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Jazz’s first coherent thought is pain-pain-pain-pain.
He doesn't remember waking up, though according to his chrono, he's been out for 7 breems. He onlines his optics, resets them several times to get them to be slightly less glitchy, and yeah, he's in bad shape.
The crater he'd been thrown into is wide and deep, and he spots the mangled remains of his right arm several feet away. The wound is spilling energon like a nasty fragger, but he dismisses the warning pings popping up in his already distorted HUD. What's one lost limb? He's still got three left.
That problem arises when he finds that he can't move his legs. He gets warnings about multiple severed wires and connectors, rapid energon loss, all that fun stuff. He does try to push himself up his remaining elbow to get a visual on the damage, but the piercing pain that courses through him has him falling back with a wheeze. He settles for craning his neck to get a look.
Yeah, his legs are pretty fragged up. His right ankle is being held in place by only a few remaining wires, and both are covered in scorches and tears. He tries one more time to move them - in the process spotting half of his visor embedded into the side of the crater, explaining why his vision still won't completely clear - and quickly has to give up on that. Yeah, that ain't gonna work.
He tries to comm his team next. They'd been in the middle of transferring some very important information from one base to another when Megatron’s most annoying seeker managed to lead an ambush on them. They'd done a well enough job fighting back, and Jazz himself had dropped back to let the rest get ahead, but he didn't know if anyone else was still out on the field, injured (or even still alive, but just don't-).
Comms were risky on a mission like this, in case any Decepticon forces managed to pick up a signal, but he was far past the point of having to worry about secrecy. If any Decepticon did manage to track him out here, he already had the code lined up that would delete any of the majorly important information he had stored up in his helm. If push came to shove, he could delete himself entirely, until there was nothing of use to be taken. Would all end up the same if he died from his injuries out here, anyways.
He sends out a distress signal, waits a few kliks for a response, and gets nothing. Either there's nobody left to respond (just don't think about it) or his comms are down. That's when the energon loss apparently becomes too much for his systems to handle, and he only gets a klik or two more of warnings before he's going into an emergency shutdown.
—
When he next wakes up, his chrono is definitely extremely off. He doesn't need the continued low energon or catastrophic damage warnings to know he's not any better off than he was before, because frag it all it hurts-
He hears a nearby noise, past the static in his audials, and then another. Pedesteps. Soft and quick, but from something big. Must've been what woke him from emergency shutdown.
Dirt shifts and moves as something slides down into the crater, and Jazz forces his optics online despite the pain pain pain that shoots through his circuits, and-
Oh.
It'd be a lie to say that he was looking forward to whatever Decepticon had gone down to collect him. It'd be an even bigger lie to say that he was expecting it to be Prime instead.
Optimus’s face is covered by his battle mask, but his optics show nothing but concern. Jazz tries to open his intake to speak, to ask what the leader of the slaggin’ Autobots is doing out here like this, but the first note of static makes him cut that out immediately.
As Optimus takes out a tool to stop the flow of energon, a memory returns to Jazz.
A lifetime ago, being caught in a cave-in. When Orion and D-16, who should've escaped to safety, came back to save him. He remembers trying to play the hero for just a moment, until his whole “Just leave me” act was met with sarcastic agreement, and his terror got a hold of him once more. Orion wasn't going to leave him, of course. He never would.
And even still, after all these years, Orion hasn't changed.
“The rest of your team either made it to base, or were close enough to get picked up by reinforcements,” Optimus murmurs. “There were injuries, but none as bad as yours. You did an admirable job out here, Jazz.”
He lets out a vent he didn't even know he was holding. Nobody’s compromised, nobody’s offlined. Best case scenario, really. That's all he needed to hear.
He does his best to shoot an accusatory glance at the Prime though, at the mention of his team. Optimus does his best to look sheepish.
