Kinesthesis 3
Jazz/Prowl/HumanReader first contact AU
Part 2
I am so sorry this took so long 😭 but I finally got something out! This was written over the course of multiple months so if it’s inconsistent that’s why. Over my impromptu hiatus I’ve grown as a writer and as a person so that will probably change the way this story goes, but not to worry! I still plan on carrying on with this fic.
Be aware that I may not remember things about that last two chapters before this because it’s been a while. If you find any mistakes, let me know!
Also, thank you to the anons that encouraged me to keep going! This one goes out to you.
So, now you have quite a few problems. Not only were the ‘robots’ alive, they were also obviously damaged and asking for your help. Your help. Of all people. You still didn’t know where they came from, if someone was piloting them, how they got here, what that blue liquid was, or why one of them only made weird metallic scratching sounds. That one in particular really freaked you out when it first started ‘speaking’. At the time, you immediately assumed there was a metal demon somewhere coming to eat you.
Instead of that, they were just giant robots asking for your help in the middle of asscrack nowhere. Very simple. Foolproof, even. Nothing wrong there.
“I’m… going to get to work.” You told the one apparently named ‘Prowl’. He didn’t make any sputtering noises at you this time, so you took that as your go-ahead.
He was huge. Well, you knew that, but it was still jarring. You had to literally climb him to get to his wounds. Delicately placing your rag to the injured spot on his neck, you could feel the pump of something akin to a heart under the metal. Now that was weird. Wait, maybe it was just a fuel pump of somesort. He couldn’t… it couldn't have an actual heartbeat, right? Robots don’t have heartbeats.
That isn’t possible.
After a bit of cleaning up blue liquid and trying not to cut yourself on shards of metal, a realization dawned on you. These guys were more complicated than you thought. Really, a robot shouldn’t have this much… everything. They shouldn’t have half of whatever parts are in them. What kind of coding was driving them anyway? What fuel did they even use? The blue stuff?
Oh, who are you kidding. They aren’t robots. They can’t be. They can’t just be robots. They fell from the sky, of course they can’t be robots! Your heart picked up its already erratic pace, yet even with shaky hands, your work took priority.
Soon after there wasn’t a hole in Prowl anymore. Not one on his neck, anyway. You counted that as a win. But seeing as there were way more lacerations, dents, and cuts all over both of them, you definitely had the rest of your work cut out for you.
Simple. Foolproof, even. Nothing wrong there.
—---------------------
Jazz, with his sight still mostly busted, anxiously awaited some sort of indicator that the person helping them was actually patching up Prowl. They seemed pretty stunned earlier. Scared. He had assumed they’d run away and get help. That would be a more reasonable reaction, right?
Obviously it was probably better that they didn’t, this was a completely new planet after all. They’d be scrap if it weren’t for this random person helping them out. This person that is native to this new planet. With… no knowledge of Cybertronian biology- oh scrap. This person had no idea what they were doing!
“W – it! Wa– a - i!” Staticy, barely understandable garble came out of his vocalizer. He heard a tiny peep out of the little guy and a kind of ‘hrmph’ from Prowl.
“What? What is it? Did I do something wrong?” They squeaked in a comically high-pitch tone. “I- I’m sorry, I- know mechanics but this is kind of different and I don’t want to hurt anybody I just-”
“Y- yo- u kno- me- c– nics?”
“Um, yeah, it’s what I do. For school.”
“S- – -ry f’r t--e frig–t, I’m j-st co– m– in’ to–my–sen s- s- ses, an’ rel-i’ed wher– we ar’... an’ I don’ kn- kn- kn- – -w… ca—n– ya- re- – -y fi- x us?”
“O- oh, n- now yo- -y questi- on it?” Prowl commented from the sidelines. Jazz deliberately ignored him.
“I mean, I can, I just need some time to figure everything out… i- it doesn’t hurt, does it?”
“W- Wha-t’s’t sayi- in- ing?”
“A- askin’ i- if it- it- it- hu- – -ts.”
“O- of co- rs’ it h-urts!”
“Wait, what’s he saying?”
Jazz cringed for a moment, realizing just how taxing it’s going to be on him to keep translating. Of course, he decided to use it to his advantage. Why not have some fun in the face of certain death?
“H- he s’ys h’s t—ckl’sh.”
“Oh, um, okay. Does that mean you guys can’t feel pain? Like, can I go harder with this? I have some power tools I can use back in—” Okay. Bad plan.
“N- N- N-O we C- – -N Fe’L It!”
“Oh, um, can or can’t?”
“C- C- C- C- CAAIIIEEEZZZZzzzt!” His vocalizer gave off a pointedly unpleasant sound just before shorting out.
“Is that… should I know what that means?” Jazz took a second to reset his vocalizer.
