viccyfics

[viccyfics]

Not my usual post but I'm getting my haircut on the 9th and kind decide if I wanna have a trim or the y2k emo cut.

[viccyfics]

shoutout to fictional autistic(coded) men of science. gotta be one of my favourite genders. 🧪

[viccyfics]

[viccyfics]

just started watching house and I thought yall were exaggerating but no. every episode is just like three wrong diagnoses that almost kill the patient and then house is like "he has underwater skunk herpes" and they give the guy a new butthole and he's cured. and then house chugs vicodin while talking about wanting to rail wilson.

[viccyfics]

Thank you to everyone who has sent prompts!! I am now closing my prompts for awhile and will only be answering the ones that are in my askbox, and I'll be opening them back up at some point in may for mushymay!!!!

[viccyfics]

Angst prompt 7 for CB/Turnov?

Thank you :]

Thank you for the prompt!

(prompt list)

READ UNDER THE CUT OR ON AO3

“I’ll only be gone for a few weeks,” Turnov frowned, stroking his thumb across the back of CB’s neck, “And I’ll call you whenever I can, okay?”

CB’s eyes were on the ground, he couldn’t look up at the Engine, he couldn’t risk Turnov seeing him cry, especially not over something so ridiculous, he knew Turnov would come back, “I know,” he muttered.

“I’m not leaving you, you know that, right?” Turnov said gently, continuing to rub CB’s neck, his other hand holding onto his bag, “It’s just a job.”

CB gave a jerky nod, still refusing to meet his eyes, his hands were shoved into his pockets, fiddling with a screw he’d forgotten was in there, his shoulders hunched making their height difference worse.

“What is this about?” Turnov sighed, not annoyed or mad, but worried.

“It’s nothing.”

“CB-”

“I’m fine.” CB spat pushing himself away, out of Turnov’s hold, “Just go, I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure?”

CB didn’t answer, he was trying to fight the urge to run back to his room so he wouldn’t have to see Turnov leave, and so he could avoid this conversation, but he couldn’t his wheels were locked in places, and he hadn’t done that with his brake lever, he was…nervous.

“I don’t want to leave like this,” Turnov spoke, taking a step closer, “I don’t want to leave you when you’re like this.”

“You don’t have a choice.” CB scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “You have to go.”

Turnov shifted the bag on his shoulder, the second one in his hand making his arm ache, but he didn’t put them down on the floor like he wanted to, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

CB flinched, his shoulders jerking up, his head going down and his eyes squeezing shut. He didn’t mean to but he couldn’t help it, and Turnov saw it, he always saw it when CB flinched.

And still, Turnov didn’t push, he closed the gap that CB had made but didn’t touch him, “CB... I will come back.”

CB bit the inside of his cheek, why couldn’t he have just acted like everything was fine until Turnov was gone? And now the Engine was going to be late to get to the station and it was going to be his fault, just because he couldn’t calm himself down, his mind was spinning.

“…You said that before” CB gasped trying to stop himself from crying, “Or someone did. Same words. Same smile, Same ‘I’ll call, I’ll come back.’ Never did.”

Turnov’s eyes widened in confusion, “That wasn’t me.”

CB swallowed, The screw in his pocket bit into his palm where he was gripping it too tight, “I know. I just…”

“I’m coming back,” Turnov said firmly, “You hear me?”

CB nodded slowly, finally lifting his head to look at Turnov, “You promise you’ll call?”

“I promise, Every chance I get. I don’t care if it’s two minutes between refuels, I’ll call.”

CB nodded again, but his jaw was clenched, and his hands were shaking, and as he pulled them out of his pockets, the screw fell to the floor with a tiny ping. Turnov’s eyes went down to it, his eyebrow raising in confusion, but he didn’t say anything.

“Just don’t forget,” CB whispered, reaching out to wrap his arms around Turnov, careful to avoid the bags.

“I could never forget about you, мой хороший.” Turnov gladly pulled CB against him, rubbing small circles on his back, feeling the Caboose shake against him, dreading leaving him, but they both knew he had to go, he didn’t have a choice.

“I really need to go,” Turnov muttered after a moment, pressing a kiss to the crown of CB’s head, “I’ll call when we get to our first break, I promise.”

CB pulled away slowly, his eyes wet with tears as he looked up at Turnov, but he nodded, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Turnov had only been gone for four days, but CB was struggling, far more than he thought he would be. Even though Turnov had called nine times, it wasn’t helping as much as he would have liked. His hands were shaking, his legs too, he couldn’t seem to get control of his breathing or just how paranoid he was becoming, not even Dinah and Greaseball had been able to calm him down.

CB paced around his shed, his toolbox had fallen a few hours earlier but he couldn’t get a hold of himself enough to pick it up just yet, watching the screws, nails and tools as he paced, focusing on them rather than what Turnov was doing.

Maybe if he focused hard enough Turnov would come back.

His chest was starting to hurt and his shallow breaths weren’t helping, his oven was hauntingly cold despite the fact he never had it lit…but it was that night. The night he was left a few stations away from the Union Pacific Yard, the night his family left him behind, the night he was abandoned and taken in by Poppa.

“Just wait here CB,” His brother chuckled, tipping the brim of his hat down, “We’ll be back before you even know it.”

“I’ll call,” His father smiled from where he was standing a few feet away, “I’ll come back.”

CB didn’t question why they were leaving him by himself at the station, but they were his family; he had no reason to think anything was wrong.

“Just keep your radio on, okay?” His mother added before she coupled to her husband, “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“ I love you!” CB yelled, watching as his family rolled away, practically an entire yard, all rolling away from him, leaving him in charge of the station, just a little child, but he could do it, he knew he could.

He remembered sitting still on that rusty bench for hours, just like they’d told him to.

He didn’t cry when he felt lonely, he didn’t wander when he got bored, he didn’t panic when the cold night air was biting at his skin, making him want his family back. So he kept his oven on, a small warmth within his chest to help him feel better, hoping the animals in the woods weren’t paying him too much attention, replaying his mother’s words in his head like a lullaby “Just keep your radio on.”

So he did.

He waited, and waited…and waited.

Night turned to day and he refused to move, day turned to night and yet he stayed still on the bench, feeling his body weaken and his oven fire start to dim, he was so tired, so hungry…and so lonely.

But he kept waiting.

“Come on CB,” he groaned rubbing a hand over his face, “They told you to sit still, and they’ll be back soon they promised.”

But no matter how much he talked to himself, any four year old would have still gotten lonely, but he didn’t stop believing they’d be back soon, family don’t lie.

That was until the sixth day.

Most trains that ran through had ignored him, or only given him a small wave, but none of them were his family.

“Are you alright?” A voice snapped CB out of his thoughts, a steamer stood in front of him, an old steamer, with a concerned look on his face.

“I’m waiting for my family.” CB replied, sitting up a little straighter, just like he’d been told to do when talking to adults.

“And where are they?”

“I-” CB paused, they hadn’t told him where they were going, they just said they’d be back soon, “I don’t know.”

The steamer’s eyes widened in horror, “Oh…” he breathed, crouching down to CB’s level “How long have you been waiting here, little one?”

CB blinked at him, counting on his fingers how many times the sun had come up and gone down. “…Six,” CB whispered, not wanting to believe his own math, “Six days.”

The steamer’s expression darkened, looking at the little caboose, this child sitting obediently on the bench, his fire barely glowing, soot smudged across his face, red-rimmed eyes too tired for someone so small. “What’s your name?” he asked gently.

“CB.”

“Well, CB…” The steamer smiled, reaching a hand out to help pull him off the bench, “Why don’t you come with me? We’ll find a nice warm place for you, and I’ll help you get back to your family.”

“They said to stay here,” CB said quickly, shrinking a little. “They said they’d come back.”

“I know,” the steamer frowned, “I know they did. But six days is a long time to leave someone waiting…especially someone so little.”

CB looked back down the track, waiting, hoping to see his family come back into view, but he knew, deep down, they weren’t coming back, they’d left him here on purpose, he was the youngest, a hazard, unreliable, so they ditched him.

“My name’s Poppa,” the steamer said finally. “I’ve got a yard not far from here. It’s not fancy, but it’s warm, and we can have someone else keep watch for your parents, okay?”

CB swallowed. “Will they be mad at me? If I leave?”

Poppa shook his head quickly, “Of course not, they’d want you to be safe wouldn’t they?”

And just like he said, Poppa did send engines out to keep watch, but as the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, there was no sign of the Cabooses, no radio signal or anything, they’d abandoned him not caring what happened while they were gone.

What if Turnov did the same?

What if Turnov finally realised he deserved more than CB and didn’t come back, it wasn’t like he worked at this yard, he only visited, even if he visited more often than anyone assumed he would when they started dating, maybe Turnov really did finally leave him.

“CB?” Turnov’s voice cut through the air, the staticky sound coming from his radio sitting on the table, “Are you there, дорогой?”

CB stumbled at the sound of Turnov’s voice, almost tripping over a wrench as he scrambled toward the table, quickly placing his radio over his ears, "I'm here,” he breathed, voice tight and strained, “I’m here.”

There was a pause, a soft crackle on the other end, then Turnov’s voice again, “You sound awful. What’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” CB lied, he couldn’t trouble Turnov with this, not while he was working, it wasn’t fair.

“Are you sick?”

CB shook his head then remembered Turnov couldn’t see him, “I’m fine, just-” he glanced around the shed, he was messy normally but this was just bad, empty food cartons Dinah had brought him lying around, cans and bottles chucked wherever, the couch practically torn apart, it was a mess, worse than it had been in awhile, “Just missing you.”

Turnov let out a small chuckle, “Well you won’t have to miss me for long, we’re coming back early.”

CB felt his heart speed up, “What, why?”

“Do I need a reason to come back to you?”

CB could feel his eyes start to tear up, “I guess not.”

“I’m about five minutes away,” Turnov chuckled again, “So you better clean up whatever mess you’ve made, okay?”

CB let out a choked laugh, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve as he looked around at the chaos “…I’ll try,”

Turnov was coming back. He’d kept his word.

“Listen, I’ve got to go, but five minutes okay?”

“I’ll see you soon.”

The radio shut off with a beep, sending CB over to the fallen tool box, he shoved the scattered screws and tools back into the box as best as he could. He was throwing wrappers and boxes into the bin...or as close to the bin as he could when from outside he heard the familiar rumble of Turnov’s wheels against the track. The sound grew louder, more distinct, and then there it was, a low horn, Turnov’s horn, announcing himself as he rolled back into the yard.

