Hello, again! I feel like as these go on my writing unwinds, but I figure its better to give you something rather than nothing.

The barn was still, the faint sounds of the night outside barely breaking through the thick walls. The cool air seemed to hang heavily in the space, mirroring the heaviness inside Optimus Prime. The years had passed since the war, but it felt as though the echoes of every battle, every loss, were welded into him like the scars on his plating. The war, the endless fight, had taken its toll—every joint, every cable, every system in his body now carried the marks of what he had been through.

His spark was flickering, weakening. He had gone through another spark attack earlier in the day that had left him shuddering with weakness even still. He could feel it, like a slow drain, pulling him closer to the inevitable. He could feel the strain on his internal components, the dimming of his core that had once been so full of life. It was the same feeling he'd had when he first took on the mantle of leadership, the same exhaustion he had carried in his chassis for years. But now, it was different. Now, there was no enemy to face, no battle to fight. There was just him, alone with the weight of a thousand decisions, and the slow deterioration of his own systems.

He lay in his berth, curled on his side, trying to ease the grinding ache in his frame. His plating, once pristine and gleaming, was now worn and scarred. The welds on his back, where Megatron's blade had slashed through his armor, were rough and uneven—memories of a time he couldn't erase. The scars on his body were more than just marks. They were memories, each one a testament to the battle that had once been his life, to the strength it had taken to carry on. And yet, even as his body bore the weight of them, there was a quiet, fragile comfort in the fact that he was still here, still able to function, still able to stand.

He wasn't sure how long he had been lying there before he heard the familiar sound of footsteps outside the barn—Will Lennox. He didn't need to see him to know it was him. Will had been a constant in his life since the war had ended, and the weight of his presence was always something Optimus felt, even when he couldn't see him.

"Optimus?"

The voice was soft, full of concern, and it made Optimus's internal systems tighten with the familiar mix of discomfort and gratitude. Will was a human, fragile and small compared to him, but he had always been there. He had seen Optimus at his lowest, had stood beside him in battle and afterward, when there was nothing left but the ruins. Will had always understood. And now, Optimus knew that Will could sense something was wrong.

But how could he explain it? How could he tell Will that his spark was fading, that even though his body was still operational, the heart of him—the very core of what made him Prime—was beginning to flicker out?

He remained still, hoping that Will wouldn't push, that he wouldn't see through the façade. But Will, ever perceptive, stepped closer, and Optimus could feel the tension in the air. The faint hum of his servos, the whine of his exhausted energon system, the way his chassis felt heavier than it ever had before—it was all too much to hide.

"Optimus, what's going on?"

The question was simple, but it cut through the silence like a blade. Optimus didn't respond, not immediately. How could he? How could he explain to Will that he was slowly dying, that the very essence of what had made him Optimus Prime was burning out from within? Instead, he let the silence stretch between them, hoping that Will would find the answer for himself.

When he heard Will ask for permission to touch his scars, Optimus's hesitation was palpable. Will didn't need permission to touch him. But the human knew those scars were different, sacred, even. And even now Optimus wasn't sure he could allow anyone to see him this way—not like this. Not when his body was failing him, when his spark was sputtering. The vulnerability was too much. But in that moment, something shifted. Will had always been there—through every trial, every battle. And now, Optimus realized, there was nothing left to hide. Not from him.

With a soft, almost imperceptible nod, Optimus gave his permission.

Will's hand, warm and strong despite the difference in their sizes, hovered near his shoulder. Optimus could feel the light pressure before Will touched him, and the moment his hand made contact with his back, a sharp, involuntary tension ran through his frame. Every cable in his body, every fiber of his being, seemed to tense at the sensation. He fought it. He had fought it for so long—this touch, this closeness. It was the feeling of vulnerability, the rawness of being touched in a place where the memories, the scars, still burned. The welds that lined his back from where Megatron's blade had once torn through his armor were not just marks. They were a testament to his sacrifice. To let anyone close enough to touch them—he couldn't.

But Will didn't withdraw. Instead, Optimus felt the care in the touch, the reverence. It wasn't a touch of pity or sympathy—it was a touch of understanding. Will wasn't afraid to see the wounds that ran deeper than just his plating. And when he spoke, Optimus's spark, flickering in his chest, seemed to dim even more.

