Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He’d told him his loyalty was going to get him killed one day. Looking at the broken and chained body of Soundwave, Jazz was growing to regret those words.

His servos are bound above his helm, his body is limp as the energon trickles from the many cuts that crisscross Soundwave’s plating. Jazz can see burns, spots of bubbled up paint and plating that had been sheared off. His dock door is missing and a clear shot into his internals shows even more horrific abuse. His battle mask has been ripped away, revealing a myriad of scars that cut and dissected his lip plates, turning what was once a stoic face into a mosaic of twisted metal. He looks a mess.

“Oh buddy, what have they done to you?”

He subspaces his blaster to run his servos across the restraints that held Soundwave’s limp frame aloft. It’s a bit a stretch to reach, Soundwave a good few head’s taller than him, but Jazz manages to unlock the first shackle. The arm falls limply, and Jazz does his best to take Soundwave’s weight as his own, but the mech is big. He stumbles and the rushed grab has Jazz digging his digits into an open wound.

The mech weakly cries out in pain.

Jazz grits his dente.  He tries to keep it brief, wrangling off the other cuff. It hits the wall with a clank and suddenly he’s faced with Soundwave’s full weight. his knees buckle as he tries his best not to fall backwards. His digits slip another inch into Soundwave’s wounded side and the weak cry turns into a drawn out sob. Jazz apologies under his breath as he leads them to the ground, laying out the once proud third in command of the Decepticons.

In the dark cell, it’s hard to see the exact extent of his injuries. It doesn’t take an expert however to know they’re bad.

:Jazz to Ratchet: You’ll never believe who I found down here: He comms the Ark.

:Ratchet to Jazz: You better say Unicron himself:

:Close, it’s Soundwave, and he’s not doing too hot:

Weakly Soundwave is clicking his vocaliser.

The noise catches Jazz’s attention, and he quickly put Ratchet on hold. He leans in closer to hear Soundwave. A long hissing sound is the only thing to pass through his lips. Jazz listens, his brain scrambling to find the meaning behind the sound. A glance down to his dock has him putting the pieces together.

He jumps in fright, “They’re here too? How many?”

Soundwave swallows and tries to speak again. Jazz realises his foolishness a second too late as modulated static consumes his words.

“Don’t speak, I’ll find them.” Jazz assures.

Jazz opens the comm line to the Ark again, patching directly to the medic, :Ratchet, he had his symbiotes with him:

:Do you know their condition?:

:Not yet, but if they’re anything like Soundwave, we’re going to need someone comfortable with doing micro repairs:  

:Primus watch over you: with that Ratchet signed off, and Jazz was left alone to scour the rest of the prison.

He hoped they were still alive, if only for Soundwave’s sake. He trudged through the halls of the prison turned torture house, opening cell after cell to unknown cruelties.

The Decepticons had called the place Grind Core. Jazz was beginning to understand why.

‘How had the Decepticons let this happen?’ Jazz thought to himself as he discovered yet another mangled corpse. Surely Megatron would have known about this. ‘Maybe he didn’t, and that’s why Soundwave is here,’ Jazz thought, ‘Cleaning up his messes, as usual.’

Jazz lets himself feel a shred of pity for Soundwave. He didn’t understand how he could be loyal to such a cruel mech.

He found the symbiotes dangling in cages. He barely recognised them, so torn apart as they were. It took a little bit of looking, but Jazz managed to find the pull chains and lowered each to the ground. He looks inside each other cages, sighing in relief as each of their shiny optics meet his. They were still alive.

Jazz allows himself a moment of relief, falling to the floor of the prison, leaning against the bars of Ravage’s cage. He takes each cassette out, careful as he moves them. Jazz shuttles them to Soundwave, carrying each little frame in his arms as gently as he can. They’re barely online, their optics flickering the whole time and Jazz is beginning to worry if they’ll survive until rescue.

The carrier is beside himself in grief as each of his clade is presented to him. With each trip, the emotions only grow more severe, Soundwave wailing as he tries desperately to reach his injured cassettes. It’s too much for Jazz to take, so he does the merciful thing and forces Soundwave into a shut down before he can hurt himself. The cassettes follow their carrier one by one, and Jazz has a moment of panic before he realises they’re all falling into recharge, not stasis.

He waits for med evac, curled up beside the comatose carrier and his symbiotes, trying not to choke on the smell of energon. He sends another comm to the Ark, letting them know he found the cassettes.

Four of them at least.

*

“It’s horrific,” were the first words out of Ratchet’s mouth as he recounts Soundwave’s condition, “What they did to him was totally barbaric, and against every code of conduct.” Its hard to tell how Ratchet is feeling, the emotion carefully hidden from his voice. There is anger there, but there is always anger.

“What’s the total damage?” Jazz is desperate to ask, he can’t understand how anyone could have done this, let alone to Soundwave.

“All his limbs are broken, his dock has been destroyed, his plating will need to be replaced and fabricated. As for the internal issues, he’s malnourished and suffering from acute heavy metal poisoning. It seems like they were feeding him rocks when they weren’t shoving soured energon down his throat. He’s not good Jazz.”

“Will he live?” Jazz presses.

“He’ll live,” and that was about the only good news he’d heard about this situation so far.

“The others?”

Ratchet shakes his helm. “Too early to tell.”

Jazz nods, absorbing the information.

 The tell-tale tired slump begins to settle into Ratchet, the anger washing away to solemn bewilderment. There was so much wrong, Ratchet didn’t know where to start, “Jazz- what’s the plan with him?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“We can’t keep him here indefinitely.”

“Can’t we? He can’t go back to them.” Jazz knows Ratchet agrees with him.

Still, he is unwilling to voice as much. “Optimus wants to hold a meeting before we make any drastic decisions.”

“What time?”

“In a few hours. He wants to give you some time to cool down, collect yourself.”

It’s a reasonable response. Jazz can’t find any fault in Optimus’ line of thinking. The whole operation had left many of them shaken. “Will you be there?” Jazz earnestly asks, “I need someone to testify to his condition.”

“I will not. I can give you a report, you can bring that.”

Jazz waits for it, watching Ratchet write it up in a detached manner, outlining the horrors Soundwave experienced. When he’s done, Jazz offers a weak thanks, not even bothering to look at it.

He bums around the common areas until the com comes and he’s in the Prime’s office. Prowl is there, he looks angry, an emotion echoed by everyone there. There’s Ironhide in the corner, looking perturbed, even as his fist clenches. Jazz plays at being blithe, but it doesn’t sit right. He drops the façade as soon as Optimus looks at him and cuts him down to the truth. He’s tired, and angrier than he’s ever been in this damn war.

He presents Ratchet’s report and watches as their faces drop the longer they read his list of injuries. It’s sobering seeing it on paper.

“This is just his injuries?” Prowl confirms.

Jazz nods, he has no idea how his cassettes are fairing. It was as Ratchet said, too early to know.

Prowl reads Ratchet’s report over again. It’s not an easy read, he can see the point where Prowl stops, disbelieving what he’s seeing.

“In your professional opinion,” Optimus spoke now, looking directly at Jazz, “Do you believe Megatron was aware of the happenings at Grind Core?”

“No, or at least not completely.” Jazz said, pausing once to explain his thoughts, “My agents struggled to find anything for at least a few weeks, and we knew what was happening inside. Megatron probably has no idea about this facility beyond its surface level.”

“Then we will inform him.” Optimus states firmly.

Jazz waits patiently for the discussion to circle back around to Soundwave. There is much to be done with the prison, more horrors to uncover. He waits and is rewarded when Optimus looks at him again.

“I can see you have something you wish to say Jazz. Please, I invite you to speak it.” Optimus opens the floor to him, and with bold steps, Jazz comes closer to his desk.

He is brushing against the edges of it, the light behind his visor hard as he looks from Ironhide, to Prowl, to Prime, “I would like to try and convert Soundwave. I think mentally and physically, this is our best and only chance to have him come to the Autobot side.” Jazz stands, steadfast and resolute. He musters up his nerves and settles on his convictions.

There’s shock. Prowl more open in his surprise, but Optimus and Ironhide hold it together.

“You do realize who this is right? You’re asking to do the impossible,” Prowl states, immediately dubious of Jazz’s plan.

Jazz didn’t back down, “I understand your concern, but I’m confident he’ll join our side.”

“Let’s hear Jazz’s reasoning before we make any solid conclusions. Continue Jazz.” Optimus encourages.

Jazz huffs, preparing himself. He had gathered his thoughts early, but it was hard to say them now. There was a lot that was simply a gut feeling. “Those injuries were accumulated over the course of months. That would be bad enough, but his own side did this to him, Megatron never looked for him. Soundwave knows this.”

“What are you saying?” Ironhide was looking confused, casting wide eyed glances around the room, “He feels betrayed by this?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You may all think he’s mindlessly loyal but even Soundwave has his limits. I think this might have been it.” Jazz licks his lips. He can’t hide how nervous he is. He understands he’s asking a lot, keeping Soundwave anywhere for an extended period of time was asking for trouble, but he knew he could do it.

“I’m still not convinced.” Prowl’s battle computer is working through the calculations, the risks involved. It’s leaning in Jazz’s favor, but he can’t crush his own concerns. It was Soundwave after all. What were they going to do if Jazz failed?

“Give me three months,” Jazz pleas, “If there’s no progress, we can re evaluate the situation, think of something else.”

Optimus sits on the proposal quietly. He looks over Ratchet’s medical report one more time. The list is staggering, the damage immense. “You have my permission to try.”

Jazz sighs of breath of relief, “Thank you Prime. I won’t let you down.”

Optimus crinkles the corners of his optics in facsimile of a smile, “You never do.” 

It’s bittersweet the elation Jazz feels. The knowledge of what he’ll have to do to Soundwave, the herculean task he is undertaking. Jazz takes all those feelings on as his own and gets to work.

If he does this right, he’ll barely have to do anything. All the work he would have done was graciously completed by the Decepticons at Grind Core.

They broke him down; it was time Jazz built him back up again.

*

It was not his fault he had been built for loyalty. It was his fault for choosing Megatron to be loyal to. They had repeated this to him as they applied their hot brands and electrowhips to his plating. They repeated it when they ripped his cassettes from his body, making him watch as they tore the wings off his avians. This was happening because he chose wrong.

Soundwave did not believe that. Soundwave knew this was happening because he had stupidly decided to settle a problem by himself. He would not make this mistake again.

Soundwave did not understand the point to this torture. It felt like a game they were playing.  First to make him scream, and when that had been achieved, who could make him cry the loudest. He was taken apart, put back together, poisoned, starved, spit on and beat. He stopped being a living thing to them. He watched as they cut up his clade, made him feel their pain down the bond, even as he desperately tried to hide his own.

Death would have been preferable to this.

Chapter Text

They kept the lights dim for him, just bright enough to work by. What would have been a cold blue was changed out for warm yellows, an attempt to comfort and pacify when he awoke. Soundwave did not appreciate these efforts. It felt like coddling, he did not need to be coddled. He could still feel his body being restrained, magnetised to the medical berth. He can only lift his helm, and even then, it’s barely. Soundwave knew where he was, he had not woken up confused. He was on the Ark. If the bright orange ceiling hadn’t given it away, Ratchet’s appearance would have.

The medic is bustling around the room, just in Soundwave’s eyelines. He tracks him from his position, back and forth as Ratchet crosses in front of him. He stays quiet, observing. Ratchet seems oblivious to his awakening, carrying on as usual.

Keeping track of Ratchet, Soundwave takes stock of his body. His frame is sore, the same soreness that comes from fresh welds. So, they repaired him. A few things are still missing from his frame, his battle mask has been capped and the door to his dock is still missing. His internals are no longer exposed, a temporary patch hides the sight, sealing his dock. His weapons have not been returned to him, the sonic canon on his shoulder the most obvious, but the small hidden weapons have also been stripped from his frame, and his weapons systems disabled. A quick check shows his comms disabled. The Autobots were taking no risks with him. It explained Ratchet’s relaxed demeanor, he was no more dangerous than a cyber kitten.

Hesitantly, Soundwave reaches down his bonds to his symbiotes.

They’re weak, but alive. He can garner no more information from them, just that they are near and asleep. Soundwave feels a small tinge of comfort that they had not been allowed to languish and suffer. They’re so small, he was afraid they would have been forgotten. He could not believe how badly he had failed to protect them.

‘I will not make that mistake again.’ Soundwave darkly promises. That had been an error of judgement he had paid sorely for. He lavishes attention on his symbiote bonds, grateful he can still feel them. Months of guttering them, shutting out his pain had left them fragile. It is a relief that none had shattered from his inattention. This could not happen to Soundwave again.

He’s not left alone much longer; Ratchet is finally done organizing his medbay to notice Soundwave’s conscious state. He doesn’t start, as Soundwave had hoped, Ratchet is much too seasoned to be spooked by a lone con doing something unexpected.

“Hello Soundwave,” He says neutrally, “I’m sure you have some questions. Don’t try to talk, your face had to be welded back together. The metal is delicate right now.”

Soundwave ignores Ratchet’s subtle warning, opening his mouth wide to start demanding. His lip plate splits apart, and he’s stuck licking energon from the inside of his mouth. The taste of it is threatening to make him gag. He holds back his revolution long enough to try again. Speaking slowly through the split, “Release me.”

He stares at him unamused, his hard work down the drain in a matter of seconds. “I told you not to speak.”

“Release me.” Soudwave repeats, his words bubbling through the small spring of energon flooding his mouth.

“Let’s try and be productive here Soundwave, you know I’m not going to release you.” Ratchet crosses his arms as Soundwave hisses at him like a feral cat. It twists the metal of his face, distorting it into a grotesque grimace.

Ratchet keeps his cool demeanor addressing the Decepticon evenly, as if he were talking to a sparkling and not the third in command of the Decepticons. “I’m going to ask you some questions now. Soundwave, do you remember what happened to you? Where you are now? Just nod your helm.”

Obediently, Soundwave does.

Ratchet nods, his field teaks relieved even as his face stays the same. “That’s a good start. Are you in pain at all? Any numbness?”

Soundwave looks at the good doctor incredulously. He’s asking his questions a good foot away from the end of the berth, forcing Soundwave to crane his helm to see even the awkward middle part of his torso. He sneers, pulling the weld on his lips wider before shaking his helm no.

Even this elicits relief, and could Soundwave detect… joy from Ratchet? His struggles seem to be delighting the Autobots and it makes fury darken his spark. Soundwave hisses his displeasure again which only gets a mocking ‘yeah, yeah’ from Ratchet.

“I get it, you’re not happy. You’re worse than your damn cat.” Ratchet remarks.

The mention of Ravage has Soundwave jerking up. The magnets hold him, but Soundwave still cranes towards Ratchet.  Ravage was awake? When? Is she alright? He wants to ask his questions, but the welds hinder him. It comes out more as spudders as the split impedes his words.

 Ratchet steps closer to the birth, rag in hand. He hovers over Soundwave; unsure how close he can get to his mouth without getting bitten. From up close, the new welds look worse. The heat and soot still stain the edges of the weld lines, “Settle down mech, it was when we first got you aboard, she woke up briefly and let all of us know she wasn’t happy about it. Nearly took Aid’s hand off, you would have been proud.”

He would have. To feel her down the bonds in one thing, but to hear she is alive… It settles a part of Soundwave he did not know was unrested.

He stills briefly allowing Ratchet to dab at the energon that started to collect in the base of his throat. He does it with such gentle touches, but still, Soundwave can feel his body tense as every pass of the rag goes over his plating. He watches its movement like a hawk, not trusting Ratchet’s servos in the slightest. When the servo inches closer to his face, to the marred protometal, Soundwave pulls away and tries snapping at Ratchets fingertips.

The medics reflexes are as sharp as ever, and Soundwave only feels the graze of plating against his dente before the hand is gone, taking the rag with it. Ratchet glares down at him, upset. He can tell from the straining in his arm that’s he’s trying not to hit him. Ratchet seems to think of a myriad of insults before settling on “You and your damn cat.”

Soundwave tastes the energon on his tongue like a fine wine.

Ratchet sneers back, dusting Soundwave’s faceplate with the dirty rag. “Try to bite me again and I’ll put a muzzle on you.” It’s not an idle threat.

Soundwave bares his teeth regardless and nips at the air. He’d like to see Ratchet try.

All it earns him another dry stare. There’s a faint buzz of internal comms that has Soundwave quieting. He waits, watching for a hint on who is on the other end of the call. It must show on his face how curious he is, Ratchet glances down at him and smirks briefly.

The doors open a few seconds later. The pedesteps are quiet as the new person approaches. There’s no immediate Em field to teak and it’s giving Soundwave all the information he needs. His guess is confirmed when Jazz steps up to his berth. He can only crane and see that same awkward middle section, but Jazz at least bends his knees a little so he’s at a better eyeline with Soundwave.

He examines his face, his visor scrutinizing every inch before looking over the rest of his body. This is a more sober Jazz than Soundwave is used to. There’re no jokes, no quick banter, just a careful gaze as he takes in Soundwave’s form.

“How’d his weld split?” and there’s a touch of anger to his voice.

“He disobeyed doctors orders,” Ratchet scowls, “You’re just in time to help me repair him. He bites.”

“What?” Jazz says, playing at surprised, “I came down for a visit and already you’re putting me to work? Et tu Ratchet?” He puts an offended servo to his chest mock gasping.

 The theatrics are too much for Ratchet, he doesn’t even bother rolling his optics at Jazz. He fetches a jar from one of the nearby carts and tosses it at Jazz, “Oh can it.”

The spy deftly catches it, the aurora around him changing once again. Like a flash of lightening, Soundwave feels it, and then it’s gone. The regular Jazz, back, the mask is in place again.

“I’ll hold his helm in place, and you can coat the edges with the numbing agent.” Ratchet says, already getting ready to stand behind Soundwave.

Soundwave’s frame tenses as he loses sight of Ratchet. He tries not to let his panic show as he attempts to regain sight of Ratchet without losing visual on Jazz. He knows his helm is turned unnaturally at this point but seeing them is stopping something from bubbling to the surface.  

“I’ll hold him Ratchet,” Jazz offers, “if he bites, I’d rather it’d be my hands than yours.”

Ratchet considers the offer, acquiescing easily enough. He shrugs as if to say, ‘Your funeral,’ and moves back into Soundwave’s sightline.

He lets himself relax, ignoring the look Jazz gives him. The saboteur takes his time getting behind Soundwave’s helm, telegraphing his movements to him. It’s comforting, but it shouldn’t be. This was his arch nemesis in espionage, the only comfort Soundwave should be receiving was the cold hard berth underneath him. Instead, Jazz moves slowly and carefully, lacing his digits under his chin to clamp his mouth shut and hold his helm at the proper repair angle. Soundwave growls, but the sound is muted, his spark not fully in it.

Jazz mimics him, growling back. His features flatten out, as if having fun is hard for him right now. Ratchet’s touch is gentle, and Jazz’s face above his is enough to distract Soundwave from the strange scratchy feeling that’s running up his limbs. The bottom half of his face is numb, and then the torch turns on. He jolts, the sound for a second is the same as the flames that melted his plating. He tries to flinch away, but Jazz’s strong hold keeps him still. The torch gets closer, he hears himself venting heavier.

“Ratchet, stop for a second.” Jazz’s commanding voice says.

The medic stops, the torch held aloft in between Soundwave’s optics. He stares at it in confusion, and then at Jazz.

“Ratchet’s just going to fix the split. The torch is only going to touch that one spot and it’ll be gone. A minute tops.” Jazz explains to him, “If you feel like you’re gonna freak out, you can tap the table and we can stop. We can go slow as you need.”

It’s a kind offer, but it’s not anything Soundwave needs. “I’m not afraid.” He hisses out.

“Of course you aren’t. I’m just offering you the courtesy.” There’s a small smile that threatens to be real, and then Jazz lets Ratchet continue.

Jazz is true to his word, and the touch of the flame is only in that one spot. Soundwave barely feels it as Ratchet mends the split. He wants to test out the weld, move it around again, but a reminder of the first time stops him. Jazz keeps his mandible clamped shut with no sign of moving.

Ratchet is wiping down the area, cleaning up the soot. His touch is there and gone. He looks at his work with a satisfied grin. “There, good as new. Now don’t split it again. At least a day before you start talking. A week before it’s fully healed. Be gentle.” Ratchet warns Soundwave.

Jazz’s hold stops him from nodding, but Ratchet seems to understand him.

 “I’ll take it from here Ratch. You take a break.” It’s not subtle, but Jazz doesn’t have to be for this, he just needs Soundwave alone.

There’s mild annoyance at being ordered around. Ratchet grumbles, mumbling about ‘meddling mechs’. Soundwave watches Jazz turn his helm to follow Ratchet. He can tell the medic leaves when Jazz’s helm stays still, looking at the door for a minute before meeting his red visor with his own blue one.

Jazz stares at him for a long time, optics running over the crisscross of scars that now stretch across Soundwave’s face. They run deep, only made more noticeable by their newness. It is, as Soundwave thinks about it, Jazz’s first time seeing his unbarred face. What a revelation, the first mystery revealed, only to have it ruined by another.

He cannot speak, and thus, Jazz’s job as interrogator is useless. “Hi Sounders.”

He uses the reviled nickname as easily as it is to breathe, and Soundwave knows he has done it because he cannot speak against it. He flares his em field, and Jazz flares his back. They match in their anger, in their sadness and grief. What Jazz must grieve; Soundwave is not piteous enough to ask.

Jazz takes his time to speak, collecting his thoughts to present them to Soundwave. He looks tired as he does so, drained, “I found four of your bitlets. I don’t know how many you had with you, but I tore that prison up from top to bottom, I only found the four. If there were more, we can search among the remains for them.” It’s a grim gesture.

Soundwave doesn’t react to it. He knew they wouldn’t have found him.

“I wanted to talk to Wheeljack before I talked to you, make sure I didn’t give you any false hope. He says Rumble and Frenzy will put through. Ravage for the time being will be missing a leg but he says it shouldn’t affect her mobility too much, but…Laserbeak might not be able to fly again. He’s looking at solutions, but it’s not a guaranteed thing.”

The news is crushing.

The tacked-on hope doesn’t stop Soundwave from silently shaking. Oh, how could he have let this happen? Why had they been punished this way? His symbiotes, they were innocent to his crimes, did Primus not know that they had no choice but to follow him? Why must her wings be stripped? Why must Laserbeak become worse than nothing, become functionless?

He lets the cleanser seep out from behind his visor, oh his poor symbiotes. How could they ever forgive him? He was supposed to keep them safe.

“Do you want more details? Sometimes, it helps to know even if it’s painful.” He asks, Jazz’s voice quiet and small.

The question is almost worse than the news. Soundwave shakes his helm ‘no’ as best he can from Jazz’s interlacing grip. He can’t bare it. He doesn’t want to know what they did to her, to any of them, he wants to hear none of it. He begins sobbing, remembering what had been done to him, what he had seen them do, what more could have gone unwitnessed.

He wants to ask if they were scared, if they were stuck, wondering when he was going to save them?

 Jazz tries to flood him with a calming field, but he can’t put the energy into it. It comes out as a weak fizzle of tired emotions that rake over his helm and down his neck column. “I know big guy. It’s rough right now, but you’re here, you’re alive. You have four of them safe. They’re all still alive. They’ll all recover. You’ll recover.” It’s said more like a prayer than a promise. A mantra to ground him, a reminder. Jazz repeats it until the words mean nothing and Soundwave is struggling to stay out of recharge.

He fights it for as long as he can, but the day and his injuries catch up to him and he shutters his optics. It’s another minute or two before Jazz’s servos are removed and the chant stops, and then, he is under.

*

Jazz listens to Soundwave’s exhausted vents a few minutes more. The damage under the medbay lights is immense. Ratchet has done great work, as he always does, but there are still panels missing, and struts that will take a long time to heal and set. Soundwave will be berth bound for a week at least.

It leaves Soundwave with a lot of free time, time to consider any offer Jazz makes. For a workaholic like Soundwave, that week of laying around will feel like torture in and of itself. He’d probably jump at any chance to get free of the medbay, walk around and move about. Jazz keeps this in the back of his helm as he slips out of the medbay and down the hall to Wheeljack’s lab.

They’re keeping the symbiotes close. For now, they’re unconscious, at least until their conditions are more stable. Jazz hadn’t lied to Soundwave for the most part, the twins were going to recover, Ravage while missing a leg will have that remedied, and Laserbeak…Jazz might have omitted just how confident Wheeljack was in getting her back into proper form. If there was anything Jazz could count on, it was Wheeljack performing miracles.

He watches quietly from the doorway. The room is dark, only the sparks from the welder, and a small desk lamp illuminate the work area. Jazz can smell the burning ozone as Wheeljack fuses the casing on Ravage’s new leg together. He stops occasionally, and looks over the old broken one, checking the length and structure as he goes. Up close, Ravage’s hindleg is as long as Jazz’s forearm. He forgot just how big Ravage was sometimes. It was hard to gauge size when the only times he’d see her were over the ridge of a hill or through his binoculars.

“How goes with the prisoners?” Jazz finally speaks in between a bout of sparks.

Wheeljack jumps slightly, lifting his welding mask up to blink the spots out of his optics. He hunts for Jazz in the dark room, finding him directly behind his chair. He spins around, his helm fins lighting up in glee, “Peachy! They’re the best kids I’ve ever had to babysit.”

“No problems?” Jazz says with a cheeky grin, “I find that hard to believe.”

“Maybe they’re a handful for you, but they recharge like little cyber angels. I’m thinking I can bring the twins online tomorrow.” Wheeljack proposes hopefully.

Jazz hums, “Wait for me to come by before you do. I want to talk to them before we bring them out to dear old dad.”

Wheeljack salutes. He still has Ravage’s replacement leg gripped in his servo when does and the little paw flops as he brings it up to his forehelm.

Jazz snorts, the good cheer is brief but needed.

“How is Old Terrible?” Wheeljack asks.

“He’s holding on. I was scared he’d be unrecognizable, but he’s still Soundwave. Ornery attitude and all.” It had been a relief to see him awake and acting like himself. Jazz didn’t know what he’d do if Soundwave had turned into an empty shell. He might have petitioned to kill Megatron himself.

“He’s a tough one,” Wheeljack agrees, “Something like this won’t keep him down long. Makes your job harder though.”

“Oh contraire. Don’t you know, the best way to a carrier’s heart is through the bitlet.” Jazz was never going to convince Soundwave. He needed to Soundwave to think it was his idea to switch sides. Soundwave, for all his faults, is an excellent carrier. It’s a fact Jazz is sore to abuse, but one he must.

If his plan is to succeed, Jazz must first court the four very injured symbiotes. Rumble and Frenzy will be a good starting point. The twins already have a repour with him, having tangled, and crossed paths more often than their avian or feline sibling.  Winning them over should be easy.

‘Kill them with kindness, it couldn’t be more right.’ Jazz thought, smirking to himself.

Chapter Text

The angle wasn’t the best, the camera being high up in the rafters only caught the tops of their helms as they moved through the facility. Things had already fallen apart when Soundwave had arrived. A week, maybe two tops from what Prowl had seen, had passed. How he knew, Prowl didn’t know. It had taken weeks for Jazz’s team to discover what was happening at Grind Core and they had leaked videos. Prowl didn’t understand what had tipped Soundwave off.

He was alone, standing tall and proud as he walked through the front doors of Grind Core. He hovered a servo over his cassette eject button but stopped short of pressing it. Something just off screen catching his attention. Looking to the other video feeds didn’t help Prowl, what ever was there was in a dead zone. It causes just enough hesitation for Soundwave to keep his cassettes inside the dock. Soundwave pulls out his blaster, his frame tensing as he continues to stare at whatever is just out of sight. It has him still long enough that Prowl can see others beginning to creep into frame. There’s a pede in the bottom left, and then two as they inch closer.

They descended on him like a pack of wolves, dog piling and ganging up on him. Soundwave put up a valiant effort, killing one of them, and injuring a fair number more. He is wrestled to the ground, and that was it. They held his arms and legs in place, as their leader stepped forward. It’s a gun former, their shape indistinct from any other rank and file soldier. They're large and heavy, some sort of gatling gun. Beside them is a smaller gun, a uzi with a reticle for a face. Prowl takes image captures of these individuals to find later. He lets the video play out. They talk briefly with Soundwave. Prowl can see their lips moving, and playing the video back gives him a rough idea of what was said.

‘Well, have you decided to accept my offer?’

Soundwave says something in response, but with his mouth hidden, Prowl will never know what.

‘I see. That’s disappointing. He’s yours boys.’

The gun former leaves with his lackey trailing close behind him. In the entrance of Grind Core, the remaining mechs take Soundwave apart.

Prowl doesn’t bother watching the rest. He pauses the video and rubs at his optics. The lights are out in his office, its past work hours. If Optimus caught him, he’d catch pit. In a way, he’s lucky it’s just Jazz who floats into his office.

“Whatcha doin’?” Jazz asks, peaking around Prowl to gaze at his monitor.

The Praxian helpfully turns it towards him. He cannot look, even if the current frame isn’t as graphic, he knows what the result is. Prowl hears Jazz whistle and then tap at the screen, zooming in on the two figures leaving. Prowl risks a glance now that the carnage is out of sight.

“Do you know them?” Prowl hazards a guess.

Jazz hums in his throat, “Possibly. If they are who I think they are, Grind Core is a lot less surprising.”

“Who do you think they are?”

“The big guy might be a mech called Broker. He used to rent out red rooms prewar. Had a whole club setup. Looks like he might have found a new business model in Grind Core.” Jazz says.

Prowl nods along, committing the bots features to memory, “Explains the videos you found. If he’s selling them…” Prowl’s voice drifts off.

Jazz completes his thought for him, his mouth a hard line as he says it, “Then we’ll probably find a couple Soundwave tapes.”

*

He’s up to his waist in parts, digging through the bodies, tearing through them to find something, a specific someone. He just needs the closure that they didn’t let him get away. He’s up to his waist, he’s up to his waist, and the bodies never seem to end. It’s a tower of them, and he’s been scaling its side for what feels like days. His servos have taken on the pink tinge of energon and he breaths in more rust than atmosphere, but he keeps digging. He needs to know he’s in here.

Justice needs to be real. He needs things to be fair. He needs that son of a bitch dead.

*

It’s mid shift when Jazz wakes up. He’s tired and smells like death. He takes a hot shower, letting the solvent pour across his backplates for slightly too long. He towels off, numbly looking in the mirror at his face. His visor seems less blue, his paint a little more matte. He turns his helm this way and that, to see what sticks, but his face changes with every turn. His right side is indifferent, his left is calm. Jazz can’t decide if he’s either.

His day is full, even beyond Soundwave. He has to meet with high command, fill them in on what Prowl and him puzzled out last night, what they’re going to do from there. Then its back to war efforts, planning operations and fronts. There’s a couple sensitive initiatives Jazz was leading before Grind Core caught his attention. He takes his ration and is made aware he wasted his morning by the barrage of comms and messages he has to answer. He ignores all but the most urgent, responding and coordinating what he can, and what he can’t he elevates to Prowl or Optimus.

He checks his calendar and is pleased to see Prowl planning the meeting later in the day. He has a solid two hours to get caught up. Jazz takes a turn to the medbay, finishing his ration along the way. He crushes the cube against the side of his helm, enjoying the crunch it makes before tossing it into Ratchet’s trash to dispose of later. He’s all smile’s as he approaches Soundwave.

Soundwave has his helm raised, watching him before he even gets more than a foot inside the door. He looks irritated by his mere presence, and that alone is enough to delight Jazz.

‘It’s good; he’s awake and not afraid.’ Jazz thinks. “Hiya Waves! I thought you’d like some company besides Ratchet.”

Soundwave doesn’t speak, clamping his mandible shut.

Jazz hums to himself, happy Soundwave is following the doctor’s orders. He pulls over a rollie stool and sits to his left, in an easy spot for Soundwave to turn his helm and see him. He pulls a datapad out of his subspace to pretend to work on.

 Soundwave immediately perks up, trying to spy what’s on the screen.

 Jazz pulls it away to his chest, wagging a finger at Soundwave, “Ah ah, no peeking. Sounders no spying.” He giggles at the flash of irritation Soundwave blasts at him. “You can always ask Ratchet to give you something to do. I’m sure he’s got Sudoku around here somewhere.” Jazz plays at doing his work, spending more of his time watching and looking at Soundwave than anything significant.

There’s not a lot of chatting, and what Jazz says is a lot to do about nothing. Soundwave is still the enemy, still a spy. His words have to be careful around him, even now. Especially now. Jazz advised Ratchet to say nothing where Soundwave could hear it. So far, Ratchet is holding to it.

He catches himself examining Soundwave’s new facial scars. Sometime during the night, Ratchet must have wiped them down, they were missing the sooty black edges from yesterday. It looks better than before. If Jazz wasn’t so used to Wheeljack’s mug, he might have flinched away from him. ‘He probably hasn’t seen himself.’ Jazz thinks, ‘I better not show him now.’ Soundwave seems to do fine when he doesn’t have to think about what’s happened to him. Jazz can already predict the struggle he’s going to have looking in mirrors, looking at his cassettes. Jazz sighs.

This whole thing was a mess.

The comm from Blaster is a welcome distraction, :Have you refueled yet?:

:Not yet, I’m in the medbay with your evil twin:

:Don’t call him that. Do you want energon delivered to you:

:Yeah sure. I have a couple things I need to ask you anyways:

:About the twins?:

:More about how I could win over Ravage:

:You might have some luck serving your helm on a platter: Blaster jokes.

Jazz considers it.

“Do you think Ravage likes beheadings?” He asks to Soundwave.

Soundwave turns his helm towards him just to send a withering glare, and then toss his helm to the side again.

Jazz takes that as a no, :Soundwave says she wouldn’t like that:

:C’mon now: Blaster replies.

He finishes the work he can do from his data pad. He signs off, and waits for Blaster to show up, counting down the minutes till Prowl’s meeting.

Blaster’s presence is like a balm, he jaunts up to Jazz without a care in the world, doesn’t even remark that Soundwave is there. He glances at the other carrier and gives him a respectful nod, acknowledging one of the few survivors of his frame class.

Soundwave doesn’t give the respect to Blaster. There’s a pointed avoidance, Soundwave’s vibrant gaze directed solely and crucially at Jazz.

Jazz shoots Blaster a private comm, reminding him to not mention anything around Soundwave.

The comms officer sends over an affirmative, handing the energon over along with it. His lips quivers and Jazz can see he wants to speak. Blaster casts a sideways glance at Soundwave, and the hesitation only grows worse.

“Did you finish the novel I lent you?” Jazz starts, offering a safe conversation topic.

