So, I really want more of this pairing, but I've only seen a few every now and then. Eventually I figured I might as well just write some myself. I haven't written anything on here in a long time. For the past couple years I've been more focused on my personal stories, but this idea came to me suddenly and I thought I could use a break. Just for the record, I don't do romance, but lately everything I write is dark and murderous. So, writing this was somewhat refreshing. Hope you enjoy.
Also, this is based on a song by Richard Thompson called "1952 Vincent Black Lightning." It's fantastic so go listen to it! I would also recommend the entire album "Acoustic Classics" if you're looking for some chill music.
…
"Bye Arcee!" Jack called out a little louder than intended. He instinctively threw a hand over his mouth and muttered a quick 'whoops' to himself. Arcee chuckled slightly, maintaining her low-profile position against the school's curb. Since they met, Jack struggled to keep up his appearance as a sane human being. It seemed every time he thanked her for the ride, or reminded her his mom would be home earlier than usual, there was a mother carting her child out of a building, ready to shoot him the most judgmental look possible. At times like that, it became increasingly difficult for the blue motorcycle to keep herself from howling with laughter. His sheepish mannerisms only made him look more out of sorts.
She watched Jack jog up the concrete school steps, a pleasantly surprised expression adorning her face upon realizing he hadn't tripped this time. Jack hiked his book bag further up his shoulder as it started to slip. Nice save partner.
Arcee waited impatiently for the last of the students to trail through the school's double doors. As soon as the last straggler was out of sight, she went from zero to fifty to get out off the campus. As a precaution, she activated Sadie just before she skidded into the streets.
In the school, Jack had just slumped down in his first period class, let out his first relaxed breath that morning, happy to have a total of three seconds of peace. He started to shut his eyes, wondering if he could sleep for an extra two minutes. His books were compiled into a makeshift pillow of hard plastic that he gratefully began to lay his head down on. However, a sharp squeal made his head snap back up so fast Jack was certain he broke it. "Miko!" He hissed at the overly-excited girl.
She stopped for a minute, looking him dead in the eye. "Good morning, Jackson. Isn't today a fine day?"
He raised an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic calmness, "No? Is it supposed to be?"
"YES," she screeched, making Jack jump back as far as he could in his seat. His ears rung and the tell-tale signs of a headache formed towards the back of his head. "Slash Monkey's new album comes out today!"
Jack face palmed. Of course, he didn't know what he was expecting. A real answer? No. But maybe it was a real answer to her. Instead of replying, he groaned again and let his head crash into the desk. Today was going to be a long day.
When the final bell rang, Jack leapt from his chair with more excitement and vigor than an amputee suddenly waking up with two new legs. One look into the halls, where mass amounts of people threw themselves into lockers and dropped their belongings all over the floor, and Jack decided to wait. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he called Arcee to let her know he decided to walk home, and not to wait up. It was likely Arcee was already too busy to get him, as she didn't answer the call.
Ten minutes of fiddling with a crack in a random desk later, the hallways had mostly cleared. The suffocating smell of everyone's gym socks was reduced to a dull, lingering hint in the air. Regardless of whatever other smells may be swirling around in his oxygen, Jack took his chances and walked into the emptying hallway.
It didn't take long for him to collect his things, slamming his locker softly when he was certain he had everything. However, as he stepped away, his face screwed up in exasperation, doing a one-eighty towards his locker to get the math textbook he left.
After three tries, he was undoubtedly sure he had everything tucked neatly into his bag. He strolled down the halls, making a left and a right where need be, until he was graced with fresh air. Feeling the wind blowing into him the moment he thrust the heavy doors open was the most refreshing thing he could think of. Jack inhaled deeply, trying to think if this was the feeling prisoners got when they were released on parole.
Sunlight invaded every possible crevice, illuminating a majority of the weak shadows still trying their best to loom over the school. It bounced off the hoods of cars, creating an almost glittery effect and forcing Jack to throw an arm over his eyes-an attempt to prevent instant blindness.
Jack felt the sun beating down hard against his back, a thin sheen of sweat already beginning to layer his back where his bag rested against it. In preparation for his long-ass walk home, he slipped the long-sleeved shirt out from underneath, leaving him in a gray t-shirt. A completely new relief came when he stuffed the shirt in his bag, ridding himself of one less trouble.
With a content sigh, I began his trek home.
