Sidequest: Learning to be Cybertronian

by RavageDaCat

Summary:

Jazz learns how to be Cybertronian

Notes:

Hi, this is to help me with my writer's block. I did not plan this at all, kinda wrote in in just under an hour. I have a thing to do in a little bit so no time to ramble, bye!

Chapter 1: Learning to Recharge

Coming out of recharge was different than waking up. 

When Jazz was a child, he had frequent, vivid dreams. They were strange and random. Most of the time, he forgot the detailed scenes. They slipped away once he gained consciousness, only leaving him with vague sensations. A few times, they’d stay with Jazz for a few hours before slowly deteriorating. On the rare occasion, they’d stick around and get seared into his memory. 

These dreams stopped after Jazz reached adulthood. The unique worlds created in his mind became voids. If Jazz did dream, it ended up being something mundane. Something that could easily be mistaken for a true memory. More often than not, however, there was nothing.

That was until the end of the world.

The first Kaiju- er, Quintesson attacks were brutal. They store apart whole cities, leaving only destruction in its wake. Earth was not prepared for massive aliens. Most people were still debating if life even existed beyond the stars, let alone that they could tower over city blocks. Even after the mecha program was created and Earth somewhat got control over the situation, it took a lot of people to get over those first attacks (if one could really even ‘get over’ them), nightmares were the least concern then.

When Jazz became a pilot, dreams became more frequent again. Although they were way different than any he ever had. They always centered around his mecha in some way. Whether he was helping with its maintenance or battling Quintesson. 

The dreams fluctuated. The color could be so vibrant and the images so sharp that it hurt. Sound almost overwhelmed Jazz, the whispers of voices right next to his ears. He dreaded explosions going off during this time in the dreams. They sounded like the wrath of gods. He was hypersensitive to touch. The faintest shiver of air making him tweek out. Sometimes, all the sensations became too much, and he woke up. Sweat would be pouring off him and a severe headache would lace his brain. It was even worse that his neural link was slightly warm, like he’d been ghost connecting to his mecha.

Other times, the dreams were vaguer. His vision was blurry, and the color pallet became muted pastels. Any noise was muffled like he was underwater. More often than not, Jazz only heard white noise, a ringing that wouldn’t leave him alone. Touch didn’t exist, only numbness. Moving was slow. He especially hated these moments in the dream if he was fighting. It was too hard to react, too unclear what Quintesson was attacking him.

The only good thing about these muffled parts of dreams was that he didn’t abruptly awake drenched in sweat. In fact, it was almost the opposite. Jazz was sluggish after them. It took a long, cold shower and black coffee to fully recover from them. Jazz wasn’t sure which one he preferred.  

He guessed it didn’t matter now. He’d never dream again, not how human’s do, anyway. 

Jazz hadn’t got around to asking Ratchet about the specifics of recharge. He’d talked about it with Prowl before… 

From what he understood. Cybertronians were unable to dream. They didn’t have an REM cycle, or really any cycles while “sleeping.” Their higher processors shutdown to avoid being overworked. During this time, secondary processing essentially monitored vitals and… well, processed memory files of the cycles into storage. 

One of the first things Jazz had to overcome as a Cybertronian was organizing his memory storage. It was also the most frustrating thing he’d ever had to do, even with Ratchet guiding him through the process. Jazz barely even got over the fact he was now a metal, transforming alien. Then Ratchet was forcing him to do all this processor set up. 

The worst thing about it was probably the time crunch. Jazz would have been okay with it all if he’d just been given time . But no, needed to get a memory filing set up in place, needed to make sure all HUD settings were in order, needed to make sure energon pump was regulating correctly, needed to make sure his spark was rotating at a good speed, needed to do anything but vent for a moment-

… it would have been better if Jazz had time. But apparently if he hadn’t done those things right then and there , he would have died… or at least he would have died if he’d gone into recharge. Cybertronians were scarily fragile in their first stages of life. They were one processor crash away from rejoining the Allspark. Jazz was just thankful he had Ratchet with him, patiently walking Jazz through his processor set ups. Without the medic and Wheeljack around, Jazz is pretty sure he would have deactivated by now.

After getting set up, Ratchet had declared he was ready for his first recharge. It was strange. There was nothingness, then little snippets of waking up (onlining?), then freaking out and crashing (it had taken all of Ratchet’s skills to keep his processor from completely shutting down and snuffing his spark), and then waking up again to Ratchet gently coaxing him through his maintenance. 

As abruptly as recharge had started, Jazz was suddenly online. Only he wasn’t. He was conscious- most of his higher processing abilities had turned on, but he hadn’t been able to move yet. The panic Jazz felt then almost caused another crash. Ratchet had hurried into the room to help Jazz online completely and then calm down. Then they’d gone through the protocols, so it didn’t feel so jarring the next time Jazz woke again.

“Unlike humans, booting up is usually a one process thing. We don’t cycle through different stages.” Ratchet said as they looked over the scans taken during Jazz’s recharge cycle. “It’s like turning a light switch on and off. There might be a delay, but it’s usually not noticeable.”

Ratchet turned away from the scans before looking Jazz over. The medic harshly sighed, the exhaustion in his field apparent. Jazz felt dizzy from the other’s emotions, still wrapping his processor around the whole EMF situation, before a wave of calm smoothed over him.

“However,” Ratchet continued, “there are always exceptions. Bots with specialized mods can find their onlining protocols to be different. Prowl, for example-”

Jazz’s focus narrowed on Ratchet at the designation. His spark felt an almost uncomfortable tug at the mention of the other black and white mech. 

“-his tacnet may have given him an edge on strategies, but it made his recharge protocols reluctant to initiate, and he was lethargic for a good breem after booting up.”

“Was that why he’s always workin late?” Jazz wondered. Becoming Cybertronian has given him a few insights about his partner. “He never seems to want to stop. Was it because he technically couldn’t?”

Ratchet’s field flared in exasperation and frustration, making Jazz shiver. “That damn mech never wanted to stop. Even if he didn’t have a tacnet, he’d be conjunxed to his work. That being said,” Ratchet’s demeanor softened, a whole wave of jumbled emotions plowed into Jazz before Ratchet pulled his field away, “not being able to recharge right away couldn’t have helped the situation. I had been toying with simulator coding to see if there were any edits I could make that could make cycling down easier, but that was before…”

Heavy silence weighed between the two as Ratchet drifted off.

Before Jazz had onlined, Ratchet and Wheeljack had tried to reach anyone over the Charger ’s comm system. They hadn’t gotten any reply. They scouted out Icura and its moon. No trace of Cyberonian life. It seemed like the blast had wiped them from existence. 

Jazz refused to believe Prowl was gone. Deep in his gut- er, transformation cog(?, Jazz didn’t know a lot of Cybertronian organs) he knew Prowl was alive. And likely the others as well. It wasn’t logical that only three(ish) Cybertronians survived.

“If I wasn’t looking right at you,” Ratchet suddenly said, looking Jazz over, “I would assume by my scans of your processor I’d be dealing with a Praxian or flight frame. Your sensor suite is one of the most advanced ones I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.” 

Jazz ignored the sarcastic tone at the end.

“Your visor,” Ratchet gestures toward the glassy material covering Jazz’s optics, “has its own ocular sensors. Normally visors- especially military grade, are just protective gear put in place over the optics. Yours, however, are actually connected to your processor, essentially becoming a backup set of optics. If your optics went down, you’d still have over 75 percent of your vision.”

“So, what you’re saying is: I have four eyes.” Jazz said with a chuckle, remembering the anti-bullying sessions in school. 

Oh, to be a naive kid again. All he had to worry about was treating others- even kids with glasses, with respect. No apocalypse back then. No being reincarnated into a glowing orb. Just regular kid stuff like drinking chocolate milk.

“I suppose.” Ratchet said, looking Jazz over. The joke had gone completely over his helm. “What I’m more concerned about is your sensory horns.” He continued.

In reflex, Jazz angled them forward, imagining cat ears perking forward. It had been revolutionary to learn that they moved. And by revolutionary, Jazz meant overstimulating. The horns seemed to pick up the different types of waves washing over Jazz. And although high school taught Jazz there was a lot going on in the atmosphere around him, to actually ‘hear’ all the different ripples around him was a lot. 

“Oh, yeah. I turned those off-” Jazz squeaked, wincing and ducking away as Ratchet threw a wrench at him. It hit his shoulder pauldron. Thankfully, his armor took most of the blow, but Jazz couldn’t help but rub it as he looked wearily up at Ratchet.

