"I'm gonna marry the night,
Won't give up on my life.
I'm a warrior queen,
Live passionately tonight.
I'm gonna marry the dark,
Gonna make love to the stars.
I'm a soldier to my own emptiness,
I, I'm a singer.
I'm gonna marry the night."
-prologue-
Everyday he ever woke up, there was nothing but pain.
Some days there was a bit less of such, but pain nonetheless.
People always called him names, pushed him, hurt him, beat him. His parents were no better. A drunk for a father, and a wailing ball of sadness as another father, and I suppose he was caught in the middle.
Nothing but a deteriorating piece of sheet metal, soon to just be thrown away like the rest. This is all about him,
Prowl.
Prowl was a poorly misunderstood youngling, and even now, full grown mech. Every day he lived, he wanted to it to just end.
Now, being just the young age of 9, you'd figure he was a bit overreactive. He had much to be sad over. Every day being a constant battle for him to even keep breathing, the sexual abuse, verbal and physical abuse - but this was apart of his daily life.
He supposed he was going to finally be used to it.
Prowl crawled into his closet, and quickly, but quietly, shut the door and locked it, and began gasping for air.
He was absolutely exhausted, and deathly afraid. He felt as if his spark would explode as it continued to jump pulses, and cause him to feel even more fear and anguish.
Suddenly, he heard a crash, and the familiar voice of his angry father.
"Prowl!" his father shrieked in absolute furiosity.
He shuddered in fear, and wrapped his arms around his legs as he backed up into the corner of the closet.
He held his breath, trying to be quiet as tears began to slowly fill his optics..
"Where are you, you little useless piece of slag?!" his father screamed, shaking the walls around him.
Prowl pressed both hands upon his audios to block out the sound of his angry father.
He cringed, praying, hoping he wouldn't find him, even just this once.
Then, just as quickly as he thought, he saw his father appear in an angry shadow above him. He looked up; horrified.
"Did you honestly think you could get away? You always try and hide, but does it ever work? Just accept you're my punching bag."
Prowl held himself tighter while staring into the fiery optics that his father owned. He was a tall, dark colored praxian.
Black door wings, with gray stripes, and a black part upon his chin.. Black across his torso, with a few stripes of white with underlying gray to go over it.
His appearance was downright frightening - but no where near as frightening as he was.
"I - I'm sorry..." Prowl practically whispered.
"I'm going to gut you!"
His father reached his hands down to grab Prowl, as he sat there, paralyzed with fear.
Suddenly, the sounds of breaking metal. Crashing, breaking, and the squeak of hinges coming apart.
"No!" wailed Prowl, feeling his spark heat rise up and his body felt as if it would melt under the painful pressure of his father.
Prowl wailed, and begged for his father to stop as he began to overheat from the stress, but no words would make his father stop.
And then, everything went black.
-beginning-
Prowl shot up, and began to hyperventilate in fear.
A nightmare. Even worse, a memory.
He put his hands to his face, and tried to fight back tears as the memories began to rush into his processor, breaking his soul completely apart. He stood up, hands still pressed to his face, trying to collect himself. He removed his hands, and looked at himself in the mirror.
"What's so wrong with me...?" he whispered to himself.
The tears began to well up in his optics, and he fell to the floor, completely losing it then and there.
He closed his optics, trying to fight back more tears, and squeezed his hands together, as if one of the hands belonged to another. But he knew he had no one but himself.
That's why his father never loved him, right?
That must be it.
He never did anything right, he could never be perfect... he was nowhere near perfect. He would never be worth anything.
As all these thoughts rushed to his mind, he looked to his top drawyer.
"I... It hurts so much. I can't..." he muttered quietly to himself.
He reached his hand to his drawyer, and opened it. Inside resided alcohol, with some cotton pads.
There was a little notebook with various drawings across the top, and that which lay ontop of it was a syringe and needle.
There were various things, but he knew what he wanted. He reached for the needle, and the rest of the contents. As he pulled them out, he laid back.
He began to lift a small flap upon his wrist, lifting up the metal and exposing the wires and cords beneath.
He took a deep breath, and reached to grab the red wire, pulling it up ever so slightly.
Then, he grabbed from his subspace a curious green liquid. Putting it into the syringe, he prepared his wrist.
He took a deep breath, and looked upon his arm.
In a flash, the needle entered his wires.
