Optimus Prime was perched atop a hill with a view of the ocean and a broad, dune-covered desert plain. Behind him, his comrades remained motionless in silent vigilance. The temperature dropped quickly, and the sun hung low in the sky, making the air feel cold and damp. Except for a few small patches of oasis, the desert extended as far as the eye could see. A range of mountains could be seen off in the distance. On any other day, it might have appeared serene, but today it was filled with melancholy. Cybertron had a custom of marking a warrior's death, and today, despite being on another planet, which was no different.
His optics were fixed on the horizon, his expression stoic in mourning for his fallen comrade and close friend. Beside him sat his oldest comrade, Ironhide. The two warriors were sitting shoulder to shoulder as they watched the setting sun sink behind the tall mountains in the distance. At least it supplied some protection for them as they sat in silence, staring off at the sunset. Ironhide knew that Optimus Prime needed this moment; he knew how much pain it caused him when one of his comrades fell. In all the times he saw Optimus Prime grieve, he rarely let emotion get the better of him; he always kept a calm composure, keeping himself steady and strong. Even though Optimus had always been a strong warrior, he still felt terrible after his friend died in battle. No matter how strong he tried to appear, he also felt guilt and shame in his soul. The two friends had known each other for eons, and Ironhide understood Optimus better than anyone.
It was hard watching a warrior fall. It was agonizing to watch someone you could have considered a brother die, knowing that you could have stopped it. Ironhide had lost so many comrades during the war that he couldn't count the number any longer. But this battle felt different somehow—more personal. He looked at Optimus and noticed how grief and sadness etched deeper lines into his friend and commander's face, the same sorrow reflecting in his optics. That wasn't something Ironhide was used to seeing in Optimus anymore. His old friend was always full of cheer and optimism; there was always a glint of determination and pride in those blue eyes. Now, his friend looked so downcast; it hurt to look at him, and it made him furious to see his friend in such a state.
"You can't just sit here brooding," said Ironhide, shaking his head to snap himself out of his thoughts. "Come on, let's go back to base."
Prime shook his helm. "I don't want to go back yet; it's my fault he died. If only-" He broke off, taking a deep breath before continuing, "If only I had arrived sooner... or maybe..."
Ironhide frowned as he heard the sentence. He had never known Optimus to have any doubts about anything, including the success of a mission. His leader was always confident, always thinking of his safety and well-being. Seeing Prime so distraught disturbed him, and his anger rose within him.
"You're blaming yourself?" He spat, "This is NOT your fault, Optimus! You are our leader, and we follow you no matter what. We know that you are the fittest to lead us; do you think we would follow you to the edge of the universe otherwise?"
"But—" said Optimus weakly.
"Stop!" roared Ironhide, interrupting his companion.
The warrior was suddenly in front of Optimus; he stared right into the abyss of sadness that filled the commander's optics and said, "Look me straight in the eye and tell me that you blame yourself for this."
Optimus stared into his friend's burning optics for several seconds. The Autobot commander swore he saw some sort of struggle in the other's mind as he held his gaze for several seconds, before finally relenting and lowering his gaze sadly.
"No," Prime replied.
"Then shut your mouth and listen to me; you've done well in this whole war, haven't you?" Sure, you've lost plenty of good men along the way, and so have all of us. That happens in a war, Prime. You lose people you care about all the time. It happens, and there's nothing you can do about it."
Prime nodded, his optics bleak as he considered what Ironhide had said. "I know," he replied quietly, "but I still wish I could have stopped them."
Ironhide sighed as he realized how deeply the commander had taken his loss. "Listen, Optimus, what happened wasn't your fault, and you sure as hell shouldn't be blaming yourself for what happened to Jazz! None of us blame you; you're our leader, and nothing will change that. So shut your fragging trap and stop talking like that." He pulled away from Optimus as he finished his speech, standing up once again and looking towards the horizon. The Autobot glanced over his shoulder at Optimus once again and said, "Now come on, we need to make sure everyone else knows what's going on. I don't want to leave them hanging after your little stunt."
"You might be right," Optimus admitted reluctantly.
He rose slowly, stretching his stiff frame, before following Ironhide to the ship. He scanned the area briefly as he walked past his comrades and soldiers. The sight before him made him happy to see — every single member of the Autobot crew was there, waiting patiently with bated breath. Optimus stopped in his tracks when he saw Ratchet sitting alone in one corner of the camp. The medic was slumped against the side of a rocky outcrop, his eyes closed as if trying to recharge but failing miserably.
Optimus approached the medic cautiously, his concern clear in his eyes. He was about to speak when Ratchet opened his eyes and met his gaze.
"I'm okay; don't worry," said the medic in response to Optimus's concern, giving him a soft smile. "Just a couple of scrapes. Nothing major."
Optimus nodded, relief clear in his posture. His gaze shifted across the group, pausing for a moment to notice Wheeljack sitting near Prowl.
