Starcrossed

by Gatekat

G1 AU, Jazz/Prowl, Jazz/Vortex Jazz is the second creation of a Noble House that's fallen on hard times. He's promised as the subordinate mate to a wealthy commoner in exchange for a great deal of credits. It's only when he meets his future mate that things get bad.

53. The End of an Era

Starcrossed 53: The End of an Era
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"You're brooding," Sideswipe nuzzled Mirage. Even after three overloads, the noble, the last noble, was thoughtful rather than tired.

"Just thinking," Mirage murmured, nuzzling back. It got a sleepy grumble from Sunstreaker, who was draped across Mirage, head on his chest. His optics reluctantly powered back on and he lifted his head enough to look up at his twin and their mate.

"About?" Sideswipe prodded.

Mirage hummed. "What it will be like, at the end," he said quietly, his fingers playing over Sideswipe's sensor horns. "I don't think Jazz and Prowl will be here for much longer. Not with the economy the way it is. And Praxus is thriving."

It wasn't the statement so much as the sub-harmonics that caught their attention and abruptly both twins were wide awake.

"Why check out when everything's finally getting good?" Sideswipe demanded, suddenly afraid.

"We're not that old!" Sunstreaker objected, all too aware that he and Sideswipe were Jazz's age for all practical purposes at this stage.

"The only reason they've stayed this long is to make everything good, do what they can to ensure that it won't happen again," Mirage said with a soothing trill to his anxious mates. He wasn't done with life, wasn't done with them. "Now that it is ... I think they're fading. What would you have done, if you'd lost me in the final battles?"

"Torn every Con we could find apart until someone managed to stop us," Sunstreaker said simply.

"And then?" Mirage asked simply, pressing his hand to his yellow lover's face. "When you were still alive at the end of it? No one could have stopped you then, not in your prime."

"Some mechs could have," Sideswipe said quietly. "Some fights we wouldn't win."

"But if we did? Jazz would have put us down when we turned on Prime, or him, or Prowl, whoever was most obviously to blame," Sunstreaker said.

"Yeah, even in battle we did so well because we avoided the fights we had poor odds of winning unless we really had to take it on," Sideswipe murmured. "We fought smarter than most gave us credit for."

Mirage kissed the top of a single sensor horn while he rubbed a helm fin. "I know," he said with an indulgent smile. Almost everyone underestimated their intelligence, but he knew that Sideswipe kept records in his processor that rivaled what most small businesses needed several external drives to record. Sunstreaker kept fewer real records, but had immense processing power, much of it devoted to visual input and motor control at least as fine as the best surgeons. "What I'm going for is ... even if they could physically live longer, I don't think their sparks want to. They were alive to destroy the Decepticons, then to rebuild Praxus, then to ensure that it would never fall into the same tragedy. They've done that."

The twins looked at each other over Mirage, the bond humming with sensations and half thoughts that Mirage only managed to catch part of.

"Surviving for the sake of surviving isn't worth it for them," Sideswipe murmured in a form of comprehension.

"Prowl's old too," Sunstreaker added thoughtfully. "He was old for his type when Jazz was created. Maybe maintenance only goes so far?"

"I've never asked," Mirage said quietly. "I'm sure that must be part of it. He hated to let anyone besides Ratchet and Wheeljack touch his frame, now that they're gone..." Wordlessly he shifted and all three moved flawlessly together until the twins were curled around him and he had his face tucked against Sunstreaker's neck, as Sideswipe protected him from behind. "I don't want to go, not yet. We're not ready. They are, and I'm just wondering when we will be, and what it will be like."

"Quiet," Sideswipe murmured. "It'll be quiet, peaceful, all the things you like."

"Like how Memor went," Sunstreaker suggested. "Just sort of shut down and not boot up again."

Mirage hummed. "I'd like to last long enough to make sure this Prime is doing well. See out the territory unification."

"I'm sure you will," Sideswipe said easily, believing what he said. After all they'd survived and seen-four Primes, the Great War, the new Golden Age and all their personal trials-it was easy to believe they would choose when and how they'd go out.

"Yeah, Galini's about as different from Rodimus as Rodimus from Prime," Sideswipe chuckled to himself. "Though Galini's a lot like Prime."

"We'll be some of the last mecha who have to translate 'Prime' to 'Optimus Prime' when talking to others," Sunstreaker said randomly.

"We already are," Sideswipe pointed out. "Not that many left who fought in the war on either side."

"Jazz, Prowl, us, Whiplash, Blaster, Soundwave, Starscream," Mirage recited the very short list. "...Wow."

"Yeah, we're the only three that don't remember Sentinel well enough for him to have been our first Prime," Sideswipe murmured. "Though Optimus is probably Prime to all but Whiplash. Talk about an old mech that doesn't look it. I'd swear he's younger than us the way he comes across."

"Sexy little minibot, that's for sure," Mirage said with a chuckle. "I'd hit that." The playfully possessive growls from his lovers made him play-growl back at them. "You don't want me to hit that?"

"No," the pair answered in unison, the bond flooded with a mixture of love, devotion and savage possessiveness.

"You are ours," Sideswipe growled while Sunstreaker grabbed the back of Mirage's helm to pull him into a demanding kiss.

Mirage trilled joyfully as his hands ran over the strong, broad chest beneath his fingertips, felt the power in the legs that pushed against him from behind. ~Yes,~ he said with purring engines through the kiss. ~Yes I am.~

Sunstreaker pushed him back with a deep rumble and Sideswipe held him, lifting until Mirage wrapped his legs around back, opening himself up for both of them, joyful that he no longer needed the extensive prep and slowness of the early times they'd taken him together. They pushed in eagerly, more than ready to feel alive and move past any talk of their deaths, or any other.

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Nightdrop glided through the party, the largest Praxus had hosted that wasn't open to the public. Though he did this kind of socializing small talk every night in the nightclub he owned, this was a gathering like no other. It was called a living wake, or at least that was what his creators called it. It was their living wake. A goodbye, a funeral that they got to attend. It was a weird concept, but he understood. The patriarchs of his family had many, many mecha to say goodbye to. Twenty-seven surviving creations, of which Nightdrop was the second youngest, the last one Prowl had managed to carry. He was also one of only three that did not have a mate and one of only two that didn't have a creation yet.

All in all this gathering represented twelve generations, more than three thousand mecha, and only five of them had been created before the Great War ended. All five of those had been created long before the Great War ended.

Two of those five were going to extinguish soon, and everyone was looking a bit nervously at what changes might happen with Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Mirage in the honorary position of family patriarchs.

Jazz and Prowl seemed at ease on the subject, though, which reassured those who were close enough to the higher generations to be affected. For the most part, this family's motto had become live and let live. The exceptions, of course, came in the form of swift and thorough revenge for any who harmed one of their own, even if that kind of retaliation had long been illegal and carried heavy penalties if caught. Jazz and Prowl were from before the war, in a time that had been darker, less stable, when mecha were pre-programmed in a way that most alive now found horrifying. Nightdrop's spark shuddered at the thought of being created with coding that drove him to desire one function. It had made life less valuable, or so he was told.

