AN: Greetings, and welcome to my little side project :) I'm doing something that I've never done before, and that is to start a story with nothing seriously planned whatsoever. I just have a plot bunny that I thought would be neat to write and rolled with it. Plus I'm hoping that by writing this, I'll get out of the little rut I've found myself in with my other story…and procrastinate on other stuff I need to do. Because that's what I do best :)

Time Units
Nano-klick: ~1 second
Breem: 8.3 minutes

Rebirth

Prologue

A God's Gift

"Some things just couldn't be protected from storms. Some things simply needed to be broken off...Once old things were broken off, amazingly beautiful things could grow in their place."
―Denise Hildreth Jones

Blinding pain.

That was it. The only thing going through his processor at that very moment in time. It could have been because the slagmaker himself was ripping him in half and tossing him aside like yesterday's latest fad.

It was worst when he hit the ground. Those few nano-klicks of almost processor-numbing (pit did he wish it actually numbed him) pain, and the horror of looking over and finding his legs lying a few feet away before blissfully offlining.

This was definitely not the way Jazz had planned his final moments being.

~:0:~

Floating.

Now this was a lot more preferred over the pain. Not really feeling anything. Relaxing, really.

Certainly what a laidback mech like Jazz would like to experience every now and then—between shifts maybe. He hadn't felt like this since…well, way before the war had even started. Actually that was a lie. Back when he still worked for the Security Force, he would sneak off without Prowl's knowledge and just shoot the breeze. Oh, he had wrangled up a baddie or two selling illegal parts on the streets or the newest addictive form of synthetic substances. But that was only because he had to do it later anyways.

Prowl had always given him the evil optic because seeing the criminals stasis-cuffed had always ruined his perfect lecture for not wandering off while on the job. Jazz was the only one who could smile so cheerfully, criminal cuffed beside him, and throw Prowl off at the same time.

Man, when had Jazz last seen that tight-aft fragger? Right before launching off of Cybertron to loyally follow Optimus into the stars in search of their only source of life? Or maybe their main goal had been to track down Megatron. Meh, Jazz couldn't really bring himself to care at the moment.

What was he doing, floating around? Was this what he was meant to do for the rest of eternity? Jeez, death was boring! He hadn't even been dead a breem and already he wanted to do something else.

"Only you Jazz," he could hear Optimus' smooth voice say with a chuckle. "Only you would complain of boredom after offlining."

Yes, yes he would. Because Jazz did not do "bored." Boredom was the enemy and ranked up there with Decepticons and those tentacle life forms from the Andromeda Galaxy.

Don't ask. It still made him shiver and look over his shoulder when they were mentioned.

He could hear another chuckle from his "Mind-O.P." Wow, only in death was he just now hearing the voices in his head that Ironhide claimed he was crazy enough to have…cool. "You should have listened to my descendant when he warned you against invading their personal dens."

Wait a minute…that voice wasn't coming from his head! Special Ops protocols imbedded into his processor kicked on, forcing his body to twist around in order to find some purchase in this floaty universe. The bright blue optics hidden by his optic band onlined only for him to shield them again at the overwhelming light that blinded him. His legs instinctively kicked in the air, attempting to get him away from the source blinding him. "Who are you? How dare you trick me with Prime's voice? I'm warnin' ya now, Ah'm not da mech ya should try an' trick."

A chuckle reverberated around him and a calming presence seemed to suddenly encompass him. Jazz fought it for a few moments before relaxing his tensed limbs and leaning into it. The presence seemed to caress his audial horns before speaking. "My child. How it pains me to greet you all under such horrible circumstances. To watch you fight such a seemingly never-ending war—that was never my intention upon your creation. You were destined to do such great things Jazz."

"Ah did do great things," Jazz answered sluggishly as the aura nearly lulled him into recharge, like a newly sparked hatchling in the arms of his progenitor. "Ah put smiles on da faces o' mechs dat had lost all hope. Ah helped raise an' protect a younglin' who had lost everything. Ah protected wha' Ah found precious an' saved many lives."

"That you did. But you also maliciously killed out of hate and taught others through your actions to do so as well. You tortured your fellow brethren for information they did not have all the while knowing that they did not have it. You fell into a deep and dark spiral that many could never reach, not even those you viewed as 'precious.'"

