• “I’m with you,” he murmurs, hearing how slurred his own words are, everything fuzzy around the edges. Having trouble remembering things. And he hears you exhale slowly as his head falls forward, exhaustion trying to pull him under. Wants to reach for you. Cling so you won’t leave him, because he’s scared. Knows he’s an Autobot, that he’s not supposed to be afraid, but he doesn’t want to be alone right now. ‘Is there a mouth under here? Or do you have a fuel tank?’ Soft fingers touch his mask and he retracts it, trying to focus when he just keeps drifting. Wants to say something, but he loses the words, his internal systems warning about impending stasis. Jolting slightly at a bitter, unpleasant taste, he realizes he must have started to slide into stasis. Making a noise as you hold a shallow cup to his lips, a trickle of something awful tasting spills into him.

• “Ugh,” he murmurs and you almost smile. His optics had gone dim while you’d been finding something to pour gas in to try and get him to drink and gas is all you can smell. It’s on your clothes, hands, shoes as you hold the cup to his lips and barely tip it. Hoping you’re getting at least some of it in him rather than just on him. He’s swallowing at least. ‘I know, but it’s fuel,’ you remind him, using his own words against him.

• “It’s fuel,” he repeats, though he’s not sure what language the words are in before he swallows obediently when you press the cup to his lips again, tipping it. Taking care of him even though he’s nothing to you. Wonders if you realize that you’re risking yourself for him, that if the Decepticons track him here, you probably won’t survive and it’s not fair. “Leave me,” he mumbles, clearing his vents roughly. “Not safe.” You don’t deserve to be hurt because of him. To get involved in their war even though he wants to beg you to stay instead.

• “We’re okay. Drink a little more for me,” you coax, awkwardly lifting the gas can to pour more in the cup. You’re going to be smelling that for weeks and you know it as you carry the cup back over and gently pat his cheek since his optics have gone dim again. “What’s your name, big guy?” You ask trying to get him to stay with you and he groans. But he swallows when you pour more gas past his lips. Feel his servos brush against you, fisting in the hem of your shirt. Hanging onto you as you bully him into drinking.

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