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Springer being carted back from Garrus-9 on a slab didn’t do anyone any favours.
Kup wasn’t crying for the lost ones particularly. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t liked the ‘bots, he simply didn’t know them, didn’t care enough to weep for something they all knew was coming. He’d shared a solemn look with Roadbuster, sure, but that could’ve been as much for Springer as anyone. And everyone knew he owed Springer.
If anyone asked him how he felt about what happened now, that place, the Autobots he killed, he’d dismiss it and tell them to jump in a scrap heap. Still, even after so long, Kup could only rectify his misdeeds slowly, and in small measures; a subtle condemnation of self for actions long forgiven by the victims.
At the other end of the corridor, Kup could see a fellow Wrecker. Springer had always been hard on Whirl. Now the aerial looked lost or suspicious, wandering the empty halls, meandering slightly, helm down. He was holding something red, but stored it in his subspace long before Kup’s optics could adjust to the distance. As they passed one another in the hallway, Whirl looked uncomfortable.
Kup hesitated, then stopped walking. “Hey. Kid,” he said.
“What?” Whirl replied, slightly too loud and sharp for the narrow halls. He continued walking past Kup, then stopped when the older mech didn’t respond. He turned back to face him. “What do you want?”
“Eh, Nuthin’,” Kup replied. “I jus’ wanna say… I get it; all this slag you’ve gone through. An’ y’know, I’ve got ya back. If ya need it.”
Whirl tapped his claws together, seeming to process what was said. He fidgeted.
Kup glanced down to where Whirl’s claws were, twitching near his subspace. “I jus’. I know tha’ Springer is tough on ya. But, I know wha’ goin’ through the ringer is like, and I’m on your side. An’ Springer is too, he’s jus’… tough.”
Whirl was suddenly very close, his optic shining onto Kup’s face.
The old mech blinked a few times, head tilted slightly sideways from the proximity. He suddenly realised Whirl had been walking towards the medbay.
Whirl’s optic narrowed into a line: a thin, suspicious look. “Don’t pander to me, Kup.” It sounded as though Whirl had attempted to make a popping noise on the end of Kup’s name, however his lipless vocaliser could only create a faint crackle in its place. He reached a claw up slyly, just out of the other mech’s vision, and flicked the cigar from his mouth. Then he stood back, watching the object clatter to the floor and roll in a half moon. A singular, static laugh ejected from his vocaliser, and Whirl was gone.
Kup shook his head, and bent down to pick up his cigar, grunting as he did so. “Oh believe me, I won’t,” he said to himself, and opened a comm line to Roadbuster.