Special: "In the Sky"

By BlackMarketTrombones


Jazz was just cruisin' along being his general fantastic self when he was all of a sudden struck with a hefty premonition of twins-up-to-no-good. Actually, it wasn't so much a premonition as a tree and because Jetstorm picked himself up out of the fallen treetop (which, while no longer on top of its own trunk, retained this title because it was on top of Jazz's hood), shook a few loose branches out of his joints, and leapt into the air with near-manic laughter, the conclusion that they were involved was less a sudden stroke of clairvoyance than the logical result of the obvious line of reasoning.

Still, he was struck so suddenly and so swiftly that, for several seconds, he could only see the surprising strangeness of the supremely startling situation. That and branches. Very large branches that got tangled up in his joints when he transformed. It must have made a silly sight because it drove Bumblebee into hysterics when he pulled up.

"I guess Prowl's rubbing off on you," he managed to choke out between sniggers, "but I don't think this is what he means when he says he wants to be 'one with nature.'"

To this, Jazz (after rolling out of the tree and sprawling across the street) displayed his infinite wit and charm/suavity by eloquently responding, "Ungh."

"Jazz?" Bumblebee said, sobering slightly. "You okay?"

Jazz once again proved his intellectual merit. "Ungh."

"Hang on, I'll call Ratch—"

Something exploded. Namely, a blimp that was circling overhead. The blimp ceased its circuitous circling and fell from the firmament in a flaming freefall.

People screamed and ran amok. The twins laughed gleefully, ignorant of the chaos they were causing below. Jazz offered up his opinion on the whole situation.

"Ungh," he groaned, completely unwilling to expend the energy required to move.

Fortunately, Optimus Prime arrived (with half the Detroit Fire Department in tow) in time to douse the torched blimp before it turned him to toasted titanium. Unfortunately, immediately after saving his sorry skid-plate from the flaming conflagration, Optimus Prime demanded to know just what the frag the twins thought they were doing and wouldn't take a dazed "ungh" for an answer.

Jazz sat up (an action which caused his entire cranial unit to ache) and listened intently to the twins (it was surprisingly difficult to hear their giddy laughter through the bedlam they'd unwittingly caused below). He sighed and flopped back to the ground.

"Thur playin'," he slurred, shutting off his optical sensors.

A beat of silence (except for the sirens and the screaming and the combined roar of flamethrowers and wind turbines overhead), then:


Optimus Prime hauled him up by the shoulders and held him at optic-level. "Make them stop," he all but growled.

Jazz tilted his head back and squinted up. Jetstorm dive-tackled his twin and they tumbled helm-over-heel through a hapless office building. "Comm.'s down," he said mournfully.

"What? Why?"

Jazz gestured ambiguously to the side. "Stormy un'tentionally knocked it on me," he clarified when Optimus raised a questioning optic-ridge at the surprisingly large and majestic tree (or rather, the surprisingly large and majestic heap of splintered wood).

Optimus sighed and set Jazz on his feet (he swayed a bit but stayed upright). "Where's Sentinel Prime?"

"'Oled up in th'ship," Jazz explained somewhat blearily. "'E don' much like organic…stuff."

A tongue of flame licked the ground not ten feet from where they stood, and he groaned. "Guess I better get 'em."

"Wait!" Bumblebee piped up. "How're you gonna do that? You can't fly."

Jazz frowned in thought but almost immediately brightened up as he was struck (figuratively, this time) by a Brilliant Plan.

"M'gunna climb tha' tower," he said cheerily, "'n jump on 'em."


Prowl and Bulkhead pulled up behind a very vocal Ratchet.

"Lie down," said medic growled.



Jazz wisely decided that meek compliance was the best course of action. "Yessir!" he slurred, snapping a smart salute before collapsing backwards.

"—just suffered severe head trauma and he thinks he can go jumping all over Primus' creation. Of all the slaggin' stupid… Where did you even get the idea of doing that?"

"Seen it done a few times," Jazz mumbled. "Coupl'a frontliners 'nvented it. Call it jet judo. Works on the 'Cons."

Ratchet sat back on his heels and looked amazed. "They jump on Decepticon fliers? In mid-air?"

"An' steer 'em to th'ground," Jazz chirped cheerfully.

"Idiots," Ratchet grumbled.

"Did you ever do that?" Bulkhead asked.


"Not brave enough?" Bumblebee challenged.

"Not stupid enough, probably," Prowl corrected. "The margin of error is too small and a mistake would mean a long fall to an untimely demise. However, the limited range of flight provided by my jetpacks should be enough to ensure my survival should I miss and begin to plummet to my death."

Bumblebee gaped, almost awed. "You're doing it?"

"Are you out of your processor?" Ratchet demanded.

"Prowl—" Optimus was cut off by a distant explosion.

"Do you have any other suggestions?" Prowl asked mildly.

Ten minutes later, he was wrestling Jetstorm to the ground. Jazz found the display highly reminiscent of the human rodeos he'd seen clips of on YouTube (he'd been thoroughly enjoying himself exploring the internet when he was supposed to be on surveillance duty).

"Ride 'im, cowboy," he giggled.

Bumblebee, Bulkhead, and Optimus stared at him in bewilderment. Ratchet grumbled about head trauma. Prowl and Jetstorm crashed to the ground and skidded down the street.

"What were you doing that for?" Jetfire demanded, landing lighting next to them. He received a mouthful of flame-retardant foam as Optimus opened preemptive fire, presumably because his flaming feet were melting puddles in the asphalt.

"Don't," he said, holding up a hand to stymie the inevitable indignant protests. "Unless you had a good reason for destroying half of Detroit in a protoform's wrestling match."

A nearby human—short and stocky with a crown of yellow on his helm—burst into a long, loud string of what Jazz recognized as obscenities.

"Hey now," he murmured disapprovingly. "Thur's kids 'ere." The human looked confused so he waved a hand vaguely at the twins. "Jes' a couple hunnerd years old."

"Jazz sir?" Jetstorm sounded only slightly squished from beneath Prowl.

"What is being wrong with him?"

Ratchet started raving about head trauma again and the twins looked about as abashed as they'd ever been (which, when Jazz really worked to focus his scattered thoughts, probably wasn't too hard).

"Sorry," the twins chimed, and they seemed like they meant it so Jazz smiled reassuringly (or he tried to—it was a bit too loopy to be especially reassuring).

"Don' you worry yer lil' heads 'bout it," he slurred. "Kids'll be kids."

Though he wondered how—if all fliers were so difficult as younglings—the Decepticons had lasted so long.


A/N: I meant to have this up sooner, but then band camp happened. Sorry.

This was originally going to be "Silly," but I decided it was turning out not to have much of the twins. But it involves them, so Special!

Yes, this is tied in with "Playing with Kids." And, by extension, "At the Beach," I suppose, but mostly "Playing with Kids."

Also, alliterations are awesome.