He could see his creators through the crowd, talking with family, friends, looking completely at peace with the gathering and what it represented. Their age was most apparent in their finish and their builds, particularly Prowl's. Jazz had kept up with fashion for millennia, but it was easy to see when he'd stopped. That had been a few centuries before Nightdrop's kindling. He still kept his finish up, but Jazz no longer tried to look like he was still in his prime. Prowl, by all accounts, hadn't changed his frame or colors to any credible extent since he'd joined the Autobots, but he'd always taken great care to look professional and in good repair. It was only in the last decade that he had really begun to show his extreme age, and Jazz had begun to degrade rapidly not long afterwards.

Nightdrop wasn't surprised. After being bonded for so long, when one began to fade it wasn't just social convention that expected the other to follow. He'd listened to them, bright stories when he was a youngling, then the more serious talks when he'd been a mechling, about how to know if a mecha was the right one to bond with, what to expect from a broken bond, what it took to survive it, and the joy it brought that was worth all the pain. That talk all their creations heard. What only he and Dreamwind had heard was that if a love-bond survived long enough and was deep enough, it could become as thick and strong as a twin bond. Truly one spark in two frames.

The orn his creators had realized that he had long been told was both the most joyous and painful of their long, long existence. As close and complete as they were, they still missed their third deeply.

That thought drew his optic to the painting of a triad that few would recognize as that of the mecha saying goodbye this orn. Their creations all knew, there was no way to be raised in this house and not know who they were and who the dark, golden-trimmed third was. He wondered sometimes if his older siblings had felt the same way he did, like their third had been part of their lives, and if they grieved for his deactivation as much as he did, even though it had happened many thousands of centuries before his existence.

He smiled at one of his older brothers, one he knew reasonably well, before carefully moving through the crowd to his creators. They were both sitting on a lounge, letting mecha come to them instead of moving about the room. Nightdrop lingered far enough away to not intrude but still able to listen to the conversation they were having with a great-great-grandcreation and his five-vorn sparkling.

"Carrier said you're going away," the sparkling said, reaching his arms out for Prowl. Jazz smoothly took him instead and settled him on his lap, tapping his nose with a single finger.

"That's right," the elderly mech hummed, as Prowl rubbed the sparkling's back. "It's time for us to deactivate."

"Like Firefly did?" the sparkling asked quietly.

"Yes, sweetspark," Jazz's said with a melancholy smile. "But Firefly wasn't ready to go, and we are."

"Why?"

"Because we've lived for a very long time and we are very tired," Jazz said. Prowl's doorwings lifted fractionally in agreement. "And we want to rest. We want you to be happy for us that we get to rest."

"But everyone was sad when Firefly went away," the sparkling said, looking up with bright optics.

"Firefly was taken too soon," Jazz said. "We're choosing to go, and we're happy to deactivate. We'll be together, and we won't be in pain anymore."

"But I'll miss you," the sparkling said, hugging Prowl's arm and holding onto Jazz's finger.

"And that's okay," Jazz said with a fond nuzzle. "But even when you miss us, remember that we're at peace, all right? It's okay to be sad, and normal, but this is a choice that we've thought about for a long time, and we talked to each other, and it's what we want to do."

"But isn't it scary?"

Jazz and Prowl smiled in unison. "No, little one," Jazz answered for both of them. "There's nothing to be scared of. It's just part of life. We'll be in the Well, and some orn, so will you. But not for a long, long time, all right?"

The sparkling nodded. "All right," he said, as he hugged them both one more time before being scooped back up by his carrier, who finished with his goodbyes before disappearing back into the crowd.

Nightdrop took the opportunity to step forward and his sire spotted him immediately. "Nightdrop," Jazz greeted warmly, quietly.

"It is good to have this chance, creators," he leaned down to touch chevrons with each of them, his field warm and with only a touch of sadness at the coming loss. "I'm glad my final memories will be of you healthy, sane and at peace."

"As are we," Jazz said, speaking for them both as Prowl's optics glowed with affection for his youngest carried creation. "Sit down and tell us about these Seekerkins we've been hearing about."

Nightdrop ducked his sensor wings and obeyed. No longer were they the doorwings Prowl still sported. Halfway between the end of the war and current times a radical new design had been developed for the Praxian frame that made them look like slender-winged fliers with relatively flat chests. The longest of those sensor wings could almost touch the ground, though Nightdrop kept his to just below his hip. The chevron was the same, though. That had never changed. Neither had the tradition of engraving a bonded's designation or triad glyph into its shield.

"They are dancers at my club, already a bonded pair and looking for a third," he smiled as he thought about the slender pair of flashy fliers. "Old enough that they aren't doing this on a whim. They love the club scene and dancing for a crowd."

Prowl hummed with a smile and Jazz turned to him with a faint grin, drawing him into a careful kiss. "Takes after you, my love," Jazz said, before turning back to Nightdrop. "I was a dancer, before the war. You know how to tell if they're the right ones?"

"I know, Sire," Nightdrop said, and smiled, because he knew he was going to hear it again anyway. As Jazz talked, he listened to every word like he was hearing it for the first time, instead of the several dozenth. After a while a hand fell on his shoulder and he looked up to see an older brother, one of the very oldest. Nocturne smiled warmly at him and slid into the empty seat beside, joining in the dutiful listening.

When Jazz finished, his optics refocused and he looked at the newcomer for a moment. "Nocturne, when did you get here?" he asked.

"A few kliks ago, Carrier," Nocturne said, and touched his chevron to his creators'.

"We weren't sure..."

"I wanted to at least come by, just to say..." Nocturne said, and trailed off.

"We love you," Jazz said, simply, easily, and hugged him. "We know you can't stay."

"I can't, at least not for long," Nocturne agreed, kissed Jazz on the cheek, and then Prowl. "Thank you, for everything."

"It was our pleasure," Prowl smiled at him warmly, his voice thick with static from disuse. "You have done a fine job raising your creations and we could not be more proud of your function. You use our skills in a way we never dreamed possible."

Nocturne gave a soft laugh. "You're the ones that taught me," he said, taking each of their hands and holding them together in his own. "I ... wish I could stay longer, but I don't want to put everyone at risk..."

"Did you have a tail?" Jazz asked, curious instead of concerned.

"Shook it," Nocturne said, giving his carrier a fondly exasperated look. "You think I would have come in with an active tail?"

"No," Jazz said with a smile. "Shift on your way out."

"I will," Nocturne promised. "Primus, so much to say and not enough time..."

"Shh, sweetspark," Jazz murmured, and reached out to caress his face. "Nothing at all to say. It's all been said."

"I'm going to miss you," Nocturne said, forcing the smile now.

"We know," Prowl said gently, then reached out with a surprisingly strong hand to hardline for only a fraction of a klik hidden in the hand to arm greeting. ~Come back with your mate, if you can. I will share all you need to know,~ he promised before disconnecting. "You are strong. As strong as any in this clade. We will miss hearing of your reports."

"We're finally going home to Radiance," Jazz said the one thing not a single being who knew them did not understand the full importance of. It wasn't just that they were going to the Well, that their lives would end. After so very, very long, they would finally be whole, no longer separated from their third. "You keep up on those politicians, and keep my dear Whiplash in line. He needs someone he trusts to challenge him now and then."