His feet padded against the pavement, stopping every now and then to wait for a clearing in a long line of cars. Eventually, he found himself standing in front of his house. Taking a few glances behind him, he struggled to remember if this was truly where he lived. I thought the walk was longer?
Deciding that this place was indeed his house, he also realized he wasn't ready to be home yet. Jack tossed his back in the front yard with the skill of an Olympic javelin thrower. With amusement, he watched it land behind a bush. Nodding to himself about its idea placement, he ran in the opposite direction.
His feet pounded harder against the concrete, slapping the pavement relentlessly. Cars honked angrily when he tore through the streets, showing complete disregard for his own safety. Internally, he hoped to God one of those cars wasn't his mother; that's something he would never live down.
After a few minutes, the school came back in to view, emptied of cars and people. The stark contrast between the school before and after house was incredible. Never had Jack seen the alternate port way to Hell look so damn serene.
Rather than stop there, Jack sped past it, the familiar pounding of concrete exchanged for soft thudding through grass when he ran out of street. Anyone could tell the grass hadn't been cut for a while-it covered Jack's shoes. At the tips, bright, saturated green gave way to a deadened brownish-yellow. In some parts, it squashed silently under his gym shoes, and in other parts it crunched as if he had just stepped on an actual person. But that didn't impair his running in the slightest.
Bright yellow sunlight gave way to a darkening orange. Casting a dim glow over everything Jack's eyes landed on. Jack found himself jogging leisurely alongside a back road. From neither direction could he hear the rumbling engine of a car coming his way. He could have run into the middle of the road if he wanted-there was no one there to tell him otherwise.
Jack mulled the idea over in his head for a moment, and just as he made to run towards the street, a roaring, black, motorcycle cut him off, making him jump back towards the grass.
Jack shouted in surprise, feeling the effects of a 'near-death experience' start to kick in. His chest rose and fell heavily with strained breathing as he tried to slow his heart rate. Without knowing it, he had been running for nearly two hours, and his pounding heart rate only just then reached his eardrums. Exhausted, he leaned over, grasping his knees with his hands to support himself. Beads of sweat rolled down the side of his face.
A loud crash grasped his attention. The black motorcycle had apparently tried to evade him, and ended up veering out of control. It lay on its side, both wheels spinning madly at the sudden loss of friction. Quiet groans sounded from somewhere under the bike.
Jack's eyes widened and he gave an audible gasp before sprinting over. He took a hold on the bike's handlebars and heaved it off the rider. "Oh my God. I'm so so sorry about that! I didn't think anyone was coming and-"
"Shush."
"W-what?" Jack recoiled back slightly.
"My head. It hurts. I don't need you to make it worse."
Jack winced, "Yeah, got it." He looked at the tinted helmet the rider wore. It was difficult to depict who was under it, especially because the man had his back turned. Suddenly, Jack looked at the motorcycle still held steady in his hands. "Is this… a Vincent Black Lightning?"
The rider visibly halted his process of fixing his leather jacket, "You know what that is?"
"Well, yes. I can obviously tell that is a motorcycle."
"No, smart ass-" the man turned around and froze. "Darby?"
There was an underlying condescending tone to his voice that Jack picked up right away, "Vince?"
Vince tore his helmet off to make sure the tinted visor wasn't obstructing his vision. "I almost killed you!" He shouted.
"Yeah you almost did!" Jack shouted back.
The two remained silent for a moment, both staring at each other angrily. A tense air swarmed around them that soon turned awkward. Jack was the one who finally decided to break it, though regrettably, "Your bike. It's the 1952?"
Vince had crossed his arms over his chest. Though his glare began to lose its intensity, he maintained his intimidating stance. "...Yeah. What of it?"
"N-nothing. It's just...they're hard to come by. I didn't think you rode motorcycles. What happened to your car?"
"It's in the shop."
Jack smiled at the vague memory. Good times.
Vince gave the slightest hint of a grin, but it vanished as soon as it came and was replaced with an almost business-like formality. "You were right, by the way. It's a 1952 Vincent Black Lightning. It was my grandad's. He gave it to me as a birthday present last year. Of course, the troll made sure it wasn't working. I only just now got it fixed."
Jack glanced down at the sleek, black paint job, "Well, by the sound of the engine I heard barreling towards me out of nowhere...I would say you got it fixed pretty good," he commended.
