Work Text:
To say he was excited was an understatement; he was more than proud of his friend. He was practically bouncing on the wall, desperate to get over the crowd and see his friend.
"OP!" he yelled as a warning before crashing into his friend. Optimus had just enough time to open his arms to catch him—though the collision nearly knocked him off his pedes.
"Thank Primus, you're alive," he said, voice filled with relief. "You had me worried sick for the past few cycles." His words spilled out, and he gently released Optimus to get a better look at him.
He took in the damage—or rather, the lack thereof. No scratches, no dents. "Look at you. Even bigger than before. Guess that’s the power of the Matrix of Leadership," he added, giving his chest a small tap with his knuckles.
"I'm alright," Optimus replied softly, voice strained but sincere. "We can talk about it later, in more detail." His tone was soft as he gave him a pat on his shoulder. "But first... we need to take care of the more important matters."
"Ay ya, captain," Jazz responded with a half-hearted grin. He followed after Optimus as they headed toward the main hall, but just as they were about to enter, Ultra Magnus stepped into Jazz's path, his expression as stern and unyielding as ever.
"This meeting is only meant for the current commanders and leaders," Magnus stated coldly, voice devoid of anything but authority. "I need you to stay back, soldier."
Jazz stopped looking up at the commander, disappointment clear in his expression, but he quickly suppressed it. He had so much he wanted to know, so much he wanted to say, but he understood the rules. Instead, he nodded stiffly. "Guess I’m staying right here, then," he murmured, then turned his visor towards Optimus. "I'll talk to you after. Good luck in there."
Optimus’s expression softened just a fraction—disappointed, yes, but understanding. He gave Jazz a brief, reassuring nod with a guilty smile before entering the hall, Magnus following closely behind.
He watched the doors slide shut behind them. He’d have to catch Optimus later on to actually have a talk.
"Optimus, you alright? You’ve been acting a little... weird," Jazz asked, his voice came off a little quieter than he intended, as Ultra Magnus left the meeting room, leaving the two alone.
Optimus looked down at him, his expression unreadable, optics steady and stoic as ever. For a moment, there was silence—then, slowly, the light returned to his optics, as if a switch had been flipped.
"What do you mean..?" he asked, his voice was the same calm and soft as he remembered from before everything.
It was clear to Jazz that Optimus knew what he meant, but didn’t let his friend avoid it. "Where has my cheery Orion gone? You know you don’t have to act like a statue with no emotions," he said softly, even a bit teasing, trying to keep his tone light, not wanting to hurt him.
Optimus’s shoulders slumped, and he looked away. "But I do," he replied quietly. "I’m supposed to be the leader now. Sometimes they just don’t listen, or they don’t take me seriously. It’s not a good look if Magnus has to repeat everything I say just to make them respect me."
He covered his face with a servo, sighing heavily. When he finally lowered his arm, his voice was heavy and strained. "Sure, it’s not how I want to go about things, but I need to think of everyone when I make decisions—not just the small group I had before."
Jazz leaned against the table, watching his friend with understanding, and he nodded his helm. "I hear you," he said softly. "But you gotta stop letting others walk all over you. You're not supposed to copy what Magnus does—you need to develop your own way. Make them follow you—I mean, they have to listen to you in the end, whose orders would they take otherwise? Megatrons?"
He scooched closer, placing a comforting servo on Optimus’s shoulder. His voice came off as firm but caring. "I need you to be you. Not some higher being they think you changed into overnight."
Optimus missed the joking tone—Jazz’s attempt at lightening the mood, instead, it hit a little too close to home. His optics flickered as he pressed his derma tightly together. "But I did," he whispered, avoiding optic contact. "The story of how I became a Prime is wrong... They didn’t like how... underwhelming and pathetic the real event was."
A flicker of frustration crept into his voice, almost breaking through his usual calm. "They wanted it to be more inspiring, more noble.”
Jazz was caught off guard by this—this was the first he’d heard of any of it. "What do you mean?" he asked, a little breathlessly, while leaning in closer. "You mean... when they told how you got the Matrix, all of it was a lie?"
Optimus couldn’t meet Jazz’s gaze. He lowered his helm, giving only a single, heavy nod—ashamed, scared of what his friend might think of him, or how he might react.