“You idiot!” Ratchet hissed, glaring down at Jazz. “Turn them back on! You’ll never grow accustomed to them at this rate. Your frame might start rejecting their input if you block out the signals. Or you’ll get so overwhelmed you crashed. You want that?”

“No.” Jazz said begrudgingly. “But, Ratchet, you have to understand,” Jazz bemoaned, “humans only got five main senses, and those were lackluster compared to what you guys have. Adding a sixth isn’t helping.”

Ratchet harrumphed, but his field did fill with sympathy and guilt. “You still need to get accustomed. Turn them back on, but feed their input toward your secondary processors. Once they get acquainted with the feedback, your higher processing can slowly start to take over in small shifts.”

Jazz ex-vented in frustration. The gesture was very different from breathing, since he no longer had lungs. The air instead went throughout his whole ventilation system. Depending on the temperature (which seemed to run cold on all Cybertronian vessels), Jazz was in for a shock as his systems suddenly cooled and warmed abruptly. 

His servos tightened on the medical berth under him. Jazz locked most of his struts in place (another odd feature he was getting used to, but what’s one more on top of the pile of strangeness he was experiencing?) as he focused inward. Jazz had learned the hard way that nothing about being Cybertronian came naturally to him. The setting up process had tired his patience as he failed each and every step. He was surprised he’d been able to shut off his sensor horns without guidance in the first place. Now he had to put their input to secondary processing? Jazz didn’t even know where secondary processing was .

The building jumble of irritation and frustration must have seeped into his field (all his emotions were on display. He went from no one really knowing how he was feeling to it being broadcast to everyone around him) because Ratchet’s entire stoic demeanor softened. His field washed over Jazz in that soothing calm. It automatically transferred over to Jazz, making his spark feel not as tense (was that even a thing?). 

“I know this is… new.” Ratchet said as he sat next to Jazz. “It’s new for Wheeljack and me too. You’re a strange combination between a cold construct and a newbuild. You have the autonomy of a fully functioning mech but have none of the knowledge to properly function.” Ratchet paused with a huffing laugh. “As contradicting as that sounds, it describes you aptly.” 

“I’m human, Ratch.” Jazz said softly. “I was an organic cosplaying a mechanoid. All this… reincarnation scrap… It sounds good in the movies, but it’s really hard to pull off in reality. I-I’m still not really comprehending that I’ll never be able to open the cockpit and be myself ever again. I-I’m just a ball of blue light now. I… I’ll never-”

I’ll never again be that small, looking up at you.

I’ll never climb into my mecha.

I’ll never walk the catwalks again.

I’ll never eat an MRE again.

I’ll never drink the contraband Blurr was able to sneak into the base for our squad.

I’ll never be able to hug Bumblebee again after the kid went through a really bad scare.

They’ll grow old. Or die in battle (they probably already have), while I live on as a living machine. 

I’ll never-

“Jazz,” Ratchet said severely, gaining Jazz’s attention. A servo cupped his face, urging Jazz to look at Ratchet in the optics. No other glyphs passed between them. All the talking happened silently between their fields. Jazz didn’t understand over half of it, but he did feel his spark rotation slow. The frenzy he felt slowed until he wasn’t at threat of crashing (seriously, how did Prowl manage-).

“I’m sorry.” Ratchet suddenly spoke again, making Jazz turn to him questioningly. The medic wasn’t looking at him. Instead, his head was bowed and that guilt from before started to enter his field. Taking Jazz servo, Ratchet gave it a squeeze. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, Jazz. It’s… in all of recorded history, nothing like this has ever happened.

“It’s a miracle. Something mere science and medicine wouldn’t be able to achieve. The journey forward for you and I is unknown, but I promise I’ll help you each step of the way.” Ratchet said sincerely; he finally looked up. “We’ll help you, Jazz. Just as you helped us.”

Ratchet opened his intake to say more before he abruptly closed it and sat up straight. His field pulled away, making Jazz feel cold and isolated. He brushed the reaction off, feeling ridiculous. On the off chance that Ratchet was listening(?), Jazz pushed his appreciation into his field, hoping he got his point across. “Thanks, Ratchet.”

Ratchet huffed before standing, but Jazz felt a trickle of amusement in the medic’s field before he went to a hovering monitor, bringing it forward. “Now, I believe we have some work to do.” He said, bringing an image of a generic processor up. Off to the side, it showed the matching settings that could be seen on a HUD. “Your secondary processing is located here. To access them on your HUD, you need to…”

Jazz groaned internally but latched onto the lecture with determination. He’d get through this, just like he got through mecha training. This was easier than integrating the neural link into his fleshy brain. He was fully mechanical this time, so it had to be easier. Or at least get easier.

Everything would be fine… eventually. Jazz would learn to master his secondary processing and it’ll all fall into place after that. 

It wasn’t like it could get harder… right?

Chapter 2: Learning to have an Existential Crisis

Summary:

Jazz continues to compare how different Cybertronians and humans are... before things take a turn for the worse.

Notes:

...I don't even know.

DaCat: *glares at one shot before turning to Muse with accusation* What is this?
Muse: *shrugs*
DaCat: *throws pillow at muse* What the hell is this? This was supposed to be a simple one shot of Jazz relearning how to WALK, not whatever this is
Muse: well, obviously you didn’t want to write that since this came out instead
DaCat: Shut up. *turns back to one shot* What am I even supposed to call this? Learning to have an existential crisis?
Muse: Sure, whatever floats your boat

... and here we are. Hope you enjoy! I might have been rushing the ending, but it just wouldn't let me finish the damn thing.

It was so weird suddenly being Cybertronian. On the surface, Jazz didn’t feel any different. He could pretend to still be a human piloting his mecha- well, a slightly different version of his mecha. One that walked more like a human with only one bending joint instead of two (not to mention he no longer possessed a fleshy body inside a cockpit. Instead his life force was just a tiny star powering a highly sophisticated robot bod-)

…

If Jazz pretended, it made functioning a little easier. For one, it allowed him to remember how to walk. 

It was all kinda surreal. His new frame was some weird twist of his human and mecha. It reminded him of the dreams he’d have once he had the neural link installed. Hyper realism met foggy illusions. As long as Jazz didn’t think, he could go through the motions and everything would be fine.

Except Jazz couldn’t help but think. He couldn’t help but compare . 

Humans were flexible… up to a point. Cybertronians weren’t flexible at all yet they were… up to a point.

Jazz sighed. It all made sense but it didn’t at the exact same time.

Humans were carbon creatures. Muscles and tendons flexed and stretched, allowing the organic species to easily manipulate their limbs. They had their limits, where the ligaments would tear apart instead of bend. Bones would also rather break than flex. However, humans could contort to disturbing proportions if trained to do so.

Cybertronian struts were somewhat similar to bones. They would rather break than bend. They were metal, the complete opposite of the flesh that used to make up Jazz. Although struts were technically capable of bending, it wasn’t in a way a mechanoid wanted. Their living metal could warp, dent, and buckle. However, that new position became the new normal. Metal wasn’t inclined to warp, dent, or buckle back into its original shape without extreme force (and it took a lot of force to get it in the incorrect position in the first place). If maneuvered incorrectly only a servoful of times, that metal would start to weaken and eventually snap. 

Taking all this into consideration, it would seem like Cybertronians would be stiff creatures, yet they weren’t. Forged correctly, a mechanoid could be just as flexible (or even more so) than humans. 

Metal could be shaped into any configuration possible when at the right temperature. Humans had mastered the art of the machine by the time the Quintessons rolled around. Jazz knew the basics of how Cybertronians moved because they were mirrored in his mecha. They had hinges and cogs, “joints” that mimicked the ligaments of humans (or was it the other way around?). 

Cybertronians also had this incredible concept called transforming. It was what they were renowned for. It allowed them to blend in with almost any civilization, making them the masters of espionage and diplomacy (but mostly spying). 

There were more layers to transforming than Jazz could have possibly realized. Besides just reconfiguring their frames into their alt modes, some other aspects of the t-cog were mass shifting and holoform technology. Jazz wasn’t too sure what either of those were, only that Ratchet had taken a look over his t-cog and said he had the upgrades for both.

“Having either the capability to mass shift and produce holoforms was seen as a rare talent amongst our kind.” Ratchet said, looking Jazz over critically. “It automatically opened the doors for mechs to rise in their caste depending on how gifted they were with the upgrades.”

