Disclaimer: Transformers is the property of Hasbro et al.
Title: Blood Ties – Familia
Rating: K+
Word Count: ~5,750
Warnings: Alternate Universe; kid!fic (no mpreg) with said kid being an OC
Timeframe/Setting: G1 pre-war AU. So very, very AU. Set in a world of human/animal shapeshifters where magic and technology live side by side.
Summary: Prowl finds himself with an unexpected problem and Jazz finds himself an unexpected gift.
A/N: I have no idea where this came from. I'm going to blame it on Supernatural fandom and my ornithology professor.
The music was much too loud. Jazz could appreciate a good tune and party with the best of them, but the wee hours of the morning after finally falling into bed was not the time for it. He burrowed under his pillow and curled into a ball, hoping to deaden the noise. Under other circumstances he would have probably liked the music. It even sounded vaguely familiar.
Muttering darkly, he peeled one arm out of the blankets to fumble for the phone he'd dropped . . . somewhere. As soon as his fingers touched the plastic case, it fell silent. He retreated under the covers with a groan, fully intending to go back to sleep. It was only a few short hours until he was supposed to drag himself into the station to give his report. Whatever it was could wait 'til then.
The music started again almost immediately. Okay, maybe it couldn't wait. There was a very short list of people who had his personal contact information and none of them were the type to call him twice in a row at two in the morning unless it was important. He grabbed the phone blindly, flipped it open, and shoved it under the pillow against his ear.
"This had better be good." Primus, was that his voice? He sounded like a chain-smoking bulldog with a hangover.
There was a short pause, then, "Jazz. I'm sorry to have awakened you. It – it can wait. Go back to sleep."
"Whoa, hang on, Prowl. You okay?" There was a thread on anxiety in his friend's tone that he did not like at all.
"I'm fine." He sounded like he was telling the truth, at least. "I had thought to ask for your help, but I neglected to notice how late it is. We can deal with it later." The anxiety was still there. Nobody else would have caught it in Prowl's clipped non-accent, but nobody else knew Prowl like Jazz did. And since when did Mr. Hyper-vigilance not pay attention to the time?
"Wait, are you sure? This is usually the other way around. You don't call me at dark-thirty unless it's important, man." Jazz sat up and blinked in the dimness of his bedroom as if by pretending to be more awake he could actually make his brain focus.
There was a short silence on the other end of the line. Jazz could practically hear the gears clicking in his friend's head. "It's not urgent," Prowl said softly. "But I could use your help."
"But you're not hurt?" Prowl was the sort of guy who wouldn't raise a fuss unless he had severed a limb and was bleeding out – and maybe not even then.
"No one is injured or endangered, Jazz," Prowl said and, wow, that hard edge to his voice was enough to make Jazz's sluggish mind snap to attention.
"Are you at home?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Right." Jazz was disentangling himself from his bedding as he spoke. "I'm on my way. Need me to bring anything?" Food, books, clothes, guns – Prowl knew the unspoken list. Anything was possible.
"Just you, Jazz."
"Okay. See ya in a few."
"Alright. Thank you." He hung up before Jazz could say that he was welcome.
He made it to the shower and stood under the cool spray until he felt as awake as he was going to get. He pulled on a set of clothes – clean ones that didn't reek of the filth he'd been immersing himself in for the last few days – stuffed the usual things in his pockets, checked the charms dangling from his collar and was out the door.
Public transports had stopped running hours ago. Prowl could have made the trip from his own apartment to Jazz's in less than ten minutes, but Jazz didn't have his freakishly long legs. He'd make better time with four feet instead of two. He transformed and set off down the sidewalk at a lope.
He'd long ago learned to handle the rush of sensation transforming brought, but tonight he reveled in it. From the stink of automobiles in his nose to the prickle on salt on his paw pads, he let the city sink into his mind and body and awaken him far more thoroughly than any shower could. He kept himself at a steady pace, cautious but not fearful of the handful of people he encountered on his way. Most were in their beast forms – a doe skittering down an alley, a glittering-eyed weasel in the shadows – and he doubted they'd cause him trouble. The rougher side of town it might be, but its denizens knew well enough not to tangle with the dark-furred coyote.
