a pale imitation of his actual real smile.

“Aw, thanks, my mech, bu’ I’ve got plans this weekend.”

“Yeah? What are you doing?” Tracks pressed.

Jazz was, in fact, having a game night with Prowl. The doorwinged mech did his best not to let his smugness show.

“What are you, his carrier?” Sunstreaker asked sourly. “He doesn't have to tell you slag.”

Tracks gave some sort of snide comeback, but the SIC was having trouble focusing. The part of Prowl’s processor dedicated to reason was slowly being drowned out by one nearly all consuming thought.

Tracks needed to stop. Touching. Jazz.

Jazz was subtly shifting under the blue mech’s servo; it was obvious to Prowl that the Polyhexian was uncomfortable. But he was also a competent SpecOps agent and perfectly capable of removing Tracks’ servo himself if need be. That fact alone stopped Prowl from acting on the impulse to forcibly detach the blue mech’s servo from his wrist and throw it across the room.

Prowl bit down on a snarl that wanted to escape his vocalizer. Those new invasive instincts were directing him to flare his wings and run off the identified rival attempting to muscle in on his territory. His Jazz.

No. Jazz wasn’t his, the rational part of him yelled faintly.

Not yet, the new part of him countered.

:Prowl! Your claws!: Bluestreak’s voice over his comm broke him out of his processor.

He glanced down at his servos, which were curled tightly around his empty cube, to see that all ten of his claws had extended. Fortunately, the other bots around the table seemed to be more interested in the brewing argument between Sunstreaker and Tracks and appeared to not have noticed.

Prowl took a steadying in-vent and then stealthily ran his glossa over his denta. His fangs had also extended without his permission. He covertly retracted both fangs and claws before he spoke.

“Enough, both of you. Don’t make me assign you to patrol together.”

“Aw, come on!” Tracks protested stepping back and (finally!) removing his servo from Jazz’s shoulder pauldron.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Sunstreaker frowned mulishly.

“Try me.” Prowl said flatly while dispersing his cube. His instincts were still trying to goad him into scaring off the blue mech completely or at least flexing his wings to show Jazz that Tracks (flight capable though he was) was an inferior choice. Prowl stomped down on that ridiculous part of himself as he stood up from the table. He was an Autobot officer, there was no need to run off the younger mech. He wasn’t a threat.

He could, however, assign him to monitor duty for the rest of his functioning.

No.

Stop. That.

“Ya not goin’ back t’ yar office are ya?” Jazz asked. Prowl wasn’t imagining the disappointment he heard, was he?”

“No. In fact I thought I might take a drive.” Prowl said. Perhaps it was a little out of character for him considering the surprise that he saw in Mirage and Bumblebee’s optics, but perfectly normal. Nevermind that it was mild claustrophobia that was urging him to go outside.

“Sweet. I was thinkin’ ‘bout takin’ a drive earlier.” Jazz remarked, visor brightening with eagerness. “Would ya mind some company?”

Would he mind some alone, one-on-one time with the object of his affection?

“Not at all.” He answered, managing to keep his doorwings to a single happy wiggle. “I thought I might take the southwest highway. Does that sound amenable to you?”

Jazz flashed him a dazzling smile and got up, also dispersing his cube. “Sounds awesome. Lead th’ way.”

The others around the table wished them a pleasant drive, though a couple of them had a knowing sort of gleam in their optics. Prowl found that he cared less about that than the look of flabbergasted shock on Tracks’ face.

It was like the sports car couldn’t believe that Jazz would rather spend time with a mech like Prowl rather than him.

As he and Jazz left the room, Prowl surveyed around him quickly to make sure no bot was watching. Then he shot a calculated smirk in the corvette’s direction. Tracks’ optics paled in surprise.

I win. Mine. His instincts said.

Prowl firmly told them to shut up.

They stayed quiet until Prowl was gleefully chasing Jazz’s tail lights down the highway. And this time he allowed himself to indulge in them… just a little.

Chapter Text

Smokescreen had the dubious “honor” of being the first of the three Praxians to have a recharge flux about flying. He’d been struggling the least with his emotional routines since they hadn’t latched on to anyone on the Ark. But the recharge fluxes left him feeling aching and claustrophobic when he woke up, so he’d often sneak out for multiple drives in a day after having one.

Bluestreak religiously filed down his claws. So much so that Prowl and Smokescreen had to join him for every session to make sure he didn’t obsessively file them down too far. While it soothed Bluestreak to have them near, it also had the side effect of strengthening their sibling bond into a fledgling trine bond. Prowl had honestly thought it would take more than that, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was… stabilizing in a way.

It was something Prowl could lean on for support when he was having to forcibly restrain himself from giving Tracks the absolute worst jobs on the Ark. At least the blue mech had laid off the flirting with Jazz in front of him, which had satisfied his instincts for a bit.

Another slightly concerning/mortifying development was what Smokescreen politely dubbed their “cravings”. Lately they found themselves chewing on any sort of mineral rich material they came across, most of the time unconsciously. Their bodies were trying to obtain the extra nutrients they would need for a full upgrade.

Prowl had accidentally eaten half of a stylus while concentrating on his data work. Absently nibbling on it while his processor was occupied.

Smokescreen had needed to make up a lie about Praxian customs when he’d popped one of his desk crystals in his mouth in front of Cliffjumper during a session.

Bluestreak had guiltily replaced the steel wool in the communal wash racks when he realized that he’d sleepily consumed all of it while still half in recharge during one of his morning showers.

All in all, despite the hiccups, they’d been hiding their internal changes as best as they could and managing a shaky sort of “normal”.

But battles did have a way of fragging up carefully laid plans.

A call had come in about the Decepticons raiding a power plant and the Autobots had answered. Blows had been exchanged. And it was shaping up to be a regular battle when Sunstreaker had lost at Jet Judo. Thrust, his current ride/target had been brought to the ground, but had then flipped the golden frontliner off of him and onto the dirt. Thrust raised a blaster at Sunstreaker. But before he could fire, a silver, snarling blur slammed into him from out of nowhere sending him flailing.

It took a moment for the surrounding bots to recognize Bluestreak.

The young mech hissed and growled, wings flared wide and aggressive as he wrestled Thrust to the earth. The Seeker seemed too dumbfounded to retaliate.

That was, until Bluestreak started trying to claw at his wings, curled digits scratching long lines into paint and metal. Thrust howled in confusion and tried to buck him off.

Prowl knew that Bluestreak had just filed his claws, so the damage was minimal. Which was why what happened next made perfect sense to him.

But not to anyone else.

Bluestreak screeched in frustration and then with a flash of fangs, bit down on the edge of Thrust’s wing and ripped a chunk out of it.

The Seeker screamed in pain.

Prowl could see the shocked optics of the bots from both sides.

“Bluestreak! Enough!” Prowl bellowed, pulsing a demand for obedience through their nascent trine bond.

Bluestreak froze; submission to his “trine leader” warring with the unwillingness to give up his “prey”.

Prowl could see the moment that the haze of instinct cleared from Bluestreak’s processor. He let go of Thrust as if the injured Seeker had burned him and stumbled away from him.

“I-I…” Bluestreak stuttered, the horror in his optics at odds with the mech-blood trailing down from the corner of his mouth.

Distantly, Megatron called a retreat. Whether that was because the Decpticons no longer had the upper servo or because of the suddenly feral Praxian was anyone’s guess.

Thrust was grabbed by one of his trine mates. The other conehead hauled the Seeker up and flew away.

Prowl saw Starscream pause and look back as he withdrew. Their optics met for a moment. It took an awful lot of self-control not to bare his fangs at the tri-colored Seeker in an unfriendly show of aggression. With an unreadable look, Starscream turned and left.

Sunstreaker was still where he’d fallen, optics fixed on Bluestreak in astonishment.

Sideswipe broke the relative silence by exclaiming, “Primus, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Prowl held in an irritated twitch of his doorwings; Sideswipe was as tactful as ever.

Mortified embarrassment flared out through Bluestreak’s field far enough to be felt by nearly half the battlefield. “I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me! I just couldn’t let him hurt you.”

“Thanks,” Sunstreaker said faintly. Sideswipe helped him up; both of them still opticking Bluestreak with interest.

Jazz approached the grey and red mech carefully.

“Ya a’ight, Blue?” Jazz’s voice was soft and sympathetic. “Did’ya ‘ave a flashback?”

“Yes!” Bluestreak latched onto the excuse. “I-I had a flashback!”

“Okay,” Jazz said soothingly. He produced a shammy out of his subspace and asked. “Ya good with touch?”

Bluestreak nodded jerkily and Jazz gently wiped the mech-blood from the younger mech’s chin. If it had been anybot but Jazz, Prowl would have been trying to push them away. As it was, he and Smokescreen came in close, drawn to their rattled trine mate. Once Jazz saw them, he patted Bluestreak on the shoulder pauldron and backed off so that they could take over comforting the younger mech.

Prowl gave the visored mech a grateful brush of his field.

It was that point that Optimus and Ratchet converged on them. Optimus with concern and Ratchet with consternation. Bluestreak weathered both with guilty optics which mitigated any worried interrogation from either of them.

Prowl and Smokescreen were both more wary of Ratchet than the Prime. If there was any Autobot that would figure out what they were doing, it was him. Fortunately, after a quick surface scan to assess any damage, Ratchet let Bluestreak be with a grumble and Optimus gave the order for the Autobots to return to the Ark.

After making sure that Bluestreak and Smokescreen were alright mentally (as well as they could be, given the circumstances, anyway) Prowl retired to his office to write his reports on the battle.

A little while later, Jazz walked into his office.

“Hey, Prowler.” Jazz said as he sauntered over and sat against/leaned on Prowl’s desk. It was sort of funny, Prowl reflected, that Jazz sitting on his desk like that used to annoy him, but now all he could do was appreciate the curves on display. “‘Ow’s Blue doin’?”

“He is alright. A little shaken, but that is to be expected.”

“Yeah, sorry ‘e’s havin’ a rough time.”

You have no idea. I wish I could tell you why.

“I hope that he will feel better after some rest.”

Jazz gave him a warm smile. “I’m sure ‘e will.”

Prowl’s doorwings fluttered and after a moment of silence he asked, “Not that I don’t enjoy your company, but you usually spend your time after a battle boosting morale. Was there something you needed?”

Internally, Prowl winced as his base programming screeched at him that he should be enticing Jazz to spend as much time with him as possible.

Jazz tilted his helm, unbothered, a smile still in place on his dermas.

“I jus’ wanted t’ check in on ya.”

Prowl’s spark spun dizzily in his chest. “I- thank you.”

“No problem, Prowler. I was thinkin’ when ya got done with yar report tha’ maybe we could go fo’ a drive together.”

YES!!

“I would like that. Give me two breems.” Prowl said, just barely keeping his trembling doorwings in check.

Jazz grinned. “Cool. Meet ya out front in two breems.”

Bless Jazz for knowing that his presence would distract Prowl from his work. The Polyhexian fairly danced out of Prowl’s office and the Praxian wrenched his focus from the enticing frame back to the report and finished in record time.

When he made his way to the Ark’s entrance, he wasn’t able to stop the aggrieved snarl of his engine when he caught sight of Tracks talking to Jazz in the open doorway. Tracks was leaning into Jazz’s space while the Porsche had his arms crossed and a mildly bored look on his face.

Without really stopping to think about what he was doing, Prowl folded down into his alt and roared towards the entrance. He zoomed past the surprised corvette, close enough to have him stumbling and flailing in fright. Jazz started laughing.

Prowl executed a neat hand brake turn and sat rumbling idly, he flashed his headlights playfully at Jazz. That was enough of an invitation for the Porsche and he flipped into his alt, cheerfully revving his engine. Then they were off, taking turns chasing each other down the road and leaving Tracks in the dust.

They drove for miles until they reached the flat plateau that the Autobots liked using for their leisure time. Once they regained root mode, Jazz nearly doubled over laughing.

“Mech, did’ja see ‘is faceplates?”

Prowl smirked, satisfied. “He should take the hint.”

Jazz managed to reign in his giggles. “I’ve been tryin’ t’ let ‘I’m down easy. Ya sayin’ I should take a more direct approach?”

His field was warm and… hopeful? Jazz tilted his helm, “Maybe… I should tell ’im I’m taken?”

It felt like Prowl’s spark stopped entirely and then began to spin again at double the normal speed.

“...‘Less tha’ ain’t wha’ ya want. I was jus’ hopin’ tha’ I was readin’ yar signals right.”

“You were.” Prowl managed. His processor was a mess of conflicting wants. A visceral need to pull Jazz close and entwine their EMFs. Well drilled lessons of propriety demanding that he wait until he was in his final upgrade. Paranoia that Jazz would figure out his and his brothers’ secret should he allow himself the closeness he craved with the visored mech. Or, just as terrible, his lack of knowledge about intimate relationships.

He hadn’t realized that he’d frozen in indecision until Jazz spoke gently.

“Prowl? Ya a’ight?”

“I-I’ve never… I don’t.”

Or he could just out himself, like an idiot.

But Jazz just put up his hands in a soothing gesture and slowly approached him. Almost like he had done with Bluestreak earlier. He placed a servo on Prowl’s arm; unthreatening and easy to get away from, if Prowl wanted.

“‘Ey, easy. If yar not comfortable, we can jus’ stay-“

“I want to be with you.” Prowl blurted out. “I am just… inexperienced.”

Jazz nodded with an encouraging smile, “Okay. We’ll go at yar pace. What would you like t’ do? Sit an’ watch th’ sunset? Maybe go back t’ the Ark an’ play a game?”

Prowl’s processor raced with possibilities. “I… would like to kiss you.”

“I’d like tha’, too.”

But Jazz didn’t make any move forward. Prowl was confused until he realized that Jazz was waiting for him to instigate the contact.

Prowl leaned forward in slow increments, hesitant and unsure. Jazz waited patiently. His EMF was welcoming without being pushy. When their dermas finally touched, an electric thrill ignited Prowl’s circuits. Any doubts he’d been feeling dissolved at the contact.

Jazz kept the kiss light and chaste.

Prowl was happy with that for approximately five kliks, then he was seized with the need for more. He wasn’t even sure what more meant. But he wanted.

His servos came up almost of their own volition and clutched/cradled Jazz’s helm. He tilted his helm and pressed in harder. Hungry, hot and covetous.

But before he could act upon any of his instinct fueled impulses, the sound of a jet engine brought them both back to reality. They broke apart and scanned the sky. Prowl bared his denta at the sight of a tri-colored jet flying overhelm and then away.

“Wonder wha’ ‘e wanted?” Jazz mused, optics suspiciously on the sky.

“I do not know.” Prowl lied. He curled his servos into fists, hiding his unsheathed claws. Inside, he seethed.

Stay away from us.

Chapter Text

Starscream’s appearance bothered Prowl. He and Jazz didn’t discuss it as they drove back to the Ark. He’d already made a quick verbal report over comms to Optimus about the matter. Though he didn’t say so, Prowl had a good idea of why the Seeker was suddenly so investigative.

Of all the Seekers, the Command Trine would know what was happening, he just wished that he, Smokescreen and Bluestreak had been able to hide it for longer. But if he were being truly honest with himself, he knew there would have been a zero percent possibility of keeping their condition a secret forever.

Prowl put Starscream to the back of his mind when they returned to the Ark and Jazz invited him to his quarters for a few games to make up for their interrupted drive. Prowl’s newly active libito slyly informed him of other things they could be doing, but he quickly silenced that.

Not yet, the contrary part of him said.