"He needs a swift kick on the aft is what he needs," Nocturne said with a laugh. "I'll keep him out of trouble, I promise." He stood, leaned in for one more tight, lingering hug with both of them, then turned quickly on heel and left before it could get any harder.

His creators let him go, watching with pride and sadness that it was so hard for him.

~From two mechs who spent their lives controlling information, comes a creation determined to set it free,~ Prowl said softly with a bit of wonder. ~To see SpecOps skills used for investigative journalism...~

~We taught him what we learned,~ Jazz murmured. ~He did the right thing with those lessons. Information should never be a secret.~ He looked back to Nightdrop with a smile. "You will stay after, won't you?"

"Of course I will, Sire," Nightdrop said, and leaned in to kiss them both as he stood. "You haven't seen the last of me yet."

Jazz chuckled with glittering optics and Prowl smiled, then their attention shifted to the next visitor, a grand creation that Nightdrop had never met before, who had brought his own sparklings for them to meet. He hung around a bit to catch the introductions, then moved on to mingle and get all the other designations and faceplates he knew matched to family he'd never actually met.

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The living wake was over. Even spread out over most of a decaorn, it had still been a processor-stunning number of decedents. Even before the war, the idea of producing twenty-seven creations in ten thousand vorns was beyond what even the most prolific managed.

~It was lovely to see everyone, but I'm glad it's over,~ Prowl murmured as they walked into the large living-dining room after a long recharge. ~Someone's been cleaning.~

~I don't know about cleaning, but it's Whiplash in there now,~ Jazz said with a fond smile. ~Sneaky little unholy terror, I had no idea he was here.~ They turned the corner to see Whiplash perched up on a chair that enabled him to reach the standard sized counters, mixing something together over one of the high heat burners.

"Obviously my alarm system is lacking," Jazz remarked to announce their presence.

"I thought it was quite impressive, actually," the matte black mech grinned at them over his shoulder. "It took me nearly three joors. That's a record and then some."

Jazz chuckled. "It did better than I expected, then," he said, and led his mate over to sit down on the other side of the counter, well aware that Prowl's frame and spark were inclined to ache if he stood for too long. The fine balance that had once made movement effortless was gone now, for them both, if Jazz was honest. "Of course Prowl designed it. I'm more impressed that you've kept your claws off our creations," he grinned.

Whiplash regarded them steadily for a lingering moment, taking in the extensive degrading that had occurred in just those three joors. "Who said I have?" he teased them, only to raise his hands when Prowl's engine gave a warning growl. "Calm. Nocturne is as close to an agent as I've gotten, and he's definitely playing his own game."

It was enough for Prowl to relax.

"You just make sure you keep keeping your claws off," Jazz murmured, the exhaustion from the last decaorn catching up with him very suddenly after just the short walk from their berthroom to here, the recharge having been barely enough to begin to help. "Unless they come to you first. Thank you for not keeping your claws off me though." He regarded his former mentor, trying to express with his field what he was having trouble forming into words with a processor that felt sluggish and uncooperative.

"You were the best I trained," Whiplash accepted the statement and pushed his field outward, accepting the thanks and assuring Jazz that he understood. "I'm going to miss your voice calling the political glitches out on their selfishness. Both of you." He moved the melted lead and thallium mix off the heat and shut the burners down before pouring the sweetener into two cubes of energon and pushed them towards the old pair that were much younger than he was. "You gave Cybertron a future, with your creations."

"We tried," Jazz said with a ghost of a smirk. "Woulda had more."

"You would have repopulated Cybertron on your own with the right circumstances," Whiplash chuckled, jumping onto a perch on the counter across from them and sipping his own cube while they tasted theirs. They brightened immediately.

"This is really good," Jazz said, and Whiplash let his armor ruffle in mock irritation at the surprise in his former student's voice.

Prowl gave a frame-hum of approval and appreciation as well. ~Get the recipe, if you don't know it. I can taste this.~

~I will, love,~ Jazz said, leaning over to nuzzle him carefully, not putting too much force behind it. ~I'll see what else he has too. Nightdrop's all but volunteered to cook and come over whenever we need.~

"You two are impossible, you know that?" Whiplash grumbled good naturedly as he watched them. "As long as you've been together you still act like mechlings on their first crush."

~I like it that way,~ Prowl purred to his love as he sipped his energon a bit more eagerly than usual. ~We are good together.~

"We are good together," Jazz agreed, before looking at Whiplash. "Thank you. You're staying until later?"

"It is later, they'll be here soon," Whiplash said gently. "I wanted to make sure you had fuel in you."

Jazz nodded despite a bit of surprise. "It gets harder to boot up every orn," he admitted quietly, gladly being the support for his mate as Prowl leaned over to nuzzle him and kind of needed the solid form to keep from leaning over too far. There was apology and relief in the bond. "Honestly never expected it to end this way. Our kind just don't deactivate quietly in their berth of old age."

~It's nice though, being ready when it happens,~ Prowl murmured.

~It is, I think,~ Jazz agreed, as Whiplash hummed thoughtfully.

"It might not be bad, for our kind to learn that," the minibot mused. "A symptom of a healthy planet."

"Somehow I don't think SpecOps would be right if it wasn't about living fast and expecting to deactivate young," Jazz chuckled mirthlessly.

"What's this about deactivating young?" Nightdrop asked as he entered the living room followed by his older brothers who were also coming to the small family grouping, noting the three mecha there and how much Prowl had seemed to age just in an orn.

"SpecOps," Jazz brought him up to speed. "Not one of those functions where you expected to last long."

"Yet I know four," Nightdrop cocked his helm, not really arguing.

"Four out of many thousands," Whiplash told him. "Many, many thousands. Jazz is right. It's a rare mecha that survives a single millennia, though many of those go on to see ten."

"Wasn't that ... painful?" Nightdrop asked carefully as he sat down on the end of a lounge that Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Mirage were settling on. The Aerial twins walked in after Luminous, who looked at his younger brother curiously.

"Wasn't what painful?" the third eldest of the creations asked.

"Losing agents," Nightdrop said. "When he was the commander of SpecOps."

"It was," Whiplash acknowledged. "But that's how things are. Death comes with life, sometimes before we're ready. One of the reasons so few lasted is the simple fact that part of our job is to choose when that was for others, including our own."

"...Your own?" Nightdrop asked, sounding a touch horrified. "You killed your own?"

Whiplash sent a quick glance and rapid query to the young mech's creators, seeking their permission to continue down the line of questioning. They both nodded to him. Hiding this part of their history did no good.

"Yes," the matte black mech said, looking back. "Sometimes I killed my own. When I deemed their pain too great, or their damage irreparable, I took my own. I considered it for your creators, once, after I found out what happened to them. If I'd seen them sooner after the fact, I might have even done it, out of mercy."

"After Praxus?" Luminous asked, all too aware that such a statement could refer to several times in his creator's past. Whiplash flicked his armor in an affirmative.

"Wait, back up." Ripcord fluffed his armor and flared his wings, flashing the Cybertron Air Defense Force insignia proudly embossed on them. "You would have killed our creators as a mercy?" His gaze flicked to the elder couple. "And you're okay with that?"