CB stopped what he was doing and ran towards the door, he didn’t care about the mess Turnov had told him to clean up, it didn’t matter, that could wait until he had Turnov back in his arms again. He threw the door open with a thud, becoming face to face with the Engine.

“You really couldn’t wait, huh?” Turnov teased, setting his bags down just outside the shed.

CB didn’t respond, he launched himself forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Turnov’s middle, burying his face against his chest.

“I missed you,” CB whispered.

Turnov wrapped his arms around him, “I missed you too, I’m here now.”

Turnov had come back, Turnov was his real family, and he’d come back, just like he said he would.

[viccyfics]

I misread the numbers on the angst thingso

Pearl and Dinah with 24 and 4 please?

That's a'okay! I have the other fic done if you want that one as well And I'm sorry for the wait, but here you go

(prompt list)

READ UNDER THE CUT OR ON AO3

could be romantic or platonic

TW: scars, dissociation, bad boyfriend Greaseball, injuries, hurt Dinah

Pearl wasn’t cut out for racing and Dinah knew it, she was too sweet, too fragile, and the racing world was going to eat her alive, so when she stopped racing Dinah had to admit she was a little thankful. Even after Rusty won the race Pearl didn’t seem too interested in trying again, even if it was with him this time, and still, Dinah was thankful.

Pearl didn’t need to be hurt like that.

It wasn’t even just the physical injuries Dinah was worried about, it was the emotional ones, the pressure, the anxiety, the need to prove yourself, it all adds up and was more painful than any grease burn Dinah had felt before, Pearl didn’t deserve that.

Pearl didn’t deserve to be hurt like she was, Pearl wouldn’t be able to take it, but Dinah could, she’d held on for this long, she could handle more. Except Pearl didn’t seem to think she could…neither did Greaseball.

One more crash and she’d be done for, kicked down to the ground and wouldn’t race again, so why did Greaseball let her fall? Why did Greaseball push himself further knowing Dinah couldn’t take it, her wheels locked up, sending her crashing down to the floor face first.

But the worst bit of all…he knew what he’d done and didn’t turn back to check on her, he just kept going.

Dinah didn’t remember much after that, the flashing lights, screaming audience, and control's voice had gone quiet, like she was underwater, her body was moving but she wasn’t doing it, she was being helped off the ground by a Marshal, but she couldn’t feel his touch, couldn’t hear what he was saying. She could barely tell that she was upright now being carefully pulled away to the medic, everything was dizzy and cloudy, and quiet, like she wasn’t there, even when the voices got louder Dinah couldn’t hear them, her mouth was moving, she knew it was, but she had no idea what she was saying.

“Dinah?”

That almost sounded like Pearl, which had Dinah smiling, but she couldn’t be here, this was a race and Pearl didn’t care about racing, she was too sweet, too lovely for such a rushed and oily life like this, like Dinah had chosen.

“Is she okay?”

Dinah looked down after a moment, feeling dizzy from the way her body was rocking, her head was too, that’s when she saw the medic cutting at her racing uniform to help peal it off, the tight fabric was clinging to her with sweat and blood, but Dinah couldn’t feel it.

“Dinah?”

“Someone needs to get Greaseball.”

“Is she going to vomit?”

“Where is her partner?”

“Did he leave her?”

“Is she going into shock?”

“Dinah?”

Dinah blinked slowly, everything felt slow, too slow. Her limbs were heavy and her mouth tasted like copper and metal and something burned. Someone peeled back the last sleeve of her uniform, pulling down the rest of the torso of it, and the cool air immediately hit her skin making her hair stand up, but she couldn’t feel it.

There was a sharp, quiet intake of breath beside her, But Dinah heard it, not quite with her ears, but somewhere deep in the static where sound didn’t matter anymore. A feeling, maybe. A presence.

Dinah let her head flop to the side to see who it was, on a deep level hoping it was Greaseball, hoping he’d come back after winning, but the long pink ponytail definitely wasn’t his, and Greaseball wasn’t that short…Pearl?

Pearl’s hand trembled, brushed against the exposed skin of Dinah’s arm, there were scrapes, burns, small kitchen accidents, road rash and scars that made Pearl feel ill. All in varying degrees of healing, her injuries ripping over them, but Pearl couldn’t help but want to cry seeing just how her body had been broken over the years, even if Dinah loved racing, she didn’t deserve this, Dinah was too good for racing, too good for Greaseball, and her body reflected that.

Some of her scars were thin and faint, silvery trails barely visible unless the light caught them just right, there were some that were similar but closer to purple or pink than silver others were angry and red, raised slightly, still in the process of knitting themselves back together. There were puckered marks near her ribs, and jagged scrapes where metal had clearly torn skin

“Oh Dinah…” Pearl whispered, her eyes filling with tears, her hand hovering over Dinah’s arm, “What have you done?”

Dinah blinked slowly, her eyes squinting as she looked down at Pearl, still not registering what was happening, it was like her body was moving, but she wasn’t controlling it, like it was running on its own without her brain telling it what to do.

“Can you hear me?” Peal asked, lifting her gaze to look into Dinah’s eyes, pink meeting blue.

Dinah watched her for a moment, the fog slowly started to lift, she could start to feel the cold air nipping at her skin, the road rash burning, and she was beginning to hear the cheers of the audience, but most importantly, she could hear Pearl, so Dinah gave her a small nod, watching the relief flash over the observation car’s face, her eyes glistening with happiness, and her tears slip down her cheeks.

Dinah gasped at the sudden wave of pain that washed over her, the daze and adrenaline that had hidden it was gone, her mind was back in control but now she could feel everything, but worst of all, she could hear the Greaseball’s laughter, as he snatched up the trophy, Dinah tilted her head away from Pearl to watch the monitor in the corner of the med room.

Greaseball stood on the podium, trophy in hand, laughing with one of the biggest grins on his face that Dinah had ever seen, and here she was, trying not to cry, barely remembering what had happened, and he didn’t care.

Pearl followed Dinah’s gaze to the monitor and her heart sank, “Don’t look at him,” she whispered, wiping the corner of Dinah’s eye with the soft touch of her thumb “He’s not worth it.”

Dinah blinked again, her tears burned worse than the road rash, stung sharper than any broken wheel ever had, all because Greaseball didn’t care, or at least was pretending it didn't care, like it didn’t matter, but it mattered to Pearl.

Pearl…who was still new to the yard, still perfect and clean, and undamaged, she didn’t smoke or drink, she was perfect. And she cared about Dinah.

“When I saw you fall… I thought-” Pearl’s voice broke, making Dinah turn back to her, “I thought you were really hurt…like really hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

Pearl’s bottom lip trembled, “It’s not your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have fallen so easily, I-”

“It’s not your fault.” Pearl repeated, taking hold of Dinah’s hands, clasping them together in hers but making sure to be gentle.

Dinah went silent for a few minutes, her eyes flicking between Pearl, the monitor, and her own injured shaking body, she didn’t want to speak, she couldn’t bring herself to move, it was like everything was crumbling. She just wanted to go back to cooking, being a waitress, living easily with her friends, messing up sometimes with no repercussions, not having to train day in day out, pushing herself farther than she wanted, making sure she was perfect, she couldn’t do that anymore.

“I want to go home..” Dinah whispered, not looking Pearl in the eyes.

Pearl gave her a soft smile, “Then we’ll go home, we’ll leave now and we can be back home before morning.”

The medic gave them both a look, but didn’t argue, they could see it, Dinah didn’t need stitches or a cast, or new wheels and a fan, all she needed was rest, she needed peace and quiet, and safety, and that didn’t include racing.

Pearl helped her slip off the table, and grabbed a bag one of the medics had brought in a few minutes before, in it was a baggy shirt with matching shorts, the material loose and thin, easier to avoid hurting herself further by putting her uniform back on. “Need me to help you get changed?”

Dinah hesitated. Her throat tightened, not from pain, but from shame…shame that Pearl was seeing her like this. She opened her mouth to say no, to insist she could do it on her own, but all that came out was a shaky breath and a single nod.

Pearl’s touch was gentle, careful, and soft, every touch was intentional to not hurt her, even while pulling the rest of the uniform off and helping her change into the softer clothing, and handed the uniform off to one of the medics.

Dinah winced, sucking in a breath through her teeth as the scrapes tugged at her skin and the deeper bruises throbbed as they rolled out the room and down to the exit, Dinah leaned into Pearl’s side as they walked, one slow push at a time.

Dinah didn’t even glance back, she didn’t need to, Greaseball had made his choice.

And now, so had she, she didn’t need Greaseball to be seen. Pearl saw her.

That was enough for her, that was perfect.

[viccyfics]

Paul to Pony

[viccyfics]

Angst 3,4,22 for C.B and Dinah? Either romantic or platonic

Thanks for the prompt! Here is some Dinah/CB Angst

(prompt list)

TW: self-harm, blood, scars burning, knives, depression.

please be cautious reading

READ BELOW THE CUT OR ON AO3

Dinah had seen CB’s scars before, she’d seen all of them, it was hard not to when they were both naked, considering CB was practically covered in them, mostly from years of freight accidents, but there were others Dinah knew weren’t accidents. No crash caused dozens of tiny straight thin cuts or perfectly circular burn scars, they both knew that, but Dinah didn’t want to ask, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She knew what he had done, but it didn’t matter now, all of the scars were long healed.

CB was clean.

Or at least he was…

Dinah wasn’t sure what made her notice it first, maybe it was the way he flinched when she hugged him too tightly after her shift, or how he stopped wanting to have sex unless he was still clothed, or how he'd started wearing long sleeves again, even when the heat made it unbearable, maybe it was the way his smile didn't reach his eyes anymore. She didn’t want to believe it, not after everything. Not after how hard he’d worked to get here, to be here with her.

But then she found the bandages.

Multiple used bandages scrubbed clean, stashed away where Dinah shouldn’t have found them, rolled up in his underwear drawer, tucked under the bed, smushed into a pot in his lunchbox, hidden in a toolbox, stuffed into a toilet paper roll, and even bunched up under the fridge. They were everywhere.

And now Dinah couldn’t try to find excuses for CB’s behaviour, she couldn’t chalk it up to how strong she was getting now that she was training for race season again, or CB not being in the mood or just wanting a quickie, or trying to protect himself from the sun, he was relapsing and she didn’t know how to help.

It was supposed to be a quiet night, and all Dinah could do was stress.

CB said he was going to “take a shower, clear his head.” Dinah had nodded and stayed curled up on the couch, pretending not to notice how his hands shook when he said it, how he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

She waited ten minutes.