They sat on opposite ends of Jazz’s berth with a game board between them. But as they got into their first game, worry crept back into Prowl’s circling thoughts. Part of him burned to tell Jazz his concerns, but that would mean explaining everything. While he was sure he could trust the visored mech, he was also terrified.

“Are ya a’ight?” Jazz asked, apparently picking up on his distraction.

Prowl’s ATS churned. Jazz already suspected that something was wrong because Prowl was acting strange (had been acting strange for a while). He needed to tell him something. Something that was plausible, but not a lie because that would affect this new thing between them negatively. Falsehoods now would cause problems later.

Perhaps… perhaps he could tell Jazz part of the truth.

“I… was thinking. I wanted to tell you something about myself, especially since we are looking to pursue a relationship.”

“Yeah?” Jazz said encouragingly, “I’m listening.”

“It may be upsetting to you.”

Jazz didn’t sigh, but he did give Prowl a slightly tired look, “Ya know my job, Prowl, there’s a lot o’ things I don’ flinch at anymore.”

“What if I told you that my carrier is a Decepticon?”

“I woul’ say, tha’ th’ war tore a lot o’ families apart.” Jazz murmured. He looked down and off to the side.

“Jazz?” Prowl could sense an old sadness in the other mech.

“I got a brother who went ‘Con. Ain’t seen ‘im in a long time. Don’t really know wha’ I’d do if I did.”

Prowl reached over and put his servo on Jazz’s. “I am sorry, I did not mean to bring up old wounds.”

Jazz shrugged, affecting an unconcerned air, but turned his servo in Prowl’s to lace their digits together. “It’s ancient history. All I meant is tha’ ya ain’t th’ only Autobot with a ‘Con in th’ family.”

“Just because it is in the past does not necessarily mean it hurts less.”

Jazz ran his thumb over Prowl’s. “Tha’ sounds like it comes from experience.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Prowl abruptly felt an overwhelming need to draw Jazz close and hide him away from the world and all the grief in it.

“Jazz, would you like to… sit with me for a while?”

The visored mech tilted his helm curiously. “Sit with ya?”

Unsure of how to articulate what he wanted, Prowl opened his arms and EMF invitingly.

Jazz suddenly understood (of course he did) and grinned warmly. “Ya want to sit an’ cuddle fo’ a bit? I can get b’hind tha’.”

They moved the game to the floor. Then Jazz scooted into Prowl’s embrace and fitted their kibble together with an ease that Prowl would normally envy. Right at the moment Prowl was too busy holding in an ecstatic trill to feel anything except pleasure.

They sat together for a long time, communicating softly through their fields, game forgotten.

Eventually, Prowl went back to his room for recharge. He almost asked to stay, but that pesky propriety that had been drilled into his helm since sparking held him back.

Jazz did give him a goodnight kiss when he asked, though.

Prowl’s recharge was full of a huge blue sky that shimmered and shone. The sky became a cerulean visor that he fell, fell, fell into. There was the feeling of wind over his wings. He woke with a start before his alarm went off; the walls and ceiling of his quarters pressed down on him making it hard to vent.

Prowl was up and off of the berth before he was fully awake. He didn’t quite stumble out of his room, but it was a near thing. It was early enough that nobot from alpha shift was really up and about yet to relieve the sparse gamma shift bots.

Prowl made it outside of the Ark without being stopped or questioned.

He climbed up, up, up to one of the ledges of the mountain that the Ark was stuck in. He sat, legs dangling off the edge, venting in and out attempting to settle himself as the sun rose.

His comm pinged for his attention. Without really thinking about it, he accepted the incoming call.

A familiar and unwelcome raspy voice inundated his comm, :It’s time, isn’t it?:

Sudden anger welled up and Prowl stayed stubbornly silent. Something in his helm throbbed.

After a moment the other spoke again, :Well, I certainly hope that medic of yours is ready. Handling three newly upgraded Seekers is no easy task.:

:We are not upgrading.: Prowl snapped. Temper fraying and volatile, he was unable to listen without a retort.

:I know you’re not stupid. You cannot stop an upgrade of this nature. Even attempting to prolong it will just hurt you. Skysickness, psychosis, dysmorphia. Is that really what you want for your trine, Skyprowler?:

:That isn’t my name any more!: Prowl snarled.

:You are what you are, and you will become what you are meant to be whether you want it or not.:

:There is nothing that will allow the transformation.: Prowl said feeling a sickening dual sensation of superiority and helplessness. :We have no infrastructure for it.:

:Well, if you needed help, perhaps you should have asked.:

:We don’t need your help. We don’t want your help.:

There was silence for a while.

:I will not let you destroy yourselves.:

:We are fine!: Prowl’s helm was aching.

:You are not. You should think past yourselves and to the ones you care for. What would that saboteur of yours think if you suddenly went mad.:

Prowl clutched his helm as pain burst behind his optics. :Shut up! Stay away from us Starscream, it's what you've been doing for millenia!:

:And that was my mistake. A mistake I will not repeat.:

:What?!: Prowl’s helm snapped up, scanning the sky for any sign of the jet.

But there was only empty air and silence.

Chapter Text

The conversation with Starscream made Prowl paranoid. He sat, rigid, on the cliff edge, attempting to reign in his instincts to puff up all of his plating and scream at the Seeker to show himself for a face-off. He scanned the sky obsessively for an embarrassing amount of time.

After he got himself under control, the first thing he did was climb down from his perch on the mountain side and wake up Smokescreen and Bluestreak. He gathered them in his quarters to tell them what had happened with the tricolored Seeker.

They were both angry and frightened. Their emotions flowed through the trine bond, roiling and crashing against his own. Smokescreen paced and ranted, outraged at the Seeker for interfering in their lives. Bluestreak reflexively kneaded at the meshes on Prowl’s berth; had his claws been sharp they would have been shredded.

“Maybe... it’s time that we told the Prime.” It sounded as if the suggestion had been pulled from Smokescreen painfully. He grimaced, doorwings wilting.

Prowl bit down on, and swallowed back the immediate denial. His want to keep the status quo had begun to hurt them. With the very real threat of Starscream, protection had become more important than secrecy.

“That… may be prudent.”

Bluestreak twisted the meshes in his servos. “W-will we be locked up?” His voice cracked on the last word. “What if nobot trusts us anymore and they turn on us? What if we get thrown out of the Ark? What if-?”

Prowl sat next to his youngest brother and gently took the mangled meshes out of his servos, “Optimus isn’t going to lock us up.” He murmured. “You know he will only try to help us. I should have told him from the beginning, but I thought it would be easier to hide. And, perhaps, I was a bit afraid. I did not mean to undermine your faith in our friends and allies. We cannot keep this to ourselves anymore.”

Smokescreen sat down on Bluestreak’s other side and the three of them leaned together. The blue and red mech churred comfortingly. After they had synced up their venting and calmed Bluestreak down, Smokescreen spoke again,

“The Prime will probably insist that we tell Ratchet too.”

“Yes,” Prowl agreed. “Ratchet should be informed as well.”

Their medic was probably going to be quite upset by the duplicitousness, but he would get over it fairly quickly. The more likely problem was that Ratchet might not even know about the Seeker lifecycle. The Seeker culture had always been notoriously insular. To Prowl’s knowledge, only Seeker and Praxian medics had known about Seeker younglings and their proclivities.

They would deal with that when the time came, he supposed.

“D-do we have to do it today?” Bluestreak asked apprehensively. His doorwings jittered and twitched. “Can’t we wait for just a few more days? The monthly movie night is two days away. Can we wait until after just in case… Just in case?”

Unable to deny Bluestreak’s anxious request, Prowl and Smokescreen agreed to wait to tell Optimus until after the movie night. But Prowl went ahead and requested the meeting time with Optimus so he couldn’t convince himself to back out of it.

Instead of letting the extra time before their meeting stress his processor with attempting to predict every possibility, Prowl had used the time to fill a datapad with a dossier on his and his brothers’ backgrounds and condition. It helped focus him and also kept him distracted from worry. He laid it all out logically and orderly; divorcing any emotion from the information he was laying to bare.

He’d even been able to enjoy movie night. Most of the Ark had fit themselves into the rec-room. There were only a few couches, but most bots were willing to sprawl on the floor; including Bluestreak who was cuddled up between the twins on a couple of transformer sized pillows.

Prowl was able to sit on one of the coveted couches with Jazz curled up next to him without even having to pull rank.

The look on Tracks’ face was just an added bonus.

The morning of the cycle after the Ark’s movie night, Prowl went to see Optimus.

When he knocked on Prime’s office door, Optimus welcomed him warmly. “Come in, my friend. What can I do for you? You marked this meeting as a high priority.”

“Yes, Prime.” Prowl walked in and closed the door.

Optimus indicated the chair on the “visitors” side of his desk. Once Prowl sat down, he waited patiently for his Second to start the conversation. Patiently… and also expectantly?

Prowl opticked his leader apprehensively. “If I may ask, have you been… anticipating a conversation with me?”

“Not anticipating, per se,” Optimus rumbled soothingly, “but I have been getting a few urgings from the Matrix.” He placed his large servo over his chestplates.

That was strangely logical. Prowl wasn’t sure if he believed in Primus, but the Matrix was a great reservoir of knowledge from Primes past. If anything would know about what was happening to him and his brothers it was likely to be the artifact. Prowl relaxed.

“I see.” Prowl said. He pulled the datapad with his dossier out of subspace. “Well, I wished to inform you-”

But in a turn of cosmic logic, before Prowl could say any more, Teletraan I pinged them both with an alert of Decepticon activity while the klaxons sounded.

Prowl pressed his lip plates together in irritation, but put the datapad down on the Prime’s desk and stood. “I suppose we will have to finish this later.”

“We will, my friend,” Optimus promised as he also stood.

They headed to the command center. A quick check with Teletraan I got them coordinates to the suspected Decepticon activity (a large gathering of Decepticon fliers). Then, along with the other Autobots, they headed to the hanger where Skyfire awaited them.

The Seekers had been spotted in what the humans called the Sequoia National Park. It was a forested and mountainous area in the southern part of California. It was most famous for the giant redwood trees that grew there. The trees were big enough to dwarf even the cybertronians.

When they arrived at the coordinates, the area was quiet.

And the forests were protected, meaning the Autobots had to be very careful not to damage the trees as they moved through the forest looking for the Decepticons. They spread out amongst the huge redwoods and checked in every few breems when they couldn’t see each other.

Prowl was strangely reminded of Praxus as he walked through the giant trees. This was a place on earth where the terrain matched their size. And he remembered walking through the crystal forest of Praxus as a youngling, the trees towering overhelm. He looked up through the trees, a soft ache forming in his chest at the sight of the sky peeking through the branches.

A flash of dark blue plating against the pale blue azure was the only warning that Prowl received before the trine bond flared with alarm from Bluestreak.

“PROWL!” Bluestreak’s scream of panic echoed and reverberated through the trees.

Prowl’s helm snapped toward the sound and then he sprinted through the thick trees. He passed other Autobots in his single-minded goal of getting to his trinemate.

He burst into a clearing where the twins and Hound were pointing their blasters at the sky wildly.

“What is happening?!” Prowl snapped out.

“Skywarp came out of nowhere and grabbed Blue! Fragger warped out before we could react!” Sideswipe yelled while Sunstreaker snarled wordlessly.

A strut-rattling BOOM vibrated through the forest.

Ironhide’s voice rang out over the open Autobot channel, :We need back up! Thundercracker and Ramjet have us pinned down over h- Frag, Smokescreen! Let him go you slagger!:

Outrage lashed through the trine bond.

:Prowl! He’s going to try to get you next! Run-!: Smokescreen tried to warn Prowl, but he was cut off as the comm suddenly went silent along with the trine bond. He’d been knocked unconscious.

The Aerials started yelling over the comm about facing off with Rainmakers who had suddenly appeared. Prowl’s ATS took in all of the events happening and concluded that it was carefully constructed chaos. Chaos made for one purpose.

“We need to rendezvous with the others. Go, now.” Prowl ordered.

The four of them in the clearing began to move, but were forced to stop and take cover as several Seekers flew down from the sky.

Thrust and Dirge provided cover fire as Starscream landed. He pulled out a weapon that was most definitely not his null ray and fired. The blue-colored energy the gun emitted hit Sunstreaker; the golden warrior went down with a yell of fury. He seemed to be unable to move, but alive; EMF lashing out like an angry mecha-animal. It was some sort of paralyzing stun gun.

In quick succession Sideswipe and Hound also went down.

Prowl was swiftly surrounded by the Seekers. He flared his doorwings threateningly; baring both his distended fangs and unsheathed claws.

Starscream walked forward calmly, “I would tell you not to make this more difficult than it already is, but I can see that’s not an option for you.”

And with that he shot Prowl with the stun weapon at nearly point blank. All of Prowl’s actuators and joints locked up. He felt Dirge catch him before he hit the ground. He was helpless as Starscream approached and injected him with a hypo. The world began to go dark around the edges.

“Prowl! Ya slaggers! Get yar dirty servos offa ‘im!” Jazz’s familiar voice echoed through his fading consciousness.

The arms around him tightened like titanium bands. He felt weightlessness. The ground and the trunks of the massive trees all stretched away from him.

Jazz ran into view, his mouth opened and moved as if he were yelling something, but it was drowned out by engine noise. He got smaller and farther away. Prowl tried to reach a servo to the visored mech, as if maybe he could reach him. But then his optics turned themselves off without his permission as his frame went into forced stasis.

Chapter Text

Optimus had gathered Jazz, Ratchet, Red Alert and Ironhide in the control room for an emergency session. Blaster was also present just due to the fact that he was manning Teletraan I. They were attempting to plan a rescue of their kidnapped mechs. They first had to figure out just where their mechs had been taken.

Ironhide and Ratchet were visibly angry, Red Alert was just able to keep his panic in check and Jazz… Jazz was quiet and focused. Most telling, though, was just how still he was, every movement economical and calculated. As if he were saving his energy for the right moment to pounce and strike.

They were deep in discussion, looking at coordinate maps when they got a transmission from the Decepticons. Fearing it was so that they could gloat over their new prisoners, Optimus answered promptly.

It was Megatron on the other end of the transmission, but he looked sour and suspicious.

“Prime. Would you so kindly tell me where my Seeker armada has disappeared to?”

To his credit, Optimus didn’t let too much of his surprise show through. “I would like to know that as well, Megatron, seeing as how they just abducted three of my troops.”

This only made Megatron frown harder, but he didn’t bother to accuse Optimus of lying, it wasn’t the Prime’s way.

“Curious.” He muttered. “Perhaps it is a true mutiny, then.”

Ever the diplomat, Optimus said evenly and carefully, “Considering the circumstances, I would request that you not try to impede us from retrieving our troops when we come across the Seekers.”

Megatron focused back on the Autobot leader with a small smirk, “Considering the circumstances, I might just leave them to their fates.”

From off-screen the multi toned monotone of Megatron’s third in command intoned. “Megatron. Activation of space bridge: detected. Seeker signatures: present.”

The Decepticon leader’s optics sharpened, calculating. “I tire of my Second’s schemes. I have a proposition for you, Prime. Since you will likely try to overtake the space bridge to follow them anyway, I offer you a temporary ceasefire and a free trip to Cybertron to find out what those blasted Seekers are doing.”

“I doubt you are doing such out of the kindness of your spark,” Optimus said dryly.

Megatron laughed. “Of course not. Your Autobot will give them more targets to shoot at if they prove to be treacherous.”

“Allow me a joor to think over your offer, I will call you with an answer.”

Megatron was still smirking, likely already aware of what Optimus’ answer would be. “I will be waiting, Prime.”

And with that the communication cut.