Blaster breathes a sigh of relief, “No not yet. It’s a very dense read.”

Jazz chuckles, sipping his energon. He figured as much. The history of Jazz was something he read when they first landed on earth, marvelling at how close the phonetics were to his name. Having read the text, he had a deeper understanding and appreciation of the art form. “What about you Soundwave, you read much?”

That ruby visor gaze hasn’t moved from him, it sends a thrill up his spinal collum to be pierced by those perceptive optics. Soundwave doesn’t move. It makes something in Jazz’s plating tighten. How many times has he had that red visor stare him down from the end of a blaster?

‘I warned you this would happen.’ Jazz finishes the cubes before his thoughts can sour his meal.

“My legs are stiff,” Jazz suddenly says, stretching out from his seat on the rollie stool. He puts real performance into his groans as he stretches, it looks and feels natural. Even when he stands, pretending there’s pins and needles from crimped lines and cables, he doesn’t forget the performance. “C’mon Blaster,” he says, tugging the arm of his best friend, “Let’s go take a walk.”  

Jazz keeps it up until they’re out of sight of the medbay doors, and when he knows there’s no one that can see them, he lets his unease nerve its way out of him. Blaster is beside him, ready. He has his grip tight on Jazz’s arm, holding the mech with a reassuring pressure. Jazz can feel his tanks roil, but the buzzing in his plating is subsisting.

“You doing okay?” Blaster gently asks.

“No, I feel sick.” Jazz answers honestly, “I don’t know what triggered it. I’d been fine all day with him, but it just hit me right then.”

It was something in that stare. Those optics. Two tiny red pixels in the background of a snuff film. Soundwave had been watching the torture with that same look in his optics. ‘What would have made you look that way now?’ Jazz wonders.

Jazz looks up at Blaster.

Blaster looks down at him, and Jazz looks to his dock.

*

The office is quiet when Jazz arrives fashionably late. The quiet has settled over everything like a fine silt, shifting the way even the air moves in the room. It has Jazz stepping even lighter than before as he slides up to Prowl’s seat, perching on the arm as he customarily does. He doesn’t try to break the silence, he lets it sit, waiting.

“Jazz,” Optimus finally says, reclining his massive helm in greeting.

Jazz returns it as best he can.

The quiet settles in again, and it’s a real struggle for any of them to say something.

“The twins are coming online today. Soundwave seems to be recovering.” Jazz says, just for something to fill the air.

Optimus nods, approving.

They move on quickly from Soundwave, from Grind Core. There’s more work to be done, always more to be done. They talk about supply lines, troop movements, the minutia of the war. It’s going in their favor, confirming how integral Soundwave is to the Decepticons. They had been losing on the back ropes until this moment.

“Do we let Megatron know we have Soundwave?” Prowl says when the subject of the Decepticon leader is brought forth.

Three helms turn to defer to Jazz. He has become the unofficial arbiter of this travesty, a role he had never been comfortable taking.  Still, he speaks as if he has the confidence to keep it, “No. We can tell him about what happened at Grind Core but leave Soundwave out of the report. I want to see if Megatron says something about it.”

Jazz gets three mumbled agreements; the conversation moves on. In his mind, he’s still wading through corpses, going down the levels of the prison. The grinder, spiralling with its teeth, chewing up and spitting out anyone who crossed its path. He feels those teeth chew into him.

Chapter Text

The twin princes of destruction are lying on memory foam berth toppers, their limbs arranged so their legs were straight, and arms placed on their chests, servos clasped together. They really did recharge like cyber angels.

The replaced limbs are unpainted, the buffed steel sticking out like sore thumbs against their blue and black color scheme. Someone must have had the fun idea to make them match, they each lost a limb on their opposite sides, Rumble his right arm and Frenzy his left. Their legs had been sheared off at the knees, and new pedes dangled at the ends of fabricated struts. The plating was missing, revealing the delicate work Wheeljack had done to mesh the new limbs in with their damaged protoforms. In the coming days that will be fixed, but for now, they walk around on stumpy chicken like legs.

Wheeljack is waiting excitedly with code to take them out of their medically induced slumber. Jazz gives the okay, and Wheeljack injects the line of code into their tiny processors.

Their fans kicked up with a whirl, and then their optics light up, flicking before reaching max brightness then dimming again. They move their little helms, looking around Wheeljack’s lab confused. Frenzy sits up slowly, testing his newly repaired and replaced limbs. His twin luxuriates in the foam a moment, groaning in relief when nothing hurts.

Wheeljack wheels his chair behind Jazz, ready for anything. He’d been warned at possible violent reactions, but so far, the twins seem alright.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Jazz greets, “Are you experiencing any pain, numbness?”

“Yeah, in my aft.” Rumble snarks to the amusement of his twin.

They were Soundwave’s kids alright. He kept them tough. “I’m glad you guys are joking around, but I have some serious questions for you,” Jazz says with a tight-lipped smile.

Both twins stiffen. Their small plates fluff out in threat, subtly moving closer to each other. Frenzy bravely tries to shield Rumble from Jazz. His body is trembling, but he speaks first, diverting Jazz’s attention, “We don’t negotiate with Autobots.”

“It’s not a big question boys. I just need to know a tiny detail.”  Jazz emphasises.

The twins share a look. They’re nervous. The Ark might not be Grind Core, but they were still the enemy. Their training drills them to keep quiet, be small and offer up nothing. The pair have always survived on the fact they look like bitlets, despite being as old as their carrier. It’s hard to imagine any one willingly torturing a bot as small as them.

“Why don’t we do a trade? You answer my question, and I can answer one of yours. After wards, I’ll take you to Soundwave. I’m sure you’re anxious to see how he’s doing.” Jazz tries again.

This catches their attention; their carriers name is like an electric shock. Their frames straighten out, looking at Jazz with attentive and excited visors.

Rumble tries to play it cool, lounging against the foam even as he trembles, “Alright, we’ll bite.” Rumble says, “Whatcha want to know?”

“How did Soundwave find out about Grind Core?”

The twins look between each other, nervous, “He got an invite.” Frenzy says.

“From who?”

Frenzy mimes sealing his lips, throwing away the key. It’s a clear sign, that was Jazz’s one. He wants to press, drag an answer out. He reminds himself that this is what he agreed to, and he needs to be fair. Jazz stops the frustrated growl that threatens to leave his throat, gesturing for them to speak now.

 There’s whispering between that is too quiet for Jazz to catch. They cup their small servos over their mouths, whispering against the side of helms, concealing their chatter from his watchful optic. They conclude their secret meeting to grin at Jazz, something he has come to associate with nothing good. “We’ll take our question later,” Rumble informs him, “Save it for something useful.”

Jazz shrugs, aware there is nothing he can do to make them ask it now. “Fair enough. C’mon, who wants to see dad? Raise your servo!” Excitedly Jazz extends his own, waving it in the empty air above his helm.

Neither twin joins him, not even tentatively.

It was important to Jazz Soundwave didn’t see his cassettes in chains. He makes them promise not to wander off, bribes them to behave the short walk to the medbay. He knows he’s playing his hand, and it’s obvious to the twins he’s trying to win them over.  They abuse it for some rather luxurious rewards.

They’re promised a couple game systems and a few sensitive documents to keep them from conducting absolute anarchy. After the visit, a tour of the Ark, and finally, a stop at his private quarters for a few glasses of high grade. Jazz gives them all of this without flinching.

it makes Rumble nervous. “You know you can say no right?”

“Can I?” Jazz perks up. He dials his oblivious act up to eleven, watching the twins cringe away in glee.

“What’s your end game here?” Frenzy pesters, putting his servos on his hips. His little frame is trying to command the space, Jazz finds it adorable.

Jazz’s smiles leaning forward to get eye level with the twins, “Is that your question?”

His excitement frightens them. They chitter secretly to each other and finally Frenzy steps up again, “Yeah, that’ll be our question.”

“I want Soundwave to be an Autobot.” He says it like it’s not an impossible goal, a reachable thing. Jazz ignores the way his spark flickers at the looks the twins give him.

They’re disbelieving, staring at Jazz as if he’s stupid, or gone half crazy. It wouldn’t be far from the truth. Jazz feels incensed in his quest to steal away the Decepticon third. He is desperate to not return Soundwave to those cruel hands. He wants him to stay on the Ark and win them the war by way of his absence. He wants to shout all of this, but the twins didn’t ask his whys. He just smiles and encourages them to follow him.

Like little ducklings, they keep at his heels, behaving as they had promised. Jazz gives Soundwave the courtesy of announcing himself and the twins. He guides Rumble and Frenzy to his bedside, realising a moment too late, he’d forgotten to prep them on his condition.

They are not well when they see his new face. Frenzy jumps when Soundwave turns to look at him. There are tears immediately. Their visors bubble and fizz up with cleanser and Jazz has to scramble to get them tissues to wipe it all away with. They can barely warble out the call of ‘boss’ between their sobs.

Soundwave is not much better. He is struggling against the berth’s magnets, desperate to reach out and touch them. He makes a few aborted calls of his own, mindful of his healing injuries.

Jazz makes the executive decision to release Soundwave. He lets the weakened carrier sit up and drag his cassettes closer to him for an embrace. His servos run over their plating. His digits tremble over the replaced limbs, catching on the burs that hadn’t been sanded down yet. They wrap around each other, grateful.

A flood of shame swamps Soundwave the longer the twins stay, the more Soundwave sees of their condition. They are scared, and wounded in ways he had promised them they would never be. He wants to beg for their forgiveness. He wants them to blame him. He feels their desperate attempts to open the bond. Love is trying to break down his walls, they feel just as ashamed, just as scared and frightened as he is. They are practically begging, screaming that they need him. For all his faults, they still think him a great carrier.

‘I do not deserve them,’ Soundwave thinks to himself. He wrenches his arms around their little waists with as much strength as he can muster. He holds them for as long as Jazz allows them.

The berth re magnetizes and Soundwave is pulled from his half leaning position flat onto his back. Jazz helpfully rearranges his limbs so they won’t ache, and he can be semi comfortable.

Jazz has that same tired look he’s prone to wearing around Soundwave, “Don’t worry, you’ll get to see them again,” he promises.

There is not a force that would keep Soundwave from them. He holds Jazz to those words like a thief at the end of a knife. Soundwave will see them again. Soundwave watches them leave, feeling the visit too brief and not nearly long enough.

*

There’s no lights on in his room. It’s just him. In the dark he’s conjured a body beside his. If he turns his helm, he’ll see his red visor, tearing into him. It is as accusatory as ever. He should have taken that cowardly shot when he could.

‘Your loyalty’s going to get you killed one day’ were brave words from a mech stuck in the dirt. He’d said them underneath Megatron’s order to retreat. It had taken Soundwave a minute, contemplating disobeying for this clear shot, and in the end his loyalty won. It was what he was built for after all. Jazz had said those words as a jab, as a reminder Soundwave had turned his back on an enemy.

In the end, he hadn’t taken the shot, his soft spark not letting him. If he had…, what difference would it have made?

Jazz tries to clear his mind but finds it unable to stop its impossible sprint. He crawls his way out of his berth and down the empty halls of the Ark. He doesn’t know what time it is, just that it’s late. He checks Prowl’s office, to see if he can join him in the misery of another sleepless night. He finds it disappointingly empty.

Jazz steps inside his own and drowns himself in work. If he’s going to be up and worrying, he might as well be productive. He scours the dark web, poking around and checking in on the forums he’s hacked his way into. There’s talk of transactions, the contents of what’s being sold always in code. He’s learned enough of it to seem native. There are still words that trip him up, but he does his best.

There’s been chatter that Grind Core got busted. No information that can say which side spilled the beans in this particular forum, just that it’s gone now. Jazz reads through the thread, clicking on links that take him to download launchers locked behind pay screens. It’s becoming clear the denizens are commiserating by sharing their private Grind Core collections. He spoofs a few accounts to get access to the locked videos, running himself as the administrator and viewing the files directly.

He downloads them to include in the evidence documents. There’s mechs from both sides in the videos but Jazz can’t help but notice the Decepticon ones go for a higher price. It makes him sick to think his side is the cause of it. He swallows his repulsion to finish the thread. The last link has the most downloads. The file name is innocuous enough, Wave.mp4. Jazz feels his tanks drop. The video isn’t behind a paywall. The details say the file's only five minutes long and Jazz, ever curious, lets it play. It’s a sampler, quick cutting between different scenes of Soundwave getting progressively more extreme tortures. Every once and a while, a symbiote makes a guest appearance. Jazz hears Ravage make a sound he prays he never hears again. The video ends with a link, a call to action to buy the collection.

Jazz goes back to thread, finding the replies to this link. A few have typed out the end link. There’s a lot of questions on the video’s validity, if that really was Soundwave or some other unlucky carrier. No one seems to believe a hundred percent its real. Jazz continues his investigation, clicking to the main site.

It’s a simple video hosting page, it’s got categories, banner ads. Soundwave’s videos are easy to spot. They’re on the front page, advertised as a bundle. Jazz can get them all now for a discounted price, or he can buy them individually. There’s sixteen total. Four for each month.

He nukes the site, scrapping it of all its data before completely destroying it and the TOR server it’s hosted on.

He goes back to the forum posting a link of his own. He waits for his honey pot to activate, and the forum is infected with his malware. It’s going through the threads, deleting the links, the videos off their very hard drives. He keeps going until he’s sure he’s gotten rid of every trace of Grind Core.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t want to be alone tonight. He stumbles his way to Blaster’s room. He doesn’t know what time it is, but he’s guessing it’s early from the faces of those he passes. He doesn’t feel well. His mind is in shambles. He makes it to Blaster and it’s not long before the door opens, and he’s let inside.

It’s compulsory, the way Jazz finds his helm against Blaster’s glass. His field is comforting, he leads Jazz to his sofa and the two curl up together. It takes the edge off things, and Jazz is able to get his aft in gear again. He feels more connected to the now. There’s comfort knowing it doesn’t exist anymore.

“I need your kids to do some work for me.” Jazz says, looking up into Blaster’s eyes from his half-curled position.

“Which ones?” And it’s this easy willingness to give that makes Jazz thankful he’s his friend.

“Rewind and Eject, just some babysitting stuff.”

Blaster nods, shifting off the couch to let his boys out. They land with a bounce on their pedes, their backs towards them. The pair turn their identical white helms to Jazz and Blaster and chirp out a greeting.

Jazz smiles despite himself. He gets up from his respite and greets his new spies with a playful servo on their helms and a tease. They laugh and push his servo off, happy and eager to help him with his work.

Rewind especially finds the opportunity fascinating. “I’ve never gotten to observe them up close, so this’ll be exciting,” He explains, and Jazz gives it his seal of approval.

He takes them to Wheeljack after the morning meal. His tanks still feel light, but he doesn’t have the luxury of being picky. He drinks his energon, holding it down with his sheer will. Rewind and Eject’s chatter helps him stay focused. The fuel tastes like slag, he suffers through it.

*

Megatron responds to their report. He feigns innocence, claiming he had no idea this rogue chapter had taken over the prison, and if he had, he would have sent Soundwave immediately to dispatch them. His words feel like parody. It doesn’t answer the question if he knew, but it does tell Jazz he’s going to keep pretending Soundwave isn’t missing from his ranks.

It’s frustrating but expected.

They move on from Grind Core, officially it’s been put to rest. It’s been destroyed, the mechs involved identified (It was Broker, Jazz had sadly been right), now it was in the hands of the Decepticons to sort out.

He has 88 days still left to convince Soundwave, so Jazz instead focuses on that. It’s hard to separate his personal feelings from his professional ones when it comes to Soundwave. Jazz was always a step behind him. The flow of information was always at Soundwave’s fingertips, and just out of Jazz’s reach. ‘If he’d been better’, it’s a thought he never lets himself entertain. Jazz did what he could.

In the private of his office, he kicks his pedes up and admits to himself he’s over his helm. He’s just a plucky grounder who got good at sneaky around. Soundwave was the spy.

He gets another annoyed comm from Ratchet, the fifth one today. :He’s asking for the twins again:

:I’ll tell Rewind and Eject to bring them back: Jazz responds.

:He can’t keep disrupting my work like this. The next time he calls them over, I’m not letting them in:

:Don’t do that Ratchet. He’s just trying to see if we’ll restrict his access to them. Rumble and Frenzy are going to get annoyed by this too, they’ll tell him to stop, and he’ll cool it. Just put up with it for now:

He gets a rude glyph in response. It draws a smile across his face. He sends the comm off to Rewind and Eject.

There’s immediately grumbling from their side, it’s the best response he could have hoped for. 

Now, what to do with the other two? He taps the end of a stylus to his lips as he thinks. They could probably online Laserbeak. Wheeljack could watch her as he worked out the prosthetic wing situation. It seems like a good solution, easy to achieve. It’d warm Laserbeak up to them, give Soundwave a miracle that only the Autobot’s could have provided. He’d be indebted to them. The more Jazz thinks about it, the more he likes it.

He sends Wheeljack a message telling him he can wake up Laserbeak anytime he wants, putting in brackets how he will be her temporary caretaker.

Jazz gets back an excited message, the inventor happy to have the spy bird hang out with him.

Now Ravage. Jazz wasn’t even sure if she was intelligent. How easy would it be to explain to her the situation? It wasn’t like with Laserbeak either, Ravage was still physically very able, sans a back leg. He couldn’t let her free roam, but the idea of locking her up in a cage wasn’t feasible either.

‘Maybe a big indoor kitty play arena?’ the idea is so ridiculous Jazz almost does it. Ravage is certainly a test. He cannot fail her. She is Soundwave’s oldest and most loyal symbiote, if he fumbles Ravage he can kiss any chance of Soundwave considering his proposal away. His mind runs in circles until he can’t take it anymore.

He comms Blaster for inspiration, :What did you do to get Steeljaw to like you when you first met?:

:Cubbie? He was always an easy-going cat. I mainly just gave him his own space until he got used to me:

That wasn’t going to work Ravage. Jazz wasn’t willing to risk his life to have the hell cat like him. :What’s the traditional way Carriers wrangle their cassettes?:

:You’re going to find it messed up, but usually a show of dominance. Often, we catch them, take them back to our homes to train them. It takes days of working them to feed from servo before a formal carrier bond is made:

Huh. :Do you think I could do something like that with Ravage?:

:Jazz, if you do, I’d be severely worried about Soundwave getting pissed at you for trying to steal his symbiote:

:What if I was also Soundwave’s cassette?: Jazz asks.

:It’d probably be fine? Symbiotes often haze and fight to establish a pecking order. I have no idea how you’d become a cassette tho:

:Leave that for me to worry about. Thx Blaster 😙:

*

“She’s a lovely assistant,” Wheeljack starts, balancing Laserbeak in the palm of his hand, “But I can’t understand a single thing she says.”

The little bird squawks, flexing out the first wing prototypes. She flaps them a few times fitfully, squawking again. Soundwave is stuck watching her, amazed. He doesn’t hear Wheeljack at first, so stunned he is by Laserbeak. She looks almost whole. It was more than he could have dreamed of.

“I was hoping you could play translator?” Wheeljack’s side fins blink green, his tone is so hopeful. Laserbeak beats her new wings in the air, almost toppling out of Wheeljack’s hand. He just manages to catch her, placing the half hanging bird on Soundwave’s chest.

Soundwave stares into her red eyes as she churrs. He opens the bond between them and feels Laserbeak in what feels like forever. “Heavy, the wings are too heavy for her shoulders.” He manages to say.

“I knew it.” Wheeljack swears, “But what about the shape? Or is that too much to ask? I never know how much you guys can get from your bond.”

She ruffles her plates, preening them with her beak. She chirps and Soundwave is left open mouthed. He wanted to run his servo along her edge, feel her field against his plating. “The shape is fine,” he manages.

The whole experience is a bit overwhelming. Soundwave flinches when Laserbeak lays down across his chest, stretching her long neck so her helm rests just under his chin. He’s afraid to ventilate, even the smallest movement having the possibility of jarring her from her perch. She does a little shimmy, inching closer to Soundwave, until she can properly nestle her helm and run her beak along his face.

Once again, the berth stops him from reaching out and touching his symbiote. He can only half heartedly reciprocate, mimicking her, rubbing his own cheeks against hers. Laserbeak still chirps with delight. She fusses with her new wings, trying to throw their weight off her stumps. She whacks Soundwave with them, asking for him to take them off and not understanding why he can’t.

He sends calm|comfort down the bond, “She wants them off.” He rumbles his engine when she grows impatient, her cries carry up in pitch and Soundwave winces. The image of a steel cage comes to his mind, and as soon as the thought comes, it’s gone and Laserbeak is off his chest and back in Wheeljack’s servos.

The engineer takes his time carefully undoing the straps that hold the wings in place. They clatter to the floor, revealing the two little wing nubs, the only thing left of her natural wings. They’re miniscule, no bigger than the first joint in Soundwave’s pinkie finger. It’s awful, and all the hope and wonder turns to ash.

 Wheeljack gives the nubs a little scritch and massage, relieving some of the ache from her prosthetics. From his subspace he produces a rust stick, holding it out for Laserbeak to snack on. She eats it with delight, even allowing Wheeljack to pet her helm.

 Soundwave’s a bit upset Laserbeak was bribed so easily, but he’ll let it slide for now. If Wheeljack can restore her flight, a few rust sticks is a fine price to pay.

He wasn’t sure why the Autobots were doing this. It went beyond the standard rules for POW’s. A flier’s wings are complicated, with multiple sensors and joints, to repair and replace them is labor and resource intensive. It’d take months, maybe years to perfect her wings.

Soundwave swallowed, clearing his intake, finding it choked up, “Why are you doing this?”

“Hm?” Wheeljack extracted his digit from where it was nestled in Laserbeak’s plating, “What do you mean?”

Was it so unobvious? “Laserbeak, her wings, why are you making her wings?” Soundwave pressed.

“Oh, I guess you don’t know.” He said with a laugh. Wheeljack let his battle mask retract. His face was scarred, his lip plates were missing, showing his dente as they clanked against each other. The scars reached up almost to his optics.

“Surprised?” he said, his mouth not moving, “I took a face full of shrapnel. I’m technically not able to talk, so I have all my comms rerouted to a speaker.  It’s incredible what AI voices can do.” He hides the sight from view once again, “I liked to invent things before this happened, but after, I found a new purpose for it, creating things for bots like me. Projects like Laserbeak’s are my passion.”

“If you were a Decepticon, they would have called you foolish.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not a Decepticon then.”

Soundwave had nothing to say to that. Traitorously, he was thankful Wheeljack wasn’t as well.

*

:Wheeljack is taking over my medbay, Do Not tell me I can’t kick him out: Ratchet commed Jazz.

The comm was so out of nowhere, it caused Jazz to wobble a line on a facility map he was drafting. :Why would I tell you not to kick out Wheeljack?:

:He’s got that damn bird with him:

Laserbeak? Maybe it was time he took a break and went down to visit Soundwave. :Don’t kick him out. I’ll be down and I’ll move him out. How’s Soundwave’s struts? Is he good for a short walk?:

:Soundwave is cleared for light exercise. Take him and his bird away, I’m tired of the interruptions:

Jazz doesn’t bother cleaning up his desk before he’s out the door of his office and off to the medbay. He waves hello to the bots he passes, grinning and chatting briefly when he can. He makes it to Ratchet’s fortress in record time. He announces himself and is immediately greeted by the Hatchet, glaring him down.

“Get. Them. Out.” He hisses, pointing a digit at Soundwave’s berth and the commandeered carts Wheeljack has pulled over to work off. Laserbeak is sitting on top of his helm as he shaves down her wings, periodically showing her his progress to get a twitter or chirp. Soundwave is watching, making a comment here and there on Laserbeak’s thoughts. It’s downright civil.

Jazz couldn’t be happier.

*

The guilt was stacking up the longer Ravage was kept in medical stasis. It was a band aid solution they needed to rip off sooner than later. It’s how Jazz found himself ready with a blanket as Wheeljack woke her up. Soundwave was off to the side watching the entire encounter unamused, Laserbeak perched on his shoulder. He sat half heartedly restrained with a single status cuff secured to the chair he was sitting on.

As predicted, she sprang out of her stasis swinging. She growls and hisses at Jazz, swiping at the minibot as he steps closer with his cloth shield.

He’s trying to calm her down, cooing at her but it just seems to enrage her. Her hackles only raise the closer her gets.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay!” Jazz assures, “Look over there, there’s dad, see you’re safe!” he tries to explain to her but she’s not having it.

She makes a dash for the lab exit, running past Jazz to try and climb her way out of the room. She throws herself at the locked doors, bouncing off them with a thud. She tries a few more times, scrambling at them, denting her plating as she tries to force her way out of the locked room.

Wheeljack makes a worried noise, taking a few steps towards the panther.

“Back off, back off.” Jazz tells him, stepping in front of him, “Let’s give her a second to calm down.”

They watch Ravage, making sure she’s not hurting herself in her panic.

 Soundwave subtly opens the bond between them. He sends her warmth and reassurance, combating her sudden and reasonable panic. She cools off long enough for the immediate fear to be combatted. She’s still not trusting of Jazz, or his fabric restraints, but Soundwave doesn’t want her to be. He guides her over to his side, where she successfully hides under his chair. She stares there, staring out at jazz with frightened optics, hunkered down until she’s almost one with the floor.

Jazz lowers the blanket, getting on his knees so he can talk to her, “Hey buddy,” He tries.

Ravage hisses, pulling back her upper lip to show off her large canines. Her ears flatten against the top of her helm as Jazz tries inching his way closer to her. She growls, warning him not to come closer.

“I know, I know sweetspark, it’s very scary right now.” Jazz comforts her. He digs around in his subspace for a treat, finding a pouch of energon gummies. He tosses one at her, just a few inches from her nose. “Here, why don’t you have one these.”

She attacks the gummy, swatting it with her paw. Jazz visibly deflates, his expression growing pained. “Can’t you do something to help her?” He pleads to Soundwave.

Soundwave stares down at him silently. He resets his optics, cycling the red light behind his visor.

“Maybe we should think about knocking her out, ‘Wheeljack says, “She’s just going to hurt herself again.”

“And keep her locked up? That’s not fair to Ravage. We just need to work with her.” Jazz bites his lip, worrying it in between his dente. He’s at a loss of what to do. Maybe he should have gone with his first idea of kitty cat play place. He’s just about to call it quits when Ravage takes a sniff of the gummy, and gently, as if afraid Jazz will move, eats it.

 Jazz smiles, his field a rush of excitement. He pushes his luck, inching closer to Ravage, throwing another gummy her way.

 She growls, but it’s softer as she eats another treat.

Soundwave encourages her through the bond. He watches Jazz on the floor, trying his best to coax her out. There’s a strange emotion fluttering in his chest he can’t name as he watches the scene. With every treat, Jazz gets closer until he has a servo on her paw. He beams excitedly. His field is infectious, and Soundwave can’t help the small smile of his own.

Slowly, Ravage slinks out from her hiding spot and sniffs at Jazz. He holds so still as not to frighten her. She sniffs around, her nose settling on the pouch of gummies. She nudges it once before delicately taking it in between her teeth and ripping it out from Jazz’s servos. He calls after her, but Ravage is back underneath Soundwave’s chair and tearing into the pouch. She pulls it apart and feasts, satisfied with herself.

Jazz stares at Ravage, dumbfounded. He laughs, sliding off his knees, to stand beside her carrier. He hits Soundwave with a wide grin, hands on his hips and proud of himself. “See?” He says, “I knew she’d come around.”

It’s so idiotic Soundwave can’t stop himself from chuckling. He’d never be able to understand the blind optimism, or generosity, but if they were offering it, Soundwave would take it, and abuse it. Perhaps, he could put up with some meddlesome Autobot attempting to befriend Ravage. She would be free of a cage, he would have his oldest close by, and ultimately, another tool at his disposal.

Chapter Text

Problems didn’t arrive again until the night cycle and recharge arrangements had to be made. Blaster refused to host the twins in his room. Jazz couldn’t very well throw them in the brig, so he made a desperate bid to have Blaster spare Eject and Rewind a moment longer and set the four up in the barracks, providing them with a private room. Blaster allowed it if a bit reluctantly. Jazz didn’t push for more, and he heard no complaint from Soundwave about the arrangement. Wheeljack was more than happy to watch Laserbeak, setting her up in his room in a specialized bed he’d constructed for her. Soundwave gave his seal of approval personally on this housing, stating in a shocking turn, he trusted Wheeljack to take care of her. And finally, with Ravage still being wild and hard to handle without Soundwave’s presence, Jazz was forced to stay with the pair in his room.

 His room was not designed to house more than himself and his luxurious collection of records, but Jazz made do. He set out a sleep pad on the ground, unrolling the portable berth so it laid just beside his own. He pats the berth a few times for show before throwing his body on top of it. He stares up at Soundwave from the floor, his panther wading around his legs. He smiles, feeling better than he has in days.

Soundwave stays quiet, looking around the room with distaste. His visor flicking is the only hint Jazz gets to his emotions.

“Like the new digs?” Jazz asks, prompting himself up on his elbows.

The slang throws Soundwave. The glare of that red visor cuts into Jazz as he tries to puzzle out the meaning of the word. He slowly nods his helm, suspicious of Jazz.

“Great. It’d suck if you didn’t,” Jazz says, springing up from his hands. His torso gives a little twist as he does, showing off his frame’s natural flexibility, “We’re gonna be together for a while.”

“How long?” Soundwave says softly, struggling to speak. The welds are feeling tight and the threat of energon flooding his senses forces him to talk slowly.

Jazz thinks on it, “Hmm, let’s see… at least 87 days. Maybe longer, depends on if Megatron admits you’re missing.” He flashes a grin, feeling the stab of anger from Soundwave’s field.

Soundwave’s upper lip twitches. Jazz can feel the words he wants to say as if they’re a physical force against his plating.

“Don’t get made at me, you knew he wouldn’t look for you. Is it any surprise he’d lie about you being gone?”  

Subtly, Soundwave’s servos form into balls, clenching until they’re fists. Jazz squares up to Soundwave, putting himself bumper to glass. Ravage growls softly in her throat as Jazz gets close to her master. Their em fields are close enough to mesh. Soundwave’s rage with Jazz’s calm patience. It has Soundwave venting through his mouth, taking heavy calming vents as that blue visor looks up and mocks his.

“You really want to swing at me?” Jazz leans forward as he says it, a manic grin spreading across his face, “Go for it. It doesn’t change the fact he’d rather lie than get you back.”

He’s never going to save you, the disgusting voice of Broker infiltrates his mind, tainting his own thoughts. Megatron would not abandon him. He had not been weak.

The broken bond pulses in phantom connection. Soundwave wants to fall to his knees.

Slowly, his servos uncurl, and he takes a step back from Jazz. He will not strike him. It is too early in his plan to lose this fledgling trust they have built.

The air between them is tense for a few seconds more, Ravage prods at their bond, trying to understand what is happening. She is scared, ready to lash out and kill for him. Soundwave sooths her, calms her down and assures her he is safe. She relaxes, dropping the growl, settling again to stand in front of Soundwave.

The cordial behavior is gone, and Jazz is all business again. “You can have the berth. You try to leave this room in the middle of the night, I’ll know. Same goes for you, cat.”

“A cell,” Soundwave says, “Would be easier to secure.”

“I’m not throwing you and your cassettes into the brig, not unless I have to. Take the berth and recharge.” Jazz repeats.

“How merciful.” Soundwave dips his helm in a mockery of respect, walking past Jazz to the berth. Not a second after he slides on it, Ravage hops up to join him, curling up on the empty spot at the end. She bares her teeth like the sentry she is, claiming the berth as their own.

Jazz watches them before he takes up his post on the floor underneath his berth. He claps twice, turning the lights off in the room. They are plunged into darkness, with only their bio lights to illuminate the space. Soundwave stays awake, going through the bonds he still has.

They all pulse back, strong and healthy. The broken bond pulses back. Soundwave feels him in an echo. He pulses down the bond, chasing that echo he never hears again.

*

His body is sore in the morning, and it’s embarrassing to be reduced to immobility after such limited exercise the day before.  The magnets of the medical berth are almost soothing, the way they run over his struts, easing the ache ever so slightly. Ravage is there, rumbling her engine over Soundwave’s legs, attempting in her own way to heal him.

It’s a nice thought. He takes Ratchet’s scoldings stoically as he would any dressing down. He is no worse than Megatron.

Jazz gets it worse, getting whipped with a rag for letting Soundwave overexert himself. It seems to be his weapon of choice. Soundwave ignores the way he flinches at its cracking sound. His twins are not around, but their bonds say they are fine.  

Soundwave cranes his helm to look at Ravage. She lifts her to look at him, her expression is inquisitive. She adjusts a paw on his leg, shifting with his frame. They stare at each other before he looks down at her missing leg. The side has been sanded down; her tactical paint washed away from the grit. The socket is clean, undamaged. They’ve prepped the site well for when the limb will be returned to her. His oldest, Soundwave supposes he should be grateful she suffered the least.

A cube of energon waves in front of face, Jazz attempting to waft it under his nasal ridge like how organics would waft smelling salts. Soundwave is bereft he cannot use his hands to swat the Autobot and spill the fuel everywhere. He settles for trying to bite the servos holding the cube. He almost gets his pointer in between his teeth, but Jazz is faster, and even boops the end of his nasal ridge as he takes the cube away.

“Ratchet wasn’t joking about you being a biter.” The carefree smile is back as he takes a teasing sip from the cube. It infuriates Soundwave. He offers the cube back, “You want some?”

Soundwave pointedly turns his helm away, curling his upper lip in disgust. The welds on his face pull tight, forcing him to relax his features again until the strain goes away.

Jazz shrugs, chugging down his energon. It’s not long before Ratchet is back and offering Soundwave a cube of medigrade. He drinks it, remembering Ratchet’s threat of a muzzle, he behaves himself. A dish is set on the floor for Ravage, filled to the lip with a mineral dense blend. The high energy blend fizzes and pops, Ravage prods the bond for permission and Soundwave gives it. She’s on the floor drinking up her breakfast. It’s satisfying, and Soundwave is happy to feel her enjoyment.  

The medic is looking him over, turning his helm left and right before applying a new layer of nanites to the welds. The ones on his face loosen and the uncomfortable sensations lessen. Ratchet makes some humming noises, touching along his sides, looking over the bare patches where his plating has yet to be replaced. Soundwave tolerates it, his mind is fighting against the urge to tense against the touch. He has to remind himself Ratchet is not looking for a spot to tear into. His body still rebels, flinching away when he gets to one of the gaps that had been a favorite of Broker’s.

Ratchet takes his servos away, Soundwave relaxes.