Then fifteen.

Then the water cut off and the smell filled her nose, it wasn’t soap or shampoo, it was tobacco, the cheap kind CB bought while on the tracks, the kind that he was sure Dinah didn’t know about.

He was smoking in the bathroom.

Dinah clenched her jaw, she didn’t care about the cigarettes, she didn’t care about pretending she didn’t know, but what she did care about was that she noticed how much more he was smoking, he was nearly as bad as Ashley now, and Ashley only ever smoked like this when she was stressed and nervous about something.

Dinah pulled herself off the couch and crossed the room, slow at first, then faster when she didn’t hear any movement inside.

“CB?” she called out, voice quiet.

No answer.

She tapped the door, still nothing, her stomach sank.

“CB, I’m coming in.” The door creaked open, and the first thing she saw was the open window, and the multiple cigarette butts lying by it, all smothered out. Then she saw CB and her heart was in her throat. He was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, hunched forward, a towel lying over his lap which was holding the ripped-out blades from a razor and his utility knife Dinah was sure she’d hidden both, with one arm braced on his knee, the other trembling as he held the inside of a cigarette against his inner bicep.

The skin there was already red, Burned, blistered, and almost torn to shreds, it was like he was trying to cauterize the cuts covering his arms.

“CB?”

“Don’t.” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Don’t come in.”

But she already had.

Dinah stepped forward slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. She crouched down in front of him, eye level now, and gently reached out for his hand. It was streaked with ash and blood, smeared across his fingertips like he hadn’t even noticed he was bleeding.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered, squeezing his hand and throwing the cigarette into the sink to deal with later.

CB shook his head, finally meeting her eyes, and Starlight, he looked empty. “You have enough going on and I thought I’d be fine, maybe a few cuts and burns and I’d be done but…” He trailed off, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Dinah’s throat tightened, she wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, but instead, she did the only thing she could, she reached for the blades.

“Don’t.” His voice turned sharp, panicked, and his hand shot out to stop her. “Dinah, don’t.”

But it was too late. The towel slipped from his lap, knocking the blades to the floor and CB shot up panicked.

Dinah’s eyes widened even more, normally she would have blushed and giggled, but she couldn’t do that now.

His legs were a mess, angry, raw cuts lined his thighs, some fresh, others half-healed and puckered. The skin around his knees was red and blotchy, splashed with the same blistered burns she’d seen on his arms. Some of them still wept, or horrifyingly white and yellow, some parallel, some jagged like he’d lost control of his hand. Old ones layered beneath, faintly pink and purple and silvered over, but there were too many that hadn’t had time to heal.

He had been clean for nearly two years… He was so close, only having a few weeks to go, and he couldn’t do it.

Dinah bit back a sob, scrambling to grab the blades before CB, nicking her fingers in the process but she didn’t care, she threw them behind her thankful that they didn’t have any pets that could get hurt.

“Why?” Dinah whimpered, “What happened?”

CB slumped back down onto the toilet, trying to look anywhere but at Dinah, “I don’t know.”

Dinah stared at him, “CB, please… I just need to understand.”

He exhaled a bitter laugh, and wiped at his face with a trembling hand, smearing ash and snot and tears all together. “I wish I could give you a reason. I wish it made sense. I was doing everything right…I really thought I was. But it just crept in again. One day I was fine, the next…” He shrugged weakly, eyes still locked on the floor. “The next I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I didn’t want to go out into the rain so I,” he gestured to one of the worst burns on his collarbone, “I didn’t even think about it, it just happened and then I couldn’t stop.”

Dinah crouched in front of him again, her knees aching now, but she didn’t care. She took both his hands in hers, sticky with blood and shaking. “You could have told me.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said instantly.

“You say that,” he whispered. “But you should’ve seen your face.”

“I was scared- I am scared, I’m not disappointed, “I’m scared because I love you,” Dinah cried, “I don’t know how to help but I don’t like seeing you like this.” CB’s breath hitched in his throat. His grip tightened slightly as he saw the blood running down his arms and into her hair, and on her face, “I didn’t know how to ask for help,” he admitted. “Not after the last time, no one ever stays after the second relapse, I’m too much work.”

“Well, I’m not,” Dinah replied lifting her head, “I’m staying, and tomorrow we’re going to get rid of every blade, every lighter, every match, every stash, and-”

CB flinched. “Dinah, I don’t think I can do another cold turkey, not now, not without… slipping worse.”

“Then we won’t do cold. We’ll do it safely. We’ll do whatever you need, but we’re doing it together.”

CB was quiet for a long moment, his body shaking, “Will you sit with me?” he whispered eventually. “Just… here. A minute. I don’t want to move yet.”

“Of course.”

They sat in silence, the air heavy with smoke and blood, but there was no point in trying to move CB before he was ready even if it was to clean and wrap his wounds. Dinah shifted closer and pulled him gently into her arms, careful not to touch any of the raw skin. CB sagged against her, burying his face into the crook of her neck, You’re too good to me,” CB mumbled, voice muffled against her shoulder. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Good thing this isn’t about what either of us deserves,” she murmured, kissing his temple. “It’s about what we need. And I need you. Even when you’re struggling. Especially then.”

Eventually, CB’s tremors passed, but with it came the pain, the adrenaline blocking it out was gone.

“We should get those cleaned,” Dinah said gently, tilting her head so she could look him in the eye. “I’ve got a first aid kit with the good gauze, not the scratchy stuff from the freight shed.”

CB gave a shaky nod in reply.

Dinah pressed another kiss to his temple and helped him up slowly, careful not to jostle him but he winced anyway, muscles tensing, but didn’t pull away. That, more than anything, made Dinah’s heartache.

“Bedroom, living room or kitchen?” Dinah asked, wanting CB to be as comfortable as possible, not caring if he left blood on the furniture.

“Bedroom.” CB pleaded, almost expecting Dinah to not care.

Dinah nodded. “Bedroom it is.”

She slung an arm carefully around his waist and helped him walk out of the bathroom. His legs trembled beneath him and his grip on her shoulder was tight, but he didn’t fight her. He didn’t apologize either, which was something. progress, in its own way.

When they reached the bedroom, Dinah gently lowered him onto the bed, lying him on top of the duvet, before disappearing briefly to grab the first aid kit from the kitchen. She returned with a damp towel, gauze, antibiotic cream, medical tape, and a pair of clean pyjamas she’d pulled out of the dryer earlier in the day.

He flinched as she knelt beside the bed and pressed the towel to his leg, wiping away the smeared blood as gently as she could. “Sorry,” she whispered when he hissed through his teeth.

“S’okay,” CB muttered, voice hoarse. "It doesn’t count if you’re the one doing it.”

Dinah’s hand paused, trembling slightly, but she kept going. “I know, it’s only self-harm if you’re doing it, but pain is pain.”

CB didn’t reply, letting Dinah clean his wounds one wound at a time. One burn at a time. One blister, one cut, one scar.

It wasn’t pretty. Some of the gashes would scar deep, and she could already tell a couple of the burns might need more than her creams, but she was here, and she was trying, and that was all CB could ask for.

“These are gonna scar Ceebs,” Dinah whispered, pressing a kiss to the bandages once she was done wrapping them.

“Yeah..I know.”

Dinah helped him slip into his pyjamas and then tucked him into the bed and slid in next to him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” CB gave her a soft smile.

“And that’s why we’re best friends.”

CB let out a small chuckle, “I could have sworn we were more than best friends by now.”

Dinah giggled, kissing him on the nose, “Nothing is better than being best friends, we'll be best friends forever."

For the first time in weeks, CB slept comfortably in Dinah’s arms, they were going to get through this together, and he couldn’t ask for anyone better to be helping him, it didn’t matter how long it would take to get clean again, Dinah would be there the whole time, celebrating every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month and every year. Just like she did before.

And it would all be worth it in the end, he would get clean again even if it was just to see how excited and proud Dinah would be in him.

[viccyfics]

Reblog to give prev a fucking break holy shit y’all

[viccyfics]

10 and 15 for porter lumber slick and hydra perhaps 👀👀👀

Thank you for the prompt!

(prompt list)

READ BELOW THE CUT OR ON AO3

Freight were known to be close, just like family even if they came from different yards, it was strange, almost unheard of for one of them not to be attached at the hip with the others, but Porter couldn’t help it, he wanted to be as close with them as they were with each other…but he couldn’t. He hated it when Lumber would try and wrap an arm around his shoulders, or when Slick would jump out at him, or even when Hydra wanted a high-five, it just got too much sometimes.

Maybe that was because sometimes he had to remind himself they weren’t like the freight at his old yard, but he knew that no one here wanted to hurt him, not even as a joke, but still, it was like his mind sometimes forgot, his old yard had been…difficult, He was the youngest, and the smallest, which made him an easy target for a bit of “friendly banter” as they liked to call it.

Rough pats on the back, a hand on his shoulder that squeezed a little too hard, always yelling in his ear then laughing when he flinched. And he let it happen, because back then, he thought that’s what affection was, that’s how he thought it had to be.

Then one night, they rolled out without him, with no warning, no goodbyes, they were just gone when Porter woke up, forcing him to find another yard, but not many needed coal trucks anymore, so he was lucky to have found the Royal Victoria yard when he did.

“-and Slick says she didn’t mean to scare you, but you know how she is, no impulse control.”

Porter blinked, the noise of the yard returned like someone had turned the volume back on, and he realised Lumber was sitting next to him, close, but not too close and had been talking for a while.

“…Sorry,” Porter muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t really listening.”

Lumber let out a small chuckle, “Yeah, I noticed. Thought I’d just keep going in case you came back.”

“Was I that obvious?”

“Kinda. You get this look, like your body’s here but the rest of you is somewhere far off.”

“Sorry.”

Lumber gave him a shrug, “It’s fine, and Momma told Slick off anyway, says she shouldn’t have jumped out at you like that.”

Porter huffed out a breath through his nose, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “She didn’t mean anything by it. I know that.”

“Yeah, but still, Just ‘cause she didn’t mean harm doesn't mean it didn’t shake you,” Lumber frowned “You don’t gotta pretend it didn’t, we all saw you flinch, I thought she accidentally punched you or something.”

Porter didn’t answer at first. He picked at a flake of rust on the edge of the crate he was sitting on, just so he could avoid looking Lumber in the eyes, “It’s not her fault,” he said quietly. “It’s just stuff from before. My old yard was loud but you couldn’t tell if someone was messing around or about to knock your couplers loose.”

