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Jazz had been searching for you for a while now. While it wasn’t uncommon for you to run off when the Autobot parties got a little too overwhelming you usually weren’t alone. Being outside of the Ark by yourself was considerably dangerous in the off chance that a Decepticon decided to swoop down and snatch you up. Optimus was especially firm about having a bot accompanying you at all times since you were chronically ill. Jazz usually volunteered as your caretaker, he didn’t hover close or panic over you like the others did and would always know when to give you the space or when to suggest he help. Despite your body’s ability you were a tough cookie and he adored that about you.
However, your stubbornness also came with a lack of transparency. It always took him watching you closely; rubbing your joints, rolling your neck, the way your lips pursed to let out a discreet exhale to know when you needed to rest.
He thankfully didn’t go far from the base when he found you sitting by the babbling brook. Jazz could tell your absence was more than just being overwhelmed by the pounding of metal pedes to Blaster’s speakers. You had seemed off the past couple of days, your lips and throat tense like you were choking down a hard pill that you had yet to swallow.
Jazz had prodded you to speak up why but you just denied there was a problem or deflected from answering. A river stone was clutched tightly in your palm as your thumb rubbed circles into a tender spot on your body. Your thumb and skin were ruddy from the constant friction and soon would wear down and start to bleed if you didn’t stop soon.
Jazz let his steps make himself known as he strolled to your side, “This spot taken?”
Your eyes darted from the tip of his pointer digit to the grassy spot beside you where your mobility aid wasn’t. With a nod he exaggerated his exvent as he settled down beside you. His door wings drooped down to a relaxed angle as you both sat there in silence for a moment just listening to the water babble.
“How’s the party?” You finally asked.
“As you humans say, ‘it’s off the chain.” Jazz smiled in victory at your huff of a chuckle.
“Shouldn’t you be at the party then? To keep the energy flowing.”
Jazz shook his helm, “Nah they don’ need me, Blaster’s got ‘em.”
Your lips turned up for a moment in a gentle hum of uncertainty. The silence lingered again. You could swear every once in a while the breeze carried the faint sound of music from the Ark.
“Somethin’ troublin’ ya sunshine?” Jazz asked.
Your throat tensed and your lips pressed tightly together like you were sealing a secret. Your eyes clenched shut and when they opened they were wet and glassy.
“It’s so dumb…” If Jazz wasn’t inhuman he probably wouldn’t have understood you under your voice cracking so abruptly.
“It’s not unreasonable if it’s causing you this much trouble, sunshine.”
“But it is. I know I…I need it,” You babbled between sobs. This was one of the rare times Jazz had ever seen you cry. The only other times were when you were in so much pain that you were wailing in agony, “I know I need a wheelchair cause my condition is just…it gets worse if I push myself and I’m tired of being in pain so much and I’m tired of never leaving the house but I’m so scared! Of what people will think, will say about me! Even the Autobots will think I’m a freak! I mean…the first day I got my cane they all stared at me, Jazz! Fuck, even Sides said ‘isn’t those meant for the older generation of humans’?! I know that-that it’s a common misconception but I’m tired of it! Just because I’m young and look physically healthy I can’t be hurting on the inside?!”
Jazz was out on a mission at the time but he had heard what happened through the gossiping Mirage. It had taken you several trips to the medical bay and a scolding from Ratchet before you finally caved and started using your cane again. The bots, especially the more outspoken ones, stared and asked questions out loud that made you flush with frustration and embarrassment.
IronHide quickly stepped in and scolded the group of mechs but the damage was already done. Ratchet chewed everyone out in an extended meeting that felt more like a punishment than a lecture. It took you a lot of encouragement from Jazz and Bee before you finally felt confident and comfortable to use it nearly full time. It wasn’t the cure-all to your discomfort and injuries but it was something.
“And then I got friends telling me that a wheelchair is forever, that it’s a ‘last resort’ and I’m only hurting myself if I use them. They told me I rely too much on my aids already but it’s the only thing keeping me upright when things go badly! I don’t want to feel the pain, I don’t want to be so exhausted I sleep for twelve hours! I want to do things I want to be able to keep my eyes open to watch the TV and-and clean my room and help Spike and Uncle Spark around the house! Not relying on it hurts.”
When you let out a gaspy exhale his servo gently placed itself on your shoulder, “Take a breath now, darling, no need to get yourself too worked up.”
You took his advice and gave yourself a couple steady breaths. You clenched your trembling hands between your thighs but it wasn’t enough to stop them. With a wail you pressed your face into his chassis and Jazz gently pet your head.
“I’m so tired of it all. I’m so sick of the stares and the comments! All the ‘you’re too young’, ‘it’s just anxiety’, ‘you’re not that bad!’. Sick. Of. It! I try to just feel normal, I try to function without help and I just end up back in bed miserable for days! I don’t want to use a wheelchair and have to be stared at and mocked even more! Everyone’s going to mock me again…I don’t mean just you guys, I mean other humans. We can be rather mean and rude, especially when someone looks different than the others. I don’t know how Chip deals with it all. Deals with being stared at and heckled. Other than him I can stand, if I stand up I’m going to be called a fake. If I ask for too much I’ll be ridiculed as selfish.”
“Not all humans act that way—look at you, Spike, Carly, and Sparkplug. For the humans who have something rude to say, you don’t gotta listen to them slagheads. The staring is just because you’ll be the coolest cat on the block, rolling everywhere instead of walking. Being pushed like, like uh, pop royalty down the street.”
You chuckled, wiping your face of leftover tears with the back of your hand, “Pop royalty? You mean like a celebrity?”
“Yeah, like that! Think of yourself as a celebrity—Madonna. Tina Turner. Ooo, Cindy Lauper.”
“What about…overly relying on the wheelchair?”