“Prime-!” Red Alert tried, but Optimus cut him off.

“Red Alert, I want you to make a list of the most likely ways this could be a trap. You have half a joor.”

The Security Director seemed surprised for a moment and then he nodded sharply and left, heading for his office.

“Ironhide, put together a small force to take through the space bridge. No more than ten bots. Half a joor.”

“Ya got it, Prime.”

“Ratchet, Jazz, with me.” Then Optimus turned and led them out of the command center at a ground-eating pace.

The two smaller bots trotted quickly to keep up with him. When they arrived at his office, he closed the door behind him and went to stand in front of his desk.

“What’s this about, Optimus?” Ratchet asked.

“A moment, please.” The Prime requested. He stared down at an abandoned datapad pensively for just a moment before picking it up. He turned on the datapad and read it over at an amazing pace. He nodded his helm to himself and then turned his optics to the two bots waiting patiently.

“Whatever is said in this office is not to leave it, understood?”

Mutely, both Jazz and Ratchet nodded.

“I asked you two to accompany me because the Matrix encouraged it. Now I know why.” He held up the datapad. “Before our encounter with the Seekers in the National Park, Prowl was attempting to meet with me to discuss an urgent matter. He brought this with him. This is a dossier containing proof that he, Smokescreen and Bluestreak are creations of the Command Trine. They are, in fact, Seekers themselves. They have spent a long time hiding what they are, up to and including personal code manipulation and minor frame alterations.”

Ratchet and Jazz were both silent for a moment in shock.

Ratchet recovered first, he snatched the datapad from Optimus’ servos with a furious, “They did what to their code?” He started snarling creative curses under his breath

Jazz was quiet for longer.

“Jazz?” Optimus asked apprehensively.

“Jus’ connetin’ some puzzle pieces, OP. There’s a coupla things that make a whole lotta more sense now.”

He must have caught something in Optimus’ gaze or EMF because he hastened to add. “I ain’t angry at ‘em. I’m the last bot t’ get steamed ‘bout bots havin’ secrets.”

“I do not want this to adversely affect your relationship with Prowl. I know you two were becoming closer.”

“We definitely got some stuff t’ talk ‘bout when we get ‘im back, but I ain’t gonna drop ‘im just ‘cause ‘e ‘as ‘Screamer fo’ a parent.”

“If anything he’ll need extra support for that… or a therapist.” Ratchet muttered, optics still on the datapad.

Optimus ignored him and spoke to Jazz. “I am glad to hear that, my friend.”

Jazz leaned against the wall, “So, I take it we’re gonna take ol’ Megs up on his offer?”

“It seems to be the best option,” Optimus said. “It will be the easiest way to get to Cybertron if the Seekers have, indeed, taken them there.”

“I’d be willing to bet a large sum of shinax that they did.” Ratchet said grumpily, having finished reading. “And I’d be willing to take an educated guess of where on Cybertron they’ve taken them. With this information and an intoxicated conversation I once had with a Seeker medic back in my academy cycles, I would posit that they have taken them to Vos to complete their upgrades… whether they want that or not.”

Chapter Text

Prowl woke bound pede and servo, laying on something that cushioned his doorwings. After a moment of concentration, he identified his resting spot as a hovering medical berth. He stared up at a ceiling that was both familiar and alien at the same time. This was obviously cybertronic construction, but nothing like this existed on Earth.

“Prowl?” Bluestreak’s voice was anxious in his right audial. “Are you awake?”

“Yes.” He looked instinctively to the side where he felt his trinemate. Bluestreak was in much the same predicament he was, on a hovering berth next to him. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t move.”

“Neither can I.” He poked the third part of the trinebond, “Smokescreen?”

“Here. On your other side.” Came the disgruntled voice of the diversion specialist.

Prowl looked over his other shoulder to see his middle brother glaring daggers at the ceiling.

“Do either of you know where we are?”

“We brought you to Vos, of course.” Starscream’s haughty, raspy voice sounded from beyond Prowl’s limited range of vision.

Prowl took a moment to vent in and out, pushing down anger and panic.

“Your stubbornness left me no choice.” After a moment, he and the rest of his trine walked into view.

“I honestly have no idea what you thought you were doing. Attempting to stop yourselves from upgrading was both foolish and stupid.” Despite the harsh words, Starscream moved to gently stroke his thumb along Prowl’s chevron soothingly like he’d done when Prowl was a youngling.

Prowl jerked his helm to the side, away from the touch. He didn’t want to be soothed right now.

He could see how Bluestreak was frozen under the gaze of Skywarp. The purple Seeker had a servo hovering hesitantly over his shoulder pauldron.

A frustrated chirp escaped Prowl’s vocalizer without his permission.

Starscream sighed with impatience, “Skyprowler-”

“That is not my name anymore!” Prowl snarled, jerking his helm back to glare at the tricolored Seeker. He yanked ineffectively at his bonds.

Starscream’s derma curled up, “Do you understand how much we risked to get you here?”

“Are we supposed to be grateful?” Prowl sneered back, continuing to fight his bonds. “You are our enemies. You brought Praxus down on our helms!”

“You weren’t supposed to be there!” Starscream snapped. “I thought… I was told by the mech who was guarding you that you three had been moved to safety. He lied to me. I dealt with him accordingly.”

“You still killed a city!” Prowl raged, processor spinning past the point of logic. “A city filled with our kin!”

“I had no choice.” Starscream stated coldly.

“That’s slag!” Smokescreen yelled, ignoring how Thundercracker was trying to calm and comfort him.

Starscream’s wings flared. “It was us or them. If Praxus hadn’t fallen, then Vos would have. I had to make a call and because I thought you were safe, it was an easy call to make.”

Bluestreak let out a wounded sound. “That’s awful. You’re a monster. They were part of Vos. We weren’t the only fledglings there. So many good bots died.”

“I know.” Starscream said, strangely soft. “Praxus… was a series of miscalculations and mistakes. If that makes me a monster then so be it.” He seemed to draw himself up. “The priests tell me the Chambers will be ready soon, try to make peace with this.”
With that he turned and walked out of sight.

Thundercraker spoke into the silent room, “For what it’s worth, we tried to find you once we realized what had happened. By that point you had become entrenched in the Autobots and Star thought it prudent to allow you to grieve.”

None of them answered him. With a sad sigh, he moved to leave and urged Skywarp with him.

“We’ll… um, we’ll see you in a bit.” Skywarp said awkwardly as Thundercracker led him away.

It was quiet in the room for a moment after they left and then Prowl’s engine growled loudly as he started yanking wildly against his bindings.

“Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself!” Smokescreen said worriedly.

When he didn’t stop Bluestreak pleaded, “Prowl, please. I’m scared. You’re scaring me.”

Slowly, Prowl stopped struggling as he got his emotions under control.

“Are you alright?” Smokescreen asked hesitantly.

“My… apologies. I dislike feeling helpless.”

He also disliked how his frame was refusing to obey him and transform away his fangs and claws.

His brothers pressed their EMFs against him from either side. Of course, now with some context clues, Prowl knew exactly where in Vos they were. It had been many millennia since he’d been here, but he finally recognized the ceiling he was looking at. It belonged to the largest and oldest temple in Vos. The place where the priest and medical castes mixed to ensure the proper growth of the immature Seekerlings masquerading as Praxians to be upgraded into full fledged Seekers.

Before he and his brothers had been spirited away to Praxus for their safety, they had come to the temple for several such ceremonies of adulthood. He’d always been confused by the flare of Seeking instincts that came out at such things, but his carr- Starscream had always told him that he would understand once he’d reached his final upgrade.

Prowl hadn’t realized that the temple had survived the war. Then again, once they’d been dug out of the ruins of Praxus, Prowl had stopped caring about what was happening to Vos. The temple could have literally been the last building standing in the flying city and he wouldn’t have known. Or cared, quite honestly.

It was not long after that the sound of a group of bots came into the room. It was a group of Seekers headed by the Command Trine. Prowl hid his surprise at the sight of a very old-looking trine. The ancient Seekers moved slowly and creakily; they had no faction markings to speak of, only the simple stoles of the priest cast. Prowl had vague memory of them from his youngling cycles. All these vorns, and the same priests ran the temple.

Prowl fought to not violently twitch when the obvious leader of the old trine placed his servo on each of their helms in turn, youngest to oldest. After a moment of silence, the lead priest spoke,

“Thunderstreak, creation of Skywarp and Airspace. Smokestorm, creation of Thundercracker and Rain Shadow. Skyprowler, creation of Starscream and Cirrus. After all of these vorns, Vos welcomes back into her arms the Heirs of the Winglord and his Trine. The time for their final upgrade is at servo. The Chambers await.”

Each of the three priests took hold of one of the hovering medical berths and pushed them, single file, through the silent and reverent crowd. Well, mostly reverent, Prowl caught sight of Sunstorm sneering at them as they passed. Prowl involuntarily bared his denta at the gold-colored Seeker.

Some of the others must have caught his expression because there was a flare of EMFs and wings around the gold Seeker. Instincts and tradition were already coming to the fore.

No matter if you had a feud with another family, one did not wish ill will on a fledgling going to their final upgrade. Superstition held that it would bring misfortune down on the wisher and their kin.

They were taken to one of the innermost rooms of the temple. Most of the hallways and other rooms were dark, so the influx of light when they entered was both sudden and unexpected. It was obvious that as much power as possible had been routed from the other parts of the temple to this one space.

It made sense, when Prowl thought about it in a detached sort of way. The Chambers needed a huge amount of energy and materials to facilitate the changing of frames that a Seeker’s final upgrade required. And there were going to be three of them at once.

More bots came forward. Hypos of what could only be sedatives were injected into the soon-to-be-former Praxian’s lines.

Prowl felt heavy and useless. He couldn’t even put up a token struggle as the bindings were removed. He and his brothers were lifted off of the berths by their respective carriers and gently arranged into the waiting Chambers.

“I hate you.” Bluestreak sobbed as he was placed into his, looking up at Skywarp.

Skywarp brushed the tears away with a gentle touch of his knuckles. He smiled sadly. “I know bitlet.”

Prowl and Smokescreen both refused to speak to their carriers.

The priests were intoning some sort of prayer to Primus as the Chambers were closed cutting off the light from the outside. In the stifling darkness, Prowl reached for his trine through the bond. They “held” one another until the sedatives did their work and the bond went mute as they fell into stasis.

As unconsciousness closed in on him, Prowl wished that he’d gotten to tell Jazz his secret. But it was too late now. The next time he saw Jazz, Prowl would be changed.

Chapter Text

Jazz was honestly surprised by the patience being shown by both sides as they worked together to get across Cybertron to Vos. No one was swapping goodie recipes or anything, but there were no open hostilities. Megatron was being downright cordial in his own way. He’d even agreed when Ratchet had posited his theory of where the Praxians had been taken.

Now that might have had something to do with the fact that he was without a good portion of his army, but it was strangely pleasant nonetheless.

Optimus was doing what he did best and setting the example for his own troops by being the Primly picture of tolerance. Of course he had Red Alert’s list of possible traps (which he had dutifully gone over with the Security Director before they left) in his subspace, but had not pulled it out as of yet.

Skyfire (with the Autobots on board) and Astrotrain (transporting the Decepticons) were flying side-by-side in relatively companionable silence. A comm channel had been left open between the two shuttles so their passengers could easily communicate. And maybe also keep and optic on each other to make sure there were no shenanigans being planned by either side.

Besides Optimus, Jazz, Ratchet, and Skyfire; Ironhide had put together the small force of Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Bumblebee and the Aerialbots. The Aerialbots had been a last minute addition once he’d been told they were going to Vos.

Among the Decepticons joining Megatron and Astrotrain were the Constructicons, Soundwave, Laserbeak, and Ravage. Though both cassettecons were stowed away in their Host for the flight.

As they approached the city, Jazz’s keen visored optics picked up a quick flash of wings that careened further into the city.

“I think we’ve been spotted OP.”

“So it seems,” Optimus replied.

“Be on your guard.” Megatron said.

Both shuttles cautiously entered Vos' airspace.

“Wow. Just look at this place.” Fireflight said in awe. He and his brothers were all pressed up against Skyfire’s windows looking out excitedly. Of course, because the Aerialbots were so young and had only had brief visits to Cybertran, they had never seen Vos, a city made for fliers.

Multicolored domes and spires as grand as those from the great ground cities reached skyward. Ornate balconies adorned every building; places to take off and land far more numerous than anywhere else on Cybertron. There were aerial highways here and there, but they were few and far between. The city was dark, though if one strained their audials, the sound of the city's huge flight motors were just audible over the sound of the shuttles’ engines. Unlike their groundling counterparts, this city still seemed mostly intact. Just… empty.

Empty and eerie.

“Why bring them here?” Sideswipe asked. “Some sort of power move?”

“Hard t’ tell with ol’ Screamer.” Jazz deflected, so Optimus wouldn’t have to lie.

“I’ve got movement!” Astrotrain interrupted suddenly.

Two Seeker trines came screaming towards them. The shuttles split out of formation to dodge as the trines buzzed them.

“They’re coming around for another pass!” Skyfire warned.

The Seekers shot past them again, loud and aggressive, but not attacking directly.

“Can I shoot the annoying pests, Lord Megatron?” Astrotrain asked.

“Not yet,” Megatron denied.

“Why didn’t they shoot us?” Jazz wanted to know.

Bumblebee pointed out of the view screen. “Look! There’s a bunch more swarming around that building.”

“What are they doing?” Silverbolt asked.

“Skyfire, you lived in Vos for a time,” Optimus said, “do you know what building that is? Is it significant?”

“That’s the Vosnian Temple of Adaptus.” Skyfire replied after a moment. “It’s so strange, they’re acting like…”

“Like there’s about to be a new trine emerging.” Astrotrain finished.

“What does that mean?” Megatron asked impatiently.

“Back before the war, when a new trine would emerge, they would always come from this temple. There would be an announcement in the city telling all young, un-trined Seekers and non-Seekers to stay indoors until the hierarchy had been re-established.” Skyfire said.

“Hierarchy?” Optimus asked.

“There’s a pecking order amongst the Seekers.” Astrotrain answered. “When you get a new trine, they gotta find out where they are in it. So they all fight until they figure their slag out. Could be really brutal. ’S’why I’ve always thought those jetheads were weird.”

“Wait, you’re telling us that Seekers literally have to fight their way into society the moment their final upgrades are done?” Sunstreaker said incredulously.

Astrotrain attached a wordless glyph to his next sentence that approximated a shrug. “That’s always the way I saw it.”

Jazz shot Ratchet a look.

:They’ll be in there.: He confirmed grimly over comms.

“But, what does a new trine have to do with…” Bumblebee started to ask. His optics brightened with shock as he put the pieces together. He looked at Jazz questioningly.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the rest of us?” Megatron asked dangerously.

Optimus glanced first at Jazz and the Ratchet. They both nodded.

“We have reason to believe that Prowl, Smokescreen and Bluestreak were taken to unwillingly undergo the process of becoming Seekers.”

Megatron seemed to think this over, a considering light in his optics. “Hook? Is that plausible?”

“It is true that Praxians share some coding with Seekers.” The Constructicon medic admitted.

It wasn’t exactly the right conclusion, but none of the bots “in the know” corrected him.

“If successful, then it might put them under Starcream’s “control” depending on where they fell in the hierarchy.” Ratchet put in.

“More power for him and a way to cripple both of our forces.” Megatron muttered.

“If I can find a way in, I can get ‘em outta there. Bee and I can go. But We’ll need a distraction.” Jazz said. “Bet our two groups workin’ t’gether coul’ make one pit o’ a distraction. Then we both get wha’ we want. The Autobots get their mechs back an’ ya foil up Starscream.”