Jazz and Prowl looked at their creation mildly. "Yes," Jazz answered for them, like it was the simplest answer in the world. "It would have been a mercy. That was our way."

Four pairs of optics locked onto Mirage, then the twins he was bonded to.

"Yes, it is," Mirage answered the silent question. "We all made those choices. Sometimes in the field, sometimes after we got them back. During war, it was a common practice among most divisions, not just SpecOps."

~I think I like that they're so horrified,~ Prowl commented mildly.

~Those protocols don't belong in the world anymore,~ Jazz murmured. ~We're all relics, lover.~

~Yes, though there will always be some need for them. The very fact that Whiplash still has his function proves that. They will, once more, disappear from common knowledge.~ Prowl smiled fondly and sipped his energon, the cube cupped in both hands. ~I like that we are relics, and about to be gone. I cannot thank you enough for letting me, us, go.~

~It's almost time,~ Jazz murmured, with a soft sigh. ~I've always looked forward to the rest at the end.~

They leaned together, optics dimming down as they faded into a light recharge. When they booted back up, their creations were smiling fondly.

"How long?" Jazz asked.

"Just a few kliks," Luminous said. "We thought maybe..."

"No, it isn't time yet," Jazz said. "We'll know."

"Is that how it'll happen? You'll slip into recharge and just ... not boot up?" Zephyr asked.

"Does anyone even know how old mecha extinguish anymore?" his twin Ripcord asked, shifting uneasily. Even though Ripcord was the most familiar with death of the post-war generations, it had never been so personal before.

Jazz hummed quietly. "Ratchet went that way, and Wheeljack. Lot of the Autobots that survived the war chose it. Slipped into recharge and never came out. Ratchet's theory was that a spark knows when it's old enough to go and the frame deteriorates with it until it just ... stops. Not how we're going, though," he turned to brush his chevron against his mate's.

"You aren't?" Nightdrop shifted uneasily.

"Why not?" Zephyr asked. "It sounds like a good way to go."

"I'm sure," Jazz said, his focus still almost completely on Prowl, who purred and nuzzled back, lost in the contact. "We considered a lot of ideas. Waiting until we could tell we won't boot and having our family with us as we shut down. Flying a shuttle into the closest sun. Cutting our lines in a hot oil pool, or a dagger to the spark. We're going to go out merged."

"Why not the first one? Why extinguish before you have to?" Ripcord asked, his wings quivering.

"I think it's romantic," Mirage smiled.

"That was the goal," Jazz said with a smile for his adopted creation before shifting his gaze to the flier he'd carried. "We don't want you to see us while we linger. We don't want to linger at all. Lose massive processor functioning, mobility. It'll be fast. A program, virus, that we can activate when we want, and it'll be quick. We want you remember us like this."

~We've already degraded a lot,~ Prowl muttered. ~Been vorns since I felt prepared to take over being SIC again.~

"So I'll just check one orn, and you'll be gray?" Nightdrop asked, uneasy even as he was relieved that they wouldn't suffer lingering. He knew all too well how much being crippled terrified his carrier. In a way, he was almost surprised Prowl had agreed to be this far gone first.

~I know,~ Jazz said, sighing softly, with subharmonics of gratitude that Prowl had waited for him to be ready. "You'll know," he told Nightdrop. "We'll send notice. It won't be very long, we were waiting to say goodbye to everyone. What a luxury," he said, voice distant and thoughtful.

"Thank you," Nightdrop relaxed a bit now that he knew he'd be able to prepare himself for what he'd see.

"Too many did not have that comfort," Whiplash said. "More will now."

"Did you write the virus?" Sideswipe asked curiously.

"Whiplash gave it to us," Jazz said with a warm smile.

"It's a fairly standard pleasure-deactivation one, edited to take two frames at once and be triggered on internal command," Whiplash added. "It's well-proven to be a fast and pleasant way to go. More so with a frail frame and a spark that's ready to go."

~I think that would be the way I would choose,~ Mirage told his mates. ~But you ... would you want to go down fighting?~

They rumbled softly in contemplation.

~We always thought that's how it would be,~ Sunstreaker said, watching as Luminous moved to wrap an arm around Prowl's shoulder and brought his carrier to lean on him when Jazz began to look tired.

~Dunno how we'd even get a fight to deactivate in,~ Sideswipe mused. ~Short of starting a barfight. Or going off world.~

~Plenty of time to figure it out,~ Sunstreaker said.

~It will not be difficult, if that truly is your wish,~ Mirage told them as he snuggled between them, along with a sense that he was already well aware of several ways. ~It will be some time before it comes to a choice. To end in the act they were denied for so long is fitting.~

~I always figured they'd go out fragging in some way,~ Sideswipe snickered.

~And they will,~ Sunstreaker mused with a mixture of amusement and amazement. ~Hard to believe they outlasted pretty much everybody.~

~They could have outlasted everyone if they'd wished,~ Mirage pointed out. ~They simply did not wish to. Whiplash is far older than either of them. He's older than Ironhide would be, if his records are even close to correct.~

~He must be one of the very last of the pre-progs,~ Sideswipe said. ~Wonder what that feels like.~

~Probably no different than what it felt like being one of many pre-progs,~ Sunstreaker said with a shrug.

"Hey, Whiplash. How'd you last so long?" Sideswipe suddenly spoke up. "I mean, you're older than anybody still functioning, I think. I thought pre-progs were supposed to have a short existence."

"Pre-progs aren't supposed to have a short existence," Whiplash said with a chuckle. "A pre-prog can last as long as anyone with proper maintenance. A well-built frame from the start doesn't hurt, either," he gestured at his own. "Aging is 90% mental. Pre-progs got the reputation for deactivating early because their sparks didn't match the frame programming they were sparked into. Usually. Imagine being a spark that wanted one mate for life forced into the frame of a pleasurebot. My spark and function, though," the lithe minibot purred deeply, "Match perfectly. And I was lucky enough to continue to be valuable and skilled and wanted. The short life span for many had more to do with being tossed out like so much waste."

The youngest mecha in the room were staring at him.

"...Pleasurebot?" Nightdrop asked. "Is that what it sounds like?"

"A mecha designed from the core out to provide an overload on demand to any who paid their price," Mirage answered simply. "The best were artists at it and adored their function, much as Whiplash does. The kind I dealt with as a youth were among them. In the lower levels orders were not filled so carefully and it could be a cruel existence."

"Though even the worst off of the pleasurebots were better off than buymecha," Jazz added. "Those did the same thing, but were just mecha who were so desperate for credits that they sold the only thing they had. The use of their frame. At least all pleasurebots came with protocols to help them enjoy their function even if their spark wasn't always in it."

"Sounds miserable," Nightdrop said, frowning. The new generations had not taken well to the idea of a pre-programmed function, just as Optimus Prime had wanted it.

"They weren't all that different from this era's professional escorts," Mirage hummed. "You have those in your club."

"Yes, but they choose to do it," Nightdrop said. "Because they want to."

Jazz smiled faintly. "Different world now."