Jazz pet your head, “Do you feel you need it?” Before you could blurt out ‘no’ he added, “And be honestly with yourself.”
Truthfully, yes, you needed it. You missed going out to the city and seeing the sights. Not returning home feeling like you had competed in a triathlon. Going to the mall with friends. Going on walks around the city park near home. Not having to ask the Autobots to carry you on their shoulders or servos—okay maybe you’d continue that even with your wheelchair. You didn’t have to slow down the fun, you could save your energy and pain for later things. If your arms grew tired of pushing Spike or Sparkplug would happily take your handles and push you to the right direction.
A genuine smile raised your spirits and Jazz joined in with a beaming grin of his own, “There’s the sunshine that I love.”
You shook your head, wiping the last of your tears as you ascended from rock bottom. The void of worry in your stomach was lighter now, it would still be there until tomorrow, but it wasn’t as consuming as before.
“Thank you, Jazz. I’m so sorry you had to see me like this.” You pressed the side of your face into his arm, both as a hug and to hide your shame. The bot gently cradled your head to turn up to him but there was no malice or lies on his faceplate. Only a charming smile that made you feel a warmth that was a temporary cure to all your pain and discomfort if only for a moment. He pressed his brow to yours and gently nuzzled your cheek until you let out a soft giggle.
“I’d rather see you let out your emotions and troubles safely around me than keep them bottled up until they become too much. Don’t be shy to talk to someone about your troubles. We all will listen and help.” He spoke into your hair.
With a sigh you closed your eyes and accepted this moment, clinging tightly to it, “Okay...”
Anxiety clenched your chest tightly awaiting the stares and mocking comments from other people. This was your first outing, accompanied by Jazz, your uncle, and Spike. You chose to do something simple for your first outing; go inside a coffee shop and leave. It was so simple and so easy yet the anxious feeling in your stomach had made your symptoms worsen. Everything ached and you were debating pushing it off another day but another day meant another day of waiting. Another day of not knowing which scared you more.
“You got this, sunshine.” Jazz cooed from his radio.
He could feel your heart beating in your chest through the seat as your uncle got your chair set up on the sidewalk for you. The sidewalk was empty-the parking lot was fairly empty with only three cars parked in the same lot all empty. The employees could see you though. See you through the window and see you stand up and move into your chair. They would judge you for it. Question you—interrogate you and tell you you’re ruining your life by using your chair instead of walking.
“All set, kiddo.” Your uncle reassured, pushing the chair closer to you.
The past couple of days you and Spike had decorated it to help your anxiety of how sterile it was with new cushion covers, stickers, and bike accessories until you felt like it reflected you. With one last breath and a playful chorus from Jazz you slid out into your chair and settled your feet and clothes. Sparkplug pushed you onto the sidewalk and up the ramp as Spike got the door for you.
It still felt a little weird to be doted on, but not something you don’t appreciate. As soon as you were inside your heart settled at the familiar smell of fresh coffee and toasting bagels. You had been to this place before several times, it was probable the employees recognized your face but would they judge you for suddenly being in a wheelchair?
They’d know you’re faking it, that you’re clearly only doing this for attention and pity. Your uncle paid all his hard earned money with little assistance from insurance to pay for your chair because you were too lazy to bother walking. The once pleasant smell made your stomach churning worse with cold nausea.
Your hands trembled in your lap.
No—no, you just needed to remind yourself you weren’t faking this. You needed this wheelchair. You weren’t doing this for attention or pity—if anything you didn’t want any of that! If you could have it your way you’d rather just be left alone and ignored as any other passerby on the street. You did this so you could be out of the house in not only a more comfortable way but safer too. Your uncle loved you enough to spend his money to make sure you weren’t trapped in bed for days or stuck lying on the couch for hours in misery.
You were doing this for you; fuck what anyone else thought of you.
With new found confidence you raised your chin when the barista behind the counter asked what you wanted. You pushed your wheels to get closer to the counter and confidently told her your order. Sparkplug smiled with pride even as he paid for the overpriced lattes.
“Are you doing alright?” Spike leaned down to ask.
You nodded, “Peachy actually.”
You were confident enough for further exposure therapy to sit at the seating outside. Sparkplug moved aside a chair for you to slide closer to the table and enjoy your drinks on the gorgeous day. Jazz sat just a few feet away remaining in vehicle mode but you could feel from his field he was quite happy.
More people pulled in and walked past, some giving you weird looks and others staring until you stared back and they moved on with their lives, but the majority ignored you as any other person. One young woman even smiled at you and said she loved the way you decorated your chair. Nothing bad happened, no one outright accused you or said anything.
The first outing was a success and you couldn’t have been more relieved about it. The new outings you spent hours outside of the house without laying down, something you hadn’t done since your sickness had worsened. When you got back home you still had to rest but it was not as bad as normal.
Jazz happily listened as you told him everything about your last outing on the ride to the base. To your surprise everyone acted normal but they almost seemed afraid to stare at you for so long. Ratchet hovering in the corner of the room must’ve had something to do with it.
Of course Wheeljack (with good intentions) offered to help invent power accessories for your chair but you quickly shut them down. The chair was already a good sum of money you didn’t want to replace by a faulty experiment.
“You look happier,” Jazz said when you two were finally alone.
“I am,” You sighed, “It’s not the cure all like I was hoping for. I still ache, I still feel very sore at times but compared to before? This is…incredible.” You rolled yourself closer to Jazz and he smiled, extending his servo for you to hop on, “I seriously can’t thank you enough for encouraging me to get my wheels. It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever gotten.”
“No worries, sunshine, I’m just happy you got your smile back.”
“How about we go for a ride around? I got a new Gwen Stefani CD?”
Jazz grinned, “That’s my sunshine.”