Thundercracker would be mortified, angry at himself for his weakness, if he let himself think about what he's doing, clinging to someone like a frightened sparkling.  Which was . . . why he wasn't letting himself think about it.  Right now, he just . . . he needed the comfort of an embrace stronger than his, for someone to tell him he wasn't broken, wasn't going insane, someone to give him focus and guidance since on his own he'd spiraled so far out of control.

  He shifted back a bit, glancing briefly to meet the optics trying to catch his before his head ducked in shame.  At least he was quieter as he answered.  "I-I don't know, my lord.  I'm . . . I'm sorry."  For his behavior, for his rage, for his . . . his failure to cope and handle this on his own.