“I think you can get some more of your armour put back on you mech. The damage is healing nicely, but there’s still spots where the heavy metals have affected your protoform.” Ratchet states.

It’s good news and proves how excellent of a medic Ratchet is. Jazz brightens at the news, thanking Ratchet for his time before making his exit.

“If you’re all good, then I guess I’ll be off to see how your boys are dealing with the horrors of hanging out with Rewind and Eject. Catch ya later Sounders,” To Ratchet he has a more serious conversation, “Any after care instructions, just comm them to me. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.” He gives jaunty wave and he’s gone.

Soundwave is quiet as Ratchet gets the fabricated plating. He holds it up to the sections, measuring and adjusting his cuts before sighing once, “I’m gonna have to put you under, your cats not going to be problem, is she?”

“Ravage will behave.” Soundwave gives her the silent order over the bond, and she slinks away to the far corner of the medbay to hunker down. She looks at them untrusting but obeying.

Ratchet nods his helm, “Good, we’ve got a lot of work to do. We’ll start with your thorax, then we’ll see what else I can get done. You’re going to be here for a long time.” Ratchet warns.

That did not frighten Soundwave. He had been in worse places for far longer. He nods his helm, and expertly, Ratchet injects the code, and he is in stasis.

*

The novelty of being near the evil versions of themselves had worn out its welcome with Rewind and Eject. A full scale war was the only option left for them. They were at each other’s throats, tussling, rolling and throwing their bodies around.

Eject was attempting to smother Frenzy with a pillow, pinning the mech down as his brother was tussling with Rumble.

Rewind was thrown against the wall. He hit it with a clank, sliding down for a second only to race his way back towards Rumble, fist raised and ready to plow it into that smug face plate.

It was to this Jazz had entered, watching the scene with bewilderment and fear.

“Boys, boys!” Jazz yells, “What’s goin’ on here?”

It’s all the distraction Frenzy needs to get out from under Eject, flipping the hold and returning the favor. Rewind manages to land his punch, sending Rumble to the ground. All three who can talk yell at the same time, “They started it!”

“And you’re all fully formed. You’re fighting like bitlits!” Jazz argues.

He grabs Frenzy off Eject, freeing Blaster’s cassette from his fluffy demise. It takes a few seconds, but Jazz manages to wrangle at least half of them so they’re not trying to kill one another to get some answers. On either side of his torso, he’s holding Soundwave’s little monsters, far enough away from Blaster’s boys to get a story out of them.

“They started beatin’ on us. You know we’re repairing; we had no choice but to fight back, it was an act of self defense!” Rumble postulates.

Jazz casts a disbelieving look at the blue piledriver, “Just out of nowhere?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not true!” Eject interjects, “They kept calling us Peewind and Reject. Then they made fun of Blaster before trying to break our stuff!”

“We weren’t going to break it, we just wanted to see it,” Frenzy protests.

It devolves into more squabbling, the two sets of twins once again at each others’ necks. It’s giving Jazz a processor ache, “Alright, I’ve heard enough,” Jazz shouts above the noise, “Rumble, Frenzy, Apologize.”

“Get shafted,” Rumble says, “I ain’t apologizing to any stinking Autobot.”

These bots.

“Fine.” Jazz says, not willing to fight. “Have fun with no game systems. You can also kiss your unrestricted base access goodbye. You are to stay in this room only. Rewind, Eject, I know you guys didn’t do anything. You two are free to leave, I’ll take over from here.”

Blaster’s cassettes thank him. They toss a few more jabs at Rumble and Frenzy, taking their hasty leave.

When the door slams shut and the lock clicks shut, Jazz drops the bundles of angry cassettes to the ground. He holds his servo out expectantly, making a beckoning motion, “C’mon boys, hand them over.”

Begrudging, they hand them over, bemoaning the whole experience.

“Don’t think we won’t tell boss about this.” Frenzy threatens.

“See how well he wants to join up after we tell him how you abused us.” Rumble adds.

Jazz looks over their scuffed paint unimpressed, “I might want you and carrier to join our side, but don’t think that means you can walk all over me and my comrades. I have a duty to the mechs aboard the Ark in the same way I have a duty to you. Tell your boss, I’m not scared of him.” He says, hiding the confiscated goods away in his subspace.

When it sinks in their stuck with Jazz and nothing to do, they petulantly decide to give him the silent treatment. Shutting themselves away in the farthest corner on the room, they talk quietly. Jazz pretends he can’t hear their thinly veiled insults as he settles on the opposite berths, pulling out his datapad and getting to work.

He gets through a few messages before the niggling question that persists in the back of his mind wiggles its way to the front again. He puts his datapad down, shifting onto his side to look at the twins.

They glance at him, their red visors so much like their carriers and yet not at all.

“Hey,” Jazz says, “I didn’t miss any of you guys, right?”

Frenzy looks to his brother and then back to Jazz, “No, you got all of us.”

“You sure? I feel like one of you is missing.”

“There is.” Frenzy confirms, “But you don’t have to worry about it, you got all of us.”

Who was missing? Rumble, Frenzy, Ravage, Laserbeak… “Buzzsaw,” Jazz breaths. They hadn’t found any symbiotes in the bodies recovered. There was always a vain hope that Jazz had just missed something, that he was imaging things. He’s almost scared to ask, but he has to know. “What happened to him?”

“The prison was called Grind Core; you figure it out.”

*

The steps down the apparatus the prison derives its name from are steep and slick from years of leaking ground water. It tastes like rust and death down here; it nauseates the air. The closer Jazz gets to the grinder the worse the smell gets. It’s hard to tell who started using it to grind bots first, Broker or the original wardens. When he’s at the bottom, he looks at its great teeth and feels them pull his plates apart. He goes deeper, climbing into the slag pit. The pieces are so finely chopped, at first its hard to tell what you’re looking at. Jazz manages to play the sick game of jigsaw, and pieces together part of a helm.

He crouches down and begins digging. He’s not sure if he’ll even find a piece of him, if he does, he has no idea what he’d do with it. The idea of presenting it to Soundwave is enough to make him ill. He cuts himself on a shard of glass.

Jazz hisses, pulling his servo away. He gulps pressing down on the cut and watching the energon well. It slides off his black plating with ease to mix with the stale energon of the slag pit. He goes back to digging, cautious of the glass now.

He finds the first wing, and then part of a second, lastly his helm crest. It’s all that’s left of him. Jazz can only hope this happened when he was dead.

*

He smells like engex, strong enough it burns Soundwave’s olfactory senses and wakes him. He keeps his visor dim and his ventilation even as the bot stands above, swaying. There’s no em field, and the engine is quiet. If Soundwave were to peak, he’d see a midnight black helm hanging over his.

He stands there for a long time, swaying. There’s the sound of liquid sloshing, Jazz taking another drink before he drunkenly gets on his knees, helm pressed against the edge of his berth. His voice is quiet, as if afraid to wake him. It’s nothing but slurred and drunken apologies. Stuck on his knees repeating the words, ‘I’m sorry’ like a prayer. He only stops to ventilate. He gasps air like it’s precious. Choking back a sob, he mumbles out a slightly more coherent set of words.

“Why can’t I be as good as you? I could have found you. I could have found you.”

He listens to Jazz silently cry pretending to recharge, an unwilling voyeur. ‘If only you were someone else,’ Soundwave thinks to himself, ‘then this wouldn’t have happened.’

Chapter Text

Jazz presents the wing to Wheeljack in a cloth to hide the sight from Laserbeak. He takes one peak at it before wrapping it back up and burying it in a desk drawer. Jazz watches, still burning off the engex from the night before. His frame feels achy, wasting away from underneath him. “Thought it might help you.” Jazz mumbles.

Wheeljack hesitantly nods, “It will…” His helm fins blink orange, his optics blatantly looking at the stained white of Jazz’s plating, “Have you gotten any rest?”

“Not yet, I will later.” Jazz promises.

Wheeljack, absently pets a waking Laserbeak. Her plating is looking healthier, the shine returning slowly but surely under Wheeljack’s care. “You look a wreck. It might be a good idea to take a break.”

Jazz would love to, but he can’t. He has duties to perform, Soundwave to watch over. He’s up to optics in a never-ending list of things that need his attention. There’s a team that’s requesting his infiltration expertise. He has a date with Prowl, burning the midnight oil to plan an ambush on a Decepticon strong hold. His days and nights are full. Jazz shrugs, “We’ll see what can be left alone for the day.”

Wheeljack spies the slice in Jazz’s servo, the energon gelling at the edges of the wound, “You want Ratchet to look you over?”

What could Ratchet do for him? Jazz was fine, just in over his helm again. “I’m good mech. You just focus on what you need to do.”

Wheeljack looks unconvinced but doesn’t press the topic. He watches Jazz wave to Laserbeak before wobbling his way out of the lab. He subtly makes an appointment in Jazz’s name and hopes he can get some rest. Wheeljack pets under Laeserbeaks chin, pulling out her wing prototypes. “Alright missy, let’s see if we can get you gliding today.”

She gives an appreciative churr and it’s all the motivation Wheeljack needs to get to work.

*

He feels empty, hollowed out. The relaxing pulse of the magnets just make Soundwave feel uneasy now. He wants to move, escape from this berth. Even the once comforting weight of Ravage on his legs is making his spark spin. In the morning, when the automatic lights come on before Ratchet arrives, Soundwave feels his worst. He thinks of Jazz, crying by his bedside, begging for an absolution Soundwave cannot give. If Soundwave turns his helm, he can see the tears stains on the floor.

If Jazz had been him, if he had found Grind Core sooner. There would have been no mercy for his enemy. He would not have been taken back to be repaired, there would be no begging for forgiveness at the base of his enemy’s bed. No, the best Soundwave would have offered Jazz, if he had found him in Grind Core would have been his ambivalence to whether he lived or died.

The bot who had dared to stand pede to pede with him. Soundwave would have offered him nothing, and that would have been the kindest thing he could’ve done as a Decepticon. When had he grown so cruel?

*

 Jazz was struggling to come up with creative ways to hold his stylus away from the cut in his servo. He had it pinched at the very end of his digits, precariously clenched between the two points of contact as he tried to add his notes to the battle plan. The glyphs were coming out more as squiggles and it was seriously starting to piss him off. He growls, biting the end of the stylus in retaliation. He feels satisfied for but a moment, and then the reality kicks in. Jazz sighs and settles for swapping the stylus to his other servo. He writes that way until the cables in his arm cramp, and he’s forced to stop.

It's how Ratchet catches him, stretching out his arm.

The medic walks in, not even pausing to knock on Jazz’s office door. “You missed your appointment.” Ratchet gripes, bullying his way behind Jazz’s desk.

Jazz slides aside, letting Ratchet in, his rolling chair squeaks as he shifts to look up at him, “Funny, I didn’t make one.”

“That’s what they all say. You got your servo sliced?” Ratchet says, taking Jazz’s arms and manipulating them until he can see which one it is. The cuts not that deep, but it’s still an impediment. He takes out the roll of mesh from his subspace, measuring out a piece.

Jazz submits himself to the treatment. Holding his servos out as Ratchet cuts and glues the edges down. He feels himself calm as Ratchet works. The medic’s touch is always gentle.

“You’ve really been throwing yourself at this whole,” Ratchet fights to find the word he wants, “Soundwave problem, don’t think we haven’t noticed. You know you have friends who are worried about you. It’s alright to take breaks and confide in them.”

“Did Wheeljack tell you to say that?” Jazz jokes.

“No, I decided to say it myself. Jazz…” There’s more Ratchet wants to say, but none of it feels like the right time. He settles on a simple sentiment, patting his shoulder pauldron in comradery, “Take care of yourself.”

Jazz’s face drops, his expression turning dire all while his field radiates glee, “Oh Primus, am I dying?”

He gets hits for that.

*

Megatron is still pretending Soundwave isn’t missing. He makes a point to reference his third and his actions, keeping up the charade. Reports from the front lines tell a different story. Tropes are disorganized and the Decepticon fronts more erratic with their times and targets. There are more security breaches and Jazz’s teams keep exploiting them. Prowl has given an optimist estimate for their victory, the percentage climbing nearly 11 percent. Jazz can’t help but feel resentful for the reason.

Nobody names it directly, but the three months might turn into a longer stint regardless of if Jazz succeeds. They were reaping the harvest of Soundwave’s absence. The new gains could not be understated. They were on the precipice of a domino effect that could win them the war. It was the perfect time for something to go wrong.  It had Prowl behaving neurotically.

His battle computer was running at all hours of the night, keeping him up and crunching the numbers. He’d be constantly adjusting and worrying plans to death. The midnight meeting between him and Jazz was as much to settle his nerves as it was to finalize plans.

Soundwave was still stuck in the medbay after his surgery, Ravage staying as his door guard. It left Jazz with the freedom to conduct his work from the comfort of his room as Prowl and him worked things over. He had his tunes playing, he was reclining, it was the closest to relaxed he’d felt in awhile.

Jazz struggles to think of this moment as real. The grounding force of Prowl’s voice isn’t enough. The datapad in his hands is weightless, his mind is just a little speck of cosmic consciousness trapped in a metallic frame. He’s being asked if he’s okay, and Jazz knows he isn’t. He lies as is his second nature and pushes through. He wills the feelings to fade though they valiantly try to linger. He focuses on the work. If he can get through the current slog, he can make to the next, and the next, and the next.

His work was important, he never let himself forget that. Information was king, battle was always an arms race between who knew what when. It was a personal war between him and Soundwave. Collecting information, weaponizing it.

It wasn’t much different than the slums. A place they were both intimately familiar with. They’d been empties back then, struggling for even the scraps. He’d only had Ravage then. Jazz didn’t know where he got the others. It was rumored Rumble and Frenzy had been gifts from Megatron, the only gift the warlord had ever given to his officers. They’d hadn’t been friends back then, but they knew each other, understood each other. Jazz sometimes wonders what would have happened if they had been. Grind Core probably would have crushed him if Soundwave becoming a Decepticon didn’t.

There’s a knock on his habsuit door and Jazz sends the unlock code, “It’s open!” he yells.

“Who is it?” Prowl’s metallic voice rings from his Datapad’s speakers.

“Prolly just Blaster.”

“Hmm,” He says thoughtfully, “I suppose if you have company, we can call this a night.”

Jazz frowns, “You sure?” there were still a few more things they could go over.

“Yes. Rest well Jazz.”

Jazz rolls his optics good naturedly, “Yeah you too, night Prowler.” The call disconnects a second later and Jazz is putting his work away. He looks up to see Blaster in his doorway holding a bottle of engex and a few vinyl records. He needs to say nothing for Jazz to up and inviting him in, taking a bottle with glee.  

They put the records on, and take sips from their bottles, feeling the vibrations in their chasis. At some point Blaster pulls out the dampeners and Jazz lets them crackle across his neural pathways. It feels great, it’s relaxing to lay with Blaster and listen to music and just… feel.

He’s glad he came by tonight. Jazz can feel his plating loosen with each passing second. Their fields are intermingling, and Jazz can feel Blaster’s relief and contentment like its his own. He’s flooded and it’s wonderful.

There’s a message in his hud, and it’s marked urgent.

Jazz shoots upright. It’s five minutes old, not too bad, but Jazz is being slow. He opens it, skimming the contents before grabbing Blaster by the servo leading his friend to his door.

He fumbles with the lock when they’re in the hallway. Blaster’s confused but Jazz doesn’t know how well he can string two words together right now. Frag, he hadn’t been watching how much he had. “It’s- I told Red to um, scrap I’m sorry. We gotta go see the twins, somethin’s up. I told Red to tell me if they were doin’ anythin’ naughty.”

His glossa felt heavy and loose, too big for his mouth. His words were slurs, but Blaster understood him. Thank Primus for overcharged-to-overcharged communication.

He took Blaster with him, wanting the back up, but also not wanting to be cross faded alone. They made it to the Twin’s room without running into anyone, he didn’t want to explain to Optimus why he was setting a poor example for the troops.

Jazz was the first in. He didn’t understand what he was looking at. They were on a bunk, hunch in a corner, one almost on top of the other, hiding from the camera. There were slick sounds as energon spilled out from around them. Blue and black back panels had been stripped off and discarded. Frenzy’s servos were digging deep into Rumble, fumbling around inside of his brother for something. Almost covered by Rumble’s grunts of pain was the persistent clicking of a T-cog trying to catch.

“Oh Primus,” Blaster swore softly behind him, and Jazz couldn’t agree more.

Chapter Text

Ratchet had described what the twins had done to themselves as ‘backyard surgery,’ a stupid attempt to access their T-cogs and get their weapons back. They were lucky they hadn’t seriously injured themselves. It didn’t make Jazz feel any better.

He should’ve been more attentive of them. He’d left them, forgotten for a full evening. He’d just been so busy, he hadn’t had the time to check on them, hadn’t even thought of sending someone. He was going to be sick. The dampeners were twisting the feel-good sensations into an anxiety nightmare. He was a wreck as Blaster tried to help him as his own trip was turning sour. Ratchet had them hooked up to a sobering line of medigrade, but it works slowly.

He's blubbering through his words as Blaster runs his servos over his shoulders, “He’s never going to forgive me, Blaster. I let his kids get hurt. He hates me.”

Soundwave listens to it all invisibly on the berth behind them.  He weighs the pros and cons of having Jazz grovelling for his forgiveness. He is dogmatic in his decision, even as his tanks sink.

“No, he doesn’t hate you, Jazz.” Blaster tries to sooth. The servo never stops as it keeps up the comforting strokes.

The spot begins to burn as Blaster over works the sensors in that area, but Jazz doesn’t ask him to stop. He keeps sobbing through the pain and his feelings.

“Say something to him, won’t you?” Ratchet begs, his servos are full, Rumble and Frenzy face down on their own berth. They’re helms are turned, their visors dim.

It springs forth unfortunate memories from Soundwave’s mind, and he forces himself to look at away from them. He keeps his silence.

Jazz chokes down his cries until morning. Ratchet forces him to take the morning off. Jazz can’t bring himself to leave, so he takes a berth and recharges in the medbay. He’s an arms reach away from his twins, a mile it seems from Soundwave. Jazz sleeps curled, protecting his middle. He is small like this, fragile, Soundwave remarks to himself.

If the berth was not holding him, would he attempt to strike him down? His thoughts these days seemed consumed by these violent what ifs. Once, a long time ago, they had helped each other to survive the hard streets of the dead-end slums. Afterwards, they orbited like stars.

“I cannot hate you.” Soundwave quietly admits, “You are a far greater mech than me.”

Jazz does not respond, deep in recharge. Soundwave hopes what ever he is seeing in reflux is pleasant. He spends the rest of his time, staring at Jazz until he awakes, and his day takes him away from Soundwave.

His thoughts eat at him again as soon as there’s enough quiet to wake them. His twins are sulking, embarrassed to have been caught. They are not entirely at fault; he had instructed them to do this. He speaks to them over the bond. They confirm, their T-cogs had not been reset, that are still weaponless. Soundwave tells them not to try again, he will make do with what he has. They tiredly respond, loopy from pain killers. Soundwave stares at the medbay ceiling, becoming intimately familiar with it. Ravage’s weight is crushing across his legs. Her engine rumbles in the facsimile of a purr, and he constructs a way to escape.

*

What was loyalty? To be loyal was different from being devoted. And yet, in the dictionary they are labeled as synonyms. It raised the question if one could be loyal without being devoted. Soundwave was devoted to the Decepticons, he was loyal to Megatron. He was stalwart in his defense of them, more than willing to die for his cause.

Jazz did not know who he was loyal to. He betrayed himself almost nightly, he held no affections to their leader. He wore the red badge because he had been convinced of its message. If he heard a better pitch, he’d jump to their ship and work away the same he had the previous one. Jazz would rather survive, bow his helm, and renounce his name than be martyred.

Did that make him worse than Soundwave? Why could he not close the gap between them? How was a coward like him supposed to break convictions when he didn’t have any of his own? Jazz fumbled with these questions, never finding a satisfactory answer for any. Their species had been built on change, perhaps that’s where the answers laid. But how, could you change Soundwave?

*

Wheeljack was learning Laserbeaks squawks. She goes shrill when she’s hungry and sharp when she’s tired of the wings he’s made her. She truly is a wonderful assistant, Wheeljack adores her. She’s always bringing him over tools, hopping from shoulder to shoulder as he works. She only nipped him once and it had been an accident.

The current wing set has been the most comfortable for her. She can glide, going from the edge of Wheeljack’s desk to the floor in a controlled descent. It’s a good start, and he’s tempted to show off his progress.

  He picks Laserbeak off the floor, holding her aloft in his servos. She gives an indignant squeal at being grabbed but settles soon when Wheeljack places her on his shoulder. She beats her wings once, settling herself on her new perch. Her talons nick his paint as Laserbeak moves around. She turns herself backwards and launches off his shoulder.

She glides delicately, in circles until she lands softly on the ground. She peeps and turns to Wheeljack, asking to be picked up again. Wheeljack obliges.

 She jumps again, experiencing the joy of just gliding. The wings are the most comfortable ones for her yet. Her brother’s wing helped solve the issues Wheeljack had been experiencing in the previous prototypes. He was feeling confident he could add in the propulsion systems soon. She will be whole again. It’s the best possible outcome, Wheeljack doesn’t feel satisfied by it.

He wants her to be better than before, improved in some way. He looks over her frame for any place he could improve and finds none. He lets the idea go, shelving it for a later time, and takes his avian ward to see her carrier.

Laserbeak attempts a few times as he’s walking to take a little flight to the ground, but Wheeljack is quick to catch her. He’s lucky his lab is so close to the medbay, he couldn’t imagine a long walk with Laserbeak excitedly trying to dive bomb any mini unfortunate enough to cross their path.

He arrives shocked to see the twins laid out, fresh welds on their backplates and teaking shame. Wheeljack wants to ask what happened but knows its none of his business. He doubts they’d tell him anyways. “Hello boys!” He cheerfully greets, putting the text modifier in for the ai, “Thought I’d let you know that Laserbeak can now glide.”  He encourages her to jump, and this time she does, doing a slow circle, landing on Soundwave’s chest proudly.

She presents the crest of her helm for a stroke Soundwave does his best to return.

Wheeljack attempts to retrieve her but is stopped by a warning growl from Ravage. He slowly backs away from Soundwave and is stuck watching as Laserbeak and Soundwave reaffirm their bond. It doesn’t take long for Ravage to join in, nuzzling and licking the avian. They play on Soundwave’s body, Laserbeak hopping in between playful swats as the panther tries to catch her.  Soundwave allows it, enjoying their affection over the bond.

The twins turn their helms weakly to watch. Slowly their fields lose the tint of shame as they observe Laserbeak.

Wheeljack counts it as a win, “I’m thinking I can start wiring in the propulsion systems. I was just wondering if Laserbeak has a comms system. It’d be easier than trying to rewire the engines.”

“Like a remote starter,” Frenzy pieces together, “It’d be a good hot fix but if there was ever a jammer, she’d be toast.” Frenzy gasps the minute he speaks it out loud. His twin’s field grows angry. If they weren’t on a medical berth, Rumble’s fist would have been hitting Frenzy’s helm.

Wheeljack hadn’t taken that into account. The idea of Laserbeak returning to battle hadn’t crossed his mind, too focused on getting her able to fly again. “Damn, I was hoping to avoid a surgery.”

Rumble’s face screws up, “Surgery for what?”

“For the propulsion system. I can’t just have her drop out of the sky.” What was with these Decepticons? They almost never understood him.

“You’re an idiot.” Rumble states.

“Oh, am I?” Wheeljack asks, “We’re not the only side that uses jammers, and I doubt she’d be much safer with the Decepticons.”

Rumble wants to argue back that they wouldn’t use jammers on her, but he knows that isn’t true. It couldn’t even be something Soundwave could hide, Laserbeak was too vital to their recon. He knows at least Starscream would do it as some form of petty revenge. “It’s still stupid.” Rumble stubbornly argues.

“Why are you even repairing us anyways? It’s counterintuitive.” Frenzy points out as if Soundwave had not asked the same thing not days ago.

The concept of kindness must truly be foreign to the Decepticons, “Well, I can’t leave you guys to suffer. Some day this war is going to be over and we’re all going to live together on Cybertron. I’d like to see a bot on the street and know my side treated them well, that we fought with honor.”

They seem to understand that, growing quiet as they absorbed the information.

“Speaking of repairs,” Wheeljack segways, “How would you boys feel about getting your leg plates back?”

If they could jump, they would have. Their field’s spark with excitement and Wheeljack’s head fins flash a happy yellow as he turns back to his lab to grab the parts and get started.

*

It felt like every time Jazz left for a mission, to some distant battlefield, he came back as a different mech wearing his armour. It’s the price of war, Blaster knows that. Intellectually he understands what Jazz must do as commander of Spec ops. Blaster is lucky to have a role that keeps him relatively safe aboard the Ark, dealing exclusively with communications. He is not hyper competent like Soundwave; he does not utilize his symbiotes in the same way.

Soundwave uses his cassettes like tools, they each have a specific purpose. It is the traditional relationship between cassette and carrier, for the symbiote to be picked to fulfill a carriers need. Blaster would rather have friends than tools. Each of his cassettes came to him willingly after a long courting process, and all of them kept their autonomy afterwards. They could come and go whenever they pleased and had no obligation to answer any of Blaster’s requests. To the standards of a mech like Soundwave, who was steeped in dogma, Blaster was a failure of a carrier.

He had no control, no order, but what he had were happy and content cassettes.

Jazz was not a cassette, and Blaster could not leave him alone to grow and learn on his own. Blaster would argue Jazz on his own was when he was his worst. The mech would revert to survival mode, his mind trapping him on the battlefield. That strange creature that puppeteered his friend’s body would appear and spook him. That dark beast that represented the war and its collective trauma would flash in front of Blaster, a look in his visor, the way his servo would twitch over an invisible weapon, and then it would be gone and leave Jazz more exhausted than the last time Blaster saw him.

Last night was partially Blaster’s fault. He’d been the one to bring the engex and dampeners to Jazz. He had simply intended for them to relax for a night, to strip some of the weariness from his struts. Blaster could take responsibility for that. He co signed the incident report, noting he brought the illicit substances, even as Jazz tried to hide it and defend him. He got off light with a three-day suspension.

 Jazz was too important, too vital to the goings on to get more than a warning to be more careful next time.

It made that spirit rise from its early grave and never let go of him. He could not catch sight of his friend these days. Blaster was sad to say it, Jazz these days made him feel afraid.

*

The sight of energon is like that of a familiar friend to him now. His sink is a mess of blood, clinging to the sides of the basin in thick droplets. Jazz watches as the water runs over the joints in his digits, dislodging the energon from the slag pits. Tiny bits of rust and scrap flow down the drain with it and it helps Jazz feel slightly better.

His frame is filthy, demanding of more than just a soak under his shower head. The dirt clings to him deep in the seams of his armour. He thinks of running a hook, just underneath, and pulling up every last offense from his body. He imagines himself clean, free of obligations and guilt.

Jazz washes his servos in the sink until he can no longer feel his plating, waiting for the water to run clear.

Chapter Text

Perhaps they should consider looking for Soundwave, Starscream thinks to himself. Facing down the report of another defeat, it was time to face the reality that the Decepticons desperately needed Soundwave and his intel. He risks a glance at Megatron, who was seething at him from across the war table. To Megatron’s right sits and empty chair and Onslaught, to his left, Strika and Lugnut. No officer speaks up, all in some level of staring at the table in front of them, praying Megatron does not notice them.

The only brave one, being himself who kept his helm up and steady.

“Please, tell me why your great army of seekers were unable to take one measly base when you had assured me Starscream that such a task would be child’s play for you?” Megatron’s tone was calm, even as his fist crashed into the table.

No one jumps, staying still as statues, bracing.

He had no answers that would satisfy Megatron, so Starscream spoke the blunt truth, “The Autobots learned of our ambush too early and were able to prepare for it. I was out maneuvered.”

“Out maneuvered.” Megatron repeats through gritted dente.

Starscream holds his glossa. The dents in his plating still fresh from the last beating, his temper had only grown since Soundwave’s departure. He waits like a trapped animal for the next explosive bout of anger.

“Tell me, Starscream, how the Autobots could have come across such valuable information.”

They all know how, but Megatron is looking for someone to blame. Starscream’s plating flares as his wings hike high on his back in a threat display, “Perhaps ask Soundwave’s replacement. She should have been preventing something like this-” Starscream gestures at the report, “-From happening!”  

Megatron shifts his focus to Strika, expecting an answer from her.

She clears her intake, her optics fritzing in fear, “We’re still struggling to make sense of Soundwave’s system. The encryptions haven’t been broken so we uh, have been behind on updating our security. The cyber attacks are more sophisticated than what we can manage at the moment. This shouldn’t happen again, Lord Megatron.” Strika bows her helm deeply in appeasement.

“See to it that it does, or I might have to find other creative uses for you,” Megatron threatens, “What of our other fronts?” He says, opening the table up to his other officers.

“We’ve experienced minor gains in the Andromeda star system.” Onslaught says, “My offense was able to reclaim a small patch of territory and restore a supply line in the northern quadrant. Our forces are still split, but the pockets trapped in the Autobot controlled areas are holding steady.” It’s not a perfect report, but it’s better than Starscream’s major loss and that’s all that matters. Onslaught gets an approving glance from Megatron and the knowledge he has once again made himself valuable to the warlord. The heat in the room builds and Onslaught can feel his fans kick up a notch.

Megatron waits for others to speak, but none do. Megatron’s anger returns, “No more progress to report? We have one supply chain reconnected and that’s it? What of our front lines? Our offenses?” He demands.

Lugnut shifts in his seat, his massive bulk making the movement awkward. Onslaught stares at the wall in front of him Pragmatically. Strika is stuck in her earlier bowed position. Perspiration from her frame hits the table, dripping off the end of her nasal ridge. Starscream crosses his arms in front of his chassis.

Megatron growls, slamming his fists on the table again. It shakes in its moorings.

“May I make suggestion my lord?” Starscream asks, entirely bored by his outbursts.

“Speak,” Megatron barks.

“Perhaps we should consider finding Soundwave-“

“-Enough!” Megatron sharply cuts him off, “The Decepticons are not so weak as to crumble without one spineless carrier. We do not need Soundwave to win. If that is the only thing you have to say Starscream, you are free to leave.”

Starscream gets up from his seat, bowing condescending to Megatron, “Then I wish you all a good evening.” He turns quickly on his heels leaving without another word, ignoring the insults thrown at his back.

*

He does not give it up, pestering Megatron at all hours to consider even a cursory search for Soundwave. It’s becoming increasingly apparent that Soundwave had made himself indispensable. The flow of information had dried up to a trickle, Strika having no success with the navigation of his network or decrypting his files.

They needed Soundwave back.

It earns him more than a few back hands and growled threats, but Starscream does not relent. He is after Megatron like a hound, nipping at his heels until Megatron turns on him and screams. “Begone with you and your incessant pleas! Soundwave will not be returning to the Decepticons and that is my final word!”

“He has been missing for three months, disappeared in the night with his minicons. I’ve heard no mention of him anywhere, and you’re content to let this stand? He could have turned traitor for all we know!” Starscream argues.

“He would not betray me, Starscream.” Megatron growls.

“Then why, pray tell, did he walk off the job and never return? And why are you so confident he will not be returning?” Starscreams optics narrow, “What are hiding from me?”

They stand tense in the hall, only a scant few feet apart. Starscream barely clears Megatron’s chest, his slim frame no threat to the former gladiator and laborer. He can see Megatron thinking, accessing as he looks down on the seeker. It is a long minute before he speaks again, his voice softer, but no less commanding, “Come with me Starscream, I will show you the reason.”

He turns his back to Starscream, stalking down the hall. The seeker rushes to catch up, heels clicking behind his leader. They walk in silence until they’re at Megatron’s private chambers where the seeker is forced to wait outside.  Megatron comes back and delivers a dataslug.

Starscream looks it over suspiciously, “What’s this?”

“Watch the video on it. Read the document after. I have verified its contents are real. You will see why I say the things I say.” With that, Megatron goes back to quarters, locking the door.

Starscream turns the slug over in his servos, looking at its smooth black casing. He obeys Megatron’s instructions, heading to his own quarters to watch the video.

He slotted the dataslug into his terminal and pulled up the two files, looking over their names. Soundwave GC1.mov and Readme.rtf

 He clicks the video.

Starscream is silent through the whole experience, unable to tear his optics away. He watches until his tanks threaten to rebel against him and he closes the media player. He quickly opens the rtf file to read its contents.

It’s mainly a transcript of the video with links to sites that no longer exists. It’s signed with Dead End’s comm id at the bottom telling the owner where they can get more. Starscream stares at it stunned.

He rips the dataslug out of his terminal in horror. He takes off, heading to barracks, pounding on doors until he arrives at Dead End’s doorstep. He bullies his way inside the despot’s room, holding the slug up to face, “Tell me where this video came from!” He demands.

Dead End takes the data slug and slides up to his terminal, slotting the device inside. He doesn’t even open the file, looking at the title is enough for him to go, “Oh, this is Grind Core. It got busted a week ago, whole site got shut down. I’m shocked you have this; I didn’t take you for the type.” He says flatly, handing back the slug.

Starscream takes it, baring his fangs, “It’s not mine. What do you mean Grind Core? What is that?”

“It’s a nickname. It was one of our Prisons but at some point, it started putting out these snuff films. I have a few of my own, I keep them on separate hard drives. The Soundwave series looked fake, but I bought a few and ripped them.” Dead End says with a shrug.

“How many?”

“Just a few. I have up until four. They started to incorporate the cassettes too much for me. I’m not into animals getting hurt, you know?”

Starscream didn’t know. The whole thing was repugnant to him. “How long was Grind Core making these films,” Starscream was bereft to even call them that.

“About three and a half months.”

It lines up with Soundwave’s disappearance. He says not another word to Dead End, stalking out of his quarters the same way he had come in.

He is back at Megatron’s door, pounding on it. He bangs on the door until it bows, and the warlord is forced to answer him.

“How long did you know?” He demands, “How long?”

“Two months,” Megatron admits.

“Two months you knew where Soundwave was. Two months you let one of our own officers circulate this, this- filth! You said nothing of this to anyone! This is a disgrace on the Decepticon name. You’ve made us seem weak and incompetent.” Starscream spits. His wings are high and dancing on his back, He wants to tear into Megatron with his talons.

“I have already disavowed them,” Megatron hand waves, “The Decepticon responsible is no longer associated with us, and the matter has been resolved.”

“Is he dead then?” Starscream questions.

“I don’t know Starscream, I try not to concern myself with insignificant things.”