“The Seekers will be operating under more base programming than normal.” Skyfire warned. “Your comrades may not recognize you. They’ll fight to the death to protect the temple up until the new trine emerges and then they’ll turn their attention to them.”

“Yeah, nothing quite like a feral Seeker trying to take you apart. And they come in threes.” Astrotrain injected unnecessarily.

“Alliance: advantageous. Soundwave: willing to provide assistance of Ravage and Laserbeak to Autobot Jazz.” Soundwave offered.

Megatron smirked again. “Extend our temporary ceasefire into a temporary alliance? I suppose I’ve done stranger things. What about you, Prime?”

Optimus nodded. “I would be amenable to this.”

“Well,” the warlord said, “This should be interesting.”

Chapter Text

It turned out that Autobots and Decepticons working together to make a massive distraction was amazingly effective. Optimus had insisted that they attempt to keep the shooting at minimum, since the Seekers weren’t quite in their right minds. The Decepticons were begrudging, but ultimately agreed. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were almost as disappointed as their enemies that they’d been forbidden from Jet Judo.

The shuttles had been quickly surrounded by angrily buzzing Seekers. Skyfire seemed to handle it fairly well, projecting his “gentle giant” personality enough that the jets calmed, though they continued to circle him warily. Astrotrain, however, panicked. Which led to several Seekers chasing him back and forth over the temple airspace.

There was a lot of chasing going on.

Also, Megatron climbing up to the top of one of the spires and yelling the Kaonite equivalent of “Come at me, bro” to Starscream was one of the funniest things Jazz had seen in a while.

So was the about-face in attitude some of the Seekers experienced once they seemed to realize how young the Aerialbots were. Instead of battling, they just sort of aggressively herded them away from the temple. Despite Air Raid flailing at them screaming, “Fight me!”

Though Jazz might have been trying to distract himself from how worried he was by focusing on the funny things.

All in all, the Seekers were successfully occupied as Jazz, Bumblebee, Ravage and Laserbeak found a conveniently low balcony on the side of the temple to sneak into.

Inside the temple was large and cavernous. Huge arched ceilings soared overhelm, big enough for a shuttle to hover comfortably in the space. Intricate, detailed murals of Adaptus in different parts of Seeker mythology were carved all over the once-polished walls. The temple was awe inspiring once, and it was foreboding still.

:Okay.: Jazz said over comms once they were in, :Two teams. Laserbeak with me, Ravage with Bumblebee.:

:Splitting up four ways would be quicker.: Ravage pointed out.

:No offense, but we don’t want you two to find our friends first and I’m sure Soundwave wants you keeping an optic on us.: Bumblebee countered.

She gave a feline shrug, :None taken and fair enough.:

They crept their way along the darkened, echoing corridor until they hit their first offshoot hallway. With a silent servo sign, Bumblebee and Ravage broke off and went down the hall. Jazz with Laserbeak flying overhelm continued on.

After several breems of quiet corridors and periodic checking in with the other team, Jazz and Laserbeak came across the first signs of life in the temple. Or, more accurately, it came across them. With sudden violence.

Three shapes threw themselves out of the darkness of the high ceiling. Laserbeak had just enough time to squawk out a warning. Jazz ducked and rolled as Laserbeak performed a quick aerial maneuver to avoid grasping claws. The shapes resolved themselves into three old Seekers with an absent light of madness in their optics. The only clue to any sort of identities were the priestly stoles they were wearing.

Being attacked by geriatric Seekers trying to rip off his faceplates was not something Jazz had been expecting.

He shot off a quick comm to the other team. :Frag! We’ve got company. There are Seekers inside, too.:

:Got it.: Bumblebee replied. :Do you need back up?:

:No. Keep looking where you are, but find cover if you can.:

The old Seekers snarled, scrambling and diving at them.

“Run for it!” Jazz yelled, folding down into alt mode.

Laserbeak needed no more coaxing than that, folding her wings and diving down to fly just above Jazz’s roof. Any higher and she would be the sole focus of the three Seekers’ currently overactive prey drive.

The old Seekers roared after them with a sound that Jazz wouldn’t have expected from bots their age. The leader dove at them. Jazz dodged one way while Laserbeak dodged the other.

She screeched in panic as the Seekers instinctively went for the flying target. Jazz stopped and opened the panels on his sides, unleashing a cacophonous sound attack at the Seekers from his specialized sound system.

As they milled about, discombobulated, Jazz yelled over the comm, :Get in th’ vents, they’re too big t’ follow you there. I’ll find my own hidin’ spot.:

With a glyphless chirp of acknowledgement, Laserbeak used their confusion to bank into an open vent grate and disappeared. Jazz burned four black marks on the temple’s floor as he accelerated away. He could hear them reorienting themselves behind him.

He reached the end of the corridor where a large set of double doors blocked the way. Jazz transformed into root mode and tried the doors.

Heavy, but thankfully unlocked.

He pushed against them sharply, creaking one open just enough to squeeze through. He winced as it shut with a loud thud.

Breathless he waited, servos and audial pressed against the door, listening intently to the sounds of the Seeker engines approach, then oscillate as if unsure. Finally, the sound retreated. He vented out softly.

It was only now that he realized that the room he was in was lit. His shadow was cast up on the door in front of him.

Slowly, he turned.

It looked like a mix between a medical bay as some sort of mad scientist’s lair.

There were tubes and wires, power reroutes, energon stores and monitors. And along the back wall was a row of what had to be some sort of stasis pods. Though they weren’t like any Jazz had ever seen before. Completely encapsulating and ovoid, rather than the standard medical bay cylinder with a transparent observation window. Each of them sat in a pool of rosy energon, clear tubes of strange silver-white liquid were running down into the pods from the ceiling.

And three seemed to be in use.

A soft glow emanated from the energon, the monitors and the tiny cracks between the plating of the stasis pods.

That feeling that Jazz sometimes got on missions of being in the “right place” made itself known in his processor. Jazz carefully picked his way across the room. Each monitor attached to one of the occupied pods showed a steady and strong life sign, but that was about all Jazz could recognize. All of the readouts were in Vosnian which was one of the few languages Jazz didn’t know. He’d never needed to do a mission where knowing that particular language was necessary.

Unsure if he should touch the pods, Jazz hesitated for a klik and then very gently placed his digit tips and an audial to one of the pods. He could hear vague movements through liquid and under that, the spin and pulse of a sparkbeat.

A familiar sparkbeat.

“Prowl.” He whispered, relieved.

He sent off a quick ping to Bumblebee to indicate that he’d found their comrades.

Then he commed Ratchet. He knew the medic had found a spot to hunker down out of sight so he could provide medical expertise to the four of them that had gone inside.

:Ratch, I found ‘em, but they’re in some sort o’ stasis pods.:

He heard Ratchet huff grumpily. :That likely means they’re not Praxians anymore. Not that they really were to begin with, but whatever.:

:Already?: Jazz asked in confusion.

True, it had taken a couple cycles to get here, since they’d had to wait for the spacebridges to line up again, but it hadn’t been that long.

:Upgrades, even involved ones like this, don’t take as much time as you might think they should. What are their vitals looking like?:

:I don’ know. It’s all in Vosnian.:

:Frag it, of course it is. Why can’t one of these Seekers be sane to tell us what’s going on? Fine. Tell me what you see.:

Jazz attempted to describe the strange stasis pods and then the pictures and graphs he was seeing on the monitor screens with no verbal context. He didn’t feel like it was very helpful.

He was interrupted from the struggle of interpretation, by a resounding, metallic thump coming from one of the stasis pods.

He looked at the pod closest to him. Had it… just moved? He stared for a few more kliks.

Yes. There. A slight rocking.

:Jazz? Why did you stop talking?: Ratchet asked, concern palpable in his voice.

:Uh. ‘ow likely is it tha’ they’re ready t’ come out?:

:...Why?:

:One o’ th’ pods jus’ moved.:

:What do you mean moved?:

:Wha’ d’ ya mean, wha’ d’ I mean? It moved! It, like, shimmied.:

Thump. Thump. THUMP!

The pod lurched forward and shook. As if in response, the other two occupied pods began to rock back and forth.

:Okay, yeah. Somebot’s definitely tryin’ t’ get out.:

Muffled thumps and rumbles began emanating from all three moving capsules. And, more alarmingly, small convex dents began to appear on the outer plating of the pods in time with the clangs and thuds.

:Jazz, get out of there.:

:Wait, shouldn’ I try t’ ‘elp ‘em?:

:No. We don’t know what their mental state is going to be. It will be safest to let them emerge on their own. You know, without a target to focus on if they're feeling particularly unbalanced.:

A reverberating Bang sounded as a white fist punched through the plating of the middle pod. The fist uncurled, only to grasp at the edge of the hole with huge integrated talons that slowly began to rip the pod apart from the inside. A set of pale, baleful blue optics glared out from the interior of the pod.

:...Frag.:

Apparently Ratchet could translate the Ops speak for ‘Well, this mission just went to the Pit’.

:Jazz, get out of there, now!: He barked.

:Going!:

Jazz ran for the door; the sound of rending metal, shrieking vocalizers and roaring flight engines behind him. It was like a fragging horror movie. Halfway to the exit, the heavy double doors thundered and shook as if something heavy had struck against them. Jazz skidded to a halt and watched in alarm as the doors burst open under the assault of the completely crazy old trine that had chased him earlier.

Okay. Correction. Now it was officially a horror movie.

Chapter Text

No... sudden... movements. Jazz thought inanely as he stood stock-still watched the three growling Seekers who’d stopped in the doorway once they’d gotten through the barrier.

In retrospect, running had been a really stupid idea.

There was still the unsettling sounds happening behind him. Sounds that were more akin to a warship being ripped apart than upgrading bots. He really, really wished that he could look to see what was happening, but he knew better than to take his optics off of the threat in front of him. The taloned, possibly senile threat.

Now was not the time to laugh hysterically, he sternly told himself.

Then he realized that the Seekers in the doorway weren’t actually focused on him. They were looking past him, fangs bared, claws flexing. They prowled forward. The doors, which were somehow still working despite the pounding they’d taken, swung shut behind them. Jazz cursed silently. There went his easy exit.

The sounds behind him changed. No more moaning of metal being ripped apart. No more screeching of static. But the growl of unhappy engines still rose and fell over his back plating in a roil that made his protoform prickle with unease. And the clunk-click of thruster-heeled pedes stalking towards him from in front and behind made his fuel pump speed up as his battle protocols cycled into full alert.

Jazz nearly jumped out of his armor when a bang-whoosh thundered from behind him. He had half a klik to think that it sounded familiar before a black cloud of smoke suddenly filled the air of the room.

Then, he felt three distinctive shapes dart past him. The noise of frames meeting violently and vocalizers screeching was a cacophony of discord in his audials.

Smokescreen, Jazz realized. He must have retained his abilities and used it to give his… his trine an advantage in the ensuing fight.

Jazz used the smoke cover to stealthily sneak towards a wall. He might be able to get out of the doors with the other occupants of the room distracted as they were with “introducing” themselves to each other.

A frame went sailing over his helm with an offended yelp, followed closely by the pale underbelly of a jet. It could have been grey or white. Jazz wasn’t sure.

He sort of wished he could see what was going on as he scrambled for the wall. His sensitive digit tips felt their way along the edge of the room, ignoring the crashing and rending in the obscuring smoke.

A terrific impact rattled the floor, followed by a quiet whimper.

Then it got quiet.

Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The smoke was starting to clear and take his cover with it.

There! There was the seam of one of the doors. Now he just had to get the door open.

Jazz was attempting to pull the absurdly heavy door open when he felt the displaced air of somebot behind him. He licked his dermas nervously and slowly turned around.

He came olfactory to cockpit with a white and black Seeker.

He looked up.

It could only be Prowl. His chevron was gone, but the brilliant crimson color had been transferred to his newly shaped helm. The same silver faceplates stared down at Jazz from much farther up than he was expecting. As ground vehicles, they’d been much the same size, but now with his flight upgrade, Prowl towered a helm taller than Jazz.

Prowl leaned forward and down.

Jazz did his best to ensure that his voice didn’t crack, though it was a bit shaky. “O-oh, uh, was I in ya’re way? S-sorry. Lemme jus’-“ Jazz shifted his weight to slide out from between the door and the Seeker.

Wham! A white, clawed servo slammed into the surface next to his helm cutting off his escape route.

“Okay!” Jazz said quickly, freezing in place, anticipating that the next hit might not miss him.

But Prowl stopped moving, as if he was surprised by the sound himself. Then he just... looked at Jazz.

“Prowl?” Jazz whispered.

A thread of frustration wove through Prowl’s EMF. He huffed.

I wonder if… no, he does. He knows me.

Battle protocols winding down, Jazz slowly but surely lifted his servos up to cup Prowl’s faceplates. The new Seeker rumbled a purr; the resonant oscillation thrumming through Jazz down to his struts.

Amused sounding trills emanate from behind Prowl, who reluctantly pulled away from Jazz’s touch to send an unimpressed glare over his shoulder.

He moved enough that Jazz could see the silver/red and the blue/red/gold of Bluestreak and Smokescreen’s new forms. Like their oldest brother, their chevrons were gone with the color integrated into their helms. Their new frames were already sporting the tell-tale signs of combat. Scrapes and dents.

The three old Seekers were still alive, though they were standing crouched together in the corner carefully keeping their wings down and gazes averted from the new trine.

Looked like the Autobot trine had won their first dominance fight.

Jazz frowned, there were so many Seekers waiting outside for their turn to go up against them.

Prowl placed a large servo on Jazz’s shoulder and pulled him away from the door; the move nearly overbalancing the grounder. Jazz stumbled, but Prowl immediately steadied him with an upset whine of his jet engine.

Oh...

Prowl was just like any newly upgraded bot. He didn’t know his own strength yet.

Jazz put a servo on Prowl’s cockpit and flared his field forgivingly to show that he wasn’t upset.

“Words are hard righ’ now, huh?” Jazz guessed.

Prowl grumbled wordlessly in response.

Jazz nodded. “Thought so. Gotta made a plan somehow. There’s a lotta bots outside waiting to take a piece outta ya three.”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. All three of the Autobot trine bared their fangs, wings flaring wide.

“Uh-wait!” Jazz could do nothing as Prowl swept him up in his arms. Prowl, Smokescreen and Bluestreak all engaged their anti-gravs to hover. Prowl snarled at the old trine who hurriedly scurried forward to open the huge double doors. When the obstacle was out of the way, the Autobot trine rocketed out of the room and through the halls of the temple. The once-silent corridors near rattled with the force of their angry engines.

Jazz was pretty preoccupied with hanging onto Prowl’s neck for dear life, but he could see that Smokescreen and Bluestreak had taken up flanking positions on each of Prowl’s wings.

As one unit, they came screaming out of one of the temples balconies and flew up, up, up spinning in formation high above the temple. In tandem, they stopped, hovering above the milling Seekers below and roared out a bellow of confrontation that vibrated through Jazz’s plating.

Shrieks and screams, trills and engine burns, answered them. Autobots and Decepticons alike were forgotten as the new trine’s show of defiance.

Prowl suddenly sank down in the air and gently set Jazz down on the highest balcony of the temple.

“Prowl?” Jazz asked in confusion.

The white and black Seeker gazed down at him and then with surprising quickness, stole a kiss. Before Jazz even had a moment to react to that, Prowl was pulling away and out into the open air on his anti-gravs.

“Prowl!” Jazz rushed to the edge of the balcony and could only watch helplessly as Prowl and his trine transformed and raced downward to meet the first challengers.