“Upgrades.” Wheeljack scoffed from the corner. “Such an idiotic glyph to tag a naturally occurring phenomenon.” 

“Except it technically is an upgrade.” Ratchet chastised. “Although unknown how mechs receive it, it is an additional component placed on the transformation cog. It can be removed and reinstated. However, mechs that used to have the upgrades usually deteriorate without them. It is like losing their t-cog entirely. The reverse can also be true. Mechs that have them installed when they weren’t forged or constructed with them in the first place get disoriented at best, spark failure at worst.” 

“Why would they get rid of it? The mechs that have it to begin with?” Jazz asked, confused. The gist that he was getting from the info dump was that mass shifting and holoform technology was like a singer and their voice, a writer and their imagination. An integral part of the person. Something that shouldn’t just be thrown away or surgically removed. 

Jazz’s question made Ratchet and Wheeljack still. 

“Sometimes…” Wheeljack started before falling silent. He turned away, going back to cleaning the tools Ratchet had thrown at him. “Sometimes mechs don't have a choice.” 

A strange feeling started washing over Jazz, one that made his protoform itch and armor want to rattle. “Like, for medical reasons or…”

He knew he was wrong, but Ratchet’s grim field and faceplates made Jazz wish he hadn’t voiced the question.

“Did Prowl ever tell you about our civil war?” Ratchet inquired.

Jazz gave a hesitant nod. “A little. I had wondered why you called yourself Autobots, if that was like, your species name or something. He told me about it being your fraction. How it used to represent the Functionalist side-” both Ratchet and Wheeljack winced in their fields, leaving Jazz reeling for a klik, “before Optimus took over. I also know the other faction call themselves the Decepticons.”

And some other things. Like how they fought for so long and so fiercely that they ended up destroying their planet. It led to the Great Exodus, leaving their kind scattered amongst the stars. That had happened a little over 1,000 vorns ago (leading Jazz to realize just how long Cybertronians’ life spans are… just how long his is now…). 

Although Jazz kept that to himself, he didn’t want Ratchet and Wheeljack’s moods to dip any lower. 

Ratchet gave a tired nod, EMF heavy. Jazz immediately hated the sensation, but made sure to stay still and not wiggle away like he wanted to. 

“There is a great deal more to the story. One you’ll eventually have to hear.” Ratchet said. “But for now, know that the Functionalists were a very corrupt government. One that didn’t like the fact that lower caste mecha could randomly be gifted an ability that they deemed was powerful, useful, and beyond exceptional.”

“Especially when they thought only high castes ever received the abilities.” Wheeljack piped up. “They advertised mechs that high them to be almost god tier, right there next to the Prime and Lord High Protector. That this is why the high caste was the high caste, because they alone could only obtain such powers. When low caste mechs who had the ability realized the worth, they jumped to make their abilities known, to show that they were exceptional too.”

“And the Functionalists must have hated that.” Jazz put in.

“Extremely.” Ratchet said. “Their perfect world started to crumble-”

“It was already crumbling,” Wheeljack interrupted.

“-and they went to just about every length they could to keep it that way.” Ratchet continued before sharing a look with Jazz. One that brought the itchy discomfort back.

“Right.” He said, looking away.

A stark silence filled the space between them.

“Well!” Wheeljack suddenly exclaimed, bounding over to a monitor that held a scan of Jazz’s t-cog, fins alight. “On a brighter topic, Ratchet was right, you have both mass shifting and hard light projection. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a mech with both.

“Nor I.” Ratchet said in a tone Jazz couldn’t identify. The medic stared intensely at the readouts before turning his grave expression over to Jazz. 

Wheeljack, however, stayed cheerful. His jovial demeanor also shifted from the monitor to Jazz. He got up close to the newbuild, looking him over in a penetrating gaze. 

“Uh,” Jazz eloquently said when Wheeljack very obviously scanned him, a yellow light running over his plating. With a stab of pain to his spark, Jazz remembered Prowl scanning him in a similar way. However, the light used to make his skin tingle. It barely registered to his armor and protoform now. 

“Fascinating.” Wheeljack exclaimed, face shield coming up to Jazz’s face plates. “Your armour and kibble are quite exotic. I have no idea what your alt mode could be.” 

Before Jazz could react, Ratchet scoffed. “Oh, it’s quite easy to figure out some idea of what Jazz could transform into.”

Transform into. Jazz’s processor latched onto the last segment. Transform… into.

There were a lot of things Jazz was trying to wrap his brain- processor around. His new normal was something he’d be reeling over probably for the rest of his life. He had become his mecha, he had become other. Sleeping, walking, breathing (or at least their equivalents) were now something Jazz had to relearn altogether… but at least they were somewhat familiar.

Transforming… transforming was completely alien. Jazz had no idea what it’d feel like. Had no idea if he’d even be able to comprehend it. He would be just as likely to crash trying to figure out what the hell is happening to him than actually complete the sequence.

Jazz could handle becoming a metal robot with a star core instead of a fleshy heart. He could deal with his new center of balance and weird coding that- if figured wrong, would kill him if he tried to sleep. But actually transforming?

…Jazz wasn’t sure if he could handle that.

“... and without the filtration systems of a submersive frame, it’s glaringly obvious that Jazz must be some sort of ground frame.” Ratchet said, coming back down from one of his diatribes. He gave Wheeljack a stern look. “Not a flight frame, not a slagging beast former, but a common grounder.”

“Okay, fine, I get it.” Wheeljack said, rolling his optics and waving his servos. “But that still leaves millions- possibly billions - of different alt modes. And with the Allspark being the creator of the frame, it makes me wonder what exactly It chose for Jazz.”

Ratchet harrumphed, turning back to the monitor. “Well, we will find out in due time-”

“Or we could find out now!” Wheeljack exclaimed, turning back to Jazz and getting in his face again. “What do you say? Want to transform?!”

“Wheeljack-”

“Oh, c’mon, Ratchet. What real harm could it be?” Wheeljack inquired, giving Ratchet his own stern look. “He’s- we’re Cybertronians. You and I both know that it can actually be dangerous for mechs to not frequently transform.”

Ratchet opened his intake, likely to refute before pausing. His optics narrowed and field shrunk in as he thought a little more. 

Wheeljack jumped on the opportunity. “You looked over his t-cog, it’s good to go. Better yet, he has two upgrades that’ll also need a test drive sometime.” Wheeljack held both servos up, shaking them and his helm before Ratchet could speak. “I’m not saying test those now, but don’t you think it’d actually be healthy to test out his alt mode right now?”

The medic continued to stare at Wheeljack, although something seemed to soften, his field trickling back out. 

::Besides,:: Wheeljack continued over the private comms, out of Jazz’s audial hearing. ::It might be the difference between life and death. With the Quintessons and even Decepticons out there, there might come a situation where Jazz will need his alt to escape. Isn’t it better to get him familiarized with it and help with any complications than neglecting it and leaving Jazz in the dark?::

Jazz watched with trepidation at the stare down between medic and engineer. Jazz fought the urge to run, knowing it’d just draw attention to himself. Still, he couldn’t help but squirm. His spark rotation was starting to speed up, making the strange discomforting feeling rise.

“I believe a test transformation would be a good exercise for you t-cog.” Ratchet said slowly, looking Jazz over before giving a confirming nod. “One sequence, in and out of alt mode-”

“Yes!” Wheeljack exclaimed excitedly.

“-but no more than that.” He finished sternly, glaring at Wheeljack. “If your alt mode is able, you made do a lap around the ship. But that’s it. No unnecessary minor transformations. No mid-transformations. And definitely no upgrade usage. Just a simple drop to alt mode and back. I don’t want to strain your systems.”

“Oh, okay, great.” Jazz scrambled to say, tongue (glossa) tripping over itself. “Just, uh, I got a question before we- I… do anything.”

“What is it?” Ratchet asked suspiciously, looking Jazz over.

“Nothing, really. Pretty simple, actually. Uh…”

“Right, of course!” Wheeljack said, nodding enthusiastically. “You can ask me or Ratchet anything at any time! We know your situation is… unique.”

He seemed to want to say more before thinking better of it. His field brushed against Jazz’s, eager and encouraging. 

“Heh, thanks.” Jazz managed before sitting up, vocalizer resetting (although technically the equivalent of clearing his throat, it so did not feel like it). “So, my question is…” Jazz trailed off, wincing before looking tentatively at his companions. “How?”

Two, uncomprehending optics gazed back at him. “How what?” 

“How do I transform?” Jazz asked, bracing himself for… well, he wasn’t quite sure.

