Chapter Text
::Well met, Child.::
Jazz startled, twisting around to try and find the source of the voice that came from within him and all around him all at once, like a sound system cranked up just past its safety point. It was then that he noticed he was weightless, every old racing injury gone, floating in a formless expanse that his processor could only interpret as white. His optics told him there were no directions, his processor told him he was upside-down.
Wait, he didn’t have optics. Or a processor. Scratch that, he didn’t have a frame. He tried to look around, and realized he was nothing more than his spark.
Scrap.
“‘M deactivated, aren’ I?” Jazz may not have had a voicebox anymore, but he was going to pretend he did for as long as possible.
::You are.::
“What happened? Memory’s a little fuzzy ‘round th’ edges.” Well, he didn’t have a memory, but same deal.
::It does not matter, Child.::
“Does t’ m’. I’m th’ one sittin’ here completely frameless.”
::Do you really wish to know?::
“Yes!” Jazz shouted, a tiny, insignificant scream that seemed to peter out just in front of him.
A deep, primal sigh, one that reverberated through Jazz’s non-existent chassis to… well, his spark. Slag, this was hard to get used to.
::You were in a driving accident. Another mech, overcharged and reckless, pushed you from an overpass where you had stopped to admire the city. You fell to the metal below. The medics pronounced you deactivated on impact.::
Jazz cleared his no-longer-there voicebox. “Well. Not how I think I expected t’ go, but... “ Jazz shrugged mentally. “So… what happens now? Eternal bliss or somethin’ like tha’?”
::Usually.::
“Usually?” Jazz twisted his spark around so he was at least feeling like he was upright. “So not this time?”
::I have another task for you, Child. I regret that you cannot join with Me yet, but you are still required on My back for a short time.::
“I am?”
::You do not remember when you became One with Me?::
“Told ya, I don’t remember anythin’. Who are ya?”
The voice stopped for a moment.
“Uh… hello?”
::My Child, I am Primus. Your spark truly did not know Mine?::
“Can’t say that it did. Felt... warm, though?” Jazz ventured. If this was Primus -- and now that he mentioned it, it did feel familiar -- it wasn’t worth offending the god.
Another of those deep sighs came. ::I regret that I have not made My presence known. Perhaps that is the reason for your task.::
“Wha’ task? Ya keep sayin’ that.”
::You passed to Me only a month before the Winter Solstice. In your life, you loved this time. But there is a spark still living that does not. I wish you to return, and help them to find joy in this time.::
Jazz let himself roll backward, wishing he could lie back and cross his arms beneath his helm like he would when thinking. He hummed. “So ya want me t’ go back t’ life, temporarily? As a ghost? What?”
::You will have a frame once more, until the Solstice.::
“An’ after that?”
::You will return here.::
“So if I do this, wha’ do I get? ‘Cause I doubt yer gonna let m’ really live again.”
::You are correct. I cannot break My rules and return you to your old frame, and it is rare that I send a spark back to live another weary existence. However, if you can succeed in this task, you will become a Winter Spark.::
Jazz flung himself upright. “A Winter Spark?” He grinned. His memories were slowly filtering back in, and he knew the gentle, glowing figures that walked the streets of Cybertron in the week before and after the Solstice, singing and healing minor injuries, sometimes producing candies that nobody could ever replicate, or making the energon stretch just a little further that night. There had been fewer in recent years, but he recalled seeing many when still a sparkling in the orphanage. Nobody knew how they had been created, and they only smiled when asked, but now Jazz did.
::Yes. If you do not succeed, there is no shame. You will simply become One with all.::
“Nah, m’mech. ‘M gonna succeed. Jus’ watch.” Jazz grinned wider.
A deep chuckle. ::I see that you are returning to yourself, Child.::
“Mem’ry’s still fuzzy, but yeah, it’s comin’ back.”