Chapter Text

:Jazz. Report.: Optimus’ voice broke the visored mech out of his, self-admittedly, poor beginning stages of a plan to scale down the temple.

Reporting helped him focus.

:Prowl, Smokescreen and Bluestreak are fully upgraded… as ya can see. I was in contact with Ratch fo’ a bit, so ‘e knows. When I went t’ locate ‘em in the temple I was separated from Laserbeak by an old Seeker trine tha’ attacked us. They seemed t’ be under the throes o’ base programmin’. Laserbeak escaped. I believe she, Bumblebee and Ravage are still inside. I don’ think th’ old trine will try t’ attack ‘em now. They sorta got their afts handed t’ ‘em by our mechs.:

:Do our mechs seem in charge of their faculties?: Optimus asked doubtfully. Obviously, he was seeing the same thing that Jazz was- Prowl and his brothers diving down into the waiting dogfight arena.

:Sorta? They knew who I was, bu’ don’ think they can stop themselves. An’ Prime? I don’ think tryin’ t’ stop it is gonna do anybody any favors.:

Jazz could hear the pause of reluctance, he looked over the side of the balcony trying to catch a glimpse of the Prime. Optimus seemed to be talking to Megatron of all bots. After a moment, he answered,

:...Understood.:

Just what had the silver warlord said to him?

Jazz turned his gaze back to the Autobots trine. But instead of immediate engagement, they seemed to be… well, showing off, it seemed.

At least, that was the first thing that popped into Jazz’s helm. “Sky dancing” was the next thing to cross his processor.

What else could he call the display that the new trine was doing?

And the other Seekers were just waiting and observing.

First they locked into a triangular formation and made a set of synchronized inverted rolls. Then they suddenly changed direction and performed a farvel, with Prowl inverted over a still upright Smokescreen and Bluestreak. They broke out of this formation by barrel rolling in opposite directions. All three of them looped around and locked back into formation.

It was beautiful.

It took Jazz a moment to realize, distracted as he was by the display, that it was actually doing something besides being optc-catching.

Several trines of the awaiting challengers had quit the field during the display. They’d flown off to the side of the “arena” and taken refuge on balconies in root mode, lowering their wings as the Autobot trine passed by.

The display was a way to cow some of the trines into submission without a physical fight, Jazz realized.

But now, with those Seekers out of the way, those who hadn’t been scared off began to answer the challenge.

The first trine was led by a purple and black femme with two darkly colored mechs on her wings. Rather than a brawl, they decided to play a high stakes game of Chicken with the Autobots trine. Flying in a tight fast formation directly at them.

It was unfortunate that they didn’t have the knowledge of Prowl’s propensity for strategy games.

And a severe distaste for losing.

Prowl led his trine head-on towards the dark trine, without an ounce of hesitation. In the end, it was the femme’s trine that veered out of the way. And that seemed to be enough to convince them that they should concede.

The Coneheads went next, but that was a brutally short fight that ended when Bluestreak transformed in midair and grabbed onto Thrust, clawing and biting into the same wing that he’d injured before.

Bluestreak was turning into quite the vicious fighter. It must have been how much time he spent with the twins.

The Rainmakers were summarily dealt with next. Their attacks, biting and scratching against their opponent’s wings, only seemed to piss the Autobots trine off. One-by-one, they were grabbed out of the air by two or more of the Autobots, thrusters clawed and mangled, and thrown, careening into nearby buildings.

Jazz fretted and seethed. The Autobots trine now had visible wounds and weak points, but they weren’t being allowed to stop and rest even for a klik. How was this fair?

Then, a trine that Jazz only recognized by SpecOps knowledge, entered the fray. It was led by a mech on the sigma list. Sunstorm.

His opening volley was to fly in close and unleash his irradiating energy on the young trine, attempting to weaken them. In response Smokescreen looped in tight circles around them all and unleashed a thick choking cloud of smoke, obscuring them (and half the “arena”) from sight.

Jazz could just barely make out the hazy glowing form of Sunstorm in the smoke. His trine mates were flying around above the smoke in confusion trying to find targets.

Sunstorm’s fatal flaw was that he’d gone in against the Autobot trine solo, leaving the rest of his trine trailing behind him. This was made abundantly clear when a shriek split the air and Sunstorm came barreling out of the smoke backwards with Prowl’s nose cone buried into his cracked cockpit. Prowl slammed Sunstorm into one of his trine mates, then peeled off as Bluestreak shot out of the smoke cover and transformed to claw at the underbelly of the other trine mate.

In a flash, Prowl was back, this time in root mode, grabbing Sunstorm by the throat as his two trine mates tried to regain their bearings. They were each grabbed by Bluestreak and Smokescreen, who’d appeared out of the smoke; some delicate part of them held hostage by sharp claws. Prowl’s plating was scorched by Sunstorm’s radiation, but he seemed not to care.

And, he’d apparently found his voice.

“Yield!” His demand echoed across the space, backed up by a roar of his engine.

At first Sunstorm snarled, refusing, but Prowl just tightened his grip, claws digging into throat cables until mech-blood leaked out.

Finally, the golden Seeker gasped out, “We yield!”

With that Prowl let him go, and his brothers let the other two Seekers go and they turned their optics upward searching for the Command trine.

“Starscream!” Prowl roared.

“Right here.”

The mild tone was only shocking because of its proximity. Jazz literally yelped and fell over onto his aft because the voice sounded right over his helm. As he looked up and saw the Command trine standing on the top of the temple he seriously considered signing himself up for some retraining courses after he got his sparkbeat back under control.

To be fair, he’d been pretty distracted. But they were right there on the roof behind him.

Skywarp trilled in amusement and gave him a razor sharp grin from where he crouched next to Starscream.

Fortunately, it seemed as though they didn’t have time to make any disparaging remarks about his apparent lack of perception, because their proximity to him meant that the Autobot trine was screaming up to meet them in about three kliks flat.

Starscream shot upward from the roof, goading Prowl to chase him with a blast of exhaust. Skywarp and Thundercracker were slower to react. The dark blue Seeker managed to meet Smokescreen’s attack of fists with blocks, though he was forced off the top of the temple. Skywarp was caught off-guard by Bluestreak slamming into him. There was the tell-tale sound of his teleporting, but Bluestreak was keeping hold of him and coming along for the ride every time he attempted to put space between them.

Jazz scrambled upright and craned his neck as he tried to keep his optical center on Prowl and Starscream high above. They were trading blows, sparks lighting up against the darkened sky as claws scraped across plating and energon flying as hits found their mark.

And despite the fighting near him by the other trine mates, this time Jazz heard when another flight frame rose to the height of the balcony.

It was Sunstorm. And he was holding a blaster. He aimed up at the grappling trine leaders. Too late, Jazz yelled out a warning to Prowl. Jazz drew his vibro-blade as Sunstorm fired. The visored mech threw it with pin-point accuracy through the gold Seeker’s wrist.

Sunstorm growled in furious agony as he dropped the weapon; Jazz wrenched his gaze up desperately. Both Prowl and Starscream were still hovering, though they’d stopped fighting. Prowl was holding his smoking shoulder from where he’d been hit by the blaster bolt.

Jazz ducked instinctively when Sunstorm snarled and lunged at him. He dodged away from the enraged Seeker, but there was little space to maneuver on the balcony. Luckily, Jazz found enough servo and pede holds to quickly heft himself up the side of the temple to the roof.

Unfortunately, Seekers could fly. As Jazz scrambled to the middle of the roof, Sunstorm floated up over the edge after him, faceplates fixed into a malevolent sneer. He wrenched the vibro-blade out of his own wrist and tossed it off the building. Then he closed in and Jazz found himself abruptly cornered on the edge. The Seeker started to glow with radiation… only to be suddenly yanked backward.

Jazz cycled his optics in surprise as Starscream continued to cruelly wrench the gold Seeker up off the roof by one of his wings. He was joined by Thundercracker and Skywarp, who shrieked and fell upon Sunstorm with a ferocity that was frightening.

Prowl, Smokescreen and Bluestreak landed on the roof in a protective semi-circle around Jazz and watched warily.

Thundercracker and Skywarp held Sunstorm in place, then with a horrifying screech and rending of metal, Starscream ripped his left wing off.

They dropped him to be rescued by his trine before he fell out of the sky.

The Autobot trine tensed as the Command trine landed on the roof with them. Starscream knelt and presented the dismembered wing to Prowl. Thundercracker and Skywarp knelt with him.

“We yield, Winglord Skyprowler.”

“What?” Prowl asked suspiciously.

Starscream looked up at him with a knowing gleam in his optics and the barest hint of a smirk. “We are yours to command, Winglord.”

All around the temple roof, the defeated Seekers began to fly in swoops and swirls and loops. Trills and screeches, screaming engines and after burns filled the air.

Prowl glared down at Starscream. “I never wanted this.” He hissed.

“But now you have it.” Starscream countered with calm, smug surety.

Prowl’s claws twitched, bespeaking the violence he clearly wanted to impart, but something stopped him from striking. Maybe instinct, maybe something else.

It was certainly base programming that had him lifting his helm to the sky and answering the joyous cacophony with his own roar of victory.

Chapter Text

Facing the waiting factions was… awkward.

Prowl and the rest of his… armada had flown down to meet with the non-Seekers. Jazz had been a willing passenger, if a little stiff in his arms. Prowl could only hope that Jazz wasn’t too angry with him.

Fortunately neither the Autobots nor the Decepticons really seemed to know what to do with the new status quo. Except for Ratchet, of course, who immediately began to cuss and patch up injuries. A few gentle words from Optimus soothed the medic from going off entirely, which was a good thing since many of the Seekers were still twitchy from their base programming. Though, any growling from the Seekers was matched by an impressive snarl from the ambulance.

Prowl formally offered the two factions places to rest in the temple. Mostly he wanted to keep both leaders present until he got his new role, the Seekers and himself into some semblance of order. Then he could figure out what he was going to do.

Yes, he could have just declared that all Seekers were now Autobots (and that sort of power made his protoform itch uncomfortably), but it would not have been a smooth transition. After all, most of the Seekers had just been Decepticons and merely forcing them into a new alliance would only cause friction and grief.

The Autobots went without complaint to their lodgings, while the Decepticons accepted suspiciously. Optimus was unfailingly understanding. The Aerialbots were excitedly looking all around the temple, enraptured. Megatron seemed strangely pensive.

Prowl had only been able to watch fretfully as Jazz had given him one last lingering, unreadable look before disappearing into his accommodations with the other Autobots.

Now, Prowl paced, sometimes on the floor and sometimes floating just above it, in a large suite on one of the upper floors. It was the traditional rooms for the Winglord and his trine when they visited the temple for extended periods.

Smokescreen and Bluestreak were there, of course, but also Starscream, Thundercracker and Skywarp. Loath as he was to admit it, the Command trine had the knowledge and expertise that he was severely lacking. For now, they were acting as his sort of advisors.

That didn’t stop him from despising them.

Or arguing with Starscream. The Autobot trine were far beyond the anger of being forced to upgrade. Prowl could see now that it needed to happen one way or another. But he was still upset at the outcome of their first flight. His brothers seemed content to let him take the lead in venting their frustrations.

“Why would you yield? I never wanted to be Winglord. I never wanted to be a Seeker!” Prowl growled.

Starscream gestured widely with his arms, “Don’t you understand? I did this for you. I practically giftwrapped the advantage you need to end the war!”

Prowl rounded on him from where he’d be hovering near the window. “You had the advantage. You could have ended the war.”

“I tried to end the war by displacing Megatron, but that didn’t work. It never worked.”

“That’s slag. You’ve tried to kill Megatron a dozen times. Why change your attempts now?”

“The Seekers are dying out.” Starscream said bluntly. “There may be a few who went off-world when the war started, but most of them stayed and most of them have died in the war.”

“You could have taken the Seekers and left the war!” Prowl argued.

“I swore loyalty to the Decepticon cause before I really knew what it meant. You are not constrained by that, and as our Winglord I must obey your directives.”

“So you made me Winglord to get out of your obligations of allegiance? What guarantee do I have that you won’t attempt to “replace” me if you tire of your obligations of loyalty to me?”

Starscream hovered up suddenly on his anti-gravs, “You are my creation. Everything I have done has been to ensure your survival! I will go down in history, if our history even gets written, as the Winglord who nearly wiped out the Seekers. I failed. By passing the mantle to you, I ensured my legacy, and your safety. There are many who would attempt to offline you merely because you were my creation. But with your title you now command a fleet of protectors. And you have the ability and drive to pull us out of our death spiral. You can be the mediator to stop the war and gather our people back together.”

“You put a lot of expectations on me that you expect me to just accept.”

Starscream smirked. “As much as you might hate it, I know you and your abilities. I have full confidence that once you set your processor to this, it will be a matter of orns until you’ve accomplished it. Especially if you want to keep up that relationship of yours with the TIC of Prime’s army.”

Prowl shot him a dark look, but Starscream only scoffed.

“Please, you are not subtle. I can only hope that if I have to endure your bondmate being that annoying grounder that some of your Seeker heritage will breed true.”

Prowl turned away, disturbed, “We are not having this conversation.”

Fortunately, they were interrupted by a polite knock on the doors of the suite. Skywarp answered.

It was one of the medic Seekers. She entered when Prowl motioned her into the room. With a bow she informed him formally that Sunstorm had requested to see him.

“What could he want?” Smokescreen asked suspiciously.

Starscream shrugged nonchalantly. “He’s either going to ask for clemency or deactivation. Whichever his pride allows for, I suppose.”

Prowl frowned at his cavalier attitude about the mech’s fate. Hadn’t he just said that the Seeker’s were dying out? Shouldn’t he be more concerned with keeping the surviving Seekers alive?

“I will speak with him.” Prowl said evenly to the medic.

She nodded and offered to escort him to their medbay. He accepted with a flick of his wing and pointedly turned down Starscream’s offer of accompaniment.

Prowl would talk with Sunstorm alone.

The temple’s medbay was not far from the room which contained the upgrading Chambers. It was rudimentary, even to Prowl’s medically untrained optics. There were only a few working medical berths and the cabinets seemed sparse and bare. Ratchet would surely have a fit if he saw this place.

Sunstorm was sitting up on one of the working medical berths. He was still missing a wing, but the appropriate tubes and wires had been capped and soldered to ensure that he didn’t bleed out or pass out from pain. His wingmates were both sitting to the side of the medical berth. They’d all looked up when Prowl had entered the room. After a tense few moments, Sunstorm had bowed his helm and flicked his remaining wing down in a show of submission.

Something deep in Prowl’s coding purred and he hated it. “You requested to see me?”

“I wished to know what is to be… done with me. I grossly overstepped and you would be well within your right to… dispose of me. But if such a thing is your intention I would like to know sooner rather than later, and ask that you spare my trine mates.”

Said trine mates made distressed noises in their engines, but said nothing.

“Are you expecting me to deactivate you?” Prowl asked.

“That is what is done with traitors.” Sunstorm said flatly.

“That may be how things were done in the past,” Prowl agreed, “but that is not how things will be done under my leadership. We are too few to allow such a careless loss of functioning.”

“...I suppose we are.”

They stared at one another for a moment.

Prowl cocked his helm curiously, “Tell me, what was it that made you turn to the Decepticons?”

Sunstorm seemed surprised, as if no one had ever asked him that before. “I wanted freedom, and it was commanded of me by the Wing-, the former Winglord. I answered the call rather than leave Cybertron.”

Prowl gave him a considering look. “I have information on who you were before the war. You were a devotee of The Five- still are if your reported battlefield sermons are anything to go by- why change your focus from priestly pursuits to warfare?”

