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The floor under him was cold and hard. He could smell a lot of blood, and he felt like he was swimming through sludge when he tried to think about why. He felt light-headed, but his limbs were exhausingly heavy.
His spark didn’t feel like it was pulsing, but he didn’t even have enough strenght to worry about that.
A femme knelt down next to him, black cloak blocking his view of most of her body, but he was pretty sure her paint was a lot brighter than it had been when he came in. She was lowering a goblet to his lips, and it was glowing faintly the way processed energon did when exposed to atmosphere.
“I know you feel terrible right now,” she crooned softly, “but you’ll feel better once you drink this.”
She smiled, showing the tips of very long fangs, and Jazz realized what was going on. He gathered what strength he could and headbutted the goblet away. She hissed as it clattered to the floor, splattering his side with the energon, and his head fell back down with a painful thump.
“I’d rather,” he gasped, “die than be like you.”
Liege Maximo’s approval was distant, but knowing his god hadn’t deserted him completely helped.
“After that, I should let you!” The femme stood up and kicked him in the side. It didn’t hurt, not really, but the implied insult stung for some reason.
“HEY!” The voice was familiar, but Jazz couldn’t reason out why as the femme turned away from him. And then a moment later, an arrow was sticking out of her left optic. “Get away from him.”
“You dare!” The vampire reached up and grabbed the arrow, but before she could pull it out, another one thudded into her chest. She turned slightly in surprise, and Jazz could see a faint glimmer of yellow holy magic.
And then a third arrow followed, flying true through a seam in her chest plates and piercing her spark. She shrieked before she began dissolving into a pile of putrifying protoform and congealing energon.
The fog in Jazz’s processor cleared a little, though not enough for him to piece together everything that had just happened. Then Bluestreak, sweet, wonderful little Bluestreak, was leaning over him with a worried expression on his face. “Primus, please tell me I’m not too late!”
“Still here,” Jazz replied, though his voice felt distant and far away.
“Oh, good! Okay, hold on, this is going to hurt.” A glow of yellow magic washed over him, burning as his injuries were knitted together and Jazz blacked out again.
-_-_-_-
“If you ever do anything like that again–”
“There wasn’t time to go looking for you! Jazz was going to die and then she was going to turn him! And I tried to tell Diviner, but she wouldn’t listen when I said I had another vision!”
Jazz turned his head, just to be sure he was hearing what he thought he was, and smiled even though Prowl was dressing his ward down with the sort of anger that could only be conjured up by a terrified parent. If they were both here, then he hadn’t died and none of the things he’d been dreaming about were real either. “If it’s all the same, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t punish him for saving my life.”
“Jazz!” He’d never heard Prowl sound so relieved since they’d met. And then Prowl was hugging him, and it hurt against injuries that weren’t quite healed but he wasn’t going to say a thing. “What happened?”
“Not entirely sure.” Jazz shifted so that Prowl’s arms weren’t putting as much pressure on his chest and hugged the other mech back. Then he extended a hand to Blue, inviting the mechling into their hug. After the young mech had joined them, he continued. “I was heading into that castle to lift something for Max, and it should have been a real easy in and out. Wasn’t supposed to be a single soul in there and my target was on the first floor. But that femme came out of the shadows and I had a fight on my hands before I knew what was going on.”
“She bit you, like five times,” Bluestreak added, voice shaky. “Even after Primus gave me the power to heal you, I thought you were going to die.”
Jazz remembered one of his dreams, full of yellow light and warm blue otpics and the kind of love he hadn’t felt since his carrier died, and replied. “Not sure I didn’t, to be honest. But I’m here now, and I’m grateful for it. Thanks for the save.”
“Thanks for the bow,” Blue replied.
“No more lone adventures into abandoned castles, though,” Prowl added. “For either of you.”
Jazz laughed softly. “You know I can’t promise that, Prowl. Not with most of Max’s artifacts languishing in abandoned temples.”
“Liege Maximo can damn well wait until you have backup in the future, or he can take it up with Primus,” Bluestreak interrupted sharply, as Prowl opened his mouth to reply. “Or he can answer to my bow, too.”
”The youngling has spark, at the very least.” Max sounded amused to Jazz’s audio.
“He says we’re willing to negotiate on that point,” Jazz told him. Then he hugged both Praxians again, and let himself bask in the feeling of being alive.