#stex fanfic

[dilfsandflowers]

Yo! A Story!

Summary:

Greaseball wants to show her girlfriend that she loves her. The only issue is she has no idea how to give everything to the girl that deserves everything.

[workofthediesel]

The End of the Line

Read also on AO3!

Summary: CB's been acting… off ever since he was called into Control's office. CB's also been doing his best to hide it, but nothing slips by Rusty where CB is concerned. Rusty's determined to get to the bottom of it, but once he does, can he fix it?

Word Count: 23,313

“Red Caboose to the Assets and Operations Office," Control's voice called over the loudspeaker. "Red Caboose to the Assets and Operations Office."

The freight line Rusty was pulling screeched to an abrupt and unpleasant stop as CB laid on the brakes. No one had been prepared to be pulled up so jarringly short and the cars were sent stumbling into each other before crashing to the ground in a disgruntled heap. A chorus of grumbles rose up from the pile as the freight tried to disentangle themselves, throwing a few glares CB's way as they did.

Rusty took a glance back at CB as well. He was the only one who'd managed to stay on his feet, no doubt because he'd let go of Dustin's couplers before the moment of disaster. Despite his irritation at the bad stop, Rusty couldn't help but be a little relieved that CB had avoided being caught up in the worst of it—CB was a good bit more fragile than the rest of the freight, and Rusty could easily imagine how hurt he would have gotten if he'd ended up on the bottom of the pile. 

The rest of the freight didn't seem to share his concerns. "What was that for?" Flat-Top griped, wriggling his way out from under Rocky Three.

“Yeah,” Rocky Two chimed in as he tugged his leg out from under his brother, “at least warn us if you’re going to stop short.”

CB was uncharacteristically quiet. It was mildly disconcerting, though it seemed like everyone was too annoyed to see it like that. 

“Hmph. Real nice apology,” Rocky Three said, trying to buff the scratches he’d received off of his arm. “Really feeling the love here. Thanks.”

Still, CB said nothing. No one had actually been expecting an apology from him, but the total lack of any response was strange, and as more and more seconds ticked by, the oddity of it was getting harder to ignore.

“What, nothing to say for yourself?” Rocky One snorted. “Real mature.”

On any other occasion, that sort of jab would be sure to get a rise out of CB, but now there was nothing. He just stood, still as a statue looking up at the speaker, like he didn’t even hear them.

Flat-Top scowled. “Hey! We’re talking to you!”

CB didn’t even flinch. 

Rusty couldn’t help but frown at that. “CB?” he prompted after another few seconds of silence.

Still no reaction from CB. Rusty’s frown grew deeper—CB never ignored him. 

Determined to get to the bottom of it, Rusty pushed himself back up onto his feet and rolled over to CB. His approach wasn’t subtle, nor was he trying to be, but with his focus still solely on the speaker, CB didn’t notice.

The gentle hand that Rusty laid on his arm was what finally got CB’s attention. The caboose started, eyes snapping down to meet Rusty’s as Rusty asked, “CB, what’s this about?”

For a moment, CB’s eyes were wide and unsettled. He quickly schooled his features into a blank mask. Too late—Rusty had already seen what he was really feeling, and perhaps because he knew to be listening, he caught the note of fear in CB’s voice. “I don’t—” 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Apparently, nothing was happening fast enough for Control’s liking, and the speaker crackled back to life. “Red Caboose to the Asset and Operations Office,” Control called again, emphasizing his words to showcase his irritation.

“Ooh, CB’s in trouble,” one of the Rockies taunted quietly under his breath.

The glare CB sent his way was cold enough to have frozen a lesser car in their tracks, but the Rockies, used to things like this by now, simply brushed it off, tittering amongst themselves at the thought of CB being told off.

An uncomfortable twisting started up in Rusty’s stomach. He hated the thought of CB being in trouble. He spent a good amount of time trying to prevent just that. Of course, he wasn’t successful one hundred percent of the time, and despite their relationship, Rusty was a large proponent of CB actually facing the consequences of his actions. It was only right, after all.

That didn’t mean he liked it, though.

Still, it was a bit odd. CB didn't usually try to hide when he’d done something wrong anymore. If he were expecting some form of punishment to come his way, he’d at least give Rusty a heads-up. To have heard nothing about it before the consequences came crashing down was far enough out of the ordinary that it pushed Rusty more towards giving CB the benefit of the doubt.

“No one’s in trouble,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster. “Right, CB?”

CB shook his head. “I didn’t do anything,” he said quietly.

Rocky Two scoffed. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t,” CB insisted, growing firmer. 

“Then why are you in trouble?”

“We don’t know he’s in trouble,” Dustin said.

“Oh, please,” Flat-Top countered. “When was the last time you heard Control looking for him for anything else?”

The answer to that one was silence. Although, Rusty thought, it wasn’t really a fair question. Control didn’t normally call for any of the freight. He was relatively hands-off in the yard, especially where individual cars were concerned. While he might occasionally have a demand for a particular engine or for the yard as a whole, he mostly left the management of any singular car up to their yard’s head. That meant that, since Rusty was taking over from Poppa as the head of the freight yard, he was responsible for handling the majority of any work-related discussions with CB. If Control needed to say anything about his job performance, he usually passed it along through Rusty. 

With that in mind, it made sense that, more often than not, if Control was calling someone into the office, it wasn’t for anything good. And, as one of the yard’s more troublesome cars, CB saw more than his fair share of chastisement from the boss. But just because it wasn’t common for Control to want to speak with CB for non-disciplinary reasons didn’t mean it never happened. CB was highly specialized in his radio work, something that Rusty knew next to nothing about. If Control needed to talk about anything regarding the yard’s communications systems, he would go straight to CB about it. 

It was likely that’s all this was, Rusty told himself, although he couldn’t quite get himself to fully believe it. After all, there was no reason for CB to be scared about Control checking in on his radios, and no matter how cool he was playing it now, Rusty had seen the fear in his eyes when he first got called for.

He didn’t have time to question it, because the speaker was ringing out again. “Red Caboose to the Assets and Operations Office!”

CB winced, not that Rusty could blame him. It was never a good idea to make Control mad, and he was starting to sound like he was running out of patience. Rusty got the feeling that, if CB wasn’t in trouble already, he was going to be soon if he didn’t start making his way to the office. 

“Go ahead,” Rusty told him. “You don’t want to keep Control waiting much longer.”

“Are you sure?” CB asked. There was something desperate in his voice, like he wanted Rusty to give him an excuse, like he wanted to be told that he couldn’t be spared, that Control could wait because CB needed to stay on the line.

As much as Rusty would have liked to give him that comfort, he couldn't. Control was the boss; if he wanted CB in the office badly enough to call him in in the middle of the workday, then no amount of work CB had to do would be taken as a justifiable reason for him not going.

Rusty gave CB the most reassuring smile he could manage. “It’s fine.”

Hesitantly, CB took a step back. “Okay. I’ll be back whenever Control’s done with me, I guess.”

“I’ll be around if you need to be put on a line.”

CB hung around for a moment more, but he couldn’t find another excuse to keep stalling. Dragging his feet, he slowly rolled off in the direction of Control’s office.

“Wonder what he did this time,” Rocky Two said to no one in particular.

A part of Rusty wanted to snap at him that CB hadn’t done anything, that Control was only calling him in to talk about upgrading his radio systems or loaning him out to another yard for a bit, but was that really the case? As much as he wanted to believe that, Rusty himself had his doubts. CB was known to get himself into trouble with alarming frequency. It seemed to just be a part of his personality—his penchant for mischief and inability to actually conceptualize any consequences had given Rusty more heart attacks than he could count.

Still, he didn’t entirely believe that CB had done something bad, either. He knew that CB knew how much he worried, and ever since they’d gotten together, CB had been making a commendable effort at keeping out of trouble. Not to mention, if CB had done something, surely someone in the yard would have known about it. Even if CB didn’t tell Rusty about it himself, word would have gotten back to him from somewhere to brace for the consequences. 

Regardless, Rusty didn’t like this sort of speculation. “Back to work,” he said firmly, taking off again.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Rusty kept waiting for CB to come back, but he never did. In the first hour, it was easy enough to explain: Control had called CB in for a meeting, after all—they probably just had a lot to talk about. The second hour was still believable enough, assuming the meeting had just run long. It was in the hours after that, when CB still hadn’t returned, that Rusty really started getting nervous.

He couldn’t think of a single thing Control would need to talk to CB about that would take this long. Control leaned towards brevity; if it were just a regular sort of work-related meeting, CB should have been in and out.

On the other hand, if CB were in enough trouble that he was going to be taken off the track, Control would have told Rusty. As the head of the freight yard, Control was supposed to notify him of anything going on that would interrupt their day’s operations. With that in mind, Rusty tried to reassure himself that whatever was going on couldn’t be that bad.

But now that he thought about it, CB had been acting a little cagey the past few days. He couldn’t quite put a finger on when it had started, but he seemed to be almost always a little on edge, carrying around a nervous energy he couldn’t quite work out. Rusty hadn’t brought it up to him before because, realistically, the oddities were small. The only reason Rusty noticed them was because of how close they were. He couldn’t imagine that anyone else had picked up on it, and if the problem was small enough that CB was able to keep it that complete of a secret, then it was also small enough that he wouldn’t bother to talk about it, even if he was directly asked. It wasn't the way he acted when he knew he’d been caught and was waiting to hear about it, but it wasn't normal either 

Still, Rusty had to wonder. It didn't make sense for that to have been CB expecting a punishment, but when Control had called for him, he didn’t seem surprised. Scared, perhaps. But not surprised. 

Something was definitely going on, and Rusty was going to get to the bottom of it. He hurried straight home at the end of the day, not sparing a second to stay and chat like he normally would, intent on finding CB and working out exactly what was going on.

CB was waiting for him when he got home. Well, waiting might have been a stretch. He was sitting at the kitchen table like he sometimes did on the days when he got home before Rusty and was waiting on him to start dinner, but tonight, there were no plates on the table, and although there was nothing particularly distracting going on, CB didn’t seem to notice Rusty coming in. He was just sitting there, chin propped up on one hand, eyes vacant as he stared off into space.

Rusty cleared his throat, trying to get CB’s attention without startling him. “Hey,” he said softly.

CB still seemed a bit dazed as he came back to himself. He turned his head to Rusty a little too slowly, blinking owlishly at him. “Oh, hey.”

Rusty waited a moment for him to say more, to explain why he’d been sitting at the table staring off into space or even just to welcome Rusty home, but that second and the next passed in silence.

It threatened to get awkward for a moment, so Rusty plowed on. “Have you been home long?”

CB tipped his head to the side. “I guess. Why?”

Rusty pressed his lips together, choosing his words carefully. “You never came back to work,” he said, swallowing down the, And that made me really worried, that he wanted to finish with.

“Oh. No, I guess I just let myself off early for the day. Sorry.”

He didn't sound remotely sorry, but Rusty wasn't going to call him out on it. “That’s fine,” he said instead, trying to keep his voice light. “Did you eat already? I can make dinner.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m not hungry.”

“Not hungry?” Rusty frowned. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” CB said absently, “fine.”

Rusty watched him for a moment. The lie was so obvious it wasn’t even worth pointing out. It was, however, concerning. The lack of appetite was bad enough, but for him to be lying about it? Especially to Rusty. It didn't bode well.

Genuine expressions of concern, especially when there really was something to be concerned about, had a tendency to make CB irritated, so Rusty forced himself to remain nonchalant as he reached into the fridge to find something for dinner. He didn’t pay too much attention to what he was grabbing, opening up the first tupperware he saw and dumping its contents into a pan on the stove to reheat.  “So, what did Control want?” he asked over his shoulder.

It took CB a second too long to answer. “Nothing special,” he said after a beat. “Just work stuff.”

Rusty was far from convinced, turning a bit to try to catch CB’s eye. “That was an awfully long meeting for just ‘work stuff.’”

CB shrugged, but he didn't elaborate. Rusty wasn’t satisfied with the answer, but he decided not to press the matter any further. CB was capricious—chances were he’d be over this funk before the night was out. Rusty could pry the details out of him later.

Since all he was doing was reheating, dinner didn’t take long. He piled a single plate much higher than he needed to, grabbed two forks, and made his way over to the table to sit down next to CB. “Here,” he said, handing him a fork as he set the plate down between them. “I made enough for both of us.”

CB eyed the fork with a look bordering on disgust, making no move to take it. “I told you: I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat something.” Rusty let a little sincere concern creep into his tone, careful not to overdo it. CB didn’t look particularly swayed, so Rusty risked laying it on a little thicker. “Just a few bites. Please? For me?”

CB held out for a few more seconds, but Rusty always was his one weakness. With a sigh, he reached out and took the fork from Rusty.

Rusty rewarded him with a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Whatever,” CB mumbled.

He spent the rest of the meal pushing the food around his half of the plate while Rusty ate, never once taking a single bite for himself, but Rusty forced himself not to mention it. 

***

Rusty was woken up by his alarm the next morning. That was a bit of a rare occurrence for him—a naturally early riser, Rusty typically woke up on his own a good twenty minutes before the alarm was set. The only times he slept right up until it went off were when he’d been up later than usual the night before.

In retrospect, Rusty supposed he had been kept up for quite some time with his thoughts. CB had been acting off all last night, and no matter how many times he denied that there was anything wrong, Rusty knew something was. The hard part was, as long as CB was refusing to say what was bothering him, Rusty didn’t know how to help. 

It was more of a struggle than usual to push himself out of bed. CB was sleeping through the alarm next to him, which wasn’t uncommon. Normally, Rusty would try to get him up almost immediately—CB’s morning routine was a lot more involved than his, so it took him a long time to get ready—but today, he left him to rest a little longer. After all, if Rusty had been kept up worrying about him, he could only imagine how much worse CB’s own night’s sleep had been.

Rusty took his time washing up, trying to give CB as much time to sleep as he could, but he couldn’t delay the inevitable forever. By the time he was dressed and ready for the day, CB hadn’t moved a muscle. It was cute to see him bundled up so cozily, and Rusty couldn’t help but feel a little bad at having to disturb him. Still, if he didn’t get up now, he was going to be late. “CB,” he called, shaking his shoulder gently. “It’s time to get up.”

CB didn’t budge. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbled, voice muffled by the blankets he was burrowed in. “I’m staying home.”

A spike of concern shot through Rusty at those words. “Are you sick?” he asked as he moved his hand up to rest on CB’s forehead.

“Not sick,” CB said with a sigh, pushing Rusty’s hand away. “Just, not… good.”

Rusty frowned. In the few moments he’d managed to keep his hand on CB’s forehead, he hadn’t felt any warmer than usual, and while it was a relief to know that CB wasn’t coming down with something, it did spark a new worry of what would be causing him to act like this.

