A couple'a days late...
But enjoy Sideswipe being an aft.
It says this part's too big. I'll upload the next part later today. O.o
Edit: Let's see if I can get the rest up here...
Title Nowhere to Turn
Pairing(s) (eventual) Jazz/Sideswipe, there's others in there if you squint ;P
Warnings None that I can think of
Summary A wounded, cornered mechanimal would aptly describe the red rocketeer that stumbles his way into Jazz’s life. Withdrawn, moody, distrusting; all the earmarks of someone who has suffered some serious trauma, and hasn’t recovered. Now, if only Jazz could find out what the slag was going on with him.
EDIT: Hey! Look Previous parts!! XDD
Part 1
Part 4
Jazz came online to Wheeljack leaning over him, his hands fiddling with Jazz’s side.
“Yer a homely face t’ wake up to. Ain’t Ratchet got rules in place ‘bout cruel an’ unusual punishment?”
Slowly, Wheeljack turned his head, his optics narrowed, his vocal indicators flashing insistently. “He also has rules about permabonding recalcitrant lip components shut.”
Jazz grinned, stretching joints that throbbed from repair. “Is that what happened to ya?”
The engineer’s engine rumbled. “That’s what rumors say, anyways.” He closed the panel, giving Jazz a hand up. “Take it easy on that arm until the self-repairs have a chance to finish. The next joor should be good.” Wheeljack headed over to another table holding a conscious red mech who looked awfully familiar.
“’Hide?” Jazz hopped off the table.
“H’ain’t changed none that Ah can see.” A grin turned into a grimace as Wheeljack worked to tighten his joints. “Neither has you.”
Jazz laughed. “Nope, still same ol’ lovable me! I didn’t know Prime was comin’. Somethin’ wrong?”
Wheeljack paused briefly, readjusting his grip on the tool in his hand, but Jazz couldn’t help but notice the look the engineer slid his way.
“Naw, only that one’a his commanders had his legs blown off. Prime was jus’ worried.” Ironhide winced again. “Red’s blowin’ a fuse ‘cause no one told him of Prime’s imminent arrival.” The red mech suddenly shot a glare at the engineer. “Do ya have to be so rough, ‘Jack?”
Wheeljack didn’t even look up. “If you wouldn’t leave this off til the last quartex, I wouldn’t have to be.” He twisted the tool in his hand to make his point, eliciting a grunt from Ironhide. “Speaking of Prowl, he wanted to talk with you when you came online.”
Jazz nodded. “Is Prime with him?”
Wheeljack applied a little grease to the knee he worked on. “Nah. He’s gone to see one of the other units here.”
Ironhide started cursing, loudly and roundly. “That glitch mouse! I done told him ta wait fer me!” He moved to get off the table, but yelped suddenly instead.
“You aren’t going anywhere till I’ve finished, ‘Hide. Make it anymore difficult and I’ll get Chromia on your aft.”
Ironhide subsided, grumbling, but allowing Wheeljack to work.
Jazz laughed, moving to leave them to it. He noticed a golden frame on the berth, and a quick zoom of his vision revealed two black vents. Sunstreaker. He did a quick scan of the mechs in the room, but no, no Sideswipe. He frowned and exited, glancing around the impromptu waiting room for any sign of the warrior. His frown deepened as he noticed the mech’s distinct absence. He supposed that Sideswipe could have been released already. Highly unlikely with the number still waiting for attention.
He approached Prowl’s room, slowing down as he caught soft murmurs coming from inside. He pinged Prowl, not wanting to disturb the two who got little alone time as it was. Prowl pinged him back, also sending a hasty ‘Enter’ with the signal. The door opened, and Jazz ducked inside.
Ratchet tucked a tarpaulin under Prowl’s legs, once again hiding them from sight. Prowl’s attention switched from the medic to the saboteur, his pale optics showing how much pain he was still in. Ratchet’s own lightened optics glared at Jazz before turning to the instrumentation around Prowl.
“Prowl, man, you never did tell me why you weren’t long gone from that blast?”
Prowl’s optics flickered briefly in silent communication and the Commander leaned his head back. “I was trying to pull Bluestreak away.”
“I keep trying to tell you that’s what Blue and Smokes are for,” Ratchet ground out between his dental plates. He cast a glare back at Prowl, before stomping out. “I’ll go check on your attempted casualty.”
Jazz watched Ratchet leave before turning back to Prowl. “What happened to Blue?”
Prowl shuttered his optics for a moment. “A building collapsed on him. Don’t laugh, Jazz.”
“Sorry, but that guy’s unlucky.” Jazz muted his vocalizer, trying to compose himself.