"A much better world," Whiplash surprised several of them with the strength of his statement. "I love my function, but it's good to only deal with really broken sparks. The real test for our species and this new government is going to be when we need to level out our population. Right now having many creations is encouraged. I fully expect to be around to see how the transition to only having one or two at most goes down. It won't be pretty."

Jazz hummed, looking at his creations with warm optics. "I'm just glad that we had all of you before that happened." He looked at Whiplash. "Just glad you'll be around to remind everyone of what we did wrong."

Whiplash nodded. "There's plenty of muttering in the power-hungry political spheres about how much easier it'll be to make policy when you two are gone. I intend to make sure it isn't."

"I'll help," Luminous purred. "So will everyone else." He squeezed Prowl's hand warmly. "You're leaving a powerful legacy."

"Thank you," the ancient Praxian's vocalizer crackled and hissed with static from lack of use. It had been vorns since Prowl had used it much. Not since their youngest had upgraded to his adult frame.

"We have no intention of being quiet either, and you know Nocturne, Soundwave and Blaster will give them no end of grief if they go the wrong direction," Mirage gave a savage grin more suited to his mates. "We've broken politicians before, we will again."

"Literally," Sunstreaker snickered, while his twin matched Mirage's grin.

The small gathering shifted to more casual conversation-the most recent creations, whose separation would be next, frame trends, how mates and the mates of creations and businesses were doing-long into the night. When morning came, the room lulled into silence.

"I think it's time to go," Whiplash said quietly, when no one else looked willing to.

"I think so," Mirage echoed, and was the first to stand. His mates followed him as he pulled Jazz up into a tight hug. "Thank you," he whispered. "You deserve your rest."

Jazz nodded against his shoulder as the twins each embraced Prowl, careful of the strength they used on the frail mech. Luminous watched quietly, his doorwings drooped down. Ripcord and Zephyr stood to wait their turn when Nightdrop moved to embrace and whisper a few words of thanks and love to each of his creators. Prowl, his smooth, rich voice long ago lost to age and disuse made the effort to speak to each of them of his love and how proud he was of each. Not just in general, but something specific so there could be no doubt that he knew exactly who he was saying goodbye too and what their existence had been.

At the end, Jazz took Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's hands in his own, standing with their help. "I'm sorry," he said softly, looking up at them. The others around them stilled as they watched.

There was no hesitation. "We forgave you long ago," Sideswipe said, as Sunstreaker embraced him carefully. Jazz melted into it.

"We're leaving the painting to you," he said. "I suspect the Cybertron Art Gallery will want it, if you choose to leave it to them. If it's ever displayed publicly, it must be displayed with this." He handed a datapad to Sideswipe.

The red twin skimmed through it, an essay written by both his creators, a story and a warning all at once. "It will be," he promised, squeezed Jazz's shoulder, and then stepped back with his mate.

"Rest well, my creators," Luminous said, with a warm smile, and the others echoed him before Mirage and his mates gently herded their siblings from the home, leaving only Whiplash there.

"Will it be today?" he asked quietly as his field brushed out to two of his most remarkable agents with the kind of open affection he rarely allowed himself to feel. At the wake, they'd been considering maybe another metacycle, but the process of saying goodbye to their family and the few they called friends had aged them more in an orn than the last five vorns had.

Prowl nodded, visibly exhausted in a way no amount of energon or recharge could fix. He was ready to be done with his frame. Being unable to carry after Nightdrop and unable to even kindle in Jazz after Dreamwind had broken something in him that was fundamental to his continued health. He'd gone downhill rapidly, and a few observant mecha were surprised he'd stayed on as long as he had.

"This orn, or the next," Jazz translated smoothly. "I'm hoping Soundwave visits. If he doesn't by morning, we won't wait any longer." He paused and reached out for Whiplash. "Help us to the berth?"

The matte black minibot nodded solemnly and moved to offer his shoulder to Jazz. "We could use an extra frame," he called out to no one, only to have the air nearby shimmer to expose Mirage. The last noble did not say a thing, and neither did anyone else as he helped Prowl to his pedes and the four of them made the slow trek to the berthroom.

Once there, Prowl made a tiny sound and glanced at the hot oil pool in the washrack.

"Sure thing, lover," Jazz said with a quiet purr, and Whiplash and Mirage helped them over and in once it filled and warmed.

"Will you be able to get to berth?" Whiplash asked.

"I'll be able to get us there," Jazz said, then looked at Mirage. "You should go be with your mates."

"I will," Mirage said, before he kissed Jazz's forehelm, then turned to do the same for Prowl. Whiplash tweaked a chevron horn affectionately.

"We'll just be a comm away if you do relax too much," Whiplash promised, the complex harmonics of 'we' including the twins.

Prowl nodded a promise, though he was primarily focused on the pleasure of the supportive liquid heat surrounding and seeping into his joints. The effect on his field radiated for them all to feel.

"We'll comm if we need help," Jazz added to the promise and watched as his surrogate creator and eldest adoptive creation left them.

~You know 'Raj isn't going anywhere,~ Prowl chuckled softly. ~I expect Whiplash will be settled in a guest room within the breem as well,~ he added, murmuring in good humor. Along with it came a strong sense of awe and appreciation that these mecha cared enough about them to guard them even when they knew the pair would be gray shells within an orn.

~I know,~ Jazz murmured, touching Prowl's face and bringing him around for a gentle kiss that Prowl responded to more eagerly over the bond than with his frame. The desire was there, but Prowl's frame was no longer agreeable to the energy expenditure. ~I love you. Thank you for waiting. It won't be more than a full orn.~

~I've lasted this long, I can manage until everything is done,~ Prowl sank fully under the oil, relishing the heat and support for his frame. ~Soundwave is likely to come within the joor. I saw Laserbeak, and I believe I teeked Ravage today. It's strange to feel closer to a former enemy than the current Prime.~

~I believe Nocturne helped with that,~ Jazz said with a soft laugh. ~I can't believe you didn't crash to this orn.~

Amusement and deep affection flowed over the bond. ~How he presented it helped a great deal. I knew he was loved and loved the mech. I knew he expected it to be a shock and quite possibly a problem. I had it down to four designations before he said who had stolen his spark. They've made an exceptional pairing, personally and politically.~

~It helps that Soundwave is a rational creature, too,~ Jazz murmured, as he echoed the feeling of the strange kinship for the once TIC of their enemies. He was repeating himself, and he knew it, but couldn't bring himself to care. It made time pass. ~His fault was loyalty, but when applied to Nocturne it's not a bad thing. And ... he understands, how things were. The world we lived in.~

~The world we all fought hard to destroy, even if on opposite sides,~ Prowl murmured. ~Honor is honor. Loyalty is loyalty. Logic and critical thinking transcend philosophy. Soundwave is a good mech. Always was, even when he was our top target.~

~Mech was too good for us,~ Jazz said with a gentle nuzzle. ~We were too good for him. Glad we didn't get him.~ He sighed in relaxation, then laughed. ~Here I am, alone with you, hot and oiled up and your armor all loose and I'm okay with not fragging you senseless. Think that's how I know it's almost over.~

~Agreed. My spark wants you. My frame does not have the ability to desire anymore,~ Prowl agreed. ~And ... I do not have it in me to object.~ He paused, thoughtful and grieving softly. ~I knew when we could not kindle again that no amount of will or desire to continue would help. Your spark had sustained mine for too long. Both were weakening quickly, even if we did not feel it in our frames yet.~

~Radiance loved Praxus,~ Jazz whispered. ~He gave his life for this city. As soon as we couldn't help rebuild in any way that others could not take up...~ He trailed off, processor going blank for a moment before he shook himself out of it. ~Was I gone long?~

~No,~ Prowl hummed with affection. ~We will join him soon.~

Jazz trilled softly. Whether it was the Well or oblivion, they would be with their mate, and be glad for it. Memories pulled up, from long ago, ages, lifetimes, another world, the taste of the happiest life they could have imagined before it was ripped away. Prowl was pulled in with him and they didn't know how long they stayed there, motionless, before movement in the room drew their sluggish attention and they looked up to see Soundwave standing there. Nocturne was not far behind, lingering in the doorway.

