"So," Jazz said. "How yah doing?"

Prowl could only stare in horror. He would not respond. He would refuse to respond. Frag you Jazz. Frag you, he thought.

Jazz raised the cube of energon and held it underneath Prowl's olfactory sensors. His tanks growled, but Jazz didn't notice. "You hungry Dent," asked Jazz as if he couldn't tell. "Or should I call you Prowl?"

No answer. Jazz seemed unfazed by Prowl's lack of response. "You want tah take it? Prowler?" Jazz cocked his head to the side. "Well, I guess you can't can you, not with your hands tied behind your back and you're legs broken."

Prowl now trembled both in rage and horror. He tried to hide it, but he was scared. Jazz had tied him to a chair, hands bound behind his back as Jazz circled around him like a shark.

"But it's your fault, Prowl," Jazz continued. He laced his hands with Prowl's as he sat next to him. "You should've known I'd look you up, Prowl. After all, I don't let strangers in my house," he glanced at Prowl. "Strangers are dangerous, crazy maybe." Prowl trembled as one of Jazz's sharp claws traced patterns on his arm. "Strangers can break your spark. They can lie and try to leave you, just like you did," muttered Jazz. "But I'll teach you. Even if I need to break you Prowl, I'll teach ya to stay. After all, that's what best friends are for."

Prowl's spark sped up and he was as stiff as a board. Jazz's nails scraping against him were amplified and he felt so, so vulnerable. Break him? He did not want to see what he meant by that. Prowl planned his words carefully. He had decided on how to proceed with this, in order to get out of this very sticky situation.

"But Jazz," Prowl gave a faint smile. Better fake it, find a chance to escape. "Don't best friends trust each other?"

He looked down at his hands. "I-I feel like you don't trust me and i-if we're best friends," Prowl gave a weak smile, he tried to make it sincere but Jazz's gaze was unnerving. It was like he could see how unhinged Jazz was. "You should at least untie me, Jazz. Please?"

Jazz cocked his head and tapped his claws against his chin. "Hmm, Prowl…" His optics darted to the bound hands. "Maybe you're right Prowler."

Prowl's optics lit up, before Jazz put a finger to his lip. "But I ain't gonna untie you Prowler-"

"But-"

"Best friends can make mistakes," Jazz said. "You made many mistakes, but what differentiates best friends from regular friends are that best friends are willing to forgive each other."

Prowl's optics widened.

"You gotta earn my trust Prowler," said Jazz. "After all I've been a good friend. I saved you, gave you shelter, companionship. You need to make you trust me."

Prowl trembled as he formed his next words. "W-what do you want me to do, Jazz?" He whispered.

Jazz smiled toothly. "Well you gotta do something I like."

What he liked. Prowl just met him. Oh what did he like? Kidnapping and being a fragging lunatic? Prowl racked his brain and looked around. He liked murder, boxes, being deranged, something that Prowl had no intention of telling Jazz in case of ideas.

Then it came to him.