This time, Vince let a small smirk form on his mouth, "Well, thanks." Jack went back to admiring the bike, turning it slightly to get a look at it from different angles. Then A question popped into. Vince's head: "Wait- What the hell are you doing out here, anyway?"
Jack struggled to give him an answer. After a moment's thought, he only said he had felt like going for a run.
"In jeans?" Vince raised an eyebrow.
"I came straight from school. Changing clothes didn't come to mind-until now, that it," Jack lowered his gaze to the ground in slight embarrassment.
"School? Just how long have you been out here?"
"A few hours. I know when I go home I've got homework waiting for me, so I'm trying to put it off as long as I can."
Vince exhaled sharply through his nose, another smirk on his face.
Things became quiet again, and Jack once again was the one to break, only just now remembering how they met in the first place, "Are you okay though? It looked like you took a nasty fall."
"Nah, I'm fine-"
"Oh my God, you're bleeding!"
Vince looked down at his arm, where a bright red line of blood had begun to drag down to his hand. It dripped off his fingertips, plopping against the scuffed road. "Well, would ya look at that..."
"We have to go to the hospital! You have to get help," Jack moved to push him towards the nearest hospital but Vince stubbornly refused to move.
"Honestly, is that your best effort? It feels like a bunch of ladybugs are plummeting into me."
"Shut up. This is serious! You could pass out from blood loss, or it could get infected-depending in what stabbed you- or it could…"
While Jack rambled on about all the terrible things that could happen, Vince turned to dig into a side compartment in his bike. He brought out a pack of gauze and began wrapping a thick layer around his arm. Finding no scissors, he ripped it with his teeth and promptly returned the rest to its place. "See? All better."
Jack stopped talking and looked at the choppy patch job. He released an exasperated sigh, but didn't say anything more. It was obvious Vince wouldn't be going to a hospital anytime soon. "Alright, fine."
"Come on."
"What?" Jack asked as Vince began setting up his motorcycle.
"Get on. Are you waiting for some kind of formal invitation?" Vince gestured to the space behind him as he clambered into the front part of the seat, only showing mild discomfort from his arm. "We're eight miles away from your house. You think it's going to be fun for you to walk back in the dark?"
It was getting darker. And running all that way would be tiring. Jack stared dumbfounded at Vince. Against his better judgment, he hesitantly approached the motored-death-trap. Vince watched him expectantly as Jack mentally argued with himself about whether or not it was okay for him to actually get on.
"Hurry up."
Jack growled, "Fine," and seated himself behind Vince. Being this close to the school bully was kind of unnerving. At the same time, it was sort of nice. Vince smelled like pine trees and something spicier. Jack mentally slapped himself when he realized what he was just thinking. The 'Bots would kill me if they knew I was hanging out with this guy like this. And Miko. That girl couldn't shut up as things were. Imagine adding this kind of insignificant and needless drama to the mix.
"Hold on. Or you're going to go flying off and I'm not coming back for you."
"Wow, how incredibly sweet," Jack said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Regardless, he laced his arms around Vince's midsection. As soon as he did that, Vince hit the gas and sped off at a speed far over the legal limit. Jack let out a surprised shout and grasped the redhead harder. "This is not the speed limit I saw on that sign!"
"Who the hell cares?"
…...
The next morning, Vince woke up feeling more refreshed than he had felt in years. Once high school started, he was forever trapped in a cyclic and inescapable stress. But today felt different.
For once, his mother's nagging from downstairs didn't seem to bother him at all. His sister began shouting at him from the other side of his door, telling him to get his ass in and out of the bathroom so she could use it. Without knocking, his older brother waltzed in and took a jacket out of his closet, telling him he would return it later. On a normal day, all these things would be enough to drive him over the edge. But not today.
After his siblings left him alone, he rolled around in bed for a few minutes, trying to crack the stiff bones in his spine. Morning grog still clouded around his head, but he got up anyway. He placed two shaky feet on his bedroom carpeting, slowly (and with a strained grunt) pulled himself out of the warm cloud of heaven known as his bed.
Vince went about his morning routine. He got dressed, brushed his teeth, ate something for breakfast so his mom would cease her bitching, and gathered his things. Shouting followed him all the way to the garage but he did his best to tune it out. Upon opening the garage door, he caught sight of his motorcycle, leaning slightly to the left on the kickstand.
