Chapter Text
Ok, Jazz was having a bad day.
Everything started ok, he had a field trip with Prowl and the others to deal with the Quintessons that had appeared recently and that was all.
Just another mission and then he would go back to his chambers and get his necessary sleep that he had been neglecting recently to keep up with these never tired pilots he worked with.
Seriously, this whole place was structured so that they could always walk around with their mechas!
Not that he could blame them, he loved his mecha, just like every pilot! Jazz usually has to force himself out of it.
But maybe, just maybe, these guys liked theirs on a whole new level.
Like, going to a tactical meeting in a mecha?
Jazz knew that preparation was important, but that was already paranoia.
Anyway, back to the field trip.
It had started as usual, they went to search for Quintessons, found them and started to take them down.
That had been his routine for some time already.
But the routine was broken that day.
“Fuck!”
They were ambushed by the Quintessons with more numbers then reported, their situation was bad and Jazz just got into a tight spot.
Everyone was busy with their own fights when one of the Quintessons he was fighting stabbed his mecha with one of its tendons, passing through the chest.
It reached the cockpit and hit him.
But it wasn't that serious.
He could keep going.
And so he did.
He kept going until the bastards ran with their tails tucked between their legs.
His team was celebrating another victory when it came.
And he screamed.
The adrenaline rush passed, so fast that the pain came like a punch in the gut.
His leg (that he didn't notice was that bad because it took him a while to feel the pain) was in a terrible state, having been pierced by the tendon of the Quintesson.
The pain was so great that, in that moment, he lost control of his mecha, who fell into the ground and brought tears and a new wave of pain with the impact.
All he could hear at the moment was the muggled shouts of his team, as he was too far gone to the pain to understand.
But he recognized one.
One that was always there to back him up.
Prowl.
Prowl could definitely help.
With only half of his mind working, he pressed the button that would open his cockpit.
He watched with unfocused eyes as the light entered the not so small but still small place.
He could not see Prowl properly, but he recognized the colors.
“Hey man” He said, voice weaker than he expected “Help me out here”
There was a pause, but sure enough, a giant metallic hand came to take him.
He smiled as his consciousness started to fade.
He could relax now.
***
Ok, Prowl was having a bad day.
It all started ok with a normal day in the field, but they were ambushed.
Everyone was so busy in their fight that Jazz’s profanities in his home language didn't bother anyone.
He spoke like that a lot, so it was normal.
And that was the problem.
They failed to understand the gravity of the situation.
They only knew that something was wrong when the scream came.
It was loud and painful.
And, more importantly, it came from Jazz.
The mech that never showed to be able to feel pain.
Frag, the mech was surprised that they could, like feeling pain was something strange.
Yet, there he was, falling to the ground while twitching and screaming.
“Jazz!”
Prowl was the first to reach him, assessing the damage.
And Primus… it was horrible.
There was a whole in his chassis, close to where the spark should be.
He and the others started to panic, Jazz wasn't responding and the light on his visor was dimming as if he was going on recharge.
But that was not right.
If his lights go out now, Jazz wouldn't be back.
So he and the others tried to keep him awake.
Only for his chassis to open on its own.
They were surprised, Jazz guarded his Chassis with more fervor then any mech he ever seen before, as if there was much more than just his Spark there.
But it opened in his last moments, so ironically that it felt wrong.
Prowl expected to see his dying spark, to see a cold and sad chassis, but it was not what his optics saw.
It was an organic.
A small and weak organic creature using an armor that resembled Jazz, sitting in what seemed to be a pilot seat as a dark red fluid leaked from one of its legs. In general the organic seemed to be in a good state, but he could tell that its leg shouldn't be like that even though he wasn't that well versed in organic anatomy.
Its optics looked up at him through the blue visor, unfocused, but still looking at his direction.
Then it opens its intake.
“Hey man, help me out here”
It was a weak and quiet voice, but he recognized it.
It was Jazz's voice.
It spoke like Jazz and wore armor that looked like Jazz.
But it was organic.
He paused, unsure for a moment of what to do, but looking at its pained expression, he made a choice.
Carefully, he reached out and took the organic from the seat and gave an order for the others that were staring in shock at the situation.
“Take it” Was all he said.
They obeyed, but still darted confused and nervous stares to the organic in his servo.
He couldn't blame them, as he, too, took a look at it.
The moment he took it, it shrunk on his servo, then smiled and passed out, the only indicator that it was still alive was the movement on its chassis.
He pursed
his derma, a frown forming before turning to leave.
He needs to see Ratchet.