This wasn’t the first time CB had tried to get out of work for the morning; far from it. But playing hooky was never how he’d done it before. Perhaps ages ago, when he and CB were little more than casual work buddies, CB had faked illness in order to skip his duties for the day, but that habit died once they got together. CB knew how much Rusty worried, and Rusty knew that, although he’d never admit it, CB would feel guilty for making him fret over nothing. So nowadays, when CB didn’t feel like doing anything, he’d simply tell Rusty as much—it wasn’t uncommon for their morning alarm to be met with a grumbled “I’m coming in late today,” from CB as he rolled over and went back to sleep.

There were times, of course, when CB actually had a reason to stay home. His injuries from the crash in the championship hadn’t healed as well as anyone would have liked, and they still bothered him from time to time. But whenever that happened, CB would tell Rusty what was going on—that his back hurt or his leg hurt or what have you—and Rusty would get him settled with painkillers and warm compresses and check in on him throughout the day until he felt better. This sullen vagueness, little more than an unarticulated complaint, was entirely new, and Rusty didn’t like it one bit.

Undoubtedly, it was all to do with whatever had been bothering CB last night. Knowing that didn’t help all that much, though, because CB had never let on as to what was wrong. Rusty had a hunch that it had something to do with that meeting with Control, but that didn’t get him very far. “Do you want to talk about it?” Rusty asked softly.

CB hesitated, and for a second Rusty thought he might have made some progress, but after a moment he said, “Nothing to talk about. I just don’t feel good.”

Rusty sat down next to him on the edge of the bed. “Are you sure it’s nothing a little more sleep won’t fix? You could come in late.”

CB sighed, throwing an arm over his eyes as he rolled onto his back. “Why bother?”

“What do you mean, ‘why bother’?” Rusty asked, a frown tugging at his lips.

“There’s no point in me coming in,” CB said in the most defeated tone Rusty had ever heard from him. It made Rusty’s heart clench to hear him sound like that. “I’m replaceable.”

“No, you aren’t,” Rusty told him. 

“Come on, Rusty. You don’t really need me there.”

“Of course we do.” 

“No, you don’t. You can get by just fine without me.”

Technically, it was true: they could operate without CB if they needed to. It meant that everyone had to pick up a few extra responsibilities to make sure that everything was functioning as it should be, but it wasn’t impossible. But even though they could do it didn’t mean they wanted to. Having CB there meant everything ran so much more smoothly. 

“That doesn’t mean you’re replaceable,” Rusty told him. “The yard can get by without me for a day, too, but that doesn’t mean I’m not needed at all.”

“It’s not the same,” CB mumbled.

“Why not?”

CB opened and closed his mouth wordlessly a few times before giving up on whatever he was going to say. Instead, he sighed. “It just isn’t.”

Again, it was technically true. Rusty was an engine, and CB was a caboose. It would be dangerous for them to run a line with no one monitoring from the back, but it was possible. But they couldn’t run a line with no engine to pull it no matter how hard they tried. But that argument was more so that Rusty’s class was necessary, not Rusty himself. After all, any of the other engines could sub in for him if he couldn't make it in, the same way everyone could pitch in to sub for CB.

Something about the whole conversation was rubbing Rusty the wrong way. Well, everything about it was, really, but the thing that was sticking in his mind was how out of nowhere it was. CB had never been ashamed of being a caboose before. If anything, he took pride in it. To hear him suddenly devaluing himself because of it was odd and very upsetting.

Rusty wanted to keep arguing, but he knew it would get him nowhere; CB was just going to keep stubbornly rejecting Rusty’s points without consideration. On this line of thinking, anyway. “Alright, we may not strictly need you to come in today,” Rusty allowed, carefully throwing in “today” at the end to differentiate between not being needed for a bit and not being needed at all, even if he was sure CB wasn’t listening to that part. “I’d still like you to. It takes a lot of stress off me knowing that you’re watching the end of the line. Besides, I’d get lonely if you weren’t there.”

CB dragged his arm down at that, finally meeting Rusty’s gaze. There was an unpleasant cocktail of emotion swirling in his eyes—pain and sorrow and anger and guilt. Rusty couldn’t come up with a reason why any of them would be there, but he held CB’s gaze steadily, trusting that he would pick up on the full weight of Rusty’s words.

CB wasn’t replaceable. Not in the slightest, and especially not to Rusty. He was making a little light of it, but he truly loved CB with all his heart; he enjoyed just about everything more when CB was with him, work included, and he missed him even when they were only separated for a day. CB had to at least know that.

CB held the look for a few seconds before he had to break it. He was pouting as he drew his eyes away, staring instead at Rusty’s hand where it rested on top of the covers.

Rusty didn’t really want to leave it there, but a fight wasn’t what CB needed right now. As much as he wanted to keep pushing until CB accepted how loved and appreciated he was, he couldn’t ignore the concern twisting at his heart. “Okay,” he relented softly, “you can stay in today. I’ll see you when I get home.”

That was meant to be the end of the conversation, except for maybe a quick goodbye from CB as he tugged the blankets over his head and went back to sleep. But as Rusty was getting up to leave, CB stopped him with a weak plea. “You can’t stay, can you?”

Rusty froze, turning his head back to look at CB. CB hadn’t moved a muscle, still staring at where Rusty’s hand had been with that sad little pout firmly in place. “Do you want me to?”

“Would you? If I asked?”

Rusty bit his lip. He knew the yard could find some way to function if he couldn’t come in, but it would definitely be a scramble for them to have to replace him on such short notice. It would be a lot of stress on them, and it would undoubtedly make the day’s operations a lot rougher than they had to be, especially if everyone was already picking up extra duties to make up for CB’s absence. Rusty hated the idea of putting the yard through that willingly.

At the same time, though, he hated the thought of having to pull himself away from CB now. He looked so upset, curled up pathetically in bed, hands clenched around the blankets but only because he couldn’t wrap them around Rusty’s. He might not have been sick, but something was clearly very wrong, and Rusty would do anything to not have to leave him alone like that.

Torn between the two, Rusty settled on a compromise. “I’ll take a half day, okay? I’ll be home after lunch.”

If CB’s continued pouting was anything to go by, that wasn’t an ideal offer. But in the moment, it was the best Rusty could do, and CB seemed to understand that. “Okay,” he said quietly.

Rusty watched him for a moment before sighing. “Try to get some rest,” he said, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on CB’s temple. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Okay,” CB said again.

Rusty knew that the longer he stayed, the harder it would be to pull himself away. Still, he couldn’t help himself from pulling the blankets up over CB’s shoulders and running a soothing hand over the top of his head. His eyes were still open when Rusty finally forced himself to leave, so he could only hope he’d manage to fall back asleep until he came back.

***

Despite Rusty’s best efforts over the next few days, CB’s mood never lifted. And he really did try.

For the first day, Rusty gave him space. CB hadn’t opened up right away, and usually that meant that pushing him would be a bad idea. He was still in bed when Rusty got home that afternoon, so Rusty had settled down next to him. He didn’t try to ask CB anything about what was bothering him, instead waiting for CB to be ready to tell him what was wrong on his own. As soon as Rusty was next to him on the bed, CB curled into his side, his fingers grasping at Rusty like his life depended on it. But he didn’t say anything. It was hard for Rusty to swallow down his concern and be patient, but he managed.

It hadn’t gotten him anywhere.

The next day, CB had also stayed home. This time, Rusty was a bit more prepared. When he’d told the yard that he was taking the afternoon off, he’d also warned them that he’d likely be taking the next day as well. It wasn't a guarantee at that point, but it did give them some extra time to have a back-up plan in place in case he did call out. Which, of course, he did.

That day was spent doing comforting things. Rusty had pulled CB out of bed and deposited him on the couch. He bundled him up in a fuzzy blanket and made sure to line up all of CB’s favorite things. They watched his favorite movies, played his favorite games, made all his favorite comfort foods. Rusty read his favorite book to him while CB rested with his head on Rusty’s shoulder. By the end of the evening, CB was able to force a smile, but it was clear that that was only for Rusty’s sake.

Still, he said nothing about what was wrong.

Over the next week, CB got a little better at pretending. He pushed himself out of bed on his own and showed up to work without anyone needing to drag him there—late, always, but present. At least, physically present. His mind seemed to be somewhere very far away. He swung back and forth between being lost in thought and being hyper-focused on the task at hand like he was trying to distract himself. Either way, he never had enough attention to spare for the other cars he was working with. Rusty had to shake his shoulder whenever he needed to speak with him.

He was smiling again, too, but it was obvious that it wasn’t genuine. It looked stiff, almost painful, and it never reached his eyes. And whenever CB thought no one was looking, it dropped away completely, leaving him with a lost and terrified expression that twisted at Rusty’s heart.

Something was very, very wrong.

Rusty had tried asking him about it, but CB never gave an inch. Everything was fine, he insisted, even as he ate less and less and the sleepless shadows under his eyes grew deeper. 

Rusty was stumped. And worried. The problem was, he didn’t know what to do about it. He’d been forcing more food onto CB and pulling him to bed at night, determined to at least take care of him physically even if it wasn’t solving the root of the problem. 

But that root was vexing him. Rusty liked being able to fix things, to solve problems and make things right. The fact that he couldn’t do that now—and for one of his favorite cars, no less—was eating at him.

He tried not to let it show. CB was doing bad enough already; he didn’t need any extra guilt lumped on from how upset it was making Rusty. Even if, Rusty thought a bit selfishly, a healthy dose of it might convince him to open up and actually let Rusty help.

With all his attempts so far getting him nowhere, Rusty was now making a conscious effort not to smother CB. It was hard keeping away from him, even for just an afternoon, when Rusty knew he was so upset, but if CB started to feel too penned in, it was liable to make him snap at Rusty, and that was the one thing that might manage to make the whole situation worse.

Knowing that didn’t make it any easier, though. Rusty threw himself into his work as he often did when he was trying to distract himself. In all honesty, it wasn’t really working—his every thought always spun back to CB, even in the best of times. 

Losing himself in his work may not have had the desired effect of taking his mind off the situation at hand, but it was apparently distracting him from the world around him, because he didn't notice Joule charging up to him until she was practically right in front of him.

“What’s wrong with CB?” she asked without preamble.

Those weren’t the words he had been anticipating as a greeting, and it threw him off-guard. “Huh?”

“What’s wrong with CB?” Joule repeated, slower this time, making a point to emphasize each word like she was trying to trap Rusty into answering.

“I don’t—”

“He’s been acting weird, and I know you’ve noticed.”

Of course, Rusty had noticed, and he supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised that Joule had as well. He knew she and CB were friends, so it was only natural that she would pick up on the fact that CB was acting strange lately, but he wouldn’t have expected her to come to him to ask about it.

“I mean, yes, I’ve noticed, but he won’t—”

“So?” she cut him off. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know.”

Joule’s expression turned incredulous. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Just that,” Rusty said a little helplessly. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Rusty had said it with as much honesty as he could, but it didn’t look like Joule believed him. “He’s been acting weird,” she repeated herself.

“Yes, but—”

“He’s all quiet and sad and spacey.”

“I know, but—”

“And you’ve noticed.”

“Yes, but—”

“And you don’t know what’s wrong?”

“Yes! I mean, no. I mean… ugh, you know what I mean.”

Joule’s eyes narrowed. “Well, why not?”

“What do you mean, why not?”

“Why don’t you know what’s wrong? Didn’t you ask?”

Rusty bristled. “Of course I’ve asked.”

“And? Didn’t he tell you anything?”

Rusty shook his head. “Believe me, I’ve really tried. But he insists that nothing’s wrong, and you know how stubborn he is.”

That finally seemed to convince her. Joule sighed, her tough front slipping away to reveal the concern it was trying to mask. “Damn. I was hoping you knew something.”

“I wish I did,” Rusty said. “I hate seeing him like this as much as you do. But he’s not talking about it—not to anyone, apparently—so I’m not sure what else to do.”

For a long moment, Joule was quiet. “Do you think it’s bad?”

Rusty fought down a wince. “I hate to say it, but probably. CB’s not the type to get upset over nothing.” Especially not this upset.

Joule chewed her lip for a moment, thinking it all over. “Wrench has been acting weird lately, too.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “CB went to see her a few days ago. Like, office hours went to see her.” The clarification wasn’t particularly necessary—Wrench wasn’t someone CB would go to for a social visit. Although, him going to her for any sort of medical reason was unusual as well. Normally, someone had to physically drag CB in for a check-up. “She hasn’t really been herself since.”

“And you think it's related?”

“I don't know. Maybe.” 

It would be a strange coincidence if the two things weren't related, but it would also be a strange circumstance if they were. CB wasn’t the type to get upset over nothing, and neither was Wrench. She was a medical professional, and she knew how to set aside her personal feelings on the job. For something to have come up in an appointment that was so bad it was still affecting her after she left the office was unlikely. Although, Rusty supposed, not impossible. Yes, Wrench was their technician, but she was also their friend. If anyone in the yard ended up with a particularly grave diagnosis, he would hope that she’d be at least a little upset.

The implications of that thought were far from reassuring. In an effort to keep his head level, Rusty ran through the situation in his mind, trying to determine how likely it was to be true. CB wasn’t exactly weak or whiny when it came to pain or illness, but he did like to lay it on thick if he thought it would get Rusty to fawn over him while he wasn’t feeling well. There was none of that now, which meant that either CB was feeling fine, or that he was feeling so poorly that he was pulling away to lick his wounds in privacy.

Rusty desperately hoped it was the former. 

“I can try asking him about it again,” Rusty offered, “but I don’t think he’ll answer.”

Joule seemed to consider it for a moment, weighing the idea before giving up on it. “He wouldn’t, would he?”

Rusty could only shrug. He didn’t want to seem pessimistic, but he was sure his face was giving away his doubts.

Joule sighed. “Damn,” she hissed. “This sucks.”

“You’re telling me.”

Joule eyed him for a moment, the barest hint of desperation in her gaze. “Isn’t there anything we can do? There’s gotta be something, right?”

It was the same question Rusty had been pondering for the past few days, but he still didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying, but…” 

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Joule was already nodding, understanding exactly what he hadn’t said. “Well, if you come up with any new ideas, let me know.”

Rusty gave her as genuine a smile as he could manage. “Will do.”

Joule hung there for a second more, but it seemed CB was all she had come to talk about, and now that conversation was done. She gave Rusty a simple wave goodbye and she turned on her heel, disappearing back the way she came. 

***

Over the next couple of days, his conversation with Joule stuck in Rusty's head. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was already odd enough that CB had been to see Wrench, and odder than that was the fact that Rusty had had no idea about it. He hadn’t noticed CB being absent for any significant amount of time, nor could he think of any reason why CB would want to keep a technician’s visit a secret in the first place. Add all of that on top of the fact that there was already something going on with him and it was starting to paint a picture that, while Rusty wasn’t entirely sure what it was, he had a very bad feeling about. 

