Work Text:
Hydra had been drifting in and out of shallow sleep for what felt like hours by the time they gave up on it. Their mind was too wired to drift off properly, and every time Porter or Rusty shifted in their sleep, it was enough to disrupt them. They lay on their back, staring up at the dim ceiling of the shed. The room was only lit by the small table lamp they left on, because Hydra struggled to sleep in the dark.
Rusty was curled against their left side, face tucked close to Hydra's shoulder, breathing steadily against their bare skin. On their right, Porter was flat on his back, arm flung against Hydra's stomach, fingertips resting on Rusty's hip.
A quiet sigh slipped out as Hydra turned their head to look at Porter, admiring how relaxed he looked when he slept. His mouth hung open, soft snores escaping him. Once upon a time, the sound of his snores annoyed them. Back when they slept on a narrow bunk in the freight shed, fresh out of the lab, and unused to sharing a space with anyone.
Now, they couldn't imagine ever sleeping without it.
Hydra watched him for a moment longer, before turning, careful not to jostle Rusty. They let out a deep breath, throwing their arm over their eyes. This all should've been enough comfort to lull them under. A soft bed, their boyfriends warm on either side of their body, the familiar setting of Rusty's shed that had become home for the three of them.
Yet the thoughts pressed against their mind, until the idea of lying here felt unbearable.
Their arm fell away from their face as they blinked up at the ceiling. The lamp on the desk cast an amber glow that would normally be such a comfort to them, but now, it was inviting in a different way, calling them over.
A few seconds passed before Hydra gently lifted Porter's arm off their stomach. He didn't wake, rolling over to snore into his pillow instead. Rusty though, made a small sound of protest, brows pulling together when Hydra started to shuffle down towards the bottom edge of the bed.
They laughed softly, reaching up and easing their fingers through his curls, watching as the tension melted from Rusty's face instantly.
Only when he settled did Hydra slide out of the bedding, inch by inch, until they were perched on the edge of the bed. It was much colder, without Rusty's firebox next to them, and they shivered as they reached for their undershirt, tugging it on.
Hydra inhaled slowly, steadying themself as their gaze drifted back towards the tangle of blankets behind them. Rusty had already curled into the gap Hydra had created, his cheek pressing against Porter's arm now, instinct guiding him towards whatever warmth he could find. Porter didn't stir, snoring softly through it.
The sight tugged at something in Hydra's chest. They smiled fondly, but something ached, tight and restless.
They pushed the feeling down, not wanting to dwell on it, taking another breath before standing. The shed was quiet, as they gently padded across the floor, coming to stand by the desk, running a finger through the dust that had settled on the lampshade. They'd probably need to dust one of these days, if Rusty could get a day off from his champion schedule.
Careful not to make noise, they sat down on the chair, tidying up the clutter that had been left on the desk surface. They made enough space, until all that remained in front of them was their journal and a pen.
They flipped the cover open, skimming through until they came to the last entry. They hadn't felt the need to put their feelings into writing since the championship. Their relationship had been enough, and for months, they'd spoken freely with Porter and Rusty about everything that bothered them.
The last entry sat like a time capsule, frozen in all the brightness and excitement that someone had finally taken them seriously. They'd written that Rusty was currently in Wrench's repair shed, as she fitted new equipment to allow him to burn hydrogen instead of coal.
They hadn't thought, back then, about anyone else. About how it must feel for Momma, to see her son give up who he'd always been. Whether she'd see it as proof that steam needed to change to be useful on the rails. About how Porter would feel, to lose his Engine, to lose his job.
Back then, they hadn't bothered to think of anyone but themself.
How selfish a truck they were, to only care about their own success.
They swallowed, gaze drifting down the page, before turning it over. Blank paper stared back at them, empty and ready for whatever they had on their mind. For a second, they could only sit there, staring at it, gripping the pen like their life depended on it.
The memory of the pride and hunger for success was soured by the memory of everything that came after.
The weeks and months of Porter and Rusty ignoring each other. Hydra realising that they'd been the one to split them both up. Them apologising, and realising exactly what they'd done.