His energon boils and Starscream leaves before he can do something stupid, like swing a fist into Megatron’s face.

Inside of his own quarters, He breaks the dataslug in half and throws it in the waste disposal bin. He stares at the broken fragments of plastic before grabbing them out and breaking them apart further, until they are mere slivers.

Two months.

Starscream gets on his terminal and begins pulling up everything related to Grind Core, including the correspondence the Autobots sent on the matter. He reads through it, noticing the careful wording about the discovery method and evidence. There’s an anonymous medical report, the name omitted for the victim’s privacy, signed by Ratchet. Starscream reads it over.  He stops in the middle of it, reading over the described damage to the victim’s face. Bilateral cuts, circular burn marks from a brand, broken nasal ridge.

It matches perfectly with what Starscream had witnessed in the video. “You slag sucking bitch,” he swears, “You’re still alive.”

It’s maddening enough to force a laugh from Starscream. To think, he had been jealous of Soundwave over Megatron’s favoritism. He reads Megatron’s reply and laughs again.

Chapter Text

The medbay was turning into a zoo. Everyday, Wheeljack was over with Laserbeak, talking up a storm to Soundwave, trying to work out the details for Laserbeak’s wings. It was all jargon to Ratchet, who never got deep into the specs of what he was installing. From what Ratchet understood, Laserbeak had some rather specialized parts.

“So what’s the rpm?” Wheeljack asks, turning the prototype wing over in his hands, looking at the proposed engine mounts. Buzzsaw had been a bigger bird, and his engines were too strong for his lighter sister to use, he had to build the whole thing from the ground up.

“15000. N2 style fuel injector. Closest to her original.” Soundwave supplies.

“Closest? You’re not tricking me into upgrading her, are you?” Wheeljack teases.

“Her wings are slightly larger than before. The extra rpm is to compensate for it.” Soundwave explains, petting Laserbeak’s crest. Wheeljack had released his arms early on in their crafting session, requiring his precise direction on the engine mounts. He was sitting up right, with Ravage pooled around his waist, her long tail beating occasionally against the berth.

“And this will work for her? I’m not doubting, just double checking.” Wheeljack clarifies before Soundwave could get offended, “I’d hate to build a whole propulsion system that creams her into a wall.”

“Yes, it will work.” Soon, he had to remind himself. It would do him no good to grow impatient. Wheeljack had shown himself to be an incredible engineer, but even he needed time. He offers Laserbeak an arm for her to perch, and eagerly, she hopped up, moving to his shoulder.

Wheeljack fingers the engine mounts, feeling over the wing, “Alright, I trust you mech.” He gives Laserbeak a few scritches, and then attempts to do the same with Ravage when he catches her watching him curiously. A growl stops his servo, but a silent reprimand keeps her still. Wheeljack’s  servo withdraws, settling for just admiring the panther.

“Are you two done yet?” Ratchet hollers, “I want my medbay back.” He rounds the corner, crossing his arms disapprovingly across his chassis.

Ravage perks up at Ratchet’s voice, leaving Soundwave’s side to trot up to the medic’s pedes. She sits, just in front of him, like a roadblock. Ratchet grimaces down at her but does little else.

Out of all the Autobots, Ravage had warmed up to Ratchet the most, content to follow him around the medbay. Wheeljack had joked with the medic it was because she knew he didn’t like her. Ratchet hadn’t found it very funny.

Wheeljack cocks his helm at Soundwave, silently asking.

The Decepticon takes a moment before nodding his own helm, handing back Laserbeak.  

Wheeljack takes her back carefully, happy to have her. She gives one little screech before she settles on Wheeljack’s shoulder. “If that’s all, I’ll get started on the engine. Tata Ratchet!” He playfully cheers. He waves his goodbyes to the twins, who do not return them, and leaves.

Ratchet eyes the semi freed Soundwave with suspicion. The repairing carrier returns his stare, slowly lowering himself back to down to the berth, arranging his body to lie still. He glances at Ratchet once before directing his attention to the ceiling. Ratchet takes no time to re magnetize the berth, locking Soundwave in place.

At some silent command, Ravage returns to Soundwave, weaving her way between the two berths, checking in on the twins as she does so. They jeer and tease her from their face down positions, trying to wiggle their servos over the edge of the berth to play with her ears or tail. She lets them, tolerating their rowdiness as she returns the favor, nipping at digits that are too slow. They play like this for a while, the twins getting some of their boredom this way.

Ratchet tolerates the noise. It’s better than having Ravage at his heels he tells himself. Ratchet swears, sometimes that cat is trying to trip him, always behind his pedes, ready to get kicked.

He leaves them for his office to hide away. It’s been a slow week for him, the inventory was completed by Aid a few days ago, and the med bay was as spotless as always. He’d gone as far as reorganizing the supply closet a few times to stave off the boredom.

Soundwave still needed time to heal, the new plates were integrating well. The heavy metals were slow on their leech out of their systems but tomorrow, Ratchet planned to restore his dock, at least internally. The door would still be left off at Jazz’s insistence. Ratchet had no arguments there. He quite liked having all the little minions right where he could see them.

The parts were laid out and prepped, there was nothing more Ratchet can do for the day. He opens a cabinet and pours himself an ounce of engex. He drinks it alone, taking the time to relax on his own. He only takes the one drink, enough to take the hard edge off his field, and secrets the bottle and glass away again. Perhaps, he should contact Wheeljack and have a night, just to themselves.

Jazz’s arrival was an almost welcome distraction. Ratchet comes out to greet the Autobot third, and his shocking entourage.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are with him, hanging a foot behind the minibot. Their bulkier frames make Jazz seem comically tiny in comparison and Rumble and Frenzy miniscule.

The cassettes twist their helms to look at the new arrivals, eyeing them up and down.  

“Twins, meet twins.” Jazz announces, “They’re going to be in charge of you from now on.”

No cheers went up.

Soundwave notes the rasping edge to Jazz’s voice, the exhaustion in his field. He once again was leading with a sleepless night. Jazz was exhausted for his sake, and Soundwave had to squash his empathy and focus on the tactical advantage it gave him.  

A confrontation was inevitable between them, Soundwave could not allow himself to feel upset over facts. It was the fact of war, no matter how the enemy cried from him.

‘Your loyalty’s going to get you killed one day’, it had been raining that day. It stuck Soundwave that fact so vividly it had almost overtaken the memory of Jazz in the mud, curling up, and spitting at him from under the barrel of his blaster. There was something in the way he looked that day that was beautiful to Soundwave, unforgettable.

When he had returned to the Nemesis, he could not shake his words from his helm. He looked at Megatron who once regarded his feats with an air of reverence, now turned to him with disinterest and apathy.

Megatron had proven time and again he was not the same mech who had started this war using his face. Soundwave stayed, and remained loyal because to do otherwise was to admit he had been wrong, and this war meant nothing.

*

They are crass, and rude. Their laugh is obnoxious and loud, and when Rumble makes a shit joke, they pull him in to it, laughing along. They’ve seen blood, and they known the front lines like it was their own home. They’re strong and proud warriors, like the one Rumble and Frenzy used to admire.

Was it any surprise they would be taken in by them? They were Decepticons, ruled and ruling by the strength of others. There was no one as tough as their boss, but these twins were coming in close.

They follow them in awe, quiet and meek for once. There was no fuss when Sunstreaker told them to sit on a stool and wait. Frenzy was eager for whatever. They shove their way onto the chair, back-to-back as they jostle on the regular bot sized seat. There’s more than enough room for the both of them, but that isn’t the point. 

Sideswipe watches them amused by their antics. He’s starting to think Jazz had over exaggerated how bad they could be.

When Sunstreaker comes back with a buffer and a couple cans of paint, the cassettes settle. They regard Sunstreaker with suspicion that slowly begins to ease when he shows the pair the buffer working on his own plating before dragging the nearest cassette to him in one strong servo.

“Don’t talk, just sit still.” Sunstreaker growls.

Sideswipe almost laughs when he hears their little fans click on. They’re as obedient as turbopuppies and Sideswipe knows they’ll have no problems with them.

*

Ratchet was going to put him on sabbatical if he kept this up, but Jazz couldn’t stop now. His work was important. The Decepticon network was more vulnerable than ever, and they needed that information.

A few clicks on his keyboard have him deep within their data collection servers. He burrows his feelers in deep, setting up trip mines to ping him when certain key phrases are dropped. He adds a few for his own personal curiosity. It didn’t hurt to be thorough. He snags a few base layouts on his way out, downloading them to partitioned hard drive to dissect later. The antivirus scans the files he delivers in the background, looking for any imbedded malware that might have come with it.

That had been one of the first tricks Soundwave had pulled on him. At the time, Jazz had still been new to his position and had just learned network infiltration. He hadn’t masked himself well enough to slip under Soundwave’s gaze. The Decepticon TIC caught him instantly and laid out a file Jazz was more than eager to download. The virus attached to it crashed their network for a solid day and a half.

They lost Tyger Pax that day, and almost lost Bumblebee.

The nice thing about tricks is they usually only work once. He likes to think that’s what makes Soundwave frustrated with him, he’s always learning, always adapting to him.

Maybe he should go down there and have a little visit, take Soundwave on a small excursion. The carrier was bound to be bored. He might even be willing to listen to Jazz’s proposal now. Probably not.

“Jazz, you got a minute?” Ironhide’s voice floats over to him from his office doorway.

 Jazz doesn’t look up from his monitor, “I can spare you some time, what’s up?”

“We got a couple front line reports from the Andromeda system. The Autobots there are looking for help regarding the few bases the Decepticons still have left in our territory. They’re looking for infiltration specifically. You got anyone you could spare?” Ironhide asks.

Jazz went through his mental rolodex of agents and came back empty. “Whose heading that offensive?” Jazz asks, pausing his data mining.

“It’s Ultra Magnus with some of the wreckers. The Cons managed to reestablish one of their supply lines, so they want to stamp out the pockets before they have a chance to receive supplies.”

“I got no one, but I might be able to get them some extra munitions. It’s all siege tactics from there so, so long as they’re more equipped they should win the attrition.” Jazz surmises. It’s not what they want but it’s what he can do for them.

Ironhide nods, “I’ll let them know.” He hangs in Jazz’s doorway a minute longer, “You doing alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I heard about the other night. You know that wasn’t your fault, right? There was no way you could have predicted that.”

Except he could have been ready for it. Jazz had left them alone right after they had just recently been rescued from imprisonment. “Yeah, I know. Bad timing that’s all.”

Ironhide seems to accept his response. He relaxes his shoulders, a grin stretching across his face as a more casual air takes the tensions place, “I was thinking of having a boy’s night in the shooting range, you down to join?”

“Who’s coming?” Jazz asks.

“Me, Sides, Sunny and Blue if you’re interested.”

Jazz thinks about it for a second, “Yeah, I’m down for it.” He ignores the crawling of anxiety as he says it.

“We’re meeting down there at 19:00. Don’t be late.” He shoots Jazz a finger gun as he leaves.

Jazz half heartedly returns it. He lets his attention drift back to his work. The antivirus beeps back the file is clean and he’s about to pull out when one of landmine trips, alerting him one of his terms came up. He clicks on the alert, parsing the contents. It’s a bulletin, posted to the main network signed with Starscream’s official seal, asking for information on Broker or Grind Core. Underneath he’s attached information to possible rewards for their cooperation.

The bulletin confuses and intrigues Jazz in equal parts. The Decepticons had told them they had completed an investigation and had resolved the matter, so why was Starscream digging around for more information now?

He’d have no need to unless he knew something the Autobots didn’t. Something, they couldn’t confirm.  

Fear seizes him, and Jazz checks the forums, digging through the dark web, but there’s not even a whisper of him. Poking around shows it’s been silent since Jazz took down the main hubs, mechs afraid to even say his designation in fear of their own hidey hole getting wiped. Clicking on Broker’s known accounts, they’re still inactive as they have been for the past week.

It wasn’t that then. Then, what was it?

In your professional opinion, how much did Megatron know about this?

Oh, that fragger. He knew the whole time.

Chapter Text

The body of the blaster was smooth in Bluestreak’s servos. It was weighty with a bit of a kick back, just the way he likes them. He held its grip in a firm but loose hold. It was second nature to aim for the cutout’s helm, blowing it clean off. He goes through the motions, hitting the targets as they appear.

His aim is perfect, and he scores a breezy 300. He smirks, playfully blowing the smoke off the blaster tip.

Ironhide rolls his optics at the antics. He snatches the blaster and takes his turn.

The two sets of twins are idling together, throwing out their commentary on Ironhide’s performance. He ignores them, not letting their words affect his aim. He was catching up to Blue’s score when Jazz came rushing in.

The door to range came open with a bang, and a few seconds later, his voice, “Sorry, sorry. I know I’m late; I got held up with some stuff.” He looks around the room, spotting Rumble and Frenzy, “Ah, perfect. I wanted to talk to you two.” He says with a half-crazed smile.

There’s a private comm BlueStreak intercepts out of habit from Sunstreaker to Jazz. He lets it go when he reads the contents and realizes it’s not anything that requires his intervention.

:We’re not in trouble are we? You told us to bring them wherever we go:

:You’re good mech. Nice paint job btw:

There was no chance to verbalize his thanks before Jazz scoops up the two cassettes, each under an arm and out of the shooting range.

Ironhide gives up, giving the round to Blue.

On the other side of the shooting range door, Jazz has the cassettes lined up against the wall. They’re looking at him confused and weary. “You said Soundwave got invited to Grind Core. Who invited him?”

“Whatcha gonna give us for the answer?” Rumble says, crossing his arms defiantly. Sunstreaker really had done a good job with them, the new paint job blended in seamlessly. If he didn’t know what limbs had gone missing, he never would have known.

“I’ll let you handle the guns at the shooting range. If that’s not enough I have my own information I can share.” Jazz offers.

The twins confer for a moment, “We’ll take the guns for now.” Rumble says, “Broker sent the invite. He wanted to do ‘business’ with Soundwave, offer him a cut for looking the other way. Mechs like him aren’t very smart, and it’s not the first time something like this happened.”

Jazz nods. Soundwave was probably expecting a lone wolf and got completely blind sided by Broker’s men. Explains how he got caught. “What would Starscream know about Grind Core?”

“Starscream? Frenzy says in shock, “He’d know nothing. Soundwave kept the operation a secret. He didn’t even tell megs when we left. Is Starscream digging into shit?”

“Can’t answer that mech, not unless you want to answer a few more of my questions.” Jazz trades.

“Well, what else you want to know?”

Jazz thinks on it, “Nothing yet, but when I think of something, you’ll be the first ones I tell,” Jazz says with a wink, “Alright, let’s go back in.”

He tugs the twins inside. They go a little petulant at not getting what they want. Their sour moods quickly fade as they watch Sideswipe clear the shooting range. His scores not as good as Blues, a 260, but it’s still damn impressive.

 He reloads the blaster and passes it off to Sunstreaker. The yellow Lamborghini rolls his shoulders, stretching them out, getting into stance. He gives the signal a few seconds later, and Ironhide restarts the course.

The twins shut up and watch, their curiosity more than evident.

“You ruined my go I hope you know.” Ironhide says off handedly.

“I didn’t mean to, you can take another round, I don’t think anyone cares. Same rules as always?” Jazz asks.

“Helms 30, bodies 20, anything else is 10, misses -5. Do it with your optics off, you get an additional five points for every hit.” Ironhide says.

“Awesome. What’s Blue’s score?”

“300.” Ironhide replies petulantly.

Sunstreaker finishes up, a little behind his brother’s score. He reloads the blaster and hands it to Jazz.

He makes a show of turning his optics off, covering them symbolically with a servo for flare. He gives the signal and then it’s off to the races.

He’s done this course so many times, he can hear the shooting ranges gears as the arm swings the target forward. He fires his ten shots and turns on his optics to see a solid 290. He twirls the blaster, more than a little smug about his score. “What’s that with the bonus points?”

“340. Way to go hot shot.” Sideswipe congratulates.

“Not my designation but I’ll take it.”

*

The medbay is quiet. Soundwave doesn’t know the time, just the distant notion that it’s late. the lights are off, quenching his frame in darkness. The only light that stands out is that of his visor and Ravage’s optics. The medical berth hums its song softly underneath him. The magnets keep his frame flush to the device, working as a gentle restraint as he’s healed and kept prisoner.

He commands Ravage through their bond to leave his berth and find the emergency off switch. She does, the button a few inches from his right servo, just on the underside of the device. He thanks her and contacts his twins.

They’re roused from their recharge, bleary. He asks them how easy it would be for them to sneak out of their new quarters. They answer easily, their guards thinking them obedient. They warn him Starscream is investigating Grind Core, a detail they put together from a talk with Jazz. Soundwave notes it, pushing his timeline up. He lets them recharge again.

He puts together his mental map from the twin’s tour, where Wheeljack’s quarters were, the command center, the exits. He can leave as early as tonight if he wishes it.

Laserbeak would still not be repaired, and the chances of the Decepticons being willing to spare her resources was slim. If Soundwave left now, she’d remain functionless for the foreseeable future. That was years of work she would not be able to complete, years of depression as she sat useless in his domicile. She’d be an easy target to any enterprising upstart, unable to escape or defend herself. She’d be confined to his dock, a miserable existence.

He confronts this reality and settles himself again. He will wait. A few more days, he will stay here, for Laserbeak’s sake, and then he will return to his rightful place. He goes over his plans one more time in his helm before powering off his visor and going into recharge. The last thing he is conscious of is the weight of Ravage across his legs.

*

The dock surgery goes well, and Soundwave’s plates are all back on his body. He’s effectively healed, and that sentiment makes Ratchet nervous. The medical berth had been a good solution to restraints, but that option was coming to end after today. There was no reason to keep Soundwave in the medbay, and Ratchet wanted him out anyways. His cat was a nuisance and the strict embargo on conversation was making him grumpier than usual. It was a relief when Jazz came and got him.

The after-care instructions were easy enough. Medigrade for the first week, change the dressings everyday and apply the nanite cream to the welds until the jar was emptied. If there were any other problems, bring him back. Simple easy stuff either of them could manage.

Jazz still reads the sheet like it’s Greek. It annoys Ratchet more than it should.

“You able to do it, or should I start looking for someone who can dab on a little cream at night?” Ratchet growls.

“No, no I can do it. Just the jar, right? Then the medigrade for a week.” Jazz assures, tucking the sheet into his subspace.

“Don’t forget the dressings.” Ratchet presses, “it’s important the site stays clean. He’ll need to wash it daily.”

 Jazz waves him off and Ratchet feels his temper rise. He resists the urge to smack him for his flippant behaviour.  He directs his ire instead to Soundwave, who’s just waking up from the surgery. Ratchet takes the opportunity to disengage with Jazz and speak to his patient, giving the same care instructions.

He seems to understand them better than Jazz, the novelty of being able to move his body beyond just sitting up is taking precedence, diverting all his attention to the feeling of his pedes supporting his weight. His stance is weak at first, but the longer he stands upright, the more confident Soundwave becomes until he pulls into his full height, a head taller than Ratchet.

Soundwave looks down at him, his visor unreadable as Ratchet repeats the instructions for a third time. The carrier nods his helm once in understanding. He moves around the medic inelegantly, his cat limping after him. The missing leg gives her a slower, lopping gait that has her helm bobbing as she moves.

That leg will have to returned at some point too. He hides his nervousness behind a mask of irritation as Jazz slides up to Soundwave, close enough to be friendly. He says something too quiet for Ratchet to hear, and they’re gone.

The medbay is impossibly quiet again. He stands in the middle of the floor, contemplating what to do now.

*

He barely knows what to do with himself, the danger having passed. His body is strung like a live wire, his mind can’t stop analyzing Soundwave. It feels like there’s something he’s missing, a bomb he hasn’t defused, but Jazz can’t figure out where it is. It’s been bugging him, this slow pace. It can’t be this easy, there has to be a scheme and angle.

‘Is it so hard to accept he’s healing?’ Jazz thinks vindictively to himself. Yes, it is. He’s spent millions of years fighting, never ending, and now there’s nothing to prepare against. He’d welcome Soundwave acting out, putting up a fight, something to distract Jazz’s mind from the creeping mundanity of life.

“Home again, home again jiggety jog.” Jazz sings to himself as he unlocks his habsuit door. He opens it wide, letting Soundwave and Ravage past. He locks eyes with the cybercat briefly. She hisses, trotting her way inside. Jazz sticks out his gloss at her, closing the door behind him.

The room isn’t any bigger than the last time they were in here. Jazz made a consorted effort to stack some of his records neater, giving the illusion of a few added feet. It still wasn’t enough. Jazz ignores Soundwave’s awkward posture, “Washracks in the back, when you’re done, I’ll put the gel on- Don’t say you can do it; I know your arms can’t reach that deep inside of you. You’re just going to have to put up with it.” Jazz cuts Soundwave off before he can even start.

There’s a tense stand off before Soundwave turns and heads for the washracks, leaving Jazz alone with Ravage. The panther takes watch outside the washracks door, barring Jazz from getting any closer to her carrier. Jazz doesn’t want to.

With the come down from disaster mode, he feels exhausted. He plods his way over to his berth and luxuriates in the few minutes he has with it before he’s sleeping on the floor. He can hear the solvent running through the thin walls. He listens to the gentle sound of the shower, letting it guide him into a light doze. His mind wonders, unwilling to focus on anyone thing. Jazz barely notices when the solvent shuts off, and then it’s another long couple of minutes of silence.

The silence stretches to a worrying degree. After twenty minutes, Jazz gets up from his berth and moves to the Washracks. He stops a few feet shy from Ravage; her teeth already bared it threat. “You alright in there?” He calls.

There’s no response. Jazz waits a few more minutes, before calling again. The door cracks open this time, a thin line of steam pours out and Jazz can see a sliver of Soundwave’s face.

He’s staring at himself in the mirror. It hits Jazz he never had the chance to see himself before now.

He doesn’t know what to say at first, fumbling with any words he could have. “Jackie says it gets easier over time. You get used to it, and you kind of forget you ever looked differently.”

Soundwave doesn’t say anything, just running a thumb across the circular burn mark on his cheek. The other side has a fading game of tic tac toe, scratched through with enough lines that it just looks like a ball of raised metal. His lip plates are twisted, pulling up in spots to show a hint of his dente underneath.

“Let me in, I have some scar cream. Might help make them less visible.” Jazz offers, taking a few steps over Ravage. She growls but does little else.

He squeezes his way beside Soundwave and pulls the mirror to reveal the cabinet behind it. There’s enough first aid and painkillers stored to kill a mech. Jazz ignores it all for the half-used tube of scar cream. He’d bought it early when things like scars were still a worry for him. He closes the cabinet, locking optics with Soundwave through the reflective surface. He unscrews the cap and hands it off.

Soundwave wastes no time apply it in thick layers over the burn mark, taking his care to cover it, until his face has a sheen of white from the ointment.

It doesn’t make an immediate difference, but it makes Soundwave’s field relax and that’s enough for Jazz. He hangs out by his sink, words stuck in his throat as he looks at Soundwave.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find you sooner.” It’s a half-hearted regret. Jazz burns even saying it out loud, admitting to such inadequacy. He should have been better.

Soundwave caps the tube, putting it back in its place in Jazz’s cabinet, and looks into the mirror again. He seems just as lost words as Jazz. When he speaks, it surprises Jazz, “It is my own fault this happened, I had not taken proper precautions. The damage I received, to my symbiotes, it is on my shoulders to bare.”

“You’re still the same as ever.” It’s said with a smile, Jazz’s optics hiding the bitter twist he feels.

Soundwave turns his helm to look at Jazz, to his stance, his demeanor. Somewhere underneath that, was an empty that lived by scrabbling on the ground, in the dirt. He regrets not knowing Jazz more before the war, then maybe he’d know how much he’s changed since then. As it is, he’s staring into the visor of a friend more than a stranger.

If only he were a different mech, then this wouldn’t have happened. Why did Jazz have to make every decision harder?

Chapter Text

The Prime’s office was never a space he liked to be in, but it was one Jazz found himself in often. He’s sitting in front of Prime, Ironhide and Prowl are missing, making this a private meeting between them. Jazz can count on his servo the number of times that’s happened, none of them good. He waits for Optimus to speak.

“There have been some concerns regarding Soundwave that have been brought to my attention.”  Optimus brings up as gently as possible, “Now that Soundwave is no longer bound to the medical wing, more secure options need to be considered for his containment.”

“I’m not putting him in a cell.” Jazz pushes back.

“Soundwave is a dangerous mech, proper security measures need to be taken. I understand that imprisonment is not conducive to your goal Jazz, but Soundwave can not be left free to roam. You have been able to balance your work and Soundwave for the time being, but it is unrealistic for you to monitor him continuously. Your work is important and cannot be ignored,” Optimus reminds him.

“I can handle it,” Jazz insists, “Let me use the full amount of time we agreed to before we consider the brig, please.” His voice takes on a desperate twinge. He grips the arms of the chair in two fistfuls. He can’t back down now, he can’t.

He raises a servo, pacifying Jazz. His field is calm as he directs his voice. “I am putting my trust in you Jazz. I will allow you to continue with Soundwave using your discretion, but if your work flags, we will once again consider alternative measures. We have a science division we could employ to come up with a gentle restraint of some kind.”

 Jazz settles in his seat, “I won’t disappoint you Prime.” He means it. This time, he’s going to best Soundwave.

Optimus smiles gently, barely enough to crinkle the corners of his optics, “You never do Jazz, though sometimes you worry me.”

*

His cheek stings as Megatron pelts him with another slap. Starscream struggles to stay standing. His mouth tastes like energon, his dente cutting the inside of his mouth. He holds back his revolution, swallowing down the blood. He meets Megatron’s optics with a heated glare.

The warlord’s servo is still out, the arm frozen in his anger, “I told you to stop looking for Soundwave.” He spits.

Starscream keeps his defiance, straightening to his full height, still miniscule before Megatron. “I believe you’ll find I am doing the job you were supposed to, Lord Megatron.”

“Don’t take me for a fool, Starscream,” Megatron chastises, “I know what you’re up to, and don’t think for a moment I don’t.”  

Bots move swiftly around them on both sides in the hallway, keeping their helms down lest Megatron’s ire turns to them.

“What then if the Autobots discover your negligence? You think they will be so kind as to accept you had better things to do?” The seeker challenges.

“What the Autobots do is none of your concern. You are to lead your fleets and fight my battles. If I catch you stepping out of line again, I will put a permanent end to your enterprising.” Megatron threatens.

Starscream growls between clenched dente, “Very well… Lord Megatron.” He bows low, dipping his helm almost to his knees. He holds the pose until Megatron moves out from in front of him. Starscream keeps his wings tense as he follows Megatron in his peripheral vision. The hit from behind is expected, Starscream does well to not fall on his face. He stumbles a pace and recovers, looking around at the troops who have stopped to stare at the air commander.

“Well? What are you looking at!” he yells.

They scurry away like rats. Cowards, the lot of them.

He holds himself together long enough to scream in his quarters. He is tired of suffering such humiliations. He blows blood from his nasal ridge. He tongues the piece of sponge shoved in his mouth, it squishes softly against his prying, the taste of energon briefly filling his mouth. He leaves it be to fall onto his berth in misery.

He slams a fist into his berth since he can’t slam a fist into Megatron’s face. He holds his stinging fist up, clenching and unclenching his digits. A deranged giggle leaves his lips as he remembers the looks on the bots around them. No doubt there’ll be gossip about the event. Already Megatron’s attempts to silence him were back firing.

He’ll get Skywarp to spread the rumors, same with Thundercracker. See what megatron does when it’s more than just Starscream scrutinizing his actions.

He relaxes for a moment, satisfied. In his basking his mind works further, unable to stop working over the plan until it was a smooth dough for him to manipulate.

Starscream drags his body from his berth, stretching his wings as he finds himself in front of Dead End’s door. The flop of a combiner part opens the door with the same tired annoyance as the first time. Starscream smiles, the only one happy to see the other.

Once again, Starscream bullies his way inside, heading straight for Dead End’s terminal. It’s no trouble at all the find the hard drive’s, Starscream cloning the contents to a stick of his own, scrubbing the devices soon after, leaving him with the master copies. He dangles the now emptied hard drive by its cord tauntingly. “There wouldn’t be anymore of these would there?” Starscream asks innocently.

Dead End swallows, condensation starting to form on his plating, “W-what do you mean?”

“Well, you said it yourself, you only got up to four. I want the rest.” Starscream says with a vicious grin.

“Sir, when the site went down, the tapes got lost. The forums too, it’s all been erased. I might be the only mech to still have copies.” Dead End tries to explain but it does little to lessen the manic grin on the jet’s face.

“So this is the only remainders? No others would have them?” Starscream says, his tone giddy and excited.

“Not unless they stored them like I did.” Dead End states. That wasn’t likely. Most preferred a hidden folder with a partition, avoiding the mess of a physical trail. From what he’d heard, those folders had been targeted as well. Who ever was behind it had gone full scorched earth.

Starscream’s grin curls at the corner, a dark look in his optics as he clutches the hard drives cord in his servos, “Perfect.” He purrs.

*

It was the third time his office door had been opened and Prowl marched in. Jazz sighs in frustration as he looks up from his terminal, optics tired already. Soundwave remains as he has the last two times, still in his chair in front of his desk.

“Jazz, I need you to look this over-“ Prowl demands.

“-I’m busy Prowl.” Jazz interrupts, “I can look at it later.”

“It’s a time sensitive matter, I can’t wait. I’ve tried to tell you this twice now.” Prowl growls, stalking closer to Jazz.

“Fine. Soundwave, go stand in the hall.” Jazz shoos.

The carrier gives Jazz a disdainful glance. he stays put as Jazz shoos at him again.

“If he won’t leave, we can take this matter in my office.” Prowl suggests, tugging Jazz up from his desk.

Jazz’s arm lifts as the rest of him stays still, his voice lacking all humor, “You’re funny. Soundwave, stand in the hall or get put in the brig. You know the deal I made with Optimus.”

Soundwave’s visor flashes once, the deep scarlet turning a bright carnelian in outrage. He gets up in slow deliberate movements, stalking his way outside the office, fixing himself in the doorway with the door open. 

“Door closed Soundwave.”

The door slams shut, the frame rattling as he does so.

Slowly, Prowl lets go of Jazz’s arm, lowering back to its place on his terminal keyboard. His optics glue to the door, watching it nervously. “Is that going to secure enough?” Prowl asks.

“It’ll be fine. He can’t hear us out there, and don’t buy into his hype about reading thoughts, that was a lie he spread for fun.” Jazz lists off, holding a servo up for Prowl, “Now what did I need to look over?”

Prowl hands over the data pad, looking at the floor of Jazz’s office, “Where’s Ravage?”

“Hangin’ out with Ratchet. Soundwave promised her good behaviour for the leg back. Jackie’s prolly installin’ it now.” Jazz says casually, going through the documents. 

“Do you think that wise?”

“We’ll have to see. So far, it’s been working out.” Soundwave hasn’t been outwardly hostile to him besides that one time in his room. It was still too early to broach the topic of becoming an Autobot, but Jazz was hoping the time was coming soon.

Prowl looks at him, unhappy with the current predicament, but unwilling to interfere. He’s come to trust Jazz on things like this. The datapad gets handed back to him with a lopsided grin.

“Was that everything?” jazz asks.

“For now,” Prowl confirms.

“Try to keep it electronic goin’ forward. He gets cranky when I kick him out.”  Jazz says, looking towards the door.

Prowl will try. He bids the saboteur adieu, stopping himself from hissing when Soundwave appears before him. The enforcer side steps him, the Decepticon follows him with his helm until the door is closed again.

Soundwave takes his time getting to his seat, preferring to stand and simply stare at Jazz. He’s still so very tired. The baseline of exhaustion has not eased since Soundwave has begun rooming with him. He can hear him at night, still awake and watching them. “Perhaps you should rest.” Soundwave offers.

Jazz lets out a sardonic laugh, ignoring Soundwave’s suggestion. He pounds at his keys a moment longer, glancing briefly to see Soundwave still standing before him. “Somethin’ on your mind?” He ventures.

Soundwave declines to speak, finally sitting in his chair across from Jazz. It’s another long minute of silence, Jazz working as Soundwave observes him. Jazz’s face is highly expressive, and Soundwave gets wrapped up in watching the way his mouth mouths as he reads reports to himself. He picks up snippets of what’s on the page that largely mean nothing to him.

“Why did you become an Autobot?”

“Little late to be asking that now.”

Silence reigns again, but Soundwave has always been patient.

“I liked their pitch better than yours.” Jazz admits.

“Is that all?” 

“How much ancient history do you want to retread Soundwave?” Jazz asks, a little accusatory, “Why did you become a Decepticon?”

Soundwave did not have an answer. It had been so long ago; he might have always been one. “Things needed to change.”

“You certainly changed them.”

Soundwave lets the words bite into him. It is not undeserved. The Decepticons had certainly changed things, for better or for worse. “Do you believe you are on the right side?”

“Let me put it to you this way mech: My side would have looked for you.”  

‘I would have hunted for you. I would have never stopped looking for you.’ But these aren’t words Jazz can say out loud, let alone to his enemy. Instead, he settles for something else, “What about you? Are you on the right side?”

Soundwave does not answer him. Jazz continues his work in silence.

*

He leaves the Autobot’s tonight. Soundwave decides this with Ravage on his lap in the middle of the night. He has spent too long here, languishing. With three of his four symbiotes repaired, Soundwave is willing to sacrifice Laserbeak. She will be miserable, but she will be home, and he will not be faced with these doubts anymore. The thought cements itself further as he rouses the twins from their slumber.

They grumble across the bond but obey, working on slipping away from their watchers. Soundwave does the same, sitting up in his berth.

Jazz is awake in an instant, never recharging to begin with. His blue visor watches Soundwave from the floor, his body betraying the tension that’s gathering in his limbs. Even now, tense and waiting, Soundwave can see how tired he is.

Soundwave hesitates. Ravage is still curled up on his lap, her new unpainted leg standing out in the dim light of their visors. Her ears twitch and flick as she pretends to be asleep.

“Is it tonight?” Jazz asks to the air, not stupid enough to miss Soundwave’s intentions.

Soundwave nods his helm. It is too late for him to change his mind.

Jazz sighs. Defeat lines his field as he rolls onto his back to cover his visor with his arm. “Damn. You should have lied and told me you weren’t gonna.”

“I make it a habit not to.”

“You were the only honest one back then too. You really are the same as ever,” Jazz rolls onto his side again, to look at Soundwave one last time before they formally become enemies again, “How did I ever think I could change you?”  

Soundwave didn’t know. Their conversation was over. Ravage sprung, and Soundwave was on his way out.