Prowl sent him a sour glance, his doorwings twitching and making him wince. “I wasn’t about to leave him. I’d mostly had him pulled out when the blast hit.” His optics dimmed, flickering again in pain.
Jazz was no longer laughing. “Y’ covered him.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” but he didn’t elaborate beyond that. He hissed and winced, his fists clenching at his side. “I’m sorry Jazz, but I will have to speak to you later.” He halted suddenly, groaning as he pressed into the elevated medical berth.
“Yeah, okay. Need me to get Ratchet?”
Prowl sent him a sharp look and shook his head. “No, don’t disturb Ratchet. I’ll call him if I need him.” He narrowed his optics, obviously attempting to dredge something up from his processor. “Sideswipe… Ratchet mentioned Sideswipe was missing…” His head thumped back, the effort of keeping it up too much for him.
“He’s avoidin’ bein’ treated for some reason. Ratch still ain’t found him?”
“No,” Prowl’s voice glitched with strain, “I know he’d like us to be able to leave. But we can’t…” His engine groaned, halting his words.
Jazz patted Prowl’s hand, unable to understand why he was in so much pain. Wasn’t Ratchet taking care of that? “I’ll find ‘im.” ‘Give him an audiofull, too,’ he silently added to himself. “You need t’ rest.”
“Yes, please. I want to shut down right now.”
Jazz looked at his friend before nodding and leaving. He sought out Ratchet, pinging the medic’s comm. until he received a locator in return. Ratchet stepped out of the room he had been in, his white paint spattered with coolant. He automatically glanced at the door down the hall, his pale optics dimming for a moment before he looked to Jazz.
“Doc, what’s up with Prowl?”
A frown turned Ratchet’s mouth down, and his engine revved. “There’s some bug in his systems, I need to get him back to base so I can look it over.”
“Can’t ya just repair the sensors and th’ damage?”
Metal squealed as Ratchet clenched his fist. “If I could,” he practically growled, his mood set to its most savage, “don’t you think that I would.”
Jazz knew better than to press further, the pain at his inability blunt on Ratchet’s face. He shifted subjects, trying not to hitch on a topic that struck as close as this one did. “Have ya had a chance to get a look at ‘Bee?”
Jazz flinched as he saw that the ire in Ratchet’s countenance didn’t vanish or fade, but merely changed, changing from pensive to thunderous. “I did.” Piercing blue optics glared at Jazz. “I can’t bring him back online until we get him back to base. I don’t have the equipment here for a proper deep scan. I was borrowing one of the other unit’s…” his voice trailed off, and his gaze slid away from Jazz. “I want to scan him with my own.”
“You picked up somethin’?”
A sigh hissed out of his vents, accompanying the brief sag of his shoulders. “Yes.” He looked to Jazz again. “Prowl wanted to know if either you or Mirage had met that telepath yet?”
“I don’t know ‘bout Mirage,” Jazz stated, making a note to ask the noblemech.
“And you?”
“No,” Jazz answered without hesitating. “I haven’t.”
Ratchet huffed again, glancing over his shoulder at the tarp that hid Bluestreak.
“Still ain’t seen a bolt or plate of Sides?”
“No. If you see him drag his aft back here so I can finish up field patches and we can head back to base.”
Jazz grinned, saluting the medic with a cheerful ‘Will do!’ before he turned, grin gone from his face, and he stalked out of the medical facility.
‘Prowl’s outta commission, and our troops need leadership. The next mech in line for that position’s gonna be me.’ Jazz should be looking for Prime for the official order to take command, but he needed to find Sideswipe first. When Prime gave him the command there would be no time for him to personally look for a single soldier when so many needed his attention. He knew he’d never be at ease if he didn’t try to find the red mech first. Sideswipe had more damage than he’d been letting on, and that irked Jazz something fierce to not be trusted by someone he considered a friend.
The other unit commanders would likely be looking after Prowl’s unit until a substitute was named. It was the Autobot thing to do.
He didn’t bother looking in the darkened alleyways, or under the tents, that would be too obvious. Sideswipe would seek out somewhere more private than the immediate encampment. Jazz pulled up a map of the neighboring blocks from when they’d planned this escapade. He examined the buildings marked for habitation, the ones marked as empty, and the ones marked as inhabitable. ‘Now, if I was a Toughline tryin’ to stay away from goin’ to medical for some insane reason, where would I- Aha!’ Jazz turned and dropped into his altmode.