Lumber’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard, a lump in his throat forming, “Have you told Momma?”

Porter shook his head slowly, he couldn’t tell her, he didn’t even want to tell Lumber, but it did lift a small weight off his shoulders now that he’d told someone. Maybe he could tell Momma…maybe.

“Here.” Momma smiled, handing Porter a mug of hot chocolate as they huddled around the barrel fire like they did most evenings.

“Thanks, Momma.” Porter smiled back taking the mug, using it to warm up both of his hands. Slick was halfway through telling a story about something that Greaseball had done a few days before, but he wasn’t paying much attention, and judging by the faces of the other’s around him, no one was either, they were all tired of her Greaseball stories, and tired of the Diesel herself.

Momma had disappeared back into her shed, Rusty following after her, leaving the four to talk around the fire.

Slick stood up from her crate, mug down on the floor with her hands on her hips, “Tough crowd tonight, huh?”

Hydra sighed looking up at her, “Sorry…but you already told us that story.”

“Yesterday.” Lumber groaned, “You told that story yesterday.”

Slick narrowed her eyes, then grinned. “Okay, okay, but you know what doesn’t get old?”

Hydra raised an eyebrow, “If you say Greaseball again, I’m throwing up.”

“No,” Slick laughed. “Hugs. C’mon, Freight Fam group hug!”

“Oh no,” Lumber muttered, already scooting back. “Don’t you start.”

Hydra pulled a face “Please no, I’m holding cocoa.”

But Slick was already in motion, stepping forward with open arms. “Group hug, C’mon, it’s mandatory now. Freight tradition, Everybody in!”

Porter barely had time to set down his mug before Slick lunged for Lumber, throwing an arm around him and dragging Hydra into it too.

Porter laughed watching, but then Slick turned and reached for him.

“C’mere, Porter,” she giggled, grabbing his arm to tug him in. “You’re not skipping out, not this time-”

It wasn’t hard, It wasn’t cruel, but it was too fast, too tight, which made it too much.

His chest locked up, and his breath caught somewhere in his throat, and all he could hear was noise, the fire crackling, the voices, the laughter, the sound of wheels on gravel, it was too many layers all at once.

Someone’s hand touched his back. Someone else laughed in his ear.

And just like that, his mind wasn’t in the yard anymore. It was back in the old yard, back in the crush of bodies that didn’t know the word “gentle,” back with freight who’d grab too hard and say it was a joke, freight who didn’t stop when he flinched and didn't care when he panicked.

“Stop.” Porter’s voice came out high and sharp, more like a squeak than a shout, but it was enough.

The hug collapsed instantly. Slick stumbled back, wide-eyed. Hydra froze, halfway in motion. Lumber stepped forward, hands raised, “Porter?” he asked carefully. But Porter couldn’t answer. He was already backing away, his hands and legs shaking, then the back of his knee knocked against one of the crates which sent him falling onto it with a sob.

Lumber was at his side in a heartbeat, crouched low with both hands clearly visible and nowhere near touching. “Hey. Hey, Porter, it’s okay,” he said gently, his voice softer than Porter had ever heard it. “You’re safe. You’re here with us. It’s over now.”

Porter covered his face with his hands, his whole body trembling, he couldn’t look at them, he didn’t want to see the disappointment in their eyes, “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to freak out.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Hydra said quickly, he was kneeling a few feet away, “That hug was ambush levels of a bad idea. You were just honest about it.”

Porter shook his head. “I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Lumber said. “You got overwhelmed. That happens.”

Slick hovered awkwardly, her hands fidgeting with her jacket “I didn’t know. I didn’t think. I thought it’d be funny, and I just wanted you to feel included and now I made you cry and-”

“You didn’t make me cry,” Porter said, voice cracking as he lowered his hands just enough to peek at them. “It’s not your fault. I should’ve said something before, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to make it weird.”

Hydra let out a breath, scooting a little closer. “Look. Nobody here wants you to pretend you're okay when you're not. We want you comfortable, not trapped in some hug you didn’t ask for.”

Porter blinked, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

Lumber leaned in just a little. “Can I sit beside you?”

Porter nodded, and Lumber carefully, slowly sat on the crate next to him and slid it a little closer.

Hydra stayed on the ground, cross-legged now, and Slick finally lowered herself onto the gravel with a heavy thud.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, quieter this time. “Not just for tonight. I’ve been way too hands-on since day one, huh?”

Porter nodded again, but this time he gave her a small, watery smile. “You didn’t mean to scare me.”

“No, but I still did,” she said. “I’ll ask next time. For anything. High-fives, hugs, jumping out of a trash can…whatever.”

That finally got a laugh out of him, filling the other three with relief.

“Thanks,” Porter whispered. “It’s just… my last yard wasn’t like this. They’d act nice and then shove me into walls. I couldn’t tell if they were messing or serious until someone got hurt. Usually me.”

“We’re not them,” Lumber whispered, “We never wanna be them. And you don’t have to force yourself to do anything you don’t want to, okay?”

“…Okay,” he said finally, wiping his eyes. “Okay.”

“Can I…?” Lumber started, tilting his head slightly. “Not a hug. Just… elbow tap?”

Porter hesitated, then nodded.

Their elbows bumped, light, careful, nothing more.

“Elbow bump?” Slick asked with a small smile.

“Come here,” Porter chuckled, holding out his arm just slightly. “Elbow only.”

Slick scrambled up from the gravel like she’d been given a second chance at life. “Oh thank Diesel, I thought you were gonna ban me from all physical contact forever.” she squealed making the others roll their eyes.

“You’re on thin ice,” Porter teased, and they tapped elbows, this one followed by a much more relaxed kind of laughter.

Hydra offered his elbow from the floor. “Me too?”

“Of course,” Porter said. They bumped gently.

It wasn’t a hug. It wasn’t overwhelming. But it was a connection, and it was on his terms.

The fire crackled behind them, and the silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was easy, like everyone was taking a breath at the same time. Lumber nudged him softly with his shoulder, this time just enough to be felt. “Y’know, we can make elbow bumps a Freight tradition too. If group hugs are out, I vote we start the Anti-Hug Club.”

Slick grinned, “I’m always down to join more clubs.”

Hydra raised his mug. “To the Anti-Hug Club. May it never ambush a friend again.”

Porter raised his mug too, voice still a little shaky but stronger than before. “I’ll drink to that.”

They all clinked together, mugs, thermos, even an old chipped tin can that Slick had found in Greaseball’s trash, and sat back in the warmth of the fire and each other’s company. For the first time since coming to the yard, Porter felt like maybe he really did belong. Not because he forced himself to fit in, but because they were making room for him. Just as he was

[viccyfics]

can you do 14 + 11 , Hydra/Tassita? 😓

Thank you for the prompt!

(prompt list)

TW: near death, burning

READ UNDER THE CUT OR ON AO3

Having a leaking Engine was bad, everyone knew that, but it was worse for Hydra, he didn’t get the warning signs like a Diesel or a Steamer, even Electric’s had them, but Hydra didn’t he had nothing until it was too late.

He couldn’t smell the leak, or feel it, all he felt was the rapid decline in energy, but he thought he was just feeling tired from a hard day of working, that was until Rusty sped past him and his wheels sparked against the track and Hydra was screaming in pain.

The explosion wasn’t loud, but it was sudden, a rush of heat twisting inside of Hydra’s body and bursting out, every inch of his body was burning, and he could do nothing to stop it, no one could, at least not safely, they couldn’t even get close enough without making it worse.

Rusty was staring at him horrified, and Hydra could just make him out before his eyes clamped shut in pain, the Steamer was shaking, he was scared, he was blaming himself. The fire was everywhere, his body felt like it was being turned inside out, nerves shorting, joints melting and locking, coolant boiling in his eyes, every breath he tried to take scorched him from within, and worst of all, no one could even see the flames, unless they knew better he would look crazy.

Hydrogen didn’t look dangerous, or sound dangerous, especially not with how often Hydra boasted about it, but that’s what made it so lethal, it burned without smoke or flames, making it much harder to put the fire out and rescue the Engine being tortured by it.

“Somebody help him!” Rusty shouted, his voice cracking, “Help!

Hydra continued to writhe on the floor, begging for this to be over quickly, begging his body to shut down and kill him so he wouldn’t have to feel this pain anymore, it was unbearable, it was agony.

One tech ran forward out of the shed he was in, holding an insulated sheet with trembling hands, but was immediately pulled back.

“Don’t, don’t even try. you touch him and we lose both of you.”

“But he’s…he’s burning!”

“I know!”

Hydra couldn’t hear them anymore. His auditory processors burned up and melted, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, and all he could feel was the white-hot pain covering his body. He tried to vent, the ports hissed, but nothing escaped, they were clogged. Melted.

Everything was melting.

Rusty continued to yell and scream, begging someone, anyone to try and do something, to try and save the Freight, but no one moved, no one dared to. Hydra's body started to jerk, it had to have been over, the fire had finally put itself out, but that didn’t stop the pain.

“Hydra!” Tassita’s voice cut through the crowd as he raced forward, not caring if he got burned too, he threw himself onto Hydra’s side, sobbing as he saw the melting metal sticking to the gravel underneath them, hoping he wasn’t causing more pain by touching the Engine, but as far as anyone could tell, he was gone.

"Hydra,” Tassita sobbed, “please, please, stay with me, okay? You’re not burning anymore. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.” Hydra didn’t respond, he couldn’t hear anything but when he cracked an eye open, he could see a blurry Tassita in his view. An insulation sheet was thrown at them which Tassita quickly wrapped around Hydra the best that he could, not wanting to move Hydra too much until the medical crew and engineers got there.

Hydra’s one open eye tracked him weakly, unfocused. His processor was overloaded, everything hot and glitching, but Tassita was here.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tassita kept murmuring, more to himself now than to Hydra. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”, Hydra tried to focus on reading his lips but it was too blurry. Engineers and medics in full protective gear, heat sensors scanning, foam suppressants at the ready. A few of them flinched when they saw just how bad Hydra looked. One technician pulled Tassita back gently, but he refused to fully let go of Hydra’s hand.

“He’s alive,” Tassita said, barely above a whisper. “He’s still here.”

“We’ve got him now,” one of the medics reassured softly. “You did good. But we need to move him.”

Tassita nodded, shakily backing off just enough to give them room, “I’m coming with you, I’m not leaving him.”

They didn’t argue, maybe they just knew better than to separate them for Hydra’s sake.