He supposed he could still try bringing it up to CB. He’d shot down all of Rusty’s questions so far, but this was a new angle to press. Not to mention, it was one that Rusty wasn’t supposed to know about. He had the thought that he might be able to use the shock of him knowing to trap CB into answering, although he quickly abandoned that plan. It felt far too mean.

He briefly entertained the idea of asking Wrench what was wrong with CB, just in case it did have something to do with his appointment like Joule thought. Wrench, of course, wouldn’t have told Joule anything about what had happened, even if she’d asked—doctor-patient confidentiality was a strong protection—but as CB’s healthcare proxy, she might tell Rusty.

As tempting as the idea was, he held himself back. Even as CB’s boyfriend, it felt like a huge overstepping of boundaries. If CB wanted Rusty to know what was going on, he would have told him. Rusty could hate the fact that CB was lying to him about nothing being wrong all he wanted, but that didn’t mean CB wasn’t entitled to his privacy. Rusty had no right to pry into matters CB wanted to keep to himself, no matter how good he thought it would be for him in the long run.

That decision was harder to stand behind as more and more days went by. CB was getting better, if only slightly, but he wasn’t back to his normal self, and the worry that was eating away at Rusty was driving him insane.

He wasn’t sure if it was this level of distraction that made it seem so out of the blue when the message from Control appeared in the freight office’s mailbox or if it would have caught him off-guard regardless. In all honesty, it filled him with some trepidation. With everything else that had been going on, his mind immediately jumped to the worst. Notices like this could always be disciplinary, after all; maybe CB really was in trouble.

Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. Once Rusty was able to shake himself out of his confused stupor and open the envelope, he was met with a marketing pamphlet and a brief hand-written note attached to a more official memo, instructing him that the contents of the memo—which was little more than a notification about some new equipment Control would be ordering for the yard—were to be disseminated to all of the freight cars ASAP.

They were just returning from their lunch break, so Rusty figured that meant he should do it now. 

It took a few minutes for everyone to trickle back to the track, but once they were all there, Rusty called them over for the announcement. 

“It’s called an end-of-train device,” Rusty read out, skimming over the paper. “The last car in the line is supposed to carry it. Apparently, it’s going to help monitor the brake lines and things like that.” He read a little further and frowned. “Control wants everyone trained on it.”

Everyone’s heads shot up at that. Well, everyone’s except CB’s. When Rusty looked over to him, the caboose was staring at the ground, feigning disinterest. 

Rocky Three was quick to protest. “What? Why?”

Rusty skimmed over the text again, trying to see if there was any reasoning included that he’d missed the first time but coming up empty. “It’s just what the memo says.”

Confusion quickly spread amongst the cars, but Dustin was the first to say anything about it. “Aren’t you always the end of the line?” he asked, turning to CB. CB only shrugged in response.

“Yeah,” Flat-Top chimed in. “He’s the only one that’s going to be using that junk. Why do the rest of us have to learn?”

“I’m not sure,” Rusty admitted, “but I don’t think it’s all that bad of an idea. You’ve all covered for CB before; it’d be good for you to know how to use his new equipment, too.”

Flat-Top hmphed, but he didn’t voice any further objection. Neither did anyone else. There was sense in what Rusty was saying, after all, even if they weren’t particularly enthused about it.

Included with Control’s memo was a small pamphlet about the ETDs. Rusty flipped through it quickly, noting headers for sections explaining what the devices were, what they were used for, and a brief overview of how they worked. There weren’t any detailed instructions, but he was sure those would come with the devices themselves.

He handed the pamphlet over to the rest of the freight after that. Everyone huddled around, reading over each others’ shoulders to get their first introduction to the new technology.

Everyone except CB, that was. He was hanging back a few steps away from the rest of the group, a tight expression on his face. 

It was strange. Normally, CB was insatiably curious. Rusty would have expected him to be the first one grabbing for the pamphlet, especially since he was the one who would be using the ETDs the most. “Don’t you want to look, too?”

CB shook his head. “Nah,” he said airily. “I’m good. Doubt it’s that complicated anyway.”

Based on what he’d read so far, Rusty was inclined to disagree, but he knew CB was a lot smarter than he usually let on. Rusty was sure he’d catch on quickly to how the ETDs worked when it came time to use them, especially because he was already an expert on everything they were supposed to help with.

The rest of the freight were less familiar with what was essentially CB’s domain. It took them a few minutes to parse through all the technical jargon, but what they eventually discovered was that, underneath all the complex language, the ETDs were quite simple. They monitored the line for the brake pressure and to make sure everyone was still connected and automatically reported it to the head-of-train device being carried by the line’s engine. In that way, most of the learning really had to be done by the engines. In theory, all the cars would have to do was carry the ETD.

“Oh, man. This stuff is easy! Is this all your job is?” Flat-Top turned back to CB, a teasing glint in his eye. “What do we keep you around for?”

Rusty fought down a wince. Flat-Top was only joking, he was sure, but he was accidentally poking into a sore spot for CB. It wasn’t all that long ago he’d stayed in bed for days, convinced he was replaceable to his friends. What rotten timing for some new technology to come in that could essentially do his job for him.

Rusty’s own thoughts gave him pause. What rotten timing, indeed. Too rotten for it to have been a coincidence.

CB hadn't gotten upset until after his meeting with Control, and he'd never expressed any doubt as to his importance in the yard before it. Had Control told him about the new devices before the rest of them? Is that what had been bothering him all this time?

The details were starting to add up, but not fully. Rusty would have thought that, if anything, CB would have been excited about the new devices. He wasn't exactly the hardest worker, so anything that made his job easier should have been welcomed with open arms. There’d be no reason for him to get upset about it taking over some of his responsibilities. Unless…

An icy pit opened up in Rusty’s chest. No. No, it couldn't be. Control couldn't have…

But Flat-Top had made a good point. If these little devices could do CB’s job for him, then why would Control need to keep him around?

It was no secret that CB wasn’t Control’s favorite car in the yard. He was too much of a troublemaker, too hard to control. But even so, it seemed like too much to try to just get rid of him at the first opportunity. Control wasn’t that heartless, was he?

Rusty looked over to CB, desperately searching for reassurance that he was overreacting. 

CB wouldn't meet his eyes. That solidified it. Rusty was right: this is what had been upsetting him. This is what he’d been hiding.

Tears pricked at the corners of Rusty’s eyes. His legs felt weak, and if he were any more present he would have been worried about them collapsing underneath him. He opened his mouth to say something, to ask, to beg CB to tell him it wasn't true, but his throat was too tight for even an exhale to come out.

CB finally glanced up at him then, and then back to the freight. Without a word he pushed himself forward, grabbing Rusty by his couplers and turning him, propelling them both towards home.

Not here, he was saying with his actions. We can't talk about it here. 

Rusty didn't have it in him to fight it. He let CB push him along, in too much of a daze to even think to start pulling. “CB…” he said weakly, trailing off with no idea of how he was even going to finish that sentence.

It wasn't a long trip home, but it passed in a blur. Rusty blinked and found himself standing in the front hall. CB’s hands were no longer around his couplers; he must have let go at some point.

The spell didn't break completely until he heard the click of the door closing behind him. He turned to look over his shoulder, trying to find CB for a little reassurance. CB was standing still facing the door, his back to Rusty.

Dread pooled in Rusty's stomach. His mouth was dry. There was a knot in his throat so big he thought he might choke on it. “CB…”

CB wouldn't look at him. “Rusty.”

“CB, please.”

“Please what?” CB’s voice was bright, playing dumb as he pushed himself away from the door and down the hall. He brushed past Rusty, still refusing to meet his eyes.

Rusty's heart was hammering in his chest. “Tell me this situation isn't what I think it is.”

“Okay. It isn't what you think it is.”

“CB, I'm serious,” Rusty said, following him into the living room.

“You always are,” CB lamented with a sigh. “Would it kill you to lighten up every once and a while?”

Rusty frowned. “This isn’t a time to be joking around.”

“It’s always a time to be joking around. Life’s more fun that way.”

All of CB’s evasions weren’t boding well, and Rusty’s heart climbed impossibly higher into his throat. “Please, just answer the question.”

“You didn’t ask me one.” CB’s nonchalance was fading fast, leaving him sounding increasingly bitter.

“CB, what’s going on?”

“I thought you said you knew. Or at least had an idea. You can probably go with that. You’re smart. You’re usually right about these things.”

Rusty’s stomach sank down to his feet. “CB, please.”

“What do you want me to say, Rusty?” CB said, frustration and defeat coloring his words in equal measure. “I’m being replaced. Control doesn't need me anymore.”

“That… that can’t be right.”

“Can’t it? It makes enough sense to me. Control doesn’t need me, so he’s getting rid of me.” He gave a sardonic shrug. “Simple.”

Rusty’s mouth went dry. “And you know that for sure?”

“Of course I do!” CB spat, sounding almost offended, like Rusty was implying that CB was letting his imagination run away with the situation, or that he was making a big deal out of nothing. “He told me himself.”

“Did he say it in those words exactly?” he asked, scrambling for any explanation other than the one that was staring him in the face. “You could have just misunderstood.”

“Rusty!”

Immediately, Rusty backpedaled. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

CB scoffed. “How did you mean it, then?”

The truth was that Rusty was grasping at straws, and although he knew it, he didn’t want to admit it. “It’s just… Control learns about one new piece of technology and his first idea is to, what, fire you? It doesn’t make any sense. There has to be another explanation.”

“I’m not getting fired,” CB grumbled bitterly. 

“Retiring you makes even less sense. You’re way too young for that.”

CB scoffed. “You think we’d be having this conversation if I was being retired?”

“So is it some kind of demotion? Are you being dropped down to part-time or something?”

“Come on, Rusty, you know that’s not what’s going on here.”

“Well, what’s he going to do with you, then?”

CB went quiet, and somehow, Rusty felt impossibly worse. “What’s going to happen to you?”

CB was quiet for a long moment, and Rusty could tell that he desperately didn't want to answer. “Decommissioned,” he eventually admitted, and that single word hit Rusty like a punch to the gut. “Control’s in talks with a scrapper.”

Suddenly, everything fell into place. “That's why Joule said Wrench has been acting off,” Rusty said quietly. “She did an appraisal.”

CB’s silence was all the confirmation he needed.

The reality of the situation crashed over him like a tidal wave and he staggered, unable to keep himself on his feet against the enormity of it. He ended up having to brace himself against the wall, bowing his head to try to ward off the dizziness as he reminded himself to breathe, just breathe.

CB watched him. Rusty could feel his eyes on him, even without looking. “I asked her not to tell you.”

Rusty couldn't be mad at Wrench for keeping it a secret. Not really. She took patient confidentiality seriously; yes, Rusty was listed as CB’s healthcare proxy, but that didn’t mean that she would volunteer CB’s information without a reason, or at least being asked.

But even so. “Why?” he asked. “Why not tell me?” 

CB sighed. “How could I have?”

“CB, we promised we wouldn't keep things from each other.”

“I know, it’s just… What was I supposed to say?”

“Anything.”

CB shook his head. “I couldn’t hurt you like that.”

“And what did you have in mind for the alternative? To just keep it a secret up until the scrappers came and took you away? To have me wake up one morning with you gone forever and no idea why?”

“I would have figured something out,” he said uncertainly, like even he was doubting that.

The fight drained out of Rusty abruptly, the anger leaving him as fast as it had come on. It left him feeling tired. Empty. 

He collapsed onto the sofa next to CB, slumped forward to rest his arms on his knees. For a long moment, he stared at the floor in front of him. Neither of them spoke.

It was Rusty who finally broke the silence. “When?”

“I don’t know,” CB said. “Whenever the ETDs come in, I guess.”

Rusty’s stomach sank so fast it made him nauseous. He looked up at CB, pain shining in his eyes. That soon?

CB shrugged, seeming to read his thoughts. “Control might keep me around for a bit as back-up to make sure the transition goes smoothly, but he’s not going to need me after that.”

Rusty’s stomach twisted. “No. No, there has to be something we can do.”

“Doubt it,” CB said. “Seemed to me like his mind was made up.”

“He can’t just get rid of you!” Rusty cried. “What… what about the radios? The ETDs aren’t replacing those.”

“I already tried that. Control said he’ll just train someone else. You, probably. You already know at least some of it.”

Rusty immediately felt twice as sick at the thought of personally replacing CB. “I won’t,” he said. “I refuse.”

CB fixed him with a sad look. “That’s a nice stand, but I don’t think it will make a difference. If you won’t do it, someone else will.”

“What if they don’t? What if we all refuse?” The freight yard was a family. Once they learned of Control's plans, none of them would cooperate. 

“I don't know,” CB said tiredly. “I’m sure Control’s already planned for something like that.”

In the days before the championship, unquestioning obedience was expected from all the cars. Control was the boss, his word was law, and that was how everyone treated it. But that spell had since been broken. Resistance hadn't exactly become common, but it also wasn't as unheard of as it had been before.

As a result, Control had to put in the work to figure out how to reign in the yard, and over the time that had passed since the championship, he'd gotten good at it. Of course, he would have some combination of threats, bribes, and coercion up his sleeve that would have at least one car in the yard caving, and that was all he needed. 

Rusty opened his mouth, wanting to keep protesting, but no arguments came to mind. There had to be something they could do, some way to stop this, if only he could think of it. But he was still reeling from the shock of the news, and his head was spinning too fast for any of his thoughts to stick.

CB was still watching him sadly, and Rusty must have looked as bad as he felt because CB sighed. “I’m calling us out for the rest of the day,” he said, getting up from the couch and making his way over to the phone. 

Those words finally connected something in Rusty’s brain. Work. They’d left without a word in the middle of the day. Rusty’s head shot up as a flash of anxiety coursed through him. Why hadn’t anyone stopped them? How long had they been gone?

CB was already at the phone, dialing. “It’s fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

The other freight must have been expecting something like this because CB was able to get someone on the phone very quickly despite the fact that, at this point in the day, the freight were supposed to be on the tracks, not hanging around the office. Rusty was only half-listening as CB lied his way through the call—Rusty wasn’t feeling well so they weren’t coming back; no, it wasn’t contagious, just a headache, and of course CB was staying home to take care of him, how dare whoever was on the other end of the call imply there was any funny business going on—feeling more and more lost by the minute.

Rusty spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of mild shock. The initial rush of emotion had long since died and had left him almost numb. The only thing he was able to feel was the yawning cavern in his chest. Later, he was sure, the anger and despair and anguish and fear would come swirling up again, but for now he felt nothing, and maybe that was a mercy. 

