Chapter Text
Jazz's heart pounded like a war drum in his chest, each step a searing agony as his organic legs threatened to give out beneath him. The scorched terrain stretched endlessly, littered with remnants of the battle—the Quintesson forces scattered like discarded toys, their mechanical frames smoking and broken. The air reeked of burnt circuitry and ash, the eerie stillness settling in after the chaos of combat.
Ahead, Prowl lay motionless, his massive frame crumpled against the jagged ground. Energon pooled beneath him, glowing faintly in the dim light. Jazz forced himself to push harder, his legs burning with exhaustion, every breath a struggle.
When he finally reached Prowl, the sight of his once-pristine armour now marred and cracked almost brought Jazz to his knees. Clenching his jaw, he scrambled up Prowl's side, gripping the sharp edges of his plating for leverage. His hands slipped on the slick surface of energon streaking down the mech's body, but determination carried him upward.
Jazz reached Prowl's face, he slapped him—or at least tried. To Prowl, the impact was likely no more than a gentle pat.
"Prowl!" Jazz's voice cracked, raw with panic. "Hey! You need to wake up! You're gonna bleed out if you don't get up!" His words were frantic, rushed, as if speed alone could stave off the inevitable.
A flicker. One of Prowl's optics glimmered faintly before dimming again. The other managed a weak glow, a ghost of the brilliance it once held. Prowl's lips moved slightly, but no sound emerged, no coherent words—just an aborted attempt at speech.
Jazz's desperation boiled over. He clenched his tiny organic fist and struck Prowl's cheekplate again, this time with all the strength he could muster. "Prowl, please!" His voice broke, and the fight in him faltered. Dropping to his knees on Prowl's broad shoulder, Jazz leaned against him, his forehead pressing against the cold, lifeless plating.
"Come on..." he whispered, the words trembling out of him like a prayer. "You can’t leave me here. You can’t..."
And then, the sound.
A loud, sharp whirring pierced the oppressive silence, cutting through the despair like a blade. Jazz jerked back as Prowl's optics lit up—dim, yes, but brighter than before. A shudder ran through the giant mech's frame as systems rebooted, joints groaning to life.
Jazz gasped, scrambling to his feet. "Prowl! You’re alive!" Relief surged through him, overwhelming and dizzying.
Prowl's voice, though faint, finally emerged, steady and measured despite the circumstances. "Jazz... report... situation?"
Jazz laughed, a broken, relieved sound. "Situation? You almost died , that's the situation!" He wiped at his face, realizing belatedly that tears had streaked down his soot-stained cheeks.
Prowl's head tilted slightly, his optics focusing on the tiny organic perched on his shoulder. "Noted," he said dryly, his tone laced with the faintest hint of affection. "Let's ensure... that does not happen."
Jazz couldn't help but grin, even through his exhaustion. "Yeah, let’s not."
The words barely left his mouth before the adrenaline holding him together started to drain away. His small frame trembled, his knees buckling slightly as the searing pain he'd ignored finally came crashing down on him. He staggered, grabbing onto the nearest ridge of Prowl's armour to steady himself, but his grip faltered.
"Jazz?" Prowl’s voice, though still weak, sharpened with concern. His optics focused on the human, their faint glow intensifying as his systems adjusted. "You're injured."
"I'm fine," Jazz lied, though the shaking in his voice betrayed him. His breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps. The cuts and burns he'd accumulated during the fight screamed for attention now that the surge of energy had dissipated. His legs felt like lead, and a wave of nausea hit him hard.
"You are not fine," Prowl countered, his tone brooking no argument. He shifted slightly, trying to assess Jazz’s condition without jarring him, but even that small motion caused Jazz to stumble. Prowl extended a finger toward the human, careful not to overwhelm him with his size. "Hold on."
Jazz leaned against the offered digit, too weary to argue. "Just... give me a sec. I’m good."
"No, you are not," Prowl said again, softer this time. He raised his hand slowly, cradling Jazz in his palm. "You pushed yourself too far."