He gasped in pain, then pushed down with his thumb upon the syringe. He exhaled in relieved pain, and his optics rolled around in his head.
As he finished, he took out the syringe, and dropped it right to his side.. Unaware of anything, even himself now.
It didn't hurt as bad this way.
He lay there in the floor next to his berth, twitching, barely looking sane.
Holding onto the side of his berth as if he were about to fall, but there was no possible way because he'd been already laying down.
"Why... I..." he started to speak, but, his optics darkened, and he lost himself there to the drugs he had pressed so deeply into himself. And just like that, everything went black.
-POV-
Jazz was at his working quarters, typing away at his computer, watching the surveillance cameras as he slowly sipped at his energon cube.
Just losing himself in his thoughts.
He wonderered what Ironhide might be doing. It seemed he was always so happy, and jolly.
He wished he could be like, that, and then - speak of the devil.
"Hey, Jazz. What's up?" Ironhide walked up, and leaned next to Jazz's computer. "Surveillance? Gets boring sometimes, don't it?" he said, following a hearty laugh.
He looked up at the big, red mech and shrugged. "I feel like I'm constantly spying on people! Like, woah. Kind of like Blaster's little cassette tapes, or wharever." he said rather loudly as he laughed.
"Ha, those lil' guys are cute! I'd feel like my privacy was sort of invaded if they were around me all the time though. Especially in my chest! What if I was showerin' or somthin'." he shouted, following a loud laugh as he slapped his knee, then proceeded to take a drink out of his own energon cube. It wasn't the best grade, but it would do.
Jazz smiled.
"Yeah, but those are like his own kids. There no sparks around like Blaster's, and I mean that literally. He's dual sparked. He can't mate with another mech, or a femme, so that's a way to sub for birthing sparklings, I guess. When ya got kids - or somethin' like kids - you love em'. You don't care what they see of you, you give em' your all."
Ironhide mulled over the thought.
"... Hmm, well. I guess you're right.. Well, I gotta get back to my work post. Lemme know if ya need any help, or see anything that shouldn't be going on on those cameras!"
"I sure will." Jazz replied as he watched Ironhide leave the room, with a wave.
Suddenly, Jazz created a topic to think about -
Love.
What was it really? Jazz didn't really know love. As a matter of fact, he'd never really even felt it, other than the love from his birth parents.
Would he ever fall in love?
He didn't know, but he wanted to soon. He was getting older, and he hadn't even spark-bonded once.
He hadn't even had a real kiss - and with that thought, knew it was time to find someone. But who?
Maybe Smokescreen?
No, he's a bit of a... uh, well, he wasn't going to even think that way.
Maybe Sideswipe?
Nah, he wasn't feminine enough for him. Perhaps-
Then his thoughts were interrupted as he looked up at the surveillance cameras.
On camera 9, which was in front of Prowl's quarters, he saw a figure crawling out from his quarters. He squinted to see - It was Prowl, and he didn't look too good.
Jazz shot up, and sprinted toward the second in command's quarters, and found him crawling in the hallway, seemingly trying to crawl to Mirage's quarters.
"Hey! Prowl, are you okay?"
But he recieved no response, as he watched him continue to struggle against the ground in a bit of a battle.
He made his way closer, and began to help him up.
"Don't touch me!" Prowl shouted, and slapped his arm off him, and their eyes met and Prowl froze, as did Jazz.
"A-Are you okay? Let me get you some help. Did something happen?" Jazz said with concern.
"No, I'm fine. Don't get anyone... just... help me over there." He pointed to Mirage's quarters. "He can help me, I don't need anyone else's help right now."
Confused, Jazz agreed.
He grabbed Prowl by the waist with one hand, then wrapped his arm around in an effort to help him up. As he slowly rose Prowl up, he used his free hand to grab Prowl's hand, and wrapped his arm around his own neck to help him walk. Then, slowly, they began to take steps.
"So... are you okay?" Jazz asked, with obvious worry in his voice, despite his low knowledge of the mech he was watching stagger.
"It's none of your business." Prowl replied, coldly and plainly.
Jazz cringed at his tone.
"Uh, okay..."
The silence was awkward, but they made it to Mirage's quarters in time before it got even more awkward.
Jazz carefully leaned Prowl's weak body against the wall next to Mirage's quarters, and press the buzzer to ring the door.