His sleepiness had melted back into the dull ache of exhaustion that he was well used to dealing with by the time he reached the cleaner, wider streets Prowl called home. The gate unlocked for his charm and closed again behind him as he passed through the narrow courtyard. He took the lifts. A brisk run to wake himself up was one thing. A climb up sixteen flights of stairs to reach his friend's apartment on the top floor was something else entirely.
He transformed back into human shape outside the familiar door. The charm to unlock it was beside the gate charm in his pocket, tied in a bundle with other important-but-not-vital charms he kept there. He ran the pad of his thumb over it but raised his fist to knock on the door instead.
Prowl answered it almost immediately.
"Oh," Jazz said intelligently after a minute of shocked silence. "You really do need help don't you?"
He'd been taking stock on the way over and, while he wouldn't say he was ready for anything, he was reasonably sure he could handle whatever non-emergency Prowl had on his hands. But he hadn't really expected to find Prowl holding a baby. Or, rather, a baby holding on to Prowl with all fingers and toes curled in his shirt.
"So, uh, was there someone special you forgot to tell me about?"
Prowl's lips quirked in a wry grin and he shook his head as if he knew better than to expect anything other than snark from Jazz. "She is my cousin, not my daughter."
"Oh. Good, 'cause she don't look a thing like – wait, I thought your whole family was –"
"My second cousin, Tempest, was mated to a mammalian transformer," Prowl said patiently as he stepped back to allow Jazz inside.
Tempest, right. Jazz remembered her. Prowl had actually taken time off of work to go to her funeral a few months ago. Even that brief interaction with his family had left him snippy for days, mostly because the greater majority of the family hadn't even been there. When she had dared to take a mate outside of her taxon, most of them had cut her off. When she and her mate had died in an accident, few of her relatives had even come to pay their respects. Prowl, who had been slowly distancing himself from his old-fashioned, close-minded kin, had virtually dropped all contact with them since then. He hadn't been particularly close to Tempest but they had shared the same streak of independent pride and seeing her snubbed had hurt him deeply. Even Jazz, who had always been somewhat envious of his friend's vast collection of uncles and nieces and cousins living in the same city, couldn't really blame him.
Prowl hadn't mentioned that she'd had a kid – a kid that obviously took after her father. Prowl's avian heritage was blatantly obvious even to someone without Jazz's sense of smell. He was wiry and fair skinned with sharp blue eyes and a sleek crest of feathers instead of human hair. The child in his arms was chubby and dark. Her hair curled in tight ringlets around her ears and she was watching Jazz with wary brown eyes so dark as to be almost black.
Jazz followed the odd pair inside and felt a cold knot of dread settling in his gut. "Who's been looking after her all this time?" he asked softly.
Prowl made a low noise in his throat that wasn't quite a growl, but he fell silent and shushed and stroked the baby when she buried her face in his neck and tightened her grip on his clothes.
He moderated his tone when he answered the question. "She has been in the care –" There was no mistaking his contempt, however calm. "– of Tempest's sister and her mate. They have two fledglings of their own and she is Tempest's closest relative but . . . . The clan meeting was tonight, to settle her affairs."
"I thought the family – I mean, uh . . ." Jazz trailed off lamely.
"Matriarch may not have been happy with her choices but she is a traditionalist. Blood is blood, no matter how 'diluted' it may be. She'll see Tempest's properties managed and her child cared for." He gave himself a little shake and began pacing the length of the wall that held book shelves all the way to the ceiling and only grudgingly spared the surface of the front door.
Jazz settled himself in an armchair and curled his tail around his hip while Prowl paced. The coffee table had been cleared of its usual pile of books and was covered instead with neat rows of laundry and diapers, cans of formula and little jars of pureed stuff that was supposed to be food. A pastel-colored bag sat on the floor beside his feet.
"That's all her things," Prowl said, waving a hand at the table when he turned around at the corner and noticed Jazz's gaze.