"Had to," Jazz mumbled, his head lolling back as he blinked up at Prowl's concerned optics. His voice was barely above a whisper now. "You weren’t gonna make it. Couldn’t just leave you ."
Prowl's expression, though constrained by his mechanical features, softened. "Your actions were... commendable," he said after a moment. "But reckless."
Jazz let out a weak chuckle. "Yeah, sounds 'bout right." His eyes fluttered shut for a moment before snapping open again, his body jolting slightly as he fought to stay conscious. "Don’t fall asleep, Jazz," he muttered to himself.
Prowl's systems whirred as he scanned Jazz, the faint beeping of his internal diagnostics filling the silence. "You need medical attention," Prowl declared. "Your injuries are not life-threatening yet, but you require care."
"Guess you better hurry up then, huh?" Jazz joked weakly, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Prowl didn’t reply immediately, instead shifting his massive frame with a strained groan. His joints protested, but he forced himself upright, cradling Jazz carefully in one hand while his other arm stabilized his movements.
"Stay awake," Prowl commanded gently as he began to walk, each step deliberate to avoid jostling Jazz too much. "Talk to me."
"’Bout what?" Jazz murmured, his voice slurred.
"Anything. Your music preferences. Tactical analysis. Your... thoughts on human cuisine," Prowl said, his tone awkward but insistent.
Jazz snorted weakly. "You’re terrible at small talk."
"I am attempting to keep you conscious," Prowl replied, a faint note of exasperation in his voice.
"Yeah, yeah," Jazz mumbled, managing a faint smirk. "Fine... Did I ever tell you... I hate pineapple on pizza?"
Prowl's optics dimmed slightly in confusion. "What... is pizza?"
Jazz let out a hoarse laugh, the sound a mix of pain and genuine amusement. "Oh, Prowl... we’ve got so much to work on."
Prowl's stride didn’t falter, but his grip on Jazz tightened fractionally, protective. "Then I suggest you focus on staying alive to educate me further."
Jazz’s grin lingered as he nodded faintly, his head resting against Prowl’s fingers. "Yeah… Alright."
Prowl’s stride, though steady at first, began to falter. His damaged servos groaned in protest, and the limp in his gait became more pronounced with each step. Despite his attempts to maintain balance, his weakened stabilizers sent a sharp tremor through his massive frame.
Prowl sat there for only a moment, his massive frame trembling with effort to remain upright. The rest he allowed himself was barely enough to stabilize his faltering systems, and every second wasted weighed heavily on his strained logic processors. His wounds were critical; energon continued to seep from fractured plating, pooling beneath him in sickly glowing streaks. Yet in his palm, Jazz’s fragile, organic form was deteriorating even faster.
Jazz stirred weakly, cracking one eye open to squint up at Prowl. "You... okay there, big guy? You look way worse than me," he rasped, attempting a faint smirk that quickly faded as his body betrayed him.
"You require immediate medical attention," Prowl stated, his tone a flat mixture of urgency and grim determination. His optics flickered unsteadily as he forced himself back to his feet, his damaged leg groaning under the strain.
"So do you," Jazz countered, his voice soft but firm.
Prowl ignored the comment, his focus sharpening as he scanned the horizon. "There is no time for debate. Both our survival depends on reaching assistance."
Jazz let out a weak laugh, his head resting against Prowl’s palm again. "Man, you’re stubborn... but alright. Let’s move before you keel over."
Prowl began to walk, his limp pronounced but his resolve unshaken. Every step sent jolts of pain through his chassis, but he forced his processors to compartmentalize the agony. Warnings blared incessantly across his HUD: Energon loss critical. Stabilizers offline. Cooling systems compromised. He silenced them all with a deliberate override.
"You sure you’re not gonna just drop me somewhere and call it a day?" Jazz murmured, half-conscious but still trying to mask his own fear with humor.
"I would sooner cease functioning entirely than jeopardize your safety," Prowl replied without hesitation, his voice cold with conviction.
Jazz chuckled weakly, his grip tightening on Prowl’s thumb. "You got a funny way of makin’ a guy feel special."
