AN: I wrote this months ago but finally decided to post it.

AU noble 'verse. Hope you like :) It's not beta'd and I apologize for the possible typos.

Transformers doesn't belong to me.

Rust or Gold

A noise startled Jazz from his task of cleaning the floor. He looked around, trying to determine where the source of the sound came before he heard shifting in the kitchen. It was late, there weren't supposed to be any mechs there at this time of the night. The only reason why Jazz was even awake right now was due to his punishment.

Grateful to have a reason to straighten his back, Jazz dropped the rag and carefully peaked around the corner. He was a small youngling and that enabled him to be mostly undetected sneaking around the house when mischievous serge took over.

As he looked into the dim room, he saw another youngling there, trembling and making distressed noises because of the broken cube on the floor, the pink energon splattered all over the place. Jazz had never seen him before, he probably was newly bought and for a moment, he couldn't help but pity his age-mate for the Lord's house he got stuck in. Where they both were stuck in.

His sensitive hearing, a glitch due to the cheap material his frame was made of, told Jazz that they would have company soon. He saw as the door-wings of the other youngling (door-wings?! Fascinating!) shot straight up and he looked at the door. Jazz jumped when young golden optics locked with his blue visor. The winged youngling took an instinctive step beck and slipped on the spilled energon, falling on his aft.

Jazz quickly made his way towards the youngling on the ground, peaking curiously at him, noting their frame differences and how he still hadn't stopped trembling. Poor thing.

"Hey," Jazz whispered, "Ya have t'hide."

The golden optics brightened as they regarded the small youngling before him, "…N-no, the energon…!"

Jazz shook his head and reached to pull him up, "Yer new here. Ya don't want this to be yer first impression on them."

"But—"

Jazz placed a hand on the youngling's mouth, silencing him, "Ah'll fix it, jus' hide, kay?" He didn't even realize he was dragging the youngling to a cupboard before he actually opened it. Jazz made a shushing sound before he quietly closed the doors, the frightened optics following his every move through the small gap.

Jazz remembered when he was newly bought, how scary everything and everyone was so he understood perfectly. Back then, he could have really used the help.

Ex-venting, preparing himself for what was to come, Jazz patiently waited as the door to the kitchen opened and one of their masters walked in, optics instantly narrowing once they spotted the tiny youngling and spilled energon.

He would probably get a beating and the energon would be taken out of his refueling, so he'll go a couple of nights hungry, but it was better than to make a wrong first impression – they were everything in this house. Turning off his optics, Jazz felt the first hit of the many to come.

0000

His vents hiccupped.

Jazz really tried to be strong and brave. He really did, but it was just so hard sometimes. Lying on the crummy berth with his back to the world in the general barracks, where all the servants of the house rested, Jazz tried and failed to stop his little cries. His helm and left hand really hurt – actually, everything hurt. And he was so hungry.

Clicking distressed, he rubbed at his optics under the visor that just wouldn't stop crying, wanting the tears gone. Jazz wanted the proof of his weakness away. He felt someone gently tap at his shoulder and Jazz flinched, turning his teared up face towards the new youngling in the house.

"…What?" Jazz rasped after a moment of silence when the other didn't speak, rubbing at his optics more persistently.

The youngling looked at him worriedly, his door-wings trembling on his back. "Are… you okay?"

It was a stupid question and Jazz wanted to say just that in the current mood that he was in. But instead the youngling just sighed sadly and looked his companion over, "What's yer name?"

The winged youngling blinked, unsure as Jazz didn't answer his original question, "…Prowl." He lifted his hands by instinct to his chest and Jazz noticed that they were holding a small cube of energon. His tanks growled, starving.

"Ah'm Jazz." He sat up on the berth that seemed like it would fall apart any moment. The masters didn't want to waste an entire berth for someone as small as him so some of the kinder servants were generous enough to make him and impromptu berth (that were just a huge pile of old rags and pillows). "Nice to meet'cha."

Prowl looked at him sadly. It broke Jazz's spark seeing that look on someone else, but in his reality they all, himself included, wore it.

"Thank you for helping me." The words were surprise enough for Jazz, but what really shocked the tiny youngling was the fact that Prowl was offering him the cube. Here, were each drop of fuel was selfishly stored and protected.

"Prowl…" It took everything out of Jazz to not simply reach out and take the cube, gulping down its contents. His tanks growled again.

"I want you to have it." Prowl said very quietly as Jazz's surprised optics studied him, "It's because of me that they hurt you…"

Jazz looked at him sadly. He didn't want to tell Prowl that there would be an orn when they will raise their hand against him as well, and there would be nothing Jazz can do about it. Although the visored youngling suspected they already have. But not now, he wouldn't think about this now. Not when this youngling was in a desperate need of a friend. And so was Jazz.

Jazz scooted to the side on the small berth, making room for Prowl and gently patted the surface, inviting. The bigger youngling was unsure for a moment before he climbed up next to Jazz, able to see his dents and cracks in the armor more clearly up this close.

"I'm really sorry."

"Shush, it's nothin'." Jazz said quietly. After all, he's had worse but refused to say that out loud.

"I mean it." Prowl said and handed him the energon cube, "Take it."

Jazz licked his lips, hungry, and before he could stop himself he took the cube, bringing it so fast to his lips and drinking, that he actually chocked on it.