"Why didn’t you tell me?!" Jazz’s voice rose slightly, frustration tinged with worry. "Do those bots even have a processor? How could they twist your story like that?" His fists clenched momentarily. How dare they take advantage of his friend while he wasn’t there! "You should’ve brought me along—then they’d have to respect you. Instead, they just twisted your words.”
Optimus hesitated, then turned to look at Jazz. "Jazz... It’s not a big deal," he said quietly, almost dismissively. "Really. I shouldn’t rely on you to speak out for me every time, anyway."
Jazz sat heavily at the edge of the table, staring at his friend with a mixture of concern and frustration. He reached out, gently taking Optimus’s servos in his own. "Can you at least tell me what really happened? I won’t tell anyone if that’s what you want. Just... talk to me."
Optimus exhaled slowly as he nodded. "I was going to tell you sooner or later," he admitted quietly.
"I didn’t get the Matrix because I went down there to try and reverse the effects. I was pushed into the Well during an ambush... I only survived because of Primus and the Matrix itself. Even if I could’ve reversed the effects, Primus would’ve gone into deep sleep either way. It wouldn’t have mattered. I’m not that... great."
"Nonsense," Jazz said firmly, his usual relaxed and positive tone replaced by a serious one. "You are great. It doesn't matter how you got the Matrix. All that matters is that you were chosen. And that alone should mean a lot."
Optimus looked at him, the worry and sadness lingering in his optics. "But what if I wasn’t really chosen? What if I just happened to be the closest bot, the easiest to give it to?"
Jazz tilted his helm slightly, raising an optic ridge behind his visor. "Would Primus do that?" he asked plainly. "Orion, would Primus really hand over such an artefact of great power to the first bot he sees?" He paused, giving Optimus a pointed look. "That sounds ridiculous to me."
"You’re right... I just—..." Optimus trailed off, feeling like he was grasping at another excuse, another reason why he didn’t deserve the title of Prime.
Jazz leaned in closer again, his demeanour setting back to his usual whimsy. He reached out, gently lifting Optimus’s chin with a servo, turning his helm so their optics met. "Orion," he said softly, "you’re more than enough. You’re a great leader, and even a greater friend. If others can't see that, they’re just a bunch of half-processed scraplets."
Optimus’s expression softened, and a small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips, even letting out a small laugh. "Guess I am a half-processed scraplet. Thinking dating a revolutionary gladiator was a good idea."
Jazz let out a playful gasp, feigning offence. "Hey—" he protested with a grin, "I helped you with that, so now you're calling me one too, you know?" He chuckled as he released his hold on Optimus’s chin.
"I know, I know," Optimus said softly, taking a small pause before adding, "thanks, Jazz... for everything."
"Anytime," he said as he stood up and gently pulled Optimus to his pedes. "Now come on, how about we go for a glass of energon? The war can wait for a cycle." He said half jokingly.
Optimus let Jazz lead him along… It felt like he was back to the time before the war, when things were still… simple and quiet. It was a nice pause from reality.
A lively party buzzed in the background—music and laughter filling the air. Bots danced and shared energon, celebrating their victory over Trypticon and the Decepticons. It was something to break the tension and raise morale.
“Is that Prime? Should I go ask him for a dance?” a bot joked, chuckling.
“What are you saying? You know, Primes don’t party,” another responded.
“Are you asking to get rejected? Just leave him be, he’s probably just making sure we don’t go overboard,” a third added.
“Come on~ we don’t need no hall monitors here. I doubt he’d actually step in and ruin the fun,” someone else chirped.
“...”
Optimus had been watching from the sidelines, his optics dimming slightly—the feeling of being an outsider.. of not belonging in this moment of celebration…
With a quiet sigh, he turned to leave, deciding to retreat to his berthroom. He didn’t want to intrude, nor did he want to be the one to cast a shadow over their joy. Better to step away quietly.
He sank onto his berth, pulling out an old datapad he’d been reading, trying to lose himself in the familiar glow of the blue screen. But just as he was about to lose himself in the words, a soft knock on his door broke the moment.
He sat up, putting the databad away, and then made his way over to open the door to see none other than Jazz.
“So this is where you went to hide,” Jazz said warmly. “May I intrude?”
Optimus let out a small sigh and stepped aside. "Why are you here and not at the party with the rest?" he asked softly as he closed the door behind his friend.