Suffocating silence wasn’t what he expected.

“You mean you don’t know how?” Wheeljack asked in a small voice.

“No!” Jazz exclaimed, curling into himself by crossing his arms over his chassis. “Obviously not!”

“But… but it’s transforming .” Wheeljack argued. “ Everyone knows that! Even sparklings know how!”

“Well, I’m not a sparkling.” Jazz hissed, not even sure what that was.

“Yeah, but-”

“Okay!” Ratchet exclaimed with a warning tone. He gave Wheeljack a look before turning to Jazz. “We are confused because transforming is what you might call a natural instinct. It is deep coded within us, carried in our sparks. There’s no forgetting how to transform. There isn’t even a learning curve since it’s literally within our spark. Even without a transformation cog, Cybertronians know how to initiate the sequence, they just don’t have the means to.”

Ratchet gestured to Jazz’s chassis. “You have a spark, everyone here has seen it.” Wheeljack winced at the reminder, turning away with his helm fins flashing wildly. “Therefore the coding should be there. It might just be hidden. We can-”

Jazz’s engine revved loudly, startling even him at the ferocity of it. He wasn’t exactly sure how to get it to idle down quicker, so as it settled in its own time, he refocused while Ratchet and Wheeljack watched him wearily.

“I’m sick of sifting through my coding and editing, deleting, resetting or even just looking it over to understand something. You said this stuff is supposed to come naturally to you. Well, I’m ready for it all to start making sense to me. Your Allspark made me. Why the hell couldn’t it have made me with all the knowledge you guys seem to possess at birth?”

Another difference between Cybertronians and humans was that the former couldn’t cry, not like the latter organics could anyway. Humans had tear ducts. When overwhelmed with a strong emotion, they leaked. 

Cybertronians, however, didn’t have tear ducts. Instead, when their emotional pathways or whatever got overwhelmed, the processor power needed in order to get it under control left other systems abandoned. Usually the first to go were the optics. They would glitch out. Jazz’s visor went dark. It became sticky and pixelated, making him half blind. It didn’t help his out of control emotions. In fact, the frustration turned into panic. He vented deeply, but feeling the air traveling throughout his systems, cooling him down inside and out instead of going through his lungs, also didn’t help.

Two strong, calming fields flowed over his own then. Jazz keened, wanting everything to just stop for a moment. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen. Servos were suddenly on him, surprising Jazz. He hadn’t heard anyone get closer.

Guess audials are also glitching out now. He thought grimly. Overwhelmed, Jazz felt pilot training take over then. He learned early on that emotional outbursts were a luxury. He was taught how to block them out, to center himself when in the midst of battle. Jazz took it even further, using the training out of the cockpit when it felt necessary. 

He didn’t know if the exercise would still work with his processor, but it seemed to actually tolerate it even better than his old, fleshy brain used to. It was like turning off a light. Whereas when he was a human, it took a lot of concentration (or lack thereof) to get into his void space, as he called it. Jazz was a man of motion. Movement and noise fueled him, silence wasn’t natural for him.

Well, it hadn’t been. After getting it drilled into him, it became natural. 

Becoming a robot seemed to make it even easier. He didn’t even notice his visor going completely offline or the franticness of the fields enveloping him. All that was around him was the void and nothing else. It was similar yet completely different to that strange in between place he had met the All-

“Jazz.”

Wait. Confusion interrupted the nothingness. That… isn’t a real memory… is it?

Jazz tried to actually remember the strange nothing place, except he got back “file corrupted” and other errors when trying to access it. Instead of allowing his fussy emotions to get the better of him again, Jazz just shoved it all away with a huff. Yet still that strange memory-yet-not lingered in his peripheral. 

“Jazz!”

There was someone with me in the nothingness. Someone familiar… ish. Who was it? They were so-

::JAZZ!::

Jolting as a rush of electricity ran through his systems, Jazz jumped forward, shocked. Nasty red error messages appeared on his HUD, blocking out the rest of the world. Disoriented, Jazz started to fall before a set of servos caught him. He ignored that as he focused inward, trying to bring order to the collage of warnings.

Before he could really piece it together, he felt a cable sync into his port. He winced away, but the servos held him firm. He felt another presence in his mind (thanks to the neural link, it wasn’t as disconcerting as it would have been if Jazz had just been human). He was able to discern Ratchet’s gruff programs going through his systems, brushing away the error one by one.

Jazz relaxed into it, relieving all himself of all the programs and coding, hefting it onto Ratchet. He could hear Ratchet grumbling in his head and knew he’d get admonished for it later. However, the medic took on the load without any other complaint.

Slowly, Jazz was given back control as Ratchet cleared his systems. He grudgingly took on the burden again, not really noticing the slight strain on his processor with his visor coming back online. 

Jazz barely got to register the shining concern in Wheeljack’s field and Ratchet’s more subdued grim one before the medic was looming over his faceplates. 

“Lay down.” He ordered sternly.

Jazz shook his helm, trying to get the fogginess to leave his processor. “Wha?”

“Ratchet, what’s wrong?” Wheeljack asked as he helped Jazz back over to the berth.

It was then Jazz realized Ratchet was still hardlined to him. 

“I found a concerning line of code in Jazz’s programming.” Ratchet said, pushing Jazz back on the berth and making sure he was situated. “We need to edit it out immediately.”

“Wait, what?” Jazz tried to concentrate, but now he realized the fog was Ratchet’s medical overrides taking over. “It’s that serious?”

His question went unanswered for a moment as Wheeljack and Ratchet hooked him up to monitors. Jazz stayed calm, knowing panicking around medics (especially Ratchet) only made it worse. 

When Ratchet kept quiet longer than he usually did, Wheeljack paused in his work, glancing over at the chief medic as well. “Ratch’?” He tentatively said, field reaching out.

“I don’t know how I missed it.” Ratchet ground out. “I don’t know why the Allspark would even include something so…” Ratchet trailed off before clamping his field even tighter to himself. He looked Jazz in the visor with his own piercing optics. “I’m initiating stasis. In a breem, you should be under.” He paused before adding, “this might help with some of the issues you’ve been dealing with.” 

Before Jazz could reply- could even process the sudden drastic change in conversation- Ratchet was unplugging from his port and turning toward the monitor. 

“Don’t worry, Jazz!” Wheeljack’s suddenly bright voice said beside him. Jazz whipped his helm to face him. On his HUD, new data was scrolling across in tiny glyphs. “Code editing shouldn’t take too long. Going in and out of stasis lasts longer than the procedure. Ratchet will have you fixed up and back on your peds, so you’ll be… what was that idiom humans use? Right as rain!”

Jazz didn’t even know where Wheeljack even heard that saying. Once again, Jazz tried to respond but found he couldn’t. As he slowly lost consciousness, Jazz listened to Wheeljack ramble about how it was not ‘right’ for it to be raining on Cybertron. Jazz never did fully absorb the reason before he was out.

The last thing Jazz thought was that Ratchet’s reaction to his coding seemed slightly… off…

It couldn’t be that bad though, right?

Notes:

Some lore to help with any confusion:

Verified medical scans can be sensed by Cybertronians because they are more intensive and go straight for the spark. Meanwhile, regular scans that can be used as medical that normal Cybertronians have are less intrusive and don’t register. That’s why Wheeljack’s scan was barely felt by Jazz’s right now and why it really was felt in Heart to Spark when Ratchet did it.
For humans, however, the opposite is true. Medical scans are, I guess you can say, insulated. They are meant to go undetected if patients are EMF sensitive. Don’t need a patience twitching or freaking out when prepping for an emergency procedure. Because of this, they go undetected for humans (yes, humans technically have an EMF, but it’s very faint. Only EMF sensitive Cybertronians can detect it, and that’s while physically holding a human. No one except Prowl ever got close enough to Jazz for this, and he is not an EMF sensitive mech).
While medical scans have insulation, regular scans do not. Although usually not detected, they can mess with EMFs. When Prowl scanned Jazz, it rippled against the human’s light and delicate EMF. His brain didn’t know how to register it, making Jazz’s skin crawl and limbs sometimes reflexively jerk. No matter how sneekily Prowl tried, Jazz always knew when he was scanning him (outside of his mecha, anyway. Although, Prowl quickly learned nothing really got past the shell).

Alright, so next up (maybe) is going to be a SHORT (it will be, I am promising this) little scene between Wheeljack and Ratchet on what the medic found.

I wonder what it could be. Mmmm, definitely nothing too concerning, I would never do that to you guys.

