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Chapter Text

How many islands were there? Prowl stared out at the mysterious islands through his servo held telescope. He could see there was one large island with angular projections. A volcanic island, perhaps? There were other, smaller islands between the Judgment and the island. As the mist blew in and out, Prowl could not accurately count the number. Frustrated, Prowl lowered his spyglass. Without an accurate count it would be hard to compare the coastline with his maps. This would be the last time he would allow Lockdown to chart their course. The Fleet had fallen into disorder after Cannoball’s sudden death. No one could agree with who should inherit his mantle. Lockdown had made an alliance with Swindle, but this alliance had not given him a firm hold on the Fleet, not when the other captains would just as well keelhaul Swindle as sail with him.

Prowl had no desire for the ultimate command. He had imagined once that he would celebrate Cannonball’s death, but instead it had left him in a frightening state of limbo. Though he was sailing with Lockdown now, he did not believe he would again. Without Cannonball’s protections, Lockdown was completely unrestrained. He had made his desires for Prowl as abundantly clear as he had his inability to accept the glyph no. If Prowl continued sailing with him, the matter would come to ahead and Prowl did not fancy his odds when all was said and all was done. Still, he hesitated to cleave the Judgment from the Fleet. There was a certain safety in numbers. Piracy was a dangerous occupation and counting the Fleet as his enemy would only heighten the danger.

“What are you looking at, Riri?” Bluestreak asked. Prowl looked down at his creation and stroked his servo down Bluestreak’s grey helm. He and Smokescreen were what held Prowl back from making a quick break from the Fleet. They were who he was afraid for.

They were who he would die for.

They were who he would live for.

“Take my spyglass and have a look,” Prowl said. If the only way he could secure their future was in Lockdown’s berth, Prowl would endure it, but only if it was the only way. The Judgment had been his inheritance from Cannonball. It was his freedom and he had no appetite for surrendering himself to the sort of deal he had made with Cannonball again. Prowl gave his spyglass to his sparkling and watched Bluestreak look out into the mist.

“Islands!” Bluestreak exclaimed. “Do you think the Death’s Head and Combat went anchored there?”

“It is possible,” Prowl replied.

“Are we going to go exploring?” Bluestreak asked, optics glowing hopeful and brilliant. Prowl winced internally.

“I do not know these islands,” Prowl replied. “I do not know what sorts of mechanisms might dwell here. It is not safe to explore.”

“Maybe after Lockdown gets back?” Bluestreak asked. “If he says it’s safe?”

“We will see.”

Prowl ushered his creation below deck. He found his elder creation in their cabin, looking out the porthole, towards the island. His arms were crossed and his doorwings set high on his back. Smokescreen had been on edge since the Death’s Head and Combat had disappeared in thick fog. It had only just cleared into this finer but still impenetrable mist. His ill-ease was not born of concern for Lockdown and Swindle, he had a powerful dislike for both Captains. When Prowl needed to parlay with the other captains, it was only through the comm, Smokescreen would not tolerate Prowl boarding either ship. He was a perceptive mechling and complained vocally about Lockdown being a creep when he spotted Lockdown watching them through his telescope. Prowl would have thought Smokescreen would relax with the absence of the other ships, but the opposite had proven to be true.

“They’re up to no good,” Smokescreen declared.

“They generally are,” Prowl replied. “Good is not our business, Smokescreen.”

“You’re different,” Smokescreen countered and Prowl smiled lovingly down at him.

“No so much,” he said, though he knew both of his creations disagreed. “Come to the table. We’ll have lunch and then go over your lessons.”

The breeze was cool when Prowl stepped back on the deck. He looked up at the stars and tried to reconcile him with the charts he had been studying with two mega-cycles and dark-cycles. Cannonball had made free use of his half of their deal. Prowl had never resisted the Pirate King’s advances. His and his creations’ place on the Sea Slag had been secured by the promise of his frame. They had bonded on the deck in front of his crew as soon as they had left the port in Iacon. No one cared that Prowl had already been bonded. Bigamy had not troubled the pirates. Though Cannonball had made certain Prowl knew his principal duty was to warm Cannonball’s berth, the Pirate King had still seen fit to teach Prowl how to read charts, how to sail and how to command. The Judgment was crewed by the sailors rejected by other captains. Thus far they had served him well but Prowl knew their loyalty was to shanix, not to him. Would they follow him if he turned the Judgment and charted his own course? Or would they mutiny?

In the distance, the islands glowed. Was it the luminous coral Prowl could faintly see below his vessel or the lights from some islanders’ dwellings. There were clearly no grand cities on these mysterious islands but that did not mean they were uninhabited. Lockdown and Swindle had not returned and Prowl wondered if he was not wasting his advantage. If he told the crew he had reason to believe they had sunk, there was less risk of a mutiny when they sailed on. He could tell them he intended to rejoin the fleet in the Mithril Sea. So long as they had success as they sailed, Prowl did not think they would be complaining too much if they never merged with the fleet again.

Cannonball had been able to read the stars and know precisely where he was in the vast and often empty seas. Prowl had not learned this mastery. Still, he had learned something of the stars and something about the constellation just did not seem right. They were supposed to be sailing for Uraya, yet if Prowl was reading the stars right they were well west of that Torus State. Something felt wrong. Cannonball had sailed the seas of Cybertron his entire life and he had recounted many stories to Prowl about cursed lands and cruel seas. Prowl had a faultless memory. There was something terribly wrong with where they were. He pushed off the railing and turned his back to the mysterious islands. With his charts under his arm, Prowl crossed his ship and climbed up the steps to the quarterdeck.

In the Crow’s Nest, Nightbeat was on watch. When Prowl stepped onto the quarterdeck, the gunner saluted from high above the deck. Prowl acknowledged this with a nod. He took the charts had spent so many joors these last mega-cycles studying to the quarterdeck and laid them down on the floor. Using lanterns as weights as much as illumination, Prowl compared the sky chart with that of Cannonball’s priceless maps. When the Sea Slag had listed and Prowl had realized the ship was about to sink he had gathered up Cannonball’s prized maps and had stashed them in his subspace as he had escaped the captain’s cabin with his creations. They had escaped the Sea Slag just in time and Prowl had not seen Cannonball again. It would have been in his character to go down with the ship. It would also have been in Lockdown’s character to leave the Pirate King to drown.

Prowl poured over the maps. Matching the star chart to the map was not a perfect science. To a point, Prowl had to guess as he traced the coastline of Uraya and Kalis and then further west. There were several archipelagoes and small island chains encircling the Rust Sea. A highly volcanic area, new islands were constantly forming with the eruption of the volcanos that made up Unicron’s Ring. The coastline was always changing but the process, though constant was slow. Cannonball, a master cartographer, had never considered a map finished and he had made edits with every meaningful change to even the smallest island. As he lined up the star chart with the map he was studying, Prowl found a mark on the map that might match the mysterious islands. Marked in red, and highlighted with the ominous curl of electrified tentacles, Prowl remembered the stories Cannonball had told him of the Staniz Archipelago.

They were not meant to be here.

Though he probably should have gone to his berth, Prowl’s discovery had his every system running at full power. His battle computer would never drop into standby mode with such a problem at servo. The sky glowed red as the sun rose and Prowl stored the lanterns and returns his maps and charts to his subspace, all save the one that had revealed him where Lockdown had led him. Nightbeat descended from the Crow’s Nest as his replacement took up the post. He stepped aside so Prowl might descend below deck first. If any of Prowl’s crew were loyal, Prowl thought Nightbeat was. Knowing his creations would soon be rising, Prowl took a tray from the galley and made plates of fuel for his creations. Dipole, his cook, set two capped cubes filled with energon blacker than oil on the tray. She only made this press for him.

“You didn’t go to your berth, Captain,” the wiry femme chastised him.

If Dipole was not loyal to Prowl, she was loyal to his creations. When Prowl had been busy soothing Cannonball’s lusts, Dipole had supervised Smokescreen and Bluestreak in the galley. She did not need to watch them so much anymore but they still spend some time every mega-cycle with her. Prowl trusted them with her. His doorwings dipped, feeling suitably scolded. Dipole reminded Prowl of the caretakers that had minded him during his time in the nursery and she made him feeling faintly nostalgic though he could not look back on his sparklinghood with even a trace of wistfulness. It had ended far too soon.

“I was studying the maps,” Prowl said, explaining himself. “I believe I know where we are.”

“And where is that Captain?” Dipole asked.

“The Staniz Archipelago.”

“No.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Prowl replied. “Give the crew your densest fuel. At sunrise, we sail for Uraya.”

“Take a third cube,” Dipole ordered and she filled the cube in question with the thick press. “Can’t have you falling into recharge on your peds.”

“I do not recharge that easily,” Prowl grumbled, but he took the cube. He lifted the cube. “Be prepared for trouble.”

“I always am.”

Smokescreen wagged a digit at Prowl when he returned to their cabin. Again Prowl’s doorwings dropped as he was scolded. He did not rebuke Smokescreen for it, any more than he had Dipole. It was the purview of his eldest creation to remind Prowl when he was being hypocritical. Given he was endlessly on them to fuel and recharge well, the fact that Prowl often did not do either himself was a matter of contention between him and his youngling. Bluestreak greeted his origin with considerably more enthusiasm, insisting on a long hug before they sat at the small table for their meal. The cabin was not large. A screen separated the bunk berths the mechlings recharged in from the rest of the cabin. Prowl’s berth was built into a nook n top of a chest of drawers. There was a small desk by the porthole and a small table where they shared their meals. It looked exactly like the cabin they had shared with Cannonball on the Sea Slag. Prowl could not deny the relief he felt knowing he no longer had to fear them overhearing as his conjunx made use of his conjugal rights.

“We’ll be raising the sails shortly,” Prowl revealed as they fuelled. “It appears we are well off course.”

“Where are we,” Smokescreen asked.

“Near Polihex,” Prowl explained. “We will be back on course for Uraya soon.”

“Can I help?” Smokescreen asked. He was actually quite a good servo with the sails.

“If you wish,” Prowl replied.

“Can I watched?” Bluestreak asked.

“You can watch.”

The deck was alive with activity as the crew were busy at work preparing the Judgment to set sail. Smokescreen immediately set to climb the foremast to assist with dropping the sails. Prowl stood with Bluestreak, watching from the railing. For all his crew was largely comprised of rejects, they were largely skilled and efficient sailors. He turned away from his crew and looked over to the islands and for the first time saw them clearly. In the dark-cycle the cloying mist had drifted off. A canopy of tropical crystal life climbed the twisted peak of the largest island. Swaths of metal rose up from forests of lush trees. If he had not discovered what they were, Prowl might have mistaken the islands as a place for a peaceful retreat. Thankfully, he knew better.

“Sail Ho!” Someone called from above deck. Prowl turned his helm north and saw the Death’s Head and the Combat approaching at a high rate of speeds. Their canons were firing... at what?

“All Hands Ho!” Prowl called. He took Bluestreak by the wrist. “Hoist the Mizzen! All power to the engines!”

Cannon fire screeched from the galleons. They rocked as they turned east. Their cannons fire, but at what. Something seemed to yank the Combat back. What by Unicron’s nozzles were they running from? The Judgment jerked below Prowl’s peds and he and Bluestreak crashed into the rail of the ship. Prowl pushed off and tugged Bluestreak towards the quarterdeck. The sails were in place now they needed to catch the solar rays. A shout of surprise from up above saw Prowl looking back to the Combat. Arcs of electricity covered the stricken galleon as terrifying silver and grey tentacles wrapped around the ship. Prowl felt the Judgment tremble under his peds as the engines roared to life and they started to turn east. Suddenly they were jerked back and Prowl and Bluestreak crashed into the railing again. Pain lashed through Prowl’s circuitry as something in his back snapped. His grip on Bluestreak’s servo loosened. The Judgment tipped and Bluestreak slid from his servo and was suddenly swept overboard.

“Bluestreak!” Prowl screamed.

With no thought to his injuries, he dove after his creation. Prowl locked his doorwings as he cut through the energon and searched for his sparkling. The impact with the energon hurt but Prowl kicked and forced himself to swim deeper. He saw Bluestreak thrashing as a tentacle wrapped around him even as others raked against the hull of the Judgment. Forgetting pain and fear, Prowl drew his cutlass from his subspace and raked it across the tentacle. There a subsonic shriek and the tentacles, all of them pulled back. Prowl grabbed Bluestreak and swam to the surface. A robe later fell and Prowl grabbed hold. His grip felt weak but through pure force of will, Prowl held on.

“Hang on, Origin!” Smokescreen called. Bluestreak held tightly to Prowl’s neck and Prowl could have wept with relief. He would cry later. As they reached the railing of the ship, Smokescreen grabbed Bluestreak and pulled him onto the deck. Prowl vented and grabbed the railing. Nightbeat grabbed his collar and... The mechlings screamed.

“Riri!” Bluestreak screamed with fear.

Prowl had no time to react. He was ripped from the side of the Judgment. The crushing coil of a tentacle several times the size of the one that had held Bluestreak enveloped him. His arms were pinned to his frame, preventing Prowl from reaching for a weapon. It coiled over his face and he bit, hard. Another, different shriek and the tentacle loosened and Prowl took a quick intake. The creature wrenched him back by his peds and viciously lashed Prowl against the Judgment. Agony filled him, a cry was forced from his vocalizer as he was certain his back and doorwings were broken. Blaster fire rained down from the deck of his ship. His creations screamed for him. A glowing gold optic set into an a monstrous, silver and purple frame emerged from the sea. It glowered at Prowl as it pinned him to the Judgment. Through a haze of static Prowl saw laser fire and acid rounds rake across the monster’s writing tentacles. It did not seem to feel any of it. The gold optic stared him down. Arcs of electricity shot down the tentacle holding Prowl white hot agony flooded his systems as the electricity shorted his every system and Prowl fell offline to the sounds of his creations screaming.

Chapter Text

It was Vivace’s infrasonic whine that drew him to the remaining ship. From the surface above, Jazz heard scream from the pirates as the villici in great numbers threw their grappling islands over the sides of the ships and swarmed the deck. He heard the engine’s whine through the ship’s hull as they tried to flee, but Bedlam, Ori’s Kraken partner, had them well secured it their tentacles. His own partner’s whine rose up the octaves and Jazz winced. There was nothing as terrible as a Kraken’s scream, Vivace’s was especially impossible to ignore. Trill swam up to Jazz and batted at him with their tentacles and echoed their originator’s cries. Though Jazz tried to take a look at the juvenile’s wound, Trill thrashed away from Jazz’s cables and swam back towards their originator. Jazz had no real choice but to follow. Vivace wailed and Jazz gritted his denta. They would not be ignored.

He swam after Trill, who led him down deep below the ship. When Vivace saw him, the Kraken raised their tentacles as they whined pitiably. Jazz sighed and swam to where Vivace was resting on the seabed. It was not one of their number Vivace cradled. This mech was a pirate. Shiny crystals sparkled along the sides of the pirate’s doorwings, loops of gold trailed down his chevron. These mechanisms were so ostentatious. Burns in the shape of a Kraken’s suction cups told Jazz this was likely Vivace’s own work. Yet the Kraken whined as they cradled the stricken mech and stretch out her tendril’s to Jazz.

“Okay, okay, I’ll have a look,” Jazz replied.

Vivace understood him, of course they did, the Kraken were intelligence creatures. They made a bloop sound, a note of thanks and Jazz blew bubbles as he snorted. Were they broody again? Trill was a little young for Vivace to have another clutch but some of the Kraken’s nature remained a mystery to the mermecha of Staniz. Colour was beginning to fade from the pirate’s chevron, not a good sign. Vivace had given him quite the beating, it good have been internal damage that Jazz could not see. There was a perfectly round burn in the centre of the mech’s chassis, or it could have been something else. Either way, there was nothing Jazz could do. He was no medic.

“I don’t know what ya expect from me, Viv.”

Jazz felt Vivace’s scream in the core of his struts: FIX IT!

“Primus, Viv.”

I break. I have many sorries. Sorries for the hatchlings. FIX IT!

“Chill,” Jazz hissed. Bedlam rumbled. The last thing he needed would be for all the Kraken to go off at once. “

First sighing dramatically, Jazz let out a couple of quick chirps and ordered the Kraken to shore. He swam alongside his partner as they cradled the dead or dying pirate carefully in their tentacles. Trill zipped along beside them. As they reached the shallows, Jazz took the pirate, a Praxian from Vivace and dragged himself to try land with the help of his tentacles and eight legs. Vivace could not follow him onto the shore, not without the risk of beaching. They stayed back in the surf, whining imperiously. There was only the barest hint of colour in the pirate’s chevron’s tips, though Jazz held little hope for the mech, he felt along his chassis in search of his armour’s manual latches. Maybe his spark just needed a little encouragement. Ori walked up the beach towards them as Jazz stripped the dying mech of his chassis armour. The wells with pierced nozzles surprised him but he ignored this strange vanity in favour of cracking open the pirate’s spark casing. The guttering spark was pale blue, nearly white. It sputter and flared as two pulsing threads. He reached his servo into the pirate’s spark chamber and gently lifted the spark just a little higher.

“Well?” Punch asked.

“Already growin’ cold,” he replied. “Maybe if Ratchet were here but...”

“Let me go!” A mechling screamed. “Origin! Origin!”

