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If there was one thing Porter had been learning over this past month, it was the sound of his very stubborn engine, and even more stubborn tanker starting practice at a Starlight-forsaken hour.
He'd heard it enough, ever since race season had begun. Ever since Control had stood up in his tower and announced that Troubadour Yard would be playing host to some new competitors for this year's races.
One in particular had been enough to scare Rusty and Hydra into taking this seriously.
He was a Class 43 who introduced himself as Storm, if Porter was remembering right. One of the fastest Diesel Locomotives in the world. Fast enough to entice even Greaseball back into the racing, after she'd taken a break to recover from her crash two years ago.
The moment Storm had rolled into the yard, Porter had felt something shift in his partners.
They'd both laughed it off. Hydra had bumped Rusty with a grin and said something cocky about how they'd show this engine how hydrogen ruled the rails. Rusty had agreed, said none of these visitors would last a season here.
But watching Storm warming up, any joking had faded, until most mornings started with the sound of Rusty and Hydra coupling to hurry to the race track before anyone else was there.
Sometimes, Porter would go with them to watch, but most days, he was too busy with learning repair skills from Wrench to be there.
This morning had been no different. The sun was still rising, but they'd left the shed early again. Porter had decided to go with them today, especially when he spotted Hydra wincing as they sat down for a quick breakfast.
He'd sat down on the bench at the edge of the track, yawning as he watched his partners prepare, heads lowered as they discussed a strategy for how they'd tackle the track.
By the time they stepped onto the rails, the sun was high enough to entice everyone out of their sheds to start the day.
"Hey, Porter! You're up early!"
Porter waved at Slick, tearing his eyes away from watching Rusty tie his hair back. "Yeah, hard not to with those two around." He grinned, patting the bench next to him. "Starlight knows I love them, but they aren't very good at quiet."
Slick laughed, sitting next to him. "Grease's the same," she admitted, nudging him. "Especially in the winter. Ever heard a diesel trying to cold start?"
"They're a little too loud to miss," Porter deadpanned, raising a brow. "How's she doing, anyway? Wrench was muttering about stupid headstrong diesels thinking they can throw themself back into racing before they're ready, and I'm pretty sure she was talking about your girlfriend."
"Shut up," Slick shoved him, cheeks bright yellow. "She's fine. Still a little stiff, and I'm pretty sure she only hears static in her right ear, but Wrench said she had a prototype that'll hopefully let her hear at least a little better." She frowned, kicking at the floor with her toe stop. "Really, I'm worried about her."
Porter tilted his head, watching Slick. She didn't usually show nerves like this unless something was really eating at her.
"Yeah?" he asked, quieter this time. "She still pushing herself?"
Slick nodded, sighing. "I think she wants to prove something. She sat out one race season, and now she thinks everyone forgot she was the best out here for a decade." She rubbed her palms over her thighs. "That damn HST got under her skin. We came down to watch his practice, and he was so fast. And he gave Grease this… look. He looked so smug."
"I get it." Porter let his gaze drift back to the track. "Rusty's the same. He won't admit it, but I can tell. Hydra too. They both had a taste of victory, and I don't think they want to lose again."
As if on cue, the pair thundered past on their third lap, Rusty's engine pushing out huge plumes of water vapour. Hydra was holding onto the coupling between them, focused as they both raced. Neither seemed willing to slow down for even a second.
Porter watched them blur past, the clang of their wheels echoing like thunder. Hydra's grip on the coupling was tight, and their posture was tense. Which never boded well for how confident they were.
Slick whistled from beside him. "Damn, they're not even gonna make it to the qualifiers if they keep this up."
Porter didn't answer.
He focused instead on the way they weren't relaxing. He distantly realised others had arrived by now, but he couldn't tear his gaze away as Hydra faltered slightly, before recovering.
Rusty wasn't helping. He probably hadn't even noticed Hydra starting to struggle. He had a one track mind when it came to racing, and Porter had a bad feeling about this.
He was so focused on the practice race that he startled a little when the bench creaked under the weight of someone new. His head whipped around to see Greaseball had dropped down beside Slick, stretching her legs out with a grunt. She mumbled a greeting to him, wrapping an arm around Slick.