Chapter 3: Learning to Heal

Summary:

Wheeljack tries to figure out why Ratchet was freaking out.

Notes:

...it was supposed to be simple. I was aiming for not even 1k words... tell me why it turned into 2k?!

*sighs* idk, it kepts dragging itself out. I'm not happy with it, but you've waited long enough already. Enjoy.

“Ratchet?” 

Bad medic. Your mistakes cost lives. Jazz could have gotten hurt- killed- because of your negligence. Which brings up the question: how many have suffered because of you?

…I save lives. Ratchet thought, though it was small and weak.

But does it make up for the ones that fall to your servos?

…

Worthless, pathetic, useless medi-

“Ratch’.” 

A heavy EMF settled over Ratchet, jolting him from his spiral. Venting deeply, he looked away from the hundreds of lines of code scrolling rapidly across the monitor and toward Wheeljack. The two locked optics and shared a long look. 

“You’ve been staring at Jazz’s code for over a joor.” Wheeljack informed. 

Surprised, Ratchet glanced at his HUD to confirm, not reacting when he realized Wheeljack was right. 

Wheeljack ex-vented when Ratchet stayed silent. He glanced over at the berth where Jazz was still frozen in stasis, wires connecting him to the monitor Ratchet was using. “Ratch’, you need to give it a rest. You did everything you could, it’s time to-”

Whirling around, Ratchet’s field slammed into Wheeljack’s, making the inventor wince away. He met the piercing stare Ratchet gave him, the medic’s vents flaring hard. ‘Jack fought  the urge to cringe away. He stared back, bracing for the medic to start his usual diatribe.

Only he didn’t. Instead, Ratchet glared a moment longer before turning back to the coding. He muttered under his vents, field getting that staticky and strained feeling that it got when processors were too strained. 

Wheeljack could barely stand watching his long time friend slowly unravel. Shaking his helm, Wheeljack took a step forward, trying to inch himself between Ratchet and the monitor. “Ratch’, c’mon, don’t be so hard on-”

“You don’t understand!” Ratchet interrupted, slamming a fist down on the machine. Wheeljack took a step back, alarmed. “Fraggit, I should have known something like this could have happened. After all those horror stories Jazz casually threw out about what his command did to him.” Ratchet’s engine snarled. “If I got my servos on them, I swear-”

“Woah! Woah, take it easy there, Hatchet.” Wheeljack tried to soothe. The nickname seemed to throw Ratchet off his loop, making him stare at the inventor with narrowed optics. Tense cables went into forceful relaxation as Wheeljack brought his servos up. 

“Look,” Wheeljack started, “the situation we find ourselves in is one I never fathomed. All in all, I think we’re doing well, raising a sentient adult sparkling. We’re going to make mistakes. Pits, even with a regular new build, we’d be making mistakes. It’s been centi-vorn since one was forged, we’re going to be rusty. So just relax and-”

Ratchet snarled again, field flaring out in his rage. “The fact that Jazz isn’t a regular new build is why we’re making mistakes. Dangerous mistakes. Mistakes that can’t be made. Mistakes that-”

Forcefully rebooting his vocalizer, Ratchet vented harshly while glaring at his monitor. After a moment, he pulled up the file that housed the copy of the errant coding he had found in Jazz. 

“Take a look at this.” The medic said simply, staring down at the controls.

Wheeljack gave his friend another concerned look before coming to stand beside him. He glanced over the coding, expecting the medic’s frenzy to be explained. But the jargon the inventor gazed upon was nothing he had ever seen before. 

“What… what is it?” He asked, intrigued. The combination was reminiscent of the specifications for firearms (Jackie would know, he’s spent enough time around Ironhide), yet the sequence had an alien aspect to it. For one, it had sections that were obviously cut off. Likely, this had been a major branch or connector in Jazz’s coding sequence. Which made Wheeljack question why Ratchet would even mess with something so close to the core. 

“I wasn't sure at first.” Ratchet said cryptically. “But it was familiar. Jazz familiar.” Ratchet pulled up another file, this one showing the specs of Jazz’s mecha. The machine’s processor was highlighted and zoomed in on. A bunch of the alien code appeared on screen. Ratchet scrolled through it before he stopped. 

It had taken a while to translate Jazz’s mecha’s coding into Cybertronian. For the longest time, it had been a dangerous guessing game. However, when they realized that the mecha had no sentience to it, they stopped translating the mecha’s code into living Cybertronian code and started converting it into the artificial coding that regular machines used. 

That type of code was what Ratchet had in Jazz’s medical file, and what Wheeljack was looking at was really concerning. Especially if the translation from artificial to living (which was very obscure and vague, but seemed to match up right) showed that it was coded correctly into Jazz’s Cybertronian processor.

“That…” He started, shaking his helm. “That can’t be right. How did we not find that before now?” He asked, turning to Ratchet.

The medic continued to stare resolutely down on the controls to the monitor, burning holes into it. “I don’t know.” He gritted out.

Wheeljack winced, knowing he said the wrong thing. He reached his field out to Ratchet, enveloping the medic in comfort and care.

Ratchet leaned into it gratefully before looking up at the monitor, scanning the coding. “It doesn’t matter any more. The past is the past.” Ratchet told his medic coding (and himself). 

If you had found this code in the past, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. His coding hissed, though it was faint.

If I hadn’t found that code, who knows what would have happened to the Allspark. Ratchet refuted back. What would have happened to Jazz.

The coding didn’t seem to have a comeback for that and blessedly went quiet. Ratchet ex-vented in relief before turning back to the stills in front of him.

“You know,” Wheeljack said, also staring, “when Jazz said he had a suicide switch in him, I could barely believe it. I thought he might be exaggerating. Instead maybe he rigged his mecha to explode. Easy enough, especially with the fire power he was packing.”

Gazing at the coding for the switch, Wheeljack felt that same denial go silent. The disbelief couldn’t refute the evidence in front of him. “But he was telling the truth. And… he had actually used it. He killed himself to protect the Allspark.”

Wheeljack- for a brief klik- couldn’t help but think it was in vain. The Allspark ended up being detonated, for reasons they were still looking into. All that was left was a trace signature within Jazz… Its last creation.

“And now… that same coding is- was- in his processor?” Wheeljack asked, turning to Ratchet, hoping he was misreading the situation.

But he knew he wasn’t, even as Ratchet’s field sank away again. Wheeljack cursed inwardly, turning back to the still code. 

They share a quiet moment. Wheeljack wondered if Jazz knew about the coding. Did he hide it from them? Or was he in the dark? Even if he had known, would he have come forward with the knowledge? He hadn’t before. 

From what they’ve learned about humans and the sacrifices they made their pilots go through to keep their world safe, Wheeljack would have thought they would have at least covenant mecha pilots. They would have been on Cybertron (probably). 

“It gets worse.” Ratchet said after a while. 

He clicked out of the coding to the schematic of Jazz’s mech. He rotated the model so it’s back was showing. He zoomed in on what Wheeljack recognized as his communications array. It was too primitive to really work anywhere but his home planet. Wheeljack had to install an actual comm device inside the mecha’s processor, so they hadn’t really delved that deep into the array.

“Jazz had a kill switch inside the mecha that activated this dormant coding.” Ratchet explained clinically. “I’m not sure how it worked, since we didn’t get that many deep scans of the cockpit area due to Jazz’s… privacy concerns.” 

Ratchet clamped his intake shut, and Wheeljack knew his own medical coding was berating him at that moment. But before Wheeljack could jump in, Ratchet was forging on.

“However, after looking over the scans again, I found a section of his communication array specifically sectioned off. It was simple and crude, just a general receiver. It didn’t seem to be anything significant at first glance…”

Ratchet paused again. Wheeljack looked between the readings and the medic, not understanding what he was implying. His field brushed against Ratchet’s again, concern and support in it. “What are you trying to say, Ratch’?”

Venting deeply, Ratchet stared resolutely at the screen, not able to meet Wheeljack’s optics. “After dissecting the coding now removed from Jazz, I was able to find two different activation codes. One Jazz has possession of. But the other…”

Turning away, Ratchet pulled in his field, quietly offlining the console. Although he faced Jazz’s still frame now, he kept his helm low to avoid looking at him. “The other seemed to be remote… Meaning someone else could activate the code… without Jazz’s knowledge.”

Silence. Wheeljack worked through what Ratchet said a second time. Still, he couldn’t quite process it. He turned to the black console, re-onlining it. He pulled up the schematics and the coding, hoping Ratchet was wrong for once.

