AN: This is dark. It is partially based of some of my thoughts and conversations during one of the depressive stages I had. (Including the part about universe trying to correct the mistake of letting me live.) Prowl may seem flat, however this was an attempt to characterize how everything feels to me when I get depressed. Anyways thanks for reading.

Angsty, Prowl, Screw up was the prompt from mmouse15 on LJ.

Angsty

Prowl stepped out into the desert night, and glanced around. No one had seen Bluestreak since he had been released from the medbay. It had been a brutal battle, and everyone had been hurt. Bluestreak had had his door wings blown off, and had been dropped into stasis lock. Thankfully he had been out of it long enough for Ratchet to repair the damage. Which brought him back to the present. No one had seen Bluestreak since he had been released, almost a day ago.

He hadn't been in his quarters, the lounge, with the twins, or any of the other obvious places. No one had been able to find him as they searched the Ark. Finally someone had come to Prowl. The other Datsun had thought for a moment before walking out into the night.

His gaze settled on the gray mech sitting absolutely still against the Ark, in the one section just big enough for a mech or two to sit without being seen on Red Alert's cameras. Prowl watched for a moment. With a sigh, the tactician walked over and sat beside the gunner; Bluestreak didn't so much as twitch.

"It is not your fault Bluestreak."

The mech ignored him. Prowl sighed again. "Bluestreak look at me," he ordered.

Bluestreak growled, but turned defiant optics at his superior. Despite the glare, all Prowl saw was the pain. "Bluestreak you know it was not you're fault. Our wings give us a significant amount of sensory input. Any of us would have off lined from the pain."

Bluestreak looked away, staring back out into the desert. "Maybe I should have just died," he mumbled.

Prowl cast a sidelong glance at his companion, waiting patiently for him to continue. The silence stretched on, and Prowl was beginning to believe that he would have to probe further to get Bluestreak to talk.

"Sometimes I think Primus is trying to correct the mistake that was made when I wasn't killed, when the Decepticons razed my home. I mean I've had how many close encounters? How many times should I have died? Maybe I wasn't supposed to have lived. I'm slagging useless in melee, and a total screw up with anything other shooting or talking. Pit maybe everyone would be better off if I was dead. Then I wouldn't be talking all the time and distracting everyone. Or needing to be rescued." He leaned his head back against the hull of the Ark, staring blankly into the night sky. "I'm terrified every single time we go into battle. Frag. I can't even shoot to kill most of the time. How ironic is that? A sharpshooter who can't kill." He let out a bitter laugh.

Prowl was silent.

Bluestreak drew his knees closer to his body, and hid his face. "I'm tired," he mumbled, voice muffled. "So tired. Tired of this stupid war. Tired of being scared. Of watching my friends get hurt. Of being weak. Of not being good enough. Tired of ...everything. It's just not worth it. There is no point."

If he could have, Prowl was sure that Bluestreak would have been crying. As it was he could only sit and watch as the sharpshooter shook with suppressed emotion.

"And what of those who need you?" Prowl finally asked.

Bluestreak shrugged.

"The twins. Jazz," he pressed. "Me."

"You don't need me. No one needs me. You have Jazz and the twins have each other. I'm just a stupid third wheel."

"That's not true Bluestreak. Many bots would not be alive if not for you. The twins especially might not be here, if not for you."

Another shrug. "Anyone can shoot a gun."

"But not everyone can be calm enough to shoot as accurately as you do."

His laughter was full of self loathing. "That doesn't matter if I can't kill. Every time I shoot to disable rather then kill, I leave one more enemy to get back up. One more to get back up and hurt my friends. Maybe I should just kill myself. Get it over with and save the 'Cons the trouble. "

"Don't ever let me hear you say that again Bluestreak."

"Why not? It's true."

"You're a valuable member of the team. It would hurt everone if your were to die." He paused unsure if he should continue, before pressing on. "Not wanting to kill is not a weakness. That sort of thinking is why we battle the Decepticons. We value life; you know that."

Another non-committal shrug. The silence stretched out, Prowl unable to figure out an approach that would not put the other Datsun on the defensive, and Bluestreak unwilling to let go of his pain. So he sat beside the other, ready to listen, watching the desert before them.