"You ready?" she asked, voice raised to cut through the clatter of wheels on the track. "We're up after those two wear themselves into the dirt."
Slick nudged Greaseball's knee with hers. "'Course I am," she grinned. "We'll show them all you're good as new."
Porter turned his head to take in Greaseball. Her arms were crossed, tense. Her jaw was tight, and she sat stiffly, as if her joints were still giving her trouble. Maybe not enough to be obvious to everyone, but he'd spent the last few weeks with Wrench drilling him on race injuries. He knew what he was looking for.
"How's the shoulder?" he asked casually, like he didn't mean anything by it.
Greaseball shot him a glare. "Fine."
"That's good," he nodded, but he knew it was a lie. He'd probably have to slip Slick some lubrication to relieve some of the pain later.
He held her gaze for a second more like Wrench had taught him — "Don't back down when a patient is being stubborn, show confidence, or they'll never listen to you." — before turning to Slick.
"She shouldn't be back out here yet," he said quietly into his radio, directing the channel to Slick.
"She knows," Slick responded. "She just doesn't care."
"She will when something gives." Porter shook his head subtly, as he looked at the edge of the track. "Especially with Storm watching like a hawk."
Greaseball growled next to them, batting Porter on the back of the head hard enough to let him know he hadn't been speaking quiet enough. "I'll be fine," she glared at the Diesel in question. "I'd never show weakness in front of that…." She shook her head. "He thinks he's already won. Standing there like he's royalty."
"You'll show him," Slick grinned at her girlfriend, trying to diffuse the tension a little.
"I will," Greaseball agreed. "The smarmy bastard smirks at me one more time, and I'll have to make a call to the scrappers…"
Porter opened his mouth to respond, only for his attention to be snapped back to the tracks.
"HYDRA!"
He didn't know when he ended up on his feet. It was somewhere between Hydra jerking the coupling release hard, and their wheels catching the edge of the track as Rusty frantically slammed on his brakes.
Hydra's tank jolted sideways, pulling them sideways. Their back wheels jumped the tracks, and everything after happened too fast to process.
By the time Porter managed to move, the sound of metal grinding over concrete was burned into his mind.
Gravel sprayed up under his wheels as he hurried over, cursing when he realised he'd left his repair kit.
He wasn't going back for it though. Not when Hydra hadn't gotten up, and Rusty was guiltily crouching next to them.
Porter's heart hammered in his chest as he dropped to his knees beside them, reaching for Hydra before his brain caught up.
He assessed them quickly, trying to stay calm, watching the way they were breathing shakily, vents fluttering unevenly. Their tank hadn't cracked, their hydrogen was secure, but their body was twisted awkwardly, their wheels misshapen and hanging crookedly. One skate was jammed against the base of the track still, and their fingers twitched as they stared blankly ahead.
Rusty looked up at him, terrified, steam coiling around his shoulders. "They- they said sorry, and- and then they- they- I didn't-"
Porter didn't answer. He was scared if he did, he'd snap at Rusty for being so careless, which wouldn't help the situation at all. Instead, he took a slow breath, focusing on Hydra.
"Hey," he said softly, tapping the side of their face, trying to get their attention. "Hy, can you hear me?"
Their eyes flicked toward him, unfocused at first, before they narrowed with recognition.
"I ruined it," they rasped. "Didn't I?"
"Shh, you didn't ruin anything," Porter reassured, shooting Rusty a sharp look. "I need my repair kit. You got damaged, and I don't want to move you until I know you're okay." He had to fight to keep his tone even, but his voice still shook.
Rusty nodded immediately, scrambling up like he'd been burned. He took off toward the bench, pushing through the growing crowd of stock that had come to watch practice.
Porter stayed kneeling, one hand steady on Hydra's shoulder, the other near their vent intake. Their cooling system was working overtime, but Porter was relieved that they didn't seem ready to explode.
"Your tank held," he explained quietly. "You didn't rupture, and you're not leaking. So I'm mostly worried about structural damage."
Hydra looked away, gaze fixing on the sky, tears leaking out of their eyes. "We were doing so well, I don't understand why I failed."
"You've been pushing too hard," Porter pointed out, frowning. "You've ignored your limits, and you just… you don't need to run yourself into the ground to prove yourself."