"I could ask you the same thing," Jazz replied with a gentle smirk, turning to face Optimus. "Why did you leave? I didn’t even get a chance to ask you for a dance," he added, and this time it didn’t feel like it was a joke.
"Primes don’t party," Optimus repeated. It was one of the many things he had heard bots say about him.
Jazz’s smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face. But it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual cheeky grin. "Maybe not Primes, but Orion just might," he said as he shuffled through his playlist until he found a song they’d like, and then dimmed the lights. Then, with a confident grin, he extended a servo. “May I have this dance?”
Optimus was a little caught off guard by Jazz's little antic, but soon let out a small laugh as he took hold of Jazz's servo. "You may."
The height difference was noticeable, but they made it work easily. One servo locked with Jazz’s, while the other rested gently on Jazz’s shoulder. Jazz’s servo found a place on Optimus’s hip. They began to sway, moving into a simple waltz. Optimus wasn’t much of a dancer, having learned only enough not to embarrass himself, but he focused on the rhythm, letting Jazz lead their moves.
Jazz’s movements weren’t complicated—an extra swirl here, a brief separation only to come back together. As the music played on, Jazz’s playful side shone through, adding trickier spins and turns that made Optimus grin.
It was clear Jazz couldn’t fully support Optimus’s weight, but he didn’t let that stop him. Carefully, he let go of his servo and used his grabber to get a higher and more stable hold, supporting Optimus with his servo, moving from his hip to his lower back, making one more move a bit more possible.
Optimus let out a soft laugh, leaning back slightly, trusting Jazz could hold him. Even if Jazz couldn’t, it wasn’t a devastating fall—just a small tumble.
When Optimus closed his optics, he wanted to believe—to believe he was the one he was dancing with in that moment. But when he opened his optics again and saw Jazz smiling at him, the warmth he felt didn’t quite reach the spark-flutter he hoped for… But he wasn’t disappointed in any way, either.
Part of him wanted to feel it—but another part hesitated, wary of ruining something that was already great. He didn't want to hold Jazz back in any way, no matter how much Jazz might say they’d understand his feelings. After everything, he didn’t want to rush himself, especially after the last break…
With a gentle nudge, Jazz helped him straighten back up, disabling his energon grabble once Optimus was fully on his pedes. Jazz let himself drop to the ground, then took Optimus’s servo once more to sway with the music.
Jazz lifted their servos in a playful gesture, spinning on the tip of their pede before stepping back into a faraway position, servos still locked. “You think you can lift me?” Jazz asked, tilting his helm with a teasing grin. He knew the answer, but there was no easy interpretation that Optimus would get without a word.
Optimus nodded his helm once, giving the silent signal. Both moved once more, but this time, Optimus lowered slightly, wrapping an arm around Jazz’s waist. Jazz, in turn, looped his arm around Optimus’s neck, their other servos never parting, holding each other close.
With ease, Optimus lifted Jazz up against him, the other bot slightly raising his pedes as they spun, forehelms touching with a small click of metal.
He didn't think he could ever be this happy again, after the war started.
The AllSpark had been hidden away, somewhere deep within the galaxy—somewhere no one dared to venture, where only he knew its exact location, him alone... and Jazz.
They had barely reached Cybertron—only Lunar 1 away—when disaster struck. An ambush by a Decepticon ship left their vessel in ruins. Despite their efforts to fight back, they were quickly overwhelmed, overwhelmed by the sheer number of Decepticons swarming their ship. Two against an army? They didn’t have change.
And now? They were prisoners, locked deep within the Decepticon vessel, awaiting their turn to be brought before Megatron.
Optimus knew what would come next—Megatron’s blame, his demands, his belittling. The Decepticon leader thrived on breaking others, on bending them to his will through words or pain. Optimus could take the hits, he was sure of that—Megatron’s verbal barbs were designed to cut deep, to wear down the strongest, but he could take it.
But what haunted him most was the thought of Jazz. Him being tortured in front of him, or worse, being killed right in front of him.
He was chained, unable to move, his servos bound tightly, rendering any escape impossible. Yet, he refused to give in. He had to try something, anything! Because when the time came, he wouldn't let Megatron have his way—get his twisted satisfaction from seeing the pain in his optics, see him beg... to see him yield. He wasn't going to let him hurt anyone because of him.
