ante_luce | *shoos work!bunny*

Title: Younglings and Mechs
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Bluestreak. Prowl. Jazz.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing

The first thing he knew was that he hurt, all over. The second was that there were a lot of boxes of various sizes and some flat looking objects scattered around him. The third was that boxes and flat objects hurt when they fell on you.

How they’d fallen on him was something he could figure out later.

Holding onto his helm in a vain attempt to make his slightly dazed world a little more stable, he attempted to stand, clinging to the wall. A sound from down the passageway drew his attention, and he turned, swaying unsteadily before he decided that sticking to the wall was safer. Leaning against its bracing presence, he finally took in his surroundings.

It was very orange. And he didn’t recognise anything.

The fourth thing he realised was that he was probably in trouble.

For a moment he wavered, torn between hiding and staying put, because his creators had always told him to stay put if he got lost so that they could find him. But since he was already lost, being lost in a slightly different place probably wouldn’t matter.

So he hid.

Not that there was much choice in terms of hiding spaces, but he was small enough that he could fit inside the vent in the wall. Going deeper in almost certainly wouldn’t be a good idea, it was dark and smelt funny and being in here had already made him rather dirty and he couldn’t squeeze through the rest of that passage anyway, but he only needed to stay hidden until his creators found him.

They would find him. His creators always found him, no matter how well he hid in their home, and they’d pick him up and whirl him around and tickle him and they’d all laugh together.

He missed them so much right now.

The sounds grew louder, and he peered out from behind the grate at the mech who’d come across all the boxes he’d somehow knocked over. From his vantage point, all he could see were white legs and pedes, until the mech knelt to pick up the fallen items.

The mech had doorwings, like he and his creators did. He couldn’t help himself, and squeaked in surprise. The mech’s helm swivelled in his direction, expression wary, and he found himself shrinking back from that look. His doors shivered, clattering against the sides of the vent and making an awful racket, frightening him even further, and he squeaked again, curling into as small a ball as possible, ignoring the way his frame ached.

Then the grate was pulled away, and someone was looking at him in surprise.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make a mess I’m sorry!”

Then he burst into terrified sobs.

= = =

The mech knew his name. Rebooting his optics repeatedly to clear them, intakes hitching embarrassingly like a sparkling, he stared at the black and white mech kneeling in front of his vent, beckoning to him. When he didn’t move, the mech called to him again.

“Please come out of there. I won’t hurt you.”

Did this mech know his creators? Maybe he was helping them look for him. In any case, the mech’s voice was so gentle that he went to him without a murmur, letting the older doorwinged mech take him away to another bot, this one white and red, who stared at him open mouthed until the first one coughed lightly and helped him onto a berth.

The white and red mech made his acheyness go away, and found an energon goodie for him to nibble on when trying to refuel with liquid energon had just made his tanks threaten expel their contents. It was slightly stale, but still edible, and it helped to have something to focus on that was as familiar as chewing on a treat. Then the doorwinged mech tried to leave him there, which made him drop the energon goodie (and he felt bad about that because the red and white mech had gotten it especially for him) to latch onto the mech’s arm in a panic.

Both adults tried to calm him down, but he only quieted when the black and white mech lifted him up, tucked his helm close and murmured softly into his audios. Trying to hear the other bot distracted him enough for his panic attack to end, but he still wrapped his arms about the mech’s neck to keep him from trying to leave again.

He heard the white and red mech sigh, and felt the black and white one shrug. Then something damp and warm was on him and he tried to see what it was, wriggling about so much that the mech holding him had to sit down. The other bot chuckled, and brought the cleaning rag into his line of sight, then scrubbed away at the dirty marks on his plating.

Curled against one mech while another got him clean, he fought off the desire to go offline. He wanted his creators, and he couldn’t ask for them if he wasn’t awake. But, exhausted from his fright and that earlier crying fit, he soon lost that battle, and the sound of the two mechs’ quiet conversation accompanied him into recharge.

= = =

He bolted upright, scrambling off the berth, catching himself before he crashed to the ground because the platform was higher than he remembered his own one to be, almost as if he’d snuck into his creators’ room to recharge with them again. But the room looked different, and the mech entering with a worried look on his faceplates was not either one of his creators.

“Where am I?”

Where was he? Where were his manners? His creators had taught him better than that, this mech had been so nice to him earlier and he hadn’t even said a word of thanks. Doorwings twitching in mortification, he tried again.

“I mean… Thank you, but where am I?”