He wove his way through the encampment, along the lanes marked for vehicle travel, the ones wide enough for two convoys to pass by without rattling the nearby tents and delicate supply depots. He turned down an alleyway, wide enough to let him through, seeking to get through to what was marked as a destroyed and abandoned workshop. If Jazz were damaged and desiring solitude, that would be where he would go: still in comm. range, but just on the edge of other units’ sensors, possible tools, plenty of hiding spaces.
Jazz transformed before he came into view of the broken doorway. The second floor’s ceiling caved into clutter a portion of the first floor, and he could see the debris of the building’s collapse cluttering the front windows. Jazz ducked under the leaning threshold, crouching in the shadows automatically as he took in the interior. The front of the shop was empty, the bare shelves the only thing left of the ones that used to own the shop. Jazz slipped behind the counter, his feet crunching on the broken and useless junk that littered the ground. Discarded items that had fallen in the ceiling’s collapse.
He peeked around the rear entry, trying to see past the rubble for a glimpse red and black. He slowly slid to a standing position, unable to see anything otherwise.
Sideswipe stared straight at him, propped up on fallen scaffolding, one leg extended as the other hung over the edge of his impromptu berth.
Jazz cursed at himself before raising his vocal modulator as he walked carefully around the scattered debris. “Hey, Sides, we been lookin’ for ya. Why’re ya hidin’ out here?”
Sideswipe only stared at him, his face slack. One of his hands slid down the thigh it’d been perched on, swinging gently by the red mech’s side.
“Sideswipe?” Real concern started to stir in Jazz’s processor and he started moving faster. “Come on, man this ain’t no time to be jokin’.” He reached out to Sideswipe, and shook the broad shoulder, seeking some reaction from the red warrior.
He got more than he bargained for.
Sideswipe’s optics flashed, and in that same blink of time, he lunged at Jazz, face no longer slack, but twisted in vicious rage. He knocked Jazz off his feet for only a brief astrosecond, before the saboteur caught his balance and grappled to get the mech off.
“Sideswipe, man! What’re ya doin’?” Jazz shouted as the warrior’s black fist lifted to pound into lighter armor.
Sideswipe blinked, and visibly reset, rocking back on his heels like he’d just come out of recharge. “Jazz?” His jaw worked with surprise, but he managed to stumble to his feet, pulling the smaller mech up with him. “Oh, slag, Jazz, I’m sorry. What were you doing? I was recharging, you know how we warrior models can be when we’re like that.”
Jazz did, but he’d never seen such an extreme reaction before. “Ya weren’t recharging, Sides. Yer optics were on.”
The pale optics, and Jazz noted with alarm that they hadn’t been that shade just a few astroseconds ago, widened. “They were?” Sideswipe grimaced, rubbing at his jointed audio horns as he glared at the floor. “I’m really sorry then, that’s a program I wrote. It was from…” he paused, and tried again, “It was to keep…” His glare at the floor seemed to harden, before he looked up at Jazz. “It’s from having a lot of pranks pulled on… me. I forgot to deactivate the program when I came here.” He grinned apologetically.
Jazz frowned, still not entirely happy with Sideswipe’s evasiveness. He cast a look over the still dinged up frame, taking note of the tools scattered on the ground. “Were ya tryin’ to repair yourself?”
“Well, yeah, I can do minor stuff…”
Jazz arched a brow ridge, clearly recalling the skill with which Sideswipe had fixed Jazz’s dislocated elbow. “What about th’ major stuff, Sides?” Critical optics scanned the red frame. “Ya got any major damage? Besides yer rocket pack, I mean.”
Sideswipe looked away and mumbled something.
“What was that?”
The warrior bared his teeth in a feral snarl. “I said, my knee.”
Jazz looked down, finally noting that Sideswipe did seem to be favoring one of his legs more. “And ya transformed on it? Y’ve been walkin’ on it? What’s wrong?” The black and white mech stared, appalled before he knelt down, examining the bent armor that hid the joint.
Sideswipe stepped back, so that he could sit on a pile of rubble. His knee bent obligingly, and this close, listening for it, Jazz could hear the static cracks and pops of a joint gone wrong. Sparks flickered behind the derma plating, and Jazz could just see enough of the endoskeleton to see the stress fractures running up the frame.
“I kinda crashed before I could get to it.” He winced as he shifted. “The other’s damaged too. Probably from hitting the building.” Sideswipe looked away from Jazz’s glare, his discomfort clear on his face.
“Man, ya shoulda had this looked at straight away. Ratchet was hopin’ to get goin’ soon.” He considered his options, running his hands up the white thigh, feeling for any give in the endoskeleton. “How far up does that go?”
