Title: Forgotten Lament - Redeemer and Destroyer.
Warnings: Nonsense galore probably. Morbidness. Implied Slash.
Pairings: Prowl x Jazz.

Notes: Okay this was written in response to the people asking for a drabble about some pictures I drew of Prowl as "The Soul Reaver" (The pictures were inspired by the game's music and the fact Raziel, the main character of the SR series, shares the same voice actor as Prowl in G1.) You can find these pictures in Deviant Art. I apologize before hand for any inspiration I could have drawn from other authors, namely Ryagelle and Purajazzbot. I also apologize if this is too damn farfetched.

As an additional note. I tried to keep this as 'non crossover' as possible. Hence why I've made no direct mention of the entity that 'created' the Reaver, or followed the way Raziel fulfills his 'fate' in the games.

Thanks to nkfloofiepoof for beta reading this for me.

Why was he here again? He told himself over and over he wouldn't come back, that he wouldn't look back to a life long gone. But time and time again, he found himself unable to part for good, and now he found himself here again in a silent vigil, watching from his distorted reality the life passing by, watching the mechs passing by, watching him passing by.

He reached a clawed hand to the black and white mech that walked past him, but he knew better. The other mech couldn't see him, and in this distorted world, all he could do was watch. Never touch, never speak.

Day after day, he asked himself what he had done to deserve the existence he now led.

"If this travesty can even be considered an existence," he spoke softly and bitterly as he stared down to his hand, wrapped in the glowing energy of his curse.

What terrible crime had he committed that warranted him his current penitence? What had he done that was so terrible, so outrageous, that he was denied even the eternal rest within the Matrix?

Trapped in between two worlds, not alive, yet not truly dead. "Redeemer, and destroyer," he whispered softly, reminding himself of his supposed new role. He was the one picked among thousands, possibly millions, of Cybertronians to pay for the sins of his kind, to spin the wheel of fate, and be the conduit through which the souls that refused to let go of their mortal existence could be sent to meet their fate.

Who picked him? He did not know. All he knew was that one moment he was feeling the most agonizing pain, and the next, he was standing in the middle of a caricature of the world, watching the un maker nearly devour his beloved, watching his leader perish and join the Matrix and return to life once again. How he wished he could have followed him there and finally be at peace.

But there would be no peace for him – not now, not ever. The realization of his fate almost drove him insane. One day, even his beloved would take his place in the Matrix, and he wouldn't be able to follow him. This existence he was condemned to was a fate far worse than death.

It was that reason why he kept trying to convince himself to let go, to walk away and never come back, to never look back, to accept it was all over. But he couldn't. By Primus, he just could not let go.

He followed him to battle, he followed him wherever he went – Cybertron or Earth. Wherever he went, Prowl followed like a guardian angel. An angel of death.

Prowl discovered he had the power to gain a physical form for a limited period of time, and he made fine use of that power. Jazz probably would never know that when the odds seemed against him, it wasn't just luck he survived.

Whenever peace seemed to befall his bonded, Prowl told himself it was time to let go, to step away, to try to maintain some degree of sanity because he refused to watch him go back to Primus knowing he couldn't follow him.

Eternity was relentless. Only a few years had gone by since his supposed death and his curse, but to him, it felt like millennia.

"One last time," Prowl told himself and headed towards his bonded's quarters like he had done many times in the past. He slipped easily through the closed doors and watched Jazz, deeply in recharge. Prowl frowned, observing his mate's attractive face. He could fake it so well before others, smiling and seemingly recovering from his loss, but behind closed doors, even in the reprieve of recharge, Jazz's face plates held a sorrowful expression.

"I miss you, too," Prowl whispered, knowing full well his words couldn't be heard. His spark ached with the desire to touch, to wrap his arms around Jazz and reassure him everything would be all right. The ache of his spark seemed to find echo in his bonded's and Jazz's face contorted in an expression of despair.

Against his better judgment, Prowl decided to do the one thing he swore he never would do. He summoned the spectral blade bound to his arm and materialized. The carcass he inhabited crumbled with each step, leaving behind little bits and pieces of his dilapidated body.

He approached his mate as silently as his crumbling body allowed him, and reached out to brush a claw-tipped hand along the saboteur's cheek. He heard himself sob in his mind. It had been so long since the last time he had touched his lover, and he indulged himself in the glorious sensation that simple touch provided him.

Then it happened.

The dim glow of that visor alerted him his lover was online, but he found himself unable to move away fast enough. With the sharp reflexes that characterized him, Jazz's hands grabbed onto his wrists, and less than a second later, the saboteur was face to face with him.

"Have you come for my spark, lover?" Jazz asked softly, seemingly unaffected by the precarious state of the corpse before him.

