Chapter Text
They found him.
After four weeks, they finally found Prowl.
And to think Jazz had almost ignored it.
Their human allies, the official government ones, not the Witwicky family that Jazz actually liked, had reported an unusual amount of nuclear radiation in the aft-fuck of nowhere Nevada.
At first Jazz had refused to attend the meeting. What was the point when he should be looking for Prowl. It wasn't until Optimus asked him to come along with those same big blue optics of an archivist that had previously used to make him to join the Autobots that Jazz agreed to drag himself along.
At first, Jazz thought that the meeting was as pointless as he had been expecting. Jazz knew that the government busy-bodies thought the cause of the radiation was one of their so called terrorist groups, especially since the main amount of radiation beaming out was nuclear, something Cybertronians had no need of utilising when they had energon. However the human's technology had also picked up a different kind of the radiation that their primitive technology couldn't identify. This lead the humans to claim that this could be a result of some sort of alien experimentation, that as per the treaty Optimus had greed to, the Autobots were obliged to investigate.
Jazz knew it wasn't the Decepticons because they were too busy torturing Prowl. Sure the last three times he'd sneaked on board the Nemesis he hadn't been able to find any evidence that the tactician currently was or had ever been held there. But who else would want to kidnap the Autobot's head of tactics? Okay sure maybe there were a few humans out there who'd been a bit too interested in Prowl's tact net. But smokescreen was pretty sure it had been a the outline of a mech that he'd seen before he'd been tranquilised.
At least the use of tranquilisers suggested that wherever Prowl was, he was being kept alive.
A fact that Jazz kept clinging too like a viper the longer they went without any information.
Which, again, was what he should have been doing instead of indulging some human's sci-fi fantasy when they both knew that the cause of radiation was most likely due to their own terrorists.
But no, Optimus had promised that the Autobot's Head of Spec Ops himself would go do what the human's couldn't be bothered to investigate.
Jazz had thought about sticking Mirage on the job, as much as he hated the idea of taking any of his agents away from anything other than finding Prowl. It didn't matter if they haven't found any new evidence in months. They just had to keep searching until they did. Its what Prowl would have done. Actually Prowl would have used that big beautiful battle computer of his to find the evidence none of them ever could and already used it to found himself two times over.
But Optimus had insisted, saying that a distraction could help clear Jazz's helm.
As usual, OP was right.
At the pinpoint of the radiation, Jazz found the entrance of a cave hidden in the carapace of one of the cracks in Nevada's desert.
Thick webs covered the mouth of the cave.
It was an obvious deterrent. But Jazz had never been one to listen to a 'Do Not Enter' enter sign.
He resisted the urge to slice through them with his vibro-blade. Setting up an alarm at their destruction would be sparklings' play. Instead, he danced between the webs, not even touching the silk as he somersaulted between them like one of Spike's action hero's.
But the thrill was short-lived, the guilt eating at Jazz's spark for having fun whilst Prowl was mostly been torn apart. So Jazz pushed forward. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get back to the only mission that mattered.
The webs continued along the corridor of the cave. Jazz had spent enough time around Hound to know that there was something off about them. The silk was too thick, too much like wire for it to be natural. Plus, no insect on Earth could create a web big enough to catch a mech.
Jazz knew that Prowl would have been fascinated by theorising what could have made such webs. Jazz filed the observation away, saving it alongside the other tid-bits he would usually enthral Prowl with whenever he returned from his missions, bringing along an extra cube to top the traction up as they chatted in the low evening light of Prowl's office, Jazz lounging in the desk chair kept exactly for his height, whilst Prowl's wings fluttered in time with whatever record Jazz had brought that night-
Jazz's thoughts cut like a record scratch.
Because there, deep underground at the centre of the cave's web, was Prowl.
He was splayed out like a hunter's taxidermy, limbs bound, mouth gagged. Even his wings had been strapped down. From the times Jazz had offered a servo to stroke away the anxiety, he knew the constant contact would be agony.
IV lines not too dissimilar from the wire like webs, pierced through the former enforcer's armour, pumping in a neon green liquid that was an unnatural shade even to Cybertronian standards. Monitors were hung around Prowl like a cage, crowding him as they recorded whatever the fuck that slag was doing to him.
Dried layers of energon lay under Prowl's claws, evidence of every time the former enforcer had fought back. Along with open holes were previous lines must have been drilled into him, now empty except for leaking energon.
Unfortuntly, none of these were Prowl's worse scars. For at the centre of his chassis, even in the darkness of the cave, Jazz could see the claw marks cratered into the central seam. Undeniable signs that Prowl's spark chamber had been forced open.
Jazz bit back a growl. The thought of anyone, let alone someone who Jazz knew to held their spark so close, made made him want to scream.
But more than that, he wanted to reach out, run into the open so he could wrap Prowl in his arms, becoming a protective shell so Prowl would never need to be touched again.