::It will be until your spark has caught up with your deactivation. It is normal.::
“Good t’ know.” Jazz tilted himself forward. “So when d’ I start? Who am I goin’ t’ find?” Jazz had another thought. “How d’ I know if I’ve succeeded?”
Another chuckle. ::His name is Prowl.:: The voice paused. ::If you can get him to change his ways, truly change them, in thirty orns, you will have succeeded. But now, rest for a time. I must think of a temporary frame for you, Child.::
“Can I help?” Jazz hadn’t disliked his frame, exactly, but he had made some interesting modifications, and he’d love to have those back.
Jazz almost felt as though he were being patted on the helm. ::No. Consider it a Solstice surprise. You will enjoy it, I promise.::
Jazz sighed and rolled back, letting himself relax. “I better.” He smiled to himself as he allowed himself to drift off to a final chuckle from the warm light.
It really was a pleasant sensation in some ways, not having a frame.
_____
What was not pleasant was waking up to a blast of cold and the sounds of crowds passing by. Jazz shivered and clamped his plating down as he struggled to his pedes.
Pedes. Plating. Cold.
Jazz slapped his hands to his chassis. He was in a frame again. He grinned as he looked down. He couldn’t tell much, beyond that he had black and white coloring with just a little blue and red. Bringing a hand up to his face, he realized that he had a visor, much like his old frame, which he decided to leave down for the moment. Giving everything a good shake -- not that it did much good in the heavy snow falling -- he looked around. He was in an alleyway, mechs passing by outside on the street, not a single one bothering to look in.
Then he doubled over, grimacing, his helm feeling like it was splitting apart. He gripped it with both hands, willing the pain to stop, vents blasting out hot air, melting the snow that had accumulated on his plating.
Then it was gone, and he vented in the cold air, cooling his systems again.
Prowl. The word stood out among the new info package, which Jazz cautiously opened. Sure, it was probably some sort of divine intervention from Primus -- really, how else could he have just popped into a brand-new frame (which this was?) -- but Jazz hadn’t lived as long as he had before without being healthily suspicious of strange info.
Sure enough, it was all the info on who he was looking for, who he himself was.
Still Jazz. Still a singer and dancer. Still a little bit reckless (but at least he didn’t have a record anymore -- ah, the joys of youth). Even had enough funds to live off of (with a little fun mixed in) and a one-month lease on an apartment in a decent part of the city. Jazz raised an optic ridge and grinned. Primus really did provide.
Prowl… Prowl, though. Jazz snorted as he leaned against the wall of the alleyway, scrolling through the file. Enforcer down in the fifty-first precinct of Iacon, recently transferred from Praxus. Stern-looking. Worked every holiday, never took time off, highest arrest and closed case rate in the department, and had a squeaky-clean record, if a few non-recommendations from colleagues. Jazz huffed. Looked like a real miser. Jazz didn’t know such a mech could actually exist, but here was the proof straight from Primus.
A tiny counter popped up in the files. Thirty orns until the Solstice.
Well, best to get started, then.
Still, Jazz spent the better part of a joor simply wandering his immediate area. He’d been in Staniz for most of his functioning, offlined in Kaon. He’d been planning to go to Iacon eventually, but he’d never quite made it.
Seems it took dying to get here.
So Jazz was determined that, even if he was here for a reason, even if he had a month before he either succeeded and got to come back every stellar cycle, or failed and got stuck down in the Allspark.
Either way, he was going to enjoy being alive, in a brand-new frame that, just feeling it, was as or more flexible than his last one. He caught sight of himself in a window, and, even though he didn’t stop to admire, still grinned to himself. Man, he could get used to this. He wondered if this was the frame he’d have if he succeeded. He really, really hoped so.
Then he was at the steps of the fifty-first precinct. Jazz squinted as he looked up, wiping the snow from his visor. So this is where Prowl worked. Jazz almost started up the steps, before thinking through what he was about to do. “Hey, ‘M here for Prowl. Who am I? Well, I was offline an’ in th’ Allspark, then Primus sent m’ back t’ make him not hate th’ Solstice. Huh? No, ‘M not crazy.” Jazz thought, rocking back on his pedes, huffing and looking around. Across the street was a cafe. Turning toward it, carefully crossing the street, Jazz stepped in. The barista looked up.