“No, no,” Ricochet said as he struggled to keep hold of the mechlings but the youngling got away from him. Punch caught him before he could crash into Jazz.

“Let go of me,” the youngling screamed and he broke from Punch and pulled at Jazz’ shoulder. “Get away from my origin!”

“Riri!” A sparkling cried, held tightly in Punch’s arms. He reached desperately over the mermech’s shoulders. The youngling knocked Jazz back enough that he tipped aside and the sparkling got a clear view of the dying pirate.

He saw his originator laying grey in the sand and keened. Jazz had been wrong, Vivace’s wailing did not compare to this mechling’s spark wrenching keens. The mechling broke from Punch and the stumbled over to his originator, clinging to his limp arm and calling for him over and over. His brother hugged him and sobbed with him. Their grief stricken keens filled Jazz’s audial horns and he did not think he would ever stop hearing it for the rest of his mega-cycles. Vivace’s tentacle reached from the surf and brushed against the mech’s ped. Trill hovered at her side. The only thing keeping the Praxian alive where the strong bonds his spark held to his creations but from the way the mechlings were wailing, these were also start fading. Reaching back into the Praxian’s spark chamber, Jazz held the mech’s spark as it flickered weakly. Though he thought for certain it would fade in his palm, it held on. There was nothing quite like an originator’s love.

“Origin,” the youngling sobbed as he clung to his originator. “Don’t leave us. Please, please. You can’t die.”

Each time the mechlings called for him, the pirate’s guttering spark flared as it stubbornly clung to life. The mech lived only for them and Jazz felt a begrudging surge of respect. Sensing the end coming, Punch tried to guide the mechlings away from their origin but they refused to let go. Jazz’s spark broken for the mechlings. What kind mech brought their creations along as they went raping and pillaging? One who was well loved by his creations, apparently. Vivace let out an audial piercing scream and they lashed at Jazz where he sprawled at the Praxian’s side. The mechlings screamed and Jazz wrapped his arm around them.

“They won’t hurt ya,” he promised. He stroked the sparkling’s helm. “Viv’s sorry they hurt yer ori. They didn’t understand he was just to save ya, sweetspark. Viv was just tryin’ to protect Trill. They’re an ori, just like yers.”

FIX IT! HATCHLINGS CRY! FIX IT!

“For Primus’ sake, Viv,” Jazz hissed. His Kraken lashed him with their tentacles.

FIX

“Riri,” the sparkling sobbed. His originator’s dying spark flared again.

“He tryin’ so hard to hang on for ya,” Jazz said. If Ratchet had been here he would have been able to use those magical, medic servos. He would have been able to command electrical current into the mech’s core. He might have been able to save him but Ratchet was in Polihex. There was nothing Jazz had which could give such a controlled burst as to jump start the mech’s spark. All at once, Jazz felt a bolt of inspiration. “He needs a jump start... a boost. Hang back, sweetsparks.”

“What are you doing to my origin?” The youngling ask as Jazz extended his arm, nudging them back. He bared his spark.

“‘M gonna try ‘n boost ‘m wit my spark,” Jazz said. “Keep callin’ to ‘m. I promise ya he’s hears ya.”

“Please,” the mechling whined. His little brother turned into his chassis.

This was such a taboo, the most cardinal of sins but if Jazz did not do it, the mech would die in the sand where he lay. Knowing the mechlings were watching made the whole thing that much more unpleasant, but Jazz could just not imagine letting them watch their origin die without trying anything and everything. Turning his helm away from the terrified mechlings, Jazz brought his own spark to the Praxian’s fading core. The Praxian’s spark was cold and listless. There was no corona any more, just the innermost core. Jazz’s spark enveloped it. He grit his denta and bore the deathly cold. If it was possible to merge with a corpse, Jazz thought this was what it would feel like. There was no flicker of life or personality from the mech but there were two twin pleas screaming in the mech’s spark. As they clung to their originating spark, they latched on to Jazz’s core. For them, Jazz bore the cold and he held the pirate’s dimming core against his. Slowly, Jazz felt a glimmer of life in the other mech and their cores began to entangle. Little by little Jazz felt the Praxian’s spark brighten.

It was all for the mechlings, Jazz realized. To the pirate’s very core his creations were all he carried about. Jazz found no lust for wealth and no great thirst for violence. He wonder what drove the mech to live this life. Surely the mechlings would have been living better lives on dry land. From within the mech’s core came an answer. No. Jazz could not entirely understand how he knew it but he knew this mech feared the land, feared what it held for his creations. For a nanoklik Jazz could see through the mech’s optics as he looked up at down the port, searching for a familiar face, searching for danger. Who was he running from. As soon as Jazz asked the question, the face of the mech. A black helm, a silver face and red optics that haunted... Digits curled around Jazz’s upper arm and he turned his helm and looked. Blue optics bore into his. The pirate gasped as a surge of charge radiated from his spark and through to his digit and ped tips. His chevron was a bright scarlet. When their spark’s broke apart, the pirate’s pulsed steadily, glowing brilliantly blue. Jazz smiled.

“Origin,” the youngling wept. He fell on his originator with his brother and sobbed into his plating.

“Careful,” Punch cautioned the mechlings. “Yer ori’s banged up. Medic’s still gotta see to ‘m.”

“Probably easier for Viv to transport,” Jazz suggested.

“The council’s gonna have opinion’s ‘bout this, Jazz,” Punch warned.

“What ‘bout ya, Ori?” Jazz asked. He trying not to shake. The gravity of what had come to pass was hitting him. Jazz could feel the mechlings’ joy in his spark. “If ya had any doubts, ya outta spoken up.”

“Bitlet, I know ya did what was right,” Punch replied and he brushed a tentacle around his creation’s shoulder. “But Bitlet, what’s right ain’t always popular. ‘N sometimes it comes wit a heavy price.”

“I guess ‘m gonna have to pay it.”

Chapter Text

The pirate was in a lot of pain. He crooned at his creations, the sound came with a rattle. As they squeezed against him, it was agony but he made no complaint. His digits never loosened from Jazz’s arm and so Jazz had no choice but to remain with him as his creations sobbed into his plating. Jazz thought the mechlings were exactly where their originator wanted them to be; he had been terrified for them, perhaps still was. His spark pulse was quick, was stable and Jazz felt his own spark pulse try to pick up to match it. Instead, Jazz willed it down. Three sparks clung to his and he found himself in the unenviable position of being their safe harbour. Viv trilled with happiness, at least someone was. Ricochet came over and squeezed Jazz’s shoulder. The worst was over. The worst was just beginning.

“What’s yer designation?” Jazz asked.

“Prowl.”

“‘M gonna get ya to are medic,” Jazz said. “Before we move ya ‘m gonna put a shard o’ painite

under yer glossa. It’ll help wit the pain.”

“You bonded us,” Prowl wheezed.

“That wasn’t the plan, but yeah,” Jazz replied. He cut a shard of painite from the crystal he carried. “I don’t got jumper cables. I used what I had.”

“You could have let me die,” Prowl said.

His optics bore into Jazz’s. There something supernatural about the force of his stare. Jazz broke his gaze and looked down at the mechlings who both had their faces turned up to him. Their tear-stained faces glowed with the gratitude that radiated from their sparks. It was wrong for him to feel this, to know this. He was intruding, they were intruding. When he had merged to their originator and boosted his spark with his own, Jazz had not just forged a bond with Prowl but with the two mechlings as well. There was going to be Pit to pay.

“No,” Jazz replied. “Not wit yer bitlets here. Not wit Viv on my case.”

“What is your designation?”

“Jazz.”

“Thank you, Jazz.”

Jazz smiled ruefully. They would see how grateful Prowl felt when he learned Jazz had bonded himself to his creations as well. As the mechlings watched on, Jazz placed a large shard of painite under the pirate’s glossa. It dissolved quickly and as it did, the mech’s optics dimmed and his ventilations slowed. His place in Jazz’s spark went silent. Next to it the mechlings bonds pulsed strong. They were scared. Of course, they were scared, Jazz could not blame them for it. The sparkling shuffled away from his originator and before Jazz could react, the little mech lunged at it. He crashed into Jazz’s lap and wrapped his arms around his waist, crying as he thanked Jazz over and over. Jazz looked to his Ori, feeling overwhelmed. He stroked the mechling’s helm and murmured glyphs of comfort.

“Yer ori’s gonna be fine, Sweetspark,” he promised, though Jazz had no actual power to ensure this. Ratchet was in Polihex. Fixit was a fine medic but he could not perform miracles quite the same way as Ratchet. Still, Jazz would do everything in his power, drag Ratchet from the Dead End himself, to see to it the mech recovered, for the mechlings’ sake. “What’s yer designation, Bitlet?”

“Bluestreak.”

“And yer brother?”

“Smokescreen,” the youngling answered for himself.

“Viv’s gonna carry yer ori home,” Jazz explained. “‘M gonna blow nanites into yer intakes to help ya ventilate underwater so ya don’t overheat.”

“Will it hurt?” Bluestreak asked.

“No, Sweetspark,” Jazz promised him.

Biggest Bluestreak was in his lap, Jazz cupped his helm and blue a puff of air into the mechling’s face as he took an intake. The nanites were fleeting, but they would do for now. He did the same thing for the youngling and their originator as he lay in stasis lock. Not a deep lock, unfortunately, as Prowl moaned in pain as Jazz lifted him. It was not enough to make him wake. Vivace had their tentacles extended as he carried Prowl to him, moving as smoothly as he could. Of course, true grace was impossible as he tried to walk on land on eight legs. Viv let out a warbling coo. Bluestreak brushed his digits against their smooth, plating as his brother held tightly to his arm.

“Viv’s happier yer okay,” Jazz said. “‘N they’re sorry Trill scared ya.”

“They... they were trying to save me when I fell overboard, right?” Bluestreak asked. Trill made a bright and happy bloop.

“That’s right,” Jazz smiled. “Clever mechling. ‘M gonna carry ya home, okay, Blue?”

“Okay,” Bluestreak reached up his arms as Jazz reached down to him. He wrapped his arms tightly around Jazz’s neck. He was shaking... Jazz felt a flash of pain as he adjusted his hold on the mechling. Not his pain. “Oh, sweety y’re hurtin’ are ya?”

“Mhm,” Bluestreak nodded into his neck. “Hurt when I hit the water.”

“Y’ve been such a brave spark,” Jazz crooned at him. “Ori, can ya give Blue a lil chip?”

“Of course,” Punch wriggled up to them. “Open yer mouth, little one. Lift your glossa.”

“Ahh,” Bluestreak made a little sound when he obeyed. Punch placed the chip of painite under his glossa and the mechling shut his mouth. Jazz felt his grip loosen mere nanokliks later. The mechling sighed but remained online.

“Such a good little love,” Punch said. He brushed a servo over Bluestreak’s helm, then he turned to the mechling’s elder brother. “Are ya hurt, young mech?”

“No,” Smokescreen replied. “I’m fine.”

“That’s good,” Punch said, a smile in his voice. “I’ll carry, a’ight?”

“Okay,” Smokescreen said and he allowed himself to be lifted up. When he wrapped his arms around Punch’s neck, Jazz heard his sniffle and felt his fear.”

“There, there,” Punch soothed the mechling. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“I’ll swim ahead,” Ricochet said. “And have Fixit ready.”

“Good plan,” Jazz replied. “A’ight Viv, take’m home. Careful.”

Am always careful...

He snorted at the indignant warble. If Jazz was not careful, he was going to get himself inked and Viv had a way of getting their ink into all the worst places. Bluestreak tightened his hold a little as they slipped into the water. Propelled by his many arms, Jazz cut through the water, hardly slowed at all by the mechling clinging tightly to him. The cables that ran from his helm lashed as he swam. Instinct. They swam for the bay of the big island, where he kept his habsuite, as his kinsmech did. There was a narrow passage that ran under the beach and into the forest. Villicii all had these bolt holes so that they could rush into the sea when the call was sounded. There were other ways home, of course. They reached the beach and Ricochet was already standing with Fixit.

“Careful, Viv,” Jazz said as the Kraken was half beached trying to get close to the medic. Ricochet helped Fixit lift the pirate onto dry land.”

“A Praxian,” Fixit murmured. “I’ve never treated this frametype before.

“Viv wailed on’m,” Jazz said. “Gotta have a few broken struts, ‘n some scorched circuitry. They got a hell o’ a jolt.”

“Where should I take him?” Fixit asked.

“My hab,” Jazz replied. “Since he’s gonna be my problem.”

Fixit nodded and frowned when Jazz explained what he had done to save the mech. He confirmed Jazz had forged a full-fledged bond, not only to the originator but to his half-grown creation. It was deep, deeper than bonds were meant to go. Though Jazz had not felt any type of drain, Prowl’s spark was leeching energy from his spark, keeping itself stable. This was common enough with bondmate’s, one spark leaned on its mated spark in times of sickness or injury. The circumstances of... this were entirely different. Jazz had expected recriminations from the medic, by all rights what he had done would be rape in any other scenario, in this one as well. To Jazz’s surprise, Fixit did not chastise him at all.

“He’s only alive because of ya,” Fixit said, as he examined Prowl. “He’s stayin’ alive because of ya.”

“Can ya fix the damage?” Jazz asked.

“He’s got broken struts, crushed protoform,” Fixit replied. “‘M concerned about his doorwings. I don’t recognize the physiology. I could do more harm than good if I try to treat ‘em.”

“So we need Ratchet,” Jazz said.

“I can get’m,” Ricochet offered. “Me ‘n Judder can cross the sea ‘n a few joors.”

“Ratchet’s treated ‘bout every frametype,” Fixit declared. “Tell’m ‘m keepin’ ‘m stable for ‘m.”

“Be careful,” Jazz ordered his twin. “‘N be quick.”

“Good luck,” Ricochet replied. “Y’re gonna need it.”

Fixit was not helpless. He made splits out of sticks to keep Prowl’s doorwings stable and secured them with a layer of tinkelp. With his bare, deceptively strong, digits Fixit lifted crushed protoform off broken struts and torn wiring. Liquid sentio-metallico was painted over the broken struts before a layer of fixative was brushed over that. It hardened over the damaged protoform and would serve as a lattice as the struts knit. Jazz found himself watching, as distance, affording to Fixit would put a great strain on both their sparks. Bluestreak stayed cuddled in his lap. His pain came from his left doorwings. Fixit had braced it, but that was all he could do.

“That stuff looks like magic,” Smokescreen said as he watched Fixit paint the sentio-metallico over his originator’s battered back.

“It’s very special,” Fixit replied. “It can only be found in this archipelago.”

“Is that what Lockdown was after?”

“Lockdown?” Jazz asked. “Which ship was he on?”

“The Deaths Head. Swindle captained the Combat. They snuck off in fog. Origin wouldn’t go to looking around the islands. He didn’t recognize them. So we waited. This light-cycle origin said we were off course and we need to sail east for Uraya. Then the Deaths Head and Combat came around the corner and they were shooting.”

“They tried to rob us,” Jazz explained. “‘N they tried to ensnare us. They ain’t the first to try.”

“Did you kill everyone?” Smokescreen asked. His optics were shimmering with unshed tears.

“Those raiders?” Jazz asked. “We weren’t givin’ quarter. But to the crew o’ yer ship? When I left wit yer origin the Villici were boardin’ to take the crew prisoner.”

“I hope Dipole’s okay,” Smokescreen snivelled.

“Come ‘ere,” Jazz crooned and he opened his arm to the mechling. Bereft of his origin, the youngling cuddled into Jazz’s side. “Who’s Dipole.”

“Our Auntie,” Smokescreen replied. “She always watched us when Cannonball wanted Origin’s attention.”

“Cannonball?” Jazz felt sick to his fuel tank. The implication was loud and clear.

“He conjunxed Origin,” Smokescreen explained. “That was the deal. He would take us from Iacon only if Origin conjunxed him. He’s dead. He went down with the Sea Slag.”

“How old are ya, Sweetspark?” Fixit asked.

“Twenty-three vorns,” Smokescreen replied. It fit what Jazz had thought. Smokescreen was just barely a youngling.

“Did your origin carry ya?” Fixit asked.

“Uh huh,” Smokescreen said. “And Blue too.”

“Sweetspark, how old’s yer origin?” Fixit asked.

“Fifty-one vorns,” Smokescreen replied. Jazz cursed and Fixit gasped.

“He’d ‘ve just been a mechlin’,” Fixit exclaimed. “Hardly older than ya!”

“That’s why we ran away,” Smokescreen explained. “My progenitor was writing a bonding contract for me with one of his friends and Origin didn’t want me bonding so young. My progenitor said I would stay in the nursery until I was old enough but he bonded to Origin when he was my age. Origin didn’t think he would wait.”

“Dear Primus,” Fixit exclaimed. “Yer poor origin. He was very brave to take ya away from that.”

“Origin’s afraid he’s going to find us and make me bond,” Smokescreen revealed. “We hardly ever got off the boat, except at the Pirate Oasis. He was afraid either my progenitor or grandprogenitor would be looking for us.”

“They won’t find ya here,” Jazz promised. “No one crosses our seas uninvited and lives.”

