Once again I'm trying my hand at a semi-horror fic. Not as gruesome as some of my others, but…pretty dark in comparison. This is a sample chapter I'm putting up, so drop me a line and tell me if you want me to continue. I haven't written a Transformers: Prime story yet, so I guess this is my big break…

Anyway, I don't own Transformers: Prime.

Jackson Darby hated dreaming.

Well, not always. Not before the dreams. Not before he was plagued with images of his mother, Miko, Raf, even Agent Fowler, to some extent. Each dream was the same. Each dream was filled with screaming and metal and the sound of thundering feet – Decepticon feet, he would find out later.

Each time he would have to stare into the dead eyes of his friend. Each time there would be tears and each time, he would wake up.

That was the only way he could tell that it was a dream. An illusion created by his tired mind.

The third night it happened, he snapped. Threw his covers to the side and slipped on a robe and some old, worn slippers. Careful not to awaken his mother, he slipped into the hallway and crept, silent as a mouse, towards the garage.

He hoped Arcee was there. His mother had insisted that she stay at least some night – ever since her run in with Airachnid her paranoia had increased tenfold, though she refused to admit it. She was terrified. Everyone related to the Autobots was, at a certain extent, though most were doing a fine job of not letting it show through.

Heck, even Miko had some ounce of terror in her.

Jack opened the door to the garage and saw Arcee, alternate mode abandoned, curled up in a corner. Her helm twisted towards the direction of the sound as Jack gently shut the door behind him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robe.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?"

Jack shrugged. He'd been robbed of the first word, so he tried to sum up his predicament as best as possible. "I'm having dreams again," he grumbled, slowly pulling up a school. Strands of black hair fell over his eyes as he continued. "Bad, bad dreams. Like, not the usual 'falling off a cliff' or 'showing up at school in your underwear' type bad."

Jack understood that Arcee had never really grasped the concept of dreams. She'd told him the first night that she, as well as the rest of the Autobots, rarely experienced such slumber phenomena's. But still, part of Jack felt more comfortable conversing with her about the matter than, oh, let's say…Ratchet or his mother. He cared deeply about both, he really did, but going straight to his mother would ensure that he never return to the base again, and going to Ratchet meant tedious, lengthy scans and lectures against his will.

So, yeah, Arcee was the best choice. For now.

"What exactly are you seeing?" She asked, leaning closer.

"Just…images. Last night I saw one of my mom…she was screaming and reaching for something. The vision was blurry but there were tears and blood and…" Jack scratched his head. "Not a pleasant sight."

Arcee looked lost for words, which was an odd sight. She stretched out her long, slender legs and rapped knuckled against her blue plated knees. Helm tilting to the side, she said, "You've seen a lot, Jack. It makes sense for you to be having these…um…dreams," she shrugged sheepishly. "Sometimes you can't ever get things out of your head, no matter how hard you try. It's what comes with being a soldier."

"I'm not a soldier," Jack mumbled, glancing at the ground.

"You might as well be. You and Miko and Raf, in a sense. Whenever there's danger, you seem to be there," Arcee gently touched his back with her finger. "And part of that is my fault, but…"

"I get it."

"I don't think that you do," Arcee rested her helm against the garage wall. "I should have acted as a better protector. I can hear you in your sleep, Jack. Moaning and crying. A kid your age shouldn't have to be going through stuff like this."

"Arcee," Jack raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I can take it. I've been through worse, and you know it. Plus, some of them are just old memories. Like, of my mom and…"

He trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to do it, to even mention his father. Even though he was gone, hopefully out of Jack's life for good, he just couldn't bring himself to utter a word about him.

Unless, of course, Arcee asked. Which she did, saying, "What ever happened to him? You father, I mean."

Jack ran his fingers through his black hair. Even while awake, the memory was coming back to him, flooding his mind. When he closed his eyes he couldn't rid himself of it. When he tried and tried and tried to shut it out, it was still there, glaring like an open wound. A maybe, he told himself, that was a message.

He said, "He left."

"Well, I understand that part but…"

"He was a druggie," Jack wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Took all kinds of illegal stuff. He was able to hide it from my mom, hide it from me until I was eleven. But we found out. My mom wasn't too happy. She tried to call the police but you know what he did?"

Arcee didn't respond.

"He threatened to kill her. It took a miracle for some of her work friends to notice that something wasn't quite right. They called the cops for her," Jack felt the stool creak under his weight as he shifted. "But by that time, he had already run off. I don't know if the police have found him or what…"

"Considering the law enforcements reputation…"

Arcee made a motion with her hands, as if expecting Jack to know the answer. He didn't. He really didn't pay attention to Jasper's local constabularies anymore, mostly due to the fact that now, considering the shredding, twenty foot tall beast he'd encountered, the prospect of getting pulled over by one wasn't as frightening as before.

"You need to get some rest," Arcee said. Almost pleading, it seemed. "You don't look too good, Jack."

"I'm fine."

He was far from fine. A headache was beginning to swirl up in his brain and absently he clutched at his temple, wincing.

"Do you want me to talk to Ratchet about this? He should be able to help," Arcee replied. "Or you mom. She probably knows more about this than I do."

"No," Jack grumbled, rising from his stool. Shaking his head, as if that would clear away the pain, he said, "I'm going to go get some water. Maybe find some Advil or whatever."

"Jack…"

"I just don't know what to feel anymore, Arcee. The Decepticon's have been to quiet. M.E.C.H hasn't made an appearance in, like, forever," he turned to the blue Cybertronian, shaking his head. "I feel as if there should be chaos or something going on. And these dreams…there connected somehow."

"Then let me talk to Ratchet," She said firmly. "Don't worry yourself over this anymore than you have too, Jack. Let us take care of it and you…" She nudged him towards the door with her fist. "You get some water and some medicine and …for your sake, and for mine, get some rest."

Jack glanced up at his guardian, and nodded, mouth pulled into a thin line. Then he walked through the door and back into the house, softly closing the door behind him, clicking off the light as he did so.

Half a mile away, sitting perched in the branches of a large tree, a man adjusted his binoculars and peered through a small crack in the Darby's garage window.

He wasn't short or tall or fat or thin, almost a perfect mix of in between. He was nimble, despite his age, and skilled in almost anything that had to do with espionage. It had come with years of experience monitoring his son, as well as his dear, ex-wife.

Now, he had pictures of them. Both of them. Well, three of them, considering that they'd replaced him with a female, blue beast.

A Cybertronian, as his boss had called it. An alien.

And in such good company, too.

The man let his binoculars dangle around his neck and crouched low, legs wrapping around the branch of the tree. He clicked his tongue and shook his head out of disappointment.

"Mingling with the extraterrestrials, Jacky boy?" A smile graced his lips. "I guess you've missed your daddy way too much."

He raised a pair of finely trimmed eyebrows, blue orbs flashing in the moonlight.

"Don't worry, son. You'll get to see me sooner than you imagined."