Jazz visibly flinched at the reminder of his deeds during the war. But if he hadn't done them, then someone else would have been forced to do it. It could have Bumblebee, or Bluestreak, or even Optimus in his place. No, he might have lost his way as the war had continued to ravage on, but he didn't regret what he had done. Was he ashamed? Yes, especially when reminded of the times when it wasn't necessary yet his hatred towards the mechs who had started, and continued, this war ate at his spark and manifested into the twisted things he had done.

But he didn't regret keeping others from having to suffer from the impending guilt that would later weigh on his processor and very spark. To have to force the convincing, fake smiles and amusing jokes around others when all he wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry over what he had lost—what so many of them had lost.

No, Jazz never regretted taking the gruesome parts of the war into his own servos. Someone had to it so that the others wouldn't suffer.

The entity (for Jazz had a pretty good idea of what this all-knowing presence was at this point; after all, he was dead) continued to caress him, its field never fluctuating from its saddened parental feel. "All of what you have done to protect the others around you. The actions you were forced to take pained you much, yet you continued. All to save others from having to experience it…how misguided my children have become."

The saboteur felt like curling up into a ball of guilt at the disappointment that now saturated the voice. Yet the disappointment did not last long before returning to the saddened tone. "The ways of the world are cruel, and I can only watch in grief and sorrow as my children turn away to follow them. Try as I might, it is only in the aftermath that they turn to me, only to scorn my name and blame me for their troubles."

Jazz swallowed as his earlier theories proved correct. He was standing before Primus. The one who had created them, who had gifted them the AllSpark, who the Primes were rumored to be directly descended from…frag he was so screwed. He'd done too much in his life to gain the favor of such a deity.

Amusement not his own washed over him before becoming serious. "Yet I find it interesting that not once have you done so. You have cursed many: Megatron, your commanding officer, your enemies. But not once have you taken my name in vain."

"Ah find it kinda hard ta believe dat you'd go through so much trouble makin' us to make us start killin' each other fo' ya enjoyment or somethin'," Jazz said softly, the confidence that always surrounded him suddenly fleeing. Being addressed by Primus would do that to a mech. "Guess it just never felt right ta curse ya."

It was silent for a while, and Jazz would have imagined that the entity had left if it hadn't been for the constant assurance that he was in fact there even if he couldn't online his optics to look without being blinded. He vaguely wondered if even Optimus would have that ability.

"You were not meant to die in Mission City," Primus suddenly said, and the saboteur felt his processor kick back into gear. "You were meant to live for many more days to come. Your sacrifice saved the lives of many who were meant to perish that day. There are not many even within my direct line of descendants who have accomplished that."

"Thank you?"

Warm laughter washed over him, and Jazz felt the first real smile in a long time spread across his faceplates. "You may accept the compliment without feeling intimidated. But I wish to give you an offer for your deed, though it is one that I do not make lightly. I will grant you those years that you have lost."

Jazz froze in complete surprise. "R-really?"

"Yes, but there is a catch."

"'Course there is. When aint there?"

More laughter could be heard. "I will grant you those years that you have given up, but you cannot return to your old life. The old Jazz is gone, and your friends and comrades will grieve for him. There must be a new Jazz, one who has been untouched by war and grief. One that can amend the past actions you have taken part in. You will live a full, new life, creating new memories to replace the old. Will you accept my offer or continue to the Well of Sparks?"

Jazz floated in space, keening a little when the deity released him in order to mull over his decision. He felt so empty and cold now. He wanted to keep that feeling of someone there, someone who was capable of understanding him in the fullest.

But…he didn't want to be dead. There was so much he felt he hadn't accomplished. What those things were exactly he had absolutely no idea, but he could find out with his second chance at life.

Except…was it worth it? He would forget everything he had done in this life. He would have never met Optimus or Prowl. Bumblebee or Ironhide. Ratchet, the Twins, Bluestreak—they and all of his memories of them would be gone. He would be alone; he didn't like to be alone. Being alone gave him time to think of things better left untouched.

