"Wing...." The name falls from his mouth like a plea, to please remember him, to recognize him. And maybe it's a good sign, one that he's come so far that he's not recognizable as the stubborn, petulant Decepticon that Wing knew.

And that reminder--that Wing only had the chance to know that stubborn and lost mech--wrenches his spark in its chamber.

"Wing...it's me." He edges forward, swords finding their sheathes again so his hands can come out, open, imploring... "It's been a long time but...it really is me."

Please say his name Wing. The one that sings in his spark, not the one that caged it. He needs to hear it.