Chapter Text
Alarms sound and mechs’ shouting comes from the hallway ahead. A small group of Autobots are trying to keep the Decepticons away from the med-bay. They couldn’t afford the raiding party of Decepticons gaining access to their most secure part of the ship.
On the front lines of defense, a black and white mech shouts orders to the others while Optimus Prime is busy fighting Starscream. Everyone else is busy fighting off the Decepticons, no one notices Scorponok sneaking around and behind the black and white mech. The mech opens his mouth to shout out another set of orders until a sharp pain stabs his neck. The sensitive wiring in the back of his neck burns.
“Ahhh!” the mech screams in pain as he falls to his knees.
“Prowl! Get off him, you lousy Decepticon!” Jazz shouts as he runs over to toss Scorponok off of the mech. He falls to his knees beside the mech, who twitches and coughs up Energon. “Prowl, ya okay?”
Jazz looks over the mech’s battle injuries and the Energon pooling under his helm. He wasn’t a medic but it didn’t look good.
“I-I’m fine . . . J-Jazz g-get back to . . . the battle . . .” Prowl says.
“No you’re not fine,” Jazz shakes his helm. “No, sit tight and I’ll get Ratch.”
Soon after the Decepticons sound the retreat, Ratchet rushes over to Prowl and Jazz. The blue light washes over the black and white mech, whose optics dim and flicker. Ratchet frowns at the results of the scan.
“Ironhide, help me get Prowl to the med-bay,” Ratchet puts away his scanner, processor working overtime to figure out how to help Prowl. Jazz follows on the medic’s heels with Optimus Prime close behind. Ironhide lays Prowl on the med-berth and Jazz immediately comes to the second-in-command’s side.
“It’s a very bad virus,” Ratchet looks at Optimus Prime.
“Is there anything you can do?” Jazz asks before Optimus Prime gets the chance.
“The only way is if I have Scorponok or some piece of him here. It’s his venom that’s running through Prowl’s systems. I would need to make an anti-virus from it. We could put him on a stasis life support system until then.”
“And if we don’t?” Optimus Prime asks, blue optics dimming slightly at the question he must ask.
“He’ll die sir,” Ratchet sighs and looks at Prowl’s straining body.
“J-Jazz . . .” the weak voice of Prowl cuts the deathly quiet med-bay. Jazz tightens his grip on Prowl’s servo. “Y-You’re second . . . n-now Jazz.”
“Prowl, don’t talk like that,” Jazz pulls the white servo up to his cheek. “You’re gonna get better. Ya have to. Remember what we talked about.”
“It’s the only logical thing.”