Then again…if he didn't remember any of them, how was he supposed to know he was alone? He could forge new friendships with new people. Ones who he didn't have to constantly worry about whether they came back from patrol or not, or if they would walk back out of the battlefield once the fight was over. He could live without believing that he had to take the burden of dirty warfare on his shoulder in order keep his honorable leader as pure as possible so that others could look up to him and have something to fight for.

"Ah," Jazz started, all of a sudden encompassed by that mighty presence once more. He swallowed in an attempt to relieve his suddenly dry oral cavity. "Ah…Ah accept da deal. Ah wanna try again. But Ah gotta know if everyone's okay first. Ah know Ah'll just forget, but…"

"You were the only one of your team to fall," Primus answered knowingly, and Jazz nodded in relief. "Now, let us not waste any more time. You will be stripped of your memories upon arrival so that new ones might take their place, though there is some imbedded knowledge that will remain and become like instincts for you. Do not fret for you will still be 'Jazz.' Just a different one."

Jazz risked onlining his optics in the last few seconds he had before everything went dark. But he was thrilled to have seen that brilliant and loving smile on an otherwise indescribable deity. So worth the backlash of pain the blinding light inspired.

~:0:~

His name was Jazz. Former enforcer of Cybertron's Security Force working directly under Prowl, who at some point became his closest friend. During the war he was First Lieutenant under Optimus Prime, the same rank as Prowl. When Praxus fell, he helped his friend care for the wounded and traumatized youngling who would later become the Autobots' most skilled sharpshooter and talkative mech in the army—Bluestreak. He pranked with the Twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker; he personally trained up Bumblebee and Mirage in the way of Special Ops along with other mechs, though his spark throbbed with untold pain to do so; Decepticons spoke his name with fear inspired awe. He fought against Megatron, former Lord High Protector of Cybertron who was corrupted by his obsession for power. He followed Optimus into the stars when Cybertron fell to…to…

His name was Jazz. Former enforcer of Cybertron's Security Force working directly under Prowl, who at some point became his closest friend. During the war he was First Lieutenant under Optimus Prime, the same rank as Prowl. When Praxus fell, he…he…

His name was Jazz. Former enforcer of Cybertron's Security Force working directly under…who again?

His name was Jazz.

His name was Jazz.

His name was…

His name…it was…

He was hungry. And cold. Why was the silence around him so loud? Why was he lying on something so hard? Why…why was he alone? He needed someone to be there! Someone to hold him, and keep him warm, and put food in his belly. He opened his mouth and wailed out for someone, anyone, to come and get him. He didn't want to be alone anymore.

His name…

He didn't have a name.

~:0:~

Lorraine shuffled past the wide area of construction taking place, sparing only a short glance in the direction of downtown. Or what had been downtown. Last time she had gotten a good look at it, there was barely anything left. Businesses that had been running ever since she had moved to Mission City nearly five years ago were now completely destroyed. Vehicles had still littered the streets, either on fire, crushed, or just completely in pieces. There were still papers fluttering along the walls she walked past, showing pictures of the ones who still remained missing and the families who just desperately wanted answers.

It made her want to cry. So many people still appeared to be missing. Men and women; old and young; mothers and fathers; sons and daughters. Lorraine could only be grateful that the only thing she had lost was her job. There had been a moment in all of the confusion—the explosions and gun shots—that she had thought she was going to die.

One of those monstrous…things had reached out to kill her and the people around her when suddenly it had howled in rage and taken off. The poor woman could only watch in horror as it landed on a nearby building and a smaller silver figure had scrambled along the bigger one's torso, shooting at the face and dealing minimum damage before he had been peeled off and cruelly torn in half. Lorraine still shook now, weeks after the incident, as she remembered the upper part of her savior's body landing near her and watched without being able to do anything as his eyes had dulled and death took him.

All of it had been an overwhelming experience. Lorraine remembered returning to her apartment that night and weeping in remembrance of her nameless savior and all the people she had helplessly watched die that day. The next morning, she hadn't been able to watch the news stations weave a web of horrible lies for what had happened in Mission City yet at the same time she was happy that those ignorant people would never know what she had experienced. Let them believe in some hogwash story of a massive gas explosion—she wouldn't go out of her way to correct them.

