big dumb loser baby

[warmesthugs]

Who: Helex and whoever wants to look at his ugly mug.
What: Big angry sad confused Easy Bake Oven not sure how to handle the fallout.
When: Somewhen after Tarn dramas.
Where: WHEREVER WORKS REALLY. He's sort of out and about.
Warnings: Potential violence if you really annoy him? Otherwise not much honestly.


now.
Deep in a largely empty district somewhere in the city far from the crater – and so, in theory, far from other people – a building begins listing to one side. Dust and smoke drift up from the street in thick bursts and metal shrieks as it crumples.

Helex twists steel sheet and rebar in his massive hands and imagines it's his own neck. Actually tearing off his head won't do Tarn any good now… not that Helex was much good before either. He should have stepped in, he tells himself. It should be Helex in exile, not Tarn; Tarn could figure out a way to bring Helex back. The walking smelter has no such knack for planning and short of a one-bot rebellion, he can't see a way to make it work. Not that such a rebellion would work anyway, he thinks, tearing siding away from the underlying building frame. He could wipe out plenty of the bots here without too much trouble, maybe… but Megatron…

"Dammit," Helex snarls, rending the metal in his hands into scraps and shards. "Dammit!" He starts punching the frame with both large fists, a one-two battering ram that he just imagines is aimed at Megatron's face. He doesn't know what else to do. Attacking anyone outright without a plan will just end up with him dead or exiled, too, and he can't help Tarn that way. Girders start buckling under his frustration and he keeps pushing, punching, ripping away.

He shouldn't kill anybody if he wants to be useful to Tarn, no matter how much he wants them to suffer, but nobody said he can't tear apart decrepit old buildings as an outlet instead. As though it'd stop him if they told him he couldn't.


later.
Sullen and holding at a low simmer, Helex wanders grudgingly back towards civilisation. He's covered in dents and scrapes and finely powdered rust, his smelter is a little over half-full, his hands look like he just tried to box a Metrotitan, and he only feels the tiniest bit better. Wrecking inanimate structures is a mediocre substitute for the pure satisfaction of ending a life.

But he's tired, and hungry. And he can't really address either problem without coming back here.

Comments

[warmesthugs]

Oh, Helex is angry. Immensely angry. So furious and full of loathing that he's tearing buildings apart and dreaming of the day it's the Autobots here being rendered down to molten ore in his chamber, and not scrap metal. He is overwhelmingly angry.

But not with Tarn. With Tarn, he's just confused and now, reading the terse message, vaguely upset.

"I could've backed you up," he says lamely. Maybe Tarn didn't want him along; that's always a possibility. "I'm… I'm sorry I wasn't there. But–" He stops, halfway smiling. It's not a good look on him, anxious as he is. "But I can do something now, though!" he says. "I'm – I'm still here. I bet I can sneak supplies out to you!"

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn slowly gathers to his feet, favoring his good leg. He doesn't deserve Helex's loyalty. The smelter should have a strong, capable, commander, instead of this weak despicable shell of a mech that now stood before him. Still, Tarn is grateful that their friendship has transcended the simple parameters of Commander and subordinate.

Tarn nods his agreement to the smelter's plan after a moment of thought. Helex's smuggling of supplies would be helpful, for certain. He had almost depleted the medical supplies that Spinister had brought right away; and his throat still needed extensive work if he was to be able to speak again. Pain dampeners, energon, anything to create a bit of cushion during these hard times. Helex would have to speak with Spinister for a more specific list of needs. Tarn cringes at the thought of that meeting.

He can sense the anxiety rolling off of Helex in waves, the twitching corner of his grin the only outward expression of it beside his slight stuttering in his speech. Tarn takes a step forward, sliding his arms around his comrades thick middle. His mask clinks lightly against the glass of the smelting chamber. The fumes oozing from his vents smell familiar and the warmth of his plating feels comfortable against his own. It is a strange gesture for Tarn, but they both need it.

[warmesthugs]

Helex stiffens briefly when Tarn first latches onto him. It isn't unwelcome, it's just unexpected. A little surreal. Tarn has always been a very personal, involved commander, but there's always been a degree of separation that ruled out things like hugs. Yet here they are, with Helex keeping all four hands away mostly in shock.

It wears off after a second or two when Tarn doesn't let go or say anything. Helex lets his smaller hands rest very carefully on Tarn's shoulders first, then curls his larger arms around Tarn's back.

"I'm really sorry," he says quietly.

[sparkwhisperer]

The warmth of Helex’s arms and smelter soothe him for a few fleeting moments. Tarn shutters his optics and squeezes his comrade a bit tighter to tell him that it’s alright. His hands smooth in quiet circles on Helex’s broad back but he doesn’t make any move to let go. Soon enough he comes back to himself. He wants to scream his frustration against the warm and familiar armor of his teammate, but he can’t even do that. Everything has just gone so wrong. How can he possibly allow Helex, or any other member of the DJD for that matter, to call him a leader.

He’s lost everything in a foolish gamble.

“I-t—“ He hacks a painful sounding wheeze. He wants to talk. He needs to tell Helex that it’s alright. That none of this is his fault.