“N- n- n- o… b- b’t w– fe’l pa’n… i–t h- – -rts…”
“Can feel pain, got it. Um, is your voice okay? I can try fixing it… if that’s a thing I can fix…?” As much as he appreciated the gesture, Jazz wasn’t ready for that kind of operation.
“N- n - o thn’ks.”
“Alright… I’m gonna keep going here then.”
It was then, nearly offline, cut off from most forms of communication, on a completely alien planet, that Jazz realized this might be a little bit too much to handle.
“Y- y- you—re an ‘di—ot.”
“M- ay’e… bu— ‘least I c’n t- t- ta-k to ou- fr’nd ‘ere.”
“It’s Wh—lja’k, o- of c-cou’se I d- di—-nnooowoowOWW!” Jazz heard a loud crash followed by a tiny scream.
“Oh my god I’m so sorry, what did I do? I- I didn’t know, oh my god…”
“Wh—t? —at ‘appe— d?!”
“I- I’m sorry, I think I hit something, I’m so sorry!”
“Pr—ler? P—owl!?”
He got a groan in response. A groan and a new, distinct, clear sound.
“—bbzzzt —- bzzzt ——tobots! This is Optim— —ime. If yo- can hear thi-, heed my call. The Arc is inoperable. Most of you are scattered across an alien world. While I do not know where the Decepticons have landed, I can confirm they are on the planet with us. Do not lose hope here, my friends. For the fate of Cybertron and the remaining Autobots rests in your capable servos. Attached to this message are the coordinates to the Arc, I will be waiting for you there. Good luck—- bzzzt —— bzzzt—-!”
The three sat in silence. While he couldn’t see the hologram that was most likely coming from Prowl’s projector, he heard what the message contained. They were safe. Optimus was safe. And he once again had a goal to achieve.
“Wh- what the hell was that!?”
“Th’nk Pri—us…” Prowl whispered.
“It -as… a- a- f- fri—nd.”
“Oh, okay. What did your friend say?”
“Th— w- we ha— so—me-here t- be.” Jazz attempted to move his body, but was once again denied. “W- we n- n- ne—d to g—-!”
“Hey, woah woah woah! You are not well enough to get up yet! I haven’t even started patching you up!”
“Aau—augh! I- I- kn— Ratc— uh, I- I- I kno—“
“Settle down. I- I’ll be as fast as I can, alright?”
Jazz huffed in halfhearted agreement. Prowl, on the other hand…
—---------------------
He thought this was an incredible waste of their time. Oh, sure, he needed to be fixed, but he was doing just fine now and he did not need help from a mysterious stranger he couldn’t understand. How could he, Prowl of Petrex, need the help of a tiny little creature like this one? There was no such need. The only need he had was to get himself and Jazz functional again, report back to Optimus, and win the war.
He tried to get up. After about half a second of metal creaking, unconscious groaning, and a little squeak from his benefactor, his body gave out. His spark burned with a searing mixture of frustration and stress as he tried to clench a servo. But of course he couldn’t. Of course he was stuck. Injured, vulnerable, and useless. But still, Optimus needed him. Needed them. So he needed to get up!
“C- cal- m d- do— n Pr—‘er… ye’ sca- a- rin’ ‘em…” He could hear panicked chittering from somewhere on top of him. He had half a mind to shoo the thing away, but even if he could raise his servo, he knew this was his only hope. He would never admit that, obviously, but deep in his spark he knew.
He didn’t respond to Jazz. He didn’t need to. He just focused on the little twinge of pain somewhere atop his chassis and a wound being sealed. A familiar feeling. Not too familiar, not like this, but enough to be comforting.
He imagined the medbay in the Arc. That time when they defeated the enemy and no one had to die. They won, and everyone cheered and celebrated and did whatever people do to express joy during a war.
He was unconscious for cycles. Just because nobody died doesn’t mean nobody was hurt. And he was really, really hurt. But it didn’t matter, not even to him. Moments like that are rare, after all. When one could rejoice without mourning the loss of a friend. He’d only expected Ratchet or First Aid to stay with him during that time. Who wouldn’t want to celebrate the spoils of victory? No one is willing to give up a moment of solace like that. No one is stupid enough to pass up the opportunity for happiness. Except Jazz.
Jazz stayed with him the whole time. He stayed by his bedside, refusing to leave once the required surgery was over. He brought glasses of energon for both of them. To share.
Prowl didn’t wake up then. He missed the party and the congratulations and the relief. He missed Jazz telling him stories and about his day. He missed when the rest of the crew stopped by to check on him. When he did finally come out of stasis, Jazz wasn’t there. Not of his own volition, but because he passed out on the floor due to exhaustion. They both got a long lecture about taking care of themself from Ratchet when it was over.
And Jazz is there, now, still with him. Bleeding out and broken, but still there. And Prowl was powerless to help him. His HUD sang one final message in his head before it went suddenly silent, and he fell helplessly into the deep abyss of stasis.