The black and white mech sat down on the berth, prompting him to do the same, and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“You are in my quarters, and we are in the Ark. We thought you’d prefer some privacy over the medical bay.”

He nodded, wondering what an ‘Ark’ was and why the mech’s quarters would be there, then continued with his questions.

“Do you know my creators? Where are they? And who are you?”

“My name is Prowl. As for your creators… They are not here right now.”

The mech’s hesitation made him fearful, and he would have run out of the room to go look for them if a white hand hadn’t been keeping him in place.

“I know you want to find them, but we’re very far from Cybertron, and it is very difficult to make a trip back. So you need to stay with us for a while. Is that alright?”

No, it was not alright, but there was very little he could do about it. His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Prowl squeezed his shoulder understandingly.

“We will do our best to help you, so please be patient, and trust us.”

He nodded again, optics on his pedes, unsure as to why it was so easy, felt so right to believe everything this mech said. The sound of a door opening had him flinching against the black and white mech, until another mech walked into the room. He sat up straight, trying to examine the newcomer, black and white like Prowl, without being rude when the mech came to a stop in front of him, crouching down to offer a small cube of energon.

“Hey there. You hungry? The doc said you might be able to handle some of this now.”

His tanks suddenly felt very empty and he accepted the cube, taking a cautious sip, then draining it rapidly when his systems didn’t protest. The other mech chuckled when the energon vanished in lightning quick time, and he giggled shyly back.

“I think that’s a record. I’m Jazz. How’re you feeling? Prowl’s not too scary for you?”

“He’s not scary at all!” He protested, and Jazz laughed, a musical sound that had him breaking into a smile.

“Good to hear. Now, if you’re up to moving around, Ratchet wants to make sure you’re okay.”

He nodded, and the visored mech stood, holding out a hand for him to take.

“C’mon, I’ll get you to the doc. Prowl, you wanna come with?”

“I think you can manage to keep out of trouble without my supervision during the next five minutes.” Prowl stood as well, folding his arms across his front. Jazz smirked.

“And what about the five after that?”

“By then Ratchet will be looking for you, because I will have informed him that you are on your way.”

Another musical laugh and the visored mech grinned down at him, pointing at Prowl.

“See, this is why you don’t argue with a tactician. Now, let’s get going before my aft ends up on Ratchet’s slag list.”

“Jazz.” He would have been worried, because Prowl looked quite annoyed, but the other black and white just shrugged blithely.

“Oops. Good thing you’re watching my mouth for me, huh Prowler?”

“I might as well be watching the side of the Ark, for all the good it seems to do. Now, Ratchet is waiting. You should hurry.”

“You’ll be in your office, right?”

“Am I ever anywhere else?”

“Not for lack of my trying. Eesh.”

“Med bay, Jazz.”

“Going, going.”

It was better than the vid shows his creators sometimes let him watch. Giggling, he let the visored mech lead him out and towards the med bay to see this ‘Ratchet’.

Halfway there, he stopped, making Jazz stop as well. The black and white mech looked down at him in askance, and he shuffled nervously before extending his free hand.

“I’m Bluestreak. Nice to meet you.”

Jazz took it, shaking it gently.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Bluestreak.”

They continued on their way, Bluestreak beaming, thankful that he’d remembered his manners this time. He really should have introduced himself to Prowl’s bondmate earlier, but he was sure his creators would understand the lapse.

= = =

Ratchet was the white and red mech Prowl had brought him to first. He was a medic, and a really good one, according to Jazz. The mech had patted his helm when he tried to apologise for wasting the energon goodie, telling him not to worry about it, and handed him another, a fresh one this time.

Bluestreak held the goodie carefully, not wanting to drop another, while Ratchet hmmed and hummed over him. The medic pronounced him sound and healthy, if a little low on energy, and handed Jazz something flat (like the ones that had fallen on him before all this). The black and white mech took it, then looked at him, taking in his slouched posture and low set doors.

“You wanna go back to Prowl’s quarters now?”

Bluestreak shook his head, trying very hard to keep his tiredness from showing, then held up his energon goodie.

“I want to share this with Prowl.”

The visored mech nodded, gesturing to the exit.

“Right then, off to Prowler’s office we go. But then you’ve got a date with the sandman, Blue’.”

He’d have agreed on a time and date with anyone for anything, if it meant he got to see Prowl first.

“M’kay.”

= = =

He didn’t quite make it to Prowl’s office under his own power. Jazz had to carry him the rest of the way, pulled close and tight because he refused to let go of his energon goodie to hold onto the black and white mech properly. Bluestreak drifted, lulled by the walking motion and the quiet humming he heard coming from the visored bot, then woke up a little more when he heard Prowl’s voice.