"Well, I kinda figured –"
"No, I mean that's all of it. Slipstream had her for months and that's all she bothered to buy to care for the child."
Jazz turned back to the table. The knot of dread was tighter and colder. No blankets or toys, no mementos of her parents or her past life, not even any child-sized dishes for her to learn to eat out of. Sure, there was enough there keep a child clothed and fed, but not much to make her feel happy and loved.
"What happened to her other things? Surely her parents –"
Prowl's lip curled. "Slipstream sold them to cover the costs of her food."
His crest was flaring and smoothing down again as he walked. It should have looked ridiculous. The blood red feathers flicked up and down like an exclamation point over a cartoon character's head. But Jazz knew that to be one of the few signs that the usually patient Prowl was seriously pissed off. If he had been in beast form, he would have been tapping his claws in time with his crest. Nobody laughed at Prowl's sickle claws.
"How old is she?" Jazz said carefully.
"A year and a half."
"Can she talk any?"
"She could. But all she's done since the accident is scream, Stream says."
"Did she ever . . . ?" He couldn't say it, could barely stand to think it, but abuse often went hand in hand with neglect.
Prowl shook his head and his shoulders slumped a little. "Not that I could tell. She's cautious, but she doesn't seem afraid."
As if to prove him right, the little form in his arms uncurled just enough to stare at Jazz again. He smiled at her and let his tail thump against the cushions. She didn't smile back, didn't relax her deathgrip on Prowl one whit, but she didn't hide again, either. Jazz counted it as a victory.
"So how did you end up with her?"
"When Matriarch got it out of Slipstream what she'd been doing – or not doing, as it were – she was furious. So was I. I threatened to drag her up to the station right then."
"Did you?"
"I didn't get the chance. Matriarch turned to me with this glint in her eye and said 'well, it's good to see someone in this family gives a damn about that cub' and then she fobbed her off on me."
"Just like that?"
"Pretty much. What was I supposed to do, Jazz? I can't even trust her own family – my own family – to take care of her."
"And you're really going to keep her?"
"I don't know," Prowl admitted. He sank onto the couch, set the baby in his lap, and practically melted into the furniture. His face was even paler than usual and Jazz wondered when he had last eaten. It was now well past three in the morning.
Well, first things first. He slid off the chair to crouch at eye level with the baby – toddler, really. She was still holding on to bunches of Prowl's shirt but twisted around to stare at Jazz some more. Prowl was watching him, too, as he slowly stretched out his hand to the child. She sniffed it obligingly and unclenched one tiny fist so she could grab his index finger to better examine the silver ring there.
"You didn't tell me her name," he said.
"Stormhunter," Prowl said. She looked up at him and scrunched her nose. He gave her one of his barely-there smiles and made a vain attempt at smoothing her messy curls. "This is my friend Jazz, Stormy," he said just as somberly as if he were talking to a Prime while his eyes glinted with warm amusement.
"Pleased to meet ya, Stormy," Jazz said and her head whipped back to look at him again. She tightened her grip on his finger and went back to studying the ring. "She's real impressed with me, Prowl. I can tell."
"Obviously. You both share a love for shiny things."
"You think you're so clever. But did you remember to feed her?" The baby had moved on to tasting the ring and yep, she had a mouthful of teeth.
"I tried before the trip back. She was emphatically not interested."
"Hm. Maybe let's try it again and then get some sleep. Primus knows I could use some."
"I'm sorry, Jazz, I –"
"Naw, don't start that again. You need help, you ask for it. You'd be lost without me and you know it."
"That's true enough," Prowl huffed and let a chuckling Jazz haul him to his feet.
It wasn't entirely true. Prowl had a firm grasp of the basics, but no real hands-on experience and practical knowledge that came from a childhood that was spent caring for younger siblings the way Jazz had. So he hovered and followed orders while Jazz coaxed some food into Stormy's mouth, wiped off her grubby hands and face, and changed her. Prowl was absorbing information in that intense, vaguely creepy way of his, so Jazz was quick to give pointers and tips. He reminded him that she wouldn't always be this passive, that a fifty-fifty in-the-mouth to on-the-floor ratio was a good benchmark for supper and that a screaming toddler who didn't want a bath was a spectacle that had to be experienced rather than related.