Chapter Text

The effects of the painite shard did not last forever. By the time Fixit had finished with Prowl’s back, the pirate began to come around. Jazz felt his spark stir, it was Primus damned eerie. He saw the mech’s optics slowly light up as he sat on the floor by his helm. Fixit made, disapproval, Jazz thought. Prowl’s doorwings twitched, despite the splints. Prowl released a low, almost trembling ventilation, his doorwings went completely still. There was pain, a great deal of it but the pirate’s optics were surprisingly clear. They fix on Bluestreak, still curled up in Jazz’s lap. Though the movement clearly painted him, Prowl reached for him and touched his helm.

“How is he?” Prowl asked.

“He hurt his doorwing,” Jazz replied. “My brother’s gone to get a medic from the mainland. Fixit here ain’t comfortable treatin’ doorwings...”

“Riri,” Bluestreak murmured and he turned his helm to lean into his originator’s servo.

“Are you hurting, brightspark?” Prowl asked. His injuries were so much more grave than those of his creation, but Prowl only had thoughts for his creations.

“Just a little,” Bluestreak replied. “I’m okay, Riri.”

“Does yer crew have a medic?” Fixit asked. “To help in the meantime.”

“Just First Aid,” Smokescreen piped. “He’s the strut cutter’s apprentice but Oilslick got marooned because he was being evil.”

“Succinct, Smokescreen,” Prowl replied. There was the sweetest little smile on his lipplates, all for his mechling. Jazz was fascinated by the stud centred just below his lower lip and a loop through the left side of his olfactory ridge. Did all Praxians decorate themselves like this? They did not seem terribly practical to Jazz but they were pretty. “First Aid minimal training with doorwings. I would not have trusted Oil Slick with them either. He preferred to hack off offending limbs, rather than attempt repairs.”

“That sounds ominous,” Fixit said, deadpan. “All the same, I’d like to see how thinks I should splint your doors. Jazz? Can ya look for this First Aid? I’ll watch over ‘em.”

“Sure, I’ll find where they’re stashin’ the prisoners,” Jazz replied. “Are ya hungry, bitlets?”

“A little,” Smokescreen said. He took Bluestreak from Jazz and leaned against the berth by his originator’s helm and brushed their crests together.

“I’ll bring ya fuel,” Jazz said. “Ya figure ‘m okay to leave, Fixit?”

“If ya start getting’ light-helmed, come right back,” Fixit replied. “Everythin’ looks good ‘n stable.

“A’ight,” Jazz said. “I’ll be careful. I’ll check up on yer crew while ‘m at it, Prowl.”

“I would appreciate that,” Prowl said. “Please tell Dipole they are alright if you find her.”

“They’re auntie, right?”

“Yes… their honourary aunt.”

“I’ll find her.”

Jazz brushed the strings of crystals aside and climbed down the tree he had built his home in. He leaned back his helm and smelled the sea. Only villici lived so close to the shore, just hidden within the forest’s canopy. Their homes encircled the islands they guarded, ever on guard for their shoal. Jazz’s home was especially close to the shore. If he stepped out onto the outstretched branches, he could dive directly into the sea. He heard sparklings laughing as he walked deeper inland . Mermecha gathered together in the clearings and in their trees , families walked and talked without care . His kind were indomitable. As soon as Ori had blown the horn, announcing the end to the battle, life had resumed, as it always did.

He saw the looks. News had a way of spreading through the shoal faster than lightning. How it spread was always a wonder but especially now. Someone must have seen him on the beach with Prowl and Jazz was irritated by the thought. How could anyone have just stood back, eavesdropping as those mechlings begged for their originator’s life? Sooner or later, Jazz would learn the glyph and he would be sure to let the worm know what he thought. Taking a basket, Jazz climbed down into the underground and made his way to the Cave of Plenty and to gather what he needed. Crystals, oil, mechanimal sentio-metallico, he gathered much more than he usually did. He did not only have just himself to think of now.

“Jazz,” Kick-Off called his designation and Jazz mentally flinched. He hoped to put this off a little longer.

“Can this wait?” He asked hip cocked as he braced the well-laden basket on it.

From Kick-Off’s expression, Jazz knew he was being judged but felt no guilt, only irritation. He had always been one of the best providers for the shoal, along with one of their best defenders and he had never taken more than he was due. So far as he was concerned, he was still not taking more than was his by right. All who could provide did, all who needed took, that was their way. Jazz was angry. Helplessness was a largely foreign sentiment to him, it filled him now. He could not even feel true regret because those sweet mechlings needed their origin. That did not mean Jazz was at all happy with the results. Rather than lick his wounds in peace and privacy, his home was filled with wounded, frightened strangers. It would not be his home alone again.

“Present yerself to the council,” Kick-Off said. Jazz vented.

“Ya got slag for timin’ Kick-Off.”

Still, he did as he was commanded. Blind obedience was not in Jazz’s code. He toed the line so far as he needed to. If the council wanted to complain about his manners, he would remind them who his twin was and whose spark had carried them. Punch had gone up against the council more than a few times in his own right and he had always come away victorious. Though the council was resistant to change, seemingly on principle alone, life was change and it did not wait for them. Jazz was not surprised to see Ori waiting. His originator was not a member of the council but he was chief villicus and the headmech of Jazz’s family, Punch had the right to be present. The council met in the Well’s cave, the roof opened over their helms and sunlight and forest leaked in between the jagged bridges of rock. This was one of the prettiest places in all the archipelago.

“The council has been informed that ya bonded to a brigand, Jazz and that ya brought him to our island,” Roulette groused.

“Yeah, and?” Jazz asked.

“Yeah?” Roulette hissed. “Y’re irreverent, Jazz. It’s unbecomin’ of a villicus”

“Shows what ya know o’ villici,” Jazz countered. Punch smiled and the council groaned and shook their helms.

“Ya breech yer oath to this island ‘n our shoal,” Roulette exclaimed. Jazz snorted. He made optic contact with every member of the council. Jackpot and Trip Up shook their helms.

“How exactly did I do that?” Jazz asked. “I rescued our kin from those pirates. I laid the way for those fraggers to get dragged to the deep. How exactly did I break the oath?”

“Ya did bond to one of those mechs,” Jackpot said. “That’s what the council was told.”

“I’d like to know who told ya that,” Jazz said. “I’d like to know who in this shoal could just eavesdrop as two bitlets were cryin’ for their dyin’ origin.”

“That is none of your concern,” Roulette bristled. “Ya don’t deny it. Ya bonded to a pirate…”

“I used my spark to jump-start the spark o’ a dyin’ origin,” Jazz countered. “A bond formed as a result. I have no regrets.”

“Origin or not, the only good pirate is a dead one,” Roulette sneered and Jazz snarled. “Ya should o’ marooned the brigand’s bastards with his corpse.”

“How dare ya? That mech, his crew, never entered the archipelago. They didn’t trespass. They didn’t breech our law. How dare ya claim to speak for the shoal.”

“He does not,” Trip Up said, raising his servos. “Sparklings are gifts from the Primus, all sparklings.”

“Pah,” Roulette spat. There was a grumble from the council.

“But a bond, Jazz?” Jackpot sighed. “To bring such a thing into the shoal.”

“Where’s yer outrage for the mech?” Jazz snapped. “If he was one of us I’d be in chains waitin’ for my end on the mountain top, less my victim plead my case.”

“He is not one of us,” Jackpot said

“So his autonomy don’t matter to ya? His dignity ‘n his right.”

“He has the right to die,” Roulette snapped. “And rust beneath the waves! He has no right to live on this island.”

“Quiet,” Trip Up ordered.

“Yer wrong,” Jazz clenched his servos into fists. “He has the rights o’ anyone in the archipelago by bond-right. All that’s mine is his. ‘N by that same right I claim all that’s his. That ship ‘n its crew are under the protection of my clan.”

“Punch!” Trip Up exclaimed. “Reason with yer creation.”

“Askin’ me to reason wit a mech?” Punch chortled. “Ya forget who raised Jazz. As headmech of the Sica, I stand by Jazz’s right of bonding. The mech ‘n his mechlings are Sica now. The ship ‘n its crew are for us now.”

“What comes now is on your helm, Jazz,” Roulette snarls. “Y’ll go to the Pit wit’em when they show their colours.”

“Ya disgust me, Roulette,” Punch declared.

“If Sica claims the captives, then the duty of care is Sica’s,” Trip Up said. “Their fuel and their shelter are your burdens, Punch.”

“Sica has always given their due,” Punch replied, he looked pointedly at Roulette. “Unlike some mermecha, all Sica contribute to the shoal.”

“Just what are ya implyin’?” Roulette stood tall but if he thought he could intimidate Punch, he was a greater fool than Jazz had thought.

“I ain’t implyin’ anythin’,” Punch replied. “‘M straight up sayin’, ya ain’t hunted or gathered a scrap o’ fuel for the shoal in thousands o’ vorns but ya sure do take yer pick o’ the Plenty.”

It was a serious accusation and one they all knew would be quickly proven. Everyone had muttered about Roulette’s laziness and gluttony, for longer than Jazz had been alive. No one had spoken of it openly like this, before the council. The council members looked at each other and Roulette raised his helm imperiously at Punch but he knew the same thing Jazz did. The council had a duty of care. A serious accusation had been made to them about one of their members. They would have no choice but to investigate because Punch would not tolerate it being quietly buried. An investigation would prove that Roulette did not provide and had no grounds to recuse from this duty. He would be stripped from his position on the council. He would be shamed. Though he may not have realized it yet, he would soon.

Punch declared he would make arrangements for the captives. He walked with Jazz deep into the lowest level of the cave system. They found the pirates in a dank, dark cave with heavy ununtrium bars serving to trap them inside. Jazz set down his basket and looked into the cell. Seventy mechanisms were secured in the cell, all were blinded folded and restrained. The excuse would be to prevent them from fighting, Jazz was no sure how much credence he put into this argument. His originator took the villicii serving as guards aside. Their clan did not have space to safely house seventy mechanisms, especially seventy potential threats. It would take time to figure out what to do with them all. In the meantime, they would be fuelled. The obvious answer was to set them out to see on their ship, once the necessary repairs were done. Would they go without their captain? Could Jazz stop their captain from leaving? Would he even want to?

“‘M lookin’ for First Aid ‘n Dipole,” Jazz said. “Yer captain’s asked for ya.”

“I’m First Aid,” a mech from the back of the cave declared. When he stood, Jazz saw the white paint and the medic’s crosses and he was inclined to believe the mech was who he said he was.

“I’m Dipole,” towards the front of the crowd a femme spoke and stood up. She was slight enough Jazz wondered if she could step through the bars. There was no need to find out.

“Get them out,” Jazz ordered. “Ya ‘n yer crewmecha have fallen under my protection. Y’re gonna be released from yer bindings and fuelled. Any attempts to attack yer guards will go badly for ya.”

“Where are the mechlings?” the femme demanded.

“With their ori,” Jazz replied. “They’ve been askin’ after their Auntie.”

“I’m inclined to believe you aren’t a piece of slag,” Dipole declared.

“Let’s see what ya think after we talk,” Jazz replied.

Wheelarch walked into the cell and guided both femme and mech out. Jazz pulled off their blindfolds and untied the ropes from around their wrists. They looked around, seeing nothing but a dark, unlit cave. It was probably not much of an improvement. Ori took charge of the captives, giving order to the villicii on guard. They stepped into the cell and began freeing each pirate. Hopefully, they behaved, hopefully, it would not be long before they could get some fresh air. Though they had been led to the cell blindfolded to make escape harder, Jazz led them out through the caves with optics bared. First Aid made a startled sound as they stepped into the light. Wary rumbled rolled up from the mermecha enjoying the community space. Jazz ignored it, but he did not ignore the way the pirates’ plating flared. Thankfully, he did not have to separate them from any of his kinsmech. They walked out of the gave and into the forest.

“So talk,” Dipole said. Jazz chuckled.

“Straightforward, ain’t ya?”

“I don’t play stupid games,” Dipole replied. “Did you hurt those mechlings?”

“The mechlings are fine,” Jazz replied. “Bluestreak’s got a sore doorwing but he’s bein’ a tough lil mech. Smokescreen’s just fine. He’s takin’ care o’ his brother.”

“And Prowl?” Dipole asked.

“Prowl is another story,” Jazz said. “He almost died on the beach. Viv, Vivace, my Kraken gave ‘m a beat down ‘n a jolt straight to his spark. He was fadin’. I did what I could for ‘m ‘n it left us bonded.”

“You... bonded.”

“I merged wit ‘m to jump-start his spark,” Jazz explained. “He’s alive, hurtin’ bad but alive. He’ll hold ‘til a friend wit more skill can come ‘n see to ‘m.”

“You bonded...”

“Ya can call it what yer thinkin’,” Jazz replied. “I sparkraped ‘m. I knew what it was when I did it. Those mechlings were cryin’ for ‘m as his spark was gutterin’. He held on just for them. Nothin’ else mattered to ‘m. Only thing I could think o’ was mergin’.”

“You saved his life,” Dipole said.

“He seems pretty stoic, but once he heals I expect fireworks,” Jazz said.

“Not from Prowl,” Dipole said and she shook her helm. “Those mechlings are the only things that matter to him. He’ll live for them, bond or no bond. Dying is too easy.”

Chapter Text

He wanted desperately to hold his creations but Prowl could hardly move his arms without sharp bolts of pain shocking his systems. At the very least he had cracked struts and torn cables in his shoulders, along with the fractures in his doorwings. Sitting up was painful, but lying down had been as well. Fixit did not want to lay Prowl on his back so as he painted this strange silver goo on Prowl’s cracked protoform, Prowl sat, surrounded by pillows and blankets. His chassis hurt, specifically his spark. Jazz had forced open his chamber to gain access to his spark. Though it was the most minor of Prowl’s pains, the ache brought up the memories of his bonding cycle, so many vorns ago, and Prowl could not escape the phantom pangs.

“Auntie!” Smokescreen exclaimed. Prowl glanced to the curtain of beads as it split and Dipole appeared. He was grateful to see her. Ever the doting brother, Smokescreen did not throw Bluestreak aside to hug her. Bluestreak lifted his helm, drowsy from the crystal chip. Prowl could feel his happiness.

“You are a sight for sore optics, mechlings,” Dipole replied. “Captain? How are you?”

“I am alive,” Prowl replied. “How is the crew?”

“Banged up, but unharmed,” Dipole replied. “I think. That thing snapped the masts and shorted the engine. Then they boarded. They offered quarter, Trailbreaker said we should take it. Smokescreen broke away, I thought he was going to dive after you but one of these… mermechs snatched him and Bluestreak. I wanted to go after but, we were all restrained”

“You did well,” Prowl said, glad that his mechanisms were alive. It hurt to speak, more even than it hurt to ventilate. Fixit made a sound. 

“Save yer ventilations,” he said. “Yer protoform’s caved o’er yer intakes.”

“How can I help?” First Aid asked.

“Can ya access his self-repair systems?” Fixit asked. “I don’t have data cables.”

“Oh! I can do that,” First Aid said. He joined Fixit on the berth with Prowl. “What do you want me to do?”

Prowl drifted. First Aid installed pain blockers and immobilizers that pulled Prowl down into a strange fugue. He could feel the tug as Fixit pulled his crushed protoform back into place. The pain should have been blinding but he only felt the pull. Slowly, the pressure on his intakes receded. When he was only half aware someone spooned broth into his mouth and Prowl swallowed mechanically. Some of the pressure returned but it was cool and strangely soothing. He did not fight the fugue, Dipole’s husky alto soothed his worries. What would be, the mechlings were safe with her. Prowl did not know how long he drifted but alertness returned with a thunderous roar.

“You. Did. What?”

“I merged ‘wit ‘m to save his spark,” Jazz replied. “It’s not like I was tryin’ to bond ‘m. Just tryin’ not to let’m die in front o’ those mechlings.”

“You are on talc thin ice, Jazz,” the angry mech snarled. “If he has any complaint…”

“I do not,” Prowl replied. His voice was weak and had none of the authority he had worked so hard to develop. He was sitting up, supported by First Aid and Fixit. “I am alive.”

“He ain’t exaggeratin’, Ratchet.” Someone else spoke, Prowl did not have a designation for the voice. “The bonds to his creations were the only things keepin’ his core alive but they were frayin’. Sin, crime, taboo, if Jazz ain’t done what he did, those mechlings woulda been orphans.”

“You may be biased, Punch,” Ratchet replied.

“‘M an origin,” Punch replied. “There’s nothin’ like an originator’s bond to their creations. This one lived only for his. He’s a good ori to those bitlets.”

“I’ll see to his doors and then his spark,” the medic sighed. “Then I’ll see what I can do about his spark.”

“Bluestreak,” Prowl wheezed. Funny, that the praise pleased Prowl. 

“Bluestreak?” Ratchet asked.

“His sparklin’,” Jazz said. “He’s got a sore doorwing. He’s rechargin’ in the livingroom wit his brother ‘n one o’ their crew.”

“I’ll take a look after I take care of the originator.”

“No,” Prowl said, through gritted denta. 

“No?”

“Bluestreak... see him first.”

“See?” Punch said. “He’s a good ori. I’ll bring ya the bitlet.”