Tassita followed every step of the way to the medical bay, trailing just close enough to hear the muttered diagnostics, none of it made sense to his ears but Tassita absorbed each one like a dagger. Hydra was still alive. That was the part he clung to. Alive.

The repairs would take time. Hours. Maybe days just to stabilize him enough for deeper restoration. Most of the engineers expected Tassita to leave, to rest, to be somewhere else until the worst of it was over. But he refused.

They set up a cot in the corner of the medbay. Tassita didn’t use it. He sat next to the diagnostic slab Hydra had been laid on, one hand resting gently on the edge of his Engine’s warped plating, careful not to touch any exposed internal lines.

He carefully scrubbed away at the soot and blood with a towel and warm water, focusing on Hydra’s face for the most part, they’d shut down Hydra’s remaining systems, keeping him in what felt like a coma.

Later that day, when Tassita had gone quiet, too exhausted even for his usual murmuring, he felt the slightest twitch under his fingers. Just a flicker of movement, barely there. He snapped upright, eyes wide. “Hydra?”

The optic twitched.

Tassita leaned closer, heart slamming against his ribs. “Hydra, I’m here, can you hear me?”

There was no verbal response, but Hydra’s fingers curled slightly, trying to reach, Tassita caught his hand in both of his, grounding him.

“It’s okay,” Tassita whispered, eyes burning. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re not alone.”

Hydra didn’t speak but the faint movement of his fingers continued, tentative, weak. Tassita squeezed his hand gently.

“You came back.”

And finally, Hydra blinked open that one damaged optic, flickering and dim, but unmistakably alive. Tassita laughed, breathless with relief, forehead pressing gently against Hydra’s as he whispered, “I told you I wouldn’t leave.” This time, Hydra’s fingers squeezed back.

[viccyfics]

Feel free to turn this down if you’ve got too many or don’t like the ship, but maybe the ‘I can’t sleep if you don’t cuddle me’ line from the sleepy prompts with Electra/Porter? No problem if not!!

Thank you for the prompt! and no I don't think I have too many prompts, but I do apologise for how long it's taking me to get through them, but no it isn't too many but it is funny how it's only been Starlight Express prompts so far.

And I don't think I'd turn down any ship unless illegal.

(prompt list)

READ UNDER THE CUT OR ON AO3

Porter never could have imaged he’d end up dating an Electric engine, especially not one like Electra, he’d always pictured himself with another Freight, maybe another coal truck if he was lucky, not a dramatic and fierce Electric engine, but here he was, sitting on his bed, Electra’s light flickering softly in the dark room, as they rummaged around in their bag for their extra long charger.

It seemed almost strange, they had been dating for nearly a year, but this was the first time Electra was sleeping in his bed, Starlight, maybe even in his arms.

“You’re nervous,” They said, pulling out the charger and handing the plug end to Porter to put into his extension lead Momma had given him, the clothes they had taken off were folded on the floor next to the bag, “I’m not going to strangle you, I just need you to plug it in.”

Porter let out a laugh, “Sorry I’ve not shared my bed with anyone that wasn’t one of my siblings in a while, so yeah I’m a little nervous.”

Electra grinned, the flicker of their facial lights softening, “I’m not expecting fireworks, you know, I’m fine just keeping it casual and fun.”

Porter took the charger, fingers brushing theirs for a second longer than necessary, and plugged it into the lead.

“I assumed you wanted fireworks.” Porter shrugged, settling back onto the bed beside them. “You seem like you’d want flowers and chocolates and bath bombs-” He suddenly paused sitting up straight, “I didn’t get you flowers.”

Electra tilted their head to the side, a soft smile on their lips, “I don’t want flowers, and I can’t use bath bombs, but it’s sweet that you care so much.” They rolled over to face him, carefully plugging the cable into the back of their neck and making sure they weren’t lying on it. “So, what now? We awkwardly hover on opposite sides of the bed until someone makes the first move, or do I just throw myself at you and risk knocking you off the mattress?”

Porter felt his eyes bug out of his head, “We could watch a movie, or uh.. talk?” he offered lamely, voice going up half an octave as his brain scrambled for safer territory.

Electra let out a low laugh, amusement flickering across their face like the soft pulse of their charge. “Relax, Porter. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want, I was just joking.”

Porter let out a small sigh of relief, he knew Electra wasn’t the kind of engine who would do that, but he was still so nervous about how tonight was meant to go, he barely planned anything, getting too stressed when he thought too hard about it and ended up forgetting to do anything.

But Electra didn’t care, they liked that for once someone didn’t feel the need to show off around them or tried to make themselves look better, Porter was just how he came across, there was nothing hidden and nothing he could use to boast about, he was perfect.

“You really don’t mind that this isn’t, like… a big deal?” Porter asked, “I didn’t even clean properly. There’s still coal dust on the floor.”

Electra shrugged, the cable shifting slightly with the motion. “If I wanted luxury, I would have stayed at home.” they teased

They laid there for a few moments in silence, Porter on his back staring up at the ceiling, Electra on their side facing him, glowing faintly with each pulse of their recharge cycle. It was peaceful in a way that caught Porter off guard. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this, just having someone near, someone who wanted to be there, not out of obligation but because they chose him.

Electra shifted slightly, They propped their chin on their hand and looked at him thoughtfully. “You always this nervous around people you like?”

Porter let out an embarrassed chuckle. “I don’t usually like people this much.”

That got a smile out of Electra, one that started in their mouth and spread to their eyes, their whole face glowing a fraction brighter. “That’s one of the cutest things I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah?” Porter asked, trying to sound casual and not like his heart was pounding against his frame.

Electra gave him a hum, “Are we going to sleep or just stare at the ceiling all night,”

Porter’s face reddened, the colour rising up his cheeks and into his hairline, as if his hair was becoming part of the blush. “Uh… sleep. Sleep is good,” he stammered, making Electra giggle which didn’t help him feel less nervous.

“I can get off the bed so you can get comfy,” Electra chuckled, standing up onto their wheels, conscious of the cable, "I'm guessing you want to get under the duvet at some point tonight.” Porter nodded quickly and jumped off the bed to pull the duvet back, and the two quietly slipped in. “I wasn’t expecting to like this as much as I do,” Electra commented once they were settled, “I like it here...with you.”

Porter grinned wider, “That’s good 'cause I like it here, with you too.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence again, with Electra every so often turning to glance at Porter like they were waiting for something, waiting for him to do something, and Porter couldn’t think of what it was, he showed Electra around, they had drinks by the bed, they’d eaten, what more could Electra want?

Electra let out a dramatic sigh after a few minutes, “I can’t sleep if you don’t cuddle me.”

Porter froze.

Not because he didn’t want to cuddle Electra, he absolutely did, but because he didn’t realise Electra wanted it too, he just assumed the Engine wanted to lie there on their side without Porter touching them, even though that made no sense.

“You…uh…what?” he finally managed.

Electra didn’t move. Just looked at him with a lazy, half-lidded expression that somehow managed to be both amused and fond. “ I’m not saying you have to spoon me into next week, Porter, but I would love it if you cuddled me, unless you don’t want to, of course.”

Porter let out a nervous little laugh, face still burning. “Okay. Yeah. I can do that.”

He hesitated for a second longer before scooting across the mattress, awkwardly shifting his arm until it was resting over Electra’s waist. He expected it to feel weird, too mechanical or too awkward or just not right, even though he’d touched Electra before, but never while the Electric was wearing a Silk button-down crop top with matching shorts, that were definitely too short to be worn around Momma.

But the second he settled in, Electra shifted closer, tucking their chin into the crook of Porter’s shoulder.

Porter breathed in slowly, the scent of machine oil and perfume filling his nose, “This okay?” he asked softly.

Electra made a pleased little hum, “Better than okay. You’re really warm.”

“You’re really glowy,” Porter murmured back, “Like a space heater crossed with a lava lamp.”

Electra snorted. “That better be a compliment.”

“It is,” Porter said quickly, letting his arm settle more securely around them. “It definitely is.”

A long moment passed where neither of them spoke, just the steady rhythm of Electra’s low hum and Porter’s breath filling the room. “The lights will fade soon, don’t worry,” Electra whispered, breaking the quietness.

“I like the lights,” Porter whispered back, his arm tightening around them, “You’re like a nightlight.”

Electra huffed a soft laugh, the sound buzzing low in their throat like static. “A very stylish nightlight.”

“The most stylish,” Porter agreed, grinning into their shoulder.

They didn’t speak again after that, the lights dimmed gradually, their glow pulsing slower and softer as their recharge cycle deepened, Porter stayed still, listening, feeling, letting the weight of Electra against him anchor him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

Eventually, he let his eyes close, letting the steady pulse of their breath and the gentle warmth between them lull him toward sleep. This wasn’t what he’d pictured for himself, but that didn’t matter anymore.

Because this was better.

[viccyfics]

sleepy prompts.....  “I understand you want to get things done but you really can’t pull anymore all-nighters, babe. You need sleep.” for moneygun, if possible? your writing is literally impeccable!!

Thank you for the prompt! I love Moneygun so this was so much fun to write, and thank you, it really means a lot :)

(prompt list)

READ UNDER THE CUT OR ON AO3

Armament trucks were designed to need less sleep, created to be able to comfortably work through the night without yawning, but Armoured trucks on the other hand- money trucks needed sleep, still not as much as Joule, Wrench or Volta, and nobody slept more than Electra, but Purse needed to sleep more than what he was, even with the Electric upgrades he now had, he still needed sleep.

“What is wrong with him?” Krupp heard Purse’s voice come from the door, he was talking to himself again as he worked, like he often did when he thought no one could hear him, “It’s not like it’s hard to do.”

Krupp should have just carried on waking around the Mansion they called a house, checking for any signs of something being wrong before he turned in for his two-hour sleep before Volta woke up, but he couldn’t just leave Purse in his office clearly stressed and hoped he’d come back to bed while Krupp was still in it.

“Hallo, Meine leibe?” Krupp called as he opened the office door, he was expecting to see the younger truck with his reading glasses on, flicking through Electra’s tax records and inputting them into his computer.

But that’s what he saw, his normally perfectly organised desk was littered with receipts, his laptop was teetering on the edge and there was a smashed coffee mug on the floor, but the most shocking was Purse, his hair was a mess and his makeup was smudged, his glasses were crooked on his nose and his clothes were dishevelled.

“Wie geht’s?”

Purse sighed and looked up at him, his eyes were red and puffy like he had been crying, which would explain the smudged makeup, “How hard is it to ask for a receipt?”