"Optimus…"

It was a whisper, full of sorrow and care. A simple word, but it carried so much weight. Optimus felt a soft sigh pass through his vents, his servos stiffening before relaxing under the touch. Will's hand on his plating felt different now, no longer a sharp reminder of his pain, but a quiet offer of comfort. Still, he couldn't allow himself to fully relax. His body fought against the warmth, against the gentleness, even as it longed for it.

Will's fingers brushed gently over the welds, and the sensation was soothing, a kind of balm that eased the deep ache in his plating. The pressure was light, reverent. The weight of Will's care seemed to sink into him, easing the strain in his cables and joints, even if just for a moment. The physical pain that had gnawed at him for so long—those old scars—seemed to dull beneath Will's touch. It wasn't that the pain was gone. It was still there, still deeply rooted in his body, but now there was something else: relief.

Will's forehead pressed against his shoulder, and Optimus felt a warmth there, the human's presence so close, so full of tenderness. He could feel the moisture on Will's face, the silent tears that ran unspoken between them. When Will whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," it was a quiet acknowledgment of all the things Optimus had been through, all the things he had endured. It wasn't just about the scars. It was about everything—the war, the sacrifice, the weight of decisions made.

"Are you in pain?" Will finally asked, his voice low but steady.

Optimus's frame shifted slightly, the smallest movement betraying the effort it took to answer. "I am."

It was a simple answer, but it carried so much weight. Will could hear it in the way Optimus said it—not just physical pain, though that was clearly there, but something deeper. The kind of pain that came from carrying too many burdens for too long.

"How bad?" Will pressed gently.

There was a long pause before Optimus replied. "It… never truly leaves."

Will swallowed hard. He knew Optimus wasn't just talking about the physical scars. The emotional wounds ran just as deep. The weight of leadership, the cost of every decision, every life lost under his command—it was all there, etched into the very metal of his being.

"I should've seen it sooner," Will murmured, his hand moving slowly over the welds. "I knew you weren't feeling right, but I thought… I thought you'd tell me if something was wrong."

"I wanted to," Optimus said softly, his voice resonating with a quiet ache. "But how do you tell someone that your time is ending?"

Will's hand stilled. His chest tightened, and he had to take a moment to steady himself. He'd known, deep down, that something was wrong. But hearing it said out loud made it real in a way he wasn't prepared for.

"How long?" Will asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Optimus didn't answer right away. His optics flickered dimly in the dark, reflecting the light from the distant moon. "I do not know."

Will let out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening against the metal beneath them. "Damn it, Optimus…"

The Prime shifted again, his frame tensing. "Please, Will. Don't grieve for me yet."

"How can I not?" Will shot back, his voice breaking. He leaned his forehead against Optimus's shoulder again, closing his eyes against the sting of tears. "You tell me what you need, what you want, and I'll make sure you have it. Whatever it is."

Optimus's silence stretched between them, heavy and contemplative. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "This is exactly what I need."

Will blinked, lifting his head. "What do you mean?"

"Being with me," Optimus said, his words laden with quiet gratitude. "In these moments… you give me peace."

Will felt his throat tighten again, and he reached out, his hand brushing lightly over Optimus's plating. "That's not enough. There has to be something more I can do."

"There is one thing," Optimus murmured. His optics dimmed, and his plating shuddered slightly, as though he was battling against himself to say the words. "Would you… touch them again?"

Will blinked, surprised. "Your scars?"

"Yes," Optimus said, his voice quieter now. He shifted uncomfortably, cables tightening beneath his plating. "I… I know it's strange. But when you touched them… it eased something in me."

Will watched him carefully, noting the way Optimus seemed to cringe as he spoke, as though asking for this simple comfort was a struggle in itself. He placed his hand gently against the welds again, letting his fingers trace the jagged lines.

"It's not strange," Will said softly. "Not at all."

Optimus didn't have the strength to respond with words. He didn't have to. Will knew. Will understood. He had always known. And in that moment, despite the fading spark within him, Optimus felt the quiet, bittersweet peace of being seen—not as the leader, not as the Prime, but as himself. The warmth of Will's touch, the sorrow in his voice, eased the pain in his chest, even as it deepened his grief for what was slipping away.

Optimus allowed himself to close his optics, leaning into the comfort Will offered. Even as his spark continued to sputter, even as the slow ticking of time pressed closer, he felt a peace he hadn't known in years. He felt...honored. Loved.

Eventually, he would have to make arrangements for his passing. But for tonight, he was alive, and drifting off to sleep under the watch of a brother in arms.

