A/N: This one-shot is based off the song "All I Need" by Gregorian, originally by Within Temptation. Listen to that as you read this; otherwise it won't make much sense. I don't own that song or the Transformers. :( There's a list of time measurements as told in my stories on my bio if you haven't read anything by me before. I had no idea this would turn out so dark, lol. It seems like everything I write turns out that way, even though I'm a very optimistic person in real life. Anyway, please R&R. It makes my day. And thanks for reading! ^.^

The Second in Command of the Autobots had been charging at Barricade's sturdy form, prepared to pummel the mech to a pulp, when he felt it: a small twinge at his spark, followed by a burning sensation that felt as if his life force was trying to tear itself into small pieces. He fell to his knees in mid-clash, his servo over his spark. Barricade sneered down at him. "What's wrong now, Prowl?" he asked. "Your precious Optimus in pain?"

Prowl looked up, disgusted, through the pain. "No," he said. While it was true that he and his commander were close, they saw each other as brothers, not lovers. A sudden pain pierced him as if it were an energon sword. "Primus!" He looked out of the corner of his optic as he noticed Ratchet's bright yellow paint job rushing towards a downed mech. His spark skipped a beat when he recognized a delicate, light gray door-wing.

His world seemed to collapse around him. The clashing of metal and sweet tang of gunpowder faded. Even Barricade seemed to have retreated. Prowl's pedes seemed to run across the battlefield of their own accord. Then, just as suddenly as the pain arrived, it left. The SIC was left spinning as one of his bonds blinked out and left behind a dark gape. "What happened?" he exclaimed. The medic inclined his head towards his superior officer.

"Skywarp shot him," Ratchet said. "Ironhide saw it happen."

"And he didn't do anything about it?" Prowl frowned, intent on punishing his subordinate.

"No, he definitely did something about it." The medic barked out a laugh. "You can bet that he'll be in a lot of pain for the significant part of an orn or so." He glared at his commanding officer. "Now, with all due respect, get back on the battlefield. Bluestreak will need repairs and I can't get him back to base with you venting down my neck. I'm sure the others need back-up."

Prowl walked away without another word, listening to the comms he had ignored. Sure enough, the others had been calling him repeatedly to find out why he had run away from the fight. After he listened to his men, he fought half-heartedly, in a daze. Optimus watched him in worry between blows against Megatron, ignoring all insults that his brother had to say. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the battle ended when Megatron called for his men to retreat.

"Prowl?" a voice asked the Second in Command in the aftermath. He turned towards the voice and punched its owner in the face-plates. "Prowl, it's me. It's Optimus!"

That knocked the former enforcer out of his confused state. "Prime?" he asked, shaking his helm once to clear his processors as he saw his commander with a new dent in his helm. "What- What happened?" He blinked. "Primus! Bluestreak!"

"Unfortunately, Bluestreak withstood much damage," the supreme commander said with both servos on his hips. He shifted his weight to his right side, sliding one servo off his hip. "Ratchet has taken him back to base; however, it is too soon to tell whether or not he will make it."

Prowl was silent for a moment as he looked over the blackened grass of the battlefield, taking in the information. Finally his mouth opened slightly and he returned his gaze to the Prime. "What! Primus..." The SIC allowed himself to be led by Optimus's guiding servo off the battlefield and back to the Ark. He could feel his comrades' gazes burn holes in his back as they passed through the crowded rec room, but he no longer cared. All he cared about was getting his younger brother back. Optimus tightened his servo around Prowl's shoulder in a protective squeeze as he led his subordinate towards the med bay. Smokescreen, Prowl's other brother, was already waiting for them.

"Thanks for returning Prowl safely, Prime," Smokescreen said as he looked up at the sound of the approaching pedes.

"You're welcome," the commander said, and settled in for a long wait against the glaring orange back wall. Prowl just stood there, numb. Other mechs, the twins in particular, claimed that he was emotionless. However, that wasn't true; he just didn't often allow himself show emotion. The only time he ever did was when it came to his younger brothers. Bluestreak he had practically raised himself when he had returned to the remnants of his native Praxus and found the youngling shivering against a column, blackened with soot. The only way he recognized him was by the spark ties between himself and the youngling; the only other time that he had felt that same type of connection was when he was with Smokescreen. The age difference between Prowl and the Bluestreak was so vast that they had an almost creator-creation relationship, and were tight-knit. As such, the Second in Command was extremely overprotective.