Prowl took it all in stride, or what was more likely, he and Stormhunter were both just going through the motions. They'd process it all later and freak out then. Jazz prayed they could all get some sleep before that happened.
Stormy was blinking slowly in Prowl's arms as they made their way down the short hall to Prowl's bedroom. He didn't comment when Jazz hauled his mattress out of the frame and on to the floor and rearranged the bedding to his liking. He piled the pillows into a nest in the middle of the bed and prodded his friend toward it.
"Most parents bed down on the floor or put up rails for the first few years. Now sleep. The hard part can wait 'til tomorrow," Jazz said. "And I'm stealin' your couch."
Prowl waved his hand vaguely as if to say 'have at it' and toed his shoes off before padding to bed. He peeled Stormy off of his shirt and tucked her into her nest before curling himself around her.
Jazz watched them for a moment, feeling oddly protective, before stumbling to the couch.
ooo
Four hours later, he abandoned the couch.
"Would it kill ya to buy some curtains?" he muttered as he flopped down on the narrow strip of mattress that wasn't occupied by Prowl or Stormy and her nest of pillows.
Prowl cracked one eye open. He was in his beast form, curled in a loop around Stormy with his snout on the fan at the end of his tail. His arms and legs were tucked under his body so that he more closely resembled a feathery, black and white snake than a raptor. He uncoiled himself and leaned up to peer at Stormy. Satisfied that she was snoring away, he transformed into human form and stretched like a cat.
"I like the sunlight," he said softly. "And I'm usually up by now, anyway."
Jazz grumbled something unintelligible and buried his face in a pillow. Even the windows in Prowl's bedroom were draped in sheer fabric that didn't do much to keep the morning outside where it belonged.
"I thought you were on shift today," Prowl said.
"I was. Report can wait."
"Smokescreen will be unhappy."
"Told 'im I needed a day of for – for family reasons."
Prowl hummed quietly in the back of his throat. "Thank you, Jazz."
"For the sixth time, you're welcome, jeez."
Prowl fell silent and sifted around on the bed. "Should we wake her?"
Jazz popped up. "Absolutely not," he hissed. "First rule of parenthood is that the kid dictates the schedule. We sleep when she sleeps."
"Alright," Prowl said in that warm, quiet voice that meant he was doing something against his better judgment to humor his friend. "Go back to sleep, then."
Jazz wanted to give him a smart comeback, but he was out again before he could voice it.
When he awoke again the lighting had changed and Prowl was gone. There was also someone sitting on his chest. He flailed for a moment before he recognized the black eyes now set in the face of a fuzzy brown cub that was more ears and feet than anything else.
"Good mornin' ta you too, Stormy."
Apparently he was less fascinating when awake, because Stormy soon lost interest in him in favor of the transformation charms dangling from her collar. She bucked in a circle over his torso and then slid off in a heap with one of the charms clamped triumphantly between her teeth.
"Easy there, pup," he said, gently prizing her mouth open before she could damage it.
When she spied his ring again and decided to go after that instead he pushed her over and tickled her feet.
"What are you?" he murmured as she gnawed his fingers.
He rolled over onto his belly and transformed. The cub stared at him for one breathless moment, then scrambled upright and dove between his forelegs to snuggle against his chest. Okay, that was a little unexpected. She was trembling, so he curled himself around her and nuzzled her back.
Homesickness blindsided him. She had that soft, new smell that babies of all species shared. It was something that spoke of home and family and comfort. His heart ached for his pack, safe and sound but too far away for a casual visit even as it broke for hers, living less than a day's ride away but unwilling to care for her. No wonder Prowl couldn't turn her away.
After a few deep breaths to steady himself, he turned back to analyzing her scent. She looked somewhat like a dog pup but was not in his taxon. Her scent was vaguely cat-like, though she didn't resemble any feline that Jazz knew of. He rubbed his nose through her lightly dappled fur as he thought.