He runs down the halls, using his eldest distraction to his full advantage, heading to Wheeljack’s lab for Laserbeak and his weapons. The twins join him shortly, flanking him on either side as he breaks in, retrieving their sister and his sonic canon.

The familiar weight settles on his shoulder like an old friend when the alarms blare, a signal their time was almost up. He orders the twins to secure them an exit as he stalks further into the base. He goes down the different twists and turns of the corridor until he’s in front of Jazz’s office. He wastes no time breaking in and accessing the saboteur’s terminal.

He breaks through the passwords, fumbling around the desk drawers for a data slug as he begins downloading everything from his terminal. A few open portals catch Soundwave’s attention, he clicks them to reveal Jazz rooting around in the Decepticon forums and network. Soundwave notes the trip mines he’s set up, the list of words he’s chosen are important to monitor. Among those is his own name and Grind Core. Out of sick curiosity, Soundwave clicks his name.

He's flooded with thousands of results of Decepticons talking about him, the most recent tagging their messages with some variation of righteous anger. He reads through them, finding posts containing information the bots should not have from his time at Grond Core. There’s a general copy pasted message on most of them, demanding a reform within the Decepticons. He scrolls down to the origin.

He's greeted by the sight of Buzzsaw again as he’s put through the grinder. His little wings flapping as he tries to escape it. A servo reaches on screen to grab his cassette to pull him from the grinder a short way to reposition him, so the teeth dig into his body better. The short clip plays on loop silently and Soundwave is stuck watching it as the bold text underneath drills into his optics.

This is what Megatron was hiding from you.

Chapter Text

The feeling comes over them as a wave crashing into the side of a cliff face. It hits them all at once, washing their bodies to the shore. They fall to their knees, panic struck into their core. It’s as if they’re thrust into a vacuum, breathless and suspended. They pat around their chests, feeling the plating around their sparks, searching for something that was never physical.

“Boss? Boss?” Frenzy calls as he tries to re open the bond between them.

The link between them stays dead, floating next to the phantom remnants of their brother’s. The sound of the horrible grinder starts up, its teeth gripping and tearing into their plating as they plead. Something is terribly, terribly, wrong.

*

His servos are slick with his own blood, the scratches and bites taking their toll. Jazz has Ravage in a head lock, her deadly paws flailing out in front of her. He managed to get the alarm off, but anything else was out of the question. Jazz is barely hanging on to Ravage, his servos slipping with every twist of her agile body. He grits his dente as she tries to rip him loose. His face is bleeding from where she got a shot across his nose. He keeps blowing blood from his mouth, the taste inescapable. He prays someone comes to check on him before Ravage can get loose.

She thrashes twice more before going still. Her body stiffens as she begins looking around the room, confused. She lets out little searching meows that grow more frantic in quality. She drags Jazz bodily to his door, her sharp claws, now pawing at the automatic slider to be let out. She’s howling and it takes Jazz too long to let go of her.  It’s sad, scared sounds, ones he heard from the video and Jazz knows somethings wrong.

He opens his door and watches Ravage search, prowling up and down the corridor in quick steps as she lets out those same searching meows. She demands every door open, pawing and howling outside of them until Jazz lets her look inside.

The alarm continues, the beacons on the side of the walls tinting everything in red. The energon is still flowing, and Jazz has to stop to wipe the driblets that run down his face. He follows Ravage around the base, listening to her cries as she searches.

It’s a mindless endeavour. Jazz just lifts his pedes, praying Ravage finds what she’s looking for. There’s a trail of energon that marks their path around the ark, chaotic and loose, leading to Jazz’s office door with its busted lock.

He pushes the door aside, Ravage goes ahead of him, her meows softening in quality as she plods her way up to Soundwave. She paws at his leg, chuffing and rubbing against her carrier.

Jazz can tell immediately something isn’t right, Soundwave is too still. His mouth is open, frozen, petrified by something on Jazz’s screen. He vaults around Ravage, only glancing to see what has Soundwave so locked up. The sight twists Jazz’s tanks.

“Don’t look, don’t look.” Jazz repeats, his servo covering Soundwave’s visor. He pulls Soundwave’s helm against his chassis, holding him steady as he turns off the screen. The terminal powers off with a click, the light of the screen no longer bathing them in its blue light. The tears wet the palm of Jazz’s servo, running over the new scar to collect in the hollow of his wrist.

Jazz’s mouth is set in a grim line. Soundwave’s vents are coming out in ragged gasps. Blood drips off the tip of Jazz’s nasal ridge to beat against the surface of his desk in a steady rhythm. There’s a quiet meow.

Jazz takes a deep breath of his own. “Hey,” He says quietly, almost a whisper into Soundwave’s audial, “Can you hear me?” He asks.

Soundwave gulps, pushing a distressed whine from his throat. The servo around his optics tightens, pushing the back of his helm into Jazz’s chassis fully.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. I need you to breathe with me, Soundwave you’re having a panic attack.” It’s a sentence Jazz never imagined he’d have to say. The thought is so bizarre, it threatens to unmoor Jazz from the situation.

He guides Soundwave with deep breaths, getting him to cycle his vents until the little shudders as he inhales are gone. Slowly, so carefully and slowly, Jazz lifts his servo from his optics, settling the limb on Soundwave’s shoulder.

The screen remains dead. It doesn’t stop Soundwave from seeing those burnt pixels. “He knew.”

Jazz nods his helm, his blood beading down his face again. “Starscream’s using it to push for a coup. He’s made hundreds of those posts. I-“ Jazz’s voice cracks, his throat filling with emotion, “I thought I had destroyed  the videos.”

The servo on Soundwave’s shoulder shakes. He is threatening to spill tears, hot angry, burning things to mingle in his blood. How? How did he miss these?

 Jazz fights back tears long enough to send off a com, letting Optimus know where he is. The lights stay off as they wait, still in tableau.

The anxious chirping from Ravage has ceased, she lays curled around Soundwave’s pedes protectively.

The knock against the door frame is impossibly loud, echoing for years in his mind. It’ll be the only thing Jazz will hear when he enters his office now, that single knock from the prime as he held the third in command of his enemy against his chassis.

Optimus waits in his doorway, silhouetted by the hallway over heads.

The twins hang around his legs, anxious to see their carrier alright. Jazz can catch the sight of chains, their servos bound in front of them. From around Optimus’ bulk, Wheeljack peaks around, Laserbeak carefully cradled to his chest. She looks impossibly small in his arms without her prosthetic wings.

Jazz nods them in.

The twins don’t rush to swarm Soundwave as Jazz would expect. They move towards them instead with weary caution, all their movements slow and deliberate. They reach their small arms out, servos grasping towards his plating, mumbling little pleas as they touch and press upon their carrier for some form of comfort. They seem to receive it, the pleas drying up as they hold onto what ever part of Soundwave they can reach.

Wheeljack moves a bit slower, unsure where to stand. He holds Laserbeak out to Soundwave, offering his last symbiote to him.

Soundwave looks into Laserbeak’s red optics and holds his arms open to her. She hops into his embrace, crushed against his open and healing dock. He holds her through the fresh wave of tears as he’s reminded of Buzzsaw all over again.

He told himself he would never fail them again; how could he have thought of sacrificing her?

“Soundwave,” Optimus’ booming voice is reduced to a whisper such is the power of the Soundwave’s fragility, “I believe it is past time we spoke.”

*

The whole clade is with him in Optimus’ office, refusing to leave his side, and Soundwave refusing to let them go. They sit by his pedes, shackled. Identical chains hang from his own wrists as he sits across from Optimus. Behind his seat, is the real threat of Ironhide, blaster at the ready.

Optimus struggles to speak at first, choosing instead to settle his bulk behind his desk, framing himself to be square with Soundwave, equal. “I do not know how to ask this question delicately, so I will spare us the menagerie as you would Soundwave. Why, do you continue to call yourself a Decepticon after all that has been done against you and your clade?”

“Grind Core was my own error.” Soundwave defends, dodging the question.

Optimus stares down at him like a judge behind a podium, the simple stylus now a gavel waiting for be banged, “I am not speaking of Grind Core, though that is another nail in your coffin. I am speaking on the other countless times Megatron has left you to certain peril with the belief you would save yourself. This is not the first time you have been in this position Soundwave, nor I fear, your last if you continue to follow Megatron and his Decepticons.”

“I cannot be an Autobot.”

“The Decepticons are inhospitable for you Soundwave. If you return now, you will become Starscream’s pawn. He will use you, as he is doing now with the death of your cassette. Even if you avoid that fate, you will still be defending a mech who knew you were suffering and chose to stand by. You have very few options Soundwave, and I am offering you the chance to change sides. You do not have to decide right now, I simply ask you think on it.”

He tucks his helm to his chest, to look down at his remaining cassettes. Their optics all turn to stare at him. Four sets of optics drill into him nervously. “… I will have to consult with my clade.”

 Optimus nods, “I will wait outside my office with Ironhide, knock when you’ve made your decision. There will be no consequences, no matter what you decide.”

Soundwave tracks him around the room by the sound of his pedes until he and Ironhide are out of the office and the door latches shut. It sinks in Soundwave is alone, and he knows he has been defeated.

*

The solvent wash hurts as Ratchet dumps it into his cuts. Jazz grunts, flinching away from the pain. The pain is only momentary, as Ratchet dabs the energon away to examine Jazz’s wounds.

He’s got cuts up his arms, he servos, his face from Ravage. They’re all defensive as he tried to put Ravage in a hold without hurting her. It’s all minor to what she could have done to him. Jazz got damn lucky.

Ratchet tells him as much as he patches him up. Jazz barely listens, his mind somewhere else. There’s a memory of Soundwave, his plating beneath his servos, the feeling of his field, lingering. Jazz can’t stop himself from remembering him. He was as fragile as birds wing, beating against him.

Someone is coming up to them. It’s a flash of blue, the feeling of an unfamiliar field trying to interact with his, all sharp edges, that tells Jazz who it is.

He looks up and catches the nervous expression on Soundwave’s face, and then the red badge on his chest.

“It doesn’t suit you at all.” Jazz jokes.

The outline of Soundwave’s old badge is still visible from around the faction’s symbol, “I did not want to wear it either.”

“You still got the old one?”

Soundwave produces his badge, his old, his real one from his subspace. The paint is flecked and faded with age. Jazz can see the years of wear, the repaints and repairs. It holds the history of the war on its surface. The badge is at complete odds with the fresh and new Autobot one, slapped above Soundwave’s dock having never seen anything besides the inside of a cardboard box.

“May I?” Jazz asks before reaching for it.

Soundwave nods, as Jazz takes it, holding it up to the Medbay light before placing it over top of Soundwave’s autobrand, covering part of it from sight. Soundwave looks at Jazz, confused.

“You’re a Decepticon. Don’t let them try and make you change that.” Jazz smiles, a tired little thing, pushing the Decepticon badge firmly against his chest.

The meaning is clear, and Soundwave nods, scared, but willing to be changed.

Chapter Text

A servo clamped around his wing, launches Starscream forward. He stumbles a few paces, looking nervously between the bots that have gathered in attendance to the assembly Megatron has called, and Megatron himself. The panic of a trapped animal was driving itself into Starscream’s body. He went to take off, attempting to transform and take off the mainstage but was stopped by a strong servo around his ankle, dragging him out of his alt form and back to the ground.

The beating was swift and brutal. With wretched servos, Megatron tore into Starscream, denting plating, twisting wings, beating his second until he was a bloody crumpling mess. The bots watch, used to these displays between the pair. Starscream, a common example given to them of what infidelity to the cause would garner you. They watch as Megatron plants a crushing pede in between Starscream’s wings, pinning the seeker to the ground.

Starscream yells out, the noise muted by his own vain attempts to stifle the sound.

Megatron does not let him have that dignity and grinds his pede into his back until Starscream wails and the glass on his cock pit cracks. He speaks small enough for only his unfortunate second to hear him, “I give you a sliver of mercy despite constant perfidiousness and stupidity Starscream because your usefulness outweighs your death. Remain useful or it’ll be more than my pede in between your wings the next time you cross me.” Megatron growls.

The seeker cows under him, whimpering and nodding his helm, anything to appease the warlord. The pathetic display deflects his anger, and for a moment, the pede is eased, before Megatron shifts his weight to the audience and the force is once again crushing.

“You may have noticed Soundwave’s absence, you may have even noticed what my second has been pushing in our network, in our forums. These, tactless, tasteless challenges, and accusations leveled against me, blaming me for what Starscream so callously decided to call inaction.” Megatron looks around the crowd, watching their reactions, they are watching him rapt, waiting on his next words.

“I have always regarded Soundwave with the highest levels of respect. It is because of this; I would not insult him with coddling attempts at rescue. Soundwave is strong, he has never failed me, and he will return to us. Even now, he is hard at work for our cause, collecting information from the Autobots to give to us on his return. Soundwave lives, and he will return to us, greater than before. So, to my second, and to any who believed I was hiding the state of my third, know this, I have faith in my third and it would do you well to have faith in him as well.”

*

Ironhide casts a distrusting optic to Soundwave, and his replaced badge. The autobrand had been removed, and in its place, two twin lines of red on either side of his Decepticon badge marked Soundwave as other.  Ironhide couldn’t argue it didn’t suit him better, but he still didn’t like it. How were they supposed to trust a mech that still referred to themselves as a Decepticon? It made the whole thing feel insincere to the demolition’s expert. “So what are we calling him? Honorary Autobot?”

“Jazz came up with the term Decepticon Ally.” Prowl says, looking over Soundwave’s helm, not bothering to hide his skepticism.

That wasn’t a real thing as far as Ironhide was concerned. “Why is he sitting in on this anyways?” Ironhide says, pointing to the calmly seated Soundwave.

The former third turns his helm to gaze benevolently at Ironhide. It’s about as calming as a child holding a knife. Soundwave even tries to extend his field, something he noticed the Autobots doing frequently, only to have Ironhide pull his away with a grimace.

It is amusing, so Soundwave does it to Prowl, who reacts as if something just slithered under his plates.

Soundwave doesn’t stop the corners of his mouth from twitching up into a smile.

“Soundwave is here because he requested to be, and I deemed it fair that he knows his options and if so chooses to, contribute to his placement within the Autobots,” Optimus explains.

Prowl wrinkles his nasal ridge, his arms firmly crossed over his chassis.

Ironhide shifts on his pedes, looking around the office in the vain attempt to find inspiration for something positive to say.

“He’s not going anywhere close to our communications units.” Prowl speaks up, “Or our networks.”

There was no argument from Optimus or Ironhide there.

“What other skills does he have?” Ironhide asks the room, “I don’t want to waste him doing menial duties.”

“I could tell you.” Soundwave offers, addressing Ironhide directly. He does not hide his irritation at being talked at rather than to.

“Please, if you could Soundwave,” Optimus defuses the situation, guiding Soundwave away from a petty spat.

“Communications, infiltration, engineering, and surveillance.” Soundwave lists off succinctly.

It was an impressive skill set. It still left few positions for Soundwave on the Ark.

“What kind of engineering did you perform Soundwave?” Prowl asks.

“Fibre Optic.”

Still nothing. Prowl and Ironhide turn to Optimus for ideas.

There was a quiet consideration from their leader. With digits steepling, he thought on his present problem, the matrix offering him insights, unbidden and unasked for as he made his decisions. “I believe Mainframe is having issues shoring up our security on the Ark. Perhaps it would be in our best interest to utilize Soundwave in checking over our blind spots.”

 His officers did not hide their doubt, looking at him in perplexion and distrust at his suggestion, worries of sabotage evident, but Optimus wanted to believe in Soundwave. “Of course, you will be restricted in his work. There will be no access to our networks at large, just what we’d allow a trainee to complete.” Optimus specifies to Soundwave.

That relaxes Prowl, who nods his helm in ascent. Ironhide shrugs, unsure but willing to defer.

Optimus waits for Soundwave to confirm if he’s happy with the placement. Optimus waits, until it becomes clear Soundwave has no intent on speaking. “Soundwave, are you unhappy with the work?” Optimus asks.

It seems to snap Soundwave into attention, his red visor pulsing briefly as he finds Optimus’ optics, “No, security work is fine. I will do it.” He inclines his helm a second later, an old reflex he stutters through.

It’s becoming clearer to Optimus Soundwave isn’t used to choices. He bows back, offering Soundwave the same respect. He ends the meeting, gesturing towards his office door.

Prowl and Ironhide file out, waiting for Soundwave to pass. They hang around the door frame, dodging someone just out of Optimus’ sight. He can only guess who.

His guess is confirmed when a rounded horn peaks around the frame, revealing Jazz, anxiously waiting outside.

He smiles, waving at Optimus from his exile.

Optimus waves back, happy to see Jazz looking slightly more rested.

Jazz hops when Soundwave leaves, excitedly pulling up beside him, “So how was the job interview?” He jokes.

Optimus doesn’t hear the reply, the door closing before Soundwave can speak.

In the hall, Jazz’s playful ribbing is met with stoney silence from Soundwave. The carrier even chooses to acknowledge Prowl over his enthusiast handler.

“When is my work to begin?” Soundwave asks Prowl, hoping for some time soon.

“We’ll need to get Mainframe caught up on your inclusion on the security team and duties. It shouldn’t take more than a day.” Prowl assures.

It’s not soon enough, but once again, Soundwave is reminded to be patient. He is grateful they are even allowing him the opportunity to work without outwardly asking for Decepticon intelligence.

That is not to say they have not asked for any. It has always been implied with subtle calls for proof of his new allegiance. He would not betray one side for the other. Fickle loyalty made for weak allies. The Autobots would have to earn his trust, the same way he was earning his.

“Uh oh,” Jazz says from his side, going still, “Zoo’s loose.”

Prowl’s brows furrow at the words, “What do you mean ‘Zoo’s loose’?”

“I gotta go Prowler, Soundwave could you come with me, please? Right now?” Jazz subtly begs.

With a day out from any sort of work, Soundwave supposes he has no choice. He gives Prowl a glance and gets his permission to leave. Chasing Jazz down the halls, he wonders what his cassettes have done now.

*

In all fairness, Wheeljack had said he could handle the tiny terrors. He had. For about thirty minutes and then they had got him talking about his projects and distracted long enough he hadn’t noticed half of his audience sneaking off to the floor vents and climbing inside. Of course, Wheeljack went to look for the escapee, and the other one took that as his cue and disappeared with Ravage. At least he hadn’t lost Laserbeak.

Crawling backwards out of the vent, Wheeljack looked behind to his desk to see her little bed empty.

“Ah Scrap.”

*

Rumble can’t keep his hold on Laserbeak. She wiggles and caws, pecking at his servos as he makes his mad dash. She’s flapping her little wing stubs, trying to swing her helm and to use her nasty beak and bite his face. He can feel through the bond she is furious at him for taking her out of the very comfortable nesting bed she had been in.

Rumble held the evil bird as far away from himself as he could, dodging her blatant attempts at blinding him. When his face becomes too hard to hit, she turns her wicked peak to his innocent digits, pecking at his knuckles.

“Ow!” Rumble yells, almost dropping Laserbeak as he juggles her between his servos. “Will you stop that?” he screams, trying once again to hold her.

She screeches, kicking her feet at Rumble. Her talons shred air in a futile attempt at disembowelling her sibling. The bond pulses again with her rage, and with it comes Soundwave’s answering annoyance.

Busted.  

“You ratted me out!” Rumble cries out betrayed.

Laserbeak clacks her beak and tweets in an imitation of a laugh. It takes a lot for Rumble not to throw her.

The next corner is unlucky, Jazz speeding from around it to catch them.

Rumble backpedals. His pedes skid of the Ark’s floors, drawing up deep scratch marks as he pivots away from the saboteur.

Jazz lunges for the mini, just missing him. He hits the floor with a swear, scrambling back to his pedes. His longer legs eat up the distance between them and on his second attempt, he has Rumble securely grabbed under his arms, holding him aloft.

“Gotcha!” Jazz crows triumphantly.

Rumble squirms futility a few times in token resistance before giving up the ghost and going limp and annoying in Jazz’s grasp.

Laserbeak cranes their helm around Rumble to stare at Jazz. She chirps at him once which he imitates to her back. The bird flares her plating, offended.

“So, what was the game plan here? You know your boss is on probation. Don’t tell me you want to go back to the Decepticons that bad.” Jazz interrogates, shaking the cassette gently.

Rumble continues to hang limp and useless, trying to slide out of Jazz’s grip. He brings his legs up to his chest, trying to get Jazz to drop him.

Jazz sighs, seeing that he’s going to get no where with Rumble. He turns around, presenting Soundwave with his petulant symbiote, holding him out for the other, “Soundwave, can you talk some sense into him?”

Rumble stiffens in Jazz’s grip, frightened optics focusing on his upset carrier. He holds Laserbeak up as a weak shield between him and Soundwave. He flinches when he feels Soundwave’s emotions down the bond. He knows he’s screwed up, but he had a good reason.

“Where’s your brother?” Soundwave coldly asks.

“In the vents,” he confesses.

From Rumble’s grasp Laserbeak squawks, demanding Soundwave take her. The carrier obliges, placing her on his shoulder. She adjusts her grip for a few seconds, before settling down, staring at her captive sibling with glee.

Rumble lets her know what he thinks of her for it.

“You were told to stay with Wheeljack.” Soundwave reminds Rumble. The implication is clear.

“We did! Then we got bored so we you know…” Rumble’s voice trails off only picking up again at the end of his sentence, “…. Went to go hang out with Sunny and Sides.”

“Seriously?” Jazz asks, bringing Rumble closer to him, “The twins got deployed, they’re not here. If you wanted to hang with them, you could have asked Wheeljack and he would have taken you guys to them.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Rumble shouts indignantly.

Jazz winces at the volume, dropping the angry symbiote. “Okay, you made your point. Keep it up and I’ll make you experience the horror of hanging out with Eject and Rewind again.” Jazz dodges the sloppy kick aimed at his shins with a brisk two step before returning the favor, sending Rumble sprawling. He ignores the seething symbiote in favor of his more stoic carrier, “So what’s the plan to get Ravage?”

 Soundwave ignores Rumble, “She will return to me. Frenzy will need to be retrieved.”  

Jazz deflates. Great, time spent crawling around. It could be worse; it could be wet in the vents and full of mud. “I’ll get on that then. You got the little guys?” Jazz asks.

Soundwave inclines his helm. He’s taken care of his clade for more than 5 million years; he could manage the three of them loose.

“Good, I’ll drop you off at Jackie’s, hunt down your little brat and then… I can show you the new digs.” Jazz says with an excited lilt.

Soundwave had no doubt whatever ‘digs’ Jazz put them in, it’d be more spacious than his over cramped room.

*

Soundwave had been right; the room was spacious. Large enough to fit himself and his symbiotes freely. A pair of bunked berths, a single solitary one for himself, two smaller ground berths for Ravage and Laserbeak. There was even a small entertainment area consisting of a bookshelf for holonovels and a monitor.

It was pleasant and more than had been offered to him on the Nemesis. He almost didn’t know what to do with so much space, used to living in half as much.  

The twins took no time exploring the new space, investigating, and fighting over the bunks. Ravage similarly took to checking out her new bed, settling down in it after a few pacing circles for a light nap. A few excited hops and tweets let Soundwave know Laserbeak was eager to join in. Upon being placed on the ground, she raced around, darting around the open floor plan and in between legs as she made herself at home.

“There’s a communal washrack down the hall from here. The door locks at night, for both our and your safety. It won’t open unless there’s an emergency in that case, it’ll unlock automatically.” Jazz explains from his side, “If there’s anything missing, just hit me up and I’ll try and find it for you.”

“No, this is more than sufficient…” Soundwave fumbles, the final words sticking in his throat.

Jazz smiles, gesturing to the door behind them, “C’mon, let’s get you gooped and fueled then.” He laughs when he sees Soundwave’s crinkled face at his phrasing.

Soundwave follows him anyways, sipping down his cube of medigrade. The green energon is thick, in a half jello consistency. There’s next to no taste to it, though for most mechs, it’s the texture that upsets them. For Soundwave, it is a negligible problem in the grand scheme of things. He’s aware from the few times bots have seen him eat, his non reaction is always a source of amazement.

Jazz is no different, flicking the light behind his visor in surprise. He says nothing about it, just patiently waiting for Soundwave to finish his cube and cleanse.

When the solvent is shut off and the remnants dried from his frame, Soundwave submits himself once again to Jazz’s digits inside his docking mechanism.

The nanite gel is cool, soothing the sore and hot spots in his frame. Jazz takes care to cover every inch he can, his touch thorough but never lingering. The act is hypnotic, lolling Soundwave into a more relaxed state. He tries to busy his mind as to not focus on the way Jazz’s digits feel. He thinks of something to say, to break the intimate silence between them. All that comes to mind is the past. “You were missed when you left.” Soundwave says.

It gets a snort out of Jazz, a sad chuckle, “Who missed me? Ransack?”

“Along with others.” Soundwave confirms.

“They probably don’t miss me much these days, except maybe with a blaster.” Jazz jokes, pulling his digits away from Soundwave’s dock.

“You could have been my second if you stayed.”

“Now I’m the Autobot third.” It’s said like a challenge, issued in such a way Jazz is practically begging for Soundwave to find fault and fight back. There is none to find, what was said was true.

They’re not quite eye level, with Jazz’s bumper hitting just in the middle of his dock, but it’s close enough. “Now you are the Autobot third.” Soundwave agrees.

Jazz hands over the scar cream, pressing it into Soundwave’s servo for him to keep, “Who knows,” Jazz says, looking away with a cheeky grin, “Maybe if you stay long enough, you’ll be my second.”

The idea is not as repulsive as Soundwave would think. In a few millennia perhaps, but that is still a long time away, even for a species that does not age.  

Chapter Text

The banks of monitors are outdated, old crtv screens of human creation mixed in with the ancient ones from the Ark. It’s a patchwork system half run with foreign components and tech. It’s a masterclass in scavenging and it takes Soundwave a moment to marvel at how the Autobots had continued to push back against them with this as the hub for their security systems.

It’s as baffling as it is commendable. Perhaps the Decepticons had been underestimating the Autobot’s human connections.  Soundwave has no time to examine more of their structure before Jazz sits him down in a random seat, vaguely introduce the mechs and run away.

The door to the tiny security room slams shut, and the temperature inside triples. The computer’s fans kick on and Soundwave has to fight his own frame from doing the same.

The mechs in security are an interesting group of characters. Led by the paranoid Red Alert, the computer savvy Mainframe and his partner apparent Jackpot, who did little more than add a bit of flare to the room. It was clear within the first minutes of Soundwave being there, Red Alert did the vast majority of the work, and for that he felt an instant kinship with the bot. Red Alert’s feelings towards him weren’t so warm. His natural suspicion had the mech drawing up a multitude of conclusions about Soundwave before the carrier has even spoken a word.

It reminds Soundwave of Starscream. ‘Ah,’ Soundwave thinks, ‘Just like home.’ Some things never change.

“So,” Mainframe starts, leaning over Soundwave’s procured seat, staring into his red visor, “Says here you’re my trainee.”

Soundwave didn’t like how he said that. Neither did Ravage, who squeezed her way into the gap between them, propelling herself upwards to Grab Mainframe’s shoulders to growl in his face. The software geek yelps, fleeing from Soundwave and into Jackpot’s arms as Ravage lets out a warning growl before circling around Soundwave’s pedes.

Red Alert zeroes in on them like a hawk, his servo twitching at his side. A glance between the two, has Soundwave calling off his attack cat. Ravage settles, her body relaxing as she moves to lay down. The security chief mumbles something about ‘black paint’ before going quiet, his servo resting against his thigh.

Mainframe relaxes marginally, his death grip on Jackpot loosening an inch. “Right, sorry,” He apologizes, “Shouldn’t have gotten in your face like that. Let’s try again? My name’s Mainframe, I deal mainly with the coding and maintenance of the cameras. How do you do?”

Soundwave doesn’t dignify Mainframe with an answer. Soundwave can feel Red Alert’s exhaustion double at the question, his field dumping it and mingling it with what little tendrils Soundwave lets free.

“Not very talkative…” Jackpot grumbles.

“That’s okay. There’s a lot we do here and can go over, I’m sure it’s going to be a little different from how you had things on the Nemesis.” Mainframe says with strained cheer.

“Only what a trainee can know,” Red Alert reminds him.

“Right.” Mainframe corrects. “You want to start with the cameras?”

Perhaps changing sides was a mistake. He sees his expression echoed in Red Alert’s. It was going to be a long day.

*

They got dumped with Cliffjumper and Brawn today. Two losers in the optics and sparks of Rumble and Frenzy. It was clear they’d be going on a rotation until Jazz could find someone they couldn’t give the slip to or beat the tar out of. It seems like he covered his second base; Rumble tries to deck Brawn only to get tossed like a paper weight by the super strong mini.

It causes a moment of pause and reflection for Frenzy as he watches his twin sail through the air and land with a thud on his back.

Rumble groans, the new welds not taking kindly to being slammed against the floor of the Ark. From his position on the floor, the overhead lights blind him briefly before Brawn’s smug face hovers into view.

“Have a nice flight?” He says.

Rumble growls, gritting his dente. He takes a half-hearted swing, clocking nothing but air.

Brawn laughs a deep laugh, at the flailing youngster. Ah, youth. He remembers when he was just as spirited.

“C’mon Brawn, don’t tease him. He was never going to win against you.” Cliffjumper says from his spot against the wall.

“Say that again red bumblebee.” Frenzy challenges, getting in the mini’s face. He only comes up to Cliffjumper’s torso making his glare less effective than a puppy, but Frenzy was a Decepticon with his pride on the line.

“He was never going to win against Brawn, same way you’d never win against me.” It’s said with such an air of cockiness, it makes all the energon in Frenzy’s body rush to his helm.   

Frenzy barks a laugh. There was no way he’d lose against some second stringer; he was an elite Decepticon soldier. “I could beat you blind folded!”

“Wanna test it?” Cliffjumper taunts, leaning in with a smile on his face.

Frenzy takes a step forward. He gets up on his pede tips, trying his best to meet Cliffjumper, optic to optic, “Bring it.”  

*

“Oh yeah look at that, the camera fritzs when it spots Ravage.” Soundwave can hear Mainframe say over their walkie talkie.

Soundwave waits patiently, listening in to Red Alert and Mainframe discuss the issue.

“Try changing the colour settings and gamut outputs.” He can hear Red Alert say.

“Make it darker or lighter? I’ll just try both.” Ravage paces in the camera’s sightlines, bored of her work. She sends her feelings of frustration down the line to Soundwave.

Soundwave responds back comforting her. The phantom bond pings a dull echo of pain. Soundwave has to stop himself from chasing it.

There’s a small cheer as the camera picks up Ravage in full. Then instructions to try and sneak past. Soundwave sends an affirmative back and does what he’s been doing for the better part of a day.

He braces himself, scanning the area and picking his path. This type of maintenance was important, but tedious. It rankles Soundwave slightly that he was effectively cutting off his own escapes. He submits himself to these feelings, dissecting them for their origin.

The image of Buzzsaw in the grinder, the information Megatron hid, the implication of what could have been avoided. The blame firmly placed on Megatron, disregarding Soundwave’s bad choices, his own faults. No one was blaming Soundwave for what had transpired, he was a victim.

Soundwave was not used to being victimized. It was never something he considered himself. He was a Decepticon because he was strong, because he believed in change.

In Grind Core he had his thoughts, his pain to keep himself aware. He had the helpless knowledge that there would never be a rescue for him. He’s felt true helplessness then, unable to move, to fight back against an impossible enemy. He’d put himself in that position, in the same way as he chose to be an Autobot.

He could have returned to the Decepticons. He could have returned and exonerated Megatron, brought back valuable information, claim it was part of a long con. He could have returned to the Decepticons as a hero again, maybe win them the war. All he had to ignore was the indirect hand Megatron had in his suffering as he had done for years.

How many more things would Soundwave have sacrificed if Jazz had never found him? How long would it have taken for Megatron to admit he was wrong and save him? What of his cassettes? How many more would have died for Megatron’s pride, for his apathy towards Soundwave and his life? Why did Megatron have to make him into a victim of his cause?

It was in the halls of the Ark, Soundwave decides Megatron had never been a Decepticon.

*

He couldn’t leave it well enough alone. Jazz just needs that closure, so he finds himself back in those dark web forums, digging around for him. He needs to know the fragments he found were him, not just parts destroyed in the heat of battle.

Scorching the earth has turned Broker into a boogeyman. Jazz’s decision coming back to bite him in the aft as less and less of the netizens want to talk to him. They’re sussing out his accounts as a bad actor in their inner circles. Jazz curses himself for his carelessness. It was still worth it, regardless of the damage Starscream did posting the scattered remains of his torture. Jazz’s actions had made sure those videos were seen as off limits.

There’s been no reposting of the tapes, the ones that crop up are swiftly deleted by the forums staff, unwillingly to have their site nuked.

Jazz borrows a few different sock puppets and profiles from his other agents to get what he wants. A single name and lead to who might know exactly where Broker is. It’s just Jazz’s luck, they’re on his side and relatively close by.

He lets Optimus know he’ll be out of the base and arranges transport to the main hub for their distribution and supply operations. It’s a short hop in a shuttle to get to the Mars base and warehouses. The compound sprawls and spreads across the red planets surface, taking the once barren landscape over with turrets and shuttle landing strips. It takes Jazz a few minutes to get used to the new gravity of the planet.

The drones beep as he passes, acknowledging his presence but continuing their endless stocking and restocking. Jazz isn’t interested in them and does his best to stay out of their automated paths, heading to the inside of the main warehouse.

The red dust follows him inside, trailing in threads of smoke that get swept away as soon as they arrive. The inside of the warehouse is kept immaculate, the stacks of supplies all squared and labelled. Jazz looks around the stacks, finding the marked paths for the few sentient visitors and following them to the overseer’s office. The plaque on the door isn’t accurate and hasn’t been for years. There was a time when this position was rotated through, no one wanting to stay out here.

He can hear the rumblings of neocybex on the other side of the door, three silhouettes in the office’s light. He waits a minute. Jazz knocks on the door, the conversation stops. It opens, the nervous face of a clown car appears. He blinks at Jazz, his dark face confused, and then scared.

“I didn’t do anything.” He quickly says.

“I’m not here for you. I need to have a chat with Short Stock.” It’s all Jazz needs to say for the clown car and typewriter to clear out, leaving behind the hovercraft overseer. The door latches shut behind them, and Jazz takes his time sitting in front of Short Stock’s desk.

The hovercraft shifts awkwardly. The large fan on his back gives a half whirl, moving in slow spins as Jazz gets himself seated. There’s no reason for Jazz to be here, not any specific ones, but Short Stock came from the same places as him.