He didn't think it was possible for him to like an object this much. Maybe it wasn't the only bike at all; maybe it was the memories behind it. Yesterday was the first time he had ever had a civil conversation with Jack and he had to say- he enjoyed it.
His relationship with his grandad was a close one. He felt more connected with a sixty-year-old man than he did with any of his siblings. The bike represented how much his grandad trusted him instead of his brother or sister. If only Vince had a picture of their faces when the old man wheeled the thing straight past them.
Vince took out the bike's keys and settled them into the ignition, getting on slowly and making sure the strap of his helmet was comfortable. He pushed a button to open up the garage door and sped out the driveway.
The trip to school took a lot more time than he imagined. He had never felt rushed to get to school, but for some reason he wanted to be there. These positive thoughts were beginning to scare him.
There. Walking across his path was the person he had subconsciously been looking for. "Darby."
Jack stopped at the sound of his voice, turning to him and giving a small wave, "Hey."
"Don't let me almost murder you again. I could do a little while without having those kinds of setbacks."
"How very sweet of you," Jack snickered and walked off.
There was a weird feeling in Vince's chest; something uplifting. His insides felt sort of jittery and he thought he might be on the verge of vomiting. A few minutes later, he realized his face was broken into the stupidest grin. Repulsed, he swapped it for a more comfortable frown. It wouldn't do his reputation any justice of he all of a sudden turned into a grinning idiot.
He walked up the school steps with his things tucked under his arm, his book bag slung over his shoulder. As soon as he made it to his locker, one of his friends appeared behind him.
"Vince."
Vince turned around, "What do you want?"
"We're doing it tonight. Are you in or not?" He asked in a hushed voice.
Well, it wouldn't do him any good to start acting wishy-washy with his decisions. Only a few seconds passed before Vince gave him in answer, "Yeah. Meet you in the same spot?"
"You got it. See you tonight," and he walked off, leaving Vince alone at his locker.
The bell rang, but Vince stayed rooted to his spot, his hand clenching and unclenching around his open locker door. Students emptied from the halls, save for him. I really don't want to, he thought. For the first time, he thought about the consequences of what he was about to do. For the first time, he didn't know if they were consequences he could actually deal with. There was this strange feeling of self-preservation that nagged in the back of his mind. Maybe it was how concerned Jack had been for his well-being when they met on that lonesome, winding back road.
He didn't know what it was exactly. But he already committed. There would be no backing out now.
That night, he took his car (damaging the morals built around his motorcycle wasn't an option) and parked it around the back of an old building. He waited in the dark alleyway for the familiar faces of his friends. Brick buildings with their own supply of mold and mildew glowered over him with imaginary eyes, staring at him with the judgment of an almost other-worldly force. Their dark shadows reached around him in the driver's seat, grazing his neck with their almost human-like tendrils. A heavy weight shifted around in Vince's chest and then suddenly spiked to slump in his throat when he caught sight of his friend at school.
Trying not to show the trepidation evident in his wobbling legs, he got out of his car. The growing group of teenagers stood under a lamppost talking quietly. When he approached them they all looked up at him.
"Alright. Looks like everyone's here," the friend from school announced. Together, they all walked in the direction of the nearby twenty four hour corner store.
The closer they got to the store's lighting, the more Vince regretted ever agreeing. Screw his reputation, this isn't something he would want to do ever.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the matte blackness of a handgun poking through the front hoodie pocket in a boy's jacket. All at once, the weight of how today wouldn't just impact him, settled in. For most of the kids there, they couldn't have been over fourteen. This would be their first robbery, but certainly not their last-if they got away, that is.
Then it all happened at once. In one fluid motion, the boys walked in and spread to different parts of the store. Only one clerk was on duty, and Vince's friend made no hesitation to walk up to his desk.
The man looked up from his log to greet the potential customer, only to find his head slammed into the desk with the barrel of a gun pressed to him. He shouted in unexpected horror, struggling furiously to get away. Vince's friend and two other boys helped restrain him while another few boys tried to pry open the register. Vince was the one to tear off the register's locked drawer, letting the other boys stuff the money into a pillowcase.
Suddenly, red and blue lights shone through the large glass window. Every boy perked up at the sight, going rigid with panic. One finally got moving, urging the others to follow him out the store's back entrance. Vince lagged behind, stopping to give the clerk an apologetic look before jogging after the other boys.