Thankfully, Lorraine had not been able to dwell on that for long. Reality kicked in the next morning when she stepped off the bus a few blocks from her job because the area had been roped off with yellow tape. The little, but profitable, bakery she had worked in resided in the very middle of the destruction, and after calling the couple who owned it with worry, she had learned that they had been one of the many to be hit the hardest. While she was pleased to hear that neither had been hurt, it did not change the fact that she was now jobless with bills that needed to be paid.

A week later and Lorraine was still desperately looking for work. It was hard with the other people who were also doing the same, and it doubled thanks to her age. Most of the places that were looking for employees preferred a young face over one that was twice their age. She had been called back for a secretarial position, so that was a blessing in itself. All she had to do was go to the interview that had been scheduled for tomorrow and dazzle who would, hopefully, become her employer.

Lorraine now sat on the bench with a sigh and waited for the bus to make its rounds. It was times like these she wished she had a car, but she knew it would be more of a hassle than the bus. Besides, she had been doing this for twenty years now after her first (and only) car had broken down. Bus fare was far cheaper than replacing an old, worn out engine, and no one bothered an old lady with pepper spray. Especially after watching her spray a good number of shameful hooligans who attempted to take her purse.

The memory of the last teenager Lorraine had blinded was suddenly broken by a plaintive cry that cut through the silence she waited in. Lorraine twisted around and searched for perhaps a mother on an evening stroll with her child but found nothing. The crying increased in volume, and she began to worry when she found no one in sight. Where was that crying coming from?

She checked her watch and stood when she found that she had ten minutes until the next bus arrived. That would be plenty of time to find the source of the crying and return to her spot on the bench. The woman hurried along the street and followed the cries, reversing once when she realized that she had passed the source.

Stopping at the opening of an alley, Lorraine squinted into the shadows. The cries continued, falling into whimpers before picking up again in intensity. She cautiously stepped into the dark alley, grasping her can of pepper spray in case anyone tried to jump out at her. The cries seemed to be coming from behind the dumpster she saw, and she sidled up to it, almost dropping her pepper spray at the sight she found.

A little baby had been abandoned like common trash, placed inside a cardboard box with other miscellaneous items. He was swaddled in a light blue blanket so that only his dark face could be seen, though his little limbs flailed about beneath the blanket. Lorraine didn't hesitate to put away her only weapon and pick up the weeping child, cradling him in the elbow of her arm and rocking gently. "Shh, shh li'l one. It's all gonna be alright. I gotcha now."

A tiny brown fist broke free of its prison and waved around in the air with a loud cry. Lorraine reached down to gently grasp the flailing hand, which seemed to finally grab his attention. She gasped at the beautiful, sapphire eyes made brighter by the tears that surrounded them looked up at her and whimpered. She had expected the darker eyes that usually went along with his skin tone, which matched her own, but blue? She had never seen blue eyes so bright and stunning on anyone.

The baby whimpered again, and the woman snapped out of her awe and bundled him close before leaving the alley and returning to the bus stop just in time to hop on the bus. The other passengers ignored her as she grabbed the first empty seat she came across, and she ignored them as well as she maneuvered the bundle around in her arms.

The babe looked up at her with wide eyes still full of tears, and she gently rubbed the course hair that already sprouted from his head. "Don't worry li'l one. I'm not about to throw ya out like you've already been. You're comin' home with me; how's that sound?" Lorraine glanced down at the fine blanket wrapped around him and saw a name embroidered on the corner of the blanket. "Jaden? Is that you're name sweetie? I'm gonna take good care o' you Jaden."

Jaden closed his eyes and relaxed into the arms that held him. He was safe and warm now, and his hunger didn't look to be lasting for much longer. Now he could sleep.

And dream of a past life that would never be more than a fantasy to him.

AN: There we go :) This came out very well in my opinion even if I don't have a clear plan yet. Also, this story is most likely going to have way shorter chapters than my others, maybe even drabble length, and the rate at which it will be updated will possibly be a lot longer. I'm really just working on it until I can get through the rut I have found myself in with my other story (as I mentioned in the first AN). I will say that the potential of this turning JazzxOC is very high though it will come later because baby-Jazz has to grow up ;)

Leave me you thoughts, critiques, or complaints :D

EDITED: 3/20/14