Glitchy one offs often end up in the back alleys and dead ends of any city. Easy pickings for any fraudster or enterpriser looking for workers that don’t technically exist. Short Stock was one of those.

He probably had a few guesses why Jazz would seek him out, especially when the news of Grind Core broke. He was Broker’s doorman after all.

“I heard you’re the bot to talk to if I wanted to find Broker.” Jazz starts, reaching over to play with the nametag on Short Stock’s desk. The inside of his office is as spotless as his warehouse, everything smells faintly of cleaning chemicals, the fake lemon scent burning.

“I don’t know anything about him.” Short Stock denies, adjusting the name tag after Jazz puts It down, keeping its corners squared to the edge of the desk. “I do the books, that’s all I do. I don’t know anything about where Broker could be.”

“I think you do. Because I and a couple others very distinctly remember you running Broker’s rooms. You had your servos in a lot of different places. Pit, I saw your signature on a couple different manifests, though you were going by a different name then. What was it again? Tunnel Runner?”

 Short Stock pales at the mention of his old name. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Short Stock tries to say, but Jazz isn’t having it.

“I have your signature on old manifests, reports of you there, accepting payments, trafficking mechs. More than enough for Prowl to have a field day with your aft,” Jazz lays out cruelly, pissed at the run around Short Stock is trying to give, “Give me a reason to believe you don’t know where he is.” Jazz threatens.

“I was the one who found out about Grind Core, I sent you those videos.” Short Stock admits.

The anonymous tip. “How did you find them?”

Short Stock shrugs, “I got some ins from when I used to do work for Broker. They know I’m not a buyer, just… watching for him.”

“What exactly did you do for Broker?” Jazz presses.

Short Stock swallows, “Inventory.”  

It’s not surprising, Short Stock is excellent at his job. “Give me a list of his accounts and the websites.”

“You think he’s back?”

Jazz shakes his helm, “I’m not sure. I’m just looking to confirm.”

Short Stock writes them out in crisp lettering, his writing closer to a type phase than anything organic. He hands it over to Jazz who reads through them all, disappointed there’s no new ones.

“If you want my opinion, if he’s still alive, you’re probably never going to find him again. He knows mechs that’ll keep him hidden.” Short Stock supplies.

“Same way you got mechs that give you ins?”

Short Stock flinches, even now, it’s a sore spot. Jazz would hope so, for the lives Short Stock destroyed. “I deeply regret what I did back then, I never wanted to hurt anyone. He gets in your helm, messes you up until it’s almost okay, and then you’re too deep in to get out. I’m not the same mech, I don’t hurt others. Any time he crops up, I try my best to shut him down.”

“You made your case. Give me the designations of your in’s and we’ll call it forgiven.” Jazz waits patiently for the second list. It’s depressingly short, but it’s three new names. Avenues for a different day. He’s already spent too long on Mars on this personal project.

“We’re square right?” Short Stock asks again.

“If I find out you’ve lied to me, or you’re protecting him I’ll kill you,” Jazz promises. He waits a beat, collecting himself before saying, “We’re square.”

Short Stock lets out a shaky sigh of relief. He leaves Short Stock’s office no closer than before, just with more names to go down on his list.

Chapter Text

He gets barely a pede off the landing ramp before Prowl is on him, “What did you need on Mars?” Prowl interrogates. His arms cross in front of his chassis and Jazz is hit with a stare that would have made him squeal in the interrogation rooms of Praxus.

It’s an ambush Jazz should have seen coming. He crumples the short list in his servo, hiding it from Prowl’s sight. “Needed to think, that’s all.” Jazz lies with a shrug. He moves to sidestep Prowl, dancing around him.

Prowl purposely steps on his pedes, stopping Jazz’s dance short, “It wouldn’t have anything to do with Soundwave would it?”

“How is he doing?” Jazz says dodging the question.

“Behaving,” He growls out, “You’re not as good at hiding things as you think.”

“No hiding, just misdirecting.” At one point that would have been a funny joke. The cheeky smile does little to diffuse Prowl’s laser point attention on him.

“You need to stop digging into Grind Core. The matter’s been dealt with.” The warning is clear, the Autobots can’t afford an incident, not when they’re just starting to win.

“I just want to confirm something, then I’m done with it.” Jazz promises. 

“You’re chasing a ghost, he’s dead, you found the pieces yourself.”

“I didn’t find his body.”

“And with the grinder, you may never. He’s dead, leave it at that. If some how he’s not, we’ll deal with it then.”

But when? After a new business of his crops up? Broker wasn’t going to stop, he was just going to disappear and slip through the cracks, like he did on Cybertron, like he did with Grind Core. Mechs like him didn’t neatly die, they always had a way to worm themselves out of any mess they made. He needed to make sure he was dead, he needed justice.

But Prowl is also right. It is out of their control; Jazz has no authority to dig into it any further than he has. “Fine, I’ll let it be.” Jazz promises. He eats the cost on the names he’s gathered. Another time, he’ll look into them.

Prowl nods approvingly, “Good. Now, there’s work to do. Ultra Magnus’ reports from the Andromeda system are in. He’s crushed the Decepticon pockets and wants to launch a full-scale assault.”

That fast. It was only a couple of days ago that Ultra Magnus was looking for support, and now he’s captured territory. This easily could turn into a snowball, they needed to capitalise on this. It was good news. The pair were practically sprinting to the war room in the fevered excitement.

*

The Autobot security team and systems were woefully inefficient. The systems were bare and stripped down compared to his intricate web of commands and code blocks Soundwave had lovingly constructed aboard the Nemesis. The foreign human code stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the more complex strings of cybertronian languages. And where human code was not injected, but Cybertronian strings bent to fit, it caused their systems to chug and struggle in completing and processing the task. They were wasting macrons of a second, bleeding precious computing time and energy with unoptimized gear and protocols.

Soundwave was also, not supposed to know this. His trainee permissions should have stopped him from digging into the inner workings of the Autobot machine, but one too many times of requiring Mainframe to come over and give Soundwave authorization for basic tasks had Mainframe upgrading his permissions so he and his newly assigned code monkey could get to work.

Red Alert naturally was left in the dark.

To Mainframe’s credit, he gave Soundwave the same amount of power as Jackpot, who held a middle manager position. Soundwave was still locked out of the majority of the Autobot’s systems, he now no longer needed the permissions he once required to access basic functions.

It was just unfortunate that Soundwave had memorised Mainframe’s permissions. Soundwave had… thoughts on his password, but it was neither here nor there.

The systems, the network, that’s what Soundwave was after and investigating. The foreign mixed with the familiar trips Soundwave up, his pace slowing as he fumbles his way through short cuts to get what he wants.

It’s habitual when he ends up in the mission folders. He doesn’t want anything in them, but he knows the information is useful in the detached way he would have sought them out for his side. Soundwave entertains himself here, going through mission logs and troupe movements as if they were the latest gossip rags. It made Soundwave wish for a glass of engex.

It was entertaining to see the differences between what the Autobots and Decepticons considered a success.

He gets through one and a half reports before he’s booted out of the logs and returned to the login in screen. His digits twitch over the keyboard, surprised his little foray was cut short.

“Mainframe you need to change your password.” Red Alert says from behind him.

“What? Urg,” Mainframe groans. Soundwave can hear the keys click as Mainframe remakes his login in credentials.

Soundwave risks a glance at Red Alert. The security chief is absorbed in his work, staring at his screen, a reflection of Soundwave in it. Interesting.

Soundwave logs in again, noting his permissions have been reset to the proper ones. He will just have to try again. He was instructed to find blind spots after all.

*

The test flights were looking promising. Remotely, Wheeljack would start the engines and laserbeak would fly. There was no chaffing, or exhaustion when she was done, just eager happy excitement at flying again. Still, Wheeljack was worried. Once he put the wiring in, there was no more tweaking them. What if there was something he missed? He pulls out Buzzsaw’s wing and examines it again, comparing it to the prototypes he made.

The metal had long gone grey, the metal frail from age and decay. Wheeljack handles it with care, mindful of his own strength.

It was so fragile in his hands. The wings’ inner components so light and delicate, but still bigger than her original ones. Maybe if he… no, Soundwave said the designs were good, and he would trust him. He wanted to see Laserbeak fly again as much as he did.

Still, Wheeljack couldn’t shake his worries. He stares at the wings, almost perfect copies of each other. He sighs, hiding Buzzsaw’s remains away again, picking up his prototype and walking the short distance to the medbay.

He finds Ratchet in his office napping. His pedes are up on his desk, and the back of his chair pushed into a dangerous angle as he threatens to tip himself backwards. One of these days, he’s going to do it, and when he does, Wheeljack hopes he’s in the room so he can tell the medic he’d told him so. His face pulls into a frown when he hears Wheeljack enter, lifting an optical shutter to see who it is before closing it again.

“I keep thinking the wings are gonna fail.” Wheeljack says, falling into the seat infront of Ratchet, dropping the prototype between them.

Ratchet hums, staying in his reclined position.

“It’s this dread I feel just crawling in me,” Wheeljack admits, “I know I’ve checked everything but, what if I mess this up? I can’t take the wings off.” He pushes the prototype around with his index, dragging the unpainted wing around Ratchet’s desk in slow circles.

“I’m sure it’ll all work out, you’re brilliant Wheeljack.” Ratchet mumbles.

“How can you perform surgeries? I’ve never had to do something like this before, nothing so permanent.” He’s made mobility aids, inventions. The twin’s legs and Ravage’s were all new to him. The closet he could think of were the dinobots. Ratchet and he had made life from nothing.

“I trust that I did the best I could.”

“I don’t want to fail her.”

“You won’t. If there was anyone who could do this, it’d be you Wheeljack.”

“I wish I had your confidence in me.” Wheeljack laughs sardonically, picking up Laserbeak’s wing. Slightly bigger than her own, her brother’s wings giving her flight.

Wheeljack didn’t know if Soundwave knew, but the look he’d given when the new wings were shown, there was no hiding the sadness in his optics at the sight. They were his cassettes; he’d recognise his wings.

The sword of Damocles that hangs over his helm swings with every delay, sawing at its thin thread. There is nothing more Wheeljack can do, he will just have to believe he has done enough and pray he will not cripple the little avian with his hubris.

*

The twins were already in the room when Soundwave is walked back to his quarter’s door. The phantom touches of Jazz’s servos still on his insides, the nanite paste cooling on his welds. He takes in their bruised and battered appearances. They didn’t feel hurt down the bonds, volleying their emotions when pressed by their carrier. They feel… somber, contemplative. They sat, side by side on their berth, fidgeting as if there was something they wanted to say.

Soundwave inclines his helm, giving them permission to speak.

 Frenzy goes first, speaking in a quiet and shy tone, “Did you know the Autobot’s started the minibot rights movement?”

“I did not know.” Soundwave admits.

“Why don’t the Decepticons have minibot rights?” Frenzy asks.

“It never occurred to Megatron to include them; the movement was for war builds.” Soundwave answers honestly.  Megatron came from the pits, from the depths of hell itself where strength ruled, that wasn’t a space for the small, for the weak.

“But we have minibots, we have a lot of them. Why couldn’t we include them now?” Frenzy presses.

“I don’t know. It is not something Megatron prioritizes.” They were not priorities. His clade worked fine, the minibots they had struggled through because advocating was akin to dissent. The seekers got what they wanted because Starscream bent Megatron’s arm until they were given proper accommodations.

“Boss, are we really staying here?” Rumble asks.

“We are.” Soundwave confirms, “It is better for us.”

“Are you happy here?” Rumble asks.

Soundwave cannot honestly say. He is safer here; he is healing but he is still prisoner not quite friend or foe to them. “I believe we all could be.”

“Does that mean we’re not Decepticons anymore?”

Soundwave steps towards their bunk, kneeling down to meet their optics. Rumble and Frenzy look into his, waiting nervously. His symbiotes, his wards. He had failed them once and still they loved him. Soundwave would not fail them again, leave the as they are, looking for his guidance. “We are still Decepticons. We will always be Decepticons as long as it means something to us. We are the strong, we are those who make changes. We are those working towards a better.”

Tiny arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into a hug. The physical contact shocks Soundwave. His twins aren’t nearly so tactile, but he doesn’t push them away, returning the gesture by wrapping his own arms around their frames. They fit neatly against him, their em fields meshing in simpatico. It had been too long since he had held them, felt their fields. Soundwave would not let go of them again. He would not fail them again, and that started with something he should have done a long time ago.

He needed to kill Megatron.

Chapter Text

Her name lost all meaning the way it is screamed across the halls of the Nemesis. Every turn holds Megatron’s booming voice as he calls, “STRIKA!”

The ship shakes in its underwater moorings, shuddering with every angry step Megatron takes. “STRIKA!” 

The cannon fodder flees from him, hiding and ducking out of the way and down the many labyrinthian passages of the Nemesis. They’re rats, the lot of them, all vermin beneath Megatron’s pedes. He grabs one of the little wretches, pulling the soldier to close to scream in their face, “Where is that incompetent bafoon! Get me Strika, now!” He tosses them aside, continuing his pursuit for his officer.

He marches in an endless rhythm, storming his own castle as he rips doors from their hinges, bots from their stations in his quest to rain hell fire. He finds Strika cowering with its platoon of Predacons in the far depths of the Nemesis near what was once the ships launch bays. In the tubes that once hosted artillery and ammunitions now had pesky little weevils trying to run from him.

“STRIKA!” He screams, catching sight of it ducking into a defunct missile housing. He gives chase, bowling through unfortunate subordinates that had no good sense on where to be in that moment. He tramples its hopes, pulling his officer from its planned getaway. The servo around its ankle strut breaks it, the predacon leader yells out in pain.

It’s not enough for Megatron. He needs to rend its stupid helm from its body. He drags it bodily from its hidey hole. The horrific screech of metal on metal fills the room, Megatron watches the sparks ark off its body. It cowers before him, hiding its miserable helm from his heel. “You promised me there would be no more failures,” He breathes to the worm trembling before him, pinned by his heated gaze.

“It was entirely out of my control! There was no way I could have prevented the leaks! Soundwave made his system impossible to navigate without him!” Strika tries to defend, but it’s all excuses to Megatron.

“Lies!” He hisses, grinding his pede into its injured leg, “You could have done it! I alone trusted you Strika with Soundwave’s work because you are loyal like no other. I promoted you from your lowly ranks because I acknowledged your willingness to bend your knee to me, and you repay this gracious opportunity I have given with half sparked attempts and incompetence!”

He punctuates his point with a stomp, shattering the already broken joint. The thing howls, enraging him further. “I will tolerate no more excuses from you Strika.” The ion cannon charges up with a deadly hum.

The animal beneath him pleads, begging, whimpering pathetically. He sneers, firing the shot clean through its chest. it falls limb, scared expression frozen on their face.

One of the beast’s platoon mates speaks up, crying its name.

Megatron swings around to them, firing a shot from his still warm cannon. It flows through their torso. More wretches spring forth, catching the body, bravely attempting to stop him. Only one is smart and sneaks out through a missile hatch, flooding the room briefly as it shimmies its way to the bottom of the Atlantic. Megatron slaughters them like pigs.

He rips them apart, stealing their helms, dragging Strika’s body back in its entirety. He displays it through the halls of the Nemesis, showing off the corpse in a sick trophy. He parades the desecrated officer and its cadre all the way to the now in-built marina, tossing them over the side of the ship. He watches the bodies sink, disappearing into the inky depths.

There is barely a coiling of satisfaction at the act. He grabs the nearest grunt and tells them to clean up the rest of it. Megatron leaves to find his remaining officers.

He doesn’t have to go far, Starscream is waiting for him like the leech he is, drawn to the smell of blood.

The seeker bows ostentatiously. His wings flare in a gesture he believes Megatron will not know is rude before straightening at the waist again, saccharin smile waiting on his sycophantic face.

He is not in the mood to play his wing lord’s games. He moves his pieces anyways, aware that even if he does not play, the game will continue around him. “Please Starscream, good news only.” Megatron says, flicking the blood from his servo.

Starscream watches the droplets fly, his wings bobbing with the cables in his throat. The unease is covered in an instant with another confident smile. “It might not be all entirely good news, but yes, news I do have to report.”

“Go on then,” Megatron encourages, “Speak Starscream.”

Starscream dips his helm in a semblance of humility, “Of course, I will be brief. Our latest raid on the Autobot energon stores was a success, we managed to disrupt their supply chain and secure additional resources.”

“How much more?” Megatron asks.

Starscream glances up from under his brow ridge. His mouth quivers as he fights his way to the answer, “We managed to get five percent under the projected amount.”  

“That is five percent more than the Autobots should have. What pitiful excuse do you have for failing me Starscream?”

“Those estimates were always generous. Do you believe it was wise to kill Strika?” Starscream says, eyeing the trail of energon left by its body with distaste, “She was working far outside the scope of her abilities, really Megatron I would have thought you’d put someone more intelligent in her position like myself.”  

  “I would sooner give you a gun to shoot me with than give you access to my data bases. Where is Onslaught? I need to inform him of his sudden promotion.”

Starscream squints his optics, mouth twitching into a quick frown, “He’s in the middle east with the rest of the Combaticons recouping from his loss in the Andromeda system.” Starscream tells him.

Megatron’s lips curl at the thought of the sand. It will be weeks before he feels clean again.

“Perhaps it is time you admit you need someone oh, great lord Megatron.” Starscream snidely suggests.

“I do not need him Starscream, I am not so weak.” Megatron growls.

“Of course not, you don’t need him and he will never leave you. You will just continue to struggle to replace him until he returns.” Starscream says with a smile.

“Speak not another word lest you want to lose your glossa Starscream.” Megatron warns.

The dents in the seekers plating are still fresh. The wing lord bows for him again, apologising with a mouth full of lies. It is enough to steady Megatron’s rage.

He wastes no more time aboard the Nemesis. From one traitor to the other, Megatron navigates his den of snakes, feeling the keen absence of Soundwave.

*

The Combaticons made Megatron uncomfortable on the fact they were Starscream’s creations. If they had not been shackled by slave coding on their inception, Megatron would have scrapped them, regardless of their now usefulness.  He reminds them of this on every visit he has to their base. Not in so many words, but in the effortless ways he controls them. A tugging on their reins is all he needs to do to remind his dogs to heel lest they begin to follow in their creator’s shadow.

Megatron walks around their base like his own because it is, because the Combaticons for all their strength, are still his. They fight his wars, they shed his blood, they fuel on his reserves. If Megatron wishes it, he could starve them in a week. If Megatron wills it, they will be dead by nightfall.

Onslaught bows his helm so he may keep it, and Megatron finds great joy in that. More should bow like Onslaught does. He does not let him lift it again, standing in front of him reproachfully.

“Was it not too long ago you told me you had reconnected a supply line and were bolstering your troops, and it was only a matter of time before you pushed back the Autobots. Do you remember that conversation Onslaught?” Megatron mentions casually.

Onslaught swallows. He keeps quiet, waiting for Megatron to allow him to speak.

The chance is never given. Megatron begins to pace in front of him, speaking loftily as he does so, “I of course remember this exchange. I was quite believing in your words too if I remember correctly; you were the only bright spot that day. Tell me Onslaught, why have you now lost even more ground? You have my full permission to explain yourself.”

Onslaught stays statue still before the war lord, keeping his gaze steady. “There are no explanations my lord, we should have won those battles, but the Autobot blockade was too much for my troops to over come, we couldn’t reach the pockets we held, and they were captured.”

Megatron looks down the bridge of his nasal ridge at Onslaught, “Consider the Andromeda system a lost cause. Pull your troops and resettle them here. I have a new task for you anyways. Strika has failed me again, so I will have you taking over its duties. Be ready to report to the Nemesis, I expect you there within the day. Take whatever you need to complete what I have tasked you.”

Onslaught does not resist him, “Of course my lord.”

Megatron cannot wait to be freed of the sand.

*

His vents purge salt water for what feels like an eternity onto the sand beneath him. He hacks and coughs up sea water, plucking thick strands of seaweed off his frame and wings. His energon is frozen in his lines and he can feel his frame shake as his engine tries to heat up his internals. He chokes and gasps as he stumbles to his pedes, running as far and as fast as he can from the shoreline.

They’re dead, the whole squad was dead. He couldn’t believe it. No one had made it to the rendezvous point, it had just been him who had managed it.

He coughs and spits out more salt water, groaning at the feeling of the corrosive material inside of him. He can smell the sea cling to him, even as it falls to a distant speck on the horizon. He feels faint from the way he’s pushing himself to keep moving, to escape.

He makes it to a human settlement; some large metropolitan center and he breathes a sigh of relief. He could kiss the ground, and he does, bending to put pavement to his battle mask in gratitude. He shakes, crying and laughing. The feeling is bittersweet, and he cannot savor it.

He raises his helm and gets to his pedes. He marches deeper into the city, raising his arms and calling out, “I Surrender!” He screams it until his throat is raw and the squishies gather around him. They point their primitive weapons at him, trembling as they shout up at him. He stays where he is, arms raised, waiting.

It’s not long before the Autobots arrive. Speeding down the human roads, transforming to hold him at gun point, they are the stars in his dark night. He says the words he’s been endlessly screaming, “Take me to Optimus, take me to your leader,” He rasps, “I surrender.”

Chapter Text

“Let’s talk this over a little more Soundwave,” Wheeljack says, fighting for possession of the sonic cannon, “Perhaps it’s not the healthiest decision to go and kill your former boss because you realized he was a piece of shit to you. Maybe you’re skipping a few steps in the grieving process.”

“I am going to kill Megatron, and you cannot stop me.” Soundwave punctuates with a viscous tug on his cannon.

 Wheeljack trips over his pedes, falling over himself to keep a hold on the cannon. “Can you at least wait until after Laserbeak’s surgery?”

Soundwave’s grip stutters on his cannon and Wheeljack is able to wrestle it away, clutching it to his chassis. He takes large backward steps towards his desk, hiding the weapon behind him.

“She’s getting her wings back?” Soundwave asks quietly.  

“Yeah, just, give me a day. Here,” Wheeljack says, pulling out his desk chair for Soundwave, “You can tell me if she’s flying alright.”

Soundwave takes his seat, looking up at Wheeljack hopefully. Wheeljack falters under his gaze, struggling to move to his patient. He gathers Laserbeak from her perch above his desk, fitting her with her final wings. He says a little prayer to himself, open his servos and watching her engines whirr to life with his wireless command.

She takes to the sky as she was born to do, circling his workshop in smooth rings. She flaps, dips, does all the fancy tricks she’s been dying to do since she lost her flight. She does them all for the joy and tears of Soundwave who thought this lost. He reaches out when she passes to feel the wake off her wings. She is so jubilant; Soundwave can ignore the pain in his own spark a moment longer. There are no words that can express his gratitude to Wheeljack.

He does the only thing his frame type can do and pledges his loyalty to Wheeljack. It is not some grand ceremony; Soundwave does not bend to one knee. He looks at Wheeljack and states his intent, “If you ever require my servitude, my body, it is yours.”

Wheeljack doesn’t get it but is strangely flattered all the same. “Thanks, but I’m married.”

 His helm fins flash pink as Laserbeak lands on his shoulder. She nips at his fingers as he brings them up to play with her beak, grabbing the top component gently, playing a small game of tug of war. It’s so mundane, it hurts.

It brings forth memories of her and Buzzsaw, playing, squabbling. Soundwave swallows down the bitter emotions that rise up as he’s reminded once again of what he’s lost, of what he failed to save. The phantom bond echoes again, a psychosomatic symptom. Ratchet says one day it’d disappear, and Soundwave is scared by the thought. It is the last thing he has of him.

He wishes again, for the thousandth time he had never gone to Grind Core.

*

There are servos passing over his plating, shoving him, holding him firmly as he’s tugged along. His helm bobs with the movement, the blindfold itchy against the glass of his optics. He can’t see through the fabric; they’re taking no chances with him. They don’t need to, he’s not a threat. He supposes they don’t know that. In their minds, he’s a mad mech who purposely walked into a city center and began screaming he’d given up. He’s lucky he wasn’t shot.

They travel, for a long time, too long for him to remember. It’s all a blur, the air changing and losing the sea salt tinge, the smell of the mountains. Then his pedes touch something other than dirt, and he knows he’s in the Ark.

There’s more chatter. He doesn’t know whose speaking; he just knows they’re high enough up the bots who have him call them ‘Sir’. They shuffle him down, until he’s in the brig. The scratchy blindfold comes off and he’s assaulted by the bright orange of the Ark’s walls. He whips around to see who brought him here. His wings twitch, the anxiety of the situation catching up to him. Twin bruisers regarding him with skepticism and wariness. They stay, watching him. He’s not sure what to say.

They mumble something he doesn’t catch. The anxiety ratchets up a notch.

“What’d you say to him?” He demands.

They glance in his direction, to the badge on his chest. He covers it defensively. They go back to whispering and he’s left to wonder what it’s about. He strains to listen, not catching more than a snippet here or there. The words are meaningless to him. He shocks into attention when more mechs enter the hold.

He steps away from his bars, lowering his wings. He makes himself small as the Prime stands before him. At his sides, the indisputable second and thirds of his army, Prowl and Jazz. There’s a fourth bot, more familiar to him than the others. He feels his spark skip.

He looks a bit different than he remembers. He’s missing paint, sections of his torso still silver with fresh welds. His face was a mosaic of scars that he knew the intimate details of. He can still vividly see the knife as it was dragged across his face, splitting apart the corner of his mouth. Just the sight is enough to make him shudder. He can’t believe Soundwave is alive. It seemed more hoax than fact when Megatron claimed he was working from within the Autobots, but the proof was before him.

“Designation and rank,” Snips Prowl from the Prime’s side.

He looks to Soundwave.

Soundwave nods his helm, giving him the okay.

“Snare, fifth wing for the Predacon strike squad, sir.” Or he was.

They turn to Soundwave to confirm his designation and rank. He does, recognizing him from the times Soundwave had dealt with the squad. It’s a relief. There’s hesitation, Jazz leaning to close to Soundwave, to give him a pressing look. They say something without words, and Soundwave approaches Snare’s cell.

“Snare,” Soundwave addresses, “What’s happened to you?”

It’s the flood gates, and Snare is spilling his guts, “Megatron just snapped, he murdered Strika. We were planning on finding you after the last patch of losses. I had to crawl through the old missile launch. I was the only one who made it out.” There’s more he wants to say, but he gets interrupted by a raised servo. He forces his mouth to close around the words.

“Why did he murder Strika?” Soundwave asks calmly. Without the battle mask, Snare can see his confusion, his fear.

“She was already on thin ice. When you disappeared, she took over your role. Strika had no idea how to manage your systems and we kept botching operations until Megatron just… had enough.”

“Did you have no one who could take over for you Soundwave? What about contingencies?” Prowl asks, shocked by the information and insights Snare has given him.  

“There was no one else Megatron trusted to run his networks, I worked on it as the sole manager. The contingency was that I would never fail.” Soundwave explains.

Jazz lets out a snort, “Look how well that worked out.”

Soundwave flinches, small enough that if Snare had not been staring at him, he would have missed it. “Yes.” He agrees, the word coming out in a bitter growl.

Snare looks between Soundwave and the Autobots behind him. He notices the red lines by his badge, he doesn’t understand what they mean. The whole thing is strange. There are no shackles or restraints, the mechs around his third are comfortable, relaxed. Snare didn’t know the reason for it.

“I want to speak with Snare, alone.” Soundwave says, turning around to speak directly to the Prime.

Optimus inclines his massive helm, dipping it with respect towards Soundwave in an unbelievable display to Snare. “We will leave you two then. Jazz, Prowl, let us leave along with the twins. We will give you ten minutes.”

There’s a few nasty looks and hesitancy from both Jazz and Prowl. Jazz takes the moment to step up beside Soundwave to whisper something to him before falling back to his Prime’s side. They leave, the two bruisers following as a rear guard. Soundwave still waits a few extra minutes to confirm it empty. Snare’s not sure the mind reading rumors were true, but he believes them now, the way it looks like Soundwave is listening to something he can’t hear.

It's so strange, Snare can’t place the unease he feels watching them. It’s like he’s stuck waiting for some secret cue, for Soundwave to show Snare his hand.

“What’s the current state of high command?” Soundwave’s voice snaps Snare’s attention to the present.

He straightens up in his cell, wings falling to attention with the habits engrained in him, “The seekers have been talking about leaving, it seems like they’re serious this time. Starscream recently tried to build a coup against Megatron, and the troops are feeling demoralized since your disappearance. Onslaught is the only one still able to pull out wins. You need to come back and fix things.”

Soundwave nods his helm, and the burning question comes back. The red lines around his badge bother Snare the more he looks at them. It’s on the tip of his glossa, threatening to slip out.

“Snare, I have no plans on returning to the Decepticons, and you shouldn’t either.”

The red lines take on a new meaning, and it makes Snare’s mouth run dry, “You’re collaborating with the Autobots?”

Soundwave doesn’t deny it. He feels stupid now for spilling his guts so easily. “The Autobots will treat you will if you decide to stay. I can guarantee your safety within these walls.” Soundwave says, ignoring Snare’s accusations.

“You’re lying. This is got to be some sort of trick.”

“I make it a practice to never lie. Snare, you can believe what you want but this is the truth; I have left Megatron’s movement to restart the Decepticons free of his influence.” Soundwave lays out plainly.  

Snare feels like laughing, a high-pitched maniacal fever. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. It has to be a lie, some deep cover psyop. “You can’t make the Decepticons with out Megatron, he founded the movement.”

The light behind Soundwave’s visor cycles, “Whose face do you wear?” he asks pointing the purple badge on Snare’s chest.

Snare looks at it, the helm crests, the shape, there’s no doubt over who it was modelled after. It was part of the Decepticon mythos. Megatron standing up to the counsel in Soundwave’s defense. As the war went, that piece of their history fell to the background as more of their energies and time went to serving Megatron and his purposes.

“This movement was gifted to me,” Soundwave goes on, “it has always been mine. It is about time I took control of it.”  

Snare shakes his helm. It’s useless, Soundwave has been turned mad. “Megatron will never let you.”

“That is why I am going to kill him.”

*

“That is why I am going to kill him.” Soundwave’s tinny voice says from the speaker in Jazz’s servo.

Jazz glances between Optimus and Prowl, there expressions dire as they listen in to Snare and Soundwave’s conversation.

“Do you think he’s serious?” Prowl whispers to Jazz.

Jazz shrugs, they’re talking again stealing his chance to reply.

It’s more circles, Snare accusing Soundwave of lying. The bot has really drunk the coolant. Jazz can’t blame him; it was mind shattering to see Soundwave wearing their brand the first time.

The conversation takes a small break and Jazz squeezes out his answer to Prowl, “Wheeljack commed me this morning saying Soundwave had tried to steal his sonic cannon back, claiming a similar story. If he says he’s going to do something, he usually does.”

“That is concerning.” Optimus’ rumbling voice intones from above them.

Jazz hums out an agreement before going back to listening. It’s interesting hearing Soundwave speak to one of his own. That rational personality of his budding up against fanaticism. Jazz can hear Soundwave struggle with deprograming Snare, trying to break down the arguments he’s throwing out.

They get a few more conversations before Soundwave grows frustrated and knocks on the brig’s door, letting them back in a full five minutes before his time is officially up.

Jazz packs away his stereo and microphone, smiling innocently at Soundwave. “Have a good chat?” He asks, feigning ignorance.

Soundwave doesn’t respond to him.

“What’s your assessment of him Soundwave?” Optimus asks.

“He will not listen to reason. I have explained how if he returns to the Decepticons he will die, and he still wishes to do so.”  It’s a frustrating situation, and it leaks into Soundwave’s voice. 

“That is unfortunate. I was hopeful you would convince him to at least reconsider his position.” Optimus bleeds remorse in his field, offering it to Soundwave in comfort.

Soundwave does not take it. “I would like to be dismissed.” He says through clenched dente.

“Granted. Jazz will accompany you to where you want to go. Rest well Soundwave.” Optimus says without a second thought.

Soundwave bows his helm in respect, waiting for his keeper to come.

Jazz moves to his side as if he had been waiting for an excuse to do so. The Porshe sticks around just out of Soundwave’s blind spots. “C’mon, let’s go to the sparring arena, blow off some steam.” Jazz offers. He tugs Soundwave along without ever touching him, miming holding onto his servo, his arm.

Like a magnet, Soundwave follows.

Prowl watches fascinated, “Do you think they’ve realized it yet?”

“If I am to guess Prowl, they never will, not until they beat each other over the head with it.” Optimus says sincerely. They watch them disappear around the corner, and face the brig once more, to their singular captive.

The recording plays on loop, the declaration to undo all that is wrong with the Decepticons. If it was that easy, Jazz would have killed Megatron years ago.

Worse, he said it knowing they were listening. Jazz had told him at the top he’d be on the other side of that door, audial pressed to it, listening to every word he said. He didn’t know what saying something like that would achieve besides warning them he was going to do it.

The hallways thin out as they travel up from the belly of the Ark, ladders taking their place as they climb the decks. Jazz can’t find the timing to bring up his concerns. He’s running out of time to stall, their destination just a head on the left. It eats him alive. How? How? How? He needs to figure it out, and just speak to him.

Jazz has his servo around the handle of the gym door, gripping the metal like his life depends on it. He doesn’t want to turn the handle. A larger servo covers his and pushes the lever down, revealing the dark arena in front of them. Jazz swallows, he can feel the heat rolling off Soundwave’s frame. This is it, his last chance, his hand literally forced. He turns his helm to look over his shoulder at the red visor that bores into him. It’s not elegant, he wasn’t aiming for that. The word vomit is only slightly better than tears.

“You’re an idiot, you’re so stupid! Kill Megatron? Are you insane? You knew I would hear that; did you think I’d be fine with you going on some stupid suicide redemption quest? You’re a moron! What about your cassettes? Who’s going to take care of them? Or were you planning on putting them in danger again? Think critically about this Soundwave, please I am begging you!”

The servo over his is gone and the heated frame has disappeared from his back. Soundwave’s takes several steps back, pulling his shoulders back, to loom over Jazz with his full height. the face that was once a mystery now has expressions all too easy to read.

“Do you think it was an easy decision to make?” Soundwave’s noble features warp with his anger. His em field traps itself against Jazz. “I gave him millions of years, wasting my life for him. He needs to pay for what he did to me, for what he didn’t do.”

Jazz can feel every thick thread of anger and rage as if it was his own. It threatens to swallow him whole, “And he will. Give yourself time to heal, don’t be so impatient.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, Soundwave’s anger only builds, pushing against him like a wave in a monsoon, “I have been nothing but patient. I have spent my days and nights lying down and being patient. I have wasted enough of my time.”