After a couple breems of doing his own analysis, Wheeljack knew Ratchet was correct. He slumped, unable to turn to look at the new black and white mechanoid. 

“Well,” Wheeljack’s vocalizer started glitching. He reset it quickly before glancing over at Ratchet. “They… they can’t reach Jazz from up here. Besides, even if the code still took it, Jazz no longer had a transmitter to accept it. And now the coding is completely gone… You did good, Ratch-”

“Yet if anyone was able to hack into his comm line, they could have easily found the coding. They could have easily made their own off switch. By the Ancients, Jazz could have activated it again! He never should have in the first place and it-”

Ratchet seemed to choke on the implications. Optics wide and field chaotic, he turned away, starting to storm out of the medbay.

Wheeljack knew he couldn’t let that happen. With quick steps, he intercepted Ratchet, catching his servo and pulling him back. 

“But it didn’t .” He insisted. “Because of you .” 

Another bout of silence. Ratchet seemed to struggle with how he wanted to respond. When the quiet stretched on long enough, Wheeljack squeezed the medic’s servos and enveloped his field around him.

“Hey,” he said, gaining Ratchet’s full attention. “Don’t worry about the what ifs, because they aren’t going to happen. What’s done is done. In the end, it all worked out.” Making sure Ratchet was taking in his glyphs, Wheeljack paused a moment before continuing with a softer voice. “And if that didn’t shut up the coding, I can go over all of Jazz’s schematics with you, make sure none of his other mecha programming will be a problem in the future.”

Taking in a deep invent, Ratchet let it out slowly before shuttering his optics. “Okay.” He said simply. They stood there a moment longer before Ratchet turned back to the console. The vulnerable moment they shared slowly eased away as the medic once more brought his walls up. Wheeljack watched him pull up Jazz’s mecha model again for reference before pulling his Cybertronian ones up beside it.

He snuck a glance back at Jazz, wondering if he should lift the stasis lock. 

After a moment's consideration, he turned away and walked over to Ratchet. The kid deserved to rest peacefully for once, and Ratchet would relax more if he was close by.

Although his first few cycles being online were tough- and for good reason, Wheeljack was sure they’d make it through it.

Notes:

Was this... a little Ratchet/Wheeljack shippy? Maybe! But it's fine, those old birds deserve some love.

Chapter 4: Learning to Transform

Summary:

Jazz transforms for the first time.

Notes:

Alright, the moment you've all been waiting for! Well... not THE moment, the Jazz/Prowl meetup is still WAYS away, but Jazz transforms for the first time! And he was not expecting a familiar sight to greet him.

I thought this would take ages to write, but I really got into the groove. It turned out really (bitter)sweet too, hope you guys enjoy it!

“Repetition is key,” Wheeljack said, plugging a cable into Jazz’s port. Jazz winced, unused to such a foreign feeling. If he hadn’t had his neural link before, he was pretty sure he’d associate the plug going in with being stabbed. Gritting through the weird sync, Jazz tried to ignore how he could intimately sense the data flowing into his port, up his arm, and into his processor.

An alert popped up on his HUD, tiny text scrolled across it that Jazz refused to read. For some reason, if he focused too much on it, it made him dizzy. It was best just to ignore the glyphs. Jazz knew they were simply telling him Wheeljack was now connected.

“What a lot of mechs forget is that transforming is a talent, some might even consider it an art form.” Wheeljack continued. “Some are better at it than others.”

His focus was on Jazz’s shoulder pauldron. His optics zoomed in on the protoform and inner components. With gentle digits, Wheeljack slowly maneuvered the shoulder, making the arm bend slowly this way and that.

“There’s a lot that goes into the process. The transformation cog is a valuable component. It allows us to scan just about anything and become that something. Yes, even organic matter- well, at least a mimicry of it. However, certain frame types are better at different transformations.

“Going the organic route, a certain Cybertronian class of mecha called beast formers can scan just about any organism that walks, swims, or flies. You know Blaster’s cassettes Steeljaw and Ramhorn?”

“Yeah,” Jazz said, desperate to keep his focus on the conversation and not Wheeljack digging under his seams. His mind (processor?) was trying to compare it to someone digging into his skin. However, it was confusing since he wasn’t getting any pain signals, only a mild discomfort at his armor getting pried slightly out of its operating-

Shaking himself off mentally, Jazz burned a hole into the ship's floor, digits denting the medical berth he sat on.

“Yeah,” he repeated, voice a little staticky, “Steeljaw reminded me of this animal on Earth.”

“Oh?” Wheeljack stilled a moment, helm fins flashing before muting. He slowly continued his evaluation, coaxing transformation seams in Jazz’s shoulder to stretch as much as they could without activating the t-cog. He kept his field open, brushing against Jazz’s EMF in encouragement. The human-turned-Cybertronian rarely talked about his homeworld even before the whole Allspark incident. And when he did, it was just to spew horrors casually as if it was normal .

“Mhm,” Jazz exclaimed, trying not to wince at the friendly touch of EM fields. Another thing he had to get used to. “It’s called a lion. The males have that bushy mane that he sports. Even their coloring is similar.”

Jazz gave a dry, strained laugh. “Though, they’re likely half his size. Which seems small, but compared to humans, lions are big. Maybe not the largest thing on Earth- far from it, actually- but they’d easily dominate a human.”

“Mmm, intriguing.” Wheeljack said sincerely. He narrowed his optics on some plating that refused to budge. He got a thin tool out that easily slotted between it and the protoform. Instinctively, Jazz clamped it down more. “Uh uh, relax that, please.” Wheeljack tutted. Jazz’s field shared his distress, but he conceded. Checking in on the young mech, Wheeljack started up their conversation again. “It is astonishing that humans are the dominant species of Earth, even though so many other species can and will easily kill you- and that’s coming from the opinion of the dominant species!”

That made Jazz look up- if only for a second before glancing at the tool that almost completely disappeared into his pauldron- before looking down with a wry grin. “Hey, you’re also talking about the species who built giant robots to kill giant space squids.”

Wheeljack’s fins flashed in amusement. “Point.” He said with a conceding nod.

The smile across Jazz’s face widened, but it quickly disappeared. He refocused on the ground, breathing- venting- deeply. “I have no idea if lions even exist anymore.” He thought aloud. He barely registered Wheeljack’s tool slip free of his plating. “Wildlife preservation wasn’t really on humanity's mind when the Quints attacked. They’ve destroyed whole ecosystems by now. So much flora and fauna just… gone.”

Silence followed Jazz’s admittance. As he thought of how scarred Earth has become, Jazz turned over his servos. Sleek black plating greeted him, so different from his mecha’s claws. Jazz would never be able to see Earth the same way again. He towered over humans now and could easily hurt them. Just one digit would be enough to squish them. Not to mention- being the size of a mecha- there were very few places Jazz could roam. 

A part of Jazz wanted to try and make it work. Earth would always be home. Although he had made friends (and maybe more) amongst the Cybertronians, he’d never really been one of them… he… he was still human… human enough .

Okay, sure, he ran on energon now and had to defrag and recharge instead of sleep. He wasn’t flesh, he was living metal. He was something humans could never imagine. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t live a fulfilling life on Earth. He could still fight Quints. And when they were vanquished (because Jazz wasn’t resting until they were all gone), humanity still needed to rebuild. Having a three story tall alien could- would- come in handy.

Earth… was still a part of his future…

It had to be.

Wheeljack suddenly cleared his throat- reset his vocalizer, drawing Jazz’s attention. “Well… back to the lesson plan!” He said in an awkward cheer. “Steeljaw and Ramhorn are your typical beast formers… well, sorta. They are also cassettes. Which- hosts and cassettes- are a completely different subtype we will get to at a later date.”

Wheeljack had Jazz stand up then, going around to his back. Jazz tensed but kept still when Wheeljack’s little tool snaked down into his plating.

“For now, know that there are many different ways to caste a Cybertronian. You can categorize them by flightframes or ground alts. Civilian or war frames. Size. Mass. Class. There are millions- possibly billions of different alts. This could make your alt mode be anything! However, there are limits. Like I was saying, transforming is a skill. Besides just how durable and crafted your t-cog is, kibble is also a major factor in limiting alt mode types. After looking you over, Ratchet and I have concluded that you are likely to fall into the categories of- OH MY PRIMUS, is that a WHEEL?!”

Jazz squeaked when he felt Wheeljack prod something deep inside him, near his spinal column- er- his… actually, he didn’t know what the equivalent was. He shuddered when that prod seemed to make the thing move inside him. 

