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Despite his grim name, Dead End takes pride in being an optimist. In spite of the many trials and tribulations he endured prior to being rescued by the Ascenticons, he does his best to not let those haunting memories consume him.
Everyone is destined to die, so he might as well do something meaningful and contribute to this world as much as he can before facing his inevitable demise, which is better than staying overwhelmed by misery and waiting to become food for rust. These days, that meant becoming acquainted with the other mechs at base. The medics said that it would be a while before he's in proper physical condition to fight, but he's very willing to get to know his comrades in the meantime.
However, there are moments when he can't muster that energy. Such as right now.
Dead End felt fine in the morning, but after refueling at noon, he started to feel unusually tired and numb. He couldn't get a word in during his daily perusal of the archives, playing his usual music didn't make him feel anything, and neither did his usual habit of writing poems yielded any results. He didn't have the energy to talk to anyone else and his brothers were out on a mission.
So he just sat on the couch and zoned out for the remainder of the day, staring at the wall's direction but at nothing in particular.
To the point that he didn't notice when the door opened and someone else walked in and sat down next to him.
"Ender?"
The deep timbre and heavy pedesteps quickly gave away who came in.
"Motors?"
Using more strength than he expected, Dead End turned his head to meet a pair of concerned golden optics.
"You alright, 'End?"
"I..." Dead End sighed. "Feel like slag."
Profanity is usually beneath him, but at the moment he just doesn't have enough energy to care.
His brother's optic ridges furrowed anxiously. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Dead End wasn't sure what the 'it' was referring to, but he was too tired to ask for clarification and frankly too tired to talk too much. "No. Just... stay with me for a while, please."
This wasn't the first time something like this has happened.
And as usual, his big brother said nothing, and wrapped an arm around his noticeably smaller frame. Dead End curled up on the couch and leaned against his brother's chassis, the gentle purring of the truck's engine and the warmth of his field soothing him into recharge.
He vaguely heard more pedesteps and felt a surge of warmth as he drifted into a comforting oblivion.
...
Dead End woke up feeling much better and felt someone leaning on his shoulder. He shifted a bit in his position, which prompted a response from the mech leaning on him.
" 'End?"
"Oh, good morning Drag Strip. Sorry, did I wake you up?"
"Nothing, I... I was already awake anyways, just didn't want to disturb you since you didn't look good last night." Drag Strip replied quietly, his frame still covered in dents and scratches from the night before. Dead End had a sliver of doubt that Drag Strip was really awake and not saying so just so that Dead End can feel less guilty. But since the former racer has always tried to avoid upsetting others, and pressing the issue further probably wouldn't achieve anything, Dead End decided to leave it at that.
Much more energized, he sat up straight and surveyed the rest of their room. Wildrider was resting soundly on the other end of the couch. And... Breakdown was sprawled out on the floor, presumably falling off the couch while recharging.
Whether he somehow didn't wake up from the fall or chose not to get back on the couch, it does lighten his mood. He couldn't resist letting out a chuckle which escalated into louder laughter. Eager to share this 'new discovery', Dead End reached over and nudged Wildrider awake.
"What?"
Dead End said nothing and just pointed at the figure on the floor, prompting a snort from Drag Strip and barely restrained laughter from Wildrider, keeping it as quiet as they can, as if not to wake Breakdown so they can enjoy this sight a little longer.
They were interrupted by the door sliding open and the familiar heavy steps approaching.
"Good morning brother."
"Hey Motors."
"Risen and shining, big guy!"
The usually stone-faced sniper smiled a little, which is a sign that he is in a good mood.
"Yesterday was tough, so I thought y'all would like to sleep in for a bit. Went down to the canteen to get this morning's fuel- uh, Breaks?" Puzzled, he put the tray of energon cubes on the table, then bent down and gently shook Breakdown awake.
"Hey mech... HOLY PRIMUS WHEN DID I FALL OFF THE COUCH?" Embarrassed, Breakdown scrambled to stand back up before settling on the couch next to Wildrider.
Another wave of amused laughter washed over the room, Breakdown himself included.
With that little interlude out of the way, Motormaster turned his attention to the previously despondent mech. "You feeling better, Enders?"
Dead End smiled and nodded. "Much better. Thank you."
With his brother's slight smile widening just a bit more, he received a few pats on the back in response as Motormaster resumed his usual seat in the middle of the couch.
The topic switched to a dramatic retelling of last night's battle, which devolved into the usual routine of everyone convincing Drag Strip to take a compliment - for reasons Dead End has yet to understand, the former racer has always been reluctant to accept praises, even when his quick thinking this time saved a good number of their allies' lives.
"It's- it's nothing really." Drag Strip averted his gaze and chose to fix his gaze on his cup of energon. For reasons Dead End has yet to discover, the former racer was never good at receiving praises.
"Okay stop." Breakdown cut the stammering racecar off and pointed at the shy mech. "You have done nothing but self deprecate since we've reunited."
"You have done nothing but self deprecate since you've got here! Take it from a professional, you've got some good moves. If you want, I can teach you some more tricks. Might come handy in recon missions." Wildrider added with a reassuring smile.
"I..." Flustered and nervous, Drag Strip's plating noticeably tensed.
"Alright, alright, he got your point." Motormaster raised a hand to signify that this line of discussion is reaching its end, then gently patted Drag Strip on the helm. "But they are right, you deserve to have a little more faith in yourself."
"... Thanks."
A brief awkward silence soon followed.
"Alright, enough rambling. Cheers!" Breaking the silence, Wildrider grabbed his cup of energon and raised his arm. "To last night's success!"
"Cheers to surviving another day!" Dead End added enthusiastically and raised his own cup in response as the others joined in.
The dull clanking of the cups were as pleasant to the audio receptors as his old music collection.
Although it will be a long time before peace graces Cybertron once more, small moments of joy like these, though fleeting, bring immeasurable comfort.
And for now, that is enough.