“I was one of few at the time who wasn't swept up in a task that was either immediately important or couldn't be overtaken by somebody else,” He explains. He finishes up what repairs he can do here, finishing it off by giving Jazz a pain patch, before taking out a cube of medgrade. He has to help Jazz drink it. “And I didn't come alone, either. I have Bee keeping watch. He's already making a plan for the safest way for us to return.”
Right, Bee hadn’t been on Jazz's mission. Well, it's good to know that Optimus did think this through at least a little bit.
The medgrade does help stabilize Jazz, but not by too much. Optimus picks him up easily, holding him securely in those broad arms, before he makes his way out of the crater. The pain patch does the best it can, but the movement still makes every sensor in Jazz’s network alight with new pain. Still, it doesn't help to complain to the guy who's saving you, not that he can, anyways.
When they get out of the crater, he does spot Bee hiding in another nearby, weapons charged up in case he needed to protect them. They're probably using comms to speak, it takes him a moment to realize, judging by the way that the two move in sync to duck behind cover and keep out of sight.
“You can rest now, Jazz,” Optimus murmurs to him. “We’ll get you back safe.”
And Jazz’s systems apparently think this is a great idea, because Optimus can barely finish his sentence before he's out.
—
The first time he wakes up, he's immediately overwhelmed by the strut-deep, white hot pain. It's somehow gotten worse.
His vocalizer spits static, and his attempts at shutting the fraggin’ thing up feels like he's swallowing magma. Everything hurts hurts hurts, and he tries to cycle on his optics because he can't be focused on hurt if he doesn't know where he is, but the attempt is too much for his already strained frame, and he's out again within kliks.
The next time he wakes up, the pain has gone down a bit, from oh wow I'm going to die right now to I've got a few seconds before I die. An improvement is an improvement. His audials pick up multiple voices, multiple agitated voices, and he tries to force his optics online.
The first thing he sees is Ratchet, readily at work to keep him from dying at this very moment. The next thing he spots is Elita, he can vaguely make out the fact that she's yelling at someone just out of his sight. Ratchet sees he's awake, tries to speak to him, and he's out.
The third time he wakes up, the pain has dulled significantly and he feels more lucid now then he did before.
He cycles on his optics, and yeah, he's in a tiny room in the medbay, hooked up to machines. His self-diagnostics show him that there's been extensive repairs to his frame, and hey, he's no longer missing an arm.
He also notices that his left wrist is cuffed to the berth, the chain attached to the bed long enough that he can move comfortably, but can't reach the door. A small jolt of instinctive fear tries to burrow inside him, but he reminds himself that he's just fine, that he's at base. It's probably to make sure he can't abscond off to his room, or the vents, or anywhere else that isn't the medbay.
How dare Ratchet prepare for something that he's definitely about to do.
He's a good ten kliks into it, and nearly about to break through (these things are very easy to hack when you know what you're doing), when the door slides open. He glances up, with a face of complete and utter innocence.
It's Optimus at the door, optics glowing a bit brighter when he sees Jazz is awake. “Jazz!” He says, gently but happily, moving over to the side of the berth. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long,” He hums, giving OP a lazy grin. “How long was I out, anyways?”
“About three orns,” Optimus mutters, pulling a chair over. “It took awhile to stabilize you. Ratchet had another patient to deal with, but he should be returning soon.”
“Just three orns?” Jazz jokes. “Scrap, I must be gettin’ better at this “nearly dying” thing. Think I can get it down to one next time?”
Optimus manages a smile, but he doesn't laugh. His face is still tinged with worry.
“C'mon, OP,” Jazz continues, voice a bit softer. “I'm just fine, alright? Gonna be outta here and back to normal within the orn.”
“Not if Ratchet has anything to say about it,” Optimus replies, though the worry does seem to bleed away a bit in the face of Jazz’s enthusiasm. “You're meant to escape in the field, not from medbay. He’s gonna blow a fuse soon enough because of you.”