Wheeljack was hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, as he stared into space with vacant optics. When Wheeljack caught Optimus's stare, the scientist gave him a reassuring smile and winked, letting Optimus know that he was fine. He was glad to hear that Wheeljack seemed to be doing alright, but he didn't like the look in Wheeljack's eyes. Something was bothering him and judging by the haunted look on his friend's face, it was something important. He knew Wheeljack wasn't the type to share his problems or emotions with anyone, but he wished he could offer some sort of comfort to his friend, especially now, in this time of despair and sorrow.
Optimus turned away from the scientist and walked over to stand beside Prowl. Prowl gazed into space, his face devoid of all emotion. The tactician's frame radiated sadness and anguish, and the sight pained Optimus. He wanted to say something comforting to Prowl, but he couldn't think of anything. Instead, he simply placed a hand on Prowl's shoulder and waited until Prowl returned the gesture. After a few moments of silent understanding between the two, Prowl spoke, "What happened, Optimus?"
The question was difficult to answer and meant a lot coming from the usually quiet and reserved tactician. But the words were necessary, and Optimus took a deep breath before speaking.
"Jazz...he's gone..." He started, "I should have seen this coming; I told him that going on a scouting mission was dangerous... I knew it was dangerous, but he insisted and went out there anyway. We had a battle plan, and we had practiced it so many times that it was flawless. Then the shot rang out—we didn't see it coming—and Jazz got hit. He collapsed to the ground and lay motionless... I couldn't get to him fast enough. I didn't have any idea it would happen. I thought..." He trailed off, not sure whether he could continue.
Prowl listened silently as Optimus recounted the events surrounding Jazz's death. His spark ached as he heard all the details, though he felt grateful that Optimus had spared no detail. Prowl had fought alongside them both in many battles and knew how much the warrior struggled to recount this incident, even though it was constantly replayed in his mind.
"I killed him, Prowl. I failed him," muttered the Autobot leader quietly, breaking the silence.
"Hey now," began Prowl, putting a careful hand on top of Optimus's arm, "you did everything you could. No one blames you for this. There's no reason to punish yourself for what happened."
"Yes, but it was my fault, wasn't it?" asked Optimus.
"If you look at it objectively," said Prowl. "It was all an accident. How could it have been your fault? Even if you had been late to pick up the convoy, which you were not, that does not mean it was your fault. Besides, Jazz had already sent you a message saying that he was almost done with the job. I know you would have come back as soon as you received the transmission; you wouldn't have left Jazz there without getting help. If anyone was to blame for this, it was the Decepticons. They were the ones who attacked the convoy, not you."
"But I should have been faster," said Optimus, "and I should have been able to save him. I should have been able to protect him."
"And you did protect him, Optimus," the tactician replied with an assertive tone. "Jazz is dead, but there is no way he blames you for what happened. Just because you failed to get help in time doesn't mean that it was your fault. As far as I'm concerned, you are more than capable of protecting anyone under your command."
"But I was supposed to keep the convoy safe, and that meant bringing Jazz back," argued Optimus.
"Optimus, we all make mistakes. None of us are perfect, but we always try to learn from our errors. In the end, we are all just as flawed as any other organic life form," said Prowl softly. "All we can do is improve and make our peace with the fact that Jazz isn't ever coming back."
The Autobot leader nodded and took a small step back from Prowl, his expression still heavy. "Alright." He agreed. He knew that the tactician was right, and he knew that his words would help bring him some semblance of calm. Still, the knowledge that Prowl had accepted the situation hurt. It wasn't that he disagreed with Prowl's logic, and he certainly felt bad for the fact that Jazz was gone forever, but he just didn't want to accept it. It made him feel guilty, somehow. He felt responsible for Jazz's death, just like the others felt responsible for their losses when they died. For someone who valued justice more than anything else, the guilt that consumed him made him question his morality and the validity of his beliefs.
He glanced over at Wheeljack once again and noticed how his friend's visor had dimmed, his gaze drifting towards the ground sadly. He shook his head slightly, trying to shake the thoughts away before they clouded his mind and caused his processors to overload, preventing him from spiralling down a mental black hole and losing control of his emotions. He wasn't the only one to notice how withdrawn and sad Wheeljack looked, even from where they were standing.
Everyone in the group knew that Wheeljack's friendship with Jazz was special, and despite his indifferent exterior, Wheeljack was deeply affected by the loss.
As his friends continued to discuss Jazz's death among themselves, Wheeljack remained silent. There was nothing else he could say, not even his thoughts. He knew Jazz well, better than anyone. He had lost too many friends during his lifetime to count, and he had learned to live with it. He had learned to cope with the loss of those he loved and cared about. But Jazz was one-of-a-kind. He was Wheeljack's best friend and partner. He was everything to the scientist—his inspiration, his very life force. His laughter echoed in his memories, the sound bringing with it warmth and joy. Jazz was his family. Without him, Wheeljack realised he would fall apart. Jazz was everything, and he wasn't sure what he would do without his constant, light-hearted teasing. Without Jazz laughing and joking around, Wheeljack would go insane.
There wasn't enough happiness in the world to replace the bright, warm presence Jazz had brought to his life. And now the bot was gone, ripped from Wheeljack's grasp so quickly and violently. Wheeljack wanted to cry. He didn't care about their surroundings anymore—about Optimus and the others. The loss of Jazz was far more important to him.