And then things had gotten better, they'd all forgiven each other, and fallen in love, and Porter had trained as a repair truck under Wrench so he had a new job after losing the one that Hydra had stolen from him.
Hydra let the pen hover just above the page. They couldn't even figure out how to start this.
How were they meant to explain the self loathing they felt, that they'd been so blind to the pain they'd caused? That for their entire existence, they'd been so desperate to prove themself, that they'd walked over everyone else from the moment they arrived on the yard?
How could they write any of this down? How do you confess to a younger version of yourself that your entire identity had once been built on stepping over others, because that was the only way you knew how to survive?
Their throat tightened.
Self loathing wasn't new. It had been ingrained in them for as long as they could remember. It had kept them from losing themself during tests, and drills, and inspections. In the lab, they'd used it as a tool, because they had so much responsibility to be the perfect hydrogen prototype.
Back then, they'd needed the self loathing, to survive the gruelling schedules. To feel like they deserved to go through the brutal crash tests and depressurisation drills that would make sure they were safe to deploy on the rails.
But on the yard, that instinct had turned them into someone blinding and loud and careless. They'd believed their own hype, that hydrogen was the sole future of the rails. They hadn't noticed what they'd had to crush under their wheels to get that future.
Their breath shook.
They'd learned. They'd grown. And now, they couldn't stand that part of themself.
Finally, they put their pen down to the paper, and wrote.
To who I used to be,
I've been trying to find the right way to start this, but I don't know if there is one. Everything I want to say feels too big for paper, or too late. But I guess that's the point, isn't it? This is a letter from a future that's warm, written for someone who only ever knew the cold.
Hydra shuddered, eyes burning, and looked back at the bed.
Porter had shifted in his sleep, tugging Rusty close to his chest. His hair was a mess, and Hydra longed to go over there and smooth it down. His head was tipped down, breath ruffling Rusty's hair, and Rusty was smiling a little in his sleep.
Both of them looked so peaceful. So warm.
Hydra's throat tightened, and they turned back to the journal, something bittersweet built up inside of them.
Warm.
Once upon a time, cold had been the only language they knew. They'd thrived on it, and the idea of being warm felt like a childish fantasy. And while they'd grown used to the idea of being warm, part of them felt like they didn't deserve it.
They lowered the pen again, continuing.
I think you survived in the only way you knew how. Someone made the decision to treat you like you were just a prototype. You lost out on so much. And I know listening to everyone talk about their experiences as a trainlet hurts, because you never got that chance. You were never treated like you were young, with the freedom to make mistakes.
They brought their free hand up to wipe away the tears that had built up in their eyes.
No one thought to tell you that it didn't have to be that way. And I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that you thought that your only option was to barrel through everyone to prove yourself.
One day, you're going to learn that you aren't the only option. You'll realise that steam, and diesel, and electric are here to stay. And you'll make friends with rolling stock that the lab taught you were outdated and irrelevant.
You'll make mistakes first. You'll alienate everyone, and hurt them. You'll act like an arrogant idiot, and you'll keep yourself awake at nights when you know better, because the guilt's eating you alive.
But you'll learn how to apologise. And you'll fall in love, and you'll learn what it means to be warm.
I wish I could say I hated you. That I loathed everything you stand for. Because in many ways, I do. I loath you for the harm you caused, and for the fact that you didn't care enough to look at everyone you were hurting.
But if I hated you for it, then I'd be doing us both harm. And I'm trying to be better than that.
Hydra's hand trembled by the time they lifted the pen again. Their breath was uneven, too shallow, but the words were coming now, every worry that had kept them awake spilling out onto the page.
They reread what they'd written so far. At their attempts to talk to someone that they'd learned to hate, and treat them better than they'd ever experienced.
They swallowed hard, blinking as tears tracked down their cheeks, lowering the pen once more.
;It's not easy to realise that you're not a good person. And this is the part you want to hear.
The reason why you feel so alone is because no one can stand to be around you when you're talking about replacing them.
But you'll learn how to make space for others one day, and you'll learn how to accept that you deserve to be warm, and loved, and cared for.