The medic did not argue anymore and Prowl was relieved. Bluestreak shied a little from the stranger when he was led into the berthroom. Prowl’s strength was fading. He was tired and in considerable pain, but he willed himself to stay up right, to see to his creation. Jazz took Bluestreak’s servos and sat him on the lap, promising him an energon goodie after Ratchet was done with him. Cannonball had never paid the mechlings any mind. Sideways had only ever seen them as things for whom he could gain a profit. The bride price Dropkick had offered for Smokescreen had been a rare fortune. Prowl would never forget how Sideways had congratulated Smokescreen for fetching so high a price. It had been the only praise Sideways had ever given either of their creations.

“That’s it, Bravespark,” Jazz crooned and Prowl’s spark... he could not describe the sensation. “Ratchet’ll fix ya up then he’s gonna make yer ori all better.”

“Will it hurt?” Bluestreak asked.

“No, no, Bitlet, it won’t hurt,” Jazz promised. He stroked Bluestreak’s helm... he was sweet.

“I’m going to plug a diagnostic cable into your neck and put a lock on your doorwing,” Ratchet said. “It won’t hurt, mechling. Just relax... looks like you have a sprained doorwing, and some denting. Nothing some rest and repair nanites won’t fix. You have more of that tinkelp, Fixit?”

“Of course. I never come see Jazz without a full bushel.”

“What are you using the kelp for?” First Aid asked.

“It’s a natural source of repair-nanites,” Ratchet explained. “They last longer than synthetic nanites as well. You’re the ship’s medic?”

“I’m just an apprentice...”

“Come over here,” Ratchet ordered. “I’ll show you how to bandage a doorwing.”

Bluestreak was rewarded with two goodies when the medics finished with his doorwing. Punch picked him up and took him away to rest. The mech, yellow and blue, was very gentle with Bluestreak. He reminded Prowl of Dipole. Ratchet promised him that he would take care of Prowl and Bluestreak blew his originator a kiss and then wrapped his arms around Punch’s next. These mechanisms were baffling. They had sunk the Deaths Head and Combat and had taken his own crew. Their creature had nearly taken Prowl’s life but they were treating his sparkling like he was as precious as Prowl felt. They were concerned for him. Was the bond to blame, the one Jazz had placed on his spark. 

“Are you going to cooperate now?” Ratchet asked Prowl.

“Yes,” Prowl replied.

“Good,” Ratchet said. “I’m plugging into your neck. Let’s see what kind of a mess we’re working with.”

All at once, Prowl was numb. Ratchet had the medical programs Prowl was familiar with from his time in Praxus and Iacon. He sagged, someone lowered him to the berth again and soon Prowl lost all awareness. When Prowl came aware again, he was laying down the side. The room was quiet save for the call on songbirds and the not so distant sound of waves crashing against rocks. It was all very peaceful of Prowl almost sank below the surface of slumber but ped steps, heavy ones broke him from the tendrils of recharge and Prowl lifted his helm. It was not Cannonball, it was the medic, Ratchet... of course it was not Cannonball, he was dead. Prowl did not weep for him.

“Can you access your self-diagnostics for me?” Ratchet asked.

“Yes,” Prowl replied.

“Confirm the cables and wiring I replaced are integrating.”

“It is... thank you for not amputating my doorwings,” Prowl said.

“Fragging Pit,” Ratchet cursed. “That should be a given. Limb replacements are hard enough, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a successful doorwing integration.”

“Neither have I,” Prowl said. “When I was young I saw soldiers wounded in war. Their missing doorwings were never replaced.”

“Before I let Jazz in,” Ratchet said. “I know from your doorwings that you’re bonded in the high caste. If you were taken from your home by raiders, I can take you home.”
“I left my home,” Prowl replied. “My conjunx wanted to bond Smokescreen to a friend of is. I did not want Smokescreen to have my life. We lived in Iacon. I bartered passage on the Sea Slag, a privateer vessel. Captain Cannonball agreed to give us passage if I conjunxed to him.”

“Is there anywhere you would want to go?” Ratchet asked. 

“Just to my ship,” Prowl said. “No port is safe... I fear he will find us. Somehow.”

“Here he won’t,” Ratchet assured him. “I’ve never found a more secure place and I was the Prime’s personal physician.”

“Why did you leave his service?”

“Because Sentinel is a sack of slag.”

“Can I come in yet?” Jazz called from the doorway. “The youngling insists his ori needs his rocket fuel.”

“You been eavesdropping?” Ratchet asked.

“No,” Jazz denied the accusation. “I was playin’ sous chef for Dipole.”

“Come in,” Ratchet groused. “What is this rocket fuel?”

“Pressed energon the colour o’ Unicron’s spark,” Jazz replied. Prowl raised his helm off the pillow. 

“Do I want to know how you can drink that?” Ratchet asked.

“I have a processor glitch,” Prowl replied as the medic helped him sit. His doorwings were splinted and his chassis as crisscrossed with swathes of tinkelp. Though he was sore, it was manageable. When Jazz crossed into the room, Prowl’s spark felt immeasurably better. Was this what a bond was actually supposed to feel like? “Condensed fuel clears the static when I online.”

“I expect you to eat real fuel and not just slag,” Ratchet said.

“I come bearin’ porridge,” Jazz declared. “Wit fresh citrine fruit. Smokescreen says he expects his origin to eat every bite.”

“He is bossy,” Prowl said.

“Ya got good bitlets,” Jazz replied. “They’ll be glad to see ya sittin’ up, lookin’ strong.”

“Thank you for tending to them,” Prowl replied.

“You can fuel before I examine you sparks,” Ratchet said. 

Prowl took took the pressed energon first and took a long, grateful sip. The ache in his processor eased with each sip.  He did not know how Dipole had found the necessary crystals to make it, but even when they ran low on stock, she always found a way to brew the press he needed to start his cycle. Jazz took the cube, then passed the bowl of porridge to Prowl. Neither Jazz nor Ratchet fuelled and it was a little uncomfortable to be the focus of their attention. With Jazz’ s proximity, Prowl could feel his presence in his spark so much more acutely. This was unlike either of his previous bonds. When Cannonball had died Prowl had only felt the slightest of pinches and the ache had quickly faded. He did not feel Sideways’ presence at all, except for in his memory purges. When the bowl was empty, Jazz took it and Prowl resigned himself to the medic’s exam.

“Let’s see your sparks,” Ratchet ordered. Prowl was tentative when he ordered his chamber to open. He had expected pain, after Jazz had to force it but he felt no discomfort. Perhaps Jazz had not been as brutish and Sideways, but that seemed like a reasonable assumption. “Fixit said he thought’s a terminal bond and there’s been on a drain on your side, Jazz. Let’s see if it’s still happening.”

“What does that mean?” Prowl asked.

“Your spark was stabilized itself using Jazz’s spark energy,” Ratchet explained. “Energy transfer through bonds is common in deep ties... I have to agree with Fixit’s diagnosis. Jazz managed to forge bonds with the mechlings through your spark, Prowl.”

“Does that hurt them?” Prowl asked.

“It’s no different than a progenitor’s bond,” Ratchet replied. “They won’t be damaged by it. I don’t see a drain anymore, Jazz but I see some energy readings in you, Prowl that don’t quite fit. I’m taking a closer look.”

“Is he a’ight?” Jazz asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Terminal bonds were a rarity outside of a few cults. These bonds were called terminal because they always ended in the death of both bondmates. The mated sparks were tied too deep to live without the other.

“Fragging Pit, Jazz you needlessly complicate everything,” Ratchet grumbled. “The energy readings are from a protospark settling into orbit.”

“Oh no,” Prowl moaned, he could not help it. His servos curled into fists and he slumped feeling so defeated.

“Scrap,” Jazz cursed. He covered Prowl’s fist in with his servo and Prowl shivered. Old grief, felt achingly fresh. 

“I thought I was done,” Prowl said, voice tinged with static as he struggled not to cry. “I did not kindle again after Bluestreak. I never kindled for Cannonball. I thought I was done.”

“‘M sorry,” Jazz said. Prowl crossed his arms over his chassis. Jazz’s servo dropped to his lap and squeezed his knee. To be comforted in this moment felt terrifyingly foreign.

“Can you talk to me, Prowl?” Ratchet asked.

“I always kindled easily but they rarely stuck,” Prowl explained. “I kindled one my bonding-cycle. Sideways was very pleased with himself but I miscarried at twenty stellar-cycles. I kindled again a stellar-cycle after I miscarried but miscarried again at thirty stellar-cycles. It did not reabsorb and I required surgery when I suffered an infection. The medic chastised my conjunx and told him to wait for my spark to mature.”

“How old were you when you kindled the first time?” Ratchet asked.

“Twenty-three vorns,” Prowl replied.

“That cogsucking spawn of Unicron,” Ratchet cursed. Jazz cursed as well, just quieter. “At twenty-three vorns your interface systems shouldn’t have even initialized.”

“There are ways of making them,” Prowl said. “Sideways spiked me twice before mine did. Then we were able to merge and I kindled.”

“If that mech is every stupid enough to cross my path I will rip out his spike and choke him with it,” Ratchet growled. 

“If I don’t get’m first,” Jazz replied. Prowl raised his helm. Dipole had been outraged by his story and his age. He had always thought she was just an irregularity. Perhaps she was not?

“Smokescreen was only twenty vorns,” Prowl said, outrageous flowing freely into his field. “Sideways wished for the bonding to take place immediately so he could secure the bride price. He said Dropkick would wait but he did not wait. I did not trust Dropkick would wait for my sparkling to mature. I heard the servants talk about a privateer in the harbour. His crew was causing quite a stir in the pub. I snuck out and asked for passage. I offered him shanix I had saved but he laughed. He had all the booty he needed. He looked me up at down and named his price. I paid it. For them I paid it.”

“I can’t promise you’ll carry this spark to term,” Ratchet said. “I can’t promise anything. If you want a termination, I can perform it. If you want to try to carry, I’ll give you every advantage I have to keep you healthy. You don’t have to decide right away, you have a few stellar-cycles at least.”

“You aren’t asking Jazz,” Prowl said.

“He doesn’t have a say in this,” Ratchet replied.

“But...” Prowl said.

“No buts,” Jazz interrupted, squeezed Prowl's leg and looked into his optics. “This is your spark ‘n yer frame, Prowl. My duty by bond by the law o’ the archipelago is to provide for ya, whatever ya decide.”

Chapter Text

Jazz wanted to hide himself away. He had not meant to bond them, he had only wanted to save Prowl for his creations’ sake. The grief in Prowl’s spark was intolerable and it made Jazz’s grief grow tenfold. It had not even occurred to him that a dying spark could kindle. How had that even been possible? Prowl did not hint either way what he wanted. Having a choice was foreign to him and the weight of it a burden. Though Prowl had not flinched to even the slightest degree at the confirmation that Jazz had bonded him, the revelation that Jazz had ensparked him was unmistakably traumatic to him. There was no question he needed comfort but Jazz was hardly the ideal mechanism for the job. He left Prowl with Ratchet, so they could talk in private.

He climbed down to the living room, where the mechlings were resting under Dipole’s watchful optics. The femme gave his a wary look, her charges were a lot more enthusiastic. Whether that came from their gratitude for saving their originator or the bonds that had forged in their spark, Jazz did not know. Jazz smiled when he saw they were playing cards. Bluestreak exclaimed that Smokescreen one again and the youngling chuckled that he always won. His optics sparkled with mischief and Jazz chuckled. The sparkling sighed dramatically but he was smiling too. They seemed like a lot of fun, a pair set of brothers that enjoyed each other, even with the age gap. There had been no other sparklings or younglings on that ship, it stood to reason they had only ever had each other, and their origin. Maybe they would like to meet some of the sparklings and younglings in the creche. Introductions would have to wait though, Jazz needed to let the shoal get used to the idea of their presence. Though he did not believe many amongst his kinsmech to be capable of harming a sparkling or youngling, Jazz knew evil existed everywhere, including in the shoal.

“Yer ori’s up ‘n I think he could use some cuddles wit his bitlets,” Jazz said. Smokescreen dimmed his optics at Jazz.

“His origin okay?” He asked.

“He’s doin’ great,” Jazz half lied. “His repairs gotta integrate, but he’s already sittin’ up ‘n lookin’ good ‘n strong.”

“I want to see Riri,” Bluestreak said. “I want to cuddle.”

“We’re going, Blue,” Smokescreen replied.

“Do ya want me to help ya up, Smokescreen?” Jazz asked. “Or do ya think ya got it figure out?”

“I’ve got it,” Smokescreen replied, sniffing a little indignantly and Jazz really liked the mechlings. “Climbing a mast is a lot harder. And a lot farther.”

“I’ll be right behind ya, then,” Jazz said. He knelt next to Bluestreak. “Climb onto my back, Bluestreak. I’ll give ya a Sheepacron ride.”

“Okay!”

“If ya wanna, come up, Dipole, come on up,” Jazz offered as he rose, with Bluestreak holding on tight.

“They could use some alone time,” Dipole replied. “I’ll mind myself.”

Jazz did not feel wary leaving her unsupervised, he largely had already. Where could the femme go? Nowhere he could not find her. Smokescreen dashed up the trunk with so much each Jazz would have thought he had emerged in a treehab. It did not seem like living in their ways would be much of a hardship for the mechlings, if things worked out that way. How else it could work out, Jazz just did not know. With a terminal bond, could he and Prowl live worlds apart? Would Prowl start looking for ways to escape as soon as he was mobile, regardless any strain on their sparks? How could Jazz even consider holding the mech captive? It was the most disgusting thought.

“Origin,” Smokescreen called to Prowl and scrambled over to the berth as soon as he reach the berthroom.

“I am alright, Smokescreen,” Prowl assured him though Jazz knew he did not feel alright at all. Bluestreak climbed off Jazz’s back and ran for his origin.

“Easy, mechling,” Ratchet groused. “Don’t jerk your door around.”

“Let me see you, Bluestreak,” Prowl said and he looked over his newling as he stopped at his peds. “How are you feeling, Sweetspark?”

“I’m fine, Riri,” Bluestreak replied. “Ratchet made you feel better too?”

“I feel a lot better,” Prowl assured his creation. “I will just need to heal a little while yet.”

“I need to hunt,” Jazz said. “I claimed responsibility for yer crew which means I gotta bring in fuel. Do ya mechlings think ya can take care o’ yer origin? Dipole’s downstairs. Ratchet’ll probably check up on ya, right?”

“We always take care of Origin,” Smokescreen replied.

“That you for ensuring they are looked after,” Prowl said.

“Seemed like the least I could do,” Jazz replied.

“You saved my life,” Prowl said. “You have nothing to make up for.”

Jazz disagreed but he did not argue, not in front of the mechlings. They seemed to know what their originator needed. The mechlings cuddled into Prowl’s sides, taking care of his doorwings. Under Ratchet’s supervision, they would not be at risk of accidentally hurting him. Now was the time for retreat, Jazz said his goodbyes as he throw a bag over his shoulder and walked out threw the gap in the branches, onto the thick branch he had long used for this purpose, and he dove into the sea. As he cut into the energon, Jazz’s legs first twined together then splint apart. This transformation took nanokliks and felt as natural as ventilating.

He swam out into the bay, and made his way for the damaged ship. It had been firmly anchored into the sea bed, the spikes driven in by a Kraken, no doubt. Jazz would guess Bedlam, who was both incredibly strong and often inspired to demonstrate this. Vivace was lounging next to the ship with Trill, looking as if they had claimed the perch for themselves. They waved their legs and reached out their tentacles, Jazz happily swam in, to rest. He did not know exactly have Viv viewed him. Perhaps as a friend, perhaps as a hatchling. All Jazz knew was that he could come to them and vent to them and no glyph of it would ever spread.

“I gotta bring in fuel for seventy-five or so mechanisms,” he said. “Council weren’t feelin’ generous. I was thinkin’ they might run outta mercy so I claimed ‘em all. That stunt I pulled bonded me to that mech and those mechlings. ‘M a dead mech if that mech turns out to be just like all the pirates we’ve taken to the deep.”

GOOD ORIGINATOR TO HATCHLINGS. GOOD CHOICE IN MATE.

“That ain’t how ya court a mate,” Jazz replied. He was a little bemused that Viv approved of Prowl on the single basis that he had dived into the sea after his creation.

GOOD ORIGINATOR.

“Ya know villicii ain’t ‘spose to have creations,” Jazz replied. “We can’t be trusted to take care o’ the shoal if we only got optics for our own.”

GOOD PROVIDER. GOOD MATE.

“Thanks, Viv. He’s hardly a mech. He was only a mechlin’ when he had his younglin’. His conjunx kept sparkin’em up, didn’t let ‘m rest ‘n he lost so damn many bitlets before he could hold ‘m. I sparked ‘m. I didn’t even think it could happen. He don’t seem to care I bonded us, probably ‘cause bein’ forced into a bond ain’t knew to ‘m but he’s devastated he’s carryin’ again.”

GOOD ORIGINATOR. STRONG ORIGINATOR. GOOD PROVIDER. GOOD MATE. GOOD PROGENITOR.

“I guess we’ll see,” Jazz said. “Fixit used so much tinkelp ‘n sentio metallico ‘m gonna harvest some. Before someone spouts off ‘n tells me I outta ‘ve marooned those bitties again.

WHO?!

“Fraggin’ Pit, Viv. I don’t wanna go deaf.”

WHO? WHO IS HATCHLING KILLER?

“Roulette don’t got the components to do it,” Jazz assured the Kraken. “He’s a lazy, leech but he’s a coward too. I won’t be lettin’m near those bitties, in any case.”

