i won't pretend i don't remember how unusual we were
For the longest time, the freights had been a trio, one rarely seen without the others. And where one was, the others were sure to be close behind. They did everything together-all of their skate tricks around the yard, supply runs, or hauling freight- Lumber, with either raw logs or processed wood, Porter, with his coal or aggregate by-products, and Slick with oil (there wasn’t too much variation for her, which she was okay with; oil was pretty great).
Slick had hoped that after Rusty had said he would talk to the two of them that they might show up at the repair shop. They could be mad at her, but even their anger would be preferable to this silence.
But they hadn’t come, and when Wrench had finally said she was able to leave the repair shop, it was Wrench who helped her skate to her shed, as she couldn’t go very far (or virtually anywhere at all) on her own power. And now, she was home. With luck, no one else would be there; she could hide in her room, and get some much needed sleep in a real bed.
The shack had originally been a modest structure, similar to many of the others within the yard: A living room, a kitchen, and a hallway leading to a couple bedrooms made up the majority of the floorplan. Originally, there had only been two bedrooms- one for Momma and one for Porter and Lumber to share. However, as Momma had added to her brood, she had petitioned Control for the construction of an addition onto the shed. Momma’s status as a champion racer, albeit a retired one, hadn’t hurt matters, and Control had agreed to the construction of two more rooms. Currently, Porter and Lumber still shared, while Rusty bunked with Hydra, and Slick, as the only girl, had gotten her own room.
She made her way to the door of the shed as quietly as possible. The radio she kept clipped on her hip had been busted in the crash, so she didn’t actually know if anyone was there- she’d have to be quiet as she entered.
The door swung open silently, heading into the main living room. She slipped in, closing the door behind her. So far so good- ah, fuck.
Porter was sitting on the couch, head craned to look at her, clearly having been waiting for her arrival. For a moment they simply looked at each other. He didn’t say anything, and she wasn’t willing to break the silence. She rolled around the couch as quickly as she was able, intending to ignore him and make her way to her room, but was stopped by an un-smiling Lumber blocking the hallway, his arms crossed. Clearly she was not getting out of this, no matter how much she wanted to sleep.
He slowly skated forward, forcing her to inch backward so as not to collide. Her knees hit the back of the couch, and she fell into the soft cushions, wincing as her leg and back were jostled. Porter’s brow furrowed at that, but Lumber remained upright and impassive. They were clearly waiting for her to start talking, and she sighed in defeat.
“How’d you know I was going to show up?”
“Wrench said you’d be let out sometime today; we told Momma we could wait for you. How are you doing?” That was Porter, always looking out for the others.
“My tank is patched, but my hand and leg still hurt pretty bad. Wrench said that I shouldn’t move on my own power for too long at once or my leg might buckle.” Porter’s mouth twisted in sympathy. He had a pretty bad ankle injury from one of their tricks from a while back, one that had made Momma basically ban him from being on his skates for almost two weeks. He had complained bitterly about it back then, and it seemed that time had not lessened his opinion.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not.” Lumber’s voice made her freeze.
“Lumber, I’m angry too, but look at her, you can yell later-”
“No.” His voice was hard, and she winced, bracing for the anger she had been waiting for since she had woken up after the crash. “You made us hurt Rusty. Our brother. And it wasn’t an accident- you lied to us about who we’d be crashing so we wouldn’t back out.”
It hurt, but it was true, and it wasn’t like she could deny it. Porter and Lumber had sometimes helped her with her schemes before, but she had never tried to crash family. And so she had lied, all but saying that it was going to be Electra that she crashed instead. She knew that they would be angry after, but everything had gone a little too well. She hadn’t expected either of them to be so livid.
“Rusty visited me in the shop,” she tried her only defense, “he said we were alright.”
Lumber scoffed. “Yeah, well, I’m not Rusty. He doesn’t know the full story- you’ve been doing this for years. And finally, your decisions led to you getting seriously hurt. The money isn’t worth that, Slick! Nothing is!” Lumber’s voice echoed off the walls of the shed, and Slick felt her eyes begin to burn. Finally, Porter spoke up, eyes never leaving Slick’s.