Sideswipe shifted uncomfortably, though he said he wasn’t in pain when Jazz asked if he was hurting him. But he jumped and yelped when Jazz tried to shift his pelvic joint. This earned him another glare from Jazz, the saboteur’s lips pressed together in a frown. “Primus slaggit, Sideswipe! Ratchet’s going to blow a gasket.”
Just as he was about to call for transport, Prime pinged for a locator beacon.
He swore behind his dental plates, pinging Prime back with the beacon. He received a startled ‘What are you doing out there?’ before the Commander General requested his presence.
Jazz looked at Sideswipe, who didn’t even act as though his hip was out of socket. “Sides, I gotta get goin’, an I can’t wait for ya, but there’s no slagging way I’m leavin’ ya here by yerself. Come on.”
Jazz slung one of the mech’s arms over his shoulders, hoping that Sideswipe didn’t have damage anywere else and wasn’t saying anything. Sideswipe stood and tried to pull away from Jazz, but the saboteur held firm.
“I’ll be fine, Jazz! Leggo! I can walk. Slaggit!” he snarled as he tried to wrench his arm away again.
Jazz lurched forward, dragging Sideswipe with him. “No ya ain’t! Yer gonna lean on me like yer told!”
“No.” Tug. “I’m.” Pull. “Not!” Sideswipe wrested his hand free of Jazz’s grip, and staggered forward a few steps.
Jazz whirled and snatched at Sideswipe helmet, snagging one of his audiohorns in a bid to get the warrior’s full attention.
It worked.
Sideswipe shouted in surprise and grabbed at Jazz’s arm. But his torso bent as Jazz’s grip tightened on the little bit of metal.
“Yer gonna let me help ya, right?”
“Ow! Owowowowow! Yes! Yes, you can! Ow! Yes, I am!” Sideswipe stilled to look at Jazz from under his helm. “Could you please let go now?”
The petulant look and soft whimper in his voice made Jazz laugh and he released the red mech.
“Thanks.” Sideswipe straightened, slowly, still trying to hide the damage he’d sustained on his leg. He fingered his audiohorn, feeling for dents or bends. Jazz patiently waited until Sideswipe gingerly reached out and put his arm back over Jazz’s shoulder, leaning his weight on the Sleektilt.
“Is this a part of that friend thing?” he asked after a moment of matching the rhythm of Jazz’s steps.
“Ayup! Y’ can expect this thing sorta regularly if yer gonna be an aft about needing help.”
“Prime.” But Sideswipe beamed down at Jazz.
The saboteur shouldered a little more of the Toughline’s weight and tried picking up their pace a little, looking to see how Sideswipe was handling it. Then he asked a question that had been bugging his audio receptor for a while. “Ain’t you and Sunny friends? Don’t he do this?”
Sideswipe’s face fell, and then darkened. “That slaghead can go bath in the smelting Pits for all I care,” he snarled. “We’re just roommates. Not friends,” he fell silent and no amount of prodding from Jazz could get him to open up again.
They reached medical (having been on the receiving end of numerous stares and a few ‘Where have you been?’ from the mechs in the encampment) and Wheeljack directed them to the surgical room.
Sideswipe dragged his feet, slowing them down, and Jazz worried that he might have been pushing the damaged mech too hard. But Sideswipe dismissed Jazz’s concerned queries with a shrug. When they entered the room, Sideswipe’s pale optics focused with singular attention on the golden mech that still lay offline.
There was an empty gurney right there, and it was nearby, so Jazz directed Sideswipe there.
Sideswipe halted, refusing to budge, though he winced as Jazz prodded him to move. “I’m not laying there.” He slipped free of Jazz and leaned against the wall, dragging himself along it toward the other side of the room.
Jazz followed, but his attempts to help were promptly brushed off by the warrior. Jazz noted with some alarm that Sideswipe’s pale optics had widened and his ventilations rushed harshly. He seemed panicked, and, Jazz glanced at the golden mech laying oblivious on the gurney, it seemed Sunstreaker was the cause. But he couldn’t puzzle out why.
Trembling from the strain of his movements, Sideswipe pushed himself onto an empty gurney, laying down with a relieved sigh.
Ratchet appeared at the doorway, and his pale-opticked glare boded ill for the stubborn warrior. He turned briefly to Jazz with a nod. “Thanks for bringing him in, Jazz. Prime’s waiting for you in Prowl’s room.” Ratchet then turned his attention to the red mech with a snarl. “And you, you little glitch! What the slag do you think you were doing out there?”
Jazz slipped out, having been witness to many of Ratchet’s fits.
He headed for Prowl’s room, pinging Prime to let the Commander General know he was on the way.