GOOD PROGENITOR.

“Thanks, Viv. I’ll do my duty. Not much else to do.”

YOU FORAGE. I HUNT. I HUNT.

“I’d appreciate it.”

They had something to prove. Jazz did not know what but he was not going to turn his olfactory ridge up at the help. Trill swam after his originator, trilling with enthusiasm. Vivace was an excellent provider. It was unlucky that they had only seen the one egg hatch in their nest but Trill was a clever and energetic Kraken. Whether they remained in the shoal or returned to their wild roots, Jazz did not know. Any villicus would be lucky to match with one of Vivace’s creations. The tinkelp that would help the Praxians heal only grew in between two of the small outer islands, amongst the vicious rocks that served as one of the archipelagos best traps for would be raiders. He dove down deep, keeping himself stable in the strong current by wrapping his arms around one of those sharp rocks. As he harvest the tinkelp, taking only the mature teal stalks, Jazz hummed to himself.

It would not be so bad to be a progenitor. No, it would not be bad at all. He liked sparklings and younglings. Had he liked the idea of carrying at all, Jazz would have already done what his originator did and gotten himself sparked up. Over the vorns, Jazz had considered it, weighing his disdain for the prospect against his desire for creations. His disdain had always won the mega-cycle. This was not how he would want to create. These were not the mechlings he had wanted to foster but they were good mechlings. They were so much better behaved than the Twins. The sea around Jazz filled with a thick black ink. Jazz growled low and lashed out with his tentacles and cables. Though he could not sea them, Jazz could taste the imps on the quick moving energon.

“Hey!” Sideswipe exclaimed as Jazz caught him around the waist with the cable that fell from behind his right audial orn.

He caught the imp’s twin with the cable that came from low at the centre back of his helm. Sunstreaker did not shout but he did growl. A warble told Jazz where to strike and he wrapped the hatchling Kraken that followed Sunstreaker around like a cyberdog in his tentacles. As much instinctual as it was intentional, the Kraken zapped Jazz but as a small hatchling it was not much more than an itch. Still, Jazz tapped Bob on the helm and gave him a stern: no.

“You three must be lost,” Jazz said, holding tightly to the wriggling mechlings.

“No,” Sideswipe replied.

“Oh yeah?” Jazz asked. He raised Sideswipe up so he could stare him in the optic. “So ya broke outta the creche ‘n swam out to the perimeter islands on purpose?”

“No...” Sideswipe said, freezing under Jazz’s gaze.

“Uh huh,” Jazz replied. “Thought as much. Since I know I can’t trust ya to make it back to the creche, I guess ‘m gonna put ya to work.”

“We don’t gotta listen to ya,” Sunstreaker grumbled.

“Ya do while I got ya in my cables,” Jazz replied. “Or else ‘m gonna take ya straight back to the creche. ‘N I won’t be sharin’ my snack.”

“Snack?” Sideswipe asked. Jazz smirked.

He knew the way to this mechling’s spark. Ricochet made great energon goodies and he was generous to his twin. While raw fuel was shared throughout the shoal, the meals prepared by individuals and couples were not, unless those mechanisms chose to. The Twins were provided for by the shoal at large as the foundlings that they were, they did not get little luxuries like goodies often. To seal the deal, Jazz pulled a good from his bag and offered it to Sideswipe. Ever ravenous, Sideswipe snatched it and greedily shoved it into his mouth before Jazz might take it away. Sunstreaker was not half as fuel motivated as his twin but he liked goodies plenty and when Jazz offered him one, he took it. Out of habit, Sunstreaker tore it in half and offered a piece to Bob, the Kraken. Smiling, Jazz gave him another. As before, Sunstreak broke it in half and shared it with his pet.

“So what do we have to do?” Sunstreaker asked.

“I need to collect tinkelp for Fixit,” Jazz explained. “See the teal kelp? That’s what we’re picking.”

“Why are you harvestin’?” Sideswipe asked. “That ain’t yer job.”

“My job is to provide,” Jazz said. “Fixit used a lot o’ his best tinkelp for... my sake, so ‘m gonna replace it.”

“We heard you bonded to a pirate,” Sideswipe said. “Everyone’s talkin’ bout it. Is it true?”

“Ya eavesdroppin’ on mermecha again, Sides?” Jazz asked.

“If they don’t wanna be listen to, they shouldn’t talk so loud,” Sideswipe replied.

“Ya tellin’ me they was talkin’ bout pirates at the creche?” Jazz asked.

“We weren’t in the creche,” Sunstreaker said, utterly shameless. “We don’t like it so we won’t stay.”

“Yeah, I got that vibe, Sunny,” Jazz replied. “Sea’s not safe for you bitlet. The current could snatch ya up in take ya so far away we’d never find ya.”

“No one would wanna find us anyways,” Sunstreaker shot back. Jazz sighed.

“Ya know I’d look for ya,” he said.

“It’s not the same.”

They were right. Jazz knew the Twins did not feel wanted. He knew they would never settle in the creche. Why would they when they saw their crechemates go home with their procreators every evening? The shoal had given up matching the Twins with a couple, they were a disagreeable pair. None of the couples were the guardians they wanted so they refused to accept them. It was Jazz who they wanted. But Jazz was not an acceptable guardian. Not as a villicus. Not unmated. These were not just excused. It was not as if Jazz had not tried. Keeping hold of the Twins as they pulled at tinkelp, Jazz reminded himself that he had tried.

“Is he nice?” Sideswipe asked.

“I think so,” Jazz replied. “I don’t really know. His crew seems to think well o’m. His bitlets adore ‘m.”

“Can we meet them?” Sideswipe asked. “I’ve never met a pirate.”

“Maybe,” Jazz said. “I don’t know if Prowl’s up for ya just yet. Viv gave ‘m a beatin’.”

“Did he deserve it?” Sunstreaker asked.

“It was just a misunderstandin’,” Jazz explained. “His sparklin’ fell overboard ‘n Trill caught’m. When Prowl dived in ‘n saw his bitty tangled up with a Kraken he got scared ‘n he slashed Trill wit his sword. Vivace caught’m before he could get on the boat. They were mad he hurt Trill, ‘n they hurt’m in kind but when they hurt his bitties cryin’ for ‘m Viv realized they’d made a mistake.”

“Why’d ya bond,” Sunstreaker asked. “Couldn’t Viv just say sorry.”

“Viv was ‘n is real sorry,” Jazz replied. “But sorry wasn’t gonna stop his spark gutterin’. I merged to save ‘m, ‘cause his bitlets were cryin’ for ‘m. Bondin’ was an accident.”

“Is he mad?” Sideswipe asked.

“No,” Jazz said. “He should be, at least a little, by all rights. But he’s grateful... He lives for those mechings.”

“So... maybe he’s not a bad pirate,” Sideswipe said.

“I think he ain’t.”

Jazz shared more treats as they worked. He lingered over the tinkelp longer than he needed to. Eventually though, Jazz could find no more excuses to stay out and he dragged the Twins along with him with his cables as Bob followed alongside. Vivace’s great form appeared. With the tip of an arm she bopped Bob on the helm. Though Bob was a hatchling, he could forage and so he could survive. It was a harder life than it should have been. While he was not their hatchling, Vivace took some personal interest in Bob. They tried to keep them in the bay, but Bob was imprinted on Sunny and if Sunny snuck off, so did Bob.

Vivace was swimming slowly, their arms largely encumbered by their impressive catch. As he surfaced Jazz saw the council on the beach, close to the creche. When Jazz saw Roulette amongst them, he was angry. If they thought they could bury this, they forgot was the Sica were. Sica was not a lineage, Sica was a cause. They were the villicii and they were not passive. Punch would not be silenced. Jazz would not be silenced. Though he had intended to take the Twins to the creche, he swam up to the beach and led the Twins onto the sand. The council members looked from the Twins to the creche. Once again, it did not appear like their absence had been noticed.

How two terrors like these two were could go off unnoticed was something Jazz did not understand. Before Jazz could make his opinion of the caretakers known, Vivace made themselves known. Vivace slammed their catch onto the shore in front of the council and shrieked imperiously. Stretched out on the shore, the catch was even more impressive than Jazz had first thought. It was a whole damn warwhale. Trill dragged themselves up a little closer to shore than their originator. They threw a sharkticon onto the sand as the tide tried to dragged their catch back into the sea, Trill gave it a good shove and a commanding trill.

“I PROVIDE.”

“This is not…” Trip Up stammered. Vivace slapped their tentacles against the energon as their arms flailed angrily. Technically, Trip Up was not wrong, this was not where the kills, either by mer or Kraken were meant to be deposited. It was one Pit of a hike from the cave of plenty.

“SILENCE! I HUNT! YOU DID NOT HUNT! NO COMPLAINTS!”

“I think that ‘bout covers the Sica clan for a quartex, at least,” Jazz said, unable to stop himself from smirking.

“Ya could try teachin’ yer Kraken proper manners,” Roulette groused. Jazz was angry that the council had not dismissed him as they investigated Punch’s charges. He had no business standing for the shoal. The Twins scrambled to hold Jazz’s servos. Their presence gave him a hold on his temper. It did not have the same effect on Viv. They struck out with their tentacle and threw Roulette across the beach.

“INSUFFERABLE LEECH!”

“Call off yer Kraken,” Trip Up ordered as the council mech stumbled back.

“What makes ya think Viv listens to me?” Jazz replied with a chortle. When Roulette tried to stand, Vivace lashed out again, the disgrace councilmech retreated into the woods as Vivace screamed insults until he disappeared from view. When he was gone, the Kraken retreated with their hatchling back into the sea, warbling with irritation.

“Fraggin’ Primus,” Jackpot hissed. “What a racket.”

“Best to remember Viv has a long memory and keeps longer grudges,” Jazz declared. “They won’t be forgivin’ Roulette for sayin’ what he said ‘bout those bitlets.”

“That a threat, Jazz?” Trip Up asked.

“No,” Jazz replied. “It’s a statement o’ fact. Nothin’ Viv brings in for the shoal goes to ‘m. Put that in the ledger. They won’t share their hunts wit the shoal if they find out he’s takin’ a cut.”

“The accusations will be investigated,” Jackpot said.

“We all know the accusations are true ‘cause every last one o’ us o’ grumbled bout his lazy aft but this ain’t bout that,” Jazz replied. “Viv shares wit the shoal ‘cause they wanna share with the bitties, they don’t give much of a damn ‘bout grown aft mermacha that outta mostly outta be capable o’ catchin’ their own cyberfish. They don’t wanna share wit bitty killers, don’t test ‘em. Viv don’t play. Simple.”

“What were you thinkin’ partnerin’ wit a wild Kraken?” Trip Up asked.

“Viv picked me,” Jazz laughed. “Like Bob did Sunny here. They wanted a nice safe place to have their clutch. Elegy’d died ‘n I wasn’t workin’ wit any Kraken so Viv just decided they’d work wit me so they could lay in the bay. Threw a whole mega sharkticon in my face as an opener.”

“Admittedly, Vivace is the best hunter in the shoal,” Jackpot said. “Few Kraken do more than share scraps of what they take for themselves.”

“Like I said, Vivace likes bitlets,” Jazz replied. “They don’t care if they got eight arms or two legs, or flippers, they like’em all. The lotta you? Viv thinks yer bunch o’ lazy afts that need to learn how to hunt. They don’t think that much more highly o’ me.”

“Call them back,” Jackpot said. “The point is made.”

“Nah,” Jazz replied. “Vivace did the hard part. I think ya lot can figure out how to get it to the cave. Come on mechlings, ya can fuel wit me.”

“Jazz!” Trip Up exclaimed.

“The company ya keep says a lotta ‘bout ya Trip Up,” Jazz said. “Keepin’ his company says a whole lot.”

Chapter Text

Punch was Jazz’s originator. When he came while Jazz was out hunting, Prowl assumed he was looking for Jazz. He was not, however, he had come to see Prowl. The mechlings were delighted by the gifts he brought them, a transforming top for Bluestreak that changed into different creatures depending on how it was spun and a puzzle cube for Smokescreen that changed shape if you did not solve the puzzle fast enough. Prowl expressed his surprise for the gifts and Punch declared it was a grandori’s prerogative to spoil their grandbitties. The mechlings looked at Prowl and then at Punch at that pronouncement. It confused them, it confused Prowl that he would want to lay claim to them but Punch explained it as a fait accompli.

Bond were significant to these mechanisms, significant in a way that reminded Prowl of Praxus, and yet not. Significant in a way that reminded him of Cannonball, but not. Through his previous bonds, Prowl had become a mech’s possession and through this new bond he had again. Prowl was Jazz’s by their law but at the same time, Jazz was Prowl’s and this was were everything appeared so different from what Prowl had known before. Prowl was hesitant to go down into the living space below the berthroom, it was Jazz’s space but Punch reassured him. By bond rights all that was here, all that belonged to Jazz was Prowl’s as well. The reverse was also true and Jazz had used this right to lay claim on Prowl’s crew and to ensure they came to no harm. The ideas were dizzying, confusing but Prowl was grateful that Jazz had thought of his mechanisms. He had not needed to. He could have feigned ignorance but he had thought of them, his enemies. Jazz as nothing like Prowl’s previous bondmates.

The mechlings grew increasingly comfortable with Punch as the mega-cycle wore on. He left only briefly, taking Dipole with him, to show her what he called the Cave of Plenty. When they returned they carried baskets of fuels. Everyone within their community contributed to the cave. Some hunted more, some gathered more, some grew more, all provided what they could and all took what they needed. Dipole gushed over the selection of fuels. She was decreed Jazz’s kitchen would do well enough if she cooked in batches. Their crew would fuel well. Punch appeared bemused by her. Prowl did not think this was a negative as he left her to her work.

“She insisted she’d cook for yer crew,” Punch explained.

“Dipole enjoys feeding mechanisms,” Prowl replied.

“Aunite’s the best cook,” Smokescreen said, looking up from his puzzle box. “She knows everyone’s favourites.”

“And everyone’s dislikes,” Prowl said, smiling. “It is easy to see who has gotten on her bad side when their least favourite fuels are on the menu for an orn straight.”

“It’s true,” Smokescreen agreed, nodding sagely. “We had niobium everything for a whole quartex after Wheeljack blew up half her kitchen.”

“In fairness, very little else in the pantry survived that experiment,” Prowl said. “Niobium is very durable fuel.”

“It tastes like boredom,” Smokescreen replied. “Even when Auntie makes it.”

“I cannot disagree,” Prowl said. “But it is very good for you.”

“Feh,” Smokescreen made a face. Punch laughed and ruffled the mechling’s helm and Smokescreen beamed. Prowl’s spark fluttered. This mech might truly enjoy the prospect of claiming Prowl’s creations as his grandcreations. It was... boggling Prowl’s processor. Cannonball had never spared them a glance.

As Dipole prepared fuel, Punch ferried it to the crew. Ratchet stopped in with First Aid, the apprentice examined Prowl’s repairs to ensure they were integrating well. He was awe struck by this medic, who had skills and experience that First Aid had not imagined learning. From Ratchet’s treatment of the young mech, Prowl thought his crew had lost their medic in training, First Aid had found a proper medic to apprentice under and Prowl was happy for him. Few pirate crews had proper medics, those that did had almost certainly press-ganged them into that service. First Aid had ended up on the Sea Slag in that way and on the Judgment because it had been the lesser of the Fleet’s evils. It would be good for him to join a proper apprenticeship. What would become of the rest of his crew? Prowl doubted Jazz would be inclined to allow him to leave; he was not certain he would be capable of leaving. There was a protospark in orbit on his spark, he could not go to sea gravid. Given how some of his miscarriage had gone, Prowl needed to be close to medical attention. Was that reason enough to safe himself the wait and just ask Ratchet to perform the procedure. Would that grief be any less acute?

“Now what have ya brought home wit ya, Jazz?” Punch asked as Jazz appeared at the top of the ladder. A pair of helms popped up. Sparklings.

“A caught these terrors swimmin’ out by the perimeter islands,” Jazz explained. “They helped my gather tinkelp... I thought I’d reward ‘m by givin’m a home cook meal.”

“The cookin’s just ‘bout done,” Punch said. “Dipole’s got a processor to feed an army. A crew o’ pirate’s at least. She commandeered yer kitchen. Ya’ll gonna be lucky to get it back, less we get her somethin’ bigger. Well, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker? What have ya got to say for yourselves?”

“Oops?” The red mechling asked.

“Oops,” Punch hummed. “No one sounded the horn.”

“‘Cause they didn’t notice,” Jazz replied and Prowl felt his anger and helplessness. He cocked his helm. The mechlings ducked behind Jazz’s legs and then peered around to take a peak. Bluestreak’s good doorwings perked up. This mechlings were close to his age. He had never been able to play with agemates before. “Don’t be shy, mechlings. Ya wanted to meet Prowl, didn’t ya?”

“Maybe,” the red mechlings said. “He doesn’t look too scary. ‘N he don’t got a peg leg!”

“I have been fortunate to keep all my limbs,” Prowl said. “What is your designation, brightspark?”

“Sideswipe,” the mechlings said. “He’s Sunny.”

“Sunstreaker,” his brother, surely they were twins, corrected.

“I am Prowl. My creations are Bluestreak and Smokescreen. We would be happy if you joined us for dinner.”