Concerned, Prowl instinctively placed a hand on his back but Jazz flinched and Prowl pulled away. Jazz quickly regained his composure and gave him the first grin of the night, "S'alright, wasn't being too careful there."

"Slowly." Prowl said very quietly.

Jazz did as told, taking the next few sips slower, relishing in the feeling of the fuel getting absorbed in his body. When he reached the half mark, he handed it back to Prowl with a gentle smile.

"Here," Jazz said, "You'll need it too." Prowl was probably hungry as well.

Unsure, but under Jazz's insistence, Prowl took the small cube back and drank it. They stood there in silence for what seemed like a long time. Until Jazz broke it by taking Prowl's right hand, examining it. Prowl flinched and pulled it back.

"Yer a new slave, ain't ya?" Jazz asked, no accusation or judgment in his voice.

Slowly, Prowl nodded and gave his hand back. Jazz looked it over and realized that Prowl is even more new to the slave world then he was, which was strange considering that the winged youngling seemed older.

"And you?" Prowl asked as gentle optics looked the tiny Jazz over again.

Jazz gave him a smirk that actually seemed pained as he handed him his own right hand. He watched as Prowl's optics widened at the many trade symbols there.

"...Eight? You've been sold eight times?" Prowl failed to hide the horror and fear in his voice, looking each different symbol over as they represented a House Jazz had belonged to.

Jazz shrugged. "Sparklin's an' younglin's are cheap an' a good bargain. They need a lot less energon than a fully grown mech."

"Seems logical." Prowl murmured, running his small white fingers over the glyphs. He remembered how much it hurt to have his only glyph imprinted, the sting of the hot metal….to have this done eight times… "You're very strange." He blurted out.

Jazz cocked his helm to the side, but a small honest smile was tugging his lips. He was amused, "Ah'm gonna take that as a compliment, Prowler."

Prowl blinked a couple of times, confused, "My name is Prowl, not Prowler."

"Ah know. That's yer nickname." Jazz declared, proud.

Instead of arguing, Prowl accepted this oddity of the other youngling. He looked at the big dent on Jazz's helm and gestured to it, "Does it hurt?"

Jazz lifted a hand to touch it, "Not really. Wha' hurts is mah left hand though." He showed the injured wrist, where one of the masters had pulled him too forcefully.

Out of pure youngling curiosity, Prowl reached out with a hand to run his little fingers over the wrist, and had Jazz instantly clicking in pain, cradling the hand to his chest. Prowl's wings shot up in worry and Jazz saw them tremble again.

"It'll be fine in a few orns." Jazz reassured but the other youngling didn't seem to believe him. The wings did not stop trembling. "Hey, Ah know it looks horrible but this place ain't so bad. We have ol' Ironhide and Chromia here with us."

"The bonded couple?" Prowl asked after a while.

"Yup," Jazz nodded, "And then there's this really nice medic that visits us from time to time and fixes us up! He's called Ratchet, ya might meet him next time he comes!"

Prowl gave the barest of smiles, the very first one Jazz saw on him.

"So what happened to ya?" Jazz asked quietly, wondering if Prowl would share this with him, "How did ya end up on th' slave market. There ain't no going back once you're up there with dat thin' branded on yer arm."

Prowl stared at the opposite wall for a long time. So long, that Jazz believed he wouldn't answer him, but the last moment, the Praxian spoke:

"I got lost from my creators. Then some mechs out of nowhere caught me. That was three months ago."

"Where were ya in the mean time?" Jazz found himself curious, leaning tiredly back on the rags, injured hand placed gingerly over his chest.

"The Market." Prowl answered simply and Jazz winced. No wonder this youngling was so spooked out of his mind. The Market was a scary place, for reasons which Jazz didn't want to contemplate.

"You have so many trade symbols." Prowl looked at them again, "H-how…?"

"Hey… hey." Jazz spoke gently, "Ah know it seems scary but… but once ya get used to it… it hurts less, y'know?"

"What happened to your creators?" The question had urgency in it, desperate optics looking at his small visor.

"Don't know." Jazz murmured, "Ah was sold pretty early. Barely remember them."

"Oh."

It had quieted down in the room around them. The tired and even exhausted servants, half of them under fueled, where all recharging in their berths, forgetting their troubles for the few blissful joors of sleep. Both younglings were nearly in recharge themselves, spent from the events of the orn.

Maybe it was the dull ache that was slowly passing away, or some sort of noise that prompted Jazz's visor to book up again and he nudged the youngling next to him.

"Hey Prowler…?"

"What?" Of course Prowl was a light sleeper. They all were.

"Wanna tell ya a secret? It really helps me in bad orns to think 'bout it – makes me feel… happy."

"What is it?" Prowl whispered, turning his helm to look at Jazz.

"Some orn… Ah'm gonna escape y'know? Ah really am. An' Ah'm gonna remove each an' every symbol from mah arm."

The Praxian just stared at the strange little youngling next to him. So small, so fragile… yet, it had this power of life that made Jazz seem big.

"I hope so, Jazz."

It made him seem alive.

"Ah know so. We can escape together if ya want?"

And strong. Stronger than Prowl thought he was.

"I… hope so." Prowl whispered and watched as his companion drifted off to sleep, oblivious to the power his words held.

And maybe, just maybe, Jazz was strong enough to change their fate.

My first take on the noble 'verse. I wanted something different, so yeah :P Love, hate? ^^"