It says this part's too big. I'll upload the next part later today. O.o
Edit: Let's see if I can get the rest up here...
Title Nowhere to Turn
Pairing(s) (eventual) Jazz/Sideswipe, there's others in there if you squint ;P
Warnings None that I can think of
Summary A wounded, cornered mechanimal would aptly describe the red rocketeer that stumbles his way into Jazz’s life. Withdrawn, moody, distrusting; all the earmarks of someone who has suffered some serious trauma, and hasn’t recovered. Now, if only Jazz could find out what the slag was going on with him.
EDIT: Hey! Look Previous parts!! XDD
Part 1
Part 4
Jazz came online to Wheeljack leaning over him, his hands fiddling with Jazz’s side.
“Yer a homely face t’ wake up to. Ain’t Ratchet got rules in place ‘bout cruel an’ unusual punishment?”
Slowly, Wheeljack turned his head, his optics narrowed, his vocal indicators flashing insistently. “He also has rules about permabonding recalcitrant lip components shut.”
Jazz grinned, stretching joints that throbbed from repair. “Is that what happened to ya?”
The engineer’s engine rumbled. “That’s what rumors say, anyways.” He closed the panel, giving Jazz a hand up. “Take it easy on that arm until the self-repairs have a chance to finish. The next joor should be good.” Wheeljack headed over to another table holding a conscious red mech who looked awfully familiar.
“’Hide?” Jazz hopped off the table.
“H’ain’t changed none that Ah can see.” A grin turned into a grimace as Wheeljack worked to tighten his joints. “Neither has you.”
Jazz laughed. “Nope, still same ol’ lovable me! I didn’t know Prime was comin’. Somethin’ wrong?”
Wheeljack paused briefly, readjusting his grip on the tool in his hand, but Jazz couldn’t help but notice the look the engineer slid his way.
“Naw, only that one’a his commanders had his legs blown off. Prime was jus’ worried.” Ironhide winced again. “Red’s blowin’ a fuse ‘cause no one told him of Prime’s imminent arrival.” The red mech suddenly shot a glare at the engineer. “Do ya have to be so rough, ‘Jack?”
Wheeljack didn’t even look up. “If you wouldn’t leave this off til the last quartex, I wouldn’t have to be.” He twisted the tool in his hand to make his point, eliciting a grunt from Ironhide. “Speaking of Prowl, he wanted to talk with you when you came online.”
Jazz nodded. “Is Prime with him?”
Wheeljack applied a little grease to the knee he worked on. “Nah. He’s gone to see one of the other units here.”
Ironhide started cursing, loudly and roundly. “That glitch mouse! I done told him ta wait fer me!” He moved to get off the table, but yelped suddenly instead.
“You aren’t going anywhere till I’ve finished, ‘Hide. Make it anymore difficult and I’ll get Chromia on your aft.”
Ironhide subsided, grumbling, but allowing Wheeljack to work.
Jazz laughed, moving to leave them to it. He noticed a golden frame on the berth, and a quick zoom of his vision revealed two black vents. Sunstreaker. He did a quick scan of the mechs in the room, but no, no Sideswipe. He frowned and exited, glancing around the impromptu waiting room for any sign of the warrior. His frown deepened as he noticed the mech’s distinct absence. He supposed that Sideswipe could have been released already. Highly unlikely with the number still waiting for attention.
He approached Prowl’s room, slowing down as he caught soft murmurs coming from inside. He pinged Prowl, not wanting to disturb the two who got little alone time as it was. Prowl pinged him back, also sending a hasty ‘Enter’ with the signal. The door opened, and Jazz ducked inside.
Ratchet tucked a tarpaulin under Prowl’s legs, once again hiding them from sight. Prowl’s attention switched from the medic to the saboteur, his pale optics showing how much pain he was still in. Ratchet’s own lightened optics glared at Jazz before turning to the instrumentation around Prowl.
“Prowl, man, you never did tell me why you weren’t long gone from that blast?”
Prowl’s optics flickered briefly in silent communication and the Commander leaned his head back. “I was trying to pull Bluestreak away.”
“I keep trying to tell you that’s what Blue and Smokes are for,” Ratchet ground out between his dental plates. He cast a glare back at Prowl, before stomping out. “I’ll go check on your attempted casualty.”
Jazz watched Ratchet leave before turning back to Prowl. “What happened to Blue?”
Prowl shuttered his optics for a moment. “A building collapsed on him. Don’t laugh, Jazz.”
“Sorry, but that guy’s unlucky.” Jazz muted his vocalizer, trying to compose himself.