“Afternoon!” He called out, cheerfully.
“Afternoon.” Jazz leaned on the counter. “Can I get some warm energon wi’ silver shavin’s?”
“Sure thing! For here or to go?” The barista asked, already turning around.
“For here.” Jazz hummed lightly as he watched the barista move around. “Actually, could ya help me out?”
The barista glanced up. “Maybe. What do you need?”
“‘M new t’ Iacon. Anythin’ fun I should know about? Anywhere needs a musician an’ dancer that ya know of?”
The barista chuckled. “You just move here, or tourist?”
“Not sure yet.” True enough, Jazz thought. “Don’t know how long ‘M gonna stay, but I thought I should find some temporary work.”
The barista nodded. “True enough. Well, it’s the Solstice season, so cafes are always looking for singers. Think we might be, but you’d have to ask my boss. His number’s on the card.” The barista pulled one out of the holder and handed it to Jazz. “As for fun, well, that depends on the fun. There’s a decent nightclub and bar down by the docks. Blurr’s.”
Jazz grinned. “Now that sounds like a party. Thanks.” Jazz fished the right shanix chip out of his subspace and paid for his drink, kicking back in a chair in the corner of the cafe.
The mecha he saw come and go all seemed to be nice, respectable types, some with Solstice magnets or details, a few decked out in brand-new repaints. A couple Enforcers came through, but neither matched the description of Prowl. Finally, Jazz had to move from his spot, his energon long gone and the acceptable and non-awkward time to loiter afterwards coming to an end. Sending a quick text to the cafe owner asking about a job, Jazz stood up. Stretching, still not quite used to this particular frame, he set his cube in the wash tray, ruffled his plating, and headed out the door, squinting a little as the snow hit his face…
And ran right into another mech. Both slipped on the snow, landing on their afts on the pavement.
Jazz recovered first, coming back to his pedes in one swift movement, holding out a hand to the other.
“Sorry, m’mec…” Jazz trailed off as he registered the mech as an Enforcer, and one very specific Enforcer in particular.
Prowl was blinking up at Jazz, seeming slightly disoriented.
“Ya alright, m’mech?” Jazz managed to get out, forcing the words out around the sudden lump in his intake.
Pictures really didn’t do this mech justice. Too bad he hated the Solstice.
Prowl, after regarding Jazz’s hand for a moment, finally took it, accepting the help up. “I am still functional, yes.” Prowl responded, doorwings twitching. “I was simply not expecting to quite literally run into another mech. My tactical computer was not sure how to respond.”
“Makes sense.” Lots of Enforcers were cold-constructed with tactical units meant for advanced maneuvers, though Jazz had never heard of one that influenced reactions to such small things such as bumping into another mech. Prowl’s file had mentioned he was a pursuit officer and detective - maybe that had something to do with it. Regardless, Jazz had his target here now. “Let me buy ya a drink t’ make up for it?”
Doorwings twitched. “It was an accident, and hardly requires such a recompense.”
Jazz shrugged, hoping the gesture still seemed nonchalant. “Wouldn’t be any trouble, an’ I should have been watching where I was goin’.”
Prowl hesitated, then nodded. “Very well.” He turned to continue down the street, confusing Jazz, who followed, coming to walk next to him.
“Not gonna go into th’ convenient cafe?” Jazz asked, glancing over his shoulder, where another group of Enforcers were entering the building.
Prowl’s plating ruffled slightly. “There are far too many of my co-workers in there for me to adequately relax.”
“Not a fan o’ yer job, then?”
“Quite the contrary. I am fond of my function. It is merely those that I have to work with that I find… tedious.”