A euphoric feeling lit up in his chest, his heart pumping faster than his head could keep up with. Vince felt his fingers twitch with adrenaline, but most of all fear.
Overwhelming darkness obstructed his vision, making it completely cut out save for the few areas where a dim streetlamp illuminated a small portion of concrete. The few lights there were-though paling in comparison to the store's bright neon- gave him a splitting headache. Spots danced across his vision and the adrenaline slowly began to fade-leaving him with an empty and lightheaded feeling.
There was an abrupt pain shooting into the right side of his chest. The full force of the blow threw him forward onto his knees. First, he struggled to stand up, finding whatever had hit him remained lodged in some crevice, allowing a thick red substance to seep through his t-shirt. Second, he felt the last of his adrenaline escape through the open wound. Finding no stored energy left to pull himself back up, he dropped down to the cold street.
When he woke up, the entire world had a blurry haze to it, making it impossible to make out any of the colored blobs moving swiftly past him. Pristine white walls blared like raw sunlight; his headache returned full force.
Something didn't feel right. His limbs felt limp and useless and just so dead. He made a valiant attempt to move them, but gave up.
There was something nagging in his mind. Something he felt was important. A nurse walked in with upper-back-length black hair and morosely-blue eyes. Vince looked at her with recognition, "I need to speak with your son."
June looked surprised, waiting for a further explanation. Though all she got was a desperate plea. She complied with his demand and called Fowler at the base.
At the Autobot base, Jack sat with his feet kicked up on the table; a book rested in his lap. Optimus stood watching over Ratchet's shoulder at the large monitor. Raf had at some point perched himself on the over-sized keyboard, trying to get a view of what they were doing without letting himself get in the way.
Loud metal blared through a high definition amplifier over in the far corner. Jack had hissed at Miko, insisting she find a farther away spot to 'jam out.' Bulkhead-her percussionist- followed her until they were only somewhat out of earshot.
Jack eventually gave up trying to read his book. Frustrated, he threw it down on the table and instead went to get his earplugs from his book bag. Just as he unzipped the front pocket, Fowler walked in, an urgency in his demeanor. "Agent Fowler?"
All eyes-and optics- turned towards the door. "Your mom needs you at the hospital."
"Agent Fowler? What's this about?" Optimus questioned and strode over.
"My mom wants me at the hospital? Is she okay?" Jack stood up, nervous energy peaking through his voice.
"She's fine. There's an injured young man asking to see you," Fowler spoke solely to Jack.
At a loss for what to do-and more at a loss wondering who the person was- Jack looked up at Optimus, silently looking for clearance to leave.
"It seems impertinent that you go," Optimus advised him, nudging him slightly towards the door with a large servo.
Jack went the rest of the way on his own, following behind Fowler. The large agent opened his car door when they reached the lot, allowing Jack to get in. He closed the passenger door and hurried to seat himself on the driver's side.
The whole ride was spent with Fowler telling him half-hearted reassurances about how it was probably nothing, or just a bored patient looking for someone to talk to. He asked Jack if he had any idea who the man was-as June failed to mention his name. Jack thought about it for a while, going through a mental list of his friends and family members. Sure he had a lot of reckless family members, but he didn't think any of them would ask to see him. Most of his family was grumpy and isolated.
As for his friends, there weren't many of those to begin with. He couldn't think of a single one important enough to ask to see him. Jack's heart lurched when Fowler pulled into the hospital. The man wished him luck as he stepped out of the car and walked stiffly into the large building.
As soon as the suffocating smell of antiseptic met his nostrils, he was overwhelmed by the mass amounts of people scurrying back and forth. It was an all out mad house. From somewhere in the distance, Jack heard his name called. His mom came jogging up to him, "Sorry sweetie, we're a bit busy right now. Come this way, I'll take you to his room."
"Who is it?"
"Some red-haired guy named 'Vince.' Do you know him?"
Jack visibly froze, "W-who?"
June didn't bother to answer his stunned question, allowing his flabbergasted expression to go unnoticed. Instead, she dragged him down three different halls and left him in the doorway of a hospital room. Jack was left standing, peering into the room, trying to get a look at who the person really was. He knew it couldn't be the real Vince.
Jack hesitantly walked into the room-against some of his better judgment. He took deliberate steps to make his way over to the bed when-
"Hurry up."
Jack halted his steps to stare at the motionless figure. "V-Vince?"
