Shadowstrike warbled in curiosity at the sight of the silver mech with a piece of crystal over his optics. For a moment, he wondered if the mech was blind, but that thought was dispelled as he reached up and lifted the visor away from his optics and stared at him with bright blue amazed, perfectly functioning, optics.
Strike watched the small mech- and he was absolutely tiny when compared to the other bots in the room despite towering over Strike himself- stare at him like he was a miracle. His wings twitched a little as he shifted under the stare.
After the third look over, slower and more deliberate, Shadowstrike knew he was picking something up off his frame. The fourth look over only confirmed it, especially as the mech's armor shuddered over his form and he hissed "Why are there marks of torture on a sparkling?"
He could feel the protective-fury-distressed feelings that swelled over the new Bonds with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in time with the furious snarls of their engines.
But he was a little distracted, as his processor brought up the memories of how he received some of the scars this mech could see. A few were from his time with the Dursley's, but most were from his Hogwarts years. The War hadn't been pleasant, had left its marks across his body, had dragged on with him at the very front, expected to lead and save them all, and he knew his body had reflected that- his status as a frontline general.
His keen rose and mixed with Jazz's keen, and even as Optimus toted the small mech away, Shadowstrike found himself bundled between two sparks, sheltered and soothed, as the twins frantically tried to figure out what had happened.
Their Bonds with him were flooded with their worry, the determination to fix the problem, a frantic sense of questioning even as they asked him what was wrong.
"Was it Jazz?" Sideswipe's voice washed over him, protective and plotting, and Shadowstrike shook his head firmly in the negative.
He spent a moment trying to figure out how to explain when he had no voice to do it with, before he reached out for a servo. Sunstreaker's servo was instantly in front of him, and Strike grabbed the smallest digit of the mech, pulling it forward and carefully extending his arm out.
He paused for a moment as he realized he couldn't show what he meant to the mech, when even Sunny's smallest finger was huge compared to his arm. He huffed, instead trailing his own servos over the mark on his arm where Peter had taken his blood for the ritual in fourth year. The scar was mostly gone thanks to Ratchet, but his armor was still slightly raised to his advanced eyes, so he knew the twins could see it too. The next thing he trailed his own digits over was the back of his own servo, carefully tracing out the place where I must not tell lies had resided before Ratchet had completely removed it during repairs. As he did this he projected remembrance-pain-sadness.
He felt the twins stop, knew for an instant their processors stalled, before their focus came back onto him, Sunny's voice soft and void of the utter and complete fury Strike could feel he felt at those who had harmed him "You were remembering…the…people…" Shadowstrike knew Sunny wanted to use a very different term for his tormentors and managed to feel a little amused by it "who hurt you."
He nodded once, chirping his agreement. He saw three separate servos clench into fists as Ratchet, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe all fought the urge to destroy things.
His optics jerked to the office Optimus has placed Jazz inside when the large mech spoke from his place in front of the office door, the only sign of the Prime's anger over what had happened to Shadowstrike being the way his already deep voice deepened further and darkened at the edges. "Do you…remember… often?"
Strike stared at the Prime, his emerald optics darkening before he lowered them to the floor, a near invisible nod his only answer. Armor creaked under the strain of the bots' clenched fists in response, and Shadowstrike shifted in place.
The only reason he doesn't flinch when two servos brush comfortingly over his back-struts is because he senses the twins' intent before they move to touch him. Instead he leans back into their servos, taking in comfort and giving it in equal measure.
It takes a breem before Optimus moves out from in front of the door, and the twins turn their attentions to it. The door opens slowly, and the small mech- Jazz- steps out slowly, his armor flat and servos open and crossed at the wrists.
Shadowstrike is allowed to observe the mech from his place in his Caretaker's servos. He tilts his helm, humming curiously as he takes in the mech. Jazz turns to face him, and despite his optics being covered, Strike knows he is looking him in the optic.
He appreciates that the bots all seem to do that- meet his optics- and he clicks a greeting.
"Nice ta meet ya ta, little one. Sorrah 'bout mah reaction, Ah didn' wanta scare ya."
Strike perks up at the accent, enjoying the odd way it rolls off this mech's glossa. He makes a sharp negative noise, trying to convey the mech didn't scare him. The mech grins lightly at him and Strike coos back.
The next few breems pass with Jazz slowly approaching and speaking to Strike. He stops any time the twins bristle or rev their engines warningly, knowing better than to push two Guardians in regards to their sparkling.
Jazz is very, very aware of exactly how dangerous Gladiators are in general. He had been in his own share of Rings, fighting when credits were short and he was desperate in his younger years. He had seen bots defend their sparklings. He knew intimately, had had a front row seat to, exactly what a Gladiator Caretaker would do in defense of what they considered their own.
Jazz had no desire to be painfully offlined.
But oh he wanted to see the little one.
O~O~O~O~O~O~O~~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Jazz's reaction will be expanded on some more in the next chapter- the other bots are scrambling to get my attention right now, and my Muse is just kind of like 'no, yeah. Stop it here because then you can—" so here we are. XD