"Jazz and Prowl: to deactivate soon," the host said.

"Yes," Jazz said.

"Soundwave: understood presence was desired here."

Yes. Prowl pushed the thought to the fore of his mind and reluctantly raised himself above the oil and offered a wrist port to the telepath. Him too.

"Nocturne," Soundwave summoned, and the designation sounded like a caress as he spoke it. Nocturne approached and knelt before his creators, joining into the hardline that Soundwave connected all four mecha into.

~My dearest,~ Jazz whispered to his creation as he pushed over all the love that they felt, the uniqueness that was Nocturne to him, not his first creation but the first sired by his love and lifelong mate. His attention shifted to Soundwave. ~Only six mecha alive today remember the way it was. Soon it will be four. We've taught him why it went wrong, take care of him so he can tell the world. It can't be like before.~

~Not while Soundwave functions,~ the telepath promised.

~I will show you anything you wish.~ Prowl offered simply to the pair that were his legacy in a way.

In response, Soundwave pressed forward, into processors he had once spent entire metacycles dedicated to the capture and reading of, sweeping through their combined knowledge, their lives, taking the lessons learned and adding them to his own. There was little difference, but they'd existed in a different world than he had, and there was always value to be found in diversity of thought. ~Thank you,~ he said once he had finished.

~You're welcome,~ Jazz murmured, teeking dazed. He looked to Nocturne. ~When Mirage is gone...~

~I will take the head of the family,~ Nocturne said, lifting his carrier's hands to kiss the knuckles, then reaching for his sire's for the same. ~I will care for them.~

~Watch over Luminous,~ Prowl said. ~He does not evaluate risk as well as he should for his position.~

~Always,~ Nocturne promised with affection and a gentle smile for his older brother. ~That will never change.~

~Of all our creations, you will survive turmoil the best,~ Prowl's processors were sharper than his frame indicated, at least when he felt the value in turning them all on. ~You will watch it come and know it for what it is. Evaluate the leaders you follow.~ He shifted focus to Nocturne's mate, still speaking to his creation. ~As you love him, guard him from himself. His loyalty should have destroyed him with the war's end.~ Soundwave once more felt the potent force that was Prowl's full processors, now speaking to him. ~My tac-net, Jazz's sorcelling. Put them to good use. Do not allow them to remain in our frames. It must not fall into the wrong hands.~

~Soundwave: understands,~ the host murmured, as Nocturne pressed another kiss in promise. ~Soundwave: is grateful to Prowl and Jazz for eluding his capture during the war. Nocturne: is solace.~

~Nocturne is your responsibility now,~ Jazz said firmly, but still with a touch of his trademark humor. ~Don't make us come back from the Well to take care of things.~

~Jazz...~ Prowl's exasperated sigh was full of fondness rather than objection. ~Soundwave's as loyal as we are. Besides. He's kin. Has been for a long time. Nocturne ... was there anything you wish to know? Anything you wish from us, other than more time? I know you've seen our Final Wishes.~

Nocturne nodded once. ~Whiplash will recover the tac-net and sorcelling tech?~

~Yes,~ his creators said in unison.

~He will be signaled when the virus activates,~ Prowl said. ~He had better give both to you.~

Another nod. ~Are you content?~ Nocturne asked.

There was a pause as they considered the question. ~We will be,~ Jazz finally said.

~One way or another, we will finally be triad again,~ Prowl said with a wistfulness he rarely indulged in. ~It will be nice to no longer be tired, broken, incomplete.~ He considered his creation and caressed those powerful processors with his own. ~Do you remember how often I made you talk to the tac-net's AI?~

Nocturne shivered. ~It was creepy, until I understood her.~

~Her?~ Prowl perked up, curious at the assessment.

~Just what it felt like, a her. Once I got over the freaking out over something else controlling my sire's frame.~

~I did that because I always intended it to go to you, if you wanted it,~ Prowl said softly. ~But to use it, you have to get along with the AI.~

Soundwave mentally caressed his startled mate, unsurprised by that knowledge, helping Nocturne move past the initial shock to respond as quickly as possible. Time was running out, and rapidly. The pair already teeked wearier than when he'd arrived. Soundwave doubted they would witness the dawn, whether or not they used the suicide program they'd installed. It was a long way to go so quickly, from the metacycle or two they'd expected when the living wake began to a handful of joors now, only nine orns later.

~If I need the software, I feel comfortable using it,~ Nocturne said. ~I want to keep the planet safe enough without if I can.~

~Soundwave: will help judge need,~ the host promised.

~Thank you,~ Jazz murmured, sinking down into the oil a little further. ~Nocturne...~

~I know,~ Nocturne said, his field unsteady, but calm. ~Go, rest.~

~Prowl, Jazz: should lay on the berth.~ Soundwave said, gentler than most would think him capable of. ~Unless merge intended here?~

~No, but we'll manage,~ Jazz said, lifting his arm to caress his creation one more time. ~We love you.~

~So much,~ Prowl said. ~Til all are one.~

~Til all are one,~ Nocturne said, kissed them both, then broke the hardline connection and stood, leaving with his mate.

~Hope you realize this means you're stuck seeing only my face for the rest of your life,~ Jazz said with good humor over the bond. ~Can you make it to the berth with my help?~

~I will, and nothing will please me more,~ Prowl struggled to get out of the pool. It was nothing like the grace he had long displayed. This was awkward, painful to watch, not much better to help, but angles and leverage eventually got the panting mech on the floor of the washrack with his mate only slightly less drained. ~Just a few kliks to recover. Then the berth,~ Prowl said with all the tenacity that had kept him alive and strong for so long and through so much.

Jazz nuzzled him gratefully, and when they had regained their strength they moved to stand. Jazz helped and they made their way over to their berth, the place where they'd kindled most-but not all-of their creations. The black and gold whip was laid out in the middle, perfectly centered and curved. Prowl sank down into the padding, the finest credits could buy, and his systems began to slow.

It took Jazz three kliks to walk around the other side and climb on, pressing up as a mirror image to his lover. As their chevrons and the triad engravings came flush, he slipped his hand around the well-loved whip and snaked it around Prowl's neck, then his own.

~A few joors,~ Jazz murmured, slipping their fingers together around the handle.