“…so you think this is the likely cause?”

“It is the most likely cause. Dr Becquer has sent his apologies; he didn’t realise the meteorite’s radiation would affect us in such a manner, since it did nothing to his organic cultures. Though considering how we didn’t know it was possible either, I can hardly fault him.”

“How long until the effects wear off?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll need to take another look at-”

The other mech fell silent when Prowl’s door slid open, and Jazz carried Bluestreak inside. He stirred in the visored mech’s arms, holding out the goodie for Prowl to take, snuggling against Jazz once more when the doorwinged mech accepted the treat, looking at it curiously.

“Blue’ here wanted to share it with you.” Jazz explained for him, and Bluestreak nodded. The visored mech cast a faint smile at him, then added. “Looks like he’s in no condition to be eating goodies right now though.”

“Tomorrow then.” Prowl replied, then made the treat vanish. He started in shock, and the other mech, the one that had been talking to Prowl, chuckled.

“It’s a subspace pocket, Bluestreak. It’s like a portable storage space that doesn’t take up any external room.”

“Oh… I want one.”

He felt Jazz laugh softly. “You gotta be a little older before you can get one installed, Blue’.”

“Later?”

“Yeah, later. A lot later. Right now, you need to get a full recharge cycle.”

“Prowl?”

“I’ve still got some work left to do, Bluestreak.”

He whined, then hid his face in Jazz’s chestplates self-consciously. He was old enough not to do such things. A hand stroked his helm gently, and his spark lifted when he heard Prowl speak.

“Then again, it’s been a long day. Whatever I have left can wait.” The mech removed his hand (and Bluestreak tried not to whine again), turning to the other mech in the room.

“Is there anything else, Perceptor?”

“I’ve isolated the specimen under shielding and set up several detectors to monitor it. They should be able to predict the next pulse before it occurs, so we can take the necessary precautions. That’s all I have to report.”

“Thank you.”

Perceptor left, and Prowl gestured for Jazz to hand Bluestreak to him. The visored mech did so, then walked with them to Prowl’s quarters, only to stay outside when Prowl went in.

“Sleep well, Blue’.”

The mech moved to leave, and Bluestreak frowned. Bondmatees were supposed to recharge together, weren’t they? Realisation dawned on him. If Jazz was Prowl’s bondmate, and Bluestreak was recharging in Prowl’s room, then he must have taken Jazz’s spot.

“Don’t go! You can stay here, I’ll recharge somewhere else. I’m sorry!”

Jazz stared at him, looking confused, and Prowl spoke. “Jazz has his own quarters, Bluestreak.”

“But… but-”

Bluestreak stilled, processors whirling. Why would they have separate quarters? Then he remembered. The couple that lived across from his creators sometimes shouted very loudly at each other (Bluestreak had learnt many words much worse than those Jazz had let slip earlier thanks to them), and then one of the pair would storm out and not come back for a while. His creators called it a fight. Prowl and Jazz must be having one.

He nodded to himself. They were helping him, so if they were fighting, then he ought to help them make up.

“Okay.”

Jazz patted his helm, and he reached up to tug the mech closer, bumping his chevron against the surprised mech’s helm.

“My creators… They always kissed me before I recharged.” He mumbled, ducking so that they wouldn’t see his expression. It seemed to work, Jazz chuckled and repeated the kiss to his chevron properly.

“I see. Good night, Bluestreak.”

The visored mech paused when Bluestreak didn’t let go of him. “Bluestreak?”

“Prowl too?” Both black and whites stalled, then exchanged slightly panicked looks.

“I will be fine without one, Bluestreak.” The mech carrying him said, but he refused to let that happen. Jazz needed to kiss Prowl. His creators often kissed after arguing, and things were always better then.

“No! Prowl too! Please?” He pouted, optics flickering, just like he did when he wanted his creators to do something.

“Okay, okay. I’ll kiss him too. Primus, you really do want to share everything with Prowler, huh.” Jazz caved faster that he’d expected, beckoning to the other mech. Prowl sighed, leaning over so that Jazz could reach his chevron. Planting a brief kiss on the tactician’s helm, the visored mech quickly backed away.

“Well, good night to you too, Prowl.”

“Good night, Jazz.” Prowl replied quietly, and Bluestreak smiled sleepily as he cuddled closer to the doorwinged mech. Prowl’s systems were running a little faster. His plan was working.