Really, I think you did the best you could with the tools you had. And I know that sounds like an excuse, but it isn't. It's the truth. You weren't allowed to make mistakes before the yard. Everything you did was measured up to some grading system, and you weren't allowed to wander or ask questions, or even cling to someone when you were scared.
You lived by rules and expectations, and they deprived you of the chance to be a trainlet. You learned to run, and they turfed you out into the world, without the experiences.
You didn't know what it meant to fail, and you didn't know how to coexist with anyone else. So you didn't try to trust anyone else.
After all, why would you think to trust someone that you'd been taught would be replaced one day?
Hydra paused, the pen tip lingering on the page as they rubbed at their eyes with one hand, before letting their gaze drift back towards the bed.
They'd hurt Porter more than anyone. They'd basically driven him off the rails, and taken away the deepest bond he'd ever had. He'd made sure Rusty wouldn't need coal to run, and pushed Porter closer to being defunct on the rails.
But somehow, Porter loved them fiercely now, despite what they'd done. He'd adapted, working under Wrench to qualify as a repair truck, taking to his new role like a bird to the sky.
And he'd fallen in love with Hydra. Rusty had fallen in love with them too.
It had been rough at first, of course. Porter had seemed so lost, when he and Rusty had gotten back together. He'd been tentative about where he belonged, unsettled by how different Rusty sounded when he was burning hydrogen instead.
They'd been the reason why Porter had felt obsolete overnight.
Hydra blinked back the sting of tears, and looked down at the journal again. The guilt was eating them alive, but…
You won't understand this for a long time, but the world isn't something you need to conquer. You're allowed to just be a part of it. One day, you'll stop trying to replace everyone, and you'll learn to be a teammate.
It's cold, in the lab. It's cold being alone.
But there'll come a day that you'll realise that you don't need to be the future to be worth something. You'll get a team to work with, and two loving boyfriends who will make space for you, regardless of your mistakes.
Because even if you don't believe it right now, you'll learn that love is warm. It's a warmth you've never felt before, and you'll never want to live without it.
I wish I could go back and put a hand on your shoulder, that day when you first arrived on the yard. I wish you'd had someone who could've told you that you weren't supposed to face the world alone. I wish someone had told you that you didn't need to earn the right to be loved.
They sniffled, muffling a sob in their wrist, before continuing, needing to finish this. Their gaze flicked back to the bed, before back to the page.
But one day, I promise you, you'll find love. And you'll never want to look back.
Hydra stared down at the page, tears dripping down and wetting the paper, soaking in around the words.
It wasn't guilt making them cry. Not entirely.
It was grief.
Grief for the life they could've had, if they hadn't been raised in a lab, isolated and treated like an experiment. If they'd grown up on the yard, roughhousing with the others, and making mistakes without judgement.
They closed the journal, burying their face in their hands, as they started to cry in earnest. They folded over the desk, forcing themself to stay quiet, even as they sobbed.
They cried for the trainlet who never learned what it meant to race across the yard laughing, or hide under the bigger freights during storms, or cling to Momma's wheels when frightened.
They pressed their palms harder into their eyes, shoulders trembling as tears leaked through their fingers.
It had taken so long for them to learn love, and somehow, they couldn't bring themself to believe they deserved it. They feared the idea that it might be taken away, like some cruel joke.
Hydra dragged a shaking breath in, but it did nothing to stable them. They didn't hear Porter stir over the muffled sobs they were trying to keep contained.
"Hydra…?" A sleepy voice cut through the night, and Hydra tensed up, holding their breath. "Hey, hey," Porter sat up, gently soothing Rusty when he let out a murmur of protest at the movement. "Hey, what's wrong? C'mere, come back to bed."
Hydra sniffled, scrubbing at their eyes, shame burning their face. They didn't want Porter see them like this, folded over the desk like a derailed wreck, crying over a life they'd never had.
"Hey," Porter murmured again, softer. "Hy, look at me."
They shuddered, finally turning in the chair, blinking through tears. Porter was sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand braced on the blanket, the other extended toward them. His hair was sticking up in random directions, eyes half-open, but he looked worried when he saw the streaks on Hydra's cheeks.