~Yes,~ Prowl audibly groaned in relieved anticipation. ~Love you. Thank you.~

For being there, for loving him, for accepting Radiance when triad coding Jazz didn't have had kicked in, for siring and carrying so many creations, for adopting Bluestreak when he came into Prowl's life, for adopting Smokescreen, for making peace with the twins, and so much more.

~Love you always,~ Jazz murmured with a quiet, relieved sigh of his own. They settled into silence, fields meshed into one, growing completely still as they enjoyed these final peaceful moments of being together.

Some joors into the night Jazz lifted his head and powered his visor back on. ~Prowl ... I'm tired.~

With only a brush of affection, understanding, acceptance and gratitude in reply, Prowl ordered his chest plates to open. Despite the objections of mechanisms that were degrading as fast as the spark that powered them, Prowl's pale blue spark came into view. It flickered more than pulsed now, dim and weak, and yet it still surged in anticipation of being one with its mate.

Jazz's was right there to answer it, wrapping around and holding as they slipped easily into the complete merge. With a thought, Prowl activated the virus that would claim their frames upon overload. Their properties transferred, a background script set up to ping Whiplash when they deactivated, their accounts were settled and transferred to their creations. Connections severed. Their lives were, for all practical purposes, ended.

All that remained was the merge, and the end.

For mecha who'd survived as long as they had, survived all the trials they had, it was an end no one had really expected. The idea that such mecha might give up and just lie down and deactivate was just as incomprehensible only a century before to the couple doing so now.

Their frames already forgotten, they were lost in the pleasure of this intimacy so long denied them. Memories, all of them good, of things they hoped to remember in the Well and share with Radiance flowed back and forth. They both knew them all, loved them all and wanted their long absent third to be proud of them despite their choice to continue living without him.

The overload was barely noticed. Neither were the fading of memories as their sparks exploded outward, dissipating from the solid physical realm and shifting to the domain in the core of their homeworld where their living god, the source of all sparks, resided.

SxSxSxSxSxSxSxSx S===================S SxSxSxSxSxSxSxS

When Prowl found his awareness opened forward, and realized he was alone, no Jazz, no bond, no Radiance, no oblivion, no anything-the spark panicked, struggled, twisted in a moment of awful agony to realize that this was the end-solitude and eternity-

Hate and betrayal, learned behaviors, surged to the forefront, completely transforming the naturally calm and nurturing spark into one to fear for its ability and absolute willingness to destroy anything it came across.

Then there was Presence.

Calm.

Pain flared up to highlight the rage, yet none of it was directed at the powerful being he knew was the one he'd long ago felt in the healing merges with Optimus Prime. That being had not lied to him, hurt him or lead him astray. He did not like or trust that being, but it was not its fault that Prowl was facing the one thing he had not anticipated.

Prowl belatedly stilled, recognized the presence, and obeyed.

He waited, his spark sinking into a near-stasis-like state that was the only way he could calm with what he was feeling. No thought, no emotions, no credible awareness of his own. He existed, and nothing more.

Warmth and love touched him, everything he'd always felt with Optimus but more, and he made no effort to resist it. Curling out of the self-induced torpor, Prowl basked in the love, accepting it, welcoming it, craving it.

For the sake of the other pieces of your spark, you are being offered a choice that few receive. They would suffer from your loss. Rarely do my creations with bonds such as yours differ so much in what they believe.

~I could dissipate, have oblivion, if I choose?~ Prowl asked cautiously. ~What are the other choices?~

Infinite, the voice rumbled. Sparks come to trust in many things. One of you trusts in me, one of you trusts in pain, and you have trusted in oblivion. In the end, two parts will be together. You may join them, because they have trusted in you.

Prowl was still and silent. With programming gone, hardware gone, and just the memories and reactions of his spark to go on, he was torn. A very large and strong part of him wanted oblivion. Was desperate to never think, feel or be. To have the ultimate end, a peace that could not be taken away.

Yet just as strong was the part that loved his mates, his second and third, and rejoiced at the idea of being with them again. It argued the part that wanted peace down as it always had: the end can come later. It can always come later. Take joy when you can, survive pain knowing that it can be ended at will.

At will?

It wasn't truly a question directed at the presence, but it was. Prowl wished to know if pain became too great whether he could end himself and dissipate.

A careful caress. You will not feel pain. You should not feel pain. There is a limited awareness. Memories but not like your physical existence. It has never happened before, but should you wish oblivion, you will have it. Your entire spark would follow.

Trust in this voice, no matter what it went by or why, had been built in those healing merges centuries ago and Prowl allowed himself to be comforted, reassured, and to believe.

~I would be with them.~ Prowl chose, shoving the part of himself that had learned not to trust down. This being had earned his trust. What was being offered was very much what he desired. It was worth the risk of it being a lie. It was worth the risk of ... of peace in oblivion, even.

One is not ready yet, but I will take you to the other. He has been waiting for a long time. A gentle tug that Prowl could not have resisted if he'd wanted and then he felt the presence of others around him. His spark recognized his carrier's first and he could not help but to brush against it, warm in the memories of a mech who loved him despite the lack of love in his creation.

More followed, sparks he'd known in his long life, touching with warm affection. Some were missing, but he didn't feel grief for their absence, but peace that they had found the end they desired. At the end of it, when he could feel trillions around him and understood that this was the Well, golden light came zooming towards him with a bright and brilliant trill, whizzing around so fast that it became a single blurr. ~Here with me here with me here with me!~ it sang, with the knowledge that the wait had been long, feeling all of it in a single, agony-filled moment before their sparks collided.

Prowl said nothing in response. He simply accepted his third into him with all the love and longing he'd felt in those long, long vorns since their home had been destroyed. He took the pain, absorbed it and stroked the part of his spark that had been missing for so long, assuring spark-Radiance that all was well, all would be well, and the long, lonely wait was over. Jazz, their third, would join them. Radiance was no longer alone.

In reassuring his love, Prowl felt his desire to dissipate fall away. Radiance brought peace, love. Radiance wasn't part of a lifetime of pain, damage, hurt, rejection and betrayal. As much as Prowl loved Jazz, there was no way to completely separate Jazz from the nightmares they'd suffered for each other.

Radiance felt all over, found the new scars since he'd last touched this spark, pressed a kiss of energy to each and every one. ~My love, my love, my love,~ he whispered. ~My sweet love, let me hold you.~

~Always,~ Prowl's moan of a response was thick with the relief at having his center, the morals and healer of their triad back. He all but fell into the golden light, gratefully surrendering completely to the embrace, pressing towards the other how much he had been missed, how glad Prowl was to have him back, promises that they would be together, stronger and safe.

It all came echoing back, just as strong, if not stronger, and there was joy, questions, a desire that was more than words to share. Faint memories were coming back after the hazy, peaceful floating and Radiance wanted to know everything. Wanted to feel their lives.

Wanted to feel them.

Quiet longing, reaching, searching, wanting.

~He will come,~ Prowl promised in a whisper, and then opened up completely, offering everything he knew but trying to shield his love from the worst of the details. He wanted to focus on what happened after the war, on the life and creations he and Jazz had kindled and raised. Each unique, some strong, some soft, a few with the fire and strength to shape the future directly. The visions of Praxus, of the new Helix Garden, built from the rubble that Jazz and Prowl and a handful of survivors had walked out of the shuttle to find to the glittering proto-city they had entrusted to their creations.