Jazz's spark was so focused on the sight of Prowl, he nearly missed that they weren't alone in the cave, not till the a set of burning red optics slunk out of the shadows.
Jazz was used to being small compared to the warriors he had found himself thrown in with, but even with this mech now hunched over to read the results of whatever the fuck those monitors were sprouting, this mech already towered over Jazz. They were top heavy too with four extra arms sneaking out from behind their back. And if they'd been able to overpower Prowl, than they must be a formidable fighter.
But that didn't matter.
Because at each of the mech's heavy vents, Prowl would spasm with a full body shudder.
Jazz was going to kill this mech.
He watched the obvious mad mech clicked away to themselves, tampering with where they'd inserted the IVs before they finally stopped touching Prowl to mess with a cobbled together contraption. Jazz was no mad scientist, but he'd spent enough time around Wheeljack to recognise that it looked like a miniature nuclear reactor.
With the mech's back turned, Jazz took the opportunity to scaled up the cave walls. It was harder without the added benefit of his inbuilt magnets, having to manually cling to the rough organic service. But he wasn't known as the Jazzmeister for nothing, managing to stay silent until he hung upside own above the Praxian prisoner.
Prowl's wing twitched. The next second, those pale optics snapped towards him.
Jazz could see the stressed tension bleed away, as though his appearance meant everything would be alright.
From where it was tied down, Prowl tapped his digit twice against his leg.
Jazz nodded. Using his grappling hook, he dropped to the floor, placing an extra gun from his subspace into Prowl's servo.
But that mech must've had eyes on each of those arms, for as soon as Jazz's pedes touched the ground, two of those extra legs reached out before the mech even turned around.
Jazz slashed at them with his vibro-blade, satisfied at the scream that followed.
The mech lunged again. Jazz tumbled to the side, trying to dodge the remains of those arms.
Up close, Jazz now tell that those burning red optics where actually a set of six optic, each stacked on top of each other. It reminded Jazz of one of Earth's spiders.
During his days as a cultural investigator, Jazz had met many a beast former. But this mech was no ordinary best former.
As those limbs swiped at him, Jazz could make out how clumps of metallic fur were stuck to their skin, each strand like a razor as they slashed at Jazz's side. Acidic green goo, similar to the slag currently being stuffed through Prowl's lines, spat from their mouth. They hissed as Jazz, still muttering nonsense as though they'd been alone so long they'd forgotten how to talk to other mechs.
Jazz tried to strike at their spark, but with those extra limbs, he was finding it near impossible to get close.
So he sliced the rest of them off,
Jazz then smacked then with the remains of their own leg, the mech stumbled into their contraption, screeching as whatever was inside burned through their armour. They then threw some kind of vial in Jazz's direction, the spy barely managing to roll out of the war before it exploded again the wall behind where his helm had been.
The walls trembled around them, the explosion obviously causing some pertaining of chain reaction as rocks started to rain from the cave ceiling.
However the mad-mech appeared not to have noticed (or cared) their imminent danger, aiming another vial at Jazz's helm.
BANG
The vials exploded above the mech's helm instead, drowning them in radioactive yellow gloop.
Jazz's optics tracked the origin of the shot, unsurprised to find Prowl at its origin.
With one servo still strapped to the table, his resourcefully skilled Prowler had managed to shoot at the ties around his ankles, freeing his pedes from the slab, even if it appeared to have cost him the left side of his right pede. Prowl must have then used then to kick the table further back, lining up his gun to aim it at the vial as a headshot would have still caused the momentum of the mad-mech's arm to aim at Jazz. And people wondered where Bluestreak got his sharpshooting skills from.
The spider-mech screamed, though this time it was not out of pain. It was the same spark-wrenching wail Jazz had heard at the loss of a loved one. Jazz had no idea what could have caused such a reaction.
Whatever the reason, it seemed to have finally made the mech realise that they were all about to become entombed. They looked at Jazz each with each of their optics, then looked at Prowl for even longer before scurrying away along one of the caves' crumbling corridors on all limbs like the organic creature they took after.
Jazz didn't have time to ponder that reaction. His priority was the same as it had always been. Rescuing Prowl.
With the ceiling collapsing, Jazz didn't have time to be delicate as he ripped out the intruding IV lines, ignoring the green goo as it stung his servos and the bullet like burns from his wings as he fanned them out to try to shield Prowl's frame from the falling rocks.
When Jazz sliced through the restraints around Prowl's wrists, whatever strength the Praxian had found to fight fizzled out as he fell like a limp rag into Jazz's arms.
Jazz cradled him close, the weight of Prowl's unusually heavy frame, confirming that this wasn't a dream. That Prowl was alive. And in his arms.
The monitors screamed, Jazz ignored them as he carried Prowl out of the collapsing cave.
Obviously, Jazz knew that Prowl was not in a good state. But Jazz didn't trust anything that mad-mech had touched, so he didn't take anything those monitors said at face value.
Especially not when one of them said that Prowl had two sparks.