Few words were shared between them that evening. Rusty spent about half of it lost in thought and the other half staring at CB like he needed to make sure that he was still there. 

When they went to bed for the night, Rusty held CB close. CB let him, burying his face in Rusty’s chest. In the dark and the quiet of the night, the words that had been stuck in Rusty's throat all afternoon came a lot easier. “You need to start telling people.”

“No, I don't.”

“Yes, you do,” Rusty insisted. “You can't keep this to yourself forever.”

“Well, what if I want to? What if I think it's nobody’s business but mine?” There was a subtle challenge in his words, a defiance against being told what to do, even if it was for the best.

“They’re our friends, CB. They deserve to know.”

CB huffed. “If it's so easy, then you do it.”

Rusty paused at that. It was the same excuse he had for not telling Rusty, and Rusty didn't think it held much weight. At the same time, he couldn't deny that it would be a difficult conversation. It would make sense that CB—who avoided serious, emotional discussions like the plague—would be so averse to having a talk like that. That didn’t mean that Rusty would let him get away with not doing it, though. “You at least have to tell Dinah.”

CB sighed, but he didn’t try to fight it anymore. Deep down, Rusty knew he knew Rusty was right, even though he didn’t like it. “Do you have any idea of how hard that’s going to be?”

“She needs to know.” Everyone did.

For a long moment, CB was quiet. “Later,” he said eventually.

“CB…”

“I’ll tell her. I will. Just… later.”

CB didn’t quite sound like he was lying, but he also lacked the conviction of making any sort of promise. 

Rusty was too tired to keep pushing. He let his eyes slip closed, the weight of the day pressing down on him. Despite his bone-deep exhaustion, he knew his thoughts were too heavy for him to be falling asleep any time soon. His one comfort was the fact that, at least for now, CB was safe in his arms.

They could work on telling people tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. CB could probably use some time to recoup after today. But they couldn't put it off forever, and when he thought about that, Rusty wanted to burrow down into the blankets and never come back out.

***

The compromise they came to was that CB would tell the cars he was closest to—namely Dinah, Greaseball, Electra, and Joule—and Rusty would handle telling the rest of the yard. Despite the brave face he'd put on while trying to convince CB to break the news to everyone, Rusty was dreading having to have those conversations himself. It was never easy to be the bearer of bad news, but this was the first time he ever needed to say anything quite this bad. 

At the same time, he was holding firm on his stance that everyone else deserved to know. No matter how hard it was, someone needed to tell them what was going on, and if that someone has to be Rusty, then so be it.

The conversations were just about as bad as he had imagined.

Pearl was the first one he told—she was his best friend, and he needed her support now more than ever. She’d been stunned silent at first, watching him with wide and pained eyes as he’d stumbled over his words, choking out an explanation of how once the ETDs arrived, Control was going to have CB decommissioned and sold for scrap. It took her a moment to unfreeze herself from the spot, and the moment she did, she wrapped Rusty up in the tightest hug she could manage. For several minutes, they stayed just like that, clinging to each other desperately.

“What can I do?” she asked once she’d finally found her words.

Rusty could only shake his head. “I don’t know.”

Of course, there was nothing she could do to remedy the situation itself, but she did become invaluable to Rusty for her moral support, especially when he had to break the news to the rest of the yard. CB refused to join him for those conversations, not that Rusty could blame him—he’d seen what CB went through when he told Dinah, and that amount of tears would make anyone resistant to risking a repeat scenario. Still, it wasn't something that he wanted to do on his own.

He started with the freight. He’d debated for a while if he should tell them as a group or individually. Telling them as a group would be much easier: Rusty would only have to go through the explanation once, he wouldn’t have to worry about a delay in spreading the news and having to ask them to keep it to themselves until he was able to tell everyone, and the freight would have each other there for support. On the other hand, this was the sort of news that deserved personal attention when it was being given, especially for anyone CB was particularly close with.

He ended up telling the Rockies one at a time, in as quick succession as he could manage. Dustin and Flat-Top he told together. Dustinn would benefit from having another friend there to lean on, and despite his tough-guy front, he knew Flat-Top would appreciate it, too.

Pearl was there with him for all of those conversations. It was an immense relief to have her at his side, to have an arm around his shoulders or a hand in his when he had to break the news.

She had even taken the lead in telling the coaches. That made it a little easier. It still hurt to hear the news delivered, and to have to answer all of the questions that came after, but at least he wasn't the one who had to say the worst of it, and the coaches looked more towards her for comfort than to Rusty when the words started to sink in.

Telling the electrics really only amounted to telling Wrench that she had permission to discuss what she knew with her fellow components. It was easier and probably kinder that way—Rusty had never been all that close with the group, and they deserved to have the news broken to them by someone who could do it in a way they found gentle.

The only conversation CB had joined him for was when they told Poppa. That was one talk that Rusty absolutely refused to have without him. CB wasn’t particularly happy with that stance, but he did seem to understand, because he agreed to come with only minimal complaining.

Once a week, Poppa invited them over for the afternoon. It was something he did with all of the freight. The idea was to give them some one-on-one time to check in and catch up and make sure everyone had a moment to feel appreciated. Although Poppa’s intention was to have all of the meet-ups be a time for some individual attention, the Rockies switched back and forth between going solo and going as a unit, and after CB and Rusty started getting serious, they started going together as well.

Normally, Rusty loved these weekly visits. Today, however, there was a pit in his stomach thinking about the news he would have to give. 

Poppa would be heartbroken. He loved all of the freight like his own children, and while Rusty was beyond gutted at the thought of losing his partner, he couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to be told you were going to lose a son. 

They were seated at Poppa’s kitchen table, chatting lightly. Poppa was doing most of the talking with occasional input from CB. On any other visit, Rusty would have been much more involved in the conversation, but right now, his heart just wasn’t in it. 

He was only half-listening to the story Poppa was telling, trying to prepare himself by taking deep, steadying breaths, his hands wrapped around the mug in front of him to hide how they were shaking. The first thing Poppa had done when Rusty and CB arrived was pour everyone a hot drink—tea for the two steamers, coffee for CB. Winter had long-since thawed into a beautiful spring, so the added heat wasn’t exactly needed, but the warmth radiating out from the mug was soothing nonetheless. 

Poppa let him have his silence for half-an-hour or so before he tried to broach the subject.  “Rusty.” Poppa’s voice was soft as he called to him but Rusty still jumped, startled as he was called back into himself. He looked up and found Poppa watching him with a touch of concern. “What’s on your mind, son?”

Rusty’s heart pounded. He would have liked at least a few more minutes to prepare himself, but if Poppa was the one bringing it up, it might not be a bad segue. He glanced over at CB, silently asking, Is now the time? CB met his gaze steadily. 

Rusty took a deep breath, shifting nervously in his chair. His throat was closing up on him and he swallowed thickly before clearing it, trying to loosen it up enough to speak. “There, um… there’s actually something we need to talk to you about.”

Poppa’s brows pinched together, his concern mounting at the gravity in Rusty’s voice. His eyes flicked over to CB, trying to glean what was going on, but CB was looking away now, refusing to meet his gaze. “Is everything okay?”

“Um…” Rusty bit his lip. No matter how many times he had this conversation, it never got any easier. And this time might have actually been worse than all the others. He’d thought it was bad enough when he’d had to break the news to poor Dustin, but that couldn’t hold a candle to this. He glanced back at CB, looking for a little help, but CB wasn’t looking at him either. He was on his own.

It didn’t matter. He had to do this. “It’s, um…” he cleared his throat again. “It’s Control.”

“What about Control?”

“You know that new equipment he ordered?”

Poppa nodded. “It’s monitoring equipment, right?” He turned to CB. “To help you?”

CB scowled. 

Rusty reached over and laid a hand on CB’s knee under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. It was as much to comfort CB as it was to comfort himself. “It’s not exactly to help.”

Poppa frowned. “Then what—?”

“He’s…” Rusty cut him off before needing to pause himself. He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. This was the hard part, and he knew by now that there was no easy way to say it. He was just going to have to rip the bandaid off. “He’s getting them as a replacement. Once they come in, he’s going to have CB decommissioned.”

After all of the other times he’d done this, Rusty was used to the pattern that people’s reactions fell into when he told them: the initial moment it took for the words to sink in; the brief confusion when, for a second, they were sure they’d misheard; the dawning horror when they realized that they’d heard correctly, and it began to hit them what exactly that meant.

Poppa opened and closed his mouth a few times but no words came out. His eyes flicked back and forth between CB and Rusty like he couldn’t decide which one needed his attention more. The pain in his eyes was almost unbearable, but Rusty tried to meet his gaze as much as he could. He figured he owed him at least that much, especially since CB was still glaring at the table. 

After another couple of seconds, Poppa gave up on whatever it was he was trying to say, settling instead on, “Oh, boys.” He got up and quickly rounded the table, coming over and gathering Rusty and CB up in a hug.

Tears pricked at the corners of Rusty’s eyes, and he blinked them away. As safe as he would feel breaking down and sobbing in Poppa’s arms, right now, it wasn’t about him. He twisted around as much as he was able to in Poppa’s hold so he could hug the older steamer back.

CB, on the other hand, was as rigid as a statue. Rusty couldn’t tell if it was an act to keep up appearances, actual irritation at the coddling, or a desperate need to keep anyone from seeing him get genuinely emotional that had him tearing out of Poppa’s hold so roughly, but he suspected it was some mixture of all three. Seconds later, CB was all but running out of the house without so much as a goodbye.

Poppa watched him go, staring down the hall long after CB was gone. The air that hung over them was thick and tense. Poppa and Rusty stayed frozen where they were, neither of them knowing quite what to do next.

“Sorry,” Poppa said after a few moments, his voice tight with choked-back tears, “I didn’t mean to make him so upset.”

“It’s fine,” Rusty told him. “It’s just a lot right now.”

When another minute passed and Rusty hadn't moved, Poppa’s eyes shifted onto him. “Aren’t you going to go after him?”

Rusty shook his head. “I think he needs to be alone for a bit. He hasn’t had any time to himself since we started telling people.” 

Poppa hummed thoughtfully. “I would’ve thought he’d like the attention.”

“This is different.”

The conversation lapsed after that. What else was there to say? They settled back down at the table and sipped their tea together in silence. The atmosphere was too heavy to call it nice, but it was companionable at least.

When he went to leave, Poppa stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. “If either of you boys need anything, anything at all…”

Rusty forced a tight smile for him. “Thanks.” It was the same offer he’d received from just about everyone else he’d told, and as well-meaning as it was, it always felt a little empty. It wasn't that he doubted that they wanted to help, but what could they do?

Poppa gave him one last hug before he left, which Rusty accepted gratefully. He could tell Poppa was reluctant to let him go, but after a minute Rusty had to pull away. After all, CB needed comfort right now, too, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Rusty had given him as much breathing room as he could stand this afternoon; it was time he went and found CB to give him a hug of his own.

***

The days had settled down back into a routine.

After the news had been spread, once everyone got over the initial shock, there was an immediate movement to figure out some way to save CB. It had caused quite the stir, sweeping over the yard in all its parts. Everyone had gotten involved. 

It started with a near-endless stream of pleas for mercy, which Dinah had put on her best waterworks for, but their cries fell on deaf ears. Control was playing it too pragmatically—the yard wasn't making as much as it used to; they couldn't afford keeping on any superfluous cars. At that, the Rockies suggested the idea of taking a pay cut. If it was money Control was worried about, he could take CB’s salary out of the budget and allocate a percentage of theirs to the caboose instead. The rest of the freight and then the coaches had all volunteered for the cut, but Control didn't go for it. It was too much math, he said. Too complicated.

The electrics had made an attempt as well. As soon as CB had gone to her for the appraisal, Wrench had started drawing up plans for converting him into Electra’s communications truck, an idea Electra had quickly gotten on board with, offering to personally fund the conversion as well as all of CB’s living and maintenance costs from then on. But Electra’s team was already too big for just a personal team, Control had said; he didn’t need it getting any bigger.

Greaseball had even put forth the idea of rejoining the racing circuit and taking CB on as his permanent partner. They could bring not only more money to the yard, but prestige as well. Control was seeming almost spiteful with how deadset he was on getting rid of CB, but maybe if CB was able to make Control look good, it might be enough for him to change his mind.

But no. Control didn't trust CB in any races, and he didn't want CB to tarnish the yard’s name with more cheating.

Rusty had begged Control for days on end to just fire CB. He didn't have to scrap him. He could just let him go, nice and simple. Control wouldn't have to pay him, the yard would still get smaller, and if Control really wanted him gone, there was a small shed just outside of the yard he and Rusty could move into. It would be tight, the two of them living on just Rusty’s paycheck, but they could do it, and CB wouldn't bother Control again.

Control hadn’t gone for that idea, either. He needed the money from scrapping CB to pay for the new ETDs. 

Rusty wasn’t a violent engine by any means, but hearing Control throw that out so casually made him want to throttle him. 

Privately, Rusty had also suggested to CB that he run away. It would kill Rusty to see him go, but it would be better knowing that he was still out there somewhere than having him be scrapped. Sadly, that plan wasn't feasible, either. There wouldn't be any other yards willing to hire a new caboose, and CB didn't have the kind of money it would take to pay for his own conversion. If he couldn't get a job and join a new yard, he wouldn't be able to make it on his own for very long. And if Rusty came with him? Control may or may not have cared enough to spend the resources to go after just CB if he was planning on getting rid of him anyway, but losing an engine would be a different story. He would have a search team out in a heartbeat, and CB would be caught right beside Rusty.

There was nothing they could do.

That was a fact that the rest of the yard had, to varying degrees, begrudgingly accepted. But not Rusty. There was no way he could just roll over and accept it. There was no way he could just let CB go.

Still, for all his conviction, he couldn’t deny that he was losing hope. It was hard to stay positive when your every idea was so brutally shot down.

But as much as Rusty hated it, life went on. He still went over for his visits with Poppa, increasing them from just once a week to two or three times if he could manage it. Sometimes, CB joined him for them, but more often he didn’t. He’d never been quite as fond of the visits as Rusty was, and now that everyone knew about his limited time left, he only went if he really felt like it. After all, no one could blame him for skipping it in favor of something he found more fun.

Rusty didn’t mind. Poppa’s house was a port in a storm for him, and he appreciated having a time to get away from it all and just breathe.

He also, a bit selfishly, liked having someone be concerned about him. Everything was about CB nowadays, and rightfully so, but Rusty couldn’t help but feel like his own struggles with everything that was going on were being somewhat overlooked. 

With Poppa, it was different. “How’re you holding up, Rusty?” was the first thing he asked every visit, and it was a genuine question. He wouldn’t leave it alone until he got an honest answer.