~Beautiful, all of them beautiful,~ Radiance purred, joy for everything they'd shared without him, a complete, all-encompassing sense of peace that came from this place, peace for their lives. Acceptance, love, excitement to know and feel when they were whole again.

Because Radiance trusted in that. He trusted in an eternity with his bondmates. He trusted in Primus to grant them this End. That trust had been strong enough to pull Prowl from his own desires, it would be strong enough to pull Jazz back from his Pit.

SxSxSxSxSxSxSxSx S===================S SxSxSxSxSxSxSxS

As good as it was to have a creation, that tiny mote of himself, return, there were a few whose return he did not look forward to, the process of helping them cope with their existence in a frame. The spark coming shortly after his bonded mate was one of those motes.

Jazz

Bright, full of life and energy and love for living, and tortured by what he had done in the name of survival and his mate in a way that demanded retribution for his crimes. When such retribution did not come from mortal authorities, it fell to Primus to fill the need of his creation until there was peace enough to join the others.

Jazz

Part of a triad that was as strange as any. Three sparks had become one, yet between them there were three expectations for the After. The first had been easy, soothed by a limited sense of self and time. The second expected oblivion, a gift Primus would have gladly granted it but for the hurt it would cause the others. It was a joy for the great spark at the center of Cybertron that Prowl chose to join his long-absent mate.

Now it was time to deal with a spark that had twisted itself into a mass of pain, pleading to be hurt, to be punished, when all its creator wished to do was embrace and soothe.

JAZZ

The spark flickered, startled, and raised its awareness. It had been suffering a deactivation over and over, simply the pain of knowing death was coming and not being able to stop it before a burst of agony before the end.

Have you paid?

No.

He knew that would be the answer for many, many eternities. The spark only responded to him when it felt it had suffered one deactivation sufficiently.

The next began. This one had pain.

Long, drawn out, and very intimate. Begging, pleading, screaming when it could no longer form coherent sounds. Being repaired only to have the pain come back, again and again. Forced to overload to the agony. Forced to listen to sweet words that only brought more hurt to the physical wounds.

Primus recognized too many of these ends from the sparks he'd comforted on their return to him. Some so damaged they barely made it before dispersing. Others content to accept his comfort and linger in the Well at the core of his spark.

The great being wished there was another way. Some, he understood all too well, only responded to pain. Some, like this one, needed absolution from within and there was little to be done to hurry the healing along.

It was too bright, too independent. He still remembered the orn it had been pulled to a frame, ready for life. Knew it might have been without its physical enslavement.

Have you paid?

No.

Primus knew he couldn't comfort, couldn't do anything to hurry the penance along except to make the pain vivid, everything that the spark imagined for its victims.

So he made it worse. Hurt over and over, drew out the pain again and again, a thousand deactivations and still it felt like none at all so ten thousand more.

Have you paid?

No.

The screams of the victims it was remembering had felt like nothing compared to this. Primus had known they would soon be drawn back into his healing fold. This one would be many ages more.

Finally the great being felt hope. The impossibly long list of crimes had dwindled to two. One young, one not even fully formed. The pair was bound together and Primus recognized this event all too well. The half-formed spark had dissipated on its return, too traumatized to continue. It was a mercy, and Primus felt no sadness. The energy of that beautiful spark was still part of him, as were all who did not inhabit a frame.

Jazz relived the torments inflicted upon those two sparks longer than any, and the terror of the newspark lasted longer than the rest combined. His creation screamed and struggled, caught in a vortex of unknown trauma, of non-comprehension of the pain, of the final moments of knowing that one most beloved and dear would perish in terrible pain and humiliation, and not understanding why.

It was agony.

The wails of the newspark formed into a designation that went around and around and around, Skywatch, until the spark in the center of it all was shrunken and shuddering, barely coherent.

Skywatch!

Jazz

Skywatch-

Jazz

Skywa...

Have you paid?

...

It didn't want to answer, Primus could tell that much. But he knew the answer before it was spoken, knew what the spark had thought it would never deserve.

Yes.

Finally.

Finally he could embrace this creation that he loved and soothe it, give it strength and nourish it as it recovered from what it had needed to move on.

Jazz. My bright one. Welcome. Your penance is complete.

Hard, almost painful spasms of relief went through that spark and it flickered to him in wanting and acceptance of the comfort.

There was one question, Where?

The Well of All Sparks, within me.

Confusionwonder flooded out to him as the spark rested there, taking the support, regaining its strength. There was an overwhelming feeling of freedom coming from it as time went on, freedom from its crimes, the courage to ask for something it had never asked before. Still too weak to speak, the spark flickered out a question.

Primus caressed back. You are forgiven. There was no other answer.

Relief.

Primus waited and held until the Jazz was strong enough to push outward, searching. ~Prowl, Radiance?~ he questioned.

Waiting for you. Prowl chose to remain with Radiance.

Want more powerful than any of the guilt surged out, but Jazz stayed with him instead of following the path that Primus knew he could now feel. ~Vortex?~

He is with me, Primus said. He was at that moment holding the savagely damaged spark in another part of his being, doing what he could to heal what the frame had done to it before drawing the energy back into himself. Every one of my creations comes back to me.

~Will ... can he hurt us again?~

No, Primus soothed. Nothing can hurt you here. He did not trust in an After. He will at last know peace and acceptance, and that will be his End.

~Prowl didn't believe either...~ Jazz hesitated, not wanting to trigger something that would take his love away, but still needing to know why the rules were enforced differently.

Radiance did. And Primus could not hide the affection he felt for that mote as he spoke the designation it had chosen for physical existence. He trusted that the other two pieces of his spark would join him in the After. His last moment of physical life was Prowl promising so, and so he believed. It is rare that sparks bonded so closely should believe so differently. Prowl was given knowledge, and a choice.

~And he chose to stay,~ Jazz's statement was filled with wonder, knowing what he did of Prowl's desires and the reasons for them. ~I ... I can join them?~

Yes. They are waiting. They want you with them. You will finally be One.

This time Jazz did follow the path to his mates, only absently noting the presence of others as he zeroed in on the only two that mattered in this moment and how eagerly they were rushing to greet them.

~Back. Back. You came back!~ Radiance's joy was wild and intense, a dramatic difference from the calm joy of Prowl's embrace.

Jazz returned the embrace and then trilled joyfully to Radiance as their sparks danced around each other, darting and curious and vivid in a way their grounding third wasn't. They sank into each other and shudders of pure, overwhelming bliss filled them for their first merge. Not the overload of a physical frame, but a transcendental moment of existence.

~You waited,~ Jazz said, just as joyful.

~I would wait forever,~ Radiance promised him, sharp throbs of pleasure pulsing out. ~My lovely Jazz, my beautiful Prowl,~ he pulled the oldest spark into their merge. He had trusted, and waited, and now they were here. Now they were One. He asked for their lives again, they shared them in full.

Above, surrounding, within, Primus watched their bliss, as bright as the stars.