Can't Be Happening.
AN: I wrote this, like, a year ago BEFORE I became a huge grammer stickler so beware.
Enjoy.
Me—Welcome to my story! I love it hugs story.
CB—Anyway, she does not—
Me—CB-chan!! Glomps CB
CB—do you want me to do the disclaimer or not!?
Me—lets go Yes…
CB—Okay. Hannah does NOT own Starlight Express, and it would be a dangerous world if she did. Very dangerous.
Me—On with the one-shot!
Chapter One (the only chapter!)—This Can't Be Happening, Just Can't Be Happening!
"Where were you? I was worried."
CB, the Red Caboose as some called him, looked up and met the angered gaze of his housemate, Darren, a seventeen-year-old mail car he'd taken in three years ago.
"What should it matter?" he grunted. He wasn't really in the mood. After another day of being taunted and glared at by both freight and passenger car and engine, CB didn't care or want to deal with what Darren had to say. But, still, she pressed on.
"It matters because you could worry some one—like me—sick! Something could've happened to you. I—"
"Why does any of this mean anything to you?"
"Because, CB, I care—"
"Care? No one cares about me! I'm the red caboose! No one cares and I'm glad they don't! I don't need them and I don't need you!" CB pointed to the door, "Get out!"
When Darren didn't budge, he yelled again, "GET OUT!"
Shocked by his out rage, Darren slowly inched her way to and out of the door, being sure to close it behind her as she left.
CB cursed at himself before slowly dragging himself down the hall to his room. He had collapsed onto his bed when it hit him: he'd done it. He'd made her cry. He'd achieved what no one had before.
"Shit…" he mumbled.
o0o
Darren rolled along the tracks and through the unfamiliar ground of Apollo Victoria Station. Though she had been there for three years, Darren never ventured out much, and therefore had know idea where she was or where she was going. She was alone. CB hated her. Sure, he hadn't said anything, but it was obvious he did. She sighed and tried to wipe some tears away with her sleeve, only succeeding in covering the white fabric with the black paint that surrounded her eyes.
"Excuse me. Are you alright?"
Darren's spine stiffened and she worriedly looked up. A blue and white-checkered dining car awaited her gaze, standing only a few feet in front of her; she looked worried.
"Oh, dear," she said, "You've been crying, haven't you?"
The dining coach took a step closer and Darren one back.
"It's okay, don't worry. I'm not gonna hurt you."
Darren stopped and looked down.
"Whatsa' matter, sweetie?" the coach asked, now in front of a scared and trembling Darren. Darren shook her head, "W-who are you?" she asked.
"I'm Dinah. Now come with me and we'll fix you up."
Something in the back of Darren's mind clicked and she looked up again. No doubt about it, this was the Dinah CB always talked about. The Dinah CB was in love with. She wondered if she should go or not for a moment but found her conscience taking over. Her black and red skates shuffled forward and she and Dinah skated off.
They arrived shortly at a house Darren assumed to be Dinah's. But her assumptions vanished when Dinah knocked.
She heard things falling over as whoever was inside somehow made their way. It opened and in the doorway was a Union Pacific diesel engine, probably in his mid-thirty's, with jet-black hair and honey-brown eyes.
"Oh, hey, Dinah," the engine said, running a hand through his messy hair.
"Hey, Greaseball!" Dinah smiled sweetly.
Greaseball smiled back, only then noticing the black and white mail car next to his coach. His face fell into a look of confusion. "Who's this?" he asked, pointing at Darren.
"Greaseball!" Dinah scolded, pushing his hand down with her own, "don't point!"
"Sorry, but who is she?"
"Greaseball, this is…um…excuse me, I don't think I got your name."
"My name is Darren."
"Okay, thanks! Greaseball," Dinah started again, "this is Darren, and Darren, this is Greaseball."
"And you brought her to my house…because…?"
"Because your house is closer!"