Prowl sent him a sour glance, his doorwings twitching and making him wince. “I wasn’t about to leave him. I’d mostly had him pulled out when the blast hit.” His optics dimmed, flickering again in pain.
Jazz was no longer laughing. “Y’ covered him.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” but he didn’t elaborate beyond that. He hissed and winced, his fists clenching at his side. “I’m sorry Jazz, but I will have to speak to you later.” He halted suddenly, groaning as he pressed into the elevated medical berth.
“Yeah, okay. Need me to get Ratchet?”
Prowl sent him a sharp look and shook his head. “No, don’t disturb Ratchet. I’ll call him if I need him.” He narrowed his optics, obviously attempting to dredge something up from his processor. “Sideswipe… Ratchet mentioned Sideswipe was missing…” His head thumped back, the effort of keeping it up too much for him.
“He’s avoidin’ bein’ treated for some reason. Ratch still ain’t found him?”
“No,” Prowl’s voice glitched with strain, “I know he’d like us to be able to leave. But we can’t…” His engine groaned, halting his words.
Jazz patted Prowl’s hand, unable to understand why he was in so much pain. Wasn’t Ratchet taking care of that? “I’ll find ‘im.” ‘Give him an audiofull, too,’ he silently added to himself. “You need t’ rest.”
“Yes, please. I want to shut down right now.”
Jazz looked at his friend before nodding and leaving. He sought out Ratchet, pinging the medic’s comm. until he received a locator in return. Ratchet stepped out of the room he had been in, his white paint spattered with coolant. He automatically glanced at the door down the hall, his pale optics dimming for a moment before he looked to Jazz.
“Doc, what’s up with Prowl?”
A frown turned Ratchet’s mouth down, and his engine revved. “There’s some bug in his systems, I need to get him back to base so I can look it over.”
“Can’t ya just repair the sensors and th’ damage?”
Metal squealed as Ratchet clenched his fist. “If I could,” he practically growled, his mood set to its most savage, “don’t you think that I would.”
Jazz knew better than to press further, the pain at his inability blunt on Ratchet’s face. He shifted subjects, trying not to hitch on a topic that struck as close as this one did. “Have ya had a chance to get a look at ‘Bee?”
Jazz flinched as he saw that the ire in Ratchet’s countenance didn’t vanish or fade, but merely changed, changing from pensive to thunderous. “I did.” Piercing blue optics glared at Jazz. “I can’t bring him back online until we get him back to base. I don’t have the equipment here for a proper deep scan. I was borrowing one of the other unit’s…” his voice trailed off, and his gaze slid away from Jazz. “I want to scan him with my own.”
“You picked up somethin’?”
A sigh hissed out of his vents, accompanying the brief sag of his shoulders. “Yes.” He looked to Jazz again. “Prowl wanted to know if either you or Mirage had met that telepath yet?”
“I don’t know ‘bout Mirage,” Jazz stated, making a note to ask the noblemech.
“And you?”
“No,” Jazz answered without hesitating. “I haven’t.”
Ratchet huffed again, glancing over his shoulder at the tarp that hid Bluestreak.
“Still ain’t seen a bolt or plate of Sides?”
“No. If you see him drag his aft back here so I can finish up field patches and we can head back to base.”
Jazz grinned, saluting the medic with a cheerful ‘Will do!’ before he turned, grin gone from his face, and he stalked out of the medical facility.
‘Prowl’s outta commission, and our troops need leadership. The next mech in line for that position’s gonna be me.’ Jazz should be looking for Prime for the official order to take command, but he needed to find Sideswipe first. When Prime gave him the command there would be no time for him to personally look for a single soldier when so many needed his attention. He knew he’d never be at ease if he didn’t try to find the red mech first. Sideswipe had more damage than he’d been letting on, and that irked Jazz something fierce to not be trusted by someone he considered a friend.
The other unit commanders would likely be looking after Prowl’s unit until a substitute was named. It was the Autobot thing to do.
He didn’t bother looking in the darkened alleyways, or under the tents, that would be too obvious. Sideswipe would seek out somewhere more private than the immediate encampment. Jazz pulled up a map of the neighboring blocks from when they’d planned this escapade. He examined the buildings marked for habitation, the ones marked as empty, and the ones marked as inhabitable. ‘Now, if I was a Toughline tryin’ to stay away from goin’ to medical for some insane reason, where would I- Aha!’ Jazz turned and dropped into his altmode.