 Jazz doesn’t bow. He steps closer, letting Soundwave feeling his own emotions. The hurt, the anxiety, the worry for him. He meets him, optic to optic as he always does, “Then take me to the mats. Beating me should be easy for you. Convince me to let you go Soundwave.”

“Gladly.”

Jazz should have expected Soundwave to fight dirty. The tape deck doesn’t wait until they are inside to begin, throwing Jazz into the gym doors. The third is stunned, just getting his arms up to block a blow. His servo fumbles for the doors handle just in time to swing himself away from the follow up.

Soundwave over commits to the punch, and it’s easy for Jaz to use his new momentum to send Soundwave stumbling. The hallway lights cast long shadows across the tiled floor. The door swings shut behind Jazz and they’re plunged into the dark, only the ambient light from the port holes illuminating the space. He chases after the carrier, forcing him to the floor, straddling his shoulders, holding his punch before it connects with his throat, “You’re dead.” Jazz breathes.

Soundwave growls, and wrestles Jazz’s legs off him, twisting his body to throw the agent. Jazz lets him, rolling with it to land on his pedes. He waits for Soundwave to get up. He can see the tender way he’s moving, guarding his left side.

It’s another dance, the dark hiding jazz’s shape as Soundwave tries his best to keep Jazz away from his weak side. Every approach has hesitancy, Soundwave quicker to retreat, to spare himself. It’s gingerly the way he’s fighting. ‘He’s afraid of getting hit,’ Jazz realises mid bout. He’s not taking blocks, choosing instead to dodge away. It’s one bad fumble on Soundwave’s footwork and Jazz is on him. He steals away one of Soundwave’s arms, twisting it behind his back and forcing him to his knees. “Dead.” Jazz whispers to him. Jazz let’s go of Soundwave, moving to stand in front of him again, ready to go.

The anger is still rich with the sting of defeat. Soundwave shakes as he stands, his strength flagging. He pushes onward.

Soundwave dives back in, engaging Jazz. It’s little effort to dodge the sluggish hits Soundwave sends out. Jazz strikes his side, popping a weld. Energon spills to the floor and with a sweep of a leg, Soundwave’s down again. Jazz raises his pede in an axe kick stopping it before it can smash into Soundwave’s helm. “Dead.”

Soundwave stares at Jazz’s pede, gasping for breath. He watches it lower gently to the floor. There’s a ringing in his helm and a wetness against his back. It hurts, his body hurts and it’s threatening to pull him to a place that no longer exists. He’s weak again.

 The tears come unbidden, spilling from his visor in silent rivulets in perfect paths that pool around his scars. He lifts his helm only to bang it into the floor again. The pain brings him a small sense of comfort. He bangs his helm again in frustration of his own weakness.

“Stop, stop that.” Jazz’s pleading voice says from above him. Those servos grown so familiar, wrap around his helm, cradling him, holding Soundwave still. His tears pool in the joints of Jazz’s digits, creating tiny lakes that pool against the sides of his face.

He’s trapped, with no where to look but at Jazz and his twin tears. They fall and mark Soundwave’s flesh, hot. They fall on his lips, and he tastes the salt from them. He fills the tiny lakes until his digits are wet with their shared grief.

“I am weak,” Soundwave says through tears.

“That’s okay. It’s okay to be weak. You’re always so strong, let yourself be weak this once.”

“I don’t know how to be.” Soundwave admits.

 Jazz servos try to wipe away the tears, but more come pouring from the both of them, “That’s okay. You don’t need to know everything. You can fail, you can grow, ask for help. That’s part of being weak.”

Soundwave’s lips quiver, “I need your help.” He can’t recognise his voice from the way it shakes.

“You have it.” The full weight of Jazz is laid across him, squishing them to the floor. The servos cradling his helm move to embrace him. It’s warm. He cries into the crook of Jazz’s neck until the tears run and exhaustion takes over, feeling weak and safe.

Chapter Text

The welding torch spits up sparks as Ratchet runs it over the split weld in Soundwave’s side. He stays perfectly still, stiff in his seated position as Ratchet runs the torch from the top of the split to the bottom. Soundwave’s servos remain in tight fists, clamped around the edge of the birth. Rumble and Frenzy track the sparks as they fly, watching them disappear as quickly as they come.

“Did you need to split his weld? Really Jazz, I should be putting a hole in you for this.” Ratchet threatens. The welders mask hides his expression, but Ratchet’s tone does enough of the talking to make up for it.

The twins stop their spark viewing to swivel their helms to Jazz.

He fiddles with a tray of tools, picking up and putting down the various plasma cutter heads. He hides himself behind the cart they’re on just in case Ratchet decides to make good on his threat. “It was an accident.”

“Well make it the last one.” Ratchet says, cutting the gas. The flame fizzles and then dies. The weld is still red hot, and Ratchet takes care to slowly quench the metal lest he causes his work to seize.  Soundwave lets out a small hiss of displeasure as the oil sodden rag rubs over the sensitive seam. Ratchet lightens his touch just a tad, soothing the sting.

The twins send Soundwave support over the bond. They get a weak wave of begrudging acceptance.

Jazz crosses his digits, “No promises.” A rag comes sailing at him a moment later, hitting the Porche with a wet smack against his chassis. He picks it off his plating, tossing it down on the cart. He wipes at the oil with an absent mind, smiling ruefully at the twins, “What’s on the agenda for you two today? More minibot rights lessons?”

Rumble shrugs, “Heard from boss beaky was getting her wings today. We wanted to see ‘em.”

“Jackie’s putting them on?” Jazz asks surprised. A grin pulls at the corners of his mouth as his field fills with excitement. “What time?” Jazz asks Ratchet.

“As soon as I’m done with Soundwave, I’ll be giving Wheeljack the all clear.” Ratchet blows on the weld, eliciting a shiver from Soundwave. He swipes one last dollop of nanite gel over the new weld, nodding approvingly at his work. Soundwave finally lets his body relax as Ratchet’s servos leave his side, sighing in relief.

“I’ll take the morning off then.” Jazz decides, sliding in between the twins sharing the birth with them. They grumble but move over. Rumble takes the chance to get him back for sending him to his aft a couple days ago and punches Jazz’s thigh.

Jazz takes it in good humor, rubbing the spot dramatically. “Yow! Who taught you to punch like that? Brawn?”

Rumble smiles wide, showing off his fangs, “Cliffjumper.”

“I’ll send him my complaints.” Jazz remarks playfully.

Ratchet rolls his optics, mumbling under his breath, ‘sparklings’. He busies himself checking over Soundwave’s dock. It’s healing well, the welds are keeping stable and the nanites are doing their job of smoothing over the rougher edges. “Well, looks like you’re being taken well care of. A couple more days and you’ll be ready for your door.”

“My symbiotes will be able to dock again?” Soundwave asks. It’s been so long since they were able to connect that way. Four, almost five months of separation, Soundwave was forgetting the sensation of it.

 Ratchet rolls his optics into the back of his helm, consulting his memory for an answer, “It might be a bit tender at first, but you should be able to. Laserbeak’s wings will take time to integrate but Wheeljack says it shouldn’t be too long. You’ll have your big happy family again.”

No, he won’t. He’ll always be missing one, a spot left empty, there will never be an ‘again’ for Soundwave. He will only have the now and the scars of the past. Something close but not quite, like the warped reflection on the back of a spoon. Banking the memory of a clade that no longer exists, Soundwave mourns what he can never get back, and appreciates what he’s managed to keep.

The medbay doors swing open, revealing Wheeljack and his animal entourage. On his shoulder, riding high, sits Laserbeak, her stumps sanded and prepped for surgery. Around his leg’s stalks Ravage, fully painted and confident.

The paint job isn’t as smooth as Rumble or Frenzy’s, but the coat is even and the colour matches, she finally looks complete. Soundwave lets his oldest know he’s proud of her. She purrs back, her emotions simple but outpouring with love.

Wheeljack bounds up to his audience, his helm flashing bright blue, “Look at this, a full house!” He greets Ratchet with a quick embrace, passing Laserbeak off to Soundwave. Ratchet returns the gesture, whispering words of encouragement to his partner. He squeezes Wheeljack’s shoulder once and steps away, letting the engineer present the final wings to Soundwave.

The carrier grazes his digits across their surface, fingering the final engine mounts, testing the ailerons. They’re perfect, and he says as much to Wheeljack. The engineer takes the praise graciously, laughing as he takes the wings back.

There’s a moment where the sadness bleeds out and Wheeljack offers his em field in comfort. Soundwave tentatively reaches out his own, meshing them together briefly before retracting it again.

“It’ll be alright,” Wheeljack promises, “She’ll be flying before you know it.”

Soundwave doesn’t doubt it. He sends his last well wishes down the bond to Laserbeak and hands her back to Wheeljack.

He manipulates a stub to wave goodbye, and then they’re putting the stasis code in her system and she’s out cold.

It’s a shock to Soundwave, feeling the bond go dormant as her radiate energy dims. He swallows against the instinctual panic that fills him. He watches Ratchet and Wheeljack leave for the operating theater. It takes a lot for Soundwave to remain calm, to remind himself she won’t be disappearing.

He sends a few relays across their bond, getting a few sleepy responses back. They feel different from the echo, and it stills Soundwave’s mind. She will be alright.

They wait together, the twins chatting with Jazz, Ravage settling on his lap. They spend the hours together, Jazz an intruder but not unwelcome in this moment. There is an investment he shares with Soundwave, being the one who found them. Soundwave understands it and Jazz’s sense of duty to them. It is a mercy to have him near, to distract the twins and his own thoughts.

The time spent waiting is both incredibly short and long. The bond wakes up again, and a groggy Laserbeak tries to find him. He volleys back his presence, feeding her love as she slowly wakes up. There’s no immediate pain, but an awkwardness that comes with her new wings being heavy. It’s a feeling that will pass.  Her control over the bond is weak and he gets all her errant thoughts as they come to her. It’s charming, shaking a quiet laugh from him.

He knows when Wheeljack picks her up, holding her steady. Her mind fills with rust sticks and flashing lights. She is stuck wondering where her treat is from the mech. Her arrival is met with cheers. Her helm swivels to and fro, wobbly from the procedure. The twins make grabbing gestures at her, trying to see her new wings. Wheeljack has to dodge them to set Laserbeak safely on a berth.

Her new wings are bound in splints, holding the appendages secure to her body. She lets out a peep as she attempts to walk around on the berth, tripping and falling as she gets used to the new weight on her body. She chirps and pesters Wheeljack for a treat and is delighted when it is given to her in small chunks.

Jazz peaks at Laserbeak, hanging back from the berth. He floats just on the edge of their closed circle, looking in at her with a satisfied smile. He catches Soundwave’s optic over the tops of Rumble and Frenzy’s helms. The smile takes on a sad tinge, they think of the same things.

Buzzsaw.

The smell of engex was enough to wake him from his slumber. ‘If only you were a different mech. This never would have happened. The decisions would have been easier, you wouldn’t have cared so much for me.’

If only they were different. There was no denying now that Soundwave was different, changed slowly like a rock being eroded by a stream. Jazz has changed him with his mercies.

Soundwave commands his twins to move, and he invites Jazz closer. It feels right to do so. He watches the careful way Jazz approaches, cooing and awing at Laserbeak. He gently scratches the top of her helm, her chin. Soundwave watches, catching the flickers of guilt that appear in his field and disappear just as quickly.

“Did you ever think this day would come?” Jazz suddenly asks, keeping his gaze on Laserbeak as she waddles away from him.

“No, I never let myself hope for it. I was ready to give it up.” Soundwave admits.

The fear of change was so palpable then. The idea of being wrong, the worst thing in the world, enough to throw away the happiness of one of his own to preserve his ego. “I wouldn’t have seen this without you.”

“Don’t go thanking me. Jackie did all the work.” Jazz says, straightening up from his hunched position over Laserbeak. His blue visor meets his and stops. There is something arresting in his optics that freezes them both in place. Soundwave’s gaze has a different quality to it now. The harsh glint that always followed him has dissipated to a glow. His features no longer come off as stern, and severe but contemplative and refined. He looks different to Jazz, a version that is almost soft.

Soundwave does not need to speak again; Jazz understands from that look alone.

You’ve changed me.

‘No,’ Jazz thinks, ‘You’ve changed yourself.’ The badge may have been the same, but underneath was someone Jazz had never known. Slowly but surely, Soundwave was healing.

Chapter Text

‘They are retreating’ was the perplexing first line in Ultra Magnus’ report. The Decepticons were pulling out entirely in the Andromeda system. They hadn’t even started their full-frontal assault when the frontlines began peeling, retreating, and then exiting the star system. It was a baffling move, the Andromeda system was the main quadrant of space the Autobot and Decepticon supply lines ran through, to just give it up… it was a worrying sign.

“Do you think he’s gone crazy?” Ironhide asks, leaning over Optimus’ shoulder.

“Megatron has always been erratic, but his moves have always carried some sort of logic to them.” Optimus read through the report again, trying to parse what his long-time foe would be planning, “But this time, it seems entirely irrational.”

“I think part of the other problem is figuring out where he’s withdrawing his troops to. If it’s here, he might be trying to blitz our base.” Jazz postulates.

“What an incredibly risky and foolish move,” Prowl says with a shake of his helm, “He’d need to double or triple his energon production, not to mention the Nemesis would not be able to house them all, they’d need to construct additional bases. With him leaving the Andromeda system, there’s no way to get more supplies efficiently. He’ll have to raid our stores.”

“Our biggest one is on Mars; we can move some troops in preparation of a raid.” Ironhide suggests.

Optimus nods approvingly and Ironhide gets to drafting it.

“I’ll see what I can find from within the Decepticons,” Jazz offers, “There might be some chatter on what the game plan is.”

“What about our captive Snare?” Prowl asks, “He was working with Strika, I believe you collected information that linked her to some of Onslaught’s operations.”

“I can ask him but he’s not even talking to Soundwave anymore.” It was disheartening, and Optimus had feared this for the worst. Their time to reasonably hold him was coming to an end soon as well. Though Optimus was hesitant to release him with the knowledge Soundwave had given them that it would ultimately be his death, he was still a being that deserved the right to choose.

Optimus often prayed for Snare to change his mind. “Our base will need to be fortified if our predictions turn out to be true. Prowl, if you could work with our security team, find what needs to be upgraded and secured.”

Prowl bows his helm, “Of course my Prime.”

The tension builds and then breaks as Optimus releases them to their tasks. Jazz lingers on Prowl’s straight back, fighting back the hot feeling of unease at the thought of him and Soundwave alone together.

*

The box is matte black and sleek, a simple but elegant design. When Soundwave lifts the lid he sees Laserbeak’s twin inside, resting gently as if asleep. There’s not much left of him, but Wheeljack had done well to fill in what he could. Soundwave stares at the memorial, willing himself not shed cleanser at the sight.

“It felt right that you should have him back,” Wheeljack says nervously, wringing his servos together. “It’s not too much is it?” He asks when Soundwave fails to speak.

Soundwave shakes his helm, closing the lid again on the sleeping Buzzsaw, “No, it’s beautiful, thank you Wheeljack.”

Wheeljack hesitates, his nervousness not quite leaving him yet, “Jazz—”

“-I know,” Soundwave cuts him off. He runs a digit across the box’s surface, feeling the finish.

Wheeljack flags, lowering his shoulders from their nervous hunched position, “He’s a good mech.” Wheeljack says.

The pipes above them creak, a soft groaning melody. Laserbeak shifts in her berth, tucking her helm under her new wing. She vents loudly before slipping back inti recharge. The sound catches Wheeljack’s attention, and he gives what little of her crest that’s poking out a scritch. “I’m going to miss having her as my lab partner.”

“I will bring her to visit,” Soundwave promises.

“Don’t be a stranger, you’re always welcome to pop by. Though I can’t guarantee your safety.” Wheeljack’s optics crinkle into a smile.

Soundwave returns it, the corners of his mouth moving to match.

Wheeljack stutters, his smile dropping and his field pushing out in awed excitement, “Oh, Jazz is going to be so jealous of me.”

Soundwave doesn’t have a chance to ask what Wheeljack means before the engineer is flying away, digging around his shelves. He picks things up and pushes them aside in his quest for something. Eventually, he finds it, holding the device up excitedly and racing back to Soundwave to present it.

Soundwave stares at the upsized polaroid camera, confused.

“Let’s take a picture together to celebrate Laserbeak’s recovery.” He holds the camera up, the flash popping open with a quiet schnick.

Soundwave doesn’t get another word out before Wheeljack is moving him to sit in front of Laserbeak, Buzzsaw’s box being brought into frame and a photo snapped. Soundwave blinks the last of the flash out of his optics when Wheeljack moves again, his arm outstretched and camera facign them when he snaps another photo.

The camera spits them out, the polaroid sticking out like a tongue from the machine.

Wheeljack takes the photo and shakes it. He waits a few seconds before showing the developing images to Soundwave, “What do you think? Should I change career paths?”

In both images Soundwave is staring dumbly into the camera’s lens, confused. The scars on his face are still jarring to look at, but it’s as Jazz said, he’s beginning to forget what he ever looked like before them. He must have been making some kind of face because Wheeljack Is laughing and taking the photos back to pin up on his wall. They sit proudly beside one of him and Ratchet.

Now that Soundwave looks, most of the photos are of Ratchet.

There’s some untransmutable emotion that fills Soundwave as he stares at the photographs. The domestic scenes of them just living and being that Wheeljack found important enough to document. It transfixes him. He listens quietly as Wheeljack explains each photograph, every moment him and Ratchet shared together, of the crew aboard the Ark.

They make it through most of them when Soundwave’s shift time finally arrives, and he’s dragged away to the hot security office and its banks of mismatched monitors.   

 He didn’t have any pictures of Buzzsaw. Why didn’t he ever take his picture? Such a simple thing and he missed doing it.

The box is still between his hands. He changes directions to his habsuite to put Buzzsaw to rest. It’s the first thing he has that he can put on the shelves in his room. Buzzsaw sits alone and Soundwave decides that will have to be something he fixes. He says his goodbyes to Buzzsaw and leaves the room, running directly into Prowl.

“Hello Soundwave,” he greets, his door wings twitching in the Praxian variant of wing cant. Soundwave watches them, unfamiliar with the intonation.

He holds his helm in line with Prowl’s.

The Praxian just blinks, reading his internal chronometer before speaking again, “Your shift is starting soon, would you perhaps walk with me to it?”

Soundwave waits for Prowl to move out of his doorway. He waits and Prowl moves to stand beside him. He’s a head taller than Jazz, hitting just underneath Soundwave’s nasal ridge. Soundwave extends his em field and gets that same crawling reaction, his lips peeling up in the corners as his field probes his. Soundwave twitches the corners of his lips in glee.

“Megatron is moving a large number of soldiers, we suspect it might be to here for an attempt at a blitz.” Prowl says, wasting no time.

A shot of alarm goes through Soundwave, he stops in his tracks to turn seriously towards Prowl.

The enforcer gazes at him analytically, examining his reaction to the news, crunching the numbers, “If he is to blitz us, he has a 55 percent chance of failing. It goes down to 43 percent if you decide to betray us. I am not fool enough to take compliance for obedience. You may have Jazz and Optimus on your side, but you still haven’t proven yourself to me.”

“I do not care to prove myself to you,” Soundwave coldly states, “I know my principles. If Megatron is to attack, I will meet him where he stands and cut him down.” He promises.

Prowl snorts derisively, “It’s fifty-fifty odds if you do.”

“I’ve played with worse.” Soundwave says, turning to keep walking down the hall.

Prowl follows along, his stride quickening to stand beside Soundwave again, “I had another reason for speaking with you.”

Soundwave slows down just a tad, allowing Prowl to move at a more relaxed pace.

“I would like your expertise when it comes to security in order to fortify our defenses, along with potential ways Megatron would try and infiltrate our base.” Prowl says.

“You do not trust me, but you want my help.”

“Consider it proving yourself to me.” Prowl huffs.

Soundwave wants to roll his optics. Such roundabout ways of doing things. He keeps his opinions to himself, walking the rest of the way to the security office in silence.

When Soundwave opens the door to the security office, he can hear several of the computer’s fans kick up as they desperately try to cycle in the new cold air. Already overheating is Red Alert, his tired optics glued to the monitors in the faithful way they always have been.

He acknowledges them with a lethargic wave, having watched them walk up from the cameras.

Prowl barely gets out a greeting before Red Alert is speaking, optics still stuck on the monitors, “Megatron doesn’t have anyone with know how to collapse our systems anymore, so any attack is going to be entirely physical. The main thing we’ll have to watch for is them getting in through our hangar area and any above ground ports and windows.”

Prowl’s door wings twitch in irritation, “I’d appreciate a head’s up if you’re going to be spying on me.”

“Head’s up.” Red Alert says blandly.

Prowl opens his mouth to chew out Red Alert when Soundwave interrupts him, “Red Alert is correct. He will most likely utilize Bruticus to break his way inside.”

Prowl’s mouth purses, taking a deep vent as his processor takes in the new information, adjusting his previous estimates. “We have nothing that’s strong enough to resist that kind of strength. The main defenses will have to be within the Ark itself.”

Red Alert blinks, “Guess we’re battening down the hatches.”

“Indeed.”

It was going to be a long day; Soundwave could already feel it.

*

Jazz swears, the portal closing out from underneath him as he’s swiftly booted out of the Decepticon data bases and forums. He tries a few backdoor tricks and gets a few more minutes of success before once again he’s being shunted out. Damn. He takes his loss on the chin, collecting what he managed to find in a folder for later.

It’s as they fear, he’s coming here. Jazz can only imagine what changed for Megatron to try and target them directly. ‘Maybe he finally wants Soundwave back’ but that was too wishful of thinking.

Jazz wasn’t going to give him back anyways.

He feels a hot flush of shame at his promise. In the morning light, it felt hollow. It was selfish of Jazz to ask Soundwave to rely only on him. He had no idea how to be strong.

‘Was that so bad though?’ Jazz thought to himself, ‘You gave permission for Soundwave to be weak, maybe give the same to yourself.’

Jazz sighs, knowing it to be right. He wasn’t Soundwave, a monolith, but he didn’t have to be. He just has to be Jazz, a bot always in over his helm.

*

Another wrench is passed down the line and Soundwave forces his arm to stop shaking as he hands it off. His frame is smarting from just these simple actions, of lifting and bending as they install stronger bulkheads and blast doors. He doesn’t want to stop, wanting to prove himself useful. Even as he gets increasingly more concerned glances, Soundwave pushes through.

They’re on the last of it. Jackpot proving himself to be more than a pretty frame as he expertly installs the blast doors and their mechanisms. Every test goes smoothly with Mainframe giving his seal of approval when they slam shut.

Soundwave was right on it being a long day. When looking out the windows, the once bright morning sun has sunk below the hills outside leaving the landscape in an orange glow.

The sound of a compressor gun has Soundwave jumping, his plating flaring for a brief second as he goes from exhausted to high alert. He catches Red Alert in a similar state, his optics scanning the area before the tension leaves his frame. He settles back into his slump Soundwave has begun to associate with him.  

“Where’s your cassettes?” Red Alert asks, his optics settling in the dark corners of the hall, “I thought you would have called them over to help.”

“They are not required for this task.” Soundwave answers.

“You got them doing something else?” Red Alert asks.

Soundwave hesitates, “Ravage is taking respite with her sister Laserbeak. The twins…” he feels down the bond to them, feeling their anger and frustration, “Are having an argument.”

“An argument.”

“I do not wish to be involved.”  

“A couple extra servos wouldn’t be bad for clean up.” Red Alert hints again. It’s that same round about way of asking for things.

“They are not needed; it will be fine.” Soundwave assures.

Red alert lifts an optic ridge, pointing the large air compressor as if to say, ‘you want to carry this thing?’

Soundwave can see Red Alert’s point. He stubbornly holds out, gathering up the supplies himself but stops when he feels the weld in his side threaten to split again. Soundwave straightens up slowly, a servo to his injury. “I will call them over.”

“Gee thanks Soundwave.” Red Alert says, as if he had not been leading Soundwave by the nose.

It is loathsome, but Soundwave does not allow himself to be hurt by Red Alert’s suggestion. This is a part of being weak. He still helps, taking some of the lighter pieces of equipment, helping in other ways. He is not useless, this weakness though temporary does not make him less than. He sees it in the way Jackpot and Mainframe work together, in Red Alert offering his support, his advice. They are all in some way weak.

His cassettes arrive still in the throws of their argument, arriving with two hangers-on’s, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, the later holding Frenzy a loft, carrying the cassette like you would a small child. Rumble is yelling up to his twin, who argues back just as passionately. Sideswipe chuckles, stooping down to grab at Rumble to carry him like Frenzy.

Soundwave is proud of Rumble when he successfully dodges the attempt, pointing a stern digit at the bruiser, “Keep your servos to yourself! If you wouldn’t do it to a bigger bot, don’t do it to me.”

Sideswipe stops, blinking dumbly at Rumble.

His cassette bares his dente in a snarl, turning his anger to Frenzy who freezes under his brother’s glare, “I told you this would happen if you let him pick you up. You’re bringing the movement down!”

“I am not!” Frenzy yells back, pushing his way out of Sunstreaker’s hold.

They devolve into more squabbling, and it threatens to give Soundwave a helm ache. “Enough!” Soundwave commands.

The twins snap their mouths shut, turning to Soundwave and waiting expectantly for their orders.

Soundwave rubs at his temples with an aching limb, “Rumble, Frenzy, assist Red Alert and the security team in clean up and equipment storage.”

They jump to action, Rumble exclaiming that finally they had something to do. Frenzy takes a flying leap out of Sunstreaker’s arms’ landing with a thud to the ground below. They jostle each other, elbowing the other out of the way as they fight over who gets to carry what. Red Alert directs them with ease, pointing out what can get packed away and what Jackpot needs to stay out. They perform the task with the same brutal efficiency as their carrier.

The terror twins take their time to wander over to Red Alert, offering themselves up as a couple extra bodies. Red Alert thinks on it. He waves them away for the time being, letting them sit back as Rumble and Frenzy work.

Down the bond Soundwave can feel their satisfaction at being given work, at being able to help. They brush up against him in the link, checking in on him and he lets them taste his weariness. They teak amused in their fields, confusing Mainframe. They cheer him on, encouraging him and Soundwave bolsters.

They check the last blast door and Mainframe gives it the okay and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker spring into action. They take the bulkier equipment, balancing it between them. Soundwave directs them to where it needs to go, following behind them with his own cassettes.

The two sets of twins chat idly between them. They’re joking around, filling in Rumble and Frenzy on what they saw on their deployment. Rumble and Frenzy take it in with rapt attention, their innate curiosity probing the twins more. It’s friendly.

It’s a scene that never would have happened aboard the Nemesis. Soundwave can’t remember the last time he’d heard friendly chatter from their troops. He had built such an untouchable persona; the common soldier fell into attention even at his passing in case he felt in the mood to report back their laziness to Megatron. They had destroyed the simple joys of life in the service of Megatron.

Among the Autobots, Soundwave was starting to understand their reasons for fighting. The right to choose covered more than leadership, it blanketed their lives, the ability to live freely, to love and laugh with those around them.

This is what Jazz wanted for him. 

Then it hits him, stronger than any emotion he thought he’d ever felt before. Soundwave loves him.

It’s cataclysmic, the echoes shooting down his symbiote bonds in a surprised burst. It’s so sudden and strange, Rumble stops in the middle of his sentence to stare at his carrier. Frenzy looks too, confused.

He can’t explain it to them, “Keep moving,” he commands.

They turn back around, following his orders. There’s no further discussion on it, just lingering confusion Soundwave doesn’t have the courage to dissipate.

He tightens his control over the bonds and focuses again on his work. His body is tired when Red Alert releases all of them from their duties. Soundwave watches as groups peel away in opposite directions, walking with their partners and friends, waving at others, and wishing them a good night before the siege.

Red Alert nudges Soundwave, glancing at the security office. Soundwave nods understanding and follows Red Alert.

They sit in the overheated room, a secret flask appearing out of a compartment in Red Alert’s arm, passing the engex back and forth as they watch the monitors and relax.

“They’re hosting a little party, but you didn’t seem like the type to enjoy them, I’m not either,” Red Alert explains, “But this is pretty good.”

Soundwave nods, taking another swig of engex. He savors the taste of it, the liquor a rare treat he rarely indulged in. Soundwave hands the flask back, “Thank you.”

“No problem. Cheers to the siege.” Red Alert says with a half-cocked smile. He drains half the flask and hands it over to Soundwave to finish.

Soundwave holds it up, “To the death of Megatron.” He drains the flask, feeling the liquor burn down his intake.

Chapter Text

He is in the back of a convoy, his optics blindfolded as the Autobots take him out of their base. Snare didn’t know how to feel, riding like a piece of cargo inside the Prime. He’s jostled around with the bumps in the road. His guards grunt as they get unseated. A fist bangs on the side of the containers hull.

“Are you trying to hit the potholes Optimus?” Ironhide’s gruff voice asks.

“Apologies,” Optimus’ voice rumbles from around them.

There’s a harmonic quality that soothes Snare subconsciously. There’s an undercurrent to his voice, a resonance that travels through him like a singing bowl.

It falls silent again.

The cuffs around Snare buzz, their numbing effect unpleasant against his plating. There are no more bumps as the road evens out, the sound of tires against asphalt rattles around the cabin. Snare can hear Ironhide shift and whisper to Mirage. He stays still.

There’s a small laugh and then a hushed reprimand, “Don’t joke about that.” Mirage says, playfully pushing Ironhide.

There’s more shifting, Ironhide resettling into his seat, and then Optimus stops.

“We have arrived,” Optimus announces.

The container doors open, and Snare can feel the sunlight against his plates. The fabric around his optics lightens and then careful servos remove it.

Snare blinks the spots out of his vision. He’s practically nose to nose with Mirage. Snare looks into his blue optics and sees nothing but pity. They lead him out by his cuffs.

It’s not coast that greets him but woods. He looks around, confused. The stasis cuffs get removed and he’s once again free. Snare turns to look at Optimus.

In the band of trees, he looks serene. That gentleness Snare felt from his voice is present in every inch of his frame. “This is as far as we can take you. We have tried in the past to release prisoner’s closer to the Nemesis, but that has led to disastrous results. I am saddened to see you go, but I respect your choice. If you ever change your mind, the Autobots will welcome you.” Optimus says.

Snare doesn’t doubt that. More care was shown to him in that cell than his entirety in the Decepticons. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I fear you will not have the opportunity to choose after this moment, but I do not know what would convince you either. You witnessed the death of your closest friends by his hands, and yet you are still committed to Megatron and his cause. I am deeply distressed that upon your return to the Decepticons, Megatron would dispatch of you as well.” Optimus says with the seriousness of a grave.

“He wouldn’t hurt me,” Snare denies, “Strika died because she was a failure, the others got in Megatron’s way. They should have known better.”

“Do you think he would not see you as a failure, returning from our base?” Optimus asks.

“You don’t get it. That’s fine, I understand since loyalty isn’t a thing in the Autobots but to the Decepticons, there’s nothing greater.”

“Snare-“Optimus starts but Mirage interrupts him.

“Let it go. He’ll have an answer for everything you throw at him. It’s as Soundwave said, we can’t help him.”  Mirage says sadly.

Optimus ducks his helm, relenting. He wishes he had more time, perhaps they could have gotten through to Snare. As it is, Optimus can do little more than pray for his safety. “May Primus watch over you.” Optimus wishes.

Snare hesitates for a moment more and when nothing else is said to him, he transforms and breaks through the forest canopy to disappear into the sky above them, not even sparing them a goodbye.

Optimus watches his chemtrails form and break apart in the sky, wondering if this will be the last time Snare is seen alive.

“You did your best, no one will say you didn’t try.” Ironhide offers.

His optics stay stuck on those thin white lines of clouds, fading with every passing breeze. If Optimus could, he would have stayed and watched them disappear, but there was still much work left to do before the siege and others who needed his attention.  

Still, it did not lighten his spark to know he had let a mech walk to their death.

*

The scars had lightened since the first time Jazz had seen them. They still twisted Soundwave’s features, but the burn had evened out slightly and no longer could you see the very edges of the tic tack toe game. The nanite jar was empty as well, Jazz’s digits smoothing over the last of it. Jazz could barely tell where Ratchet’s work began and ended. He ran a digit across the lip of the dock, feeling the metals edge dig into his plating, sharp enough to cut.

“You should probably get your door on before the siege starts.” Jazz remarks, pulling his digits away, “I’ll tell Ratchet to put you up the list. Your twins need their t-cogs and guns back.” Jazz notes to himself.

He looks up and catches Soundwave’s visor in his. The ruby glass cuts him. In the dark corner of a frame, only two pixels wide, he’d seen a look so intense in fury it had made him sick. It ignites in his processor like a sparkler and he’s unchaining Soundwave’s wrists from the wall again, taking his full weight.

The last spark fizzles out and he realises he’s frozen stiff. “Sorry,” he mumbles out an apology before he can help himself. He recovers quickly, getting back his train of thought, “I guess you’ll need your cannon back, unless you wanted to wait and see what Jackie could do to upgrade it.”

“I will wait.” Soundwave says, his voice a gentle hum.

Jazz nods, fighting back the ill that’s threatening to make him purge.

It hits Jazz again how tall Soundwave is, the top of his helm slides just under his chin. “It’ll be fine. Prowl loves to tote around his numbers but that’s all they are sometimes, just numbers.”

Soundwave nods.

The pipes above them rattle as someone a stall over turns on the solvent. Jazz reluctantly lets Soundwave go. They leave the wash racks and Jazz follows along beside him like a lost dog. He walks Soundwave to his room and stays in the doorway like a plague.

The warm yellow light of the room spills over Soundwave’s blue plating, casting his shadow over Jazz.

“Are you happy here?” Jazz asks.

Soundwave turns around, his bared mouth holding in a soft neutral line. He stares at Jazz in a way that makes him feel small and unsure, “Yes.”

“Do you ever wish things had been different?”

“There’s no point in doing that. You can only make the changes yourself.”

“I keep thinking about would have happened if I hadn’t found you. If I was too late.” Jazz admits.

 Soundwave moves closer to his doorway, blocking the light, “Don’t torture yourself with hypotheticals Jazz. You did well.”

“How fast would you have figured it out?”

“I don’t know, it didn’t happen that way.”  

