Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dustin was a lot of things. Insecure, introverted, and overly conscious of his place in any space he occupied. What he wasn't was a liar; at least, not entirely.

The cough had started a few weeks ago, during a shunting in the yard. Rusty had made an offhanded joke to calm his nerves and Dustin had laughed so hard he snorted. Mortified, he went silent, avoiding Rusty's eyes.

"Are you alright?" Rusty had asked, trying to study the amount of Dustin's face he could see.

Dustin nodded quietly, his cheeks hot. "'Scuse me. That wasn't a sound I thought I'd make."

"Laughing?" Rusty prodded, his smile bright.

A tickle crawled its way into Dustin's chest, low into his lungs. It was a new and uncomfortable feeling and he coughed a moment to relieve it. Clearing his throat, he managed a smile. "Should we go get some gravel, then?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," Rusty responded, taking Dustin by the couplings and pushing forward.

Ever since then Dustin had been having a hard time just talking to Rusty, let alone trying to explain what was going on. He knew it would be fruitless; every day he got to work more and more with the passenger cars, bringing them to the line for the bigger engines to pull along. They all seemed to adore him, and yet he only had eyes for one. It made the tickle in Dustin's chest into a scratch that one day doubled him over in the yard, hand to his mouth.

Poppa had gotten concerned, pulling Dustin aside to pat him on the back.

"Son, are you all right?" Poppa asked gently, watching Dustin straighten up. Pulling away his hand, a few slim orange petals rested in his palm.

"What's that?" Dustin asked. "I don't remember going to a flower field."

Poppa shook his head slowly. "It's been many years since I've seen this one."

"Seen what one?" Dustin's hand twitched, his eyes flitting from the petals to Poppa.

"Have you gone and gotten yourself falling in love, boy?"

"What? Why would that be part of it?"

"It's a disease. The flowers fill up your lungs in due time."

"M-my lungs?" Dustin squeaked, triggering another cough.

Poppa nodded solemnly. "Unless of course, that special someone loves you back. That's the only cure."

Dustin felt himself shrink. "Oh... I suppose I'm to die then."

Poppa smacked him on the back again, this time in support. "Nonsense, boy! Just go talk to her."

"I can't just talk to, er, that person. I'm not good with my words." It was clear that nothing good could come from admitting anything, to anyone.

"Well you ought to say something soon, while you still just got petals. Is it one of the coach girls?"

"N-no."

"Oh, one of them big girl engines, huh?"

"I mean, sort of?" He gulped. He wasn't sure how comfortable Poppa was with the idea of it not being a girl, let alone his star protege.

"Then you'll have no problem. Relax and be yourself. Worked for me every time." With a final clap on his shoulder, Poppa began to head to his next task.

"I can't do both those things at once..." Dustin mumbled to himself.

Chapter Text

The next day during routine yard work, Dustin did his best to take Poppa's advice. Perhaps Rusty would be open minded, if Dustin could even manage to get the words out.

"Alright, where should we start for today?" Rusty proclaimed, rolling up his sleeves. It nearly drained the blood from Dustin's body as he struggled not to stare.

"It's a really nice day, isn't it?" Dustin pointed out to the wall behind Rusty. "If we work twice as fast, maybe we, er..."

"Oh! Maybe they'll let me fetch the coaches for the evening express service. Good point, Dustin!"

"Well, I was just meaning that..."

"Come on, we should get started right away!" Rusty gripped Dustin's couplings from behind, shoving him forward.

"W-wait, Rusty, stop!" Dustin pleaded. "I wanted to tell you something."

"You can tell me while we work, like usual."

Dustin wrung his hands, facing forward. "Right... Like usual."

After a full morning's transport of gravel from the quarry, Rusty paused to take a break. Wiping his face with a kerchief, he looked up at Dustin who was still standing. "Have a seat. You never told me what was so important."

Dustin took a careful seat next to Rusty, pulling himself in to leave space between the two of them.

"Oh, right. Well..." He wasn't a liar. "Your hair looks nice today."

Rusty processed the comment for a moment before letting out a chuckle. "Thanks. Do you think Pearl will like it?"

The scratch in Dustin's lungs quickly turned to a stab as he doubled over again, his body seizing up as it tried to expel the offending flora.

Rusty startled, jumping a little away from Dustin. "Oh my gosh, are you sick?"