Jerking away, Jazz tried to turn around to face Wheeljack. However, the engineer still had most of his servo and his tool stuck inside Jazz. They did an awkward shuffle-squirm as Wheeljack tried to break free and Jazz fought the urge to run away. 

“Sorry.” Wheeljack said sheepishly, fins flashing as Jazz hopped away from him. The engineer almost giggled as he watched Jazz do a jig, plating flaring and flexing as he tried to get the sensation of his parts moving without his permission to settle. “On the bright side, you have excellent control of your armor and plating’s arms.”

“Yeah,” Jazz said, holding his arm up. Some of the plating was flared while others were flush to his protoform, not allowing any air flow. A good chunk seemed to be… overlapped, tangling sorta? How was that even possible? Their flexors or ‘arms’ as Wheeljack said, bent awkwardly.

Looking back over at Wheeljack, the engineer winced. “We’ll work on it.” Wheeljack proclaimed, coming over to Jazz with raised servos. “Don’t worry! We’ll have you transforming in no time!”

Jazz just hummed, relaxing his forearm into Wheeljack’s grip. He let the scientist guide his plating and armor back into place. “Can’t wait.” He said distractedly, processor whirling.

He- in fact- could wait. A lifetime, at that.

 

- - - - - - - - - -

 

With a scowl, Ratchet looked Jazz over critically, arms crossed over his chassis. 

“Again.” He instructed sternly.

Jazz ex-vented but went through the stretches he already did four times as told.

Jazz being a person of rhythmic motion, Wheeljack had put together a sort of ‘dance’ routine for Jazz. It helped distract Jazz from the real (alien) movements he was put through. He had taken a few years of ballet as a kid. When told of the organic dance, Wheeljack put together a whole stretch routine inspired by it.

When flexing his upper axle plates (supposedly in alt they became firm and unyielding, but in root mode, they were in a tri-fold near his core. ‘Flexing’ them in a ghost transformation could make his plating on his shoulder pauldrons lift up higher than if he was actually focusing on the pauldrons. Kinda like a patellar reflex in humans) he would go up into an arabesque. Doing the more complicated moves was hard when he had extra layers of clunky armor, but doing battements and degages with some hops and spins were pretty doable. 

The ballet moves also helped with stretching the protoform. Protoform behaved much like skin did, although it flexed a little more and was extremely durable. However, it was also sensitive like its human counterpart. Jazz could pretend the condensation coming from his vents was almost sweat when he finished the routine. 

When he turned back to Ratchet, the medic was still scowling. Jazz’s spark slowed rotation for a moment. Although he found the routine fun, he did not want to do it six times in a row. 

Off to the side, Wheeljack’s gaze bounced between Ratchet and Jazz. “Well, what do you think, Ratch’?”

The medic remained stoic. Jazz felt a casual scan go over him. “You’ve already been working on arm transformations?”

Jazz nodded. “Yeah, I kinda reflexively changed my servo into blasters during training.” Jazz was still trying to wrap his processor around that. “I have a half transformation that pops out a blade as well.”

“Show me.” Ratchet demanded. 

Nodding, Jazz made sure he had solid footing before raising his arm. It was so bizarre watching the armor, plating, and protoform peal away, slide, and fold over each other. Jazz had no idea how to describe the sensation. A surge of electricity ran through his lines, making the sensation kinda tingly. He could feel everything . Each palette and nanite shifting. Yet at the same time there was this numbing effect. 

The arm transformation took only kliks. The first few times Jazz had done the configuration, he freaked out so much he stopped the transformation. Freezing it mid-reconfiguration… didn’t hurt, per se, but it was uncomfortable . Though it looked painful and like a gorefest. Once Wheeljack helped him calm down and start up the transformation, then it hurt like nothing else Jazz had ever felt before. The pain lingered too. 

Suffice to say, Jazz just tried to not think once initiating the shift. It was better than way. Transforming became a reflex then. In a blink of an- in a shutter of an optic, his servo was now a dual blaster. Although they weren't nearly as big as Ironhide’s, they were still massive compared to human technology. 

Jazz kept them dormant. Wheeljack and him had gone to the shooting range once Jazz had complete mastery over the transformation, but only once. Jazz’s ego was a little bruised after the occasion. He was not used to the kickback. He only hit a target twice in that session and ended up on the floor more times than he could count.

Venting again, Jazz de-transformed the blasters. Going back to root form was a lot easier for the new Cybertronian. Not giving himself time to psych himself out, Jazz did the half transformation to the blade with a flick of his wrist.

The arm blade had a nasty curve that jutted out past his servo. They reminded Jazz of a weird hybrid of the stingers Bumblebee’s mecha was equipped with and the daggers that came with Blurr’s. The thought of the two other pilots made Jazz’s spark twist in melancholy. By the Allspark, he hoped he saw those two again. 

“Good.” Ratchet suddenly said, making Jazz turn to him. The grim seriousness the medic held cracked a moment. His field flared out in approval before shrinking back. The stoicness Ratchet had since the session started came back. “Now the other arm.”

Jazz gave a nod. He flared his digits out. The motion helped him focus on recalling his blade. He then turned to his other arm, going through the routine once more.

When he was done, Ratchet was coming toward him, optics narrowed. “You are half a klik slower going through the transformations with this arm. Do you feel any pain or discomfort from the arm, shoulder pauldron, or transformation cog when transforming?”

As he asked the question, Ratchet started feeling up Jazz’s arm. He maneuvered his pauldron, focusing intently.

Jazz was startled at the information. He hadn’t realized he was slower on one side than the other. “Uh… not that I know of. Maybe it’s just my jitters?”

Ratchet hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t seem convinced. He got a medical cable out, plugging into Jazz’s port. 

As he let Ratchet into his systems, Jazz glanced down at his arms. To him, half a klik didn’t seem much of a difference. It wouldn’t be for humans. But having a computer for a brain seemed to make Cybertronians more aware of split second decisions. 

Wheeljack came up to, field worried. He asked some polite questions, which Jazz answered to the best of his ability. The longer Ratchet stayed plugged into Jazz’s systems, the more he worried something was really wrong with him.

It was when he looked down at his servos that Jazz got an idea.

“I’m left-handed.” 

Ratchet’s helm snapped up. “I beg your pardon?”

“My dominant hand- er- servo is my left.” He stumbled to explain. At Ratchet’s blank look, he knew his point wasn’t being made.

“What does that even mean?”

“Well… uh, so- ugh.” Jazz shook his helm. “It means I favor my left hand. It’s what I used to write with, or- when the weapons weren’t literally me- it was the hand I favored to wield them with.” At the Cybertronians’ incredulous looks, Jazz slumped a little. “That ain’t a thing for your guys?”

“Not… really.” Wheeljack said. “I mean, it depends on arm transformations. Like for medics, each servo transforms into different tools. So it’d be important to have that information if they ever lost the appendage or transformation cog. However…”

“However,” Ratchet continued, sharply, “that shouldn’t be a concern for you. You have the exact same transformation sequence for each arm. Favoring one over the other shouldn’t happen.”

Jazz gave a one shoulder shrug. “A human turning into a Cybertronian also shouldn’t happen, but here we are.” Jazz tilted his helm. “You said that some of my mecha’s coding got scrambled with my Cybertronian. Maybe some human traits got carried over?”

Oh, Jazz knew some human traits got carried over. If he didn’t have humanity’s quirks he probably would have excelled at navigating his programming. He didn’t use up a ton of his processing power, reverting to ‘thinking like a human’ as he called it. Multitasking was a learned trait (and one a human could never do as well as any Cybertronian), but apparently Cybertronians always had something going on in their secondary processors. Something that Jazz had a hard time keeping online. 

Ratchet didn’t seem to like this theory. He huffed but unplugged. He un-subspaced a datapad, grumbling to himself as he walked away, field hectic. Wheeljack winced but offered a comforting field to Jazz. He brought his servos up and squeezed Jazz’s own. “Don’t worry about him,” Wheeljack said, giving Jazz a comforting look, “the lag is barely noticeable. He’s just concerned it could mess up your transformation sequence. Depending on if it’s…”

At the imploring look, Jazz gave Wheeljack an exaggerated look. “Depending on if my transformation is asynchronous or synchronous . Asynchronous it won’t matter because my arms won’t be going through a mirroring transformation, but with synchronous it will matter because a mirroring does happen. The lag will mess with my transformation, leaving me a tangled wreck on the training room floor ”

“Very good!” Wheeljack cheered. He whirled around to look at Ratchet, hopping in place. “I think he’s ready!” 