Sunstorm continued to look nonplussed. “I- I was not allowed to enter the priest cast. It was what I wanted more than anything.”

Prowl flicked his wings. “I think we are well beyond the caste system by now, don’t you? What is stopping you from becoming a priest as you wanted to be.”

Flabbergasted did not begin to cover Sunstorm’s reaction. “I-I need training, a temple.”

Prowl gestured around himself, “Is this not the grandest temple in Vos? I will arrange for the old priests here to begin your training immediately.”

“They will never teach somebot not of the cast.” Sunstorm protested.

“I am Winglord; they will if I order them to.”

Sunstorm looked very… lost. “Why do this for me? I tried to deactivate you dishonorably.”

“Because you are still a viable threat and I need you to be in a place that I can keep an optic on you, and keep you busy.” Prowl said bluntly.

Strangely, Prowl’s logical explanation seemed to calm Sunstorm

“I… thank you, Winglord Skyprowler.” He said hesitantly.

Prowl managed to keep his wings from twitching at his Seeker name. He nodded and left the medbay.

It troubled Prowl that Sunstorm had so thoroughly lost sight of what he’d even been fighting for. Were there more bots who’d just continued to fight blindly for a dead cause? Perhaps he should set Smokescreen on the task of speaking with each of the Decepticon trines to see what their intentions had been when joining their original faction. Though, Sunstorm had said that Starscream had ordered it. Maybe some of them hadn’t even had a reason for fighting.

Were the Autobots suffering from the same loss of insight?

He pondered these things on his way to find the old priestly trine. He thought, given the circumstances, that they would be easily swayed to begin Sunstorm’s training. And the training of whoever else wanted to become a priest.

If not, he had some very compelling arguments already lined up to convince them.

When he was done with that he wanted… no, he needed to go speak with Jazz.

Chapter Text

Prowl’s talk with the old priests had gone better than he’d expected. Rather than put up a fuss about old ways of life, they agreed to take on Sunstorm (and the rest of his trine, if they so wished) as a student.

Perhaps they were just as fatigued by the war as the rest of them.

With that thought in mind, Prowl had commed Smokescreen with his idea of speaking to the other trines. Fortunately, his brother seemed interested in psychoanalyzing their ex-enemies. Prowl trusted that Smokescreen could work himself into their good graces and get the information.

Prowl walked the halls of the temple after his meeting with the old trine.

Though they’d been given accommodations, the Autobots and Decepticons were by no means meant to stay in their rooms. They were free to explore the temple and it seemed that most of them were curious. Especially the Aerialbots.

The young jets were looking around with naked interest at just about everything. Fireflight was also innocently bothering one of the neutral trines with questions, though it didn’t seem as if the older Seekers were too troubled by it.

The Constructicons were keeping to themselves, but obviously inspecting the architecture around them. Logical, seeing as how they’d never seen Vosnian construction before.

A ever-so-slightly-panicked comm from the medbay informed him that Ratchet had found his way there and was just as unimpressed with the accommodations as Prowl had thought he’d be. Prowl managed to keep his amusement to himself; the Autobot CMO could be quite intimidating even to those who were used to him. He assured the Seeker medic that the grumpy mech only meant well, his berthside manner was just lacking.

As Prowl was passing by a smaller corridor, he caught sight of the large white form of Skyfire. With the shuttle taking up a majority of the space, he almost missed the smaller form of Starscream. Just what was the tri-colored Seeker up to now? Ostensibly, whatever they were talking about was none of his business, but he did wonder as he walked on without stopping. Something to look into later, perhaps.

He didn’t see either of the faction leaders, or the rest of the “visiting” Autobots and Decepticons, however the temple was very extensive and he wasn’t going through it room-by-room.

Truthfully, there was only one bot that Prowl was really looking for. It took him a while, but he finally found Jazz on one of the temple’s balconies looking out over the expanse of Vos. They didn’t speak to each other for a long moment, though Jazz mutely acknowledged his presence when he approached with a nod of his helm.

After silently standing beside the visored mech for a while, Prowl tried to start a conversation.

“Jazz.”

“Prowl.”

Prowl couldn’t stop his wings from twitching at the flat tone.

“Are you angry at me?”

The Polyhexian sighed, his tone thawing a bit. “If we’re bein’ honest, a little, yeah. Ya flew down into a fight tha’ was ten-to-one. I thought ya might die…” Jazz turned away and said softly. “Ya scared me.”

“I am sorry. Base programming is… difficult to ignore.” Even to his own audials it sounded like a flimsy excuse no matter how true it might be.

“Yeah, Ratch’ said as much when ‘e was tryin’ t’ explain it t’ th’ Aerialbots.” Jazz said.

“But you are not angry that I did not tell you? About my heritage, I mean.”

Jazz turned back to look at him with the beginning of a faint smile. “I’d be pretty hypocritical t’ be mad at ya fo’ havin’ secrets, sweetspark.”

Prowl’s spark jumped.

“And you don’t mind that I look different?” His wings flexed of their own accord.

It almost seemed as if Jazz gave him a once over, helm to pede. “Well… I can say tha’ I didn’ have a thing for flight frames until ya became one.” His voice had become warm and teasing.

Prowl froze for a klik before suddenly yanking Jazz into an embrace. The visored mech made a muffled sound of surprise into his cockpit.

Prowl apparently still didn’t quite know his own strength because Jazz squeaked after a moment. “Prowler… can’t vent.”

Prowl immediately loosened his grip, but didn’t let go. The Seeker vented deeply and put his chin on top of Jazz’s helm between his audial horns.

“I thought I might have lost you.” Prowl admitted shakily.

Jazz’s arms circled him, servos coming to rest on his lower back and then begin to gently rub up and down soothingly. He tilted his helm and nuzzled Prowl’s collar fairing, “‘Ey, I might be a lil’ miffed at ya righ’ now, bu’ ya still got me.”

Prowl basked in Jazz’s warm EMF. His instincts were pushing at him. He wanted/needed to do something for the visored mech to prove himself. Prowl couldn’t even articulate why he needed to prove himself. To make up for lying? To atone for scaring Jazz? To prove that he still wanted him?

...Stupid illogical base programming.

Prowl pulled back enough so that they could meet optics.

“Come flying with me.”

Jazz tiled his helm in confusion, “Much as I’d love t’, I don’ really have all th’ equipment fo’ tha’.”

Prowl’s arms tightened slightly again. “No, come flying with me. I won’t let you fall.”

Jazz gave him a long, considering look before his dermas quirked up into a small smile. “A’ight. I trust ya. So ‘ow are we gonna do this?”

“Step up onto my pedes.” Prowl instructed.

Jazz did so, bringing them flush up against each other. Prowl adjusted Jazz’s arms from around his middle to up around his neck. Prowl wrapped his arms securely around the visored mech. Then he activated his anti-gravs and slowly lifted off of the balcony in a hover.

Jazz vented in quickly and tightened his arms for just a klik before he relaxed into Prowl’s hold.

“You’re not afraid of heights are you?” Prowl thought to ask a little belatedly.

“Naw, they never bothered me. ‘Sides, I know ya got me.”

The Seeker churred happily and gently took off. As they rose above the floors of the temple, Prowl caught sight of Bluestreak and the twins on one of the higher balconies all standing rather close. Over the trine bond, Bluestreak pulsed amusement and Prowl answered with fond annoyance. But he didn’t let his brother distract him for long.

Prowl rose up with a low pulse of thrusters. Jazz let out a soft sound of amazement when they crested over the top of the temple.

Prowl quirked a smile at him and murmured, “Hold on tight.”

Prowl smoothly flipped them from vertical to horizontal, Jazz fell against him with a chirp of startlement. The Seeker flew, wings towards the ground, with Jazz cradled against him.

Jazz chuckled breathlessly, “Ya gonna keep surprisin’ me, Prowler?”

“Are you up for it?” Prowl teased.

The Polyhexian smirked, “Bring it on, my mech.”

With that sort of permission, Prowl started to really fly.

He took them up and over the city. They drifted and twisted on the thermals, skydancing together in a locked embrace. Jazz even opened his arms wide at one point to feel the currents over his plating as Prowl held him.

Prowl gazed adoringly at the mech that had stolen his spark, helm framed by the blue-midnight sky speckled with stars, visor glowing with joy like the light of a cerulean sunrise. He leaned forward and kissed him. Jazz’s answering enthusiasm made his spark soar higher than the tallest tower in Vos.

Chapter Text

Prowl brought Jazz back to the expansive balcony of the Winglord’s suite; floating slowly down on his anti-gravs and settling gently on the floor. It was with great reluctance that he let the visored mech out of the circle of his arms. Jazz looked up at him, visor sparkling with happiness and just a touch of mischief.

Prowl was drawn in, the temptation to kiss those smiling dermas too great to ignore. As he gave in and pressed his dermas to Jazz’s he felt that familiar heat of avarice streaking through his frame. Maybe he could entice Jazz into one of the private rooms. He slowly guided Jazz towards the interior of the suite.

“That was quite a display.” Smokescreen’s teasing voice cut through their moment unwelcomingly.

Prowl broke his kiss with Jazz to give his brother an unimpressed, but mild glare. He hadn’t even realized that Smokescreen was in the main room.

“Shouldn’t you be busy with something?” Prowl asked snippily. He silently urged Jazz into the room from the outdoor space with an encouraging servo on his lower back.

“I’m in the planning stages,” Smokescreen said breezily with a flippant wing-flick. “You can’t move too fast with delicate things like this.”

“Like wha’?” Jazz asked curiously. He looked like he was focused on Smokescreen, but Prowl knew him well enough to know that the visored mech was taking in and scoping out the whole room. It wouldn’t surprise him if the SpecOps head had pinpointed every exit within a few moments.

“I’m having Smokescreen look into our new…” Prowl’s mouth twisted a bit as he considered his wording, “underlings to see what their needs and wants might be. I think many of them may have only been part of the Decepticons because their Winglord demanded it of them.”

Jazz tilted his helm up at Prowl, studying him intently. “An’ ya don’ want t’do th’ same t’ ‘em,” Jazz guessed perceptively.

“I do not.” Prowl admitted. The very last thing he wanted was to be like Starscream. “But I am unsure of how to proceed.”

“Talkin’ t’ ‘em is a good way t’ start.” Jazz said.

Smokescreen spoke up again, though his voice was serious now. “Hence why I am going to be doing some recon. We are in a bit of a tricky situation and we need as much information as we can get before moving forward.”

Jazz was quiet for a moment. “Ya think ya’re gonna have t’ give up yar badge?” Jazz murmured. He placed a servo on Prowl’s chestplates where his autobot symbol had been in his pre-Seeker form. He, Smokescreen and Bluestreak had all lost those markings when their nantites had been reconstructing their frames in the chambers.

“I don’t know.”

At that moment, the main door of the suite opened and Bluestreak entered the room. As he approached, Prowl spotted some tell-tale red and yellow scrapes in interesting places on the mech’s frame. Prowl raised an orbital ridge at his brother. He said nothing, but he did send an amused, knowing pulse over the trine bond.

Bluestreak grinned unapologetically and gave a slightly lewd gesture with his wings. “Did the two of you have a nice flight? Nice and exciting?”

The twins were obviously rubbing off on him… in multiple ways, it seemed. And that thought promptly sent Prowl’s processor back into the gutter; the beginnings of a plot to find a room and shut himself and Jazz in it circling around incessantly.

“Oh, hush, you.” Smokescreen mock admonished, “You are going to make our illustrious Winglord blush.”

Jazz chuckled softly.

Prowl gave them all a mild look of reproach, managing to keep his dignity intact by reigning in his baser instincts to formulate a reply.

“If you could focus, please.” He asked dryly.

A door to one of the private rooms in the suite opened and Skywarp stepped out.

The mood shifted from teasing to tense in a klik. The purple and black Seeker put his servos up in a placating gesture. A flicker of sadness passed over his face for the briefest moment before it was masked by a harmless grin. “I heard voices and just wanted to ask if any of you had seen Star or TC?”

Bluestreak growled out an unfriendly negative.

“I did, in fact, see Starscream when I was on the lower levels.” Prowl revealed. “He was with Skyfire.”

Skywarp seemed oddly pleased by this. “Oh good. He’s been pining for the big guy for a long time. Pretty much since he went missing. That was before you all were sparked of course. Then we had to do the political bonding thing. And then the war happened.”

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Skywarp had carried Bluestreak, and then he’d run his mouth and the familial connection was easy to see. Though mentioning that particular observation at the moment was probably a good way to gain some new scars courtesy of his youngest brother. Bluestreak might forgive Skywarp one cycle, but it wasn’t going to be any time soon.

In any event, Starscream reconnecting with Skyfire wasn’t a bad thing. Perhaps, if the other Seekers saw him doing such a thing, they might attribute it to Prowl’s leniency. Surly word was already spreading about his encounter with Sunstorm and subsequent discussion with the elder priests.

And maybe Skyfire could mellow the tri-colored Seeker out.

“Hm, speaking of,” Smokescreen said, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation and subtly shooing Bluestreak over to one of the multiple chairs in the room. “I’m a bit curious; did you have a specific reason for joining the Decepticons?”

“I was part of the Winglord’s trine. It would have looked really strange if I hadn’t joined his side.”

“Interesting. And is there anything else that you fought for?”

Skywarp’s optics darted over to Bluestreak. He looked back at Smokescreen with an uncharacteristically solemn frown on his face. “We were trying to change things for the better. Make the world less corrupt and more fair. We were supposed to fix things… and then get our sparklings back. We wanted to raise you.” His optics locked back onto Bluestreak. “I wanted to raise my sparkling.”

Bluestreak let out an angry, disbelieving growl.

“You are going to have to give us more time before we are willing to forgive you.” Somkescreen said. And though his voice was even, his EMF was tight with resentment.

“I know,” Skywarp murmured dejectedly, his wings wilting with sorrow. He seemed to pull himself back together with fake cheer after a moment. “Well, I’m going to find TC. If you need us… uh, I mean if you need… stuff, you can comm us.” He headed for the door, then paused. “Oh and congratulations,” Skywarp said, gesturing at Prowl and Jazz. “I’ve never thought about hooking up with a grounder, but to each their own. Especially because you’re Winglord. And, hey, could do worse than a mech who knows how to kill a bot a dozen ways in two kliks.”

“Congratulations… for what?” Prowl asked suspiciously.

Skywarp gave him a confused look. “For your bonding engagement? You practically announced it to the entirety of the armada with that display out there.” He waved vaguely out of the balcony.”

Prowl and Jazz spoke at the same time. “What?” “Come again?”

Skywarp froze for a moment and then he smacked his own forehelm. “Frag, I’m guessing that wasn’t covered in your education, then. Slag, where’s TC when I need him?”

“Explain.” Prowl demanded impatiently, though a secret part of him was thrilled to bits that he might be engaged to Jazz. The point was, that he hadn’t done the flight with him as a purposeful declaration. It had just felt right.

“Uh, well, not much to explain?” Skywarp said. “When Seekers want to announce their intentions to bond, they go out and fly together. It’s different for each flight, but they do maneuvers that show trust. And, I gotta say, not much more a grounder could do to show trust than literally put their functioning into the servos of a Seeker flying them around.”

“I see.” Prowl said, casting a glance at Jazz’s expression. The visored mech didn’t seem too perturbed by the thought that Prowl had basically screamed in Seeker that they were engaged. He was, however, looking at Prowl with a sort of expectant stare.

Oh.

“Well, I’m just gonna go now.” Skywarp said with a nervous sounding laugh. He teleported out of the room.