With a grin, he transformed and scooped her up. "You're a hyena, aren't you?" he said triumphantly as if she could answer him. But she just wiggled in his arms, panting little puppy-laughs and chewing on his shirt buttons.
"Alright, alright. Major epiphanies aren't as important as breakfast, I get it."
Prowl had coffee brewing and was rummaging around in the icebox when Jazz walked in with Stormy, who had transformed when she found it was easier to hang on to him as a human.
"Mornin', Prowler."
"Good morning, Jazz. And Stormy," he added when she whined and reached for him. "If you'll stay with Jazz, I can finish your breakfast."
"Don't teach her to bargain, Prowl. You'll regret it when she's a teenager."
Stormy wasn't interested in bargaining anyway. She leaned towards Prowl and her cries grew sharper when he refused to take her.
"So I'm only second best, huh?" Jazz said as he turned her around and tried to get her to look at him instead. "That cuts me deep, baby girl."
He walked to the sink, hoping he could entice her with something interesting out the window and give Prowl time to finish frying the bacon and scrambling the eggs. (At first he'd thought it odd that his friend ate eggs. "I am not a chicken, Jazz," he had been told. "It's no stranger than you eating lamb.") He pointed to some natural birds swirling in an amorphous flock and warned her that they were not good to eat.
"Don't get me wrong," he said. "You could survive on 'em, but Prowl's cooking is worth waiting for, I promise."
Stormy remained unimpressed. She wanted food and she wanted Prowl and she refused to be distracted.
"Coffee's in the pot," Prowl said, probably sensing the oncoming tantrum and knowing that Jazz would need anything he could to give him the advantage. "I'm almost done," he added in a lower tone, obviously directed at Stormy, "but I need both hands to do it."
Jazz snagged a cup and poured one-handed while he hummed at a squirming toddler who was growing antsier by the second. He managed to pick it up and got a sip without spilling any because he had skills.
"Are you sure you're not an angel?" he asked with a blissed-out grin. Jazz made coffee as a vehicle for introducing caffeine into his body. Prowl made coffee because he liked coffee, dammit, and it showed.
The definitely-not-an-angel rolled his eyes. "Just when I think you've run out of bird jokes . . ."
"I pull another out of the air!"
Prowl calmly arched a brow. "You might want to try pulling something else," he said to Jazz. "Before things get a little hairy."
"Ouch. I thought bad puns were beneath your dignity."
"You bring out the worst in me," Prowl said drily.
Stormy decided she'd had enough and let out a howl. Her eyes leaked tears down her scrunched-up face. Paradoxically, she tightened her hold on Jazz as she screamed and sobbed.
Prowl calmly finished cooking despite the cacophony while Jazz paced the length of the kitchen humming and stroking and rocking. By the time he'd finished and Jazz handed her over to begin setting the table, she was too worked up to notice or care that she was back in the arms of her favorite person in the world. In the end, a bit of bacon shoved under her nose caught her attention more effectively than anything else attempted thus far. She turned off the waterworks and chomped on the meat while Prowl cleaned her face with a fondly exasperated smile. She sat in his lap and stole bites from his plate for the rest of the meal.
After breakfast, Jazz and Stormhunter voted for a nap. Or, rather, Jazz said that he was going to catch up on lost sleep since he didn't have to make his report and Stormy just curled up where she was sitting and started snoring. They eventually made it to the living room. Jazz curled up in the armchair again and Prowl stretched out on the couch with the baby's boneless form draped over him. He had pulled a paperback out of somewhere or the other when Jazz drifted off.
He awoke a short time later, cursing the crick in his neck and his apparent inability to get some rest. He looked up to find both Stormy and Prowl glaring at the door. Someone knocked again and Prowl unfolded himself with a sigh. He dumped Stormy beside Jazz as he walked by. She tucked herself in the curve of his body and clenched her fingers in his shirt without taking her eyes off Prowl. He glanced back at her before he pulled open the door.