It was nice to be able to get some of his actual emotions off of his chest. Rusty was spending a lot of time swallowing back his feelings for CB’s sake—he didn’t like it when Rusty was upset, and he hated it when Rusty pointed out anything having to do with his decommissioning—and he knew it wasn’t healthy. He needed to talk to someone about it, but every time he thought about bringing it up, he worried that he would be detracting attention from CB or piling more negativity onto an already awful situation.

But Poppa was always there for him, a steady rock for Rusty to lean on. He let Rusty vent until his heart was clear, never judging him if the things he said turned terrible and going so far as to offer some fatherly advice when he could. Of course, it didn’t remedy the situation they were in, but Rusty always left feeling at least a little better.

He was over Poppa’s again today. CB hadn’t joined him, opting instead to spend the afternoon with Dinah and Greaseball. Rusty hadn’t been invited, but he didn’t mind. As much as he wanted to spend every second possible with CB from here on out, he knew how important it was for them to still have their space. He knew CB wanted to be with him as much as possible, too, but he also knew CB wanted to spend time with his other friends as well.

Besides, Dinah might actually kill him if he tried to restrict her access to CB.

With those thoughts in mind, Rusty had happily waved CB off when he left that morning before making his own way over to Poppa’s.

Poppa’s house was the same as it ever was, and within minutes of Rusty showing up, they were both seated at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. Poppa listened quietly as Rusty rambled about how disheartening it was to see everyone else giving up on trying to find a way to save CB. After all their previous failures he couldn’t blame them for that—the fact that they’d ever tried at all meant more than he could say—but at the same time, it still hurt. Poppa nodded along, and the understanding was enough to make Rusty feel at least a little better, even if they couldn’t come up with any solutions for the situation. 

When it came time for Rusty to leave, Poppa offered him an old photo album he’d kept. Most of it was pictures from when Rusty was younger, but there were a few towards the end of him and CB that Poppa thought he might like to have. Rusty waited for him in the front hall while he went to get it, looking at the collection of photographs and the like that Poppa had hung up on the wall to pass the time. Rusty had seen them all often enough that they mostly faded into the background whenever he came over, but today, one of them was catching his eye: a small plaque inscribed with Poppa’s name and the year he was built over the signature of the Railway Historical Society. 

Outwardly, it appeared to be a very unassuming piece of memorabilia. Rusty must have seen it hundreds of times before but he had never given it too much thought. It wasn’t that the meaning of the plaque was lost on him; he knew Poppa was a member of the RHS. He had been for almost as long as Rusty could remember. But Rusty had never viewed the membership as anything overly-special. It was an honor, to be sure, but mostly it was just another facet of Poppa’s life. 

Now, Rusty was beginning to see it in a different light. 

As a historic engine, Poppa was preserved. Even as steamers fell by the wayside and Poppa took on fewer and fewer responsibilities in the yard, he was protected by the Railway Historical Society. Control couldn't touch him.

The gears started turning in Rusty’s head. CB wasn't old enough to be considered historic. Nor, quite frankly, was he important enough. At least, not yet.

Cabooses were disappearing at an alarming rate. From how CB made it sound, Control had been a little slow to pick up the current trend. Already, he said, at least half of the cabooses at other yards he spoke to had been decommissioned. The rest, like him, had been handed their paperwork and were just waiting for their last day.

The entire class was going extinct. Chances were, there would be none left before the year was out. That was important, then, wasn't it? To preserve at least a few of its members before they were all gone for good?

It was worth a shot. Anything was worth a shot.

***

The more Rusty looked into the application process for the RHS, the more overwhelmed he began to feel. It wasn’t necessarily hard, per se, but it was daunting, and made even more so by the fact that Rusty knew he had to get it perfect. 

The application had three parts: a simple form to gather personal information, like name, age, and class; a few long-form responses to explain why the applicant should be considered for membership; and an integrity inspection. 

The personal introduction was easy, and Rusty breezed through it without a second thought. The essays were a different story. How was he supposed to write a compelling argument for why CB should be accepted to a historical society when the only two reasons he had swirling around his head were I love him and he’ll be scrapped if you don’t? How could he come up with an objective list of reasons that CB deserved to live? 

Still, as hard as they were, the essays were at least doable. The integrity inspection was a different beast entirely. It was the only part of the application that Rusty couldn’t take care of himself. 

In theory, it wouldn’t be too hard for CB to get an inspection done. Most repair trucks were authorized to give them, and if an applicant wasn’t able to make it to a repair center, the RHS offered a long list of trucks who were able to make house calls. The problem was, Rusty didn’t want CB to have an inspection done. He didn’t want him to know about the application at all. 

Admittedly, he didn't feel the best about that particular decision. Keeping secrets from CB had never worked out well for him in the past, and besides, for a decision as life-changing as this, CB should absolutely be involved.

That being said, he couldn't quite bring himself to tell CB about it. Truthfully, he was scared. All of their ideas so far had been brutally shot down—what if this was the same? He didn't necessarily want to expect the worst, but after so many rejections it was hard to envision anything else, and he wasn’t sure he could handle the guilt if he got CB’s hopes up only to have them crushed again.

But what else could he do? He couldn’t just fabricate a whole inspection report.

Rusty had chewed on the dilemma for a few days before an idea struck him. CB had gotten appraised. That report was likely to be a bit morbid, but when it boiled down to it, how different was it from an integrity inspection? Both were top-to-bottom inspections, listing out in excruciating detail not only the subject’s current physical condition, but that of all of their parts. The appraisal, of course, would be far more focused on the resale value of everything, but it would still note which parts were original and which had been replaced, which were damaged and the strength of any repairs. Wasn’t that what an integrity inspection would be looking for?

On top of all that, since CB had gotten appraised in the yard, Wrench had been the one to do it. Not only would she already have a copy of the report already in CB’s file, knowing Wrench, she probably had one or two spares on hand as well. And she might be willing to give Rusty one.

He snuck over to Wrench’s workroom early in the morning before work. CB was still asleep when he left, but by this point, Rusty was used to him coming in late. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t really be that mad about it. Now, it was actually coming in handy, because it let him slip away to Wrench’s without even worrying about being noticed.

Despite the early hour, the workroom door was already open. Wrench liked to make herself available as much as possible, especially at times when no one was on the track and actually had time to come see her. Still, seven in the morning must not have been a very common time for her to get a visit, because she looked vaguely surprised when Rusty poked his head through the door. 

“Hi, Wrench,” he called. He cast a quick glance around the room to make sure that they were truly alone. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted anyone overhearing. “Are you busy?”

“Not at the moment. Is something wrong?”

“No, I’m fine,” Rusty said, rolling into the room and shutting the door behind him. “I just need a favor.”

It wasn’t the sort of thing Rusty usually asked her for, but Wrench managed to keep any further surprise she may have had off her face. She didn’t say anything in response, but she raised a brow and gave him a subtle nod as a silent invitation to continue.

“Do you still have the appraisal paperwork you did for Control?”

That clearly hadn’t been what Wrench had been expecting, and for a moment, she looked taken aback. “I do,” she said carefully.

“Can I have a copy?”

Wrench scrutinized him, calculating eyes studying all the details of his face to try to work out what it was he was playing at. As CB’s healthcare proxy, Rusty could access his medical records, so that part of his request wasn’t too odd. But it was far from a normal thing to be asking for, and Wrench was clearly suspicious. “Rusty, what is this about?”

“It’s… Well, I…” Rusty hesitated. He hadn’t told anyone about the application yet, and for a moment, he was scared to, like talking about it might jinx it, or if word got out about what he was doing that it would be doomed to fail like all their other plans.

He quickly shook that thought off. He’d never been one for superstitions. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Wrench to get her involved—even if it was only tangentially—without telling her what she was really helping with. “I’m working on an application to the Railway Historical Society. For CB. I figured, if what he says is true, if all the yards are getting rid of their cabooses, then maybe… Maybe they’d take him.”

A spark of hope lit up in Wrench’s eyes. “Do you think so?”

Rusty shrugged. “It’s a possibility,” he said. “At the very least, it can't hurt to try.”

Wrench nodded in agreement. Honestly, it was a bit of a relief to have her on board with the application. Wrench was smart—one of the smartest in the yard. If she thought it was a good idea, then maybe they really did have a chance of it working out.

Despite her enthusiasm, it seemed like Wrench was still hung up on the details. “But why the appraisal?”

“It’s a part of the application,” Rusty told her. “Well, an integrity inspection is. I figure we can probably just use the appraisal.”

The answer, unfortunately, wasn’t satisfactory. “Why?” Wrench asked almost incredulously.

This wasn’t a line of questioning Rusty had been prepared to go down, and he scrambled to come up with an answer. “Well, it’s already done, right? We already have it. We might as well just use that instead of getting a whole new inspection done.”

Wrench didn’t look convinced. “They're not really interchangeable.”

“No, I know,” Rusty said, “but I’m sure it’s close enough. I can work something out.”

“But why not just do another inspection? It shouldn’t be that hard. I’m sure the RHS has a team for that sort of thing.”

“They do, but…”

“... but?” Wrench prompted after a few seconds passed without Rusty finishing his sentence.

Rusty hesitated. He didn't exactly want to say that he was doing the application without CB’s approval, even though it was the truth. At the same time, it was impossible to lie to Wrench, and trying would likely get him into more trouble than just coming clean. 

There was no getting out of it. “CB doesn't know about the application,” he admitted. “And I don't want him to. So, he's not getting another inspection. We’ll just have to make do with the appraisal.”

“You're trying to get him preserved without telling him?” The disapproval in Wrench’s voice was high.

“I know how it sounds,” Rusty said. And he did, really. Applying for preservation was a massive decision, and he was making it for CB, giving him no say in his own future. “It’s just… what if they reject him? You saw how much it hurt him every time Control said no to our ideas. Can you imagine how painful it would be for the RHS to turn him down, too? To know an entire committee decided you weren’t good enough to be saved?”

Wrench pursed her lips. “That’s still the sort of decision he should be making for himself.”

“I know,” Rusty said quietly, “and he can hate me for it if he wants. At least, if it works, he’ll still be around to hate me.”

A few moments passed in silence. Eventually, Wrench sighed. “I can have the report over to you by this evening.”

Rusty’s shoulders sagged as the relief hit him. “Thank you,” he breathed out. 

Since the appraisal was all that he had come to ask for, Rusty turned to leave. Wrench caught his shoulder as he did. “Keep me updated. Please.”

“Of course.”

“And if you need any help…”

“I’ll let you know.”

Wrench held his gaze for a moment, then gave his shoulder a grateful squeeze before letting him go. Rusty gave her a smile in return—as genuine as he could manage these days—and slipped out the door to the tracks.

***

It was another late night for Rusty. Buried in his work as he was, he barely noticed the hours ticking by, even though it was long past the time he used to be asleep by. He was still trying to keep the RHS application from CB, and since CB made it a habit to be involved in everyone’s business—especially Rusty’s—the only time he really had to work on it was after CB had gone to bed.  

He sat at his desk in the office, sifting through the swamp of papers that had built up over the past hour. He always started these sessions trying his best to keep everything in order, but there were so many reports and references and notes and questionnaires that it ended up a mess within minutes. 

The light of his desk lamp was dim but warm. That combined with the silence and the stillness of the house around him made for a very soothing environment, even if what he was working on was anything but.

Rusty was running out of time for the application. There were only a few weeks left until the ETDs were projected to arrive, and during that time, he had to not only finish the application, but mail it, have it be reviewed, and have the RHS’s decision mailed back. Even if he was able to mail in the application for overnight delivery like he was planning, that didn't leave a lot of time for the rest of it. As it was, he wasn't even halfway done with the application, and the stress of needing to finish it sooner rather than later was starting to wear on him.

Rusty rubbed his eyes, fighting back a yawn as he tried to get himself to focus. He probably had it in him to stay up for another hour or so, which was little enough time as it was. He had too much to get done to be able to afford slowing down. He just needed to power through, and—

“You should’ve come to bed by now.”

Rusty jumped. He turned to look over his shoulder and there was CB, leaning in the doorway, watching him with an inscrutable expression. “Sorry. I’ll be right there.”

CB wasn’t placated by that, not that Rusty had really expected him to be. He pushed himself into the room, eyeing the desk over Rusty’s shoulder. “What are you working on?”

“Oh. Um…” Rusty glanced down at the paper in front of him. It was the copy of CB’s appraisal he’d gotten from Wrench. He’d been poring over it, trying to pull out the information the RHS was looking for in the integrity inspection. It wasn't the easiest of tasks—Wrench hadn't been lying when she said the two inspections served very different purposes—but he was making do. He was still able to track through CB’s upgrades and maintenance work, and once Wrench sent over a copy of CB’s last physical, that should be everything he needed. The next step would be synthesizing it into a proper report to attach to the application, but that wouldn't be for a while. Rusty had been at this for three days by now, and he was only on page four out of seven in the appraisal.

CB had draped himself over Rusty's shoulders, giving him the perfect vantage point to survey the papers for himself. When he saw what it was that had Rusty up so late into the night, he sighed. “I told you to let it go.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not.”

CB shook his head. “Look. I appreciate how hard you’re trying to save me. Really, I do. But Control isn’t going to change his mind. All this”—he gestured at the desk—“is going to do is drive you mad.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Rusty…”

“No. We haven’t tried everything yet; I know we haven’t. So Control won't back down on this. So what? There are other paths out there. One of them has to work!”

CB was watching him sadly. “Just because you want that to be true doesn’t mean that it is.”

“It can't hurt to at least try.”

“It can and it will,” CB told him. “You’re going to put all this time and effort into this last-ditch attempt to turn things around, and you’re going to convince yourself that it’s going to work to make it all seem worth it. And then it’s going to blow up in your face and you’ll be crushed.” He wasn’t saying it harshly, but rather matter-of-factly, as if he’d looked into the future and already seen how this would end. 

Rusty shook his head. “I can’t just accept that there’s nothing we can do.”

“You’re going to have to.”

“CB…”

“No. Rusty, listen to me, please.” Please wasn’t a word CB said often, and he seldom ever sounded so serious. The shock of it made Rusty’s jaw snap shut as CB swung around to face him. “You want to help; you want to fix this. You don’t think this is fair, and you’ve never been one to take that sort of thing lying down. That’s admirable. But this can’t be fixed. There’s no amount of work you can do, no secret formula you can work out, that’s going to stop this from happening. And the more you try, the more it’s going to hurt in the end, because I’ll still be gone, but this way you’ll be blaming yourself because you’ll think you could have done something about it.

“I’m not going to be around much longer.” He said it so simply, so matter-of-factly. Just hearing it made Rusty want to cry. “I want to spend the time I have left happily. With you. Not kicked to the side while you drive yourself crazy over plans that won't work.”