Ratchet scoffed, greedily looking his datapad over before ex-venting. He stowed it away in his subspace and looked miserably over at the pair. Giving Jazz a harsh look, he ex-vented again before becoming more serious. “Alright.” He said simply.

Wheeljack cheered, helm fins lighting up.

“However.” Ratchet said sternly, turning to Wheeljack. He then turned his gaze back to Jazz. “If you feel any pain at all, or if you know in your spark that something's wrong, I want you to freeze the transformation.” Ratchet held up a servo before Jazz could speak. “Ep, ep. Yes, the freeze will be uncomfortable, even worse than freezing an arm transformation. And I’ll have to plug in- maybe even hack depending on the position you are in- to medically revert you back to your root mode. That will also be painful. However, it will be better than completing the transformation, trust me.” 

Taking in the information, Jazz nodded. His spark rate picked up speed. He tried his hardest not to let his servos shake as electricity and energon flowed through his lines faster in anticipation.

I’m really doing this. Jazz thought. I’m really going to transform.

He wasn’t ready… but he never would be.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Ratchet said before looking at Wheeljack. The two stepped back to give him space. 

Jazz closed his optics behind his visor, trying to focus. The itch to transform was right there. Although his processor wasn’t in it, his body- or t-cog- was ready, willing, and able. All he had to do was trust the process.

As Jazz prepared himself mentally, his thoughts went to Prowl. He remembered him transforming many times. The first time he saw it, it had been beautiful yet terrifying to Jazz. Once, he even witnessed it while being in the mess of hurling metal. He had been lounging in Prowl’s palm when an emergency alert went off. The experience was blacked out from Jazz’s memory, being too traumatic for his brain to remember. 

When he activated his own sequence, Jazz was pretty sure the same thing happened. Sight and hearing failed him completely. Smell and taste were out of the question as well. Touch was… giving him mixed signals. Then there were a whole bunch of Cybertronian senses that just flew over him when trying to put them into perspective.

Coming back to himself, Jazz was in the dark. It was also almost silent; neither Ratchet or Wheeljack said anything. He tried to move but found that he couldn’t. Jazz started to freak out. This was weird. It didn’t compute. It-

Two overwhelming fields of positivity flooded him. They were enough to drive away the panic. Jazz sank down… somehow, relaxing into their comfort. Everything was alright. He did it. He had transformed.

“Oh, Jazz.” Wheeljack was suddenly saying. Jazz knew exactly where the sound came from. His sensor horns were amazing at picking up different noises. Even in alt, it seemed they were still working. “That was amazing. You’re beautiful… even though I have no idea what you are.”

That made Jazz pause. “What?” He vocalized. And- oh, was that weird. It seemed to come somewhere from his front… section. He didn’t have an intake anymore so where did the sound come from or-

He heard ped steps then Ratchet’s scan washed over him. “How do you feel?”

“...okay.” Jazz answered, voice small. “Just… feeling really blind right now.”

Ratchet’s engine rumbled softly. “Try looking over your HUD. Some of your sensory settings could have been lowered or offlined during transformation.”

Thankfully, Jazz was familiar with his sensory settings due to his horns. He found the problem immediately and was able to online his major senses.

Seeing in altmode was different than seeing in root. It was more sonar-like than actual sight. There was also a grid he could turn off and on, centering around him. The 3D effect was weird. Jazz could take everything in around him, all 360 degrees. Humans had blind spots. Hell, even in root mode Jazz had some blind spots . But in alt he saw everything .

It was… a little creepy. Definitely something to get used to. He bounced in place, basically the only movement he could do. It was then that Jazz realized it was because of his suspension. He must have been some sort of car. 

“Wait, ‘Jack.” Jazz suddenly called. “What do you mean you don’t know what I am?”

“Your frame is… exotic.” Ratchet answered, he was slowly making his way around Jazz. “It’s obviously a ground frame. Some kind of speedster, I’m guessing. Aerodynamic… ish. It wouldn’t be able to keep up with Vosian alts, but the fin is a nice touch.”

“You’re so shiny!” Wheeljack exclaimed, finally coming unglued from his spot to hop around Jazz. “Your accent colors really come out in alt! And you have windows! Wow, those are rare. I wonder if you have some sort of compartment. Your tints are too dark for me to know for sure. Could you try and find their-”

“Wheeljack.” Ratchet snapped. “Go easy . There will be enough time to explore Jazz’s alt later. Right now, we need to-”

“But he’s weird .” Wheeljack said. Jazz didn’t know if he should be affronted or not. “What even are these things?”

A digit prodded at some protrusion that stuck out of Jazz’s side near the front. Something inside him shifted, and Jazz was flying forward for a moment. “Hey, ease up.” Jazz said, trying not to get defensive. “What did you even touch?”

“No clue!” Wheeljack said, poking the protrusion again. “It’s small. One side is rounded while the other is flat with a reflective surface. Oh! You moved it. Aw, that’s adorable!”

Jazz shifted the protrusion again. This time instead of away from Wheeljack’s digit, he turned it up and down. There was the quietest mechanical whirl as he shifted the protrusion. After a moment of toggling it, Jazz turned his attention to his other side, finding a matching one.

“Wait.” He said after a moment, the description was familiar. “You said reflective surface? As in… are you saying I have door mirrors?”

Ratchet stepped forward before crouching down. His scans went over the pro- fucking door mirrors. “You know what these are?”

“Yeah,” Jazz said, moving his tires uneasily. This was so weird. “They helped human drivers see what’s coming up behind them, covering their blind spots and such.”

“... wait, humans can drive?” Wheeljack asked. “Your mechas did have alts?!”

“No!” Jazz exclaimed, driving forward and back in place. He just found a new fidget stim. “We had cars. We climb inside for transportation, made for getting around faster. They also made great ammo for the Quints to throw at our mecha, so they were either destroyed, put in storage, or used sparingly.”

“Uh,” Wheeljack said. Jazz could practically see his fins flashing different colors. “Neat. I guess you learn something new every day!” 

“Yeah,” Jazz said, somewhat sarcastically. It was then he realized Ratchet had gone quiet. “Ratch’?”

“...some mechs have cameras installed around their frames, usually only specialized ones. However, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had any given your detailed sensor array…”

Before Ratchet even finished speaking, Jazz was onlining his cameras. A honk left him when Wheeljack’s peering face showed up on one of his feeds, making both elder Cybertronians step back.

“Woah.” Jazz said, flickering through the different angles. “That is so weird. I honestly don’t know which I prefer: regular sight or the sonar grid th-”

Jazz cut himself off when one camera was angled at the mirrored wall to the side of him. What stared back was an achingly familiar car. Nostalgia flared through Jazz as he just stared. Tilting his wheels, he rolled forward and to the side a little so he could get a good look. And sure enough, a Martini Porsche 935 stared back. It- he was a near replica, down to the stripes curving along his side.

“Jazz?” Wheeljack prodded with his field, worry flaring through it.

“It… this is my dad’s car.” Jazz confessed in a small voice. 

A wave of silence came after the announcement. 

“Is… is that a good thing?” Wheeljack asked tentatively. 

“... yeah.” Jazz said eventually. “Before the whole Quint apocalypse, I always thought I’d inherit his Porsche. But just a year after the first Quint attack, it was thought to be destroyed when another Quint wrecked our city. We were never sure. The whole town was evacuated due to radiation in the area… by then, it didn’t really matter. My folks died a year later and I was setting my sights on joining the mecha program.”

Although he wasn’t the exact same car- Jazz was sure he didn’t have the slashed passenger seat from his brother being reckless with his pocket knife or the dents on the rear bumper from when his dad accidentally backed into the garage when he was drunk- it was still a reminder of who Jazz was. Of where he came from.

They might have taken Jazz off Earth, but they couldn’t take the human out of Jazz, even transformed.

Notes:

I am being so nice to Jazz right now. But if only he knew what happened to Earth...

I have one more chapter planned for this. Just some EMF training. I don't know when I'll get that out, uni starts up TOMORROW, so it'll probably be a while. I want to at least finish Eye to Optic before then.

Let me know your thoughts on this chapter! Comments always keep my creative juices flowing.

Notes:

Btw: it gets worse... Sorry, Jazz!

I might do another chapter of Wheeljack helping Jazz transform for the first time. Idk, let me know your thoughts. Thanks for reading!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Ravage's Mecha AU