“We thought you were gonna die, Slick. How do you think that felt, knowing that the last time I saw you I told you that you were an awful sister?”
That hurt. Rusty’s words echoed in her head: You were screaming, Slick. For ages. And you wouldn’t stop. She wondered what would have happened if she had died, out there on the track. For the last memory so many of the people she loved to have of her be backstabbing her brother. For her last conversations with her family to be filled with angry words and insults. Never getting to apologize: to Rusty, to Porter and Lumber, to Momma. To Hydra.
She let out a small sob, and looked down. She watched the tears drip out of her eyes and onto her pants, darkening the black fabric. Normally, she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. But she was hurting, and sore, and hadn’t slept- and she had nearly died. And she deserved the anger, the yelling, she did, but she was so tired- she just wanted her brothers.
“Is she crying? Porter, she’s crying.” Lumber still sounded angry, but with an edge to it. Concern?
“I noticed, genius. Slick? Slick, it’s alright.” She slapped away the hands moving to comfort her. She didn’t deserve it.
“I-I’m-so-r-r-y” she sobbed out. “I didn’t mean for all of this to hap-p-pen.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because there was an opportunity! Rusty- I didn’t think he was gonna win- and Greaseball liked me-it-” Shit. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“Greaseball?” she heard Lumber mutter.
“I thought- I thought if I proved I could do it she might notice me.” she whispered. She heard Porter draw back.
“All this- for an engine? He could’ve gotten seriously hurt, Slick.” Like you did, went unsaid, but heard all the same.
“I know. I thought it would be like the other times,” she sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve, “get in, get out, and be done. I didn’t think he would get hurt that badly. I didn’t think he could win. And- nobody ever thinks to suspect me, anyways. Nobody ever stops to think about a- a- stupid little oil truck.”
The tears continued to fall, leaving sticky tracks down her face. Through blurry eyes she saw the blue blob that was Lumber come closer, and she flinched. She felt raw, exposed. She didn’t need him pouring more salt in the wound.
“You are an idiot.”
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“Rusty forgave you?”
“Yeah.” She didn’t bother getting her hopes up here. They had every right to be angry.
“Why?” This time it was Porter who had spoken, and she risked a glance at him. He was closer to her on the couch now, having tried to comfort her earlier. He didn’t reach out now.
“He was there when I found out Greaseball and Dinah were back together. He thinks between that, and the crash, and the fact he won in spite of me is the universe’s way of punishing me.”
There was no response to that, and she sat on the couch, twisting her fingers while her brothers no doubt had a silent conversation above her head. Suddenly, Porter stood from the couch, skating past Lumber and into their shared room. The door slammed behind him, leaving her in the living room with Lumber.
“Can I go to my room now?” she asked Lumber quietly.
“No.”
She nodded, sniffling, and looked down to try to hide her further tears. That was fair. Horrible as she felt, they weren’t done here.
She heard a door click open, and the sound of wheels rolling against the floor as Porter came rolling back into the room. She jumped a little in surprise as a pile of soft somethings -blankets?- were deposited onto her.
“Wha-” she managed to croak, but Porter cut her off.
“Shut up, dumbass. We’re taking care of you and you’re gonna like it or I’ll turn you over to Momma, and you know she's gonna make you stay in bed.”
Stunned, she could only nod. She watched as Porter and Lumber spread the blankets out over her and the couch. Once satisfied, they both joined her under the blankets- Porter on one side, Lumber on the other, the wood truck slinging his legs up onto the couch, careful not to jostle her. She was pulled sideways until she was basically laying on top of Lumber, her head on his chest and her legs in Porter’s lap.
“Slick?” It was Lumber who had spoken, and she looked up at him wordlessly. “You really scared us.” He had her in a bear hug where they lay, and his arms tightened just a little more as he spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“No more crashing trains. You’re done.” said Porter, and she nodded. “Now, get some sleep. You look awful.”
And Slick- tired, sore, and mentally and emotionally drained from the sheer amount of crying she had done in the last twenty-four hours, obliged. She closed her eyes and began to drift. The last thing she registered before she truly fell asleep was the sound of someone humming, soft and low, and the smell of forest pine.