A protest rose in Rusty’s throat, an objection that this was different because it would work if Rusty did it right, that Control’s pig-headedness wouldn’t even matter here because they were going over his head . He swallowed it back. That wasn't what CB wanted to hear right now. That wasn't really even his point.

For the first time, Rusty took a moment to really consider what it would mean if the RHS rejected his application. Of course, he knew what it would mean for CB—that was why he was trying so hard to make it perfect. But he hadn’t quite considered what it would mean in a broader sense.

It would mean that all of his work was for nothing. It would mean that he had sacrificed what little time he had left with CB over a fruitless endeavor. It would mean that he would spend the rest of his life regretting not spending more time enjoying just having CB with him while he still had him.

And, he realized, it would mean that CB would be decommissioned feeling like he, too, had lost time he could have spent with Rusty. Because he’d been doing this while CB was asleep, he hadn’t thought of it like he was giving up any of the time they had left together. The fact of the matter was, though, he had. Even if all he had missed out on was a few extra hours of getting to hold CB while they slept, it was a very real possibility that that was something he wouldn’t be able to do for much longer. He should be cherishing it while he still could.

Regret turned into a frantic need pounding in his chest, a need to be touching CB in some way, to be holding him like he should have been all along. He reached out, pulling CB into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” CB told him. “I just want you to be here.”

“I am. I promise.”

CB pressed a kiss to the top of Rusty’s head. “Thank you.”

They spent several minutes like that, wrapped in each other’s arms and content in the comfortable silence that had settled over them. As the seconds ticked by, more and more of the tension seeped out of Rusty’s frame. 

It was another few moments before CB pulled back. “Come to bed?”

Rusty nodded. “Just let me clean all of this up, first.”

CB studied his face for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. He must have ruled Rusty to be telling the truth, because he returned the nod, pulling the rest of the way away. He took a glance at the mess on the desk before saying, “Don't take too long.”

“I won't,” Rusty assured him. “I’ll be right there.”

“You’d better be,” CB said. Then, he placed a gentle kiss on Rusty’s forehead before heading out of the office. 

Rusty watched him go, already feeling the urge to be following. He really did need to do something about the mess on his desk, though, and he swept up an armful of papers to start putting them away.

As he dropped the appraisal paperwork back into the drawer, he paused. He wasn't giving up on this. He couldn't. They had a legitimate chance here, and it wasn't just because he was desperate that Rusty believed that.

Maybe if he told CB about the application he would change his mind. The potential it offered was undeniable, and if he got CB on board with it, it would solve both of Rusty’s problems at once: he could spend more time with CB and get the application done even quicker.

There were too many downsides that kept Rusty from pursuing that plan any further. Even beyond how painful it would be to get CB’s hopes up in case the application got rejected, it felt wrong to make him do any extra work right now. He should be enjoying his life, especially if the RHS did end up turning him away—if this really was all the time he had left, Rusty wanted him to spend it doing nothing but whatever made him happiest.

It was also entirely possible that CB wouldn’t be as enthused about the application as Rusty. He’d turned into a bit of a pessimist recently, and Rusty wouldn’t put it past him to give up on the idea without even trying it. If Rusty told CB what he was doing, and CB told him to stop, would he feel like he had to? Or was this important enough that he would keep going, even though he knew it was directly against CB’s wishes? And would CB ever forgive him if he did?

It was too risky, Rusty decided. Besides, he was close enough to being done anyway. He could find some way to finish without sacrificing any of the time he had left with CB. 

In the morning, though, he told himself, stifling a yawn. For tonight, he had a bed and a boyfriend calling his name.

***

In the end, Rusty reached out to a select few cars for some extra help.

Wrench was the first one he went to. She already knew what he was doing, after all, and she probably should have been the one to handle the integrity stuff anyway. When Rusty handed her the work he’d done so far, she’d skimmed over it and nodded approvingly, then immediately got to work picking up where he’d left off.

He’d also gone to Poppa. Having been through the application process once before and having been accepted, Rusty figured he might have at least some insight on what sort of things might make for a strong application. The essays were already mostly finished, they just needed some polishing and final touches. Or so Rusty hoped, at least.

Poppa was excited about the idea, despite Rusty’s best attempts to temper his expectations. They had no guarantee that this would work, and getting Poppa’s hopes up only to have them crushed by a rejection would be almost as bad as doing it to CB.

Rusty himself was doing his best to stay positive—he had to believe that they actually had a chance here—but it was hard to be enthusiastic with all the stress. It would be the RHS’s decision whether or not they accepted CB, but it was Rusty’s job to convince them that they should. CB’s future depended on Rusty crafting the perfect application, and that was all he could think about.

Poppa coming on board for the project ended up being a blessing for multiple reasons. Not only was he helping with the essays and ensuring they were up to the RHS’s standards, he was also reassuring Rusty every step of the way that they were on the right track, that Rusty’s work was more than good enough, that he just had to have faith.

Rusty wasn’t sure how much he believed him, but it was good to hear nonetheless. 

It only took them a single afternoon to finish up the essays. It was, Rusty worried, suspiciously quick. He stayed up late again that night, combing through the essays for any potential flaw, and was back at Poppa’s first thing the next morning for a second pair of eyes. 

He lost track of how many times they reread their work over the next few days. Rusty had gone so far as to rewrite everything, though Poppa had tried to talk him out of it. Poppa’s argument had been that the essays were fine as they were, but Rusty couldn’t settle for just fine. The RHS wouldn’t accept the application if it was just fine. It had to be amazing. It had to be unignorable.

He felt better about the second drafts. Still, he and Poppa pored over the essays four more times after that, tweaking them as they went. Rusty was sure Poppa hadn’t put this much effort into his own application. He hadn’t complained once, but Rusty could tell Poppa thought he was getting a bit obsessive. But he couldn’t help it; there was too much riding on the application for it to be anything less than perfect.

They needed to get it right. 

It took another two passes before Rusty was confident enough to call the essays done. Or, more accurately, before Poppa was able to convince Rusty that they were as good as they were ever going to get. During that time, Wrench had finished converting CB’s medical records into an acceptable integrity inspection report.

Rusty had accepted the finished report from her with no small amount of gratitude. It would have taken him another week at least to have done it on his own, and even then, it wouldn’t have ended up being anywhere near as professional.

With the finished application put together in his hands, Rusty should have felt relieved. Instead, a sinking feeling of doubt was creeping up on him, not about the quality of their work, but about the reasonability of the plan itself. The application was nothing more than a stack of paper. It seemed so small and insignificant. Was this really enough to stop CB from being decommissioned? Was this really the best they could do?

It could work, he told himself, forcing down the negative thoughts clawing at the back of his mind. It would work. It had to work.

And then, all that was left to do was mail it in. Rusty’s heart was in his throat as he stood in front of the mailbox, the application in a deathgrip in his hand. He was putting CB’s life into someone else’s hands when he sent out the application, and he hated it. A million what-ifs plagued his mind. What if the RHS said no? What if the application wasn’t good enough? What if they lost CB because Rusty had failed him?

Rusty swallowed thickly and took a deep breath to try to quell his nerves. This was their one shot, he reminded himself. He had to do it. 

It took a great deal of mental effort to force his hand open, to uncurl his fingers and let go of the envelope. He could hear it land with a quiet rustle amongst the other letters in the bin.

He stood there frozen for a moment, not sure what to do with himself now that the application was out of his hands.

Poppa laid a hand on his shoulder and gave a reassuring rub. “It’s up to the RHS, now.”

Rusty’s stomach clenched at the thought. 

But Poppa was right. This was a necessary part of the plan, and Rusty had known it from the start. Everything he’d been doing was to make the best application possible, so the RHS had no choice but to accept CB. Now was the time for them to make that decision, so there was nothing left for Rusty to do but go home and start counting the days it took for the RHS to reply.

***

The ETDs arrived two days later. A single, small, unassuming box was delivered directly to Control, much to the kid’s delight. Immediately, he could be heard excitedly discussing all his big plans for the future of the yard. The ETDs were just the first step in his plan for modernization—big changes, he promised, were certainly on their way.

Rusty was called to the office not much later to pick up the devices. He was shaking as Control handed the box to him. He didn’t want these; he didn’t want any of this. He wanted to shove the box back at Control, or to throw it in the incinerator. 

But he couldn’t. No matter how much he hated it, he knew he had no choice but to take the ETDs. So he did, fighting down revulsion the whole time. 

Once he left Conrol’s office, he promptly shoved the box into the back of the store room and tried to forget about it, but it was no use—everyone in the freight yard heard him get called into the office, everyone saw him leaving with the box. They all knew what that meant. Thankfully, they were all also on the same page in acting like they hadn't seen anything, but Rusty’s every thought still spun back to that damn box no matter how hard he tried.

Of course, pretending like it didn’t exist was a tactic that could only last for so long. After three days, Control was questioning why the ETDs weren’t being used yet, and after another two he was demanding to see them on the track. Rusty tried to stall for a little bit longer—arguing that, since they’d already planned out the work schedule for the next two weeks, they would have to wait until at least then to have any time to figure out how to work with the ETDS, and then insisting that he’d forgotten where he put them—but it was no use. That same afternoon, he was dragging the box back out of storage, feeling like he was going to be sick the entire time.

Inside the box, the new technology sat innocently. There were eight devices in total: one head-of-train device for each engine, a matching end-of-train device to be carried by the last car in their line, and a spare of each. When Rusty went to distribute them, Electra admitted that he already had an HTD built into his main computer, but he accepted a set anyway just to take it off of Rusty's hands.

The next step was to figure out how to actually use them. Rusty had pored over the manuals, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of them. Admittedly, his heart wasn’t really in figuring it all out. If he could have called all the new technology a wash because it was too complex to use, he would have. Sadly, that wasn’t an option.

CB had ended up explaining it to him, sitting down next to him one night and showing him how to check the brake pressure and activate the emergency brake and make sure everyone in the line was still connected. Rusty was hanging on every word he said, not out of any interest in learning how the ETDs worked but because there was a very real possibility that he wouldn’t get to listen to CB much longer. He put all his focus into trying to enjoy it while he still could, committing the sound of CB’s voice to memory. The fact that he ended up picking up how to use the ETDs that evening faster than he’d learned anything before was just an unfortunate consequence.

For a few days after that, CB’s theory that Control might keep him around while the yard got used to the ETDs proved right. As with any new technology, there was a learning curve to them, and while everyone was working out just how to use them, CB hung around as backup. Mostly, he sat on the side of the track, keeping an expert eye on how the line was moving, but sometimes he would jump on the end if something looked wrong or if they were having trouble seeing behind them as they backed up.

It wasn’t sustainable, Rusty knew, but it was nice. Every second he got to spend with CB at this point was a blessing, and as long as Control hadn’t announced a date for his decommission yet, Rusty could pretend like it was going to be put off for the foreseeable future. It was blissful, blatant denial, but he’d live in it while he could.

Then CB got called into Control’s office.

The afternoon had started out like any other. The yard had breaked for lunch and was lounging outside, enjoying the sun and the beautiful weather. Rusty, of course, was sitting with CB, basking in his company while he still could. 

Of course, the peace couldn't last. “Red Caboose to the Assets and Operations Office,” crackled the loudspeaker.

Everyone froze. Silence descended over the yard, tense and thick and suffocating. Rusty’s hand tightened into vice around CB’s, a wash of dread flooding over him. 

CB gave his hand a reassuring squeeze in return. “It's fine,” he told him softly. 

It wasn't fine, but there was also nothing to be done about it. This was the call that they’d both known was coming, but despite the fact that they'd been waiting for it on tenterhooks for the better part of a month, it still felt like it had come too soon.

Rusty was hit with the sudden urge to run. The fear that had been slowly creeping up on him for the past few weeks was finally close enough to feel like an immediate threat, and his fight or flight reflex was kicking in. He wanted to take CB and flee, escape the yard before Control could get his hands on them. 

He couldn’t do it. He knew he couldn’t, but that knowledge didn’t make the idea any less tempting. 

He was sure his desperation was plain on his face, but CB met his eyes steadily, stoically, just a touch of sadness in his gaze. He knew what Rusty was thinking. He knew as well as Rusty it wasn’t feasible.

A sob was building in Rusty’s throat and he swallowed it back thickly. “Can I at least pull you over?” he asked weakly.

CB took a deep breath in, quivering at the end as he fought to keep his composure. “Please.”

Rusty nodded, his throat too tight to speak. Wordlessly, he stood up, turning slightly so CB could hitch on.

The feeling of CB’s hands on his couplers was a familiar comfort. Normally, Rusty loved the feeling of pulling CB—the reassuring tightness of his grip, the quiet whir of his wheels behind him, the way he would always leave his brakes on just enough that Rusty couldn’t ignore him if he wanted to.

Now, however, all he could think about was where they were going and what was waiting for them when they got there. Every step he took dropped another stone in the pit in his stomach but he kept going. He didn’t really have any other choice

All eyes were on them as they made their way to Control’s office. He must have made the call over all the speakers they had, because even outside the freight yard, they were being watched. The coaches, the electrics, and even the diesel gang stopped and stared as they passed.

Even without turning back to look at him, Rusty could feel how uncomfortable it was making CB. Normally, he loved being the center of attention. But there was something different about being the center of pity. Everyone knew why Control was looking for him, what sort of news he was going to hear. 

Rusty was dragging his feet, but even so, he couldn’t make the trip last forever. All too soon, he caught sight of Control’s office rising up before them. 

Rusty wanted to be sick.

At the door to the office, they stopped. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The air was tense and brittle with an icy apprehension. 

Rusty was the one that broke the silence. “Do you think I can come in with you?”

“Probably not,” CB said, even as his grip tightened on Rusty’s couplers.

The thought of sending CB in to face the situation on his own was repellant, but Rusty knew it wasn’t up to either of them. If Control wanted the meeting to be just him and CB, then that was exactly how it would be. “I’ll wait out here for you, then.”

CB nodded. He wasn't looking at Rusty, eyes stuck on the office door like he was transfixed. “Thanks.”

It was another minute before CB shook himself out of his reverie. Rusty felt him flex his grip around his couplers like he was trying to ground himself before letting go. “This… probably won’t take long.”

Rusty swallowed thickly. “I’ll be here.”

CB nodded. He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders before straightening his back, pushing open the door, and rolling into Control’s office with his head held high.

The door swung closed behind him with a definitive click.

For several long minutes, Rusty waited in front of the office, his stomach tying itself in knots. A jittery feeling had started up in his legs, and he was once more hit with the desire to run. At the same time, he felt rooted to the spot, unable to do anything until CB came back out. He took up pacing as an unhappy medium between the two.

His head snapped up so fast it almost gave him whiplash when he heard the door open. CB was standing in the doorway with a stack of what could have only been decommission paperwork held loosely at his side, his face carefully—intentionally—blank.