"Well who the fuck did you think it was?" Vince tried to sit up to better glare at the raven-haired boy.
Without missing another beat, Jack rushed over, a worried expression twisted into his face. "What the hell happened?!"
Vince thought back to the failed robbery. Did he really want to give a Jack a low opinion of him at a time like this? "I got shot."
"What?! How?"
"It doesn't matter," Vince wheezed, erupting into a fit of coughing.
Jack put a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to lay back down. A single piece of black hair fell into his blue eyes. Vince almost died right there when Jack brushed it behind his ear.
"You're kind of frustrating."
Jack suddenly lost it, "I'm frustrating? Are you kidding me right now?!"
Vince laid back and closed his eyes, listening to Jack's irritated shouting. He went on and on about how Vince was the most irresponsible person he had ever met-and he was friends with a Nakadai. Then he digressed into a rather extensive explanation of how absolutely infuriating the bully was-one day they were fighting over the most trivial of things, the next he was offering him a ride home. Jack had done nothing to him, yet Vince had the audacity to call him frustrating. Someone should have better consideration for his own personal safety, Jack added.
When Vince found an opening, he cut Jack off-who was panting feverishly from his long rant. "Jack, stop shouting. My head hurts."
Jack's rough glare softened, "Do you need me to get a nurse?"
"No," Vince smiled, "I just wanted to talk to you for a moment."
There was a pause as Jack stepped as close as physically possible, carefully laying his hands on the side of the bed. He didn't speak, but waited for Vince to start talking again.
"I want to give you my bike."
"Wh-?!" Jack tensed again, but Vince held a shaking hand up to shut him up.
"I wouldn't trust that gorgeous thing in neither of my siblings' filthy mitts," He let out a soft chuckle. "You know how to ride a motorcycle pretty well-I see you on that blue one all the time. You like it too, judging by how much you talk to it."
Jack smiled slightly, but only a little.
"I know we haven't always gotten along, but the truth is-I have always liked you a little. For some reason, I feel comfortable around you and I know you're a great person-I pale in comparison...literally, because I'm so freaking white.
"Anyways, I can't think of a better human being to hand it over to. I know you'll take care of it for me. Considerate a final peace offering."
"Final? What the hell are you talking about? It can't be that bad, you're going to be up again in a few weeks-or days, judging by your stubbornness and disregard for rules," Jack protested.
"I like to refer to them as optional guidelines," Vince started laughing again, which soon gave way to a fit of pain in his chest. "Seriously though, take the damn bike."
Vince grabbed a hold on Jack's hand, gripping it weakly in his own. He tried to squeeze it reassuringly, but couldn't summon up the strength. His green eyes wandered over, connecting with watering blue ones. It was becoming increasingly hard to breath, each labored pant making his chest rise only a little. A heavy weight settled on top of his chest, he strained hard to breath in again-but for some reason it caught somewhere in his lungs. The last thing he heard was the distant sound of the electrocardiogram releasing one final beep.
Jack jumped and whirled around when he heard the dreaded sound of a flat-line. His mom rushed into the room. "M-mom…" Jack struggled to fight the lump filling his throat. "H-he's not breathing anymore."
She ran over and turned off the machine, moments later a doctor came running in to call the time. Jack watched Vince's body lay there, looking so calm and composed. A complete change from his usual short temper and impulsive behavior. He suddenly became an entirely different person. And Jack wished he could have known him better.
Salty tears poured from Jack's eyes, as hard as he tried to prevent them. He refused to move from his post next to Vince's bed, but soon enough a doctor was ushering him out the door. June held him by the shoulders and let him sob hysterically. Jack didn't know if it was the realization that Vince had been a decent person after all, or the raw, burning, and incomprehensible painof losing someone he could have been closer with. At that moment, he felt there were so many things he lost that he would never get a chance to remedy. Guilt mixed with his own self-hatred and settled in deep in the pit of his stomach. It refused to mix in with his other emotions, and instead sat there like a turbid, roily, slop.
The next day, Jack refused to go to the base; He stayed at home in his room and ignored all of his phone calls. June couldn't be there-as much as she wanted to-because she was busy at the hospital. So Jack was left alone to himself and his thoughts that kept drifting towards Vince in the hospital. Multiple times he thought about answering his calls from Arcee, but decided against it.