Once the purple and black Seeker was gone, Bluestreak’s grumpy expression cleared and he focused on Prowl and Jazz with interest. He opened his mouth to say something, but Smokescreen grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the door. “Come on Blue, I need your assistance. Let them talk.”

“Aw, come on, Smokey!”

Yes, Bluestreak had definitely been spending too much time with the twins.

Then they were left in the room alone together.

Jazz gave him a lopsided smile. “It’s okay if ya didn’ mean it-”

“I meant it.” Prowl blurted out.

The visored mech seemed to be struck speechless.

Stupid impulses, Prowl sighed and tried again. “What I mean is, I may have not realized what the flight meant to Seeker culture, but if I had, I would have done the same.”

Jazz’s smile turned gentle. “I love ya, but I don’ wanna cause trouble fo’ ya.”

“You won’t.”

“Ya don’ know tha’.” Jazz countered patiently. “There’s still technically a war goin’ on, an’ righ’ now ya’re caught righ’ in th’ middle o’ it.” The ever present smile grew playful. “B’sides. Ya ain’t even asked me properly.”

Prowl’s spark spun so fast he thought he might be going into spark failure. “If I did ask you properly, would you want to?”

Jazz leaned up on his pedetips and kissed Prowl softly. “Why don’ ya ask an’ find out?”

Prowl’s processor screeched to a halt and then restarted at double speed. “Jazz of Polyhex, would you do me the honor of sharing your functioning with me, and bond with me?”

It was said in one breath, rushed and impossibly unable to encompass what Prowl was feeling, but Jazz (wonderful, knowing, adaptable Jazz) seemed to understand what Prowl was unable to articulate.

Jazz put his arms around Prowl’s neck. “Prowl of Praxus; Skyprowler of Vos. I accept.”

Prowl was nearly blindsided by the tumble of emotions that came from hearing his Seeker name come from Jazz’s dermas. Jazz didn’t just accept a suit to bond. He accepted Prowl, all of Prowl.

The Seeker picked his newly betrothed up and beelined for a private room to show Jazz just how excited he was by Jazz’s acceptance.

Chapter Text

Jazz’s back hit the door the moment it closed. Prowl was still holding him up by his middle, so the visored mech took the opportunity to hook his legs around the amorous Seeker’s waist and arms up over his helm. With his partner thusly anchored between himself and the door, the Seeker’s servos then immediately started to wander.

Prowl kissed him ravenously, practically devouring him. Jazz gave back as good as he got, running his servos over the new dips and curves of Prowl’s plating. His digits found the smooth planes of the Seeker’s wings. He traced and mapped what he could reach.

The sound of a flight engine was different from the rev of a ground vehicle; it was an all-consuming thrumm that vibrated through Jazz’s plating, roiling over sound-sensitive systems. Jazz’s vents hitched as Prowl’s claws flexed and caught on his frame gently during the jet’s explorations. Those clawed servos found the panel hiding Jazz’s interface jacks and ports. The panel slid away exposing the delicate components to careful pinpricks of sensation. A delicious shudder ran down the visored mech’s spinal strut at the perceived “danger”.

Then Prowl paused, as if unsure. He pulled out of the kiss hesitantly. As if unwilling to give up contact.

“I have never… done this with anybot before.”

“No time?” Jazz asked sympathetically.

Prowl shook his helm. “It was… heavily frowned upon for a Seeker who had not reached their final upgrade to… dally with others. It was a lesson that was difficult to put behind us.” He explained awkwardly.

Jazz smiled encouragingly, heat tempering, but not lowering in the slightest. “Then we’ll go slow. Yar pace an’ whatever ya’re comfortable with.” Jazz ran his servos up and down the parts of Prowl’s wings that he could reach. “Wha’d’ya want?”

Prowl trembled with need, mouth lowering back down to tempting plating, “I want everything.”

Clawed digits dipped into and circled Jazz’s sensitive ports carefully.

“Ain’t gotta be so delicate.” Jazz said, venting hot air. “I ain’t gonna break.”

Prowl rumbled, “I do not trust myself.”

“Like this, lover.” Jazz guided the pressure of Prowl’s servos, sighing in pleasure at the increased sensation. Prowl was nothing if not a diligent student. He happily applied himself with Jazz’s instruction.

His concentration seemed to lapse quite a bit when Jazz moved his servos to Prowl’s open panel, (the flash of surprise in the Seeker’s EMF indicated that Prowl hadn’t even realized it had opened) and began touching his equipment.

Jazz yelped when Prowl abruptly moved them away from the door they were leaning against. There was a berth in here and Prowl appeared determined to get to it before he overloaded.

It was an extra large berth, probably made for a whole trine to share. Jazz spared a moment to appreciate the softness as he was unceremoniously tipped backwards onto its surface, before Prowl climbing on top of him took up his processing power.

He didn’t think about much of anything for a while after that, to be honest.

Jazz hummed happily as he made his way back down to the floor where the Autobots were staying. He’d gotten his circuits quite thoroughly blown and was feeling energized. Also, the knowledge that he’d been Prowl’s first was both humbling and a point of pride.

Even being essentially kicked out of the suite by Starscream demanding an audience with the Winglord hadn’t dampened his afterglow.

Prowl had looked like he wanted to commit a murder against the older Seeker, but Jazz had just found it cute.

Which probably said a lot about him as a bot, actually.

With one last lingering kiss (only partially to piss off Starscream) Jazz had promised to come back later and then left. Mostly so Prowl could concentrate. The white and black Seeker was still sending him charged looks and amorous brushes of his EMF. It was possible that he was perfectly willing to ignore Starscream so he could take Jazz back to their private room.

But Jazz didn’t want to cause Prowl trouble with his volatile relation. Not yet anyway.

Maybe later.

His journey was paused and interrupted by various Seekers. Depending on how well he “knew” them, some offered him oblique or hesitant congratulations, some flitted and fluttered their wings at him. Most of the former Decepticon Seekers were skittish around him, likely due to his reputation amongst them.

It actually took him a moment to realize that the Seekers who were flapping at him were flirting with him. It was mostly Seekers he’d never met or who had been somewhat neutral in the war. At first it confused him, but then he remembered what Smokescreen had said about being considered something of a catch because of the whole trust/flying thing. But openly flirting with the mech “engaged” to their Winglord was probably something of a bad idea.

Too bad for them that he was quite happy with his choice of companion.

After half a joor, he finally made it back to the Autobot’s quarters. They’d been given a set of old dormitories that had likely housed the temple’s priests or acolytes. The berths were plain, but sturdy. The walls and ceiling had large, faded murals, painted millenia before the temple had been mostly shut down to conserve power to its necessary systems.

He found Optimus and Bumblebee in the room. Bee was lounging on one of the berths looking for all the world like a lazy felida, but Jazz knew better. The scout was keeping a watch on their leader.

There was a reason that Jazz hadn’t been worried when the mini-bot had gone off alone into the temple with Ravage.

Optimus was standing on the balcony looking pensively out at the sky. As Jazz made his way over to his old friend, he caught sight of what the red and blue mech was looking at. The Aerialbots were flying formations and happy acrobatics in the Vosnian sky.

After a few moments of companionable silence, Optimus asked solemnly, “Have I done wrong by them? They are so young…”

Jazz frowned slightly, coming down from his high a bit, “I dunno, OP. I think ya’ve been doin’ th’ best ya can fo’ ‘em.”

“I brought them online during a war.” Optimus said sadly. “I had them trained for combat since their first very first cycle. How is that a good life for them?”

Ah yes, no bot could do self recriminating guilt like their Prime could.

“Ya still ‘ave th’ chance t’ make it up t’ ‘em,” Jazz offered in his best comforting tone.

Optimus turned troubled optics to his old friend, “How?”

“Well, seein’ if ya can make th’ ceasefire a bit more permanent would be a start.”

“I want to.” The Autobot leader admitted softly. “But I am unsure of how to proceed doing such a thing.” A soft hint of apology entered his field as he suggested. “Perhaps we should request to take our leave of the Seekers and return to the Ark.”

Jazz’s spark jolted unhappily at the thought of leaving Prowl.

At that moment the Aerialbots spotted them and came down to flit and flutter around the balcony. They were excited. Air Raid and Skydive chattered about how some of the Seekers had given them flying pointers. Silverbot was bursting with glee about the city. Slingshot boasted that he had raced a Seeker and won. And, of course, Fireflight was starry-opticked about Jazz and Prowl’s flight together.

Jazz saw a couple of older Seekers loitering/hovering nearby. It was sorta spark-warming how they were attempting to keep an optic on the young fliers.

Unnecessary… but sweet.

“Slipstream said you and Prowl were engaged now.” Fireflight said shyly.

Jazz smiled at the most innocent of the Aerialbots, ignoring Optimus’ raised orbital ridge.

“Yeah, ‘e proposed t’ me.”

That caused another babble of excited chatter, including Fireflight crowing, “I told you Slipstream wasn’t lying!”

“Well, I suppose I must offer my congratulations.” Optimus rumbled under the hubbub; ceremonious but with a hint of humor and approval in his tone.

Jazz just gave him a grin.

All helms turned towards the door as a soft, polite knock echoed through the room.

Bumblebee’s easy sprawl was gone in an instant. He got up and answered the door.

Thundercracker stood outside waiting patiently. He inclined his helm to the yellow mini-bot and said with careful politeness. “Is the Prime present? I have a message for him.”

Bumblebee looked over his shoulder as the other bots on the balcony moved into the room, the Aerialbots landing to stand behind Optimus and Jazz.

“I am here, Thundercracker.” Optimus said.

With a tip of his wings the blue Seeker replied, “Winglord Skyprowler requests your presence in the central chapel in a joor.”

“May we know the nature of this meeting?” Optimus asked diplomatically.

Thundercracker gave a thin smile. “The Winglord wishes to discuss the future of the Seekers and what that will mean for both the Autobots and the Decepticons. Word of the meeting is being given to the rest of your faction that is here and to Megatron and his mechs. All are being asked to attend.”

Though the lower half of Optimus’ faceplates were covered by the battle mask, Jazz could almost sense the thoughtful frown that was surely on his dermas. “I see. Please give the Winglord our thanks for the invitation and assure him that we are planning on attending.”

Thundercracker relaxed slightly. “I will… thank you.”

And with that, he left.

“What do you think Prowl’s going to say about the future of the Seekers, Optimus?” Silverbolt asked hesitantly.

“I do not know.” Optimus answered honestly.

“He’s… he’s still our friend, right?” Fireflight wrung his servos together nervously.

Optimus let his vast, soothing field spread out around him, “I believe he is. Whatever may come of this meeting, I am certain he means no ill will.”

Jazz was pretty certain about that as well, but he was curious too.

What exactly had happened when he’d left Prowl alone with Starscream?

Chapter Text

The Autobots assembled in their accommodations at the comm from Prime and then moved to the central chapel as a unit. Jazz and Ratchet flanked Optimus, followed by Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Bumblebee. Behind them, the Aerialbots walked clustered around Skyfire.

There was a slight stand off for just a few kliks in front of the open doors of the large chapel as the Autobots came face to face with the Decepticons headed by Megatron. Soundwave was just behind; there was no sign of his cassettes, but they were probably in his chest compartment. Following them were the Constructicons, spread out like a luridly colored brute squad. Bringing up the rear was Astrotrain.

After that strained moment, with the two leaders staring across the space at each other, Optimus slightly inclined his helm.

“Shall we, Megatron?”

Megatron just smirked at him and the two of them turned in tandem to walk through the shuttle-sized doors. Jazz (along with the other Autobots) took his cues from Optimus and was deliberately casual as he walked through the doorway opposite the Decepticons.

A long vestibule ushered the bots into the octagonal chapel. Eight tall, scroll-worked pillars carried the sweeping vaulted ceiling. Four of the eight walls lead to blind arcades for private prayer. Numerous metal benches lined the central aisle. There were several wide interior balconies. High above large multi-colored windows filled the space with hued light. The floor was covered with tiled pavement.

Prowl, Smokescreen and Bluestreak stood in the center of the hexagonal chapel waiting for them. Behind them and up on the balconies several trines of Seekers were also present, including the Command trine.

Prowl was polished and primped to within an inch of his functioning, looking every inch the image of the powerful Winglord of Vos. White, black and red plating gleamed alluringly.

Jazz had to seriously reign in his need to jump the other mech as his processor supplied him with a memory clip of Prowl’s face at the height of pleasure.

“Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.” Prowl spoke, voice filling and echoing around the space. It rumbled pleasantly against Jazz’s audials.

Down boy, Jazz chastised himself.

“I assume that this is where you are going to tell me that you have no intention of giving me my armada back.” Megatron blustered.

Prowl was calm and unflinching. He met the warlord’s optics steadily. “The Seekers were never yours. They follow the commands of the Winglord. It is woven into their very coding. I am Winglord now.”

Megatron’s optics narrowed and then cut over to Starscream for the briefest moment before focusing back on Prowl.

Ever the diplomat, Optimus asked. “What is it that you wished to discuss?” It was easy for Jazz to see that Prowl was no longer Optimus’ SIC to command. And the Prime seemed to be sensitive to that fact.

Prowl turned his attention to the red and blue mech. “After much deliberation, I have come to the conclusion that the Seekers must become Neutral. Any attempt to join one side or another would only end in disaster. I would not fight my former comrades and I would not force my subjects to do the same.”

Trust Prowl to cut right to the point and not bother with dancing around the subject.

Optimus nodded. “I understand.”

Megatron frowned, but said nothing.

“That being said,” Prowl continued, “I would offer to become something of a neutral space, if negotiations for ending the conflict were the goal.”

Now Megatron scoffed. “And I suppose you would not show bias to your former comrades in those negotiations.”

Prowl’s optics were icy as he regarded the silver mech, “I cannot. Not with my position being what it is. However, I do not do this wholly altruistically.” He glanced over to Jazz optics warming slightly, “I wish to bond to Jazz. I cannot do that while this division remains.”

He looked back to Megatron. “There are others amongst my Seekers who also wish to bond to bots on one side or the other, but it is too dangerous for them to do so. I am doing this, in part, for me, and for them.”

“How sweet,” the warlord said insincerely, causing several of the Autobots and Seekers to bristle in offence. The Decepticons managed to look uncomfortable, except for Soundwave who was as inscrutable as ever.

In the periphery of his vision, Jazz saw Starscream open his mouth with a glare only for Thundercracker to place a restraining servo on his arm to stop him from engaging.

That was probably for the best.

Instead, Prowl took a step forward and flared his wings in a wide display. “What is it you fight for? Is it the end of a corrupt society? If so, then the battle is won. Cybertron’s societal systems broke down long ago. Is it for reform? If so, then you need not fight anymore, for there is nobot still alive who would seek to stop such actions. There is no government, no castes, no culture. Nothing but what the mechs and femmes left alive carry within them. So why do you continue this conflict?”

Megatron’s mouth opened and then closed; a contemplative frown crossed his features.

Even though the words were directed at Megatron, Jazz could feel how Optimus’ field reacted with guilt and shame. Jazz projected back comfort, but Optimus gently rejected it.

“Your words resonate with the Matrix.” Optimus said sadly. He placed his servo over his chestplates as if his spark was aching. “We have done so much damage.”

Megatron looked faintly disturbed, though not so much that he couldn’t snark lightly, “So we just play nice after melinnea of war?”

That’s how a ceasefire works. Jazz had to stop himself from snarking right back.

Strangely enough it was Optimus who said with a wry tone, “It seems to have been working for us so far.”

Megatron cycled his optics for a klik in surprise and then a sort of strangled bark of laughter left his vocalizer. After a moment, he casually made his way over to one of the metal benches and sat down. He stretched his legs out as if lounging.

