Author's Notes: I'm quite interested in the Prowl/Barricade idea where reformatting had taken place to turn the SIC of the Autobots into a ruthless Decepticon. This fic is meant to take place after the 2007 movie, several weeks after the battle in Mission City and all that.

As for Jazz, I'm sorry to say that I'm one of those who would have preferred him to be revived. If you strongly oppose this, please feel free to skip to another fic, though one of the alternate endings may work around it.

This is attempt no. 1 on what I hope turns out to be a decent (if possible, angst) fic.

I do not own Transformers.

Message

Barricade was dying.

Prowl knew it, he no longer had that same choking control over his body. The mental chains that had trapped Prowl alone in a dark corner of his mind, for far too long, had weakened. It was probably the sudden release of pressure and fading of Barricade's presence that had awoken him. Had it not, Prowl was certain he would have been lost forever.

"You won't make it."

He tried to regain control of his body, which had been modified and altered to suit the Decepticons and taken on a dangerous look, but was still, in the end, his body. He had to take back what was his, to get back to –

"Do you really think they'll take you back?"

Even at the brink of death, Barricade continued to suppress Prowl, raining down on his hopes. Mentally, Prowl frowned as he fought harder, trying to overcome his intruder and push him back.

"Pathetic Autobot, give it up. Your body's too damaged to even move, you'll die in a few hours. Even if you contact your so-called friends, do you honestly think they'll just forget everything and welcome you back with open arms?"

"Shut up!" The emotional control Prowl was known for was crumbling.

"Your persistence is useless. You won't get out, you won't go back and you will die here with me."

"I said, SHUT UP!"

In a secluded clearing in a dense forest, the giant figure of Barricade's once-powerful frame lay sprawled on the ground, still and unmoving.

The sparking limp metal frame suddenly jolted, as if an electric current had passed through. Pale blue optics flickered on as Prowl took control. Attempting to stand, his severely damaged frame creaked and groaned as he moved. He could not even stand up straight before collapsing back to the ground, holding onto a tree for support.

"What did I tell you? Forget it, we'll both rust on this organic mud ball, lost and forgotten."

Enraged, Prowl shakily got up in a burst of energy and slammed himself against a nearby rocky cliff face as forcefully as he could, aiming his chest plates at a protruding rock. The excruciating pain that followed surged through his frame, adding to the numerous wounds from the earlier battle. He forced back a scream, and rerouted all the pain to his spark and processor.

He never heard Barricade's voice again.

Slumping ungracefully, Prowl slid down into a sitting position. One part of him cursed himself for the sheer stupidity of his actions which could have deactivated him for good. His wounds were critical, Ironhide had not lost his touch it seemed. Bullet holes and dents littered his armour, and he was notified of many internal injuries and bleeding as warnings flashed across his CPU.

He hated to admit it, but Barricade was right. His internal repair system would not be able to fix all this. He was losing too much energon from a deep gash on his side, courtesy of Optimus's blade. Stasis lock, or even permanent deactivation, was imminent. How Barricade had even managed to escape was beyond him.

Gazing up to the darkening sky, Prowl began thinking of his next course of action. He could try contacting the Autobots, or go to their base. Barricade's memory files contained the coordinates, but what could he do? From the memories of the earlier battle, he realised that the Autobots would not hold back the next time they saw him. He could try to explain, when Jazz saw him, he would recognise him, he would –

Would he?

Who's to say that they would forgive him? To accept that it was Barricade who had taken over, and now that he was dead, Prowl had come back? To return to them, receive their welcome and forgiveness, after – after...

Memories of the war Prowl had missed flooded his processor.

He had killed mercilessly, his comrades, his friends. He had laughed at the horror and pain on their faces as he clawed out and extinguished their sparks. He had tortured them, taken pleasure in hearing their anguished screams and cries for mercy, fought against Bumblebee, attacked a defenceless human –

It kept coming, memory after memory, sorrow after pain. Prowl's frame shuddered under the night sky as for once, reputation be damned, he cried. Tears flowed freely down his faceplates, unable to stop. Not that he really bothered.

There was no way back. He had done too much, too much to be forgiven and accepted back. It wasn't the Decepticon's fault for reprogramming him, it was he who had been weak. He didn't deserve to go back, he didn't deserve to be forgiven.

He didn't deserve to live.

Jazz...

His spark ached to see him one more time, but the thought of looking at the hate and disgust in his optics and coming face to face with his gun aimed at him was too much to bear. The tears continued to flow.

Mate or not, the saboteur would probably never forgive him for all the lives he'd taken, all the evil things he had done as Barricade...

He probably loathed him with his spark.

Prowl sat in silence through the night, lost in his memories and sorrow. Small rivers of energon leaked from his wounds and into the forest as his optics flickered off and on.

Not long now, he thought.

Come dawn, he would be dead, and he deserved it. His bond with Jazz had been shattered when Barricade had overridden him and attacked it, so he would not feel any pain of loss.

Jazz...

He thought of Jazz again. He wanted to see him, talk to him, touch him, embrace him...

Never again.

It was too late.

Perhaps a message would suffice, if they ever found his body.

He was getting weaker by the second, but Prowl raised his clawed hand and carved into a patch of soft soil next to him with great effort. His hand collapsed halfway, but he thought of Jazz, and continued writing.

Finished, his hand fell back to the ground as his optics flickered off.

"Jazz..." he whispered, as everything went black.

Author's Notes 2: Okay, that was the general plot. 2 different epilogues should be up next. As I've said, I'm not so good at narrating proper openings and endings, so here's the background idea: Barricade and the Autobots got into a fight, he managed to escape but was severely damaged. Hiding out in a forest, Barricade's so weak that Prowl woke up.

Alright, that's the main gist of it.