The battlefield fell silent too suddenly.

Just a second ago, everything was thundering—explosions, comm commands, the screech of metal. And now… Only the crackling of burning debris and the low, intermittent sound of emergency systems.

You ran.

Servos whined, optics struggled to focus—smoke, sparks, debris. You knew where he was. You knew it all too well.

"Optimus…" — You blurted out over the open channel, but all you got was static.

And then you saw him.

He lay next to the shattered hulk of a decepticon cannon, half buried under slabs of metal. One of his shoulder plates was torn, his chest armor was cracked, with a jagged hole near the center. Energon was slowly leaking from underneath, thick drops running down his hull.

The light in his optics was… dim.

You fell to your knees beside him, not even feeling the impact.

"No. No-no-no," — you quickly tossed aside the debris, your palms sliding across his armor, staining it with energon fluid.

"Optimus... Look at me. Please."

His optics flickered, focusing on you with difficulty.

"...are you... Okay?" — His voice was barely audible, distorted by static.

The phrase struck harder than any explosion.

You pressed your palm to his chest plate, trying to stem the leak, feeling the spark pulsate weakly and unevenly beneath your fingers.

"Be quiet," — you said sharply, almost angrily, though your voice trembled.

"Don't you dare think about me now."

Optimus tried to sit up—and then froze, letting out a strangled breath. A spasm ran through his body, and the emergency indicators flashed red.

"Damage... Critical," — he said quietly.

"Contact with Ratchet... Lost."

You leaned closer, almost shielding him from the smoke and fire, your optics glowing.

"Then listen to me," — you said firmly.

"You won't pass out. Do you hear me? Not now. Not here."

You pressed your forehead to his, their cold plates touching.

"You promised to come back."

"You promised..." — your voice broke, but you continued, — "...that we'd get out of this together."

The light in his optics grew even dimmer, but he was looking only at you.

"I... am trying..." — he replied quietly.

"But if... if I don't—"

"No," — you interrupted him instantly.

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence."

You squeezed his hand with both of yours, tightly, desperately.

"I'm here. And as long as I'm here, you're holding on."

The silence around you became oppressive. It was as if time had frozen in this moment—between life and death.