Optimus hated doing this—he hated fighting, hated the yelling—yet he knew that war wasn't all rainbows and sunshine. It came with responsibility, and it came with consequences.

He only got authoritative or brash when it came to those who refused to surrender, a feeling in which he encouraged but rarely ever saw.

Amongst another trick with Megatron, Optimus found himself overwhelmed with the guttural violence that seemed to be erupting from the chaos. He was enforcing extra just to make sure his fellow Autobots were unharmed, but then he came across you.

You—a Decepticon, but a wounded innocent at that.

He would never forget the look in your optics, the look of uncertainty and fear. He knew that look—one of which Megatron had taught upon.

Optimus made a decision. He extended his arm, despite the evident risk, and offered a servo against your injured frame.

"Please,"

He spoke, the worry in his voice clear.

"Let me help you, friend. I will not harm you."

Friend?

It was unheard of in your language—yet the soothing and gentle sound of his tone drew you in.