BAMB!
One of the Decepticons slammed a wall next to their cell, making the metal shake. The Decepticon’s voice cut through the tense air, sharp and demanding. “Where did you take the AllSpark?”
The question was repeated for the third time—yet the answer was still the same. Jazz’s calm voice echoed through the cell. “We do not know what you are talking about, for the last time.” His tone was casual, almost indifferent, as if this were just another routine interrogation.
He, on the other servo, didn’t even bother to attempt lying. It never sounded natural coming from him, and every time he tried, the words felt hollow and forced. Instead, Jazz handled the deception, the lies slipping smoothly from his intake while Optimus’s voice remained sharp and nitpicking.
“No matter how many times you ask,” he said, voice steady and calm despite the situation, “the answer will always be the same.” He added a dismissive shrug to his tone, tired of the endless interrogation. If they kept at it every few kliks, they wouldn’t have time to come up with a plan—or to find some way to escape.
The Decepticon’s optics narrowed, growing more impatient. “Agh—if you don’t start talking, Shockwave’s gotta pry that information straight out of your processor,” the Decepticon growled, voice tinged with irritation. “So either you start speaking, or we’ll do it the hard way.”
Jazz rolled his helm lazily. “I’ve heard many great things about his little cortical psychic patch or whatever,” he remarked, his tone almost bored. “But he can’t use it to find something I don’t know about.”
“It’s a shame such technology was invented only for these means,” Optimus muttered, voice darkening. “War brings out new great inventions… but at what cost?” His tone ended on a sad note.
"Oh, quiet down with your sentimentality. Save it for someone who cares," the Decepticon sneered, turning away and leaving them once more in the dim, oppressive glow of the cell. The silence returned as both of them tried to think of any way out.
Tink
Optimus’s helm turned sharply toward Jazz as he heard the faint sound. Jazz was using his grapple to try to latch onto the wires above, the ones that controlled the mechanism holding him suspended.
Chains could prevent their transformation, sure, but Jazz’s grapple might just give them a chance. It took a few careful tries, but Jazz managed to get a hold of the wires. With a sharp tug, he tore into the wires, sparks flying as the crackling electricity sputtered.
Jazz dropped to the ground with a thud, both optics snapping to the door, wary of the Decepticon’s response. Had he heard that? Was he coming back?
Jazz’s servos were still tangled in chains, but his weight was the one keeping them tight. He grimaced, having to use his denta to move the chains off his servos and untighten them—an agonisingly slow process.
Once free, Jazz quickly transformed one servo into a blade, carefully cutting the chain around his pedes with a clean, sharp motion. The noise was loud, and both knew it would attract attention.
He moved quickly, cutting the chain around Optimus's pedes before grappling up to free his servos. With a thump, both of them were now almost free.
"Good thinking," Optimus whispered, his voice steady despite the tense moment. They pressed against the wall on either side of the door, hidden just out of sight. "We'll head straight to the escape pods. We can't risk getting caught and them knowing where the AllSpark is."
Jazz nodded and whispered back. "Do you know where they are located?"
Optimus’s optics narrowed as he listened to the pedesteps approaching; the guard was moving closer. "This should be a standard guard ship."
"Know it like the back of my servo," Jazz replied with a small smirk, despite the danger.
A sudden, forceful slam of a servo against the door, followed by a loud yell from the Decepticon, instantly snapped both Optimus and Jazz into high alert. "What's with the sudden ruckus—huh? What!?" he shouted, the door swinging open as he stormed inside. His optics focused on the empty cell.
The first thing he saw was Jazz’s servo streaking toward his faceplate; he had no time to raise his blaster. Just as the Con could react, a powerful blow from behind hit him, knocking his systems offline.
"Let's go," Optimus ordered sharply as the Con’s frame hit the floor. Both of them bolted out of the cell, locking the door behind them to trap the Decepticon inside.
"You think we'll be able to call the others?" Jazz asked quickly. He knew the answer, but he asked anyway.
"No," Optimus replied grimly. "The signal scrambling might not be as effective outside the cell, but we’re still inside a Decepticon ship. We can only reach each other."
They moved swiftly through the labyrinthine corridors, peeking behind every corner, trying to stay as quiet as possible.