Prowl tried to push away but found himself unable to move as black hands cupped what was left of his face. "Because if you're not, I ain't lettin' ya go," Jazz murmured firmly, brushing the tip of a black finger over what plating remained on the former tactician's face.

"I ain't lettin' ya go," Jazz repeated softly and traced that black finger over his bonded's upper lip. Faded clawed hands reached for the saboteur's, trying to pry those black hands away from him, but Prowl couldn't find the strength to do it.

"Don't leave me, lover," Jazz pleaded, brushing his nose against the former tactician's cheek. "Don't leave me again, Prowl. Either take me with ya to th'Matrix or stay here with me. Just don't leave me alone again."

Prowl wished for the first time he could shed tears or that at least his crumbling body had a working vocalizer. All he could do was to wrap his arms around Jazz and hold him as tightly as the ruined carcass he inhabited could let him.

'I can't take you with me,' he thought, sure the other wouldn't be able to hear him.

'Why not?'

Prowl stiffened in surprise, hearing the saboteur's voice speaking directly into his mind. But how?

'I'm... I can't go to the Matrix, Jazz.'

'I'm not goin' without ya, Prowl.'

For the first time, Prowl realized he could feel a strength he hadn't feel in a long time. He felt his spark beating hard within the compartment of his shell. He felt the call of another, the call of Jazz's spark.

"And I'm not lettin' ya go," the saboteur said firmly and wrapped his arms around Prowl's body, pressing his chest plates against Prowl's gently but firmly.

Prowl basked in the warmth spreading to his spark coming from his mate's own soul. He felt the glowing blade coiling around his arm, fading away until it was no more.

Suddenly there was pain, a pain so horrible and agonizing that he could hear Jazz crying out for them both. Prowl's corpse lost all strength and all coordination, and he felt as if he would fade away as well. Despite the pain though, the former tactician felt an incredible peace washing over him. Was this his release?

'I'm not lettin' you go.'

Prowl felt his consciousness slip away, and all that was left was the warmth of Jazz's spark energy wrapped around him like a cocoon.

"Is he goin' to be okay?" Jazz asked softly, brushing his fingertips along the cheek of the tactician's new body.

"As okay as he can be considering he should be dead," a white and red mech grumbled, looking over to several different monitors hooked to the new shell.

"Gee, Ratchet. He's not the only one. " Sideswipe couldn't help but grin when the medic shot him a glare.

"Don't like it? Blame Prime for it." Ratchet shook his head but relaxed a little. His case and Prowl's weren't exactly similar. His spark was accidentally released along with Optimus Prime's and those who perished in the shuttle attack and the battle in Autobot City. But Prowl's spark never entered the Matrix. It had been but a ghost floating only Primus knew where.

How the spark managed to materialize and reside within that carcass the medic didn't know and wasn't too sure he wanted to know. The readings on the scanners and monitors were confusing enough to deal with; he didn't need to stop and think about the metaphysical.

Prowl's spark was barely accepting nourishment from the energon powering his new body – the spark was drawing sustenance from Jazz's in a nearly parasitic way. However, the amounts of energy were so minimal, all Jazz needed to compensate was an additional ration of energon. Ratchet assumed it was their bond which had managed to bring back and maintained Prowl's spark within the realm of the living, but again, he decided he really didn't want to delve too deeply into a territory so unknown to him.

"Here goes nothing," Ratchet whispered absently and initiated the routines to bring Prowl back online.

It took several minutes of awkward silence until the former tactician's optics snapped open and a gasp flew his vocal processors. He looked around bewildered until he felt a hand squeeze his own tightly.


The black and white mech turned to face his bonded and relaxed immediately though that expression of confusion was still plastered on his face plates. "What happened?"

"It's a long story, and I think Jazz is better suited to fill you in."

"Ratchet?" Prowl arched an optic ridge, his surprise and confusion growing by the minute.

"That is also a long story, and I'm sure Jazz'll relay the tale to you, too." Ratchet smiled and patted the former tactician's shoulder. "I'll let Jazz take you to your quarters now, but I want to see you again tomorrow. I need to monitor your condition closely for the next few weeks. Understood?"

Prowl nodded, deciding it was best for his processors if he didn't try to think about what was going on.

"Make sure he gets plenty of rest, Jazz. And you, too."

"Gotcha, doc." Jazz helped his mate up, allowing the former tactician a few minutes to greet the twins and First Aid, then headed back to his quarters.

Once there, he helped Prowl down into his berth and lay down beside his mate. "Welcome back, Prowler."

Prowl smiled a little to his mate and pressed closer to the saboteur. "What happened? I'm... confused."

Jazz smiled and cupped the police cruiser's face in his hands, bringing it close to his own to plant a chaste kiss on his lover's lip components. "I toldja, I ain't lettin' ya go."