An unfamiliar female greeted him in the clicking, hissing language of avians. Jazz understood little of it, but he recognized her formal greeting and Prowl's stiff reply. With the pleasantries out of the way, she launched into a long string of chirps and warbles.
Stormy turned away from them and tucked her head under his chin. Jazz was willing to bet he knew who the woman was, and his guess was confirmed when Prowl spoke pointedly in the common language.
"It's out of my hands, Stream," he said.
That didn't seem to be the response she was going for, because her next words were sharp hisses. Her mottled brown crest flared as she advanced on Prowl. Although she was slightly taller than her cousin, she was nowhere near as impressive, in Jazz's opinion. He had seen Prowl in a temper and he knew enough about avians to guess that Stream was more fluff and bluster than talons. Prowl seemed to be of the same opinion, because he didn't move from his place at the door.
"I have nothing to discuss with you. Matriarch has made her decision."
"She decided to give my niece over to a stranger," Slipstream said, switching abruptly to common. "Stormhunter is all that I have left of my sister and she took that away!"
"If you wanted her, perhaps you should have taken better care of her."
"It doesn't matter! She's mine, Prowl."
"By the voice of the clan, she is mine, Slipstream. If you disagree, you are welcome to discuss the matter with Matriarch."
Slipstream made a furious move at Prowl but stopped when Stormy began to cry. Her orange eyes widened comically when she noticed Jazz holding the cub. He met her gaze until she turned back to Prowl and started hissing again, this time with accompanying gestures. Once, she tried to push past him into the apartment but he refused to budge. His responses were terse, and Jazz could see his crest beginning to twitch.
After that he stopped paying attention because Stormy was throwing her second fit of the morning, although this time he couldn't really blame her. If he had had any doubts about Slipstream's true nature, this possessive display convinced him. He concentrated on singing to Stormy and ignoring her aunt until he heard the door slam and looked up.
Prowl stalked back to the couch, looking murderous.
Well, that wasn't exactly true. To the untrained eye, he looked disappointed and vaguely annoyed. In actuality, he was calm fury incarnate.
"I can't give her back."
Jazz grimaced sympathetically. "I didn't understand most of that conversation, but I think I got the gist." He held out the sobbing toddler.
Prowl held her against his chest until she calmed, then lifted her so he could see her face. "You are a person, not a possession," he said solemnly.
She hiccupped, sniffled, and patted his face. Prowl smiled.
ooo
"I believe she is finally asleep," Prowl said so softly that Jazz had to press the phone tighter against his ear to hear him. "We are both going to bed. You may let yourself in."
"You sure? I can sleep perfectly fine by myself, you know."
"But you don't like it."
"No," he sighed. "I don't like it."
"Especially after a two-week assignment. I know how you get."
"Workin' hard at convincin' me there, are ya?"
There was a moment of silence at the other end, then, "I worry for you, Jazz."
A tired smile crept onto his face at that small admission. "I know. And I appreciate it, but I don't want to be a burden."
"You are not a burden. Occasionally a nuisance, but never a burden."
"Alright, I'll be over in a few."
"We'll see you then." Prowl sounded smug.
He made sure he was clean and calm before he left his apartment. He'd spent the last couple of weeks immersed in the filth of society and he'd be hanged before he let even a hint of that darkness near Stormy. The past few months had only served to strengthen the protectiveness he felt towards that cub.
It was mostly Prowl's fault. He and Jazz shared one of those fire-forged friendships that meant that they could rely on each other to an almost unhealthy degree. Six years as roommates at the Academy had a tendency to make people either blood brothers or bitter enemies. Fortunately, they had become the former. Despite their differences, both were highly social creatures and when separated from their kin they formed their own bonds. Prowl was cautious by nature, and since he refused to trust his flock with Stormy it was only fitting that he turned to Jazz.
Jazz, for his part, was helpless to resist a baby of any species since his friend so rarely asked for help . . . well, what could he do? He was committed the second he showed up at Prowl's door at some unholy hour of the morning and realized that his friend was in over his head.