Rusty froze, icy dread turning his muscles to stone. Tense silence settled over them, so thick Rusty was practically choking on it. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t dare. Maybe, an irrational part of him thought, if he didn’t know, then it wouldn’t happen. If CB didn’t say it, if neither of them acknowledged it, they could pretend like nothing was wrong. And maybe, if they pretended well enough, it might become true. 

The larger part of him recognized how ridiculous that was. This was happening, whether Rusty knew the exact details or not. Wouldn’t it be better, then, to have all the information? To make sure he could make the most of the time they had left?

Even so, he couldn’t shake the part of him that didn’t want to know, that was crying that knowing would make it real and begging for the protection of ignorance. 

He was about two seconds away from starting to shake when CB broke their stalemate with a heavy exhale. 

“Two weeks,” he said, holding the stack out for Rusty.

It was a struggle for Rusty to keep his hand steady as he reached out to take the papers, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them once he did. He stared down at them blankly, not even reading them. All he could think was that this was it. This was what he’d been dreading. The end of everything boiled down to a few sheets of papers and two signatures at the bottom.

His eyes fixed on those signatures, on CB’s in particular. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Control was having him sold for scrap, he had to add the ultimate insult to injury and force CB to literally sign his life away.

It wasn’t fair. It was cruel and degrading and heartless. CB shouldn’t have had to go through that. No one should.

The situation was too awful to put into words, but still Rusty tried, summing it up with a very quiet, “Fuck.”

CB said nothing. There was nothing else to say.

For a long moment, they stood in silence. Rusty stared down at the papers, reading over phrases like “to maintain condition” and “cash on pickup” without really taking them in. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

When CB finally spoke, his voice was weak and shaky. “Can we go home?”

Tears had welled up in Rusty’s eyes, and he blinked quickly to clear them away. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream or sob, but whatever the sound was that was building in his throat, he swallowed it back. “Yeah,” he said, his voice soft and tight and sounding every bit as defeated as he felt. “Let’s go home.”

***

Even with CB’s last day now set in stone, Rusty was still near religious about checking the mail every morning. Part of it was habit, but part of it was some shred of hope that refused to die. Despite everything, he was still on the lookout for the decision letter from the RHS. The whole world didn’t stop just because Rusty’s was ending; even though CB was officially scheduled for decommission, the application had already been sent. The mail trucks would still deliver it to the RHS; there was no way to stop it, no way to tell the RHS it was too late. At some point, they would get the application and review it and send their decision back. It had to get there eventually.

And today was that day.

Rusty was frozen, staring down at the envelope in his hands, sick with anxiety. The logo for the Railway Historical Society sat innocently in the corner. Rusty was sure it had never looked so terrifying to anyone before.

The rest of the mail already lay forgotten on the counter. Rusty only had eyes for this, this one envelope that held the determination of not just his future but, more importantly, CB’s. 

It could be good news, he told himself, trying to quell the nervous twisting of his stomach. He and Poppa and Wrench had put so much into the application, had given it their all to make it perfect. It could have been enough. The RHS could have accepted it, and this could be the letter that told him so.

But just as easily, his mind spun back, it could be a rejection. All of their other attempts to stop CB’s decommission had failed, so why should this one be any different? 

Minutes ticked by as Rusty stood there, unable to move. As long as the envelope remained closed, it could contain anything. It almost felt safer to leave it like that, to hang onto the possibility of it containing an acceptance rather than run the risk of confirming a denial.

But no. Whatever the letter said, good or bad, he needed to know. 

There was only one way to find out.

Rusty slid a finger under the flap of the envelope, feeling so weak that it was a struggle to rip the paper open. He held his breath as he drew the letter out, hardly daring to look at it. But he had to read it. He had to know. 

Biting his lip, Rusty carefully unfolded the letter and read:

On behalf of the Railway Historical Society, we are pleased to announce the acceptance of The Red Caboose into our

Rusty stopped reading after that. A wave of relief crashed over him, so strong that it sent his legs weak enough to give out from under him. He collapsed into a chair, hardly even noticing his own change in position.

Accepted. Accepted. They'd done it. CB was going to be preserved. He was going to be saved.

Suddenly boneless, Rusty dropped the letter. It fluttered down to land on the table in front of him. Rusty sagged to follow.

Quietly at first, then quickly growing louder, laughter bubbled up around him. It sounded almost unhinged. Manic. It took Rusty a few moments to realize it was coming from him.

He pushed himself up from the table, leaning his weight instead against the back of the chair. He was still too weak with relief to support himself and he sagged back, his neck losing the fight against gravity until his head tipped back and he found himself looking up at the ceiling. His wild laughter increased in volume until he was practically shouting with it.

They’d done it. He wanted to tear out of the house and scream it at the top of his lungs. He wanted to run from car to car and spread the good news as fast and as far as he could, to make sure everyone knew.

Control would be angry. Rusty couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when they told him. He was already relishing the mental image of the rage in his eyes when he realized that his plans were ruined and there was nothing he could do about it, how he would have to hold himself back from a tantrum when he realized he’d been bested. He might try to take it out on Rusty, but that was fine. He wouldn’t be able to do anything to CB, and that was what mattered. 

CB was safe. Rusty could still hardly believe it. This was it, this was everything he’d been working for these past few weeks. This was the resolution he’d been praying for.

CB was still here. He was going to stay here. Rusty wasn’t going to lose him.

“You're being loud,” CB said from behind him. He was standing in the entryway to the kitchen, clearly having just rolled out of bed. Rusty must have woken him up. He couldn't find it in himself to care.

For a brief moment, the sight of him took Rusty’s breath away. He was beautiful. Even with his bleary eyes and his hair a mess and lines from the pillow still pressed into his cheek, he was the most gorgeous thing Rusty had seen, and all he wanted to do was keep staring at him, forever if he could. Because he was here. He was alive and vibrant and beautiful and here.

He needed to be over there, next to CB. He needed to touch him, to hold him.

Rusty rocketed up out of his chair and over to CB, closing the distance between them. He reached out, cradling CB’s face in his hands and pulling him into a deep kiss. CB, he could tell, was surprised and confused, but he came willingly, kissing Rusty back eagerly even though he didn’t know what the occasion was that called for it. 

The longer the kiss went on, the lighter Rusty felt. The love that was overflowing out of his heart was so much and so strong he was almost dizzy with it. Happy tears sprung to his eyes and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to sob or laugh or scream or just keep kissing CB.

Eventually, the feeling of being lightheaded with joy morphed into being lightheaded from lack of oxygen and Rusty had to pull back. He didn’t go far, leaning his forehead against CB’s while he tried to catch his breath. He took a few extra seconds before he opened his eyes, blinking away the teary blurriness so that he could really take in and appreciate the vision in front of him.

CB, for his part, was watching him with a high degree of suspicion. “Why are you so happy?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “Did something happen that I don't know about?”

Rusty could only laugh. At a loss for words, he twisted around and grabbed the letter from where it had landed on the table so he could shove it at CB.

CB took it from him, though he looked far from impressed that a single piece of paper was causing all this stir. That was, until he started reading it. 

The first pass was just a quick glance, skimming it over to try to glean what had Rusty so excited without putting too much effort into it. Even moving quickly, his eyes caught on enough of the important words to make him pause and go back to reread. And then reread once more, bringing the letter up close to his face like he wanted to make sure he was reading it correctly. “Rusty, what… What is this?”

“We got you in,” Rusty told him. “To the RHS. So they can have you preserved.”

“Preserved,” CB echoed, barely above a murmur.

Rusty nodded. “And Control can’t do a thing to stop it, no matter how hard he tries. Even if he wants to try to go against the RHS, there’s not a scrapper in the country who would take on the job.”

CB stood there frozen for a few long moments. Then, so fast Rusty almost missed it, his head snapped up and he landed a half-hearted punch to Rusty’s arm.

“Hey! Don’t hit.”

“You give me grief about not telling you things, and then you go and do this”—he gave the letter an emphatic shake—“behind my back?”

“Yeah, well, now you know how I feel,” Rusty said. He couldn't deny that it was hypocritical, but he also didn't really care. After all, this was a good thing, and it felt much more akin to planning a surprise than keeping a secret. Besides, it wasn't like CB was never hypocritical, and he always learned best when he was given a taste of his own medicine.

He doubted CB saw it that way, otherwise he would have either conceded or snarked back. Now, though, he was staring down at the letter again, rereading it like its contents could have changed. “You’d stopped,” he said plaintively. “I thought you’d gotten better about it.”

“There was nothing to get better about,” Rusty objected. “Control wanted to have you scrapped and I couldn’t let that happen. None of us could.”

CB’s eyes locked onto his, steely and intense. “What do you mean, none of you?”

Belatedly, Rusty realized that probably wasn’t the best thing to say, but there was no denying it now. “Poppa helped with the application,” he admitted. “So did Wrench.”

“Rusty.” CB’s voice was sharp and tight, and Rusty strained to pick apart the emotion behind it. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, because CB wasn’t exactly sounding happy, and an apology was probably in order anyway. They did submit the application without his consent, regardless of how good their intentions were. “But what else were we supposed to do? You were being taken away from us.”

“I told you to let it go!”

“And I told you I couldn't!” After how many times he had said it, it was the one thing CB really should have known. “I was going to lose you,” he said, his voice breaking at the end despite his fight to keep it steady. ‘How could you think that was something I'd ever be okay with? Imagine how you would have felt if I’d been scheduled for decommission?”

CB wasn't listening. “There was a contract.”

Right. The contract. That did give Rusty some pause. CB, he knew, didn’t care about the legalities, but since signatures were involved, Control could certainly make a case for having the scrapping agreement upheld.

At this point, Rusty couldn’t have cared less about what Control did next. “Whatever. He can take it to court if he wants to fight it. I’m sure the RHS has better lawyers. Besides, that letter is dated. You were already accepted when Control had you sign that nonsense. Pretty sure this takes precedence.”

“But…” 

“No more buts,” Rusty told him. “Control was going to have you scrapped, and now you can’t be. This is saving you. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Tears were brimming in CB’s eyes. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to express something but at a loss for words.

Rusty watched him for a second, confusion and alarm tight in his chest. He could understand why CB would be upset about Rusty not running the application by him before sending it in, but CB was acting like his acceptance was the problem, like he was having an issue with being preserved.

It didn't make sense. At least, not until Rusty forced himself to take a step back and look at it from CB’s perspective. 

He didn’t think CB necessarily wanted to be decommissioned, but he seemed to have made his peace with it. He’s known it was a possibility—hell, maybe even a probability—for a lot longer than Rusty had. He’d accepted it. He’d expected it. 

Rusty would have thought that the preservation would have been a relief. It was saving him, after all. How could that be anything other than a miracle? But now that he stopped to think about it, it became blatantly obvious that CB had been going through a lot more than just his own decommission. 

CB had been friends with cabooses all across the country, and everyone was in the same boat as he was. As far as Rusty knew, CB was the first one to be able to get out of it. He might even end up being the only one. How many friends had he seen get taken away? How many more did he know he was going to lose? He still had everyone at the Apollo Victoria, but of course there was no replacing everyone he’d lost. There was no replacing the other cabooses.

Rusty was somewhat surprised that the thought hadn’t occurred to him before, but then again, he didn’t know any cabooses other than CB. Of course he knew that the whole class was disappearing, but the impact to him personally was limited to whether or not CB made it out.

For CB, it had to be different. His main social circle was here at the yard, and they were all still here, so it was easy to think that once his own decommission was stopped, he wouldn’t be impacted by the take-over of the ETDs anymore. But his connection to the situation was so much more than that. This was his class that was being wiped out, his friends and family, regardless of how close they were. He hadn’t just been facing his own end, but the end of everyone who ever was or ever would be like him.

It really hit Rusty then that CB could end up as the last of his kind. What must that feel like? CB hated letting people see him when he was upset, so whatever his true feelings on this extinction were, Rusty knew he’d kept them hidden. But how isolating must that feel? How lonely? And now, to know that he would be the only one left? Forever?

How much of his salvation actually felt like a condemnation?

Still, Rusty couldn’t bring himself to regret the application. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he’d much rather have CB here and sad than scrapped. If it came down to a choice between losing CB and keeping him at a price… well, that really wasn’t a choice at all. 

That didn’t mean Rusty didn’t feel bad about it, though. Especially when CB was so clearly struggling.

He reached out to take CB gently by the shoulders. He was staring down at the acceptance letter in his hands, so Rusty ducked a bit, trying to catch his eye. “Are you okay?”

No response.

“I'm sorry, okay? I know I should have asked. But I was going to lose you. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if that happened.”

CB shook his head, though what he was denying Rusty had no idea. He seemed to have given up on trying to say something, albeit unhappily, and he made a frustrated little sound in the back of his throat.

It broke Rusty’s heart to hear that, and he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. CB only got like this when he was extremely overwhelmed. “Hey, it's okay,” Rusty said softly, giving his arms another rub. “Do you want to sit down?”

CB shook his head again.

Rusty searched his face, trying to find a clue as to what CB might need in that moment, but came up unfortunately blank. “Do you want some space?” he asked carefully. “I can go if you want to be alone.”

Another shake.

A drop of tension eased out of Rusty’s frame at the answer. He would have left if CB had requested it, but he felt so much better staying with him when he was this upset.

Reassured that he was still wanted here, Rusty wracked his brain for anything else that could help. “It’s still early; do you maybe want to go back to bed? We can talk about this more once you—oh!”

Without any warning, CB surged forward, snaking his arms around Rusty’s waist and attaching himself to him in a tight hug. He tucked his head under Rusty’s chin, a favorite position of his when he was looking for comfort.

It took Rusty a second to get over his surprise, but once he did, he wrapped his arms around CB and pulled him in even closer. Even now, it was an immense relief to be able to hold CB like this, and Rusty felt himself relaxing more and more the longer CB was in his arms.

Slowly but surely, CB was relaxing, too. The vice-like tightness of his arms loosened into something more comfortable and his head dropped down slightly so that it was more-so resting against Rusty's neck rather than jamming his jaw shut. 

They stayed like that for several minutes, basking in each other’s comfort. Rusty would have been happy to stay like that forever. So, it seemed, would CB, as he made no moves to pull away either.

Rusty didn't know how long they stood there, nor did he particularly care. Eventually, what could have been minutes or hours later, CB sighed. “Thank you,” he whispered, the emotion behind it unmistakable despite the softness of his voice.

“Anything for you,” Rusty told him. “Always.”