The hallway is oppressive in its silence, the longer Jazz stands in Soundwave’s doorway, the more he feels he cannot move. Soundwave’s servos are on the doorframe as he leans in closer. Jazz tilts his helm up to keep the eye contact between them. He can feel himself focusing on Soundwave like a laser. The small tastes of his em field as he tries to extend it to Jazz in peace meal. It mingles with his, feeding on his anxiety and depositing warmth in its place.

 “If we had traded places, I would have tried to treat you with the same mercy and failed. You are kind Jazz, that is not something I could ever be.”

“Can I crash here for the night?” Jazz asks before he knows why. The thought of being alone frightens him right now. ‘Be kind to me tonight,’ Jazz thinks to himself, ‘Be something you’ve never been.’

“Just for a few hours.” Soundwave says, moving aside to let Jazz find his home in his room, “You can stay until Rumble and Frenzy return.”

There’s a brush of plating against his as Soundwave’s digits graze him. A soft zip of static electricity numbs Jazz’s fingertip. That static feeling follows him as he sits on Soundwave’s sofa, looking up at him. He plays at blithe, and it’s not as hard this time feeling like he’s finally allowed to have some fun. “So, what have ya got for movies?” The grin is strained in the corners, but it feels right in the moment, to smile like a half-frightened thing because he is.

Soundwave doesn’t answer, moving over to the entertainment console and selecting a documentary. He pops it into the disc player, grabbing the remote on his way back to couch. He hands it to Jazz and settles on the opposite side from him.

Jazz watches the dvd start up until the menu reveals ‘March of the Penguins’. Jazz looks over at Soundwave for an explanation.

“Laserbeak likes this one.”

“Not because I’m the same colour?” Jazz teases.

“That might be the other part of it.”

He laughs and presses play, snuggling down on his end of the couch. It’s quiet, Soundwave doesn’t chat through movies like Blaster does. Soundwave watches films like he’s dissecting them. Every frame is a fascination for him. “You watch a lot of movies on the Nemesis?” Jazz asks about a quarter of the way through.

“Human media was discouraged. Megatron said it wouldn’t be worth our time.” Soundwave states.

Jazz hums, “Sounds depressing.”

“Quite.”

Jazz can feel the calm winds from the eye, The storm a gust away. They’re about to break the wall and Jazz can’t tell if he’s scared of it or not. He’s survived so many storms, it’s hard to feel strongly about this one.

The music is gentle and slowly Jazz can feel himself slip. He fights it off for as long as he can, but the urge takes him, and he’s recharging against the arm of Soundwave’s sofa. The carrier watches him, letting the movie play out and sit in the menu until the repetitive sounds annoy Soundwave enough to turn off the entertainment system.

It’s easy to pick up Jazz and take him to his berth and lay him out to a more comfortable position. His frame sways with his steady steps, and he doesn’t stir once, deeply asleep against Soundwave’s open chest. Even holding him this close, there are still miles between them. “Sleep well Jazz, I love you.” Soundwave whispers in confession.

Tomorrow the storm wall breaks, and with it comes the end.

Chapter Text

The seeds of doubt were trying to spread their thin roots among his soldiers. Questions about Soundwave sprung up every time he turned his helm away for even a second, and he was under no illusion who was to blame. He could not stop his second’s conniving than he could sooner command the sun to rise and set. That did not stop him from railing his fists against his soft plating.

Starscream moves with a limp Megatron could only wish to make permanent. If he did not need him for the coming days, those haughty wings would have been rent from their perch on his back plates and disposed of in no short order.

His gaze catches on those silver edges and the longing comes barrelling into him and then his attention must be spared to the rows of soldier before him. Onslaught is silently by his side, helm bowed and patiently waiting for his orders. It is like Soundwave, but unlike his once constant, Onslaught’s presence annoys him with its false platitudes. Still, the obedience is important to mark and reward.

“You have done well to ready the troops so quickly Onslaught,” Megatron compliments.

Onslaught ducks his helm low, “Thank you my lord.” He does well to keep the seething tone out of his voice.

“It is too soon, and I have told you this countless times that we are underprepared,” Starscream snarls from his right, “Do you want our mechs slaughtered? We need at least a few more weeks to properly strategize.”

“You had your time, I gave you three days, more than enough. Soundwave would have gotten this army ready in two.”

Starscream rolls his optics at the claim. It is only the slipping sense of time that stays Megatron’s fists from beating that arrogant expression from his face.

He turns with brutal efficiency to his assembly. A sea of purple greets him, their optics shining with adoration. “My fellow Decepticons,” He announces, “It is finally time we wipe out the Autobots once and for all. My third, Soundwave has reported to me. His work weakening the Autobots from the inside is complete!  We now only need to seize the opportunity he has crafted for us. We march at dawn. Ready yourselves to die with honor! For the glory of the Decepticons!” He yells out to them.

“FOR THE GLORY OF THE DECEPTICONS!” A thousand voices shout back to him.

“What do you think will happen if they find out you lied to them?” Starscream snidely comments.

“I do not care. If it lets them believe we will win, I will tell them as many lies as I need.” Megatron whispers, keeping his expression the same for the crowd.

Starscream takes a step closer to him, giving the impression of a united front. Megatron could feel his dente pick at his struts, devouring him like a dead carcass. “Then you best pray you win.”

Failure was not even a figment in his imagination.

*

The human’s had named the mountain after the mother of an emperor, a befitting tomb for a Prime. Megatron looks at the half-buried spaceship with contempt. The angled launch bay that serves as their entrance just visible, camouflaged against the foliage that surrounded them.

With a gesture, Bruticus assembles. The beast hulks forwards, its many unsavory parts rolling together into one smooth machine. Its strikes ring like thunder and Megatron watches the Autobot defenses fold.

His winged second hangs around his back like an omen, fanning wings to cast deep shadows in front of him. He chooses to ignore the blade carefully hidden away.

“My seekers will wait out here, my liege,” Starscream simpers, “Their flight frames are useless inside the small spaces of the Ark.”

“Do what you want Starscream.” Megatron marches forward, joining his troops on front lines. He is shoulder to shoulder with them, a living god cutting his dente on their killing floor. Their spirits lift by his mere presence and Megatron can feel their belief swell. He braves the blaster fire, shouting “Forward!” as they descend upon the Autobot base.

Bodies fall beside him only to be replaced by another. The Autobots are hunkered behind built up walls, check pointing their tight corridors and retreating behind reinforced bulkheads and blast doors. They moved as one limb, coordinated against their writhing mass. The Decepticons lose more than they slaughter, but Megatron stands against it all, surviving against them.

He pushes onward, deeper into the Ark. His forces grow smaller, but Megatron does not care. Those that are strong move with him, sheltering behind his frame. The carnage is meaningless to him. His true goal is still hidden from him, buried in the heart of his enemy. “Where is my third!” he yells into the blood-filled halls of the Ark, “Where is my most loyal?” Megatron demands.

He shouts his name to no one and nothing.

The soldiers around him break rank and waiver.

He growls, baring his dente in a fierce snarl, pulling the others forward along with him. He drags his forces deeper until there is no one left beside him. He can feel the mythology of the Decepticons lose its meaning the longer his mission takes. Their assured victory crumbling as the illusion is destroyed. He does not understand why Soundwave has not returned to him yet. He was the one never meant to leave him.

“Soundwave!” Megatron cries, his voice going hoarse, “Do not let them keep you from me!” he pleads. “Fight back!”  He charges his ion cannon, firing a beam into the Autobot’s barricades.

Smoke ignites around him; his plating burns, the blood on his servos leaving long scorch marks.

The flames clear and tall stacks appear on the battlefield, Optimus Prime cutting through the noise to stalk towards him. Axe drawn and mask hiding all except those blue optics of his.

“No, I don’t want you,” Megatron yells at his figure, “Where is Soundwave? Stop hiding him from me!”  

“I have hidden nothing. You are a victim to your own blindness Megatron,” The axe in Optimus’ servo swings.

“Deceitful as always. I know the truth,” Megatron assures, “I know Soundwave is here. I know how you want to use him.  You think he will betray me if you ply his lips with honey. You would throw him away once he’s served his purpose, such is the fickle nature of you Autobots. You will not stop me from saving him.”

“Take another step, and I will cut you down where you stand.” Optimus threatens, “Do not test me tonight Megatron.”  

Megatron laughs at the aping of honor. He takes his step forward, grinding his heel into the Ark’s floors. “You say that every time, but yet you never do.”

Optimus swings his axe up and rushes Megatron. He still fights like a dock worker, all brute strength. There’s little strategy as Optimus swings at him in broad one-armed strokes. The years in the pits come back to Megatron and he parries the Prime’s strikes. Optimus attempts to drive them backwards, away from the last blockade before the medical wings. They trade blows, Megatron resorting to his own brute strength as he wrestles for control of the Prime’s axe. He gets control of the handle and rests it away, leaving Optimus without a weapon.  He swings the axe around, aiming the blade at Optimus’ throat. The Prime ducks out of the way.

Now they’re moving back, with Megatron controlling the pace. He slashes at Optimus’ plating, toying with him. Behind Optimus he can see the wall of blasters aimed at them. Their optics glint with hatred as they wait for the chance to kill him. He feeds off their hate, showing them how weak their leader is against him.

Megatron looks to captive audience, axe raised in a killing blow, primed to cleave Optimus’ arm from his torso. A flash of his plating falters Megatron’s blow and that red visor has him failing to follow through with it.

This new vision of Soundwave competes with the one Megatron has always known, and he cannot reconcile it. His third, the strong unstoppable Soundwave, is broken. He bares not the scars of a warrior but a victim. The anger in his visor alarms the warlord. Megatron feels his body revolt against the sight faster than his processor can understand.

Soundwave rushes from behind the barricades like a mad dog, vaulting over mechs on his quest to reach Megatron. They try to hold him back, but he was like the rising tides, flowing out from their servos in a wave to meet him.

He doesn’t understand the licks of fear that travel up his spine.

“Soundwave, no!” Optimus yells, moving to block Soundwave.

He charges up his sonic cannon, aiming it through Optimus at Megatron’s spark. The Prime doesn’t move out of the way fast enough, catching a portion of the blast. It spins the Prime, knocking him to the floor as it connects with his shoulder.

Megatron only has a second before the cannon hums again. He feels the concussing forces against his internals, the sound threatening to rupture his insides. Megatron coughs up energon as his back hits the floor.

A second blast hits him. Megatron’s vents stall. A fist connects with his face plate. His instincts snap into place. He’s striking back with a snarl. His third’s helm snaps to the side. Megatron wrestles his way out from underneath his subordinate, pinning him to the floor of the Ark.

The split in his lip stings. The taste of blood is unreal to him. ‘This didn’t happen,’ He tells himself, ‘Soundwave didn’t do that.’ But his servos are not wrapped around Starscream’s neck. He doesn’t know who this is anymore.

“You’d dare raise your hand to me!” he screams, “I am Megatron!” Blood flies from his lips to spatter on Soundwave’s face.

There is something so ugly to the way Soundwave looks underneath him. The scars, the missing battle mask, capped off and never replaced, the sharp cut of his visor. It is a twisted version of the stalwart constant he is used to.

Megatron tightens his servos around his neck, unsure what else he can do but kill the aberration in front of him. “I am Megatron!” he repeats, even as his mind asks Soundwave what they’ve done to him.

The glint of a blade is reflecting in Soundwave’s visor and Megatron watches Optimus stand with his axe.  He turns his helm just in time to see Optimus’ optics for one last time.

The cut is clean, and Megatron feels his helm hit the floor and then roll. He has a few seconds left as his body slackens and falls to the side. His optics meet Soundwave’s, and he sees the conflicted twist of his features. The pain mixing with regret.

He hisses out one last word before he meets the pit and he makes sure Soundwave can hear it, “Traitor.”

There is shock from the Autobot side. Nobody dares speak as Optimus flicks the energon from his axe. The air is still as Optimus regards the body.

 It shifts as Soundwave pulls himself out from underneath it, visor stuck on Megatron’s helm. His mouth is open in a trembling gape. On hands and knees, Soundwave crawls over to his once partner, former master’s helm. He grabs the helm with shaking hands, holding it up to his own, Megatron’s optics to his. Soundwave stares into them, finding nothing but his own confused emotions. He turns to Optimus, lost.

 The matrix offers him nothing.

*

The helm is carried out like Medusa’s, Optimus’ digits curling under his brow ridge to toss at Starscream’s pedes.

The seeker watches it roll, stopping to stare up at him with mouth closed and optics open. “No platter?”

Optimus says nothing. The taste for blood is still in his veins.

Starscream picks up Megatron’s helm, examining the slice. He runs a digit around its perimeter, feeling the clean edge. “Who did it?”

“I did.” Optimus admits.

There is a small jump of shock, and then Starscream recovers, “A pity.”

“Will you take his place?” the axe is heavy in his servo, but he is more than ready to use it again, “Answer me truthfully.”

 “He built a cult; they wouldn’t follow me if I tried. I am satisfied with my seekers. Leave me with Vos and the war can be yours.”

“Then it is done.”

 Optimus holds out a blood-soaked servo. Starscream takes it, noting for once he is the one with clean hands.

Chapter Text

The helm sat on a satin cushion in an acrylic case in Prowl’s backseat, separated from Ironhide by the police grate. He would look at it through the rearview mirror, to stare at the dead optics of Megatron. He digs out his cigarettes, and Ironhide places one in between his lips. It hangs in his mouth, clicking the zippo back and forth before sparking it and lighting the end.  He leans towards it, cupping the flame against the steering wheel, breathing in the fumes. It tastes like electrical smoke.

“Don’t smoke inside of me.” Prowl growls.

Ironhide sucks in another drag, snubbing the cigarette against the back of his servo. It fizzles and smokes, the pain barely registers. He brushes the soot mark away, and absently clicks the zippo. The little flame dances and then he gutters it.

Prowl is driving slowly; the barricades being moved aside to let them pass through the crowd on their way to the stage. Even with the war over, Ironhide just has to move his helm to see which side was Autobot and which was Decepticon.

The Iacon square was still being repaired but the Autobots had managed to clear a small space of rubble to host the ceremony. He looks at the bombed-out buildings, noting the ghosts of what they once were.

Prowl rolls to a stop just before the improvised stage, opening his doors to let Ironhide out.  The barricades more back into place behind them. There’s a small jostling as mechs move to the front to see what he’s doing. He takes Megatron’s helm as carefully as he can, grimacing when it shifts on its pillow.

“It’s a damn tragedy, all of it.” Ironhide says, fighting back the strange nausea that comes up his intake. He keeps waiting for Megatron’s dark optics to light up again.

Prowl transforms smoothly, walking the few feet between them, “What is?”

Ironhide fumbles for his previously lit cigarette, getting out his zippo.

Prowl grabs the lighter, “Here,” he offers, holding the flame to Ironhide.

Ironhide leans in, watching the tip catch ember and breathe in that silky smoke. He holds it, letting it circulate his fans before exhaling, blowing the cloud away from Prowl’s face.

The cruiser makes a wanting expression. Ironhide flicks his optics down when he hears the click of the zippo, the lighter looks good in Prowl’s servos.

“I never understood why mechs smoked.” Prowl says in way of anything meaningful.

Ironhide offers the filtered end, holding up to Prowl’s lips, “Don’t breathe in too deeply, hold it in your mouth at first.”

Prowl does so, leaning forward to take a careful hit. He doesn’t sputter as he holds the smoke, blowing it out a few seconds later in a concentrated stream. He smacks his lips together, trying to get rid of the after taste.

“What’s your thoughts on it?” Ironhide says, taking the cigarette back.

“I still don’t get it.” Prowl admits.

Ironhide smokes it down the filter.  He stamps on the butt and makes his way up the stairs to the small backstage area. They knock on the door and are let in by a grim faced Jazz. Behind him are a gaggle of seekers, crowding around Starscream. He looks uncomfortable and Ironhide can’t blame him. Ironhide navigates the cramped space, dodging Optimus’ large frame and the shadow of Soundwave in the corner. Prowl comes with him as a shield.

The seekers wings flutter and dance as they fuss with something unseen. They giggle and it’d be hard for Ironhide to know they had even lost if he was not there when it had happened. Like water, they part and Ironhide gazes at Starscream in all his polished glory. Jewels and chains of gold delicately draping from his wings and canopy in a curtain of luxury that had not been seen for millions of years.

Perched on his helm sat a modest circlet of gold, a symbol of the crown he so desperately wanted to wear.

He grabs at Megatron’s helm with greedy servos, putting smudges on the acrylic case. Starscream delights in the morbidity, looking upon Megatron with a constrained mania. " I will kiss it now. I will bite it with my teeth as one bites a ripe fruit." He mumbles to himself before laughing cruelly.

The sight is sickening.

Ironhide holds his glossa, standing beside his shield as they are bombarded with Starscream’s joy.

The seeker’s laughter stops, his red optics looking over the room to note the silence around him. His good mood does not hamper as he gets up from his polishing chair, Megatron’s helm turned to face away from him, “You should be happier, the war is over you know.”

“You look like you’re gloating.” Soundwave condemns from his corner.

Starscream turns his helm towards Soundwave. He finds him, red visor cutting through the shadow’s that attempt to hide his disfigured face. Out of all the scars to have, Starscream finds he could have had worse. The seeker puffs up, lifting his wings high in pride, “And why shouldn’t I? I’ve gotten what I want,” Starscream turns the helm in his servos, moving up to gaze into darkened optics once again, “And he didn’t.”

Jazz shifts uncomfortably in place. He can’t look at Soundwave, the shadows too close to another time. Jazz knows that burning visor is glaring at Starscream, at Megatron with visceral hate.

“Is this everything you need Starscream?” Optimus speaks. The breath between him and Starscream is wider than the one between Soundwave and Jazz, trapped on opposite sides of the same room.

“It will suffice,” Starscream sniffs.

“Good, we will begin our address then.” Optimus states. He moves, passing by Starscream with no fear. Ironhide and Prowl follow out behind him, with only Jazz lagging behind, optics turned purposely away. They pull aside the red current, walking out into the wings.

Starscream makes a beckoning motion, and his trine mates fall in behind him, their wings fanning his. He looks over his shoulder at Soundwave, who has yet to move. He snarls, shoving Megatron’s helm at his second. He rushes at Soundwave, grabbing his arm, tugging him forward.

Soundwave moves, shocked by the seeker’s strength. He is pulled until his face is mere inches from Starscream’s. He can see the memories of scars that mar Starscream.

“I don’t have a shred of pity for you,” Starscream snarls, “Not an ounce. As far as I’m concerned what happened to you was fair play for standing around and watching him beat me within an inch of my life. Megatron’s dead, he doesn’t care if you feel sad about it or not. You will join me on that stage. I will not look defeated in my moment of triumph.” He snaps.

Starscream gives Soundwave one last sharp tug, and then he goes back to his trine, taking Megatron’s helm again for himself. Expectantly he waits for Soundwave to follow him.

Pulled from his shadows, Soundwave falls in line. He trails behind the seeker’s cadre, hidden until he is pulled to Starscream’s left by Thundercracker, to stand beside the Second as the Third of a defeated faction.

The red marks on either side of his symbol brand him. Soundwave can feel the Decepticons stare at him in confusion, at Megatron’s helm, at Starscream’s appearance. Their hate shifts from Optimus to them.

Soundwave lowers his helm in shame. He barely listens as Optimus announces the war is over.

*

The Autobots set him up with an apartment, ‘the least they can do for him’ they say. Soundwave takes it, burrowing himself away from the world. The rebuilding efforts are slow, he watches the cranes put up buildings, hospitals be built from the windows of his self-imposed prison. He does not know where he fits into this new Cybertron. Everyday, the Decepticon symbol becomes a mark of shame, delineating the losing side.

He is grateful to Wheeljack and Jazz, who come to visit him. They spend their precious hours telling Soundwave of the outside world.

The Decepticons have splintered. There are still some radical pockets that believe in Megatron’s vision, that cast Soundwave as a traitor. Others have fully latched onto Starscream and Vos, believing it to be the salvation Megatron had promised at the end of the war. Most are struggling to understand their purpose now.

“They need someone to guide them,” Jazz tells him not for the first time, “They need you Soundwave.”

Irrational fear clouds Soundwave’s judgement. He can’t, they still hate him. They don’t understand he didn’t betray his cause, he betrayed Megatron. They didn’t know what Soundwave had personally lost with his death.

He never received his closure; the opportunity stolen from him with a swing of an axe. Megatron, for five million years had been his friend, even if Megatron never viewed Soundwave as such. He had been his friend. Why hadn’t Megatron looked for him?

Jazz can see the fear build in Soundwave. It guts him. All Jazz wants to do is help him see the world he fought so hard for. He doesn’t know what he can do for Soundwave, to bring him out of his apartment.

“At least come outside,” Wheeljack compromises, “We can take a walk, look at the new buildings. Please? It’d mean a lot to Jazz if you came with us.”  

Soundwave considers Wheeljack’s offer. Hesitantly, he answers, wrestling his fear, “I will go.”

The lights on Wheeljack’s helm light up a bright blue, his optics crinkle in the corners as he smiles, delighted.

It’s hard to return the emotion, but Soundwave tries, unfurling his em field to meet theirs.

*

There were times Jazz found it hard to look at Soundwave. Certain lighting, specific expressions and angles left Jazz feeling sick and scared after looking at him. The episodes only became more frequent after Megatron’s beheading and Jazz found himself avoiding Soundwave. It left a sticky guilt on his insides every time he turned away from him. He was sliding backwards, all the progress he made thrown away. He didn’t want to lose the growing connection between him and Soundwave, but his sickness was threatening to tear it apart.

Jazz forces himself to see him and is saddened to see Soundwave sliding on that same slope with him.

In the days Jazz had to work up the courage to see Soundwave, he had retreated into a solitary world, confined to an apartment and the brief visits from Wheeljack. The image of Soundwave the monolith was long gone and now there was only a uniquely and deeply traumatized individual.

He brings up the names he still has regarding Broker, how they still have leads but all he gets back is indifference. That chapter in Soundwave’s life had closed, he needed to focus on walking up that slope.

It’s the first break through with Wheeljack that sets the tone of Soundwave’s recovery.

Jazz brings up missing the twins, and Soundwave lets them out for the time he’s there. Slowly that grows to them being able to free roam around the apartment and then to them being allowed to accompany them on the walks around New Iacon. He almost jumps out of plating when he sees them on their own outside of the apartment, doing errands.

It’s all good signs. Jazz can’t fight the jealousy he feels that he wasn’t the one to break through to Soundwave.

He tells all of this to Blaster. When he comes back to their shared apartment, fulfilling a promise they had made during the war, Jazz tells Blaster how his evil twin is doing. Every time, Blaster asks him not to call him that.

“He’s not evil Jazz.” Blaster says over the sound of the television. The sound system shakes the room as another explosion goes off. The bowl of snacks sits untouched on the low table between them.

“I know that it’s just funny.” Jazz says with a shrug from his side of the couch, “You’re just so different from each other.”

Steeljaw pads over and hops in between them. Jazz busies himself with stroking the pointed spikes that made up the lion’s mane. Steeljaw rumbles his engines, leaning into Jazz.

“You know Wheeljack thinks Soundwave’s in love with him.” Jazz says jestingly, a bitter note still taints his voice.

Blaster perks up with the gossip, “Oh?”

“He says Soundwave confessed to him when he saw Laserbeak fly for the first time. It was very sweet, but Wheeljack turned him down.” Jazz says trying to hide the little stabs of anger.

“Well yeah, Wheeljack loves Ratchet. It’d be stranger if Wheeljack accepted.” Blaster argues, unsure where the anger from Jazz’s voice was coming from.

“He didn’t leave his apartment until Wheeljack said something to him. He wouldn’t move an inch when I tried.”

The pieces click into place and Blaster wants to laugh. He says nothing listening to Jazz rant about how close the two of them were. When Jazz finishes, a musical sting rattles the glass of the treat bowl. “Sounds like you’re jealous.” Blaster remarks, grabbing a few gummies to pop into his mouth.

“I’m not Jealous,” Jazz denies.

Blaster waits, taking a few more gummies before the bowl is snatched away. Jazz’s servo dives inside the bowl grabbing a fistful and plunging it into his mouth.

“I’m a little jealous.” Jazz says, the words coming out muffled from around the gummies.

“I think you’re in love with him.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You’ve done nothing but talk about him. You neglected me for him. You’re in love with Soundwave.”

‘I love you, Jazz’ The words had been whispered to him when Soundwave thought him asleep. He hadn’t known how to feel knowing those words were never meant to be heard by him. He ignored them, the ever-present work taking his attention, giving him time to run and hide from the implications.

“I’m in love with Soundwave.”

Blaster smiles, leaning over and stealing the bowl back, shoving a gummy into his mouth. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah, laugh it up. Only took me a month to realize it.” Jazz snips in good humor.

“A month?” Blaster says in surprise, “Jazz, you have to be serious with me right now, you think it only took you a month?”

The movie ends up forgotten as they devolve into bickering. They spend the rest of the night arguing and when that gets old, they break out the engex and take toasts until the morning. They stumble to their bedrooms, the joy of having permanent sleep overs with his best friend never quite leaving Jazz. He’s sure it will fade in time, but he basks in it now. He has no thoughts of the morning or the pain it will bring.

*

The knocks at the door synch with the pounding in his helm. Every gentle tap feels like it goes straight into his cranium and rattles around his processor. Jazz groans, recognizing the feeling of an overcharge. He curses himself for not plugging into the berth the night before. He yells for Blaaster to answer the door, rolling onto all fours to the floor.

He staggers to their front entrance dodging the furniture in their flat, making it to the kitchen and dispensing himself a glass of energon.

The knocking continues and Jazz curses, sucking down the cube and yelling to the unexpected gust on the other side, “Just a minute!”

The knocking pauses and Jazz throws the cube in the sink. He opens the front door, undoing the locks to look up and stare at Soundwave.

He jolts in surprise, his field whipping out in shock before wrangling itself back in. His plating clamps down and embarrassment fills him at his obviously rumpled state and the mess hidden behind in his apartment.

Soundwave doesn’t comment, his gaze analytical as he takes in Jazz’s appearance. “Were you recharging?” Soundwave innocently asks.

“It’s fine. I uh,” Jazz struggles to find the words, last nights conversation barrelling into him, “It’s fine. Did you want to come in?” He says instead, moving aside to let Soundwave in.

Soundwave stays planted where he is, glancing into the apartment and then back to Jazz, “That will not be necessary. I only came to see you for a moment, I didn’t mean to interrupt your recharge.”

Jazz waves his concern away, “I would have gotten up eventually, so what’s so important big guy?” He smiles, ignoring the way his spark is spinning faster.

“I’m working with the Prime as their Decepticon liaisons with Vos. I will be going there and acting as the correspondent.”

“That’s great! We should celebrate, plan a dinner or something,” Jazz cheers, “Then we can do something to when you get back.”

“It’s a permanent relocation, I suggested it.” Soundwave admits.

“Oh,” Jazz deflates slightly, “Well, when are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So, this is goodbye?”

Soundwave nods his helm.

Jazz doesn’t hide the way his tanks sink. He waffles in the doorway, unsure of what to say or do. Tomorrow. He just realized he was in love last night. It’s not enough time to wrap his helm around everything. “Where are you going after this?” Jazz asks, desperately to keep Soundwave here a little longer.

“I don’t understand.”

“Like, your last day, where are you going after talking to me?” jazz scrambles, “You going to tell Wheeljack?”

Soundwave stares at him confused. He’s stuck in the same awkward position as Jazz. He’s not even sure why he came to tell him, just that he needed to say something before he disappeared, fear almost stealing this from him.

Jazz sighs, stepping out into the apartment hallway, “C’mon, I’ll walk you down.”

Soundwave follows Jazz, crowding behind the Porsche. They turn to the elevators, Jazz pressing the button to call it down. They stand in silence as they wait. Jazz can hear Soundwave shift his weight against the tile of the floor.

“You shouldn’t have told me you were leaving, now I’m going to miss you.” Jazz says as the elevator dings, opening its doors to them.

They step inside, Soundwave pressing the button for the ground floor, “I cannot stop you from missing me.”

 Jazz reaches over and presses the button for the floor below his, “When did you know you were leaving?”

“Two weeks ago,” The elevator dings on the fifth floor, the doors opening wide and then closing again as neither mech gets off.

Jazz presses the next three floors, “Have you told Wheeljack yet?”

“No, just you.”

“I love you; you know.” Jazz says.

The elevator chimes. Jazz stares ahead into the empty hallway of the apartment. For the second time in Soundwave’s life, he feels regret.

The doors close again.

“Don’t go to Vos.” Jazz begs.

‘It’s too late,’ is on the tip of Soundwave’s glossa threatening to ruin everything. “I’m sorry.”

They lapse into silence and there’s only one floor between them left. There’s a sense of doom and finality that infects the air between them.

“You were the best mech I ever met; I was always trying to beat you.” Jazz chokes out, “I couldn’t understand why you were so much better than me.”  

Soundwave looks at Jazz and catches the tears in his visor. They travel down his cheeks in rivers of mercury. He still remembers what those tears taste like, “There was never a moment in the war I didn’t regard you as a worthy opponent. I saw you as source of strength in a sea of weakness. I wasn’t wrong then, but I know now that sea was not holding you back but pushing you up. You showed me how to be weak, and to love and I cannot thank you enough for that.”

Jazz looks up at him and it’s that rainy day again. He is as beautiful as he is hurt, and any words he says now will be trapped in Soundwave’s mind forever.

“I didn’t make you leave right? I didn’t take too long realizing it right?” Jazz asks.

Soundwave’s mind catches on the wording, and suddenly he knows he was heard the night before the siege. “This is my own cowardice.”

The elevator hits the ground floor and sits there.

“I guess this is where you get off,” Jazz says.

The doors stay open, mechs file in and Soundwave doesn’t move. The Elevator cramps and They’re forced to stand closer together, almost plate to plate. Jazz looks up at Soundwave in confusion.

“What are doing?” Jazz whispers.

“Changing my mind,” Soundwave answers.

Jazz looks at Soundwave in shock as his em field tangles with his. The tears that had been on the verge of falling slide down his face as he reads Soundwave’s em field. He feels the wave of love wash over him, the tears drying up and then starting again.

The elevator occupants spare them a glance before quickly looking away. Jazz laughs, trying to get his tears under control. Soundwave takes care to wipe them away. The pad of his thumb is rough against Jazz’s face.

“What about Vos?” Jazz asks.

“It never mattered.” Soundwave doesn’t wait for the elevator to empty before his kissing Jazz, he’s not letting fear rule his life anymore.

Jazz gasps against his mouth but returns the hard press of Soundwave’s lips. He can feel the scars, how they run through his lips, the hint of dente. Jazz marvels at the sensations, feeling every inch of Soundwave pressed against him.

The elevator chimes and breaks their spell and they’re a floor above where they’re supposed to get off. They look around the elevator and sheepishly exit on to the next floor and take the next one down to the correct floor.  They stand too close, digits wrapped around each other. Leaning down, Soundwave finally says the words he should have when Jazz was awake, “I could never hate you, I love you.”

In the morning Soundwave misses his shuttles, and Optimus congratulates him.

Chapter Text

Soundwave needed to contact a scientist; he discovered the secret to time travel. It was having vigorous nonstop interfacing.

Jazz had pulled him into the apartment and from there Soundwave never made it off the berth again. Hours passed and Soundwave was none the wiser, pinned down beneath Jazz in a swamp of pleasure. They went at it until their equipment couldn’t complete a relay, and even a little past that, mindlessly rutting against each other when neither of their spikes would pressurize. He could recall in perfect clarity how Jazz’s slick valve felt sliding over his, grinding against his exterior node, forcing his back plates to arch in pleasure pain.

By the time they had exhausted themselves it was early morning and Soundwave was too tired to make the trek back to his own apartment.

Soundwave awakes the next morning bleary eyed and immensely satisfied. His comm has two messages waiting for him, one from Optimus noting that he had missed his shuttle and congratulated his new relationship. The other was from Starscream whining that if he was going to miss his shuttle the least he could have done was told him. Soundwave dismisses them both. His tanks cramp and remind that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, previous activities keeping him from refuel.

Jazz rolls onto him. Reflexively Soundwave catches him, steading his shoulders. He feels the warm plating under his digits, caressing it gently. Jazz stirs, letting out a sleepy churr. He buries himself against Soundwave’s side, hiding away from the morning light.

Soundwave huffs in amusement before prodding him awake.

Jazz bats his servo away with a growl. It takes a few minutes and persistence for Jazz to lift his helm and glare at Soundwave, that blue visor lighting up.

Soundwave kisses him in apology.  His lips are a sot peck against his, the feeling still new and novel. “We need to refuel.”

Jazz grumbles, but forgives him, stealing a few more kisses before letting Soundwave get up. They playfully clean each other up, running cleaning cloths over their inner thighs and pelvic plates, just enough to walk out into the main area and not be a total mess. They take breaks to kiss, Jazz loving the easy way Soundwave can easily grab and lift him. It puts plenty of thoughts in his helm for things to try later.

They stumble out of Jazz’s room, hooked around each other, jazz giggling.

The giggles freeze when Jazz hears Blaster clear his intake. He turns his helm slowly, locking optics with his best friend.

Blaster sat at their dining table, fresh cube in his servos. Two more sat across from him and the hint of a cheeky smile was threatening to crack his dour expression. “Finished?”

Jazz sheepishly laughs.

Soundwave encircles his servos around Jazz’s flexible waist, subtly pulling him closer.

Blaster rolls his optics, “Well, if you two horn dogs are done. Breakfast is waiting for you.” He gestures to the two cubes.

Jazz untangles himself from Soundwave’s grasp and hurries over. He drinks the energon slowly, feeling his hunger subside in satisfying waves. He smacks his lips together in appreciation. “Thanks B, and uh, sorry.” Jazz says blushing. “I forgot you were in here.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t stay for all of it. I thought I’d be safe if I came home late but you two were still at it.” Blaster says in a blase tone.

“Jazz will be moving in with me.” Soundwave states.

“Agreed.” Blaster echoes.

“Moving in? We just started dating.” Jazz argues.

“Buddy, I love you, I’m happy for you,” Blaster prefaces, “But I’m not putting up with the 24-hour clanging marathons between you and Soundwave. No offence to you, but I can’t stand the mech.”

Jazz’s mouth drops open in shock. This is probably the first time Jazz has ever heard of Blaster hating someone. “Well, I’m not rushing into things,” Jazz stands firm, “You two can plan my living arrangements all you want, I’m staying here until I’m ready.” 

Blaster glances at Soundwave and he can tell that was the unfortunately right thing to say. ‘Well, you got your wish, you’re Soundwave’s now’ Blaster thinks to himself.

Jazz should have known, carriers love a challenge.