Krupp crossed the room in a few heavy steps, careful to avoid the shards of the mug, “Schatz…” he said more softly now, brushing a few crumpled receipts off the chair opposite Purse’s desk so he could sit down, “Who didn’t give you a receipt?”

Purse let out a short, humourless laugh. “Take your pick,” he muttered, tossing another receipt onto the pile from his folder, “I’ve found four handwritten IOUs, monopoly money, and not to mention Electra is suddenly so interested in using cash so I can’t track his purchases.”

“Have you tried asking Electra to give you his receipts?” Krupp asked awkwardly.

“Of course I have. He’s doing this on purpose, he has to be, it’s only you and Volta that do it exactly as I like.”

Purse was particular about how he liked to work, they were all paid electronically so he preferred them to use cards to pay for things so it was easier to track how much they were spending, and if they used cash he needed the receipt either put into his folder with the name on the corner, or given straight to him. At this rate, he was going to pause everyone’s cards and give them weekly pay so he knew exactly how much they were spending.

“And this,” Purse grabbed a piece of paper off the floor to show Krupp, “just says ‘I bought explosives’ with a smiley face, how am I meant to work with that?”

Krupp let out a small chuckle, “Need me to bang her around a bit till she stops writing notes?”

Purse sighed, “I’d say yes but I wouldn’t want to deal with the medical bills if Joule explodes you...or how much of a raise we’d have to give Wrench.”

“Or hiring an architect right?”

“This isn’t funny, Krupp. Don’t you have something to be doing right now?”

Krupp shrugged, “I’ve got cameras that can do my job for me, you’re more important right now.”

Purse’s eyes dimmed just slightly, a flicker that usually meant he was either on the verge of a reboot, about to cry, or holding back a system override to keep himself upright. “I need to have this all sorted by tomorrow, or we won’t get our pay on time, I’ll be fine in a few hours, I think I found a method that could work, so I’ll come to bed around midnight.”

“You’ve got error lights in both optics and your coolant levels are low, you’re going to crash…and it’s past midnight, it’s three AM.” Krupp pointed out.

Purse’s shoulders jerked slightly, the subtle click of gears locking up. “What?”

“I understand you want to get things done but you really can’t pull any more all-nighters, babe. You need sleep.” Krupp whispered fondly, “You can finish this tomorrow, I’ll force Joule and Volta to help you.”

Purse’s mouth twitched, something between a grimace and the start of a laugh, but it didn’t quite make it either way. His fingers twitched above the stack of paper, hesitating, almost like he was trying to override his own command queue. The fans in his chassis gave a tired whirr, struggling to keep up with the heat he was running from staying online for so long.

“I can’t leave it like this,” he said, quietly. “If I stop now, it’s going to be worse tomorrow.”

“Schatz,” Krupp interrupted gently, placing one heavy hand over Purse’s. “You’ve been running at full capacity for twenty-seven hours. You’re not going to work better like this. You’re going to blue-screen if you’re not careful.”

Purse opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but instead, he gave a sharp exhale, “…You’ll really make them help?” he asked, his voice small.

“I’ll drag Joule by her spark plugs if I have to,” Krupp said, and that got a real noise out of Purse, a wheezy static-laced laugh.

“Don’t let Wrench hear you say that.” but then Purse paused, “Did you call me baby?”

“I thought you’d like it,” Krupp smiled.

“...I did like it.” Purse admitted after a moment.

Krupp leaned forward, brushing a smudge of eyeliner off Purse’s cheek with the edge of his thumb, “Come to bed, Electra would understand, you’ve got the whole house running smoother than it ever did before you got here. You’re brilliant, Purse, but even brilliant things need downtime.”

Purse blinked at him, his eyelids starting to droop, “Yeah…okay.”

“I’ll carry you, Meine leibe.”

Krupp pushed the chair back and moved around the desk to gently scoop Purse into his arms, Purse let out a soft hum of approval, his head resting against Krupp’s shoulder as he relaxed into the hold.

“We’ll sort this out, I promise.” Krupp whispered, noticing Purse’s eyes shut, “I love you.”

“Ich liebe dich.” Purse muttered back, his voice thick as he tried to stay awake long enough to see Krupp’s smile when he talked German, but his eyes fluttered shut immediately after.

[viccyfics]

Might I request "Did you know you talk in your sleep?” with Hydra x Tassita?

Thank you for the prompt!

(prompt list)

READ UNDER THE CUT OR ON AO3

Hydra was loud, everyone knew that, loud and always talking, most of the time about Hydrogen which Tassita found oddly charming, but still, he was loud, too loud sometimes, and not even sleep made him quiet.

“Can I spend the night?” Hydra asked one evening, kicking at the gravel under his wheels, which had Tassita wincing at the noise when it pinged against the metal tracks.

“Why? You have a shed.”

Hydra rolled his eyes, “I know but I thought a sleepover could be fun, and I washed my pyjamas this time.”

“In a washing machine?” Tassita asked with a smirk even though he already knew the answer.

“Wastes too much power. The kitchen sink works fine.” Hydra grinned, “Come on, Tass, it’s just one night, I promise I’ll shut up.”

“You can’t shut up.”

“I can, I just don’t like to,” Hydra corrected with a wink. “Big difference.”

Tassita sighed, “Fine. But if you hum in your sleep again-”

“I don’t hum in my sleep.”

“You do, I thought it was a swarm of bees last time.”

“That’s unfair,” Hydra said, laughing, and without waiting for another word, rolled towards Tassita’s shed. “This place always smells like engine oil and peppermint, so I get a good night's sleep.”

“That’s because I like peppermint.” Tassita frowned, already regretting everything, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Hydra paused, wracking his brain for what he could have forgotten, “Oh right, Mint Hydrogen-”

“No Hydra.”

“Right, right, it’s quiet time in here.”

“No, go get your pyjamas.” Tassita sighed, there was no way anyone was this forgetful, but it was a little cute.

“Be right back!” Hydra gasped, spinning around with a screech of metal against concrete and zipped off down the track.

Tassita rolled his eyes and stepped inside the shed, shutting the door behind himself, muttering under his breath, “Why do I put up with him?”

Not only was it a question Tassita always asked himself, but it was something everyone else asked him, Hydra was just so…loud, and obnoxious, especially while talking about hydrogen, but Tassita knew he didn’t mean it, he was just so proud of all the work that had gone into making him, and how if more engines like him were created they could help save the planet.

By the time Tassita had moved over to the kitchen and let the kettle boil, Hydra was back, now holding a striped pyjama shirt with a pair of Pokémon shorts and a fluffy pillow tucked under one arm like a prize.

“See? Told you I came prepared,” Hydra beamed, dumping the pillow and pyjamas onto the dining room table, “You can smell them if you don’t believe me.”

Tassita didn’t need to smell them, he could smell the orange fabric softener from where was standing, a far better smell than Hydra’s own which made Tassita feel a little ill. But it wasn’t a bad smell by any means, it was nothing, he was completely odourless which Tassita had to admit made him a little uncomfortable at times, there was no smell he could pin to Hydra in an instant, nothing to find relaxing or something for Tassita to subtly sniff at when Hydra was in his arms.

“That’s my pillow,” Tassita said, deadpan, pointing at the fluffy blue pillow, “I knew you stole it.”

“Details,” Hydra chirped, already making his way over to the cupboard above Tassita’s head to grab a mug, “This is going to be the quietest night of your life.”

“You’ve not proven that yet.”

“It’s not night yet,” Hydra shot back, watching Tassita pour their chamomile tea, “But I promise I’ll be quiet.”

Tassita didn’t respond right away, he already knew tonight was going to be a bad idea, as much as he loved spending time with Hydra he’d have a horrific headache in the morning, he could already hear it, the ever-so-slight buzzing that came from Hydra’s core cooling system when he got excited, and his stoppers tapping away at the floor as he fidgeted.

“You’re buzzing,” Tassita muttered.

Hydra blinked. “I am?”

“Yes.” Tassita closed his eyes, taking a slow breath through his nose. “You always buzz when you lie, or when you’re planning something, or when you’ve had sugar, or-”

“It’s not just when I like it’s when-” Hydra started to try and defend himself, but Tassita cut him off.

“When your heart elevates too quickly, I know.”

For such an annoying noise, Tassita did enjoy hearing it, it was sweet how excited Hydra got, especially when he was with him, it was a cute way to tell how happy he was making Hydra by just being with him or by his side.

“I don’t mean to buzz, it’s the electric system,” Hydra said, lowering his volume but not quite managing to stay still. “You’ve got supersonic ears or something.”

“No,” Tassita said sharply, “I just have normal hearing. You’re the one built like a laboratory.” He gestured vaguely toward Hydra’s chest. “I can hear the cooling fans spinning. I can hear vials or whatever you have in there, I can hear every time your joints shift because they’re not properly lubricated.”

Hydra gave him a slightly sheepish grin. “I keep meaning to fix that.”

“Well, please do, because it sounds like someone tap-dancing on gravel in my head.”

“Guessing this isn’t the time to joke and ask if you have lube?” Hydra whispered, staring down at the floor not wanting to see the annoyed look on Tassita’s face.

“Just drink your tea and go to bed.”

Hydra gave him a little nod, going to bed early wasn’t exactly a punishment, especially if Tassita was in the bed with him.

Hydra carefully sipped at his tea, trying his hardest not to slip or accidentally knocking the ceramic mug on his teeth knowing how it freaked Tassita out the last time and the coach had locked himself into a cupboard and refused to come out until he’d bitten down his nails and his spine had stopped shivering, Hydra just thought if it was such a big deal he could get some other types of mugs, less scratchy mugs, but he didn’t dare say it.

Tassita groaned again, staring up at the ceiling, his hands shaking with annoyance, he could see his ear defenders out of the corner of his eye, sitting on his dressing table next to his racing helmet, why didn’t he think to grab them earlier? And there was no way he could grab them now without waking Hydra up.

“Listen to the….” Hydra whispered, a crooked smile on his face, talking in his sleep, letting out quiet snores between sentences, “Trees… they’re singing…”

Tassita grit his teeth, “No, no they’re not,” he muttered back, even though Hydra couldn’t hear him.

“Three isotopes… but only one you’d take home to meet your parents…”

“Oh my god,” Tassita whispered into the darkness. He rolled onto his side, burying his face in the blanket, squeezing his eyes shut like that might drown out the nonsense. “Shut up. Just shut up.” it might have been easier if whatever he was talking about was all the same thing so at least Tassita could know what he was dreaming about, but it was all random, random and loud.

