It all started from that night, where Optimus Prime, found you after being thrown off the Deceptions' ship. You were so aggressive and violent that day, but the translation was pure fear. They knew that you were a victim of the war, and of your former Team; the Decepticons, who gave you PTSD, diagnosed by Ratchet.

Your PTSD made you no longer eat, speak, respond to anything, even to the gentlest touch or words, making you completely spiritless. The Autobots tried to be there for you, but with no results. Especially Ratchet, who kept you stable everyday and checked you up when needed. He felt guilty, very guilty for not being able to cure your PTSD. It was hard to see you in such a state. He couldn't deny his feelings; he was very protective of you, even if you were just a traumatized, big former Decepticon.

A few months have passed since that night. Ratchet sighed, sitting at his desk of his medical lab, scrolling through the results of his most recent check up on you. It was late, most of the others were sleeping already.