"I wanted to keep up," they whispered. "He- Rusty was doing so good, and I don't want to be the one slowing him down. He's getting faster, and I need to be able to keep up."
Porter shut his eyes for a second. "You're only struggling to keep up because you're too tired to keep pace, Hy, you…" He trailed off, just as Rusty skidded to a stop, setting down his toolbox.
"You both need to slow down. Rus, you're used to this all. You know how to keep going past your limits." He sighed. "You shouldn't be ignoring your engine's signals to slow down, but you do."
The steamer opened his mouth to protest, but Porter shook his head.
"Hydra doesn't know how to work past their limits. They can't keep up with you like this, and if you don't learn to slow down?" He gestured to Hydra. "We're lucky they didn't explode. We might not have the same luck next time."
Rusty reared back like he'd been slapped. His mouth stayed open, before he nodded mutely, backing away, letting Slick ease him back to the bench.
Porter couldn't watch him go. He wanted nothing more than to apologise for the harsh words, to say he didn't blame the steamer for this.
But he knew if he didn't focus on Hydra, he'd start crying.
So he opened his toolkit, busying himself with picking out what he'd need. "You didn't fail," he murmured to them, pulling out a screwdriver. "You're just tired and overworked. And you're not stepping foot onto the track until I say you're ready."
Hydra blinked, tears catching on the corners of their lashes. "I'm sorry."
"Enough of the apologies," Porter soothed, shuffling down to unscrew Hydra's wheels, gently prying the twisted metal away, apologising when they winced.
"This is all repairable, okay?" He glanced back at Rusty, nodding stiffly, before setting the wheels aside, trying to remember what Wrench had taught him. "Do you have any pain? That was a hard fall, and you were going fast, so-"
"I'm fine," Hydra said, voice shaking. "Just… just my wheels."
Porter narrowed his eyes. "No you're not."
"I am!"
With a sigh, Porter gently rolled them onto their back, wincing as they bit back a cry of pain. "Sorry, I need to see you."
He ran his fingers down their side, to where their frame was dented and scraped up. Their livery wasn't even discernible anymore, replaced with bare metal. "Still want to tell me you're fine?"
Hydra looked away quickly, squeezing their eyes shut. "Can't you just get me new wheels so I can-"
"Go back to running yourself into the ground?" Porter finished for them, before shaking his head. "No, you're going back to the repair shed. I'm going to let Wrench look you over, and she'll decide when you're allowed your wheels back."
Hydra let out a trembling breath, still not looking at him. But he saw the way their hand curled into a fist, showing without words that they hated this. They probably felt so vulnerable, and Porter realised with a start that they'd amassed quite the crowd now.
He straightened, shielding Hydra from view as best as he could with his body, suddenly all too aware of the quiet murmurs and shuffling. He knew every engine hoping to dethrone Rusty would be snickering to each other about this.
"They don't matter, okay?" He finally said, shooting them all a withering glare, before looking back at Hydra. "I'll ask Wrench to bring a flatbed, I don't think you'll be able to walk in this condition." He trailed his hand down to their hip, which was currently bent out of place.
Hydra bit back a sharp cry, and Porter withdrew quickly.
He turned around, looking at Greaseball. "Can you clear the area? Practice is done, show's over."
Greaseball was already standing. "You heard him," she called, voice sharp. "Move. That means now."
Slick, arms still wrapped around Rusty raised her voice. "Yeah, listen to the repair truck in training, if you don't want his mentor to come over here and kick all of your asses!"
There was grumbling, and a few lingering looks, but Porter relaxed a little as the crowd started to disperse. With no more eyes boring into them, he could focus more on his partner.
They were in rough shape, no matter how he dressed it up.
"Do you think Rusty hates me?" Hydra looked up at him, eyes big and wet.
Porter shook his head. "He could never hate you. He's worried about you, that's all." He checked them over, trying to find any signs that this was worse than it looked, only relaxing when he realised everything was repairable.
"Will I be able to race still?" They asked, sniffling, and Porter sighed.
"You're mangled after crashing, and you're worried about racing?" He asked, a little incredulous.
"Racers usually do."
Porter tensed at the sarcastic tone, turning around to look at Wrench, who was currently hauling a flatbed.
"Huh?"