“….You're made of peppermint, Tass…”

Tassita made a pained noise, kicking at the sheets, and marching over to his ear defenders, they were horrible to sleep with but it was better than listening to Hydra talking in his sleep. “Why do I let you into my house? Why do I let you into my bed?”

Hydra let out a small huff of breath, not quite a snore, but close, “Can you believe some engines still use fossil fuels? It’s 2025, wake up, sheeple.”

Tassita snapped them over his ears, thankful they’d been made just for him so they blocked everything out, even Hydra, and he slipped back into the bed, and finally he could feel sleep coming for him.

Tassita handed the mug to Hydra, letting him add as much milk and sugar to his coffee as he wanted, he was still annoyed but he knew it wasn’t Hydra’s fault, and it wasn’t like he got zero sleep, he managed to get five hours which was definitely better than nothing.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Hydra’s eyebrows shot up, “I do?”

“Yes,” Tassita replied flatly, watching the sugar pile up in Hydra’s mug. “You rambled about singing trees, isotopes, fossil fuels, and..” he paused, unsure whether to say it, but decided to anyway, “…something about me being made of peppermint.”

Hydra froze, “Did I say that out loud?”

“You were asleep, Hydra.”

“Sorry,” Hydra whispered, staring down into his mug, his cheeks flushed.

“It’s fine…it was cute.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, once I had my ear defenders on it was fine,”

“I’ll try harder to be quiet next time.”

“Who says there’s a next time?” Tassita asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We both know there will be, you can’t say no to me.”

And they both knew the Engine was right, Tassita would pretend to not invite him, but he'd still let Hydra into his bed like he always did, but hopefully, he'd convince Momma to buy him some in-ear, ear defends before Hydra spent the night again.

[viccyfics]

Angst prompt 26 for Slick and the other freights (+rusty) as a sibling dynamic?

Thank you for the prompt! (I've not written for any of the Wembley freight before except for Rusty and Hydra so hopefully this is okay)

(prompt list)

READ UNDER THE CUT OR ON AO3

Slick didn’t feel guilty often, and she was sure if it was anyone else she wouldn’t feel guilty now, but this wasn’t just any random engine she’d been paid to crash, it was her own brother…and she went ahead with it.

But it wasn’t even just her fault so if anything, she should only be feeling like…1/5 grief, was that even a thing?

But no, she felt truly guilty, and hearing Rusty say he forgave wasn’t helping, if anything, it was making it worse.

Everyone was making it worse and they didn’t even realise, but why would they care? She’d hurt Rusty and hurt all of them, even Momma, she saw the look in Momma’s eyes, a look that almost had Slick tearing up.

She could hear them all laughing from the living room of the shed, acting like nothing had happened and their sister was just in her room chilling and listening to music. But she wasn’t and they knew she wasn’t.

She was pacing around her room, stepping over all the mess and avoiding the crates and boxes, the music playing loudly from her phone to try and cover the sounds of her quiet cries as she tried to figure out a proper way to apologise so the feeling of guilt twisting in her stomach like water mixing with her oil would go away. Would they think she was lying if she walked in there and apologised to Rusty again, she even gave the money back, well not all of it, but some of it, and her siblings knew that, but did they even care?

She understood if they never trusted her again, or if they never wanted to be around her again, but it didn’t mean it was making her any less upset.

The door creaked, and Slick tensed, quickly swiping her eyes with the back of her wrist.

“Slick?” It was Momma, her voice soft and hesitant in that way that meant she was trying not to upset her.

“Door’s open,” Slick muttered, her voice hoarse, hoping she was loud enough to be heard over the music, and judging from the door slowly opening, she was.

Momma stepped in, glancing at the mess of spare parts and the oil-streaked walls she hadn’t bothered to clean. But her gaze didn’t judge, but it lingered, and Slick hated how that made her feel small. Like the little sister who’d scraped her paint and tried to act like it didn’t hurt, just like when she was a child and realised just how easy it was to get into her oil tank and decided to cover every crack and dent so Momma wouldn’t worry over her.

“I’m worried about you, Slicky.” Momma said gently, using her childhood nickname, “You didn’t come in for Dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You didn’t have lunch either,” Momma pointed out, “Or breakfast, Starlight you didn’t even eat yesterday, do I need to bring you food?”

Slick shook her head with a groan, Momma shouldn’t be worried about her, she nearly broke this family apart with Rusty’s blood and coal on her hands, she should be ignoring her, or yelling.

“Your brothers are worried too.”

Slick bit her tongue, hard. She didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t deserve to hear that.

“They shouldn’t be,” Slick snapped, harsher than she meant to, but her voice cracked at the end, betraying the ache buried beneath her bravado. “I don’t want them to be. I don’t deserve that.”

Momma didn’t flinch. She just walked in slowly, shutting the door behind her, then sat herself down on the edge of the workbench by the door. "You do,” she said gently, “of course you do.”

“No, I don’t.” Slick exploded, “I crashed Rusty, I was paid to do it, I didn’t stop, I didn’t even hesitate, I just-” She cut herself off with a broken sound, hands trembling as she clenched her fists.

“I knew what I was doing, and I still did it.”

Her throat tightened. “And you’re sitting there like I just skipped chores.”

Momma’s face didn’t change much, but her eyes… they softened. They always did when her kids were hurting. Slick wished they wouldn’t. It was easier to be angry than to feel this.

“I’m not acting like it didn’t matter, baby,” Momma said quietly. “I know how serious this is. And so do you. But punishing yourself like this…shutting yourself away and starving yourself and calling yourself every bad name you can think of isn't going to undo it.”

“I don’t want to undo it,” Slick said bitterly. “I want to go back and never do any of it, never start in the first place, not just this with Rusty, but all of it.”

“I know.”

Slick sank to the floor, her knees knocking the crates beside her. She buried her face in her arms and let herself break open. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered. “I don’t know why I do it, I guess the money is nice, and it's fun but…when I saw Rusty fall..now I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, and it’s all my fault.”

Momma didn’t speak, she waited until the sobs softened, until Slick’s voice faded into choked, shuddering silence, Then she stood and crossed the room over to Slick’s side and wrapped her daughter in her arms, not caring that Slick was trying to push her away, the girl was always like this when she was sad even when she wanted to be held.

“We’re not laughing because we forgot,” Momma said softly. “We’re laughing because we’re still here because Rusty’s okay. Because we didn’t fall apart, even though we all thought we might, that’s what family is about, and you Slicky,” She tilted Slick’s chin up so she could stare into Slick’s honey eyes, “You’re part of this family, you’re my daughter, their sister and nothing is going to change that.”

Slick didn’t know what to say, her mouth opened but nothing came out, her face crumpled again, and she buried it in her momma’s shoulder like when she was a kid and she scraped her gears trying to slide on her stomach down the tracks faster than her brothers, she was too old for this, she was too wrong for this. But it still felt good, too good, and it made her cry all over again.

Momma just held her, letting her cry it out, rocking slightly in that grounding rhythm she often did.

Then came a knock, three short raps on the door.

Slick froze.

“Can I come in?” Rusty’s voice called, muffled through the door.

Momma glanced down at Slick for permission, but Slick shook her head rapidly, looking around at the mess of a bedroom, Rusty could get easily hurt in here, there were trip hazards everywhere, but on top of that, she didn’t want him to see her like this.

He was the one meant to be crying, not her.

Momma followed her gaze around the room, “How about we go out there instead, they miss you.”

“But what if they hate me?” Slick asked, “And they’re just pretending they don’t.”

Momma raised her eyebrow, but her face was still soft. “Do you think Porter could lie to save his life?”

Slick snorted, wetly. “No.”

“And Lumber?”

“No..”

“And Hydra?”

“…No.”

“And Rusty couldn’t hate anyone.”

Slick stared down at the oily smudge on her sleeve, heart pounding, “Okay.”

“Rusty,” Momma yelled back towards the door, “Head back to your brothers, we’ll be out in a second.”

Then she turned her attention back to her daughter, Momma gave her hand a gentle squeeze and slowly stood, offering her other hand out, Slick hesitated, her fingers curling in and out like she was debating whether or not she deserved to take it. But finally, she slipped her hand into Momma’s.

“That’s my girl.”

Together, they rolled back toward the main part of the shed, the sound of chatter and laughing getting louder with each step. Slick felt her body tense again, her steps faltering just before the hallway ended. The laughter suddenly seemed unbearable, like it would evaporate the second they saw her, or worse they would just ignore her and pretend she wasn’t there.

But Momma didn’t let go. She stepped into the room first, and Slick, swallowing back a fresh wave of nerves, followed.

The moment she stepped in, the room went quiet, not an awkward quiet, but a pause, like an inhale waiting to be let go. The TV still flickered in the background, the tail end of some old nature documentary playing.

“Slick!” Rusty waved her over, “Hey, come sit! We saved you a spot.” pointing at the gap on the couch between himself and Lumber.

Hydra smiled at her fondly from his spot on the beanbag closest to the TV, obviously the only one who was paying attention, while Lumber gave her a soft grin from the couch, Porter at his side waved.

Slick’s feet stayed glued to the ground.

“You don’t have to sit there,” Rusty added quickly, “Just, if you want, you could sit anywhere…that’s fine. We missed you.”

Slick turned to Momma, panic starting to rise in her chest again, but Momma just touched her back and murmured, “Breathe.”

So she did, shakingly, but she did.

And then she moved, hesitantly, like she was expecting the concrete under her wheels to collapse, but she sat down on the couch between her brothers, her back straight and not far into the seat like she’d prefer, but sitting on the edge in case she needed to run.

“I forgive you,” Rusty whispered, “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

Slick felt her bottom lip begin to tremble, he couldn’t cry here, not now, not with all of them watching, they couldn’t see her as their little sister again, she was the villain. “You should,” Slick whispered back, not looking at him, not looking at anyone, just at her hands in her lap. “You should be mad.”

“Well it wasn’t just your fault,” Porter pointed out with a frown, “There’s no point only blaming yourself.”

Lumber nodded.

Rusty leaned into her slightly, not quite touching but close enough she could feel his warmth. “I was a little mad,” he admitted softly. “I was scared too, but mostly…I was sad because I thought I lost my sister.”

Slick blinked quickly, trying to blink away her tears.

“I missed spending time with you, especially when it was just me and Wrench, all I could think about was you, and how you were feeling.”

“So stop feeling so down and get back to being our annoying little sister,” Lumber chuckled.

Slick let out a shaky breath that turned into a wet laugh. “That was the worst pep talk ever.” the tension in her spine started to melt, just a little. She finally dared to glance at Rusty. He was watching her, eyes soft and open. No fear. No hatred. Just quiet trust.