Optimus paused behind a corner, watching two Decepticons walk down the hall, their conversation muffled. He waited for them to turn a corner before signalling Jazz to move forward again. The escape pods were close now.
"Damn Autobots!"
A sudden shout echoed from behind them.
He spun around just in time to see Jazz already taking care of one of the Decepticons. He was just about to step in and help Jazz when he heard the pede steps of the two cons he’d been watching run towards them.
Optimus barely hesitated—he transformed his blades and struck down the first attacker before they could react. The second Decepticon put up a fight, but it wasn’t long before Optimus overpowered him.
Turning to Jazz, Optimus’s voice was steady but filled with concern. "Jazz, you alright?"
Jazz took a few deep vents, "Yeah, I’m good... they probably called reinforcements," he said, voice oddly strained but trying to sound confident. "Clear the path and get the escape pod ready... I’ll make sure we aren’t followed... I’ll join you in a jiffy."
Jazz turned his helm enough to look at him and offered a nod with a reassuring smile. Which he returned, Jazz had a point, and he trusted his judgment.
"Be safe," Optimus said softly before rushing ahead. His immediate goal was to clear the way and ensure the escape pod was ready when Jazz caught up.
"I'm sorry for lying," Jazz whispered after Optimus had left, a heavy sigh escaping him as he watched the other disappear down the corridor.
He knelt beside the Decepticon’s corpse, gripping it tightly before rising slowly and dragging it behind him. He sought a weak spot—a spot in the ship’s structure where he could cause some damage. He found a spot where the walls and ceiling looked unstable enough, and he knew that the energon from the Fuel lines wouldn’t be volatile. But the unprocessed energon in their fuel tank on the other servo…
"Primus, forgive me..." he muttered, voice trembling lightly. With deliberate care, he ripped out the fuel tank from the Decepticon’s body, feeling the warm metal in his servo. He was painfully aware of how reckless this was, how far he was willing to go.
He tested the weight of the fuel tank, feeling it shift in his grip. Then, transforming his cannon out and threw the tank and took a shot at it. The explosion went off, and the panel above him shifted, cracking and dislodging just as he intended. But the explosion was smaller than needed.
Frustrated, Jazz shot his grabble again, pulling the panel down with all his strength. The panel finally snapped free and crashed to the ground, sealing the way to the escape pods—no one could stop the escape now. Not even him.
He collapsed to the ground, breath ragged, sparks flickering weakly. His body trembled with pain—his chest wound still bleeding, the blade was still lodged painfully inside his spark chamber, blocking most of the energon from flowing out. Sparks of light leaked from the cracks.
It hurts.
But I have to get up.
I have to make sure Optimus gets out.
While I take this ship down with me.
Jazz knew deep down he wouldn’t make it. The damage to his body was too severe, his spark too weak. Even if a medic managed to stabilise him after the landing, repairing a spark chamber under these conditions was almost impossible. The energy he had left was fading fast, each nano klik feeling like a heavy weight on his shoulders.
He didn’t want Optimus to see him like this. Dying in the arms of someone he cared for sounded like a peaceful end, but only for the one passing on. He couldn’t bear to put that pain on Optimus. This was better—better for everyone if he went out on his own.
Summoning what little strength he had, Jazz pushed himself upright, feeling energy drain from him with every movement. His vision blurred, but he forced himself to move—toward the ship’s fuel tank, the most explosive part of the vessel. It was the perfect target to destroy the ship.
He knew he had to ensure Optimus got out first. The explosion would be devastating—more than enough to take down the entire ship—and he needed a trigger, something more than a shot to set it off. The room’s structure wouldn’t be weak enough on its own, being the most vital part of the ship.
He decided to head to the armoury, knowing he’d find grenades there. Passing the fuel storage, he glanced inside briefly—just enough to confirm it was the right place. Then he kept walking, heading for the armoury. He paused at the door, checking carefully—no enemies inside. Quietly, he slipped in, grabbing two grenades and a blaster—he was in no condition to use any of his own energo. He strapped the grenades to his waist and started making his way back.
His strength was waning now; walking was slow, unsteady. His servos trembled as he used the walls as support, but he pressed on despite the pain—this was almost over.