How could he ask for more?

~0~

The next night, Will found himself walking out to the barn again, his steps slow but determined. His heart ached with each step as he knew what awaited him. Optimus had been struggling more today, and Will feared the worst, though he would never say it aloud.

The barn doors creaked as he pushed them open, the familiar, comforting scent of old wood and metal filling the air. In the dim light, he saw Optimus, his massive frame curled tightly, his plating strained and shuddering with each shallow, labored breath. The Titan's optics flickered weakly as Will approached, glowing faintly, the only sign of life in the stillness of the barn.

It was another spark attack—mild, but still dangerous, weakening him further with each one. Will could see it in the way the Prime's body trembled, as if every second was an eternity, every beat of his spark a struggle to stay alive.

"Oh, Optimus…" Will murmured, his voice cracking as he knelt beside the massive figure, his own heart breaking to see the Prime like this—stripped of all myths, all dignity, and laid bare in raw, naked pain. Optimus, who had stood unbroken through battles that shook the heavens, was now trembling, his frame curled in on itself, his deep, labored breaths rasping like a dying wind through broken trees.

Will reached out instinctively, placing a steadying hand on the nearest plating of his chest. The metal was cool under his palm, but he could feel the faint vibrations of Optimus's systems, fighting valiantly against the agony. The flicker of his optics was weak, the faint glow barely visible in the barn's shadows.

"It's alright," Will whispered, his voice low and soothing. "Just exhale through it... that's it." He rubbed his hand gently over the scarred metal, trying to ground both of them, trying to provide some sort of tether against the weight of the moment. "I'm right here. I'm right here."

Optimus didn't speak. His frame shifted slightly under Will's hand, the cables groaning softly as he tried to adjust, to find some position that might relieve the strain on his spark. Will could feel the shudder of his great chest beneath his hand, a tremor that spoke of a pain too vast for words.

Another shudder ran through Optimus's frame, this one more pronounced, his vents releasing a strained burst of air. Will pressed his forehead to the side of the Titan's chest, his voice trembling as he spoke again. "Just breathe. Let it out. One exhale at a time."

A faint sound rumbled from Optimus, low and broken—a sound of acknowledgment, of gratitude, but also of defeat. Will's throat tightened at the vulnerability in it. This was Optimus Prime—leader, hero, protector of worlds—and yet here he was, relying on nothing more than a human's touch to find solace.

"I've got you," Will said softly, his voice steady despite the tears threatening to fall.

The faint glow of Optimus's optics flickered slightly, and his plating shifted again, pressing ever so slightly into Will's touch, as though drawing strength from his presence. The massive frame trembled once more, but this time the tension began to ease, just a fraction, as if the Prime was allowing himself to let go of some of the burden, if only for a moment.

For a long time, there was silence between them, broken only by the faint hum of Optimus's systems and the soft, rhythmic sound of his exhalations. Will stayed where he was, his body leaning against the great chestplate, his hand moving in slow, gentle circles over the damaged metal.

"You're not alone, Optimus," Will whispered again, his voice firm with conviction.

A soft, almost imperceptible hum of agreement came from Optimus, and for the briefest of moments, Will thought he felt the Prime relax—just a little, just enough.

And in that quiet, shared space, surrounded by the scent of old wood and the faint glow of moonlight through the barn slats, the weight of a thousand battles seemed to lift, if only for a moment. Will stayed by his side, a small human offering his strength to a Titan, and in that moment, it was enough.

The tremors finally subsided, leaving Optimus slumped against the berth, his massive frame slack with exhaustion. His vents released a long, ragged exhale as his body struggled to recover from the strain. Will stayed pressed against him, his hand still firm on Optimus's chassis, his weight braced to keep the Prime grounded.

"Does this even help?" Will asked softly, his voice raw with worry.

Optimus's optics flickered faintly, their dim glow casting a soft light in the quiet barn. There was a long pause before he spoke, his voice low and tired, yet full of sincerity.

"Yes," Optimus murmured, his tone carrying a faint warmth despite the pain. "You are… kind… to me. You have always been so."

Will swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. He shook his head slightly, as if dismissing the compliment. "It's not kindness," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's what you deserve, Optimus. You've given everything—more than anyone ever could. Someone needs to take care of you for once."