“Aw, Ratchet can deal.” Optimus raises an optical ridge at him, which means that yeah, he can definitely tell that that's something that Jazz would never say in front of Ratchet, because Ratchet would throw a wrench at him and tie him down to a medberth with more than just some cuffs.
Ratchet really did come from a place of care, he'd been keeping them all alive since they'd first gone down to the mines, but that didn't mean he wasn't fraggin’ scary when he wanted to be.
“Besides, I'd imagine that you're the one in pretty hot oil right now.”
Optimus’s faceplates flash with surprise, and Jazz laughs.
“Don't remember much from when I first woke up, but I'd gotta assume the only reason Elita was yellin’ in here and Ratchet wasn't kickin’ her out was cause he really agreed with her,” Jazz snickers. “How much trouble did you get in for that, anyway?”
“...I uh- did come pretty close to getting cuffed to a berth myself,” He eventually says, with a slightly awkward laugh. “I didn't know you were awake for my scolding.”
“Scolding? My mech, she could’a brought me back from the dead with that volume,” Jazz laughs. Optimus winces. “Too soon?”
“Maybe wait until you're out of medbay. With Ratchet’s permission,” and while he sounds serious, Jazz knows full well he hates medbay stays almost as much. “But yes, the others were…less than pleased, when I returned. They were thrilled to have you safe, of course, just unhappy with me.”
“I can't say that I disagree with them, OP. Don't get me wrong, I ‘ppreciate it a lot, but maybe the leader of the Autobots shouldn't be going on rescue missions in active battlefields.”
“Nobody else could have gotten out there as quickly as I could,” he says, not quite arguing but clearly having been, and still ready, to defend his point. “I've been your friend far longer than I've had any fancy title, I wasn't about to just leave you out there.”
Jazz does open his intake to argue further. To try to get Optimus to see how monumentally fragging important he is, to make him understand that the injury or death of an officer is nothing compared to his own.
But that memory of the mines - of that stupid, optimistic bot running back to him - plays in his mind again, and he sighs. Instead of arguing, he just pats the berth next to him. Optimus casts him a confused look, but he does sit. Jazz leans into him and Optimus, ever the tactile bot, wraps an arm around him in return.
“You really haven't changed much at all, have ya, Pax?” He murmurs, fond exasperation taking over his tone.
“I hope that's a good thing?” Optimus asks, turning a bit so he can pull Jazz a bit closer to him. Only ex-miners, those that really knew him, use his old name anymore. Jazz has the feeling that he appreciates it, the reminder that their loyalty isn't for the title of a Prime, but for him.
“Mmm, maybe try stayin’ out of danger next time.” Optimus laughs at that, leaning against the back of the medberth. He carefully puts his legs up onto the berth, and Jazz snuggles into him. OP is a good snuggler. He's like a fraggin’ magnet for it, what with his stature and the fact that he runs like a furnace. “...But thanks, mech. Honestly. Thank you.”
“Of course, Jazz,” Optimus murmurs. “You're one of my dearest friends, and I'd like to see you safe. That hasn't changed, and it never will.”
“Back at ya, OP,” He replied suddenly feeling tired. Genuinely tired, not I'm about to pass out from an injury tired. It's been a long few deca-orns. “We're gonna have’ta have a talk about your terrible sense of self preservation later, though.”
“That can wait until you're recovered.” While Optimus sounds genuine, he laughs a little awkwardly when he sees Jazz's disagreeing look, because Jazz knows that is a definite excuse for Prime to put it off in hopes of everyone forgetting about it. “Fine, a little further into your recovery. I imagine you must still be tired.”
“Partly because you're a fraggin' heater. Could put any mech to sleep.”
Optimus laughs again, resting a servo against the back of Jazz’s helm. “Whatever works,” He says, and he can definitely tell Jazz is getting close to recharge when he says, “Rest well, my friend. I'll ask Ratchet to be quiet when he comes in.”
Jazz hums in response, cycling his optics off. His medbay escapade can wait a bit. For now, he lets himself slip off into recharge.