waiting on the kingdom, come to meet me in my sin
She had miscalculated. Big time. She had been so certain that no matter what, she would come out on top. Either Greaseball or Electra would win, and both would think she had aided them alone. Rusty, even with Hydra surely wasn’t going to be able to keep up with two engines who had been doing this for ages, especially after the crash she had orchestrated earlier. But she was wrong.
She had crashed, along with Greaseball and Electra, her brothers speeding to the finish line. She had been in minor collisions before (only some of which had been her fault, thank you very much), but had always come away relatively unscathed, with minor scratches to buff out or chipped paint. This time however… she hadn’t been so lucky.
Realistically, it could have been worse- it always could. They had all heard the story of the poor freight truck who had been in a crash so terrible that the only option left was conversion, a complete overhaul of who they once were. Slick could only imagine what had happened after that.
She couldn’t remember the immediate aftermath of the crash- only flashes. The ringing in her ears, making it impossible to hear anything, even the race martials checking her over. Then, pain. Blinding pain lancing across her back, her leg (Starlight, she had been in so much pain she couldn’t even tell which leg was hurt), and her left hand. The certainty that someone-maybe a bystander?- was screaming. Greaseball and Electra, dazed but looking to be in far better condition than she was, staggering around, yelling to each other and the martials in panic (she found out later that they also apparently couldn’t hear for shit) as they were pulled in the direction of the repair shop. She had been brought there shortly after, unable to move under her own power.
Thank the stars for Wrench, who had stepped up as the primary repair truck for the trio. Slick's initial impression had been correct, she was the worst off of the three- something about the angle and speed they had crashed at, and also the fact she was an oil tanker, and much smaller than the engines. Fan-freaking-tastic, really. Just what she needed- another reason for the oil tanker to be looked down upon.
One small perk of the current situation was that as far as she could figure, she was on some pretty nice system blockers- nothing hurt, at least in the meantime.
That was the only perk, though. As soon as she had been patched up to an adequate degree and allowed visitors, the other inhabitants of the repair shed were given front row seats to the whirlwind that was her family: Momma, Porter, Lumber, and- Rusty, surprisingly. No Hydra. Strange, she would have expected it to be the other way around. After all, she hadn’t crashed him.
“Slick!”
She was in so much trouble. She pushed herself up onto her forearms as Momma rushed over and gathered her up in a bone crushing hug, only letting up when Slick hissed as her leg and back were jostled.
“Oh thank the Starlight, I was so worried- your brothers told me what you had been up to, and then we heard there was a crash and that it was bad enough you were all taken here, and- Slick, what were you thinking?”
Stubbornly, she kept her mouth shut as Momma kept fussing over her. She would not, under any circumstances, tell the truth. Not when she could see Wrench and Electra looking from the other side of the room, the latter lying on one of the workbenches in the space, clearly unsure about how to proceed. Not when Greaseball was lying on her own workbench a few spaces away, watching the group with an unreadable expression. Not when her brothers- the three here, at least- hung back, Porter and Lumber refusing to meet her eyes, and Rusty simply… staring. It was too much. All the people, all the eyes- she needed to go, to get away, but she couldn’t move-
“Excuse me, ma’am-” interjected Wrench, her eyes fixed on Slick.
“Momma.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You can call me Momma, dear. Everyone does.”
“Momma,” replied Wrench hesitantly, “Well- visiting hours are drawing to a close soon, so if you’ll come with me we can discuss when Slick can be moved out of the repair shop and back to your shed.”
Though Slick didn’t love that she was being spoken about as if she wasn’t right there, she did appreciate Wrench’s attempt to get everyone to give her some space.
“Alright then,” Momma sighed, releasing Slick from her grasp and pulling away. Slick resisted the urge to reach after her. “We can come back another time. Boys?”
Wrench ushered her out, and Rusty, and Lumber followed. Porter rolled towards Slick, opening his mouth as if to say something, but seemingly changed his mind. He awkwardly patted her shoulder, then left the room as well.
Sighing, Slick very gently eased her way from balancing herself on her forearms back onto her back. Fuck, that hurt. They hadn’t told her the full extent of what had been injured in the crash, only that it was thanks to Wrench she was in as good shape as she was. Now marginally more comfortable, she hazarded a glance around the repair shed. Electra was gone, but that wasn’t too surprising. They had arguably been in the best shape after the race, and they had an entire entourage with them if something were to come up- naturally they had left the instant they were cleared. Now, it was just her and Greaseball…who she had tried to double cross, in the last final. Oops.
The diesel engine was still staring at her, one arm positioned behind her head. She was stripped of her outer plating and the upper part of her under layer, leaving her in a black sports bra. If it weren’t for the array of bandages and bruising across her ribs, it would have looked like she was just lounging. And staring. She was still staring.
“You look like shit.” Greaseball the Diesel, ladies and gentlemen- the epitome of tact.
“Take a picture,” rasped Slick, “it’ll last longer.”
Greaseball laughed, and then immediately hissed in pain, her free arm clutching at her side, curling up on the workbench. Slick could only watch. It took a while, but finally Greaseball was able to relax and unfold.
“Ya know,” Greaseball said conversationally, “I was surprised when you approached me. The little oil tanker, so willing to turn on her brother- for what? We didn’t even discuss payment.” Slick stared up at the ceiling, silently wishing that the roof would cave in, just to stop this conversation.
“And then you raced with Electra- what kind of deal did you make with them? Race with them, double cross me?”
Still, Slick said nothing. She could feel the diesel’s eyes burning into her, accusatory and inquisitive.
“For what it’s worth, I’m…sorry,” the word sounded like it physically pained Greaseball to say, “for being part of the reason you’re in here.”
“They paid me twenty grand,” Slick blurted out. She couldn’t take it. She just couldn’t lie here and let Greaseball apologize to her, of all things. She hadn’t even known that Greaseball knew the word.
Greaseball was quiet, taking this new information in. Suddenly, in one fluid movement, she swung her legs over the side of the workbench, using the momentum to push herself into a sitting position, facing Slick. She slapped her thigh and laughed-wincing at the movement, but still laughing as hard as she could with her injuries.
“For one race? Shit, oil truck, I’d sell out my maker for that much. I don’t blame ya.” She stopped laughing suddenly, eyes fixated on her as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her legs and her chin on her laced fingers. “Still doesn’t answer my first question though.”
Slick was spared from answering (which was good, because who knew what she was going to say with Greaseball looking at her like that) by the door to the repair shed opening. Through it came Rusty (why was he back?) and Dinah.
Oh, fuck. Dinah.