"You'll learn," the repair truck grumbled, kneeling next to Hydra, "that no matter how badly injured they are, the idiots would rather know when they can get back to speeding around than how they can heal."
Porter didn't need to look to know Greaseball was currently inching away, trying to not draw attention.
Porter laughed despite himself. "That wasn't in the training manual you gave me."
Wrench snorted, not bothering to look up as she adjusted the flatbed's hydraulics, setting it into a gradual incline. "Doesn't need to. You'll see it enough to figure it out."
Hydra didn't say anything, but their face twisted with embarrassment as Wrench leaned over them, sharp eyes scanning every inch of damage. She pressed two fingers against the warped joint at their hip. "You're lucky. You didn't pop it out of alignment, so it won't need reconstructed."
Hydra winced.
"I tried to tell them they were overworking," Porter grumbled, now that he had someone more experienced looking at them. "They wouldn't listen."
"They never do," Wrench replied flatly, then narrowed her eyes. "Speaking of which. Greaseball!"
There was a shuffle of wheels behind them, followed by an exaggerated groan, clearly caught mid-escape. "I'm fine! You said I was cleared for duty!"
"Yes, duty." Wrench said, turning her head. "Not racing. Not that you'll listen. How's your shoulder? And don't lie."
"I'm fine."
"Good, then you can help me lift." Wrench nodded at the flatbed. "Gently. And I mean gently, or I'll weld your wheels so you can't race your next heat."
Porter snickered as Greaseball's expression soured, but she skated forward anyway, muttering under her breath.
She crouched by Hydra's shoulders, lifting carefully, as Wrench hooked her arms under their back. Porter took position by their legs, and all three moved at once, carrying Hydra over to the flatbed.
As soon as they were in place, Wrench was moving, strapping them in securely.
Hydra let out a shaky breath as the restraints clicked into place, fingers curling around the edge.
"You won't fall," Wrench promised, before turning to Rusty. "I need you to move the flatbed to the repair shed. I'd like to look you over too. Porter said you've been pushing yourself too."
Rusty blinked, frozen, before he scrambled to his feet. "Will they be okay?" His voice was quiet, tight with fear and guilt.
"They'll be okay," Porter said, steady. "They just need time, and a tune up." He held out his hand, and Rusty hurried over on shaky wheels, taking it. "Just… next time, you both need to slow down. I don't want you to miss a season because you're pushing yourselves to breaking point."
Rusty nodded, clutching Porter's hand, his eyes fixed on Hydra. "I didn't mean to push them so hard," he murmured. "They said they were fine."
"I know," Porter said. "But it's your job as their engine to listen past what they say."
Rusty nodded again, then stepped toward the flatbed, hitching up to the back of it. He didn't speak as Porter hitched up behind him, or when Wrench hitched up to the flatbed.
"Easy," Wrench said as they started to move, glancing back at Rusty. "Take it slow, champion."
"Okay," Rusty agreed, keeping his speed low. His engine chuffed quietly as he rolled forward, pushing the train up the track. "Hold on, Hy. You're gonna be alright. Wrench and Porter'll take care of you."
Hydra didn't speak. Their eyes were shut now, and Porter could see the tension starting to ease out of them. Rusty kept his speed slow, guilt clinging to him like smoke, but he didn't try to explain himself.
Porter knew that they'd both need a lot of reassurance later, but for now, he let his mind focus on his job. There'd be time to cuddle them both and kiss them and make sure they stay in bed for at least a day.
The repair shed came into view before long, doors sliding open under Wrench's remote command.
"We're here," Porter murmured, resting his hands on Rusty's hips from behind. Wrench unhooked from the flatbed, stepping aside. "Just ease them into that bay there, okay? They're gonna be fine."
Rusty nodded, following the command.
Wrench was already moving, gathering her equipment, getting ready for the repair job, and Porter stepped forward.
"Okay, tell me what to do," he said, slipping into work mode.
They'd be okay, he knew.
It would take time, and rest, and more than a few conversations about limits. But they'd come through this, and when the repair was over, and they were all in Rusty's shed, he'd climb into bed with them both. Kiss their foreheads, and remind them they were loved.
For now though, the hours stretched ahead of him, as he bent over Hydra, ready to fix them up.
When the sun set over Troubadour Yard, he was going to take them both home.