"No, no. So sorry. Aggregates, you know." Dustin balled his fist in front of his mouth, concealing the petals that had been expelled as he cleared his throat lightly. "Excuse me."

Rusty relaxed, resting a hand on Dustin's back. It was different than the way Poppa comforted him; a gentle, colt-like touch compared to the old iron horse of his mentor. Somehow it didn't give any relief to his symptoms. Perhaps it was even making it worse.

"Well, as long as you're staying healthy. I'm here for you, you know?"

Dustin wrung the petals in his fist, discretely discarding them behind his back. "I know, Rusty. Thank you."

Rusty smiled, pulling out his pocket watch and gaping at it. "Oh no, I've got to get to the coach yard. Let's catch up later, okay Dustin?"

Before Dustin could respond, Rusty was leaping to his feet to fetch Ashley, Buffy, Dinah, and that girl he couldn't stop talking about. The girl that was the reason he might die.

It certainly wasn't Pearl's fault. She couldn't know. How could she know? Dustin was unfamiliar with their dynamic, but he certainly hadn't seen any flowers in Rusty's mouth recently. Not that he was looking at Rusty's mouth all day.

Dustin coughed once more, punctuated by a sigh.

Chapter Text

The championship race was returning. It was exciting to see so many visitors to the small yard they called home for a chance to race across the country, competing for the glory of being the best. Every year, Dustin always wondered what it would be like. Racing behind an engine, feeling the wind whip past his face as his partner narrowly avoided danger. What a sweet feeling it would be, claiming the victory just once. Proving himself as more than just the sad, pathetic, broken hopper he was.

He had nearly forgotten about his condition when Rusty came to fetch the freight train for the engines to choose from. The stabbing pain returned to his lungs as he lined up behind Flat-Top, feeling Caboose grab his couplers. The small bit of distance from Rusty made him feel significantly worse, but he had to power through. As they rounded the corner, he could hear the girls start to prattle about their arrival. It was a thing of pride to be part of the freight train; they just didn't understand. How could they? It was so much easier to get attention as a passenger coach, it was almost like they didn't even have to try.

The guests came in, one at a time. They were all larger than life in their presence, none moreso than the conflicting champion and challenger. It was all so exciting that Dustin had almost forgotten the next part. The engines who entered would need to pick a partner. All the coaches were picked relatively quickly; of course they would be. They were quick on their wheels and pretty to boot. Two things Dustin didn't have going for him. He hunched as he felt the judgemental eyes of the challengers on him. They didn't have to say anything at all to him. He knew what they were all thinking. Why would I race with that?

And then Rusty. Rusty was alone. He had tried to ask her to race with him, but it was fruitless. She had been taken by another, the new electric engine everyone had been buzzing about. Dustin was able to take his mind off the race for a bit, listening to Poppa sing in the yard until Rusty had returned, uncoupled.

"Rusty, why you looking sad?" Poppa had invited him in.

Rusty slumped his shoulders. "I've got no hope. Pearl won't race with me. She chose electric instead."

Dustin hated how optimistic he had been in the moment, holding back the jerk of his chest as Poppa offered Rusty a different wagon to take. Rocky? No. Why not Flat-Top? Especially no. Conveniently, Dustin was left out of this roster. He felt his chest hitch once more.

Rusty was determined. He wouldn't go without her, so Poppa had to take matters into his own hands. He asked the room if anyone would go with him, and Flat-Top made a snide remark about how dirty he found steamers.

Dustin found that steamers were unfortunately what he was looking for.

"I'll go," he had piped up, and everyone stared at him.

Poppa was hesitant. "Son, you're a little..."

"I know," Dustin cut him off. "But please. I'll do everything I can."

An announcement was made overhead. Time was running out.

Finally, Poppa cracked. "Come on, Dustin."

It should have been fine, but between Poppa's age and lack of training, plus Dustin's weight and illness, it was a long shot. They had won, but at what cost? Even racing with someone else to get his mind off things was starting to not work anymore, and Dustin felt himself feeling just as broken as Poppa was where he had collapsed on the floor.

Flat-Top was the only one to console him, and Dustin hated that even that didn't help. It was too late. He turned away from Flat Top, holding out his hand after a particularly painful wretch. There he saw it. A full chrysanthemum. He crushed it in his hand before Flat-Top could crane his neck to look.

He was going to die.