He wants to go back to sleep. The escape of dreams seemed like a pleasant alternative to the ache in First Aid's spark, deeper than physical.

"Megatron's a medic." He has his stripes and everything. They'd helped teach him, watch him grow into something he wanted to be, rather than what the Senate and war forced him to be. Why did everyone want to train him to be a killer?

His hands brush over the sides of Sixshot's face, nudging him softly to lift his head and look at his scarred, gray face.

"Sixshot, why are you here with me?"