"Hello? Mirage?" he called after the spy.
The door slid open, and Mirage poked his head out at Jazz.
"What?" he replied irritably in his accented voice.
"Um, I found Prowl crawling outside of his quarters and he told me to take him here. He said you would know how to help him, but uh - I - I don't even know what's wrong. And - "
"Thanks, I got it from here." Mirage said plainly as he cut off Jazz in the middle of his sentence, and he turned to grab Prowl. "Come on, I told you not to use so much."
And they disappeared into his quarters, and the doors slid shut.
Jazz stood infront of the quarters, a bit dumbfounded.
What just happened?
He didn't know.
He was confused.
He made his way back to his work station, and sat back down, laid back and sighed loudly into his palm.
"Damn, damn, damn..." he muttered under his breath.
What was that all about?
He continued to wonder.
Then a thought suddenly appeared - perhaps Ironhide would know.
He removed himself from his position, and made a trek down the hallway to Ironhide's workroom.
He hesitated, but he knocked. The door slid open almost immediately, and out appeared a jolly looking Ironhide.
"Howdy! What can I do for ya, my friend?" He said in earnest.
Jazz blinked a couple of times, then cleared his throat.
"Well, uh... I saw Prowl on the surveillance camera a little while ago, and he was crawling around on the ground and he was barely even awake it seemed like, and his optics were rolling around in the back of his head whenever I went to go help him. He was really independant and didn't want any help from me, but he wanted it from Mirage. I mean, maybe Mirage knew what was wrong, I don't know. You seem to have a good profile on people, so I was just kinda wondering if you know what could be wrong?" he finished.
Ironhide narrowed his eyes as his jolly expression disappeared in a click. "Come in." he said sharply.
Confused, he hesitantly entered the workroom, and heard Ironhide lock the door.
"Have a seat," he ordered. "And I'll explain. You're not gonna like it, and probably not believe me, but, yeah."
Jazz sat down, and then looked at Ironhide expectantly.
Ironhide sighed, and he began.
"You see, Prowl has... problems. He has a long history of abuse, and because of that, he's a bit, um, for lack of a better word... disturbed. He's not really the kind of mech you want to help out, or even be around, for that matter. He only talks to Mirage because Mirage is a prostitute and probably about as low in the totem pole as Prowl is, and just as screwed up mentally, as well as in a drug cartel. Now, I don't know if Prowl does drugs, but if he hangs around Mirage, I wouldn't doubt he does, esepcially with that sight you saw just a little bit ago. You can think whatever ya want, but you asked my opinion."
He finished as he looked down, then looked back up at Jazz with a worrisome look upon his face.
Jazz blinked a few times, obviously a bit surprised by what he just heard.
"Oh, alright... Well, don't you think he needs help?" he replied, obvious concern and worry in his voice, to Ironhide's surprise.
"Who fraggin' cares?! He does, but he's beyond help! I'm tellin' ya, Jazz. He's demented, and he ain't no good. Everyone's tried to help him, but he just won't accept none of it, least of all from me or Optimus! The only person he lets into his life period is Mirage, or rarely, Bluestreak. I'm tellin' ya, you wanna stay out of it."
He said in a warning tone. Well, frag. He was being a little too serious.
"O-okay..."
Jazz responded unevenly, and removed himself from the seat. He walked toward the door, feeling optics upon him, and turned to look at Ironhide. "
Thanks for the advice..."
He recieved back nothing but a simple nod.
He took his leave, and made his way back to his work station. He again took his seat, and got lost entirely in his thoughts.
Prowl couldn't be that bad, could he?
I mean, he's simply a mech like everyone else. He couldn't be that screwed up.
He looked like he was in pain whenever he found him...
He just needed help.
Right?
For some reason, Jazz wanted to be the one to help him.
And then, a most curious thought came to him about his earlier thoughts and topics of his mind.
Love...
What if Prowl was the one? No, that couldn't be it... but he was so beautiful He had the most lovely, sapphire blue optics that burned with such a passion, it made Jazz a bit weak.
He knew Prowl never really talked much, but he somehow wanted to be the one to teach him to talk more.
To teach him to feel better and not to hurt., to be himself.
He didn't know why, but he felt in that moment, more than any other moment he felt, that he was meant for this.
He laid back in his chair, and whispered before drifting into recharge.,
"Prowl..."