He found himself back at that fateful door. This time he didn't even bother to transform, just let his charm unlock the door and padded in. There were subtle changes throughout the living room. The warm scent of baby permeated everything. Toys were scattered on the floor (Jazz had to smirk at that; Prowl was usually so fastidious). The usual clutter was back on the coffee table, but he was willing to bet that they were books on parenting and child development rather than Prowl's previous fare. It was also dark and deserted.
He transformed when he reached Prowl's bedroom door and waited for his human eyes to adjust to the darkness. The mattress was back in its usual place in the corner, though the bed frame had been dismantled and propped against the wall. Prowl was doing his Midgard Serpent impression again. This time he had his arm flung over Stormy's nest, covering her in a blanket of feathers. He slitted an eye open when Jazz approached, then shut it again with a groan.
A tiny pair of hands appeared and pulled Prowl's arm aside to reveal a grinning face. She giggled at Jazz and hid under the feathers again.
"Hate to break it to ya, but I think she's nocturnal," Jazz chuckled.
Prowl made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whine.
Stormy popped out again. Jazz made a face and she shrieked with laughter. He scooped her out of her nest and flopped on his back, hefting her in the air while she flailed her arms to "fly" and laughed.
Prowl transformed and stole one of Stormy's pillows. "I think she missed you, too," he murmured.
"Prowler won't play with you after nightfall, huh, babe?" Jazz said to Stormy. "Poor pup."
"If you are going to play, go elsewhere," Prowl grumbled. "Some of us need to sleep."
"So, if we don't play, can we stay?"
Prowl pinned him under one sharp blue eye. "Yes, Jazz, you may stay."
"Ya hear that, pup? We gotta go to sleep or he's gonna kick us out."
He settled her on his chest and she looked between the two adults with her little forehead wrinkled as she tried to keep up with the conversation.
"You aren't injured, are you?"
"Naw, I'm fine. Just tired."
"Are you on shift tomorrow?"
"Smokey's giving me the day to rest and write my report. Said I need to avoid any family emergencies like last time."
"Meaning that he knows you're my babysitter and thinks you're whipped."
"Pretty much. Do you want me to?"
"Hm?"
"Watch Stormy for you."
"I believe she has adjusted to spending time at the nursery facility. But I also think she missed you."
"That's a 'yes' then?"
". . . If you don't mind."
"Prowl. I kinda like the pup, in case you hadn't noticed."
"She's also a handful and you need rest."
"You can proofread my report for me before I turn it in, if that makes you feel better."
Prowl chuckled softly. "Alright."
While they talked Stormy curled up and burrowed under Jazz's chin. He stroked her back until he was sure she was asleep. Then he was faced with the dilemma of getting her back in the nest without waking her.
"I told you that you could stay," Prowl said.
Jazz almost objected, but he knew he'd only get a glare and a dry comment about how Prowl didn't say things unless he meant them. So he kept his mouth shut and stretched out. He drifted off with Stormy snoring softly on his chest and Prowl snoring softly by his side.
He awoke a few hours later, anxious and shivery over a half-remembered dream. Prowl plucked Stormy off of him and tucked her among the pillows. Then he transformed and curled around the nest, but not as tightly as before. His body arced in a loose semi-circle and his eyes fixed on Jazz. Before he could think about it too much, Jazz transformed and rolled over to complete the circle. He shoved his head between the raptor's neck and the pup's nest. The familiar scent of warm, dusty feathers calmed his jangling nerves.
Prowl snuffled his fur and made that soft chittering noise of contentment that Jazz so rarely heard. He wished he could purr or something, but coyotes didn't have a specific noise to soothe members of their pack the way avians chittered at their flockmates.
Pack, he thought as he nuzzled closer to Prowl. Flock.
Family.
He didn't say it out loud, but he was pretty sure that Prowl understood.
A/N: In case I was less than obvious: Prowl's beast form is an Utahraptor, though his coloration (and this whole fic, really) is based on Anchiornis huxleyi. Jazz is a melanistic coyote. Stormhunter is a spotted hyena. Links to images and descriptions are in my profile.