“Alright, Prime, let us speak.”

Chapter Text

Jazz was sorta impressed by how well things were going.

That first conversation between Optimus and Megatron started a whirlwind of activity and change. Optimus was still calling them “preliminary peace talks” and being very careful to impress upon Megatron how important it was that they both be involved. That equality to both sides was being considered.

“After all, if we wish to have true peace between our desperate peoples, it would be the best for both of us to be in equal positions in power.” Optimus had said at one point. Megatron seemed surprised that the Prime was so insistent that he be offered any position of power.

When questioned, Optimus had said solemnly, “I read your writings at the beginning. I agreed with your wish to reform. I even tried to help in what limited ways I could, but the council held the power and I was relegated to a mere figurehead. Then the council was no more and I thought that things would finally change. But you didn’t stop with the council… but then again, neither did I.”

They were both a bit subdued for a while after that.

As Winglord, Prowl continued to act as an official arbiter between the two leaders. It meant that Jazz wasn’t getting to spend as much time with him which was a bummer, but it was good for the peace talks that he was involved. His analytical mind and even temper was helping immensely with keeping things running smoothly.

The moments they were able to get some privacy together were always worth it.

The space bridge to earth was kept open, mechs from both sides using it freely. Communication with the small pockets of Autobots and Decepticons left in far places of Cybertron was quickly established. They all seemed relieved at the tentative peace. Fatigued vorns of stress falling away from their optics when they were told the news.

There were still suspicions on both sides, of course, but that was to be expected. Red Alert, who knew himself far better than most bots gave him credit for, spent most of his time with Inferno to keep himself from going off the paranoia deep end. It would take time for trust to be rebuilt.

Vos had become the official place for the peace talks, but the congregating ground mechs and femmes from both sides had begun building a rudimentary town below the floating city. They’d even already given it a name: Pax Town. And Jazz could only silently laugh at the coincidence. He was pretty sure he was one of maybe three bots still alive who knew OP’s previous name.

The Constructicons were happily in their element building basically an entire town for everybot. They had built a small clinic for Ratchet first because he’d made a very compelling argument which included much yelling, intimidation and threatening to reformat the Constructicons into green and purple toasters.

And Ratchet wondered why he made the top ten scariest Autobot list. And yes, there was an honest-to-Primus list. Jazz had seen it with his own optics a couple of the times he’d infiltrated Decepticon bases. His name was on it. And tellingly- Optimus’ was not.

The very public interaction between the medic and the Constructicons had an interesting, unintended effect of easing relations. Whether that be from the loud altercation ending without bloodshed, or because of the commiseration offered by Autobots who had also been on the receiving end of “The Hatchet’s” infamous temper was anybot’s guess.

As Optimus’ new SIC, Jazz split his time between keeping an optic on the relations in Pax Town and accompanying Optimus up to Vos.

They were up in Vos again, now about to start another round of negotiations, this time regarding the Cybertronian presence on Earth. It was undeniable that they would need some access to the resources that the organic planet could give them while they found closer, more sustainable energy. For obvious reasons, the humans preferred dealing with the Autobots as their diplomatic contacts. And that was, of course, causing a little bit of consternation on the part of Megatron.

Jazz didn’t know why the silver ex-warlord thought it would be any different. Mech had brought it on himself, really, by being an aft to the local inhabitants.

Besides Jazz and Optimus, Ultra Magnus was along for this meeting.

Skyfire had gone off to visit with Starscream (who, prudently, didn’t come to most of the peace talks) after he’d dropped them off. Jazz wasn’t sure what the appeal of the screechy Seeker was, but then again, he also wasn’t a shuttle with seemingly endless patience. He much preferred his own black and white jet.

Megatron, as per usual, was accompanied by Soundwave and Shockwave. Their calm and cold logic actually helped move things along most of the time.

They were already waiting in the meeting room with Prowl when the Autobots arrived. The perimeter of the meeting space was lined with neutral Seekers that Prowl had servo picked himself as guards. Both to keep their Winglord safe and to ensure the safety of both negotiating parties. Prowl was seated at the head of the large table in the room.

Jazz took note of how Prowl was subtly watching Megatron. It made him feel a little vindicated. Jazz had noticed that the ex-warlord had started acting sort of strange the past few meetings. Like he was antsy about something or wanted to say something and just hadn’t spit it out yet. To use a human phrase, he was acting squirrelly. It wasn’t pinging off Jazz’s paranoia meter, but it had caught his attention.

Megatron and his entourage were seated on the left side of the table. He was sans fusion cannon as he had been for the majority of the peace talks. His helm snapped up, optics finding the Prime unerringly when they entered. It could have been intimidating, but he looked away just as quickly, digits taping against the tabletop. If Jazz didn't know better, he’d have said it was a nervous gesture.

Huh.

The Autobots sat and they began as they normally did at these meetings with updates from both sides and concerns both new and old that needed to be discussed. But Megatron seemed oddly distracted. Even Soundwave was giving him the side-optic. But it seemed to be a strangely knowing look.

Ultra Magnus was in the middle of a report on the most recent negotiations with their human allies when Megatron huffed and stood.

Everybot at the table tensed.

The silver mech looked piercingly at Optimus (which had Jazz instinctively unlocking the hidden compartments on his vambraces for easy access to the knives stashed within).

“If we are to be successful in this effort, Prime, then there needs to be a more permanent arrangement than just words to prove our commitment to the cause.”

Optimus met his rival’s gaze evenly, “I assure you, Megatron I have every intention-”

Megatron bullied forward, cutting off whatever assurance the Prime had been about to say. “In order to keep these proceedings moving in the direction towards alliance and reintegration, we should bond. To each other.”

Jazz had to bite his glossa to keep from saying anything; he stole a quick glance at Soundwave. He’d gotten pretty good at reading the inscrutable telepath over the vorns and he could almost sense the invisible face-palm that the mech was doing.

Hadn’t Megatron once been a poet? Mech must have been really out of practice for that much of a pede in the intake.

Next Jazz glanced at Prowl. His wings were making the micro-movements that meant he was running things through his tac-net.

“I… what?” Optimus asked, sounding faintly lost. Uncertainty and surprise flickered through his optics. For a moment Jazz could see the shy mech that he’d been before the Primacy.

Megatron seemed to have realized that he had stumbled. He reset his vocalizer, voice lowering into something more solemn and compelling. “Prime… Optimus, you keep saying that we must do this together. What better way to prove our commitment to unity? You are one of the few bots that I can call my equal. And… I would have you as my bondmate.”

Okay, that was better as impromptu proposals went.

It had been a very long time since Jazz had seen Optimus struck speechless.

Ultra Magnus immediately began to protest, to which Shockwave began arguing the logicality of it with him, but Megatron was doing a really good job of ignoring them both. He was still focused on Optimus who was staring back at him. The Prime seemed to be too shocked to say anything… but more importantly, he wasn’t saying no right away.

Prowl’s tac-net had, apparently, come to the conclusion of its calculations and he spoke cutting through the brewing argument. “Such a bond would be beneficial to the unification in both the short and long term, but the two of you had only ever met in battle before the start of these peace negotiations. Perhaps the two of you could spend some time together; with an escort, of course; to gauge your actual compatibility before agreeing to a permanent bond. After all, if you cannot stand one another, then a bond would not end well.”

It was stated with Prowl’s normal even tone, but Jazz had to fight back a laugh at the dry humor behind it. And, hey, he wasn’t wrong.

And Optimus still wasn’t saying no.

“Query: Winglord Prowl is suggesting that Lord Megatron and the Prime have chaperoned dates?” Soundwave asked. Even through the monotone Jazz could hear the amusement.

Prowl’s face stayed calm and serene. “Yes.”

Ultra Magnus opened his mouth to say something (probably in opposition), but Jazz beat him to it. “Ya know, OP,” the visored mech said nonchalantly, and Optimus turned to face him, “even if th’ two o’ ya end up not wantin’ t’ bond, spending time t’gether in front of folks will definitely show tha’ ya’re tryin’ jus’ as hard as eveybot else t’ make this work.”

All optics turned to Optimus who took a moment to reboot his vocalizer. He met Megatron’s optics.

“Well… in the interest of promoting unity… and in light of your… proposal… Megatron, would you please join me for our afternoon energon so we might discuss this matter further?”

Megatron, after a moment where he seemed surprised that Optimus had agreed, recovered and gave a short mock bow with a smirk on his derma, “I would be delighted, Optimus.”

The Prime wasn’t quite fast enough to hide the flush of bashfulness through his field from Jazz who was sitting closest to him. Well, that was interesting.

When they recessed for their afternoon energon, Megatron moved to sit next to Optimus at the table with Ultra Magnus mutely volunteering himself as chaperone by sitting on Optimus’ opposite side with a protective frown. Soundwave sat with them as well as Megatron’s “chaperone”.

Jazz, Prowl and Shockwave all prudently left the room. When the door closed behind the single-opticked mech wandered off in the direction of one of the balconies carrying his energon cube with him.

Jazz chuckled once he was out of audial range, “Well, tha’s wasn’t wha’ I was expectin’.”

Prowl gave him a small, knowing smile and offered his servo to the visored mech. “I might have had a glimmer of an idea of what was coming, though I didn’t know how it was going to come about. Now, I do believe we have a bit of time before we must rejoin the others.” His wings fluttered flirtatiously. “I know of several private places that we can dine together.”

Jazz grinned and quickly popped up on the tips of his pedes to steal a kiss. “Lead on, Prowler, I’m all yars.”

Chapter Text

Smokescreen watched another ship enter the airspace of the newly built spaceport and then smoothly park itself onto one of the docking platforms. He smiled to himself. So much had happened in one vorn.

The port bustled with new bots and new business. Both Pax Town and Vos hovering above were prospering with the influx. Already, plans were in the works for rebuilding projects all over Cybertron.

Smokescreen was down in the new spaceport, overseeing the influx of new bots and resources. He’d felt the need to remove himself from his and his trine’s residence. Starscream had come to visit Prowl and Smokescreen could only just tolerate his presence at the moment. The previous Winglord kept bragging about how it was his plan that had brought the end of the war. He was lucky Prowl was his creation. If Smokescreen had been Winglord, he’d have thrown Starscream through a wall by now.

But Prowl’s relationship with Starscream seemed to be resigned acceptance on his end and fierce pride on his carrier’s end. Somehow they were able to meet in the middle and have civil conversations. Just as long as Starscream didn’t try to tell Prowl how to do his job as Winglord or nag him about bonding. Those would get the older Seeker thrown right out of their hab.

Smokescreen’s own carrier seemed to know that he needed space for a while. Thundercracker had waited several orns before tentatively initiating contact. They would now meet for meals once a deca-cycle or so. They didn’t share closeness, per se, but they got along amicably enough.

Bluestreak and Skywarp’s relationship was still something of a work in progress. The purple Seeker had nearly ruined it when he’d decided to give the twins a version of “the shovel talk”, to borrow a human phrase. Bluestreak had not been pleased with the invasion of his personal life. It had led to a screaming match which was rumored to have been heard all the way in Pax Town.

Strangely, it was the twins who had convinced Bluestreak to give his carrier another chance. Perhaps they just sensed how badly Skywarp wanted to be part of his creation’s life. Whatever the reason, it was because of them that Skywarp was allowed to attend their bonding ceremony.

Theirs weren’t the only family ties that had been mended in the past vorn.

Smokescreen had been present when Jazz’s brother had shown up in Pax Town. He’d been checking in with some of the merchants who’d recently started up business when he’d caught sight of a familiar-looking Polyhexian walking down the street. He was familiar only in frame and gait. He looked like Jazz except that all his colors were swapped; black for white, white for black. He had a pattern of flames on his chestplates, surrounding a decepticon badge.

So, he looked nothing like Jazz at all, but Smokescreen couldn’t shake the correlation from his processor. As he was thinking that, the mech stopped another bot walking down the street and asked in a rasping voice,

“I’m lookin’ fo’ a bot named Jazz. Mechs at th’ port said ‘e lived ‘round ‘ere. Do ya know where I might find ‘im?”

Then, Smokescreen was on full alert. As the bot helpfully gave the Polyhexian directions to Jazz’s residence in Pax Town, Smokescree made a quick excuse to the bots he was talking to. Then he had taken to the air and followed the new Polyhexian at a distance.

The mech didn’t seem to be a threat, but one could never be too careful. And if something happened to Jazz, it would seriously hurt Prowl. Not to mention the peace effort.

The flame-painted Polyhexian made it to Jazz’s door. He hesitated for a few kliks. From Smokescreen’s vantage point hidden on a nearby roof, he could see the mech take in a vent, school his expression and then knock.

A few moments later the door had opened and Jazz was facing the other Polyhexian.

They stared at each other for a klik.

Jazz finally spoke first. “...Ricochet?”

The other took in another vent and said, “Jazz, I know ya got no reason t’ see me, but-”

Jazz didn’t let him get in another word, grabbing a shoulder pauldron and yanking him into a hard hug. Ricochet hugged back with the same ferocity.

Somkescreen had been startled by his comm.

:I got this, Smokey.: Jazz had said, voice thick with emotion, :This is my brother, I’ll introduce ‘im t’ ya later. Thanks fo’ th’ backup.:

With a ping of acknowledgement, Smokescreen had left them to reconnect.

The following orns had brought more changes.

Starscream had bonded to Skyfire; their ceremony setting off a chain reaction of other bondings. More bondings than expected, though no bot was really surprised. Happiness was infectious and most bots were glad to catch it. And though Starscream took credit for being the catalyst bonding, his ceremony was not the most anticipated.

Prowl and Jazz had yet to hold their bonding ceremony. The big topic of Seeker gossip lately was when the Winglord was going to bond to the popular grounder.

Because Smokescreen was one of the few bots in-the-know, he was aware of the plans being made for the Winglord’s bonding ceremony. Prowl was keeping most of the information very close to the chestplates just so he wouldn’t lose control of it to overzealous, enthusiastic “helpers”.

Optimus and Megatron were another highly anticipated couple. Of course, they still claimed that they were in the “courting phase”, but most bots were certain that a ceremony date was going to be announced soon. Especially since Megatron had already, technically, proposed. The idea that the two leaders would soon be bondmates had done exactly what Prowl had predicted and eased any doubts that either side of the conflict would be treated fairly.

Interfaction relations had improved significantly.

Smokescreen was brought back to the present by the newest ship finally touching down on its landing pad. A few moments later the hatch opened and a familiar blue mech stepped out. Smokescreen grinned as he recognized the bot; some sudden urge causing him to fly down from where he’d been hovering. Landing in front of the mech with an unnecessary flourish.

“Hey Devcon, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

The mech cycled his optics and tilted his helm curiously. “...Smokescreen? Is that you? Primus, I had heard the stories that you’d turned into a Seeker, but I didn’t realize how well it would suit you.”

Smokescreen preened, fluttering his wings as the compliment made his spark spin with happiness. “You’re looking good yourself.” He said, ailerons flicking back and forth flirtatiously.

Devcon grinned. “I’ve got to unload my cargo, but I’ll be free in a couple of joors. I’m sure you know a couple of good places to get a drink. Maybe we can get reacquainted, yeah?”

The Seeker was unprepared for the flood of heated, eager hunger that flashed through his processor. It was as intense as it was unexpected.

Smokescreen wanted.

He flared his field coquettishly against the blue ground mech and lowered his voice as alluringly as he could. “I’d like that.”

Devcon looked surprised for a klik and then he grinned roguishly.

Oh, Smokescreen was in trouble.

But he was so looking forward to it.