Anniversary Challenge 3/7
Title: The Beginnings of Death
Prompt: Lost
Verse: G1 AU
Rating: T
Warnings: None?
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Minor Cameo by Mirage and Optimus
Pairings: none (foreshadowing if you peer through a magnifying glass)
Summary: "I'm not lost, just turned around is all."
Notes: Written for the 2014 Prowl/Jazz Community Anniversary Challenge
===Iacon Autobot HQ===
==Early Civil War==
It is the flicker of monochrome colour from the edge of his optic band that lets Mirage pin him to the training mat, faceplate first, servos wrapped tight around his wrist as the slim noble mech leverages his arm into an awkward position, prime for ripping it right off his shoulder.
He yields breathlessly, vents chuffing air, winded by the encounter, his processor rattled from the jarring throw and pin. Their commander cackles, waving him off the mat to sit with the rest of the recuperating rookie saboteurs that had faced the smug looking noble.
He twists his helm to the side, visor alighting on one mech whose back is turned, graceful doorwings proud and high, not a flicker or a twitch to be seen. The black and white distraction is talking to the Prime as he mindlessly rises, ignorant of the multitude of optics now watching as he approaches the oblivious mech.
"Prowl?" He asks, voice trembling with confusion. He doesn't know this mech, has never seen him in his entire span of creation and yet the name rises unbidden into his vocaliser and out of his mouth.
The helm crested with a chevron the colour of fire turns to him, optics so cold and empty lock with his visor, a kaleidoscope of colours flicker, supernatural in their origin as even the Prime raises an optic ridge in interest.
The mech, Prowl, fully turns, facing the mech that has crossed his path and lets a smirk tug at his faceplate, barely there, a twitch at the corner of his silver lip-plates. The Rookie can't help but think that the smirk is familiar even as his comrades shudder around him and turn away back to their duties, something primal in their sparks telling them to run and hide. "Hello again, Little Jazz." Comes the rumble, frosty and monotone, almost dead.
It is the voice that does it perhaps, or the vaguely familiar faceplate and manner with which this disguised creature holds itself. The realisation of who this mech is comes in the most simple of words of reasoning and circumstance that bound them together all those vorns, no, lifetimes ago. "I'm not lost."
And Death itself smiles.
===The Wastelands===
==Many Centi-Vorns Ago==
He was a sparkling, just on the cusp of being classed as a youngling when he first met the personification of Deactivation, or Death as the scholars of the future would abbreviate it.
It was a turbulent time on Cybertron, a mere four centi-vorns since the organic aliens had been defeated and driven from the mechanical planet. Families starved in the poorer districts as a singular Prime and his advisors fought to stabilise a small civil unrest and bring energon to every mech, femme and sparkling.
The black and white sparkling had been stolen in the night cycle from the family home, dumped in the middle of the Wastelands when he accidentally toppled from the wagon, abandoned upon the culling ground of Cybertronian and Quintesson alike in a final desperate battle. Frames and corpses still littered the ground in areas, clumps of decaying organic bones and flesh tainting the air arid and poisonous, draped over a poor unfortunate freedom fighter to wounded to struggle on.
A single mech walked this plain, a black and white mirror to the scared youngling perched on a rock, curled in on itself and weeping for his Creators. A fiery crest, horns disguised as a chevron heralded the creature as old as the first mortal. A spear of translucent crystal, shimmering with an otherworldly energy was clasped in long talon-like claws that could tear chestplates apart like silken ribbons.
The being jumped when the mortal sparkling cried out for him to pause in relief, doorwings flaring out as the ancient one spun on his heel, spear singing, serrated point stopping mere micro inches from the throat cabling of the little one.
The Sparkling yelped, a high squawking noise that Death snorted at as the tiny mortal rolled off his perch and onto its aft by the immortal's pedes. "Mortal." He growled, voice deep and scratchy from hardly ever being used, holding undertones of being both frosty and incredulous when the blue visored child glared up at him, defiance in its demeanour. "How do you see me?"
"I'm not blinded, nor are my optics cracked." The sparkling growled like a cornered glitch mouse, wearily eyeing the glowing crystal javelin that now pointed back at the sky. "I can see you as any other can!"
Death does not reply, optics flashing a rainbow of colours that examine the child's spark, thrumming fast in fright beneath the tender infant chestplates, "You are a Gifted." The immortal hissed in realisation, finding a perfect flaw in the youngling' cerulean spark, his glossa whistling the air through his pointed denta like a rattle snake shakes its tail. "Now what would a little talented Bratling like you be doing out here and all alone, I wonder? Are you lost?"
"I'm not a Bratling," the small one replied in offence, shuffling to its pedes before it bowed shallowly before the creature. "Carrier said its rude not to introduce yourself." The black and white youngling said guiltily as of just remembering his lessons, "My Designation is Jazz, what's yours?"
The mech tilted its helm and blinked, a frown crossing its features before it looked away as if he was scanning the horizon, "I do not have one. Deactivation will have to suffice."
"How about Prowl?" Jazz immediately offered enthusiastically, almost as if it were a sparkling game, "It was the name of my Cyber-cat before she ran away. She liked to creep up on mechs too!"
"I do not creep, I stalk." The reaper said imperiously, before realising that he was trying to reason with a youngling, "You can't just name me like a common animal!"
But Jazz would forever from that point on call Death, Prowl, if only just to spite the cold, lonely reaper of sparks.
Prowl turned away from the sparkling to survey his broken kingdom of the decaying dead, talons clenched ever tighter around his iconic spear that ripped sparks from their frames with a single throw, in frustration. "So how did you become lost?" He finally asked, optics tracing a distant mountain, probably a part of the Manganese Range he speculated.
Jazz frowned with a huff, puffing his cheeks and looking away while crossing his arms almost as if he were embarrassed. "And I'm not lost, just... Turned around a little is all. I'll get back, just you see."
The Praxian let out a dark chuckle, like the rumble of thunderclouds signalling acid rain, slamming the butt of his ghostly weapon into the dirt in his amusement. "I can appreciate a zeal for life. It makes a spark so much more... Satisfying... to collect at the end." Deactivation smiled, terrible and all things wrong in that simple curve of his lip plates, "So I shall humour you, little Jazz. Where do you wish to travel?"
"You mean you will take me back to my Creators, Prowl?!" The sparkling sniffed, hope flickering in his optic band.
"I suppose I will, IF you need to go in the same direction. You will probably deactivate on the way there and I get a free spark for my... Valiant effort..." Death sniffed, rolling his optics, sub spacing what looked to be a data pad full of names, turning his attention to his paperwork.
He didn't however, expect a small bundle of parts to slam into his legs, short arms half encircling his waist as the sparkling hugged him, fat tears of coolant dripping from its faceplate. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" The visored mechling cried, nuzzling Death's stomach plating with a purr.
Prowl bore the hug with confusion, the data pad of names in his servo that he had almost dropped in Jazz's sudden burst of affection now ignored in favour of staring down at the happy youngling clutching at him. "You are a strange one. Little Jazz." He finally said, re-sub spacing the pad and resting a taloned servo on the child's back strut, in an almost protective action. "When all is said and done, I will have to remember you."
"I'll remember you too." The sparkling declared, looking up with a bright grin, literally smiling Death in the face. "I promise I'll remember you forever!"