As they pressed on, Prowl’s sensors picked up faint signals ahead—structures, metallic and orderly. A settlement, or perhaps a base. The hope was faint but undeniable, and it fueled his faltering steps. "I detect shelter and potential aid approximately 2.3 cybermeters ahead," he informed Jazz.
Jazz cracked an eye open again, his face pale and slick with sweat. "Two cybermeters? That’s... a hell of a walk for a guy leaking all over the place."
"It is not optional," Prowl said simply, adjusting his grip to shield Jazz from the gusts of heated wind sweeping across the barren landscape. "Brace yourself."
The terrain grew rougher, each step threatening to unbalance Prowl further. His damaged leg scraped against the ground, sparks flying with every stumble. One particularly sharp rock caused his knee joint to give way entirely, and he pitched forward, catching himself at the last second with his free hand.
"Whoa! Hey!" Jazz yelled weakly, clutching onto Prowl’s thumb to keep from being thrown. "You okay?"
Prowl didn’t answer immediately, his systems working overtime to stabilize himself. Finally, he replied through gritted vocalizers, "I will endure."
"Not exactly convincing," Jazz muttered, but he didn’t argue further. He could see the determination etched into every movement of the mech’s massive frame, and for once, he had no smart remark to counter it.
"Almost there," Prowl murmured, though his voice had grown faint. His internal systems were nearing shutdown, but he pushed on, driven by the singular goal of getting Jazz to safety.
Jazz, barely conscious, managed a faint smile. "Don’t you dare quit now, Prowl. We’re almost home free."
Prowl’s systems sputtered, and his entire frame shuddered. With each step, his movements grew more erratic, more disconnected. The weight of his injuries was dragging him down, but he refused to stop. Jazz was counting on him, and that was the only thing keeping him upright.
But as Prowl stumbled forward, his right leg gave out completely. He collapsed to the ground, a deep, mechanical groan reverberating from his frame. Jazz, barely clinging to consciousness, was suddenly jerked forward as Prowl’s hand shifted beneath him.
The abrupt motion sent the world spinning, and before Jazz could even process what was happening, he felt the unyielding pressure of Prowl’s fingers tightening around him. In a moment of pure instinct, Prowl’s hand had involuntarily curled, his systems desperately trying to keep Jazz in place, to avoid dropping him entirely. The organic human—already fragile, already breaking—was suddenly squeezed into the mech’s hand, trapped between his massive, unyielding fingers.
Jazz gasped, unable to move, unable to get enough air. His hands shot out, grabbing onto the edges of Prowl’s fingers as he fought to free himself from the crushing pressure.
“No, no, no!” Jazz’s voice cracked, his breath ragged with fear and panic. His heart pounded harder, the world around him spinning as he struggled against the weight of Prowl’s failing body. “Prowl! You’re… you’re crushing me—let go! Prowl—!”
But Prowl didn’t respond. His optics flickered weakly, struggling to maintain any semblance of focus. The mech’s head hung low, the damage to his systems clearly taking its toll. His vents blared, attempting to cool his overworked systems, but they seemed ineffective, the noise only highlighting the failure of his cooling system as though he were fighting to hold onto his own life as much as Jazz’s.
“Prowl, come on!” Jazz cried out, his voice barely more than a rasp as his fingers scraped uselessly against Prowl’s hard metal. The hand around him was still, but it felt suffocating, like a cage. Panic surged through him—he needed to get out, needed to help, needed to do something .
His legs screamed with pain, the burns and cuts from the fight suddenly sharp and unbearable.
There was a flicker of motion, a soft whirring sound, followed by a barely audible grunt.
Prowl's massive frame trembled with each laboured breath. His systems, already on the verge of failure, whined in protest, and the sounds of his joints grinding were punctuated by the sickening hiss of energon leaking from the cracks in his armour. His grip on Jazz tightened once again, but this time, it wasn’t out of intent to protect.