And when she looked back towards the doorway, Momma was there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes warm and proud.

For the first time in days, Slick didn’t feel like she had to keep running. She didn’t have to prove anything right this second, didn’t have to scrub the guilt out of her gears all by herself.

She was still Slick, still rough around the edges, still not totally forgiven, not by herself, at least. But surrounded by the people who hadn’t let go of her, even when she messed up badly enough that she thought they would.

So she leaned back, just a little more into the couch. Her shoulder brushed Rusty’s, and he didn’t flinch, Porter started dramatically narrating the nature documentary in a ridiculous voice, and Lumber rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop him. Hydra was humming the music from the credits under his breath. And Slick…Slick let herself smile, just a little, just enough to feel it, It wasn’t perfect, but it was still love.

And they forgave her, even if it would take a long time for Slick to forgive herself and to move on from her habits, but she could do it, she’d do it for them.

[viccyfics]

hi !! if you’re still taking prompt requests pretty please can you do 20 + 31 from the angst prompts with greasedinah !! :D

Yes I'm still taking requests and probably will be until mid-next week :)

(prompt list)

TW: assumed death

READ UNDER THE CUT OR ON AO3

“We’re going to be here for hours,” Dinah groaned, continuing to sweep up all the flower petals and confetti that Pearl had decided to throw around during one of the yard parties, not realising the coaches would be the ones to clean it up.

“Do you think Momma would care if we threw out some gravel too,” Belle asked, trying to pick out the gravel from her dustpan.

Dinah shook her head, “We could always ask Dustin to get more.”

“At Least you’ll be the first person to see Greaseball when he gets back,” Carrie shrugged, moving the conversation away from gravel.

Greaseball had been out of the state for the past week helping pull some other freight, and Dinah missed him more than she thought she would, and he was meant to be here tonight, the only issue was that Dinah didn’t know when.

“I’m sorry.” Pearl whispered for what felt like the hundredth time, “I thought Momma would let us leave it cause it’s biodegradable.”

“Well, it is,” Dinah replied with a sigh, “but if it gets stuck to the track or our wheel it sucks.”

“It looked really pretty when the sun hit it.” Buffy chuckled, throwing a handful at Ashley who just sighed.

“Sure did,” Pearl hummed, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising, we get it,” Dinah grunted, throwing the now-full trash bag over her shoulder and staring down the tracks that led out of the yard as she rolled over to the dumpster.

The yard was quiet tonight now that everybody had headed back to their sheds, no late-night fire pits or freight hanging around to keep them company, and no outgoing or incoming trains, just the sound of the coaches sweeping over the gravel or the occasional sound of CB moving things around in his shed next to them and things clattering to the floor, but the girls paid him no attention, especially not with how easily he’d run when Momma mentioned needing volunteers to help clean up.

Dinah tried not to check the tracks again. She’d already glanced up every five minutes since they started, every faint sound, every sound of incoming wheels, or oil, she’d even caught herself jerking her head up when Momma rolled past to check on them, and of course Momma sounded, and smelt, nothing like Greaseball.

“You think he’ll remember to call in before rolling in? Or are we getting the full dramatic entrance?” Dinah asked, heading back over to the group.

Ashley smirked. “Knowing him? Full horn show and probably some kind of engine rev that’s illegal in seven states.”

Dinah smiled a little at that, as much as her friends didn’t really like Greaseball, they knew better than to overstep the line, especially when Dinah missed him so much.

“Maybe he’ll come back with a gift,” Pearl squealed, leaning against her broom, “I bet Rusty would do that for me.”

“Remember when you cried when he showed up with flowers,” Ashley muttered, throwing her trash bag over to Carrie.

“They were really nice flowers!” Dinah shot back, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

And then she heard it, the sound of wheels rubbing up against the track, more than one set of wheels though, and the familiar smell of oil filled Dinah’s nose, her grin widened, Greaseball was back.

The other girls rolled their eyes at her but didn’t say anything, they didn’t point out just how lovestruck she was, or how her broom had bounced down onto the floor, they knew there was no point in saying anything…

That was until the horrifying screeching of wheels derailing filled the air, the sound tore through the yard like a scream, Greaseball might have even screamed, Dinah might have too, but her ears were ringing and her heart stopped.

There was an explosive crunch of freight slamming into the gravel, and then, silence, and the smell of Diesel, Greaseball’s exact oil, no one else for miles around used that stuff, Greaseball always bragged about it, it was him, it was him lying on those tracks, it had to be.

No..no, no, no.

Dinah’s breath caught in her throat, her legs buckled before she even realised she was moving.

“Greaseball!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “Greaseball!”

But she didn’t make it more than a few metres.

Belle lunged, arms wrapping around her waist from behind. Buffy grabbed one of her hands. Pearl blocked her path, arms outstretched, eyes wide and terrified.

“Let me go,” Dinah screamed, thrashing, trying to get out of their grasp, “Let me go.”

“We don’t know what happened!” Pearl shouted, her voice high as she panicked. “Dinah, we don’t know if he-”

“Don’t say it!” Dinah cried, trying to shove past her, but Ashley was there now too, clutching her other arm, holding her firmly. “Don’t say it.”

Dinah couldn’t breathe, tears were streaming down her face, she couldn’t lose Greaseball, they were meant to be together forever, he promised.

Her chest was heaving, but no air came. Her throat felt like it had closed around itself, like something inside her had shattered and was jamming into her lungs. She gasped again, and again, but all it did was make her dizzy.

“I can’t breathe,” Dinah whispered, her voice shattering through the other coaches making them want to sob.

Her hands clawed at her own arms, her nails catching at her skin, she probably caught Belle, Ashley and Buffy as well but she didn’t care, she couldn’t even feel it, she couldn’t feel anything except the pressure squeezing in around her lungs, like the whole world was collapsing on her chest.

“Dinah, breathe, breathe, sweetie, you’ve got to take a deep breath.” Belle's voice was soft, but shaking.

“I can’t!” Dinah choked out, curling forward, her whole body trembling. “I can’t!”

How was she meant to take a deep breath when all she could smell was Greaseball’s oil, he was dead and they had her on the floor stopping her from getting to him. She couldn’t even remember if she said she loved him when he left, it was so early in the morning, what if she just said ‘Goodbye’ and went back to bed, she couldn’t live without him, and what if the last thing she ever said to him was when she was half asleep and just wanted to get back into bed.

“Doll?” The familiar voice called out.

“No…no,” Dinah pleaded, “Let me go.” She must have been dying, that’s why she couldn’t breathe and why she could hear his voice.

“Doll..” Greaseball’s voice called again, but this time Dinah’s head snapped up, the other coaches copying her, all of them facing the dark track.

“Was that-” Pearl whispered, not finishing what she was going to say, but she didn’t need to.

Greaseball was clear as day as he rolled further along the track, oil covering his body as he limped.

“Starlight…” Belle threw a hand over her mouth, “Get Dinah out of here now.” She snapped towards Carrie, noticing how the girl was standing there in shock.

“I need a hand,” Greaseball called out, coughing as he spoke, a nasty wet cough, but it meant he was alive and that’s all Dinah cared about.

Dinah didn’t register anything else, her body moved on instinct, she threw herself back onto her wheels, wrenched her arms out of Ashley and Buffy’s hold and managed to swing past Pearl thanks to years of racing.

“Greaseball!” she cried, her voice raw and shaking as she ran. “Greaseball!”

“Doll, wait,” he called again, his chest hitching mid-sentence.

She didn’t wait. She couldn’t.

The closer Dinah got, the worse it looked. His gold paint was smeared with thick, black oil, there was a jagged dent along his side, just beneath his vent, and one of his wheels had jammed awkwardly, half-tilted like it didn’t know where to sit. Behind him, three freight cars had toppled over like toys, but Dinah for once in her life let her be selfish and focused all of her attention on Greaseball.

He was hurt, but he was alive.

She crashed into him before he could say another word, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face into his chest. His hands shook as they came up to hold her, and she didn’t care how much oil she got on herself.

“You’re okay,” she sobbed, voice muffled.

“I’m alright,” he murmured, wincing as he leaned into her. “Little banged up, but we’re all good for the most part, right boys?” Greaseball called not turning to look at the trucks behind him but the three of them gave him a thumbs up.

“I thought…I thought you died."

Greaseball’s arms tightened around her. “Nah, sweetheart. Takes more than that to knock me off for good.”

He was trying to joke, to make her laugh, but she sobbed harder instead.

The other coaches had crept forward now, their eyes wide and horrified, carefully scanning the scene. Pearl ran toward one of the freight cars, trying to make out if the others needed help, Belle radioed for Momma, her voice cracking halfway through her message. Buffy and Ashley lingered nearby, clearly shaken, but neither said anything as they watched Dinah cling to him like her life depended on it.

Dinah pulled back slightly to rub some of the oil off Greaseball's face, but that’s when she realised it was cold, it wasn’t coming out of him which meant..her eyes scanned the tracks, there must have been a couple of dozen oil jugs lying empty surrounding them.

“Were you..” Dinah choked out, pulling back only slightly to look him in the face, “were you trying to bring oil back?”

Greaseball nodded with a wince, “Yeah got it all for a good deal, but I couldn’t carry it all myself so the boys offered to help if they could stay the night, guess we went a bit too fast around the corner.”

“You went a bit too fast.” one of the trucks groaned, rubbing at his head, “we didn’t do anything.”

Greaseball gave a sheepish grin. “Okay, okay, I went a bit too fast.”

Dinah let out a wet, shaky laugh through her tears, still holding onto him like she never wanted to let go again. “You’re such an idiot.”

“I know.” He pressed his forehead gently against hers. “But I’m your idiot.”

Behind them, Pearl and Carrier were helping the trucks up, Buffy and Ashley were clearing a path for the trucks to get to the sheds, and Belle hadn’t stopped fussing over the radio, making sure Momma knew they needed help, but that no one had died, letting out a small chuckle at something the Steam Engine had said.

Dinah sniffled and leaned back just enough to see his face again. “You scared me. You scared all of us.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Greaseball murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek with an oil-streaked hand. “Just wanted to surprise you. Guess I overdid it.”

She stared at him for a moment longer, then let out another soft laugh, finally leaning her head against his shoulder, this time without crying “You did surprise me, alright.” “Next time,” Greaseball said gently, his voice rasping, “I’ll just bring flowers again.”

Dinah smiled into his chest. “Next time, just come home safe, that’s all I want.”