Prowl's mind wouldn't let him leave the battlefield. His battle computer had onlined clicks ago and he kept running through each move he made in the battle. What would have happened if he hadn't cornered Barricade? If he ran to give Bluestreak backup against the seekers? He shouldn't have let his youngest brother go into battle, the supreme commander's orders be slagged. Prowl brought his helm to his servos with a muted clang, which drew his commander's attention to him. "Prowl, is everything all right?"

The Second in Command raised his helm from his servos, now sporting a small dent above his right optic where he had brought the heel of his servo to his face. "I'm fine, Prime," he said in his soft, calm voice. Only those closest to him could see how hard he was trying to keep his wits together and how he was failing.

"You are not," Optimus said. He grabbed Prowl's right servo in his left and drew the former enforcer closer to him. "I can tell these things, Prowl, and I know that you're hurting." Prowl looked at him for a second at this accusation and shut his optics, letting out a trembling breath. He began to keen. Smokescreen sent love and understanding through their bond in an attempt to comfort him.

"What- What will happen if he...?" Prowl couldn't finish his thought, instead crying harder. Optimus rested his hand on Prowl's left shoulder.

"If he does offline, he will have done so in fighting for what he believed in," he said, "and he believed in you, Prowl. He will always be remembered for who he is: a mech with a beautiful spark." Prowl only sobbed harder at this explanation. "We all love him. If we lose him today, it will be a horrible loss. However, it would be best to hold out hope. Ratchet is good at what he does; you know that, Prowl."

Prowl blindly gripped at Optimus's right servo as he sobbed, and Optimus let out a rather unmechly squeak. The second in command ignored him, lost in his own world. Bluestreak, he knew, was dead by now. The only reason why Ratchet could be in there was because he would be preparing the youngling for his funeral. Otherwise, why would they still be out here instead of seeing him?

When Prowl had first found Bluestreak, it had been like the world was reborn for the older mech. His little brother was small and cheerful, barely out of his sparkling frame. He entertained all on the Ark with his constant chatter, keeping everyone in high spirits. Even Ironhide loved the little guy. The only time when Prowl had to worry was when the older twins had convinced him to participate in one of their hair-brained pranks, which never tended to turn out well. Everyone noticed a change in the second in command after Bluestreak had come into his life. At first it was only whispered about in the halls. Then the mechs hand begun to outright congratulate him on his better mood.

Needless to say, Prowl wasn't the happiest of mechs after that happened. Anyone who continued to congratulate him generally ended up in the brig or doing unsavory chores such as cleaning the wash-racks around the Ark.

Optimus brought his second in command in closer for a hug, and the second in command practically fell limp in his commander's arms. Optimus stiffened at the added weight. Smokescreen raised a curious optic brow at the embrace and his commander tilted his helm in a questioning gesture.

"He's dead now, isn't he?" Optimus brought a hand to the back of Prowl's helm, cradling his helm against the Prime's shoulder.

Optimus's response was lost to the mech. Now that Bluestreak was gone, there really wasn't anything to live for anymore. He wouldn't be able to do any more work; it would haunt him. He couldn't be an Autobot anymore; he had let Bluestreak die, among hundreds of others over the vorns. He couldn't see Smokescreen; it would remind him too much of Bluestreak. He couldn't live with himself anymore; he had failed his baby brother.

He had failed.

The voices of deceased Autobot comrades floated around his mind, whispering harsh words in his audio receptors. There were so many of his comrades killed in the fights over the vorns...and he had failed so many of them. He shut his optics tight, wanting out of this nightmare as the voices continued to accuse him of various crimes. With a resigned sigh, he transformed his arm.

Bluestreak gazed into the distance at the trees outside the Ark, unseeing. His older brother's servo rested on his shoulder protectively and gave it a squeeze. Optimus finished speaking and returned to the line of mechs. He stood on the other side of Bluestreak and took his servo in his own as the bells tolled. "It will be all right, Bluestreak," he murmured to the youngling. "He loved you very much."

"I know he did, sir," Bluestreak said quietly.

His eldest brother loved him too much.