Turning a corner, he came face to face with a Decepticon. Without hesitation, Jazz drew his blaster, firing before the enemy could react. The shot was precise—he wouldn’t be bested now. The Decepticon collapsed, and Jazz didn’t pause to check if they were still alive—there was no time.
He made his way to the fuel tank, optics fixed on the goal. Inside, he carefully planted the grenades in place.
[Almost there. Get in the escape pod and get ready to launch.]
He sent the comm message to Optimus, knowing the leader would follow the order without question. Optimus would get out safely—he had to.
The sound of footsteps behind him snapped Jazz's head around. His servos shot up instinctively, aiming his blaster at the approaching Con— but his shot missed. The Con lunged forward, crashing into him, shoving him against the console with brutal force. Before Jazz could react, the Con yanked the broken blade from his chest, only to drive it into his abdomen with a sickening, painful twist.
"You filthy autobot," the Con snarled, twisting the blade deeper, turning it 90 degrees inside him. "You will not escape. Now, where's the Prime!?"
Jazz's optics flickered, pain shooting through every circuit. He sagged against the Con, feeling the last of his strength slipping away.
"How about you go ask Primus?" Jazz rasped, voice glitching as he slowly lifted his blaster toward the Cons helm, "I'm sure you'll find the answer you're looking for."
Both bots collapsed to the ground, the blade piercing even deeper as Jazz fell atop the Con. His energon was draining fast—he knew he didn't have long.
With trembling servos, Jazz rolled off the Con, his last strength focused on the grenades he had planted. He couldn’t get up, he could barely even move, but he used what he had left to lift his servo to aim at the grenades.
"I hoped we could've danced again once this was all over…" he murmured weakly, fingers trembling as he pulled the trigger.
“I’m sorry, Orion.”
[Almost there. Get in the escape pod and get ready to launch.]
Optimus's spark clenched with worry for Jazz, but the Comm gave him some reassurance. He swiftly climbed into the escape pod, his optics flickering with urgency. Every nano klik that passed felt like an eternity while waiting.
He could feel it—something was wrong. A gnawing instinct that screamed at him. He strained his audials, searching for any sign, any sound, but all he heard was the silence humm of the ship—until the explosion shattered the ship.
The shockwave rocked the vessel violently, knocking him to the floor. The ship was going down—he could hear the distant echoes of destruction. But amidst the destruction, his focus was only on one thing: Jazz.
He frantically tried to reach him—his comm link crackled and then died. A cold dread settled over him.
With trembling servo, he pressed the launch button. The escape pod closed and jettisoned away from the wreckage of the explosions.
Spiralling into the void. He sank to the floor inside, optics staring blankly ahead, voice caught in his vocalizer.
He's gone…
Tears blurred his optics, but strangely, he felt nothing. No anguish, no anger—just an emptiness. He sat there, motionless, the chaos of the destruction fading into the background as his systems dulled and shut down.
…
…
…
He didn't know how much time had passed... but gradually, he could feel something stir him out. Someone was shaking him.
Slowly, his systems rebooted, and awareness returned. Yet, a part of him seemed lost—and that wasn’t because his audials and frame took longer to reboot.
A team of Autobots had tracked his signal ever since he left the wreckage of the Decepticon ship. Firstaid was buzzing over him, scanning for injuries—he only had a few scratches and badly done repair work by a Decepticon to make sure he was still alive when they got to Megatron—But he pushed the medic aside.
His systems fully reactivated, he left the pod, gazing at the small team that had gathered around him. The familiar faceplates, the familiar forms—yet he felt nothing. No warmth. only the hollow emptiness that continued to echo inside.
"Prime, it's good to see you back," Chromia said, giving him a salute, then continued. "Everything on Cybertron has been going well in your absence."
He nodded slightly, acknowledging her words without much thought.
"We haven't been able to contact or track Jazz's signal," Mirage stepped closer, concern lining his face. "Is he still trapped on the Decepticon ship?"
"Jazz has… joined the AllSpark," Optimus said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "And the Decepticon ship has been completely obliterated."
The words felt distant, detached—like they belonged to someone else. He knew they should have hurt to say, should have sparked pain or sorrow, but nothing came.
A heavy silence settled over the group as they absorbed his words, a moment to mourn what was lost.
"We need to head back to base and get out of sight."