"I'm sorry, I…" they hiccuped, shaking their head. "I didn't mean to wake you up."
"Oh, Hydra…" Porter whispered, patting the mattress in invitation. "Come here."
Hydra wanted to refuse, but the strength drained out of them, and they stood on unsteady legs, whimpering as Porter opened his arms. They walked into them without hesitation.
Porter wrapped them up instantly, one arm around Hydra's back, the other sliding up to cradle the back of their head, fingers carding through their hair.
Hydra broke all over again, burying their face in his shoulder, letting Porter ease them down onto the mattress. He held them close as they clung to him, gently shifting them so their back was against Rusty's chest, the warmth grounding them.
"Hey," Porter murmured, kissing the side of their head. "You're okay. You're alright. Get it out."
Hydra shook harder, fingers bunching in the fabric of Porter's sleep shirt. "I'm sorry," they choked out, voice hushed. "Porter, I'm so sorry."
Porter hushed them, thumb smoothing over a spot behind their ear. "You don't have anything to apologise for."
"I do," they whispered, trying not to disturb Rusty's sleep. "I- I took Rusty from you… I took your job, and your purpose, and I didn't even think about what it meant for you to-"
"Hydra," Porter pulled back, guiding their chin up with his hand. He looked more awake now. "Turn to look at Rusty."
Hydra hesitated, breath catching, but they did. And there, still curled in the blankets, sleeping peacefully, lips parted, was Rusty.
"He's still here," Porter said softly. "You didn't lose him. And you didn't take him from me."
Hydra blinked, tears spilling silently as they turned to look back at Porter.
"Things changed," he continued. "Yeah. They did. But Rusty burning coal wasn't saving my job anyway. They closed down the last coal plant, and the rails don't want steam engines. Not anymore." He brushed Hydra's tears away with his thumb. "You didn't ruin anything, but… you gave us a new start."
Hydra shook their head. "I made things worse."
"No," Porter said firmly. "You made things different. That's not the same." He tipped their chin up, kissing their cheek. "I lost my job, but I got a new purpose. One that lets me be useful again."
Hydra leaned into his touch, barely breathing.
"And you didn't take Rusty from me," Porter added softly. "We both found him again. And we found you."
Hydra crumpled into Porter's chest with a sob, and Porter held them tighter, rocking them gently.
"Rusty always wanted to be a champion. And burning hydrogen, he was able to do it. He was able to run faster than he's ever run before." He whispered against their hair, rubbing circles against their back with one hand. "And I learned skills that let me fix his aches and pains. Let me fix Momma's aches and pains."
"But… But you were happy before, and- and after, you were-"
Porter hummed. "We were comfortable, but we were losing our livelihoods. I might've been scrapped if I hadn't found a new job."
Hydra froze, eyes wide.
"Is that why you're still awake?" Porter asked, voice soft, sighing when they nodded. "It took me a while to understand why you did what you did. But I wouldn't change it for anything."
"…You wouldn't?" Hydra asked timidly.
"I wouldn't," Porter smiled, settling down to lie down fully, cradling them. "Because I got this out of it. I got you, and I got Rusty, and I got a new purpose on the yard that lets me take care of everyone properly." He kissed them, before smiling. "Do you want to go back to sleep?"
Rusty murmured groggily, reaching out to wrap his arms around Hydra's midsection. "Wha's goin' on?" he asked, not properly awake.
"Nothing, Rus, we're going back to sleep now," Porter responded, laughing softly. "Right, Hydra?"
"Right…" Hydra nodded, turning onto their back with a shaky sigh, wiping the rest of the tears away. "Thanks, Port, I…" they looked up at the ceiling, smiling weakly. "I want to show you what I was writing tomorrow, if you're okay with that."
They knew, deep down, that this wouldn't go away.
But maybe, just maybe, they could trust Porter and Rusty, and learn how to forgive themself for their past. They knew better now. They didn't need to hate themself, they didn't rely on that for survival. Because they had Porter and Rusty to love them instead.
And if they'd learned anything, it was that while they were once used to the cold, the warmth was better than anything else.