He wove his way through the encampment, along the lanes marked for vehicle travel, the ones wide enough for two convoys to pass by without rattling the nearby tents and delicate supply depots. He turned down an alleyway, wide enough to let him through, seeking to get through to what was marked as a destroyed and abandoned workshop. If Jazz were damaged and desiring solitude, that would be where he would go: still in comm. range, but just on the edge of other units’ sensors, possible tools, plenty of hiding spaces.
Jazz transformed before he came into view of the broken doorway. The second floor’s ceiling caved into clutter a portion of the first floor, and he could see the debris of the building’s collapse cluttering the front windows. Jazz ducked under the leaning threshold, crouching in the shadows automatically as he took in the interior. The front of the shop was empty, the bare shelves the only thing left of the ones that used to own the shop. Jazz slipped behind the counter, his feet crunching on the broken and useless junk that littered the ground. Discarded items that had fallen in the ceiling’s collapse.
He peeked around the rear entry, trying to see past the rubble for a glimpse red and black. He slowly slid to a standing position, unable to see anything otherwise.
Sideswipe stared straight at him, propped up on fallen scaffolding, one leg extended as the other hung over the edge of his impromptu berth.
Jazz cursed at himself before raising his vocal modulator as he walked carefully around the scattered debris. “Hey, Sides, we been lookin’ for ya. Why’re ya hidin’ out here?”
Sideswipe only stared at him, his face slack. One of his hands slid down the thigh it’d been perched on, swinging gently by the red mech’s side.
“Sideswipe?” Real concern started to stir in Jazz’s processor and he started moving faster. “Come on, man this ain’t no time to be jokin’.” He reached out to Sideswipe, and shook the broad shoulder, seeking some reaction from the red warrior.
He got more than he bargained for.
Sideswipe’s optics flashed, and in that same blink of time, he lunged at Jazz, face no longer slack, but twisted in vicious rage. He knocked Jazz off his feet for only a brief astrosecond, before the saboteur caught his balance and grappled to get the mech off.
“Sideswipe, man! What’re ya doin’?” Jazz shouted as the warrior’s black fist lifted to pound into lighter armor.
Sideswipe blinked, and visibly reset, rocking back on his heels like he’d just come out of recharge. “Jazz?” His jaw worked with surprise, but he managed to stumble to his feet, pulling the smaller mech up with him. “Oh, slag, Jazz, I’m sorry. What were you doing? I was recharging, you know how we warrior models can be when we’re like that.”
Jazz did, but he’d never seen such an extreme reaction before. “Ya weren’t recharging, Sides. Yer optics were on.”
The pale optics, and Jazz noted with alarm that they hadn’t been that shade just a few astroseconds ago, widened. “They were?” Sideswipe grimaced, rubbing at his jointed audio horns as he glared at the floor. “I’m really sorry then, that’s a program I wrote. It was from…” he paused, and tried again, “It was to keep…” His glare at the floor seemed to harden, before he looked up at Jazz. “It’s from having a lot of pranks pulled on… me. I forgot to deactivate the program when I came here.” He grinned apologetically.
Jazz frowned, still not entirely happy with Sideswipe’s evasiveness. He cast a look over the still dinged up frame, taking note of the tools scattered on the ground. “Were ya tryin’ to repair yourself?”
“Well, yeah, I can do minor stuff…”
Jazz arched a brow ridge, clearly recalling the skill with which Sideswipe had fixed Jazz’s dislocated elbow. “What about th’ major stuff, Sides?” Critical optics scanned the red frame. “Ya got any major damage? Besides yer rocket pack, I mean.”
Sideswipe looked away and mumbled something.
“What was that?”
The warrior bared his teeth in a feral snarl. “I said, my knee.”
Jazz looked down, finally noting that Sideswipe did seem to be favoring one of his legs more. “And ya transformed on it? Y’ve been walkin’ on it? What’s wrong?” The black and white mech stared, appalled before he knelt down, examining the bent armor that hid the joint.
Sideswipe stepped back, so that he could sit on a pile of rubble. His knee bent obligingly, and this close, listening for it, Jazz could hear the static cracks and pops of a joint gone wrong. Sparks flickered behind the derma plating, and Jazz could just see enough of the endoskeleton to see the stress fractures running up the frame.
“I kinda crashed before I could get to it.” He winced as he shifted. “The other’s damaged too. Probably from hitting the building.” Sideswipe looked away from Jazz’s glare, his discomfort clear on his face.
“Man, ya shoulda had this looked at straight away. Ratchet was hopin’ to get goin’ soon.” He considered his options, running his hands up the white thigh, feeling for any give in the endoskeleton. “How far up does that go?”