Jazz gasped, the pressure was suffocating. His ribs creaked under the strain, and his chest felt like it was being crushed under the weight of Prowl’s slowly faltering strength. "P-Prowl...!" he choked out, but his voice barely reached the mech.
Prowl’s optics flickered erratically, the light dimming to a near nothingness as his processors began to short-circuit from the massive loss of energon. His head hung low, unable to keep his once-steady gaze focused.
"Jazz," Prowl muttered, his voice thin and distant. His grip tightened further, but it wasn’t deliberate—he simply couldn’t feel the pressure building, his systems spiralling into confusion. "I... I must... protect... you..."
Jazz's breath came in shallow, desperate gasps as his vision blurred from the increasing pressure. "Prowl, please!" he pleaded, every syllable a struggle. " You’re crushing me…! Let go! " But Prowl didn’t respond. The mech’s hand seemed to become more erratic, as though his mind was slipping further from reality.
"Must... keep you safe..." Prowl mumbled again, his voice disjointed, the words losing their meaning as delirium crept in. His hand shifted without intent, squeezing harder.
"Not like this! I can’t..." Jazz’s own voice cracked under the strain, his lungs fighting to expand, but each breath felt like it was being stolen from him.
The pressure was unbearable. Jazz’s arms flailed in a panic, trying to push against Prowl’s hand, but it was like trying to move an immovable mountain. His limbs were weak from exhaustion and pain, and his head swam as blood rushed to his temples. His hands scraped desperately against the cold metal, but nothing he did seemed to make a difference.
"Please, Prowl..." Jazz whispered, barely audible, his voice a fragile thread in the chaos. "I can’t breathe. You have to wake up. Please. "
Prowl's optics flared for a brief moment, his systems glitching and sputtering. The mech’s brow furrowed in confusion, but there was no recognition behind his gaze, no understanding of the damage he was causing. His systems tried to compensate, but they were too far gone.
"Jazz..." Prowl’s voice came in a soft, haunted rasp, his hand shifting again, but it wasn’t enough to release the pressure. He was still caught in his own spiralling delirium, his thoughts no longer tethered to reality.
Jazz’s vision blackened at the edges, the crushing weight in Prowl’s hand threatening to shatter him entirely. Panic surged through him, each breath coming slower, weaker. "Come on, Prowl... don’t do this... wake up!"
And then, like a switch being flipped, something within Prowl’s broken consciousness clicked. His fingers loosened just a fraction—enough for Jazz to draw a ragged breath, a sharp intake of air that felt like a lifeline.
But Prowl didn’t respond. His massive form collapsed fully to the ground, his body hitting the dirt with a sickening thud, still holding Jazz tightly within his grasp. Jazz’s own mind blurred as the weight of Prowl’s hand continued to press down on him, but the loosened grip offered a brief window of air.
“P-Prowl… please…” Jazz gasped, his heart pounding, both from fear and the overwhelming relief that somehow, the grip had eased.
Prowl was unconscious, his body completely still as his systems powered down, unable to comprehend the damage he had caused. But Jazz wasn’t sure whether he could make it out alive unless Prowl somehow found a way to wake up again.
The world around Jazz blurred as his body screamed in protest, every breath coming shorter and more laboured. His muscles burned, his head throbbed, and though Prowl’s grip had loosened just enough for him to breathe, the pressure was still there—just enough to leave him feeling trapped, suffocated by the weight of his own exhaustion.
His chest heaved with each shallow breath, and his heart pounded in his ears. He wanted to focus, wanted to keep his eyes on Prowl’s unmoving form, but the effort was too much. The mental and physical strain was too overwhelming. His thoughts were disjointed, slipping away from him, and all he could do was hold on to the desperate hope that Prowl would somehow be okay.
But the world around him was spinning, his body betraying him as the strain took its toll. His limbs were heavy, his breath ragged, and despite the slight relief of being able to breathe, it wasn’t enough to keep him grounded. Every second felt like it was draining him further, and soon, he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.
He tried to hold on, to fight through the darkness creeping at the edges of his mind, but his body had had enough.
And then—