“Thank ya,” Jazz said. Prowl felt it in his spark with a peculiar intensity. “Ya doin’ a’ight, Prowl?”

“I am well,” Prowl said. “Ratchet said my repairs are integrating well.”

“Did Viv hurt you too?” Sideswipe asked Bluestreak as he eyed the other mechling’s doorwing.

“No,” Bluestreak replied. “I hit the energon bad. Ratchet said it’s just a sprain... Punch gave me a top. Did you want to try it?”

“Sure!” Sideswipe exclaimed and Prowl was very pleased with his sparkling.

“What about Bob?” Sunstreaker asked, tugging at Jazz’s servo.

“He’s gone wit Viv,” Jazz said. “They’re gonna fuel’m good ‘n keep ‘m safe ‘n warm for the dark-cycle. Go one, Sweetspark. Looks like it’s one o’ Rumbler’s tops. Bet it’s lots o’ fun.”

The mechling joined his brother. They were cautious of Bluestreak’s doorwings, and careful with the toy. When Sideswipe looked curiously at the puzzle box, Smokescreen offered to let him try to finish the puzzle. Sideswipe was so wary of Smokescreen, warier by far than he was of Bluestreak but he took the box and tried the puzzle. He did not quite make it in time and the puzzle changed, Sideswipe flinched away from Smokescreen. It did not surprise Prowl when Smokescreen urged him to try the next puzzle, though it distressed him that the sparkling had so clearly expected to be punished for failing at the game. When he did not finish that puzzle either, Sideswipe flinched again and put the puzzle down as he flinched again.

“It’s okay, try the next one,” Smokescreen said. “I don’t get them all either.”

“Are ya sure?” Sideswipe asked. “‘M gonna ruin yer score.”

“I don’t care,” Smokescreen said. “I’m not keeping track.

“You have fantastic mechlings,” Jazz whispered, sitting next to Prowl. Prowl flushed a little, spark full of life and pride. He did have fantastic mechlings.

“I am very proud to be their originator,” Prowl said. “Where were their procreators when they swam out too far?”

“They don’t got any,” Jazz explained. “They washed up on one o’ those islands after a storm. I, we never figured out where they’d come from. I put’em in the creche, the shoals provides for ‘em... No one’s ever come lookin’.”

“After twelve seasons I don’t think anyone will,” Punch said. “Sunstreaker’s got a lil Kraken that follows ‘m wherever he goes. Bob’s a funny lil thing... Washed up one cycle, like they did. Sunstreaker shared a scrap o’ fuel ‘n Bob’s been in love wit ‘m since. Viv makes sure he gets enough fuel, but Bob mostly nest near the walls o’ the creche, close as he can get to Sunstreaker.”

“You refer to Vivace as they and Bob as he, do they have preferences?” Prowl asked.

“Most Kraken see themselves as they,” Jazz explained. “Sunny calls Bob he ‘n Bob seems to prefer that. If it changes, it changes.”

“I see,” Prowl said. “Thank you for explaining. I would not wish to offend any of them.”

“They’ll appreciate yer respect,” Jazz said. “The Kraken are interestin’. We like to think we domesticated them but ‘m pretty sure its the other way around. They hunt wit us ‘n for us ‘cause it suits ‘em. Some o’em like to show off. Some o’ them think we’re a bunch o’ failures that need to learn to hunt proper like. Vivace mostly shares ‘cause they think we don’t take good enough care o’ our bitties. So they deign to help.”

“Do all of your mechanisms have Kraken partners?” Prowl asked.

“Just villici,” Jazz replied. “Most mermecha don’t wanna go through the trial o’ befriendin’ one. ‘M still not sure how Ori befriended Bedlam.”

“We got an understandin’” Punch declared. “They like to wreck slag, I show’em what they can slag without gettin’ trouble. There’s one Kraken that ain’t ever gonna breed. No other Kraken even glances in their direction durin’ the layin’ season anymore.”

“Probably cause Bedlam’ll rip off their favourite parts,” Jazz said. “Bedlam don’t like anyone but ya, Ori ‘n that includes other Kraken.”

“They’re a one mechanism Kraken,” Punch agreed.

Dipole brought fuel out when their meal was ready. The Twins shied from her but the generous bowls of fuel she set in front of them won both over, quickly. She suggested the mechlings would surely like dessert and disappeared back to the kitchen. Rarely, did Dipole actually sit down for meals, she generally fuelled as she worked. If she wanted to stop and rest, she would. Right now she wanted to work and Prowl new her well enough to leave her alone. Prowl had forgotten how good fresh fuel was. The stew was delicious, few of flavours both familiar and new to Prowl. His creations praised their auntie’s cooking and the Twins joined in. They practically licked their bowls clean. Though Jazz said the shoal provided for them, Prowl wondered if they got quite as much as they needed. If they had no one speaking for them, it would be too easy for them to go without.

Dessert was a simple pudding but it appeared to be something these mechlings had never had before. Prowl felt Jazz’s spark twinge as he watched them. He had a look and painful longing on his face. If they were foundlings, why had they not been claimed by someone? They clearly adored Jazz and he them so why were they still in this creche? Dipole gave them seconds, and Prowl’s creations seconds as well, of course. Prowl found their delight both sweet and sparkbreaking. Where did they recharge? Alone in a shelter? Alone in a pool? They should have had warm berths in a home where they could be tucked in and sung a song or read a story.

“I guess I’ll take’em back to the creche in a lil while,” Jazz sighed as the Twins huddled with Bluestreak as Smokescreen showed them card tricks. There was a reason he one card games so often, his digits were very quick. He was an excellent cheat.

“Who watches them?” Prowl asked. “They disappeared and no one looked for them? Their minders are not near diligent enough.”

“They ain’t easy to watch after,” Jazz said. “They don’t like many mechanisms. They were covered in wounds when they washed up. ‘M not sure what they got caught up ‘n but some o’ those wounds look liked blows from tentacles.”

“You think mermecha hurt them,” Prowl gasped with disgust.

“I think do,” Jazz replied.

“Poor bitlets,” Prowl murmured. “Does no one watch them?”

“There’s a shelter, in the creche for ‘m,” Jazz said. “I think the council keeps hopin’ someone’ll turn up for ‘em.”

“If someone did, you would not turn them over easily,” Prowl guessed.

“No.”

“You are fond of them,” Prowl said, he did not ask because he knew the truth. “Why do they not stay with you?”

“‘Cause only pairs can foster,” Jazz explained. “‘M a villicus, so obviously I ain’t a pair. We’re ‘sposed to look after the shoal. We ain’t ‘sposed to bond less we leave the clan ‘n the job.”

“You bonded to me, will you have to leave your service?” Prowl asked.

“No,” Punch replied for Jazz. “This is an exceptional situation. Ya got no clan o’ yer own, so y’re Sica now by bond to Jazz. They won’t even grumble ‘bout it. Jazz is too good at his job for anyone to suggest he leave it. Viv wouldn’t pair wit anyone else either ‘n there’s no better hunter than ‘em.”

“You have creations, Punch,” Prowl observed. “Your service did not end.”

“I wanted creations, frag tradition,” Punch explained. “So I had ‘em. It wasn’t a popular choice. But I didn’t ask for their opinions. ‘N I got no regrets. I got a good pair o’ bitlets.”

“We got a great ori,” Jazz said. “I... I like bitlets. I like sparklings. I just don’t got any desire to carry, ain’t been able to get o’er that.”

“The only thing stopping you from fostering the Twins was your bachelor status, really, correct?” Prowl asked.

“Yeah, more or less,” Jazz said.

“Punch called himself grandori to my creations, because of our bond,” Prowl said. “It is a legitimate tie to your shoal.”

“It is,” Jazz replied. “By our law, Punch is their grandori, ‘m their... genitor. ‘M responsible for providin’ for all o’ ya.”

“I am grateful for all you have done,” Prowl said. “We are not a burden you planned for.”

“Y’re not a burden,” Jazz said. “Y’re... this is my fault. Viv’s my Kraken, I bonded us. It’s right I take care o’ ya after what I did.”

“What you did was save my life,” Prowl said. “I have been bonded three times and only this third time was my bonding borne of good intent. I am not angry with you, Jazz. I do not resent you. I am alive for my creations. I want to be alive for them.”

“‘M just sorry it happened,” Jazz sighed. “‘M sorry I took yer choice away.”

“You saved my life,” Prowl repeated. “I would choose the Pit if it meant living for them. This place... it does not seem like a Pit. I would like to try to make the best of this, for my creations’ sakes.”

“Of course,” Jazz replied. “I owe ya as much.”

“We are bonded, a pair by the laws of your shoal,” Prowl said.

“Yeah...”

“Then as a pair, we should foster the Twins.”

Chapter Text

“Y’re serious,” Jazz said, vented a long breath.

“Of course,” Prowl replied. “They are only bitlets. They should have a home of their own, caretakers of their own. Who reads them stories when they go to recharge? Who tucks them into their berths? No one? That is not right.”

“Well said,” Punch declared.

Jazz could only stare at Prowl. Creations in general had not been Jazz’s fantasy, the Twins themselves were, being their caretaker, being their progenitor. Prowl had only seen them once, had only the barest understanding of their law and he had seen the obvious that Jazz had not. He had already accepted the monumental change in his life while Jazz was still grappling with it. Surely the council would have objections but there was no law that could stop Jazz now. It was absolutely dizzying. What would Prowl’s creations think? Jazz watched Smokescreen hold court with his brother and the Twins and they all seemed happy. In fact, Jazz did not think he had ever seen the Twins so happy.

“What do I do, Ori?” Jazz asked. “Wit the council?”

“This dark-cycle, ya put’em to recharge wit the other mechlings,” Punch declared. “‘N in the light-cycle ya don’t take’em back to the creche. They stay. When the council bothers lookin’ yer claim’s already gonna be settled.”

“I’ll need to put another floor on the hab,” Jazz said. He was grinning. “They mechlings can’t recharge in the livin’ room forever. They outta have their own space. Did yer mechlings have a room on yer ship, Prowl?”

“No,” Prowl replied. “They had bunks in my cabin, separated with only a screen. There is not enough space on a ship for private quarters. My crew mostly recharged in the hammocks below deck.”

“One room, wit curtains to give each mechlin’ space for themselves outta work,” Punch said. “We can start work in the light-cycle.”

“Y’re sure, Prowl?” Jazz asked. He could not bear to tell the Twins they were staying, only to have to take back his glyph.

“I am sure,” Prowl replied. “I would be good to them, I assure you.”

“I don’t doubt it for a nanoklik,” Jazz said, looking at Prowl with adoration. “Y’re a good ori.”

Prowl smiled with shy pleasure and Jazz fell hopelessly in love with him. He wanted the Twins, not just for Jazz’s sake or for their sakes, he wanted to claim them for himself as well. Jazz would repay him, give him whatever he wanted, for all the rest of his life. The etching on their bracers would need to be done, Jazz would find the most beautiful pearls to inlay into Prowl’s. All who saw them would know what Jazz thought he was worth. It had not been a mistake to save his spark, the bond was not too high a price to pay. Jazz would provide them all with the best life. He was certain he could do this, he could give them the best of lives.

The cushions were arranged on the floor and the Twins were stunned when they were invited to make berths for themselves with the blankets and pillows. Bluestreak giggled and called it a charge over. They would explain in the light-cycle, so long as in the new light, Prowl’s processor did not change. The Twins claimed so little for themselves that Prowl softly chastised them, and told Smokescreen to help them. Instead of tucked in a corner, out of the way, Smokescreen helped the Twins set up their blankets and pillows next to where he had set them up for himself and his brother. He was a fantastic youngling, having learned from his fantastic originator. Prowl sat to the side of the makeshift berths and told the mechlings a fairytale. Jazz watched the Twins faces and watched them fall in love with Prowl. They requested a song from Jazz and Jazz almost forgot his glyphs. Of course, he had sung for them before, but this felt different, mostly because it was.

Dipole set up a berth in the kitchen. On their ship, she had done this, both to guard their fuel stores and to have some personal space. In the light-cycle, Jazz would talk with Ori about where they might put Prowl’s crew so they would be comfortable and safe, but the shoal would be as well. He was thinking they could use Vigil Island for the purpose. It was one of the inner islands of the archipelago, hidden from view from the shipping lanes, there was no fear of them trying to wave down a ship that passed too close. Bedlam nested in the cove, there would be no sneaking off or on. The pirates would be safe from the shoal and the reverse would also be true. Because Bedlam nested there, the island was rarely visited save for by Ori when the peridot fruit berries were in season, no one dared meddle with that Kraken.

Jazz helped Prowl up to berthroom. He had offered to recharge with the mechlings, and Jazz was not sure if he would not have preferred it, but his frame was healing, he needed a proper berth. In any case, Jazz wanted to talk with him, without anyone overhearing. Though Prowl had stellar-cycles before termination would be complicated, Jazz wanted him to know, really wanted him to know, that whatever choice he made, Jazz would support him however he wanted. Given he had never carried, Jazz could not imagine the fear and the sorrow Prowl was feeling after losing so many carryings, he could understand Prowl not wanting to try again but he could also understand if the idea of terminating would also be traumatic.

“Thank you,” Prowl said as Jazz helped him to the berth. “I appreciate you sacrificing your comfort for me.”

“I can’t in good conscience let ya recharge on the floor, Prowl,” Jazz replied. “Ya need good rest to heal.”

“Do you not need good rest?” Prowl asked. “You are expected to provide for over seventy lives.”

“Viv took care o’ that,” Jazz said. “They caught a bull warwhale ‘n made a big show o’ deliverin’ it to the council. Trill caught a good size sharkticon too. Wit ‘em, we’ve filled our quota for a quartex at least.”

“I hope I will be able to thank them,” Prowl said. “And to apologies to Trill.”

“They’ll love to meet ya,” Jazz replied. “They’ll be glad to see ya on yer peds.”

“Will I be able to see my crew?” Prowl asked.

“Sure!” Jazz exclaimed. “I was thinkin’ o’ clearin’ space on one o’ the uninhabited islands. Bedlam nests in the cove so ya don’t gotta worry but anyone tryin’ to start slag wit ‘em ‘n the shoal don’t gotta worry ‘bout pirate boogy mechs. I don’t wanna keep’em in a cell for long. I don’t think the council’ll let me just put’em on yer ship ‘n... It’s cramped ain’t it? They’ll probably like to stretch their peds.”

“They have not been at port in quartexes,” Prowl said. “They will be receptive to rest when they know they are safe.”

“Good,” Jazz nodded. “I’ll make sure they’re safe.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said.

“Viv’s guardin’ yer ship,” Jazz said. “It’s gotta be repaired before it can sail again.”

“It was not scuttled?” Prowl sounded surprised.

“It didn’t attack us,” Jazz said. “Ya didn’t. It wouldn’t o’ been right. The shoal can forget that not every ship is an enemy. I try, we try to be better.”

“I sailed with them,” Prowl said. “You could not have been blamed for lumping us together.”

“Why?” Jazz asked.

“The Fleet is at war with itself,” Prowl explained. “Every captain wishes to claim control of the Fleet. I never commanded my own ship before receiving my inheritance. I sailed with Lockdown because Lockdown was the least likely to sink me as soon as we left the Pirate Oasis. He wished to conjunx me at best or to keep me as but a berthwarmer at worst. I sailed with him, but I did not... He invited me on board the Deaths Head repeatedly but I never left the Judgment. I knew if I boarded his ship he would take it as my agreement, regardless my glyphs. I was wondering if I should not take leave of the Fleet and sale on my own. It is a dangerous function. There is greater safety in numbers. I did not want to make a deal like that again, but I was afraid the Fleet would name the Judgment an enemy if I left. I was afraid for my creations. I could not make the choice.”

“He knew ya didn’t want’m,” Jazz grimaced.

“Lockdown has very little concern for the wants of other mechanisms,” Prowl replied.

“I am,” Jazz promised, he hoped Prowl would believe him. The pirate smiled.

“I believe you do,” Prowl said. “I do wish to make the best of this, Jazz. I do not want you to be miserable. I do not want to be miserable. I hope we can develop something that is agreeable to us both.”

“I hope so too,” Jazz replied. “I’ll do everythin’ in my power to make y’all happy.”

“You love those mechlings,” Prowl said.

“Since I found ‘em washed up,” Jazz confessed.

“You would love this spark if it survived to emerge from me,” Prowl said.

“I would,” Jazz confirmed. “I’ll love yer mechlings. I’ll be a good genitor to’em.”

“I want to believe I can carry this spark,” Prowl said, servos folded over his spark. “I want to believe this is a good omen.”

Jazz offered his servos to Prowl and when Prowl took them, Jazz squeezed them and smiled: “I bet it is.”

Chapter Text

Jazz recharged on the floor near Prowl. Maybe it was foolish but Jazz felt like leaving him bad luck. He listened to the Praxian’s soft intakes before he too fell into recharge. There was not a lot he could do to help Prowl keep this carrying. They were both helpless on this front. But he could assure that Prowl felt supported, whatever came to be. It was not so much the least Jazz could do so much as it was what he wanted to do. This mech was his bondmate, something Jazz had not believed he could have without leaving the life he knew and loved, and Jazz would count his blessings. Through the legitimacy of this bond, Jazz could have the Twins, Prowl’s clever creations and the newspark he had kindled in Prowl. He could have a family and his life. Prowl would never have cause to doubt Jazz’s gratitude.

