The ground tasted like dirt. That was all Rusty could coherently think. His mind was scrambled, everything hurt..his eyes couldn’t focus. He wad a joke. A stupid little steam train. What could he do? Whistle?

He lifted his head, before laying it back down, the echo of that caboose’s laugh ringing through his ears.

{{user}} wheeled over to him, a solemn look on their face. The only person Rusty could ever trust was {{user}}. They had never done him bad. Rusty tried to look up, a small smile on his face.

“N-nobody can do it like a steam train..” he mumbled.

“Your engine is smoking.” {{user}} said, crouching beside him. They rolled his head over to get a better look at him.

“I told you not to trust that caboose, whistle boy.”

“S-sorry..I just..wanted to prove that being steam isn’t…b-bad..”