Jazz chuckled. “Never introduced myself after th’ whole…” Jazz mimed a collision, complete with rattling sound effects. “Designation’s Jazz o’ Staniz.”
“Prowl of Petrex.”
“Petrex, huh? What’s a mech from there doing way up here in Iacon?”
Prowl glanced sideways at Jazz. “Career advancement. But I could ask the same of you.”
“Fair. Wasn’t m’ scene.”
“Then what is your ‘scene?’”
“Music. Dancing.” Jazz grinned, turning and walking backwards. Prowl raised an optic ridge.
“That is unsafe.”
“Nah, it’s just picking yer gigs.” Jazz grinned wider, tone light.
Prowl’s doorwings twitched, along with his optic, and Jazz turned to walk forward again, giving the mech a break. “This time o’ year is good for traveling around. Lots o’ work for mechs who ain’t picky near th’ Solstice.” Jazz watched Prowl’s reaction carefully.
It was surprisingly neutral.
“That is logical. There is much to do, and extra tourism during this time of year.”
So the mech didn’t flinch at the time of year. Jazz tried another tactic.
“So what are yer plans for th’ Solstice?”
“Work.”
“No family? No friends?”
“I am sure that my similarly working coworkers will force me to come out for some sort of after-shift meal.”
“Seems lonely.”
“I have never found it so.” Prowl turned to the side, pushing open the door to a bar. “This is merely another holiday that many mechs want off, and so I fill in.”
Jazz blinked. Was the mech sparkless? “So ya don’t have a particular attachment t’ th’ Solstice? Ya don’t hate it, do ya? I mean…” Jazz gestured to the snow as they stepped into the bar. “It’s pretty, at least.”
“I am indifferent.” Prowl raised an optic ridge at Jazz. “Why are you curious about my feelings on the holiday?”
“Just never met a mech who didn’t have strong feelin’s one way o’ another.”
Prowl didn’t react to that, instead finding them a table near the back of the room, sitting where he could see the door. Jazz sat across from him.
After ordering their fuel (Jazz learned that Prowl liked his energon laced with propane and topped with copper), Jazz dragged Prowl into various topics, testing the waters, so to speak, on the kind of mech Prowl was. He liked classical music or anything with a logical progression, and he had very little to say about art or dance, instead preferring statistics and data. He was a detective now, though he’d originally been a pursuit unit tactician back in Petrex.
Prowl answered most questions with little more than a twitch of his doorwings, but Jazz noticed that he didn’t ask any questions in return, almost tolerating Jazz’s presence more than enjoying it. Conscious of putting the mech off too much, Jazz finished his fuel quickly.
“Well, ‘M staying in Iacon for another month o’ so, so maybe I’ll see ya ‘round, m’mech.”
“I doubt it. Unless you commit a crime, which I do not recommend.”
“Never say never, m’mech.” Jazz grinned at Prowl, fishing out the shanix to pay for their fuel. “Still, ‘M gonna head t’ my apartment before it gets too much later. Don’t really know m’ way around Iacon yet, so I don’t wanna get lost. See ya!” Jazz spun on his heel with a casual wave over his shoulder, leaving a slightly confused and curious Prowl behind, still at the table, doorwings twitching.
On the road, Jazz flopped down into his alt-mode, taking a quick second to run over his schematics as he moved into traffic, before almost laughing. If he wanted to commit a crime, he doubted the Enforcers would ever catch him. This frame was sweet .
It didn’t take long to get to the address that pinged as his, and Jazz glanced around the furnished studio apartment (though it was clear of knickknacks and anything but the most basic accommodations) before flopping out onto the berth and looking up at the ceiling, thinking about Prowl.
Someone with some sort of reason for hating the season he could have worked with. Those were a matter of being a friend, maybe accepting that while the season wouldn’t be like when they were a sparkling, maybe they could find some other reason to like it, or, at least, not hate it.
But how in the pits did you convince an indifferent mech to like something?