The sun rose on the archipelago and Jazz rose with it. Prowl was still in recharge and Jazz left him to rest. Dipole worked quietly in the kitchen as the sparklings continued to recharge, Smokescreen was up, peering out the archway, through the gap in the trees. His doorwings flicked when Jazz stepped down from the floor above. That gap, a window of sorts through the leaves, was just about the best view in the treehab. It was a good perch for a mechling. Jazz found he really liked the sight. His hab would not be his alone again, but it would be more of a home than it had ever been. The thought made Jazz smile.

“I was wonderin’ if ya’d be willin’ to go wit me to yer ship?” Jazz asked as he approached the mechling. “We can get yer things from yer cabin.”

“I can do that,” Smokescreen said. “We don’t have a lot of stuff but we have our plush ursanokor in our bunks... Ori made them.”

“We definitely need to get’em then,” Jazz replied.

“It’s pretty here,” Smokescreen said.

“I always thought so,” Jazz agreed. “I’ll take ya explorin’. There’s a lot of nice spots.”

“Are we staying?” Smokescreen asked. “You bonded to my origin.”

“I did,” Jazz confirmed. “I bonded to ya ‘n yer brother too. This is yer hab as much as it’s mine now, Smokey. We’ll built a space for ya ‘n the mechlings that’s all yer own.”

“Lockdown want to bond to Origin,” Smokescreen said. “I hated him. I hated when he came out on deck and stared at Origin. He looked at Origin like Cannonball did. Like he was a thing.”

“Yer a good mechlin’, watchin’ out for yer ori,” Jazz said. “I didn’t ask yer ori to bond, I wasn’t tryin’ to bond us. But I promise ya yer ori ain’t ever gonna just be a thing to me. ‘M his as much as he’s mine. I’m yers as much as yer mine. It’s equal. It’s fair.”

“The Twins are staying too?” Smokescreen asked.

“Were ya listenin’?” Jazz asked.

“I mean, we were right there,” Smokescreen said.

“Yeah,” Jazz chuckled. “They’re stayin’. They’ll be yer brothers, like Bluestreak if ya can give’em a chance.”

“I can do that,” Smokescreen agreed. “They need looking after. Younglings are mean to them. Sideswipe told me. They try and mess with Bob to make Sunstreaker upset. No one gets to be mean to one of my brothers.”

“Y’re a good brother,” Jazz said. “They’ll be lucky to have ya lookin’ out for ‘em.”

“Sunstreaker’s not going to want to stay if Bob can’t too, but there’s no pool for him here,” Smokescreen said, gesturing out the window.

“I’ll make one for ‘m,” Jazz replied. “Viv’ll pick a good spot, just for him.”

Smokescreen was a fantastic youngling. He was going to be a fantastic mech. The sparklings stirred not long after Jazz came down and the Twins were bright opticked and in real awe that they had spent the dark-cycle. Dipole came out from the kitchen alcove with porridge for everyone. She gave Sunstreaker a biscuit baked from some of the porridge and told him he could bring it to his Kraken friend. Sunstreaker, for once, ate every drop of fuel in his bowl, knowing that he had something to share with Bob. Jazz smiled at Dipole and thanked her profusely. The femme shrugged it off. Everyone eats, that was her motto and she lived by it. Jazz lingered with the mechlings for a little while, letting himself be climbed over and the Twins demanded he tell Bluestreak and Smokescreen some of his adventures, of course the interjected with their own recollections, they were regular fixtures in some of his more harrowing tales. Rescuing them from their mischief had become a large part of his life.

When he left the mechlings to check on Prowl, Smokescreen was telling the Twins the story of one of his and Bluestreak’s adventures at sea and the Twins were hanging on his every intake. If they did not become villici they might become pirates, Jazz thought with a smile, or something better. He had ideas, ones he thought Prowl could be interested in, something that could help the shoal in the long run as well. Jazz found Prowl awake in berth when he climbed up the ladder. His optics were pale, soft and hazy. Pretty, Jazz thought, he was pretty. The piercings that decorated his doorwings and chevron did not detract from his natural beautiful. Whether or not they enhanced it or not, Jazz did not really know how to process how he felt about them. They were Prowl’s. How he felt about them was the only thing that mattered.

“Did ya wanna go down?” Jazz asked. “The mechlings are tellin’ stories. Smokey’s so good with all o’em.”

“Smokescreen has always been an amazing caretaker,” Prowl replied. “Both to Bluestreak and to me. I would like to come down.”

Jazz helped him down. Prowl was already so much stronger than he had been. His doorwings were splinted in place and he was a little unsteady on his peds but he had a good grip on the ladder, he had a good grip in general. Bluestreak and Smokescreen called out to him with a happy greeting. Their love for their origin was not a pretense. They dearly loved the origin who had given up so much for them. That love must have been Prowl’s most reliable salve. Smokescreen arranged pillows so Prowl could sit comfortably and the Twins watched him with open fascination. Bluestreak suggested Prowl could tell them the story of their escape from a navy frigate in Iaconian seas. Dipole brought Prowl the inky fuel he depended on in the light-cycle. Jazz watched Prowl gesture to the Twins to come closer to hear the story. They stretched out next to his legs.

“‘M gonna take Smokey to yer ship to get yer things from yer cabin,” Jazz said. “If that’s a’ight wit ya.”

“It is,” Prowl said. “If you can, empty the pantry as well. There is no point allowing the fuel stores to degrade.”

“I can do that,” Jazz agreed. “When I get back, we can go down to the beach ‘n Sunny can reunite wit Bob.”

“Please!” Sunstreaker perked up.

“Of course, Sweetspark,” Jazz replied. “Be good to Prowl while ‘m gone.”

“We aren’t goin’ back to the creche?” Sideswipe asked.

“Ya aren’t ever goin’ back,” Jazz replied. He thought the Twins had probably listened to bit of the grown ups’ conversation. They needed the assurance that what they had heard was true. “‘Cause ‘m bonded now, I got the right to foster ya. Yer gonna live wit me, ‘n Prowl ‘n Smokey ‘n Blue. We’re gonna be yer kin, from this cycle forward. We’ll teach ya ourselves. Ya won’t ever go back to that creche.”

“Really?” Sunstreaker asked. “They won’t take us back?”

“I’ll feed ‘m to Viv if they try,” Jazz promised. He knelt next to the Twins and stroked their helms. “‘M yer geni now, just like ya wanted. ‘N ‘m not gonna give ya up for nothin’. Prowl’s gonna be yer ori now. I know he’s gonna be good to ya, like he is to Smokey ‘n Blue.”

“Ya want to be our ori?” Sideswipe asked, peering up at Prowl. He did not believe it and it broke Jazz’s spark.

“If you want to call me friend, that is acceptable,” Prowl said. “You do not have to call me originator if it does not feel right. I will be your caretaker with Jazz and your teacher as I am for Smokescreen and Bluestreak.”

“But we can call you Ori?” Sideswipe asked. “We never had an Ori.”

“I would be very proud to be your ori,” Prowl assured him. Jazz fell that much more in love with him.

“I want an ori, ‘n a geni,” Sideswipe said. “We’re the only sparklings that don’t got ‘em.”

“Ya do now,” Jazz told him. “‘N ya got two more brothers to keep company ‘n keep ya safe.”

“No one’s going to mess with you or Bob with me around,” Smokescreen declared. Sunstreaker smiled at the suggestion.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The sparklings were content to stay with Prowl while Jazz to Smokescreen for a swim. Those twins only wanted to be love, they wanted it so badly they were leaping for the chance. Jazz would make certain they did not suffer for this leap of faith. Vivace and Trill came up from the bottom and greeted them. Smokescreen was fearless and stroked Vivace’s tentacle when they lightly patted him with the massive spade shaped tip. They warbled and cooed and Smokescreen snickered when Vivace patted Jazz as well. Jazz snorted. Bob came up from where Viv had been brooding over him and circled Jazz quickly. Looking for some sign of Sunstreaker of course.

“The Twins are gonna be fostered by me ‘n Prowl,” Jazz told Vivace. “Bob’s gonna need a safe pool to ‘charge in under my tree. Think ya can help wit that?”

I MAKE LARGE POOL. SAFE FOR HATCHLINGS.

I HELP.

“Oh!” Smokescreen exclaimed. “They talk!”

“They do,” Jazz confirmed. “Loudly. Thanks Viv. Thanks Trill.”

“Thank you calling Jazz for help,” Smokescreen said and Vivace nuzzled him with their tentacles and Smokescreen hugged them a little. It was sweet, a little awkward but so sweet. “He saved my origin. And thanks for catchling my bitty brother, Trill.”

WELCOME MANY TIMES.

“Go wit, Viv, Bob,” Jazz told the small Kraken. “I’ll bring Sunny down to the beach so ya can tussle.”

“I like them,” Smokescreen said. “They’re really nice.”

“They like ya too,” Jazz said. “Let’s get up there ‘n sort out yer stuff.”

Smokescreen led Jazz below deck. The captain’s cabin was at the back of ship, the only private cabin with windows. Considering it had been home to three mechanisms, Jazz thought the space was small but the space was private, none of the other crew would have had space like this. Jazz hung back and led Smokescreen gather what he wanted. It would be wrong to snoop through Prowl’s possessions. He watched Smokescreen pull the plushies he had mentioned off the narrow bunk berths. They looked to have been sewn from scraps of clothe and Jazz could see how dear they would be. How could they ever be replaced? The youngling had a look of contemplation as he stood in the middle of the small cabin.

“I bet Origin’s going to want to make the Twins ursanakors,” Smokescreen said. “Or something. He’s going to want to be fair.”

“Let’s see if we can’t find some fabric he can work with,” Jazz replied. “I bet the Twins would love somethin’ of their own.”

They found berth linens that could be cannibalized. Jazz thought this was what Prowl had made the ursanakors he had made for Smokescreen and Bluestreak. In the airtight pack Jazz had brought for the job, they packed datapads, game boards, fabric and other tokens to bring home. Smokescreen did not show any sign of longing or regret when he left the cabin he had shared with his originator and brother. He had a skip in his step as he led Jazz down to the galley. Jazz felt less guilty for flipping the mechling’s life on its helm. If anything, Smokescreen seemed enthusiastic for this new adventure. That would make it easier for Prowl and for Jazz in turn. So long as the mechlings were happy, the rest could sort itself out.

“Did ya find some booty?” Punch asked as he saw Jazz drag a crate from below deck from his perch on the railing.

“Fuel,” Jazz replied. “Prowl didn’t want it to go to waste.”

“Bedlam, think ya can bring that to shore?” Punch asked, leaning back slightly to speak over the side. Large tentacles rose from the sea. The vessel leaned as Bedlam pulled themselves up enough to see their quarry.

“I was thinkin’ we could clear some o’ Vigil Island for Prowl’s crew. Let’em build homes, away from the shoal. Wit Bedlam in the cove ya know no one’s gonna comes snoopin’ where they ain’t wanted.”

“Care for some neighbours, Bedlam?” Punch asked. “Ya can be their guardbot. I’ll make it worth yer while?”

LOUD?

“Not half as loud as ya,” Punch said.

“Dipole’s a great cook,” Smokescreen said. “I bet she’s share treats with Bedlam... if he likes cake.”

CAKE?

“She makes great cakes.”

CAKE.

“There ya go,” Jazz laughed. “Bedlam’ll eat like a god.”

“I think we got a deal,” Punch laughed. “Go on then, Bedlam. Ya can help clear space for a dock.”

YES.

Bedlam slipped into the sea with the crate and swam with it to the Vigil Island. It was not the shore Jazz thought Ori had been referring to but it was a good enough place for it. The skies would stay clear for quartexes yet. They had time to build permanent structures. Treehabs like those the mermecha lived in, or on the ground as landmech seem to favour. Jazz was not thinking of tents or temporary shelters. He was thinking of homes. Pirates were the bane of the Rust Sea, of his shoal and shoals of rayformers, whaleformers and every type of mer that inhabit the deep and the remote islands. The navies of the great empires only cared if the pirates turned their sights on their own ships. They did not flinch at the sights of tails and tentacles being unloaded in great chests of ice, or living beings being unloaded in large tanks.

Slavery was a scourge the empires traded on, the private “pet” trade did not stir their sparks at all. It stirred Jazz’s spark and the spark of every Villicus. With villici and Kraken swimming alongside it, the Judgment could turn the tides for the sea dwellers the landmech had preyed on since time and memorial. He did not have the authority to launch this scheme, Ori did. Jazz would only need Prowl’s support. His sparkmate was a good mech, not driven to the sea with dreams of wealth but with panic and dear for his creations. When Jazz told him of the horrors his kin and their cousins had faced, Jazz thought Prowl would agree that his ship had been aptly designated for the service Jazz hoped to put it into.

“We’re gonna have picnic on the beach,” Jazz said. “Let Sunny and Bob play a while. Why don’t ya ‘n Ricochet joins us?”

“I don’t know where yer brother’s lurkin’ but I bet I can get’m on board,” Punch replied. “We can look at where ‘n how we wanna add to yer treehab. I bet Smokey here’ll like to help design his own berthroom.”

“Oh yes!” Smokescreen exclaimed.

Chapter Text

Smokescreen’s suggestion that Prowl make the Twins ursanakors plushies as he had them touched Prowl’s spark. His youngling was looking on the two mechling mer as his brothers without hesitation and with an open spark. They went down to the beach and watched as Vivace and Trill dug out a deep pit and let it fill with sea energon. Vivace laid heavy stones along the side of the pit, walling it up from the see. It was actually a reasonably complex construction. There was drainage, so the pool could not fill too far and there was a channel to the sea to allow it to continuously fill with fresh energon, rather than allow it to stagnate. The bond was big enough for mechlings and Kraken to wallow in it. Sunstreaker led his pet/partner to try out his new home. Declaring it needed decorations, Sunstreaker conscripted the other mechlings to help him find shells. Smokescreen walked with the sparklings, declaring himself their supervisor. He had appointed himself their protector.

The tinkelp Prowl was bandaged in seemed magical. He felt hardly any aching at all, though he should have been quartexes from fully healing. Though he knew better than to shed his bandages and splints, Prowl felt oddly restless. Vivace lingered near the shore after their work was done. Jazz asked if Prowl wanted to be introduced and he very much did. The Kraken seemed so much bigger than when Prowl had encountered them, yet Prowl did not feel even the slightest bit threat. It could have been nerves but Prowl was not nervous, still his plating tingled as he stepped into the sea. Though Jazz held his arm, supporting him, Prowl felt steady on his peds. One step, another, he was up to his waist. The sea bed fell down sharply, just in front of his peds, yet Prowl wanted to go further. It would be foolish to try to swim with his doorwings splinted as they were. Vivace brushed their tentacles against his chassis, then nudged Jazz firmly while warbling sharply. He let go of Prowl’s arm and fell back with a splash. Prowl felt more than he heard the transformation. When Jazz stood beside him again, he was on eight legs, not two.

“It wasn’t for me to tell, Viv,” Jazz said. Vivace rumbled and pet Prowl again.

GOOD ORIGINATOR. STRONG SPARK.

“Thank you,” Prowl said. “I try to be. I hope I can carry this one through.”

STRONG SPARK. Vivace nudged Jazz. GOOD PROVIDER.

“He is,” Prowl agreed.

Something inside him was shifting. Prowl took a step forward and slipped under the surface. He writhed. Tinkelp snapped, splints fell away. There was no pain though his plating was crawling. When Prowl tried to kick, he fell to the side. He had no legs. Prowl looked over his shoulder and then down his frame. His legs were gone. In their place was a thick, powerful tail. Where the apex of his legs had been was the slit of his valve, along its rim the rows of shiny crystals sparkled. Over his anterior node the ring still hung. Prowl kicked the legs he no longer had and vented sharply. He folded his servos to hide his indecency as the cool sea energon made his pierced nozzles stand straight. Jazz pulled Prowl into his many arms. They wrapped around his waist and shielded him from view. Vivace slipped their tentacles under the entangled mech and they lifted Prowl and Jazz so their helms breached the service.

“I... I...” Prowl stammered.

“The enima o’ transformation must o’ passed through the bond,” Jazz said. “Life started in the sea. Yer closest mer ancestors must o’ been whaleformers.”

“There are whaleformers? Prowl asked.

“‘N rays,” Jazz replied. “Sometimes pods or schools pass when they’re migratin’. We don’t mix often.”

“I turned into a whale,” Prowl said. “I... I can change back?”

“Y’ll learn how,” Jazz promised. “If ya let yer platin’ dry out it’ll just happen.”

“Okay,” Prowl said. “Okay. I... I turned into a whale. Will my creations?”

“It’s possible,” Jazz replied. “If it don’t come on its own. There’s a fruit that grows in the coral I can bring them. Not every member o’ the shoal emerged to the sea.”

“Okay,” Prowl said. He did not understand why he was not overheating and crashing. Perhaps it was the sea that kept him cool. Jazz held Prowl in his many arms and Prowl clung to his shoulders.

“I’ve got ya,” Jazz promised. Prowl nodded. “Viv? Can ya help us to the beach?”

