Your plating is cracked and your servos ache as energon drips all over your frame. The chamber smells of hot metal and some instruments are abandoned on the floor. Every pulse of your systems feels like you're seconds away from powering down. A sharp blast cuts through the door and throws it across the other side of the room. You know that sound. Jazz. He's here for you.

"Easy there I gotcha. No one’s layin' another servo on ya."

When his servos touch your plating, they’re careful and gentler than you thought they'd be. Your vents stutter as he lifts and cradles you against his chassis. The pain in your frame goes away for a moment and gets replaced by a feeling of safety. He gives a smile. A soft flash of humor to shield the fury he feels at what the Decepticons did to you.