As expected, she came buy in person, demanding to know why he insisted on ignoring her. He gave her the excuse of homework, which earned him a suspicious look, but Arcee left him be anyway.
Jack wasn't sure if he wanted to talk about Vince, but he felt like he needed to. A long list of people came to mind, but none of them seemed like anyone who would understand. He tossed that idea out the window and forgot about it.
The day after that, he gave in and went to base. Apparently things were heating up at the base and Optimus was beginning to worry for his safety. He rolled in on Arcee, dismounting with unenthusiastic deliberation. For the most part, people gave him his space-except for a certain Japanese exchange student, that is.
"Dude, where have you been? You missed band practice!"
Jack didn't think it was worth responding to and settled on giving her a shrug before walking straight past her to sit on the couch. He propped his feet up on the table and pulled out the book he had been reading before- but it didn't feel the same.
The rest of the day went on with uncharacteristic silence.
Raf brought up an article about a local boy shot in a failed robbery attempt. Miko glanced over at Vince's school picture posted next to it. Jack left to go up top, away from all the talk he didn't want to hear.
He climbed up to the very to of the rock housing Autobot headquarters. A vast desert of nothing expanded before him. At a certain point he lost sight of what was out there, and gave up trying to find it. The usually bright sun faded into a dim orange glow as it fought to keep itself in the sky. Jack sat with his legs dangling off the side-a position that would have given his mother a heart attack, had she been there. No sounds interrupted his thoughts, which only made the voice in his head seem louder. Soon enough, he felt the beginnings of a headache start to work its way into his brain. He let his head drop into his hands, unable to support its full weight on its own.
Large, metallic footsteps approached him from behind. Jack jumped and spun around, forgetting to get rid of the wet stains running down his face.
"Is something wrong?" Optimus asked.
"No, I'm just thinking. That's all," Jack assured him.
"Your eyes say otherwise."
Jack turned back around and didn't answer him. Optimus stepped closer, asking permission to sit next to him. The teen hesitated, but nodded and scooted over to give the large 'Bot more room.
Optimus didn't pry for answers. He sat down and let silence consume the both of them. It was a nice change of pace, too many people tried to ask Jack if he needed anything, or why he was upset to begin with. The most frustrating thing was the fact that Jack didn't have any answers to those questions to begin with. There were things he wanted to ask though.
"Hey, Optimus?"
"Hm?"
"Have you ever known someone to be a certain way, but realized they were different when it was too late to do anything about it?" Jack asked. He wasn't sure if Optimus would see what he was trying to ask. Thoughts were so different in your head, almost in another language that becomes lost in translation when tried to be spoken aloud.
Optimus thought hard. Megatron was one of his best friends on Cybertron, and Optimus knew exactly the kind of person he was. Though, he still could have never predicted his actions. A part of the Prime did believe if he had listened to Megatron more and made a stronger effort to understand where he was coming from, then things might have turned out different. "I believe I do."
"Do you feel...guilty...that you didn't know the person?"
"Every day."
The pair let their silence resume. Jack leaned his elbows against his knees and looked further out at the landscape.
"But," Optimus began. Jack turned his attention towards him. "I have my memories of the person's true self, and I make an effort to hold onto it. Time for regrets can come later."
Jack let his words sink in. It made sense. "Thank you, I feel a lot better."
"I am glad to have been of service," Optimus stayed in his spot, the two of them enjoying a calmer silence without the burden of unspoken rues.
The next day, Jack once again refused a ride to base.
"It's okay, Arcee. I'm already on the way," Jack said as he revved the Vincent Black Lightning's engine, the rumbling sound feeling soothingly-aggressive to his ears.
"Alright, I guess I'll see you soon," Arcee hung up.
Jack fitted his helmet over his head while releasing a nervous breath. If he was being honest, he had never even ridden a motorcycle without Arcee driving it. Regardless of his potential injuries, he pressed the gas pedal, speeding out of his garage and into the streets. Wind hit playfully against his face, a different feeling of freedom coming from the bike. He couldn't help the laugh that escaped his throat and the huge smile that somehow broke through.
….
So how was that? I'm experimenting with different stuff so I would greatly appreciate your feedback. I actually had fun with this, so I'm willing to turn it into a bunch of one-shots (not a whole long story though because I don't have the dedication, nor the time to pull that off) that are based on this pairing-with the 'Bots and the rest of the gang as well, of course. But that's up to you guys.
Thanks for reading!