Vivace cradled them and eased the to the beach. Prowl dug his servos into the sand and dragged himself up. He was a very literally beached way. His doorwings moved stiffly on his back. They seemed more rigid, somehow they did not hurt. Jazz stretched out next to him, one of his many legs draped over Prowl’s tail. It was reassuring. Though his shock had not receded, his panic had and Prowl looked over his shoulder as he tried to manipulate his tail. Lift it, bend it, he made a little splash as he brought his wide tail down into the surf. Smokescreen called to him as the mechlings returned from their shell hunt. Prowl pushed himself up onto his arms, he needed to reassure his creations that he was alright.

“Y’re a mer!” Sideswipe exclaimed. “We didn’t know ya were mers.”

“He’s not,” Smokescreen said. “We’re not.... He is... Origin?”

“I am alright,” Prowl said and he reached up to his youngling and drew him in for a hug. “It is an unexpected gift from the bond. I am not hurt. I will learn to control the change. For right now, I just need to dry off.”

“This is somethin’ o’ a surprise,” Punch said and he strolled down the beach with his second creation, Ricochet walking alongside him.

“I thought this was one o’ those sparklin’ tale things,” Ricochet said. “I didn’t think bonds could actually make mers.”

“Most mechanisms don’t bond deep ‘nough,” Punch replied. “Are ya feelin’ a’ight Prowl. Y’re still healin’.”

“I think I have healed,” Prowl said. “Do mermecha heal more quickly, normally?”

“We do,” Punch confirmed. “Overall. ‘Spose it’s why out medicine ain’t advanced as far as landmechs our self-repairs systems are a level above.”

“That would make sense,” Prowl said. “I will need to learn to swim again.”

“When ya go in again, let yer frame take o’ere,” Punch said. “Instinct will guide ya.”

“Did it hurt, Riri?” Bluestreak asked as he tentatively brushed his servo down Prowl’s side. The texture of Prow’s protoform had changed. It was smoother, firmer.

“Not at all,” Prowl promised him. “It came as a surprise, that is all. Jazz took care of me.”

“Will we grow tails too?” Bluestreak asked.

“I didn’t when I went out with Jazz,” Smokescreen said.

“It’s possible, though unlikely I think,” Prowl replied. “Jazz said there is fruit he can bring you that will give you enigma of transformation, if that is something that you want.”

“Maybe?” Smokescreen said. “Would it be dangerous for you, Jazz?”

“It’s a challenge, Sweetspark but I wouldn’t be alone,” Jazz replied. “Viv would go wit me. Ya don’t gotta decide here and now.”

“Riri’s a pretty mer,” Bluestreak declared. Prowl nuzzled him. His sparklings scent was different, stronger to Prowl’s transformed olfactory sensors. He loved this smell..

“Yeah he is,” Jazz agreed, making optic contact with Prowl as the Praxian flushed a little. “Y’re ori’s always pretty, ain’t he?”

“Yeah,” Bluestreak said.

“Ya ‘n Smokey take after ‘m,” Jazz declared. “Ya look just like yer ori.”

“Are we pretty?” Sunstreaker asked, nudging his ped in the sand. The mechlings needed a proper bath and some polish. They looked a little like feral beastlings, but they had largely been forced to be. What upkeep they had managed could only have been possible with Jazz’s attention.

“You and Sideswipe are beautiful,” Prowl said. Sunstreaker’s optics lit up and wrapped his arms around Prowl’s neck, and gave him a tight hug. Whoever had told these mechlings otherwise needed a swift kick to the helm.

Chapter Text

The Twins had never been polished before. Jazz was beautiful and glossy, and when Prowl asked for the makings of a bath, he readily provided Prowl with a large tub on wheels and all the solvents and polish he could hope to need. Prowl liked the smell of the polish, it made him think of the sweet sea air and Jazz’s arms all wrapped around him, holding him careful and close. Though they had agreed they wanted to make the best of their situation, and thus far they both seemed to be on the same page, Prowl worried that Jazz would hesitate to be intimate with him. As much as Prowl worried that Jazz might have moral issues with interfacing with him, he was more worried that Jazz might simply not want to. Time would tell, but how much time?

Thankfully, the tub was large because Bluestreak was incapable of seeing a bath and not jumping in. He had the time of his life, splashing with the Twins, though with their tentacles they had the splash advantage. Smokescreen sighed, a luxuriant sound, as he read a datapad by the window. With the Twins to entertain Bluestreak in the bath, Smokescreen got some private time. Though the mechlings found playing in the bath more entertaining than washing, the fact that it was Prowl and Jazz washing them let the Twins settle in a blissful fugue. If the bath had relaxed them, the polishing was several steps above. Sideswipe was soon rolling on the floor with Bluestreak is a little sparkling wrestling, but Sunstreaker nestled in Prowl lap. He had been polished to a shine but Prowl continued rubbing the clothe over him in little circles, Sunstreaker enjoyed it so much.

It was an orn before anyone seemed to realize that the Twins would not be returning to the creche. They may have claimed the horn did not sound because they knew the Twins had gone after Jazz, they always did when they escaped, Jazz was not at all mollified. He informed the procreators that ran the creche together that his creations would never be trusted to them again. They had no business being entrusted with the care of a rock, let alone a sparkling. His glyphs were not popular amongst the mechanisms that operated the creche but other procreators who had pulled their creations from the creche long ago, lent their voices in agreement to Jazz. Prowl liked these mechanisms. He liked them even better when some amongst them offered to help build the extensions the treehab needed. They did not only speak to Jazz, they spoke to Prowl as well.

These same mechanisms went to the Vigil island to help with construction of habsuites and basic amenities. A community kitchen was essential as Dipole would always want to cook for her crewmates and they had long been spoiled by her skill. They built the kitchen near the beach, though it was not the most practical location, this was the only place that would do. Bedlam would stretch out on the beach and wait for their share of any and every meal. If Punch was nervous that his Kraken was being stolen by Dipole, he showed no sign of it. If anything, he encouraged his greedy partner to get a treat.

Prowl watched from the treehab as Bedlam beached themselves and tilted their helm back to show Dipole their peak. From the wide kitchen window, Dipole threw muffins. They did not seem like a standard part of Kraken’s diet but Bedlam seemed both strong and healthy. The sight of the Kraken begging for more reminded Prowl of Bedlam’s introduction to Dipole. Though he had been promised cake, Prowl had not thought he would get it right away but when Dipole stepped off the small boat onto the beach she had presented a six tier cake to the Kraken, calling it a welcome gift. Bedlam had not wasted a single crumb, purring like a cyber-kitten as they wallowed near the beach and digested the opulent treat.

The council were not entirely on board with the plan to utilize Prowl’s crew as pirate and slave hunters, the majority of the community was fully on board. Their craftsmecha helped repair the Judgment. It was now ready to sail when the tide came high. Villicii had volunteered in droves for this new adventure that saw several of them and their Krakens joining Prowl’s crew as they prepared for their first sortie. Prowl would not be on the ship. Nightbeat and Punch would lead the operation together. They had Prowl’s maps and they had the Kraken, Prowl was confident they would be safe. Eventually, Prowl would sail again but not with this newspark growing on his. Not with the mechlings only just settling into family and home.

“Y’re okay wit ‘em leavin’?” Jazz asked, sidling up next to Prowl as he watched the preparations from the way window.

“I look forward to hearing of the success of their enterprise,” Prowl replied. “I do not long to be a part of it, Jazz. The Judgment was my first taste of freedom but it was a cage in a way as well. I was too afraid to get off at port, my creations were growing up in such a small space. They are thriving here. I think I am too.”

“‘M glad,” Jazz said. When he wrapped his arms around Prowl’s waist, Prowl felt the sweetest warmth.

“You will sail with me, some mega-cycle,” Prowl said. “We will have our own adventure but for now, our family is an adventure in its own right and I wish to be here to enjoy every klik.”

While the mechlings recharged, they slipped off for a swim. Punch had been right, Prowl’s frame knew what to do and swimming had quickly become natural. Admittedly, Prowl did not swim so often in this alt mode. Most of the time he floated, entangled in Jazz’s arms. His bondmate’s spike was more prehensile than any spike Prowl had taken before but it felt so good when it filled his valve, stroking every sensor within him until Prowl could do nothing but moan Jazz’s designation. Mermecha did not pierce themselves. Prowl’s piercings were strange taboos to many but Jazz seemed intrigued by them. The presence of the rings through Prowl’s nozzles did not deter him from lavishing Prowl’s wells and nozzles with attention while they interfaced.

They were generally not the only mermercha coupling in the still, dark-cycle sea. No one hid themselves away, though Prowl was considerably more self-conscious. They knew about his nozzle piercings and those on his face and doorwings but those that decorated his valve were considerably more private. Prowl had not real need to worry. Jazz always covered him, with his frame, with his arms whenever he lifted the clothe Prowl wore out of the way, baring Prowl’s intimate circuitry to his optics alone. There had been no need for Prowl to worry. Though Jazz did not understand Prowl’s piercings or his fondness for them, he liked them, on Prowl at least, and used them to enhance Prowl’s pleasure. He never shied from them, using his glossa and tentacles to explore the small beads. It had been a matter of principle for Cannonball to see to it that Prowl overloaded and overloaded well when they had interfaced but no one could ever compare to how Jazz touched him, how Jazz wanted them. Genuine affection made interface so much sweeter.

Chapter Text

The Judgment came back with an unexpected bounty. After the Judgment had scuttled a trio of pirate ships associated with mechatrafficking and the sale of mer flesh they found the remains of a slaughter. An entire pod of whaleformers had been murdered and butchered. Rather than leave their remains to rust on the beach, Prowl’s crew and the villicii had worked together to tow them into deep energon and to give them a proper burial. It had taken two mega-cycles to realize they were being followed. A lone survivor of the pod’s mass murder had decided to use the Judgment as an escort as he had started an aimless journey about the Rust Sea. It had been Ricochet who had spotted Barricade, who had gone out to offer him company and an invitation to rest on board the ship. Barricade had been slow to accept the invitation on board, though he had accepted the company more readily. He had been pacing along, near the cove where his kinsmecha had been murdered, he had been alone with their corpses for too long. Whaleformers were not meant to live alone.

Pods were tightly knit family groups, it would not be as simple as Barricade swimming up to a pod and getting a warm welcome. It could happen, or he could be chased off. For the time being, Barricade had come home with the Judgment, Ricochet had taken charge of him. Ori silenced the council before they could complain. Ricochet would provide for Barricade so his presence in the community was none of their concern. Though he spent most of his time with Ricochet or swimming off on his own, Barricade had gravitated towards Prowl, even knowing he was not a natural mer. He was a good help to Prowl, helping him learn to abilities of his transformed frame and he taught him the language of his kinsmecha. Jazz was happy for both of them as they formed a pod of their own. Smokescreen and Bluestreak took rides of their grown-up caretakers. It was becoming clear they wanted the sea for themselves.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Smokescreen asked and he climbed with Jazz up to the volcano’s peak, to the shrine of the archipelago’s patron god. Every clan left sacrifices. In Jazz’s latest hunt he had harvested a perfectly spherical pearl the size of his servo, he gave it to Smokescreen to place on the altar with the other gifts.

“Oh yeah, Sweetspark,” Jazz said, ruffling the mechling’s helm. “The fruit grows in coral in an undersea cave just beyond the perimeter islands. I’ve swam in lots worse places in Viv’ll have my back.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Smokescreen asked.

“Of course I don’t mind,” Jazz replied. “Sweetspark, it’s an honour to do this for ya.”

Generally, the gift of the Torbernite fruit was the final step of a mer’s bonding to a landmech. In a sense, Jazz felt he was still following tradition. The fact he was harvesting fruit for Prowl’s mechlings felt like a minor difference. This fruit was the last thing Jazz had left to harvest before they could close the loop of their bonding. In the beginning, Jazz had not been concerned about all these steps, but he wanted to show that the bond with Prowl, accidental or not, was not a prison. Prowl had proven to be an unexpected gift. Jazz never could have imagined finding so perfect a partner in the way he had, but he had. More than just a perfect partner, Jazz had found a perfect family. It felt so important that he show them, all of them, how grateful he was for this gift.

Cave diving was not without risks. Vivace batted at Jazz with their tentacles, shooing him down into the tight passage. They knew well what Jazz needed the fruit for and were just as enthusiastic as Punch was to see Jazz gift the mechlings the Torbernite fruit. Their support, their enthusiasm only cemented the rightness of Jazz’s plans. Through the deep and the darkness, Jazz swam down and down. It seemed like he was swimming to the centre of the planet, but Jazz knew that if he just swam far enough, he would find what he was looking for. As he swam, the passage became tighter and tighter and in the pitch black, it was easy to become claustrophobic. The passage wound to the right and the left and Jazz had to feel around blindly to find his way. It was meant to be a challenge, it was meant to be the ultimate symbol of devotion and it was and Jazz was.

When Jazz did not think he could possibly squeeze any further down the passage opened up into a deep undersea cave and it glowed with a brilliantly eerie green light. He grinned and swam to the luminescent coral. There was no sign of the fruit but Jazz had known there would not be. Hovering in the middle of the coral, Jazz sang a glyphless song. His basso profondo made the coral quiver. Jazz played with his pitch, watching the coral to see how it responded. To the left one of the coral appeared to swell and Jazz swam closer to it and sang with his full voice. The coral folded as a long tube expended and folded open like the mouth of a trumpet. In its mouth, Jazz found the fruit he was looking for, not just one but two perfectly formed pears. With gentle digits, Jazz plucked the fruit from the trumpet.

As he turned back to the passage Jazz saw a soft glimmer, a tiny outcrop of a shiny red stone. It reminded Jazz of Prowl’s chevron and after tucking the fruit in his sack, Jazz used his knife to pry a chunk of the crystal from the cave’s wall. With the stone safe in the sack with the fruit, Jazz wriggled back into the passage and made the slow swim back from whence he had come. Maybe the ascent was worse than the descent. Jazz found side passages he had not noticed on his way down and when he took a wrong turn it was a bit of a struggle to wriggle backwards and to get himself sorted again. At no point was he afraid, Jazz had seen his death coming too many times to be scared of dying in this cave. If he took too long, Vivace would find his originator or brother. Even if it was a mark of shame to need rescue on such a foraging, better shame than a foolish death.

GOOD PROVIDER.

Vivace waved their tentacles with joy when Jazz poked his helm from the passage. Jazz laughed as his Kraken pulled him to their great bulk and squeezed them in a crushing hug. He hugged Vivace back, grateful for their part in all of this. Vivace rumbled a purr. They were happy for him and he was really so grateful and so much happier than he had thought he would be. The service of the Villici made them considered unsuited to form families. His clansmecha were supposed to guard the archipelago with their whole sparks, without bias. It was ludicrous because of course, they all had biases. Everyone had mechanisms they cared more or less for. Just because they did not bond did not mean that villici did not have lovers. Maybe through Prowl, through their bitlets Jazz could show his community that a villicus was no less devoted to their duty if they have loved ones to guard over. The promise to guard the archipelago should not come with the cost of family.

“He’s perfect, ya know?” Jazz said and he turned the crystal he had found over in his servos. “Ya always did give me the best of yer catches. Y’re a good provider.”

The Kraken made a happy warble and they swam for home. He did not have to search for his family, Prowl was on the beach wit h their mechlings. Ricochet was there too with Barricade. The whaleformer had his helm on Rico’s lap as his long whale body was stretched out in the surf. As he swam up from behind Barricade, Jazz saw the roundness of Barricade’s frame. It struck Jazz that he may not have been the only survivor of the slaughter of his pod, the bitlet within him had also survived. It was a terrible thing to endure alone, but Barricade was not alone anymore. Ricochet massaged his helm and neck, he was being well looked after.

“Geni!” Sideswipe kicked all his legs at once. “Y’re back, did ya get the fruit? Did ya, did ya?”

“ Yeah, Sideswipe, I got it,” Jazz chuckled. It was sweet how enthusiastic he was for his new brothers to join them in the sea.

“Do we have to do anything?” Smokescreen asked. He grabbed Bluestreaks servo and jogged into the surf. Jazz hugged them and stroked their helms adoringly.

“Just need to eat this fruit,” Jazz explained. Prowl followed his creations into the sea, the Twins holding his servos, he fell with much more grace now, sliding down into the service as his legs combined into his luxurious tail, all without jostling Sunstreaker or Sideswipe. He braced himself on one arm as he curled himself behind his creations, all four of them. They were safely nestled between them. Jazz looked up and saw Ori walking down the beach. Everyone that mattered was here.

“We can, can’t we, Origin?” Smokescreen asked.

“Yes, my sweetspark,” Prowl said. “As long as you want to.”

“I want to,” Smokescreen replied. “Do you want to, Blue?”

“Yes! I want to, I want to!”

Jazz gave the mechlings each their own fruit and they took great big bites and finished the fruit in what had to be a record time. He smiled over their shoulders at Prowl who smiled softly back at him. It did not take long for the t-nanites in the fruit to enter their code. With the surf swirling around them, Jazz heard the new transformation sequence begin. The sea lubricated their frames as parts never before transformed shifted. Bluestreak fell into and the Twins glued themselves to him, oohing and awing at the pretty tail that had formed from his legs. Smokescreen fell forward into Jazz’s arms and he looked over him should to see his new tail, he then looked up at Jazz and gave him a dazzling smile.

“Welcome home, Bitlet.”