[whistlingstarlight]

Three Two Heads

Wrote this at like 12:30 super quick after trawling through a bunch of '83 Workshop footage, still absolutely fascinated by how they would've pulled off Three Heads in an official production

Summary: C.B. fucking dies (so goes without saying don't read if you don't want to read abt train death)

~~~~

Starlight, it hurt. It hurt so much.

Greaseball heard the crackle of electrical wires to his right; well, just about, over the ringing in his ears. He saw sparks flash from Electra's battered frame as the electric engine struggled for breath, their eyes blown wide. The caboose was squashed between them, his wooden frame cracked and chipped, threatening to splinter. He seemed eerily calm despite the predicament the trio found themselves in.

"Alright fellas," C.B. wheezed, looking up to the taller engines, "We can't stay like this."

"No." Electra agreed, their voice distorted by their damaged wires, "I'm not staying stuck to you two, it's thanks to you I'm in this mess at all!"

"Shut it, fusebox." Greaseball snapped back, "Do somethin' useful." He moved his shoulder experimentally, feeling something shift and hearing wood creak.

"Alright. I pull, you pull, the caboose pushes. Got it?"

Electra and C.B. nodded. It was their best shot.

"On three. One.."

"Two.."

"Three-!"

Electra pulled. Greaseball pulled. The sound of creaking wood grew louder.

"H-Hey fellas, go steady!" C.B. piped up between them, frantically trying to keep it together, "If I get busted by you two thugs yankin' too hard, I ain't getting welded back together!"

"Again!" Electra barked, ignoring the caboose's prattling. Serves him right if it wasn't pleasant.

The engines tugged harder, clustered metal shifting and separating as wood cracked and splintered. For once in his life, C.B. was truly scared.

"No! No no no! I'm made of wood you idiots, stop! Stop stop, no no no it hurts it hurts IT HURTS-!"

There was a ear-splitting scream and a sudden loud CRACK, and Greaseball felt himself spinning away from Electra. The two battered engines looked at each other, then down at the cloud of dust settling. A pile of shattered wood planks and pieces of metal sat between them.

"...Caboose?"

[starlight-lesbians]

hey guys what if i did writing/art comms?

would anyone pay me for that?

i’ll still do reqs for free but if you want a fully written out oneshot/multichapter piece that would be a comm kinda

(also have a popstar!dinah wip)

[demonqueenofplastics]

Just a little Dinah x Greaseball thingy

Got obsessed with starlight express and decided to write a little something for them. Basically it's how Dinah and Greaseball met each other and how Greaseball convinced her to go on a date with him

If I win the race do I win you too? - demonqueenofplastics - Starlight Express - Phillips/Stilgoe/Webber [Archive of Our Own]

[sweet-dining-car]

"absentmindedly playing with the other's fingers" Electboose

“I’ll have a large macchiato and a ham and swiss sandwich and he’ll have a large coffee with 3 shots of caramel and one shot of white chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings on the to.” Electra told the cashier of the coffee shop. Caboose lightly tapped Electra’s side, signaling something had been forgotten. “Ahh yes and a vanilla cake pop, one with sprinkles. Actually make that 2 cake pops.” The cashier added the cake pops onto the order. “And can I have a name for the order?” “Electra~” The cashier nodded. “That will be $12.87, please listen for your name to be called.” Electra payed for the order and he and Caboose sat down at a nearby table.

“Thanks for ordering for me, I still don’t really like to do that…” Caboose said quietly. It wasn’t that he was unable to, it just made him very uncomfortable and he didn’t like to do it. He had always ordered online before and even when he and Dinah would get food together neither of them liked to have to order and would rock paper scissors for who had to which often ended in him begging Dinah to order when he lost. It was nice to have someone so willing to help him while he got over his fear.

“No problem. I really don’t mind.” Electra smiled. “Fears are fears, it takes time to get over them. Like me and thunder storms, you helped me though that and now I don’t feel like I have to hide under the blankets anymore. That’s because you helped me.”

Caboose couldn’t help but smile. He remembered the nights that he would talk Electra through thunderstorms so that he wouldn’t panic and hide under the covers. It was almost cute to him, seeing his much taller boyfriend dash under the covers and hide himself whenever he heard a little bit of thunder. “Well I didn’t want you to be afraid forever…” Caboose said and lightly rolled his feet along the floor. “All I had to do was roll back the covers a little more each time.” “And I’m very grateful for that~” Electra reached across the table and held Caboose’s hand. “I’m very grateful for you too…”

Caboose blushed. He and Electra intertwined fingers and Caboose pressed his finger tips against Electra’s then dropped both of their fingers on the table then pressed their finger tips together again. He continued doing this without paying much attention for a while and Electra simply watched and smiled. The moment was soon ended by a worker calling out “Order for Electra?” and Electra had called out to Caboose.

“Hey? Do you want to pick up the order?” Electra offered seeming to snap Caboose out of his trance of playing with both of their fingers. “Oh I don’t know Lexi…” Caboose said cautiously. “While it does sound easier then ordering I just don’t know…” “Well it’s just rolling back the covers a little, it won’t be that bad and I’ll be here with you alright?” Electra encouraged. “You can do it!”

Caboose smiled, now feeling a bit more confident he stood up from the table and went to retrieve the order. He said a few words to the worker then came back to Electra. “I did it!” Caboose said proudly. “That you did! I’m very proud of you!” Electra cheered causing Caboose to blush slightly.

“Oh, but it looks like they got the cake pop orders wrong though…” Caboose sighed. “They put sprinkles on my coffee and chocolate shavings on the cake pops, but it’s fine a guess~” Electra shook his head. “No no no, they need to make this right! I’ll be right back.” With that Electra then stood up and went to find the one responsible for messing up the order and to give them a piece of his mind.

Caboose put his chin in his hand and sighed. That was his boyfriend alright, it was nice to have someone to help him get over his fears as well as someone who will make sure people get your order right.

[thisismondaymood]

This happened when I gave ChatGPT the command to write a Caboose fanfic

[trainfanz]

It’s done. Enjoy your train smut. I’m sorry in advance. It just happened.

[minatoiskyuubismate]

Finally finished: My first Starlight Express Fanfic in english. Its a one -shot.

[dykexpress]

built to be yours | soulmate AU greaseball x dinah

greaseball doesn't have a soulmate. she doesn't need one, and she doesn't want one. well, that's what she tells herself anyway. ~~~ dinah has dreamed about meeting her soulmate since she got her first mark, aged six. as she gets older though, she realises her soulmate is getting hurt an awful lot, and she's slightly concerned. and a little annoyed.

still, once she finds them, she's sure it will all work out. right?

Read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59608549

yooooo first post on this account, and its a good one! greasedinah slowburn soulmate au now up on ao3!!!

asks are open!!! please tell me your thoughts/yap about lesbian trains with me!!! inspired by @starlight-lesbians's soulmate au post! if you saw that overly long ask that was basically the plot of an entire fic in response to it - that was me!!

[workofthediesel]

“Stop that.”

“Huh?” Rusty hadn't been expecting to be spoken to, so it took a moment for Caboose’s words to sink in, and a longer moment for him to figure out what he was talking about.

Caboose’s hand was on his. Rusty stared down at it like he was trying to figure out what it was doing there. He wasn't holding Rusty's hand, at least not in any sort of romantic way. Rather, he was forceful with it, not so much holding his hand as he was holding him back.

It was only then that all the pieces came together and Rusty realized what was going on. He’d been absent-mindedly scratching at a patch of rust on his wrist. To his mild embarrassment, he'd broken through the skin. “Oh,” he said somewhat dumbly. “Sorry.”

Caboose tutted, letting go of the hand he was holding and reaching instead for Rusty’s other one. Rusty let him have it, letting his arm go lax as Caboose turned it this way and that, inspecting the damage. After a couple of moments, Caboose sighed. He kept hold of Rusty’s arm with one hand, reaching up with the other to tug at the knot at the back of his neckerchief.

Rusty wondered what he was doing for a few seconds before it clicked. “You don't have to—” Rusty started to protest, but too late. Caboose was already dabbing away the tiny droplets of blood that had welled up from the scratches.

His touch was gentle, a strong contrast from his remonstrating tone of voice. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“It wasn't on purpose,” Rusty defended. “I just didn't realize how hard I was scratching.”

“You're not supposed to be scratching at all.”

Rusty shrugged. “It's itchy.”

Caboose shot him a scathing look. “You have medications that help with this.”

Ah, yes. His medications. A few months back, Wrench had prescribed him a wealth of topical treatments that were supposed to help with rust. Nothing could cure it completely, not permanently, but they could alleviate the symptoms and help strengthen the skin to treat the flare ups and make them a little less common. The problem was: Rusty hated them. He loved that they helped, of course, but that didn't outweigh how thick and tacky and uncomfortable they were.

Caboose knew this, but he didn't fully understand. As far as he could see, Rusty was simply refusing to use something he knew would help for no reason. It frustrated him to no end because, although getting him to admit it was like pulling teeth, Caboose cared. He hated to see Rusty in pain, even if that pain only amounted to some mild discomfort because he was itchy sometimes.

That was an argument he didn't feel like rehashing right now, so instead he settled on a cop-out answer. “It's complicated.”

Caboose scoffed. “Complicated.” Despite the snark in his voice, his hands remained gentle.

Rusty could only offer him a sheepishly apologetic smile in response.

The scratches weren’t that deep, and in just a couple more seconds they were dealt with. Caboose pulled his scarf away and lifted Rusty’s hand up to his eyes, checking to make sure the bleeding had fully stopped. Satisfied, he rubbed his thumb over the area, applying just enough pressure that it would feel nice for Rusty, even if it didn’t quite scratch the itch. 

Despite his success in taking care of Rusty, a small frown was playing at Caboose’s lips. Rusty knew why: the cuts had stopped bleeding but the skin around them was still dry and cracked, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if Caboose could also feel how tight it was. He had fixed the immediate problem, but not the root cause.

A frowning Caboose was always a dangerous thing. Rusty tried to take his hand back before Caboose did something less pleasant, like hold him down and force the medications on him, but Caboose tightened his grip on Rusty’s wrist, keeping it where it was. His eyes were sharp when Rusty met them, aware of what Rusty was doing and not liking it one bit. The look Rusty gave him back was pleading. 

Caboose was just trying to help, Rusty knew that. It was sweet, and it wasn’t like he didn’t appreciate the thought. But even just the idea of having those sticky ointments slathered on his skin was enough to make his stomach turn. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if Caboose actually made him use that stuff.

His desperation must have translated into his gaze because after a few more moments of standing firm, Caboose’s shoulders sagged. Caboose was as stubborn as a mule, so Rusty really must have looked awful to make him relent so easily. 

Although, he didn’t give in completely. He loosened his grip on Rusty’s wrist but still kept it in his hand, fixing Rusty with a beseeching look of his own. With his free hand, he dug out a tiny bottle he’d had tucked under the wristband of his glove. “Will you at least let me use this on you?”

Rusty squinted at the bottle. It wasn’t any of his prescriptions. Instead, it was just a bottle of lotion. The good kind, pricey but specially formulated to help with rust. More importantly, it was immediately soothing and not unpleasant to put on at all. 

It was an acceptable compromise. Rusty nodded his assent, letting his arm go lax once more as Caboose moved his grip from around Rusty’s wrist to cradle his hand instead. Keeping a hold of Rusty’s hand meant that Caboose needed to bite the bottle cap in order to unscrew it, but that didn’t phase him for a second. Rusty kept his eyes fixed firmly on their hands as he did, fighting down the heat threatening to rise to his cheeks.

Caboose squeezed a generous dollop of lotion onto the back of Rusty’s hand, then screwed the cap back on and tucked the bottle back into his glove. With his hand once more freed up, he began rubbing the lotion in. Rusty smiled. It felt nice.

As Rusty let himself be taken care of, his mind began to wander. The lotion Caboose was using was good, but just for rust. It wasn’t like any of the fancy creams and serums Caboose favored, anti-aging or skin-brightening or whatever the latest trend was. Caboose would have no reason to use this, much less carry a bottle around with him.

It was for him, Rusty realized, a rush of warmth blooming in his chest. Caboose had gone out of his way to find the best lotion for rust he could, price tag be damned, and carry it with him, just in case Rusty ever needed it. 

Rusty’s smile threatened to double in size at the thought, and he bit his lip to stop it from showing. Caboose liked to pretend that he was only ever looking out for himself, but everyone knew that was just a front. He had a sentimental streak a mile wide that he tried to keep hidden. In most cases, he was fairly successful. Rusty, however, was his one weakness. Ever since they'd gotten together, and even for some time before as Caboose tried to make up for the crash in the championship, Caboose couldn’t be anything other than sweet to him, no matter how hard he tried to disguise it.

Despite the fact that the depth of Caboose’s care was common knowledge, Rusty fawning over his soft side would only serve to make him embarrassed. Something about Rusty “ruining his image,” as if Caboose didn’t do enough of that on his own. 

As cute as it would be to see Caboose get flustered, the immediate consequence of that would be him getting mad, as well, and there were few things worse than Caboose in a stormy mood. With that thought in mind, Rusty forced his face to go as neutral as possible.

It didn’t take long to apply the lotion, and in another couple of moments, it was done. Caboose let his hands linger on Rusty’s a little longer. “Better?”

“Much,” Rusty said. He twisted his hand slightly so that he was finally—properly—holding Caboose’s hand. “Thank you.”

Caboose grinned, far too pleased with himself in his victory of getting Rusty to admit that the lotion had helped. It was the sort of look that made Rusty certain that he would be holding it over his head for the foreseeable future, using it as proof that Rusty should let him use any of his prescriptions on him to his heart’s content. Rusty allowed him to savor that feeling for all of two seconds before pulling him in and kissing that smug look off his face.

[ar0ace-m3ss]

Trying to write Starlight Express fanfic is the most difficult thing I've ever attempted. How do they work?? How human are they? Dose their armour come off like clothes, or is it part of them, same with their wheels like do they hurt? HOW DO THEY EVEN FUNCTION!! I have so many questions about how humanoid trains work..

[starlight-lesbians]

would everyone vibe with me occasionally posting a silly headcanon question like the one i did today to start fun lil fandom convos?

i love hearing everyone’s perspectives its so fun!!

[thespectralelectral]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Starlight Express - Phillips/Stilgoe/Webber Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dinah/Greaseball (Starlight Express) Characters: Greaseball (Starlight Express), Dinah (Starlight Express) Additional Tags: Ficlet, London 2024, Girlball, Sick Fic, Sick Character, Self Care, greaseball and her emotional constipation Summary:

Dinah is the first coach to be struck down by the winter's cold. She needs her engine to help her feel better

[sweet-dining-car]

Chapters: 1/9 Fandom: Starlight Express - Phillips/Stilgoe/Webber Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Greaseball (Starlight Express), Dinah (Starlight Express), Wrench (Starlight Express), wrench is only barely mentioned Additional Tags: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Bad Thoughts, Injury, Major Character Injury, post crash, greaseball just feels really bad Summary:

Greaseball is feeling the effects of the crash in more than a physical sense.