Sideswipe shifted uncomfortably, though he said he wasn’t in pain when Jazz asked if he was hurting him. But he jumped and yelped when Jazz tried to shift his pelvic joint. This earned him another glare from Jazz, the saboteur’s lips pressed together in a frown. “Primus slaggit, Sideswipe! Ratchet’s going to blow a gasket.”
Just as he was about to call for transport, Prime pinged for a locator beacon.
He swore behind his dental plates, pinging Prime back with the beacon. He received a startled ‘What are you doing out there?’ before the Commander General requested his presence.
Jazz looked at Sideswipe, who didn’t even act as though his hip was out of socket. “Sides, I gotta get goin’, an I can’t wait for ya, but there’s no slagging way I’m leavin’ ya here by yerself. Come on.”
Jazz slung one of the mech’s arms over his shoulders, hoping that Sideswipe didn’t have damage anywere else and wasn’t saying anything. Sideswipe stood and tried to pull away from Jazz, but the saboteur held firm.
“I’ll be fine, Jazz! Leggo! I can walk. Slaggit!” he snarled as he tried to wrench his arm away again.
Jazz lurched forward, dragging Sideswipe with him. “No ya ain’t! Yer gonna lean on me like yer told!”
“No.” Tug. “I’m.” Pull. “Not!” Sideswipe wrested his hand free of Jazz’s grip, and staggered forward a few steps.
Jazz whirled and snatched at Sideswipe helmet, snagging one of his audiohorns in a bid to get the warrior’s full attention.
It worked.
Sideswipe shouted in surprise and grabbed at Jazz’s arm. But his torso bent as Jazz’s grip tightened on the little bit of metal.
“Yer gonna let me help ya, right?”
“Ow! Owowowowow! Yes! Yes, you can! Ow! Yes, I am!” Sideswipe stilled to look at Jazz from under his helm. “Could you please let go now?”
The petulant look and soft whimper in his voice made Jazz laugh and he released the red mech.
“Thanks.” Sideswipe straightened, slowly, still trying to hide the damage he’d sustained on his leg. He fingered his audiohorn, feeling for dents or bends. Jazz patiently waited until Sideswipe gingerly reached out and put his arm back over Jazz’s shoulder, leaning his weight on the Sleektilt.
“Is this a part of that friend thing?” he asked after a moment of matching the rhythm of Jazz’s steps.
“Ayup! Y’ can expect this thing sorta regularly if yer gonna be an aft about needing help.”
“Prime.” But Sideswipe beamed down at Jazz.
The saboteur shouldered a little more of the Toughline’s weight and tried picking up their pace a little, looking to see how Sideswipe was handling it. Then he asked a question that had been bugging his audio receptor for a while. “Ain’t you and Sunny friends? Don’t he do this?”
Sideswipe’s face fell, and then darkened. “That slaghead can go bath in the smelting Pits for all I care,” he snarled. “We’re just roommates. Not friends,” he fell silent and no amount of prodding from Jazz could get him to open up again.
They reached medical (having been on the receiving end of numerous stares and a few ‘Where have you been?’ from the mechs in the encampment) and Wheeljack directed them to the surgical room.
Sideswipe dragged his feet, slowing them down, and Jazz worried that he might have been pushing the damaged mech too hard. But Sideswipe dismissed Jazz’s concerned queries with a shrug. When they entered the room, Sideswipe’s pale optics focused with singular attention on the golden mech that still lay offline.
There was an empty gurney right there, and it was nearby, so Jazz directed Sideswipe there.
Sideswipe halted, refusing to budge, though he winced as Jazz prodded him to move. “I’m not laying there.” He slipped free of Jazz and leaned against the wall, dragging himself along it toward the other side of the room.
Jazz followed, but his attempts to help were promptly brushed off by the warrior. Jazz noted with some alarm that Sideswipe’s pale optics had widened and his ventilations rushed harshly. He seemed panicked, and, Jazz glanced at the golden mech laying oblivious on the gurney, it seemed Sunstreaker was the cause. But he couldn’t puzzle out why.
Trembling from the strain of his movements, Sideswipe pushed himself onto an empty gurney, laying down with a relieved sigh.
Ratchet appeared at the doorway, and his pale-opticked glare boded ill for the stubborn warrior. He turned briefly to Jazz with a nod. “Thanks for bringing him in, Jazz. Prime’s waiting for you in Prowl’s room.” Ratchet then turned his attention to the red mech with a snarl. “And you, you little glitch! What the slag do you think you were doing out there?”
Jazz slipped out, having been witness to many of Ratchet’s fits.
He headed for Prowl’s room, pinging Prime to let the Commander General know he was on the way.