Optimus's frame shifted slightly under Will's touch, his body too weak to move far but acknowledging the words in the faintest way. "You… carry more than you should," Optimus said softly, his voice a gentle rumble that vibrated through Will's hand.

"And whose fault is that?" Will shot back, his tone wry but affectionate, his hand still pressing against the Prime's chest. "You taught me to be like this, you know."

A faint sound escaped Optimus—something that might have been a chuckle if he'd had the strength for it. His optics dimmed further, but the faint glow of gratitude remained. "Then I am… grateful that, unlike me, you are not so foolish as to try to carry it alone."

Will let out a shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders easing as he felt the faint steadiness return to the Prime's systems. He didn't move his hand, didn't stop the pressure he was applying, even though his own arms were starting to ache. "Rest, Optimus," he said gently. "I'll stay right here. Just like I promised."

For a moment, there was no response, only the soft hum of Optimus's systems as they worked to stabilize him. Then, barely audible, came his reply.

"You honor me… my friend."

Will's chest tightened, and he pressed his forehead briefly against the cool plating, closing his eyes. "And you've honored me a thousand times over," he whispered.

The barn grew quiet again, save for the rhythmic sounds of Optimus's breathing. Will stayed with him, his hand never wavering, his presence a quiet, unwavering promise: no matter how many nights like this came, Optimus would never have to face them alone.

~0~

The barn was still, lit only by the faint glow of Optimus's optics and the soft silver light of the moon streaming through the slats. Sarah Lennox stood in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself, watching the scene before her. Her husband, Will, was slumped against Optimus's massive frame, sound asleep. One hand rested on the Prime's chest, his body curled protectively against the Titan like a sentinel unwilling to abandon his post.

Her heart ached at the sight. She could see the lines of exhaustion etched into Will's face even in sleep, the weight he carried for the sake of this being who had given so much. Optimus, for his part, lay still and silent, his massive frame stretched across the berth, his systems humming faintly. His optics were dim but open, their soft glow betraying a weary awareness.

Sarah stepped quietly into the barn, careful not to disturb either of them. In her hands, she carried a blanket, one of the heavy ones she'd pulled from their couch. As she approached, she saw the way Will's hand rested on a section of Optimus's scarred plating, the tenderness of his gesture even in unconsciousness.

"You've got him working overtime again, haven't you?" she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. She wasn't sure if Optimus would respond, but something in her felt the need to speak, to acknowledge what was happening.

Optimus's optics shifted slightly, focusing on her. His voice, though weak, carried a depth of emotion. "He… gives more than I ask," he murmured. "More than I deserve. You should take him inside…"

"We both know he wouldn't go, even if I tried," Sarah murmured. Her throat tightened, and she knelt beside Will, carefully draping the blanket over his back. "That's just who Will is," she added, a faint smile touching her lips. "He doesn't know how to hold back when he cares about someone."

Her hand hesitated for a moment before she reached out to touch Optimus's hand where it rested on the berth, his plating cold and impossibly vast beneath her fingers. The surface was rough in some places, scarred and worn, but solid—enduring.

"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice filled with gratitude and something deeper, something unspoken. "For everything you've done. For him. For all of us."

Optimus's optics dimmed further, his systems letting out a low, tired hum. "It is I… who should thank you," he said softly. "For sharing him. For allowing him… to stay."

Sarah's fingers lingered on his plating, her hand tracing the edges of a deep scar. "He's stubborn," she said, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips. "But he's got a good heart. He won't let you go through this alone."

"No," Optimus agreed, his voice barely audible. "He will not."

For a moment, they both sat in silence, the quiet hum of Optimus's systems and the soft rhythm of Will's breathing filling the space between them. Sarah finally rose, brushing a strand of hair from Will's forehead before stepping back toward the door.

"You're family, Optimus," she said simply, her voice steady despite the emotion in her eyes. "And family takes care of each other."

Optimus didn't respond, but the faintest shift of his plating spoke volumes. Sarah watched him for another moment before turning and walking back into the house, leaving the barn in quiet serenity.

Will stirred slightly in his sleep, his hand tightening against Optimus's chest as if to reassure himself of the Prime's presence. And Optimus, weary and worn but comforted, let himself rest, knowing he was not alone.

This is basically the first time they all acknowledge what's happening. I realize I need to retrofit some of the earlier chapters based on this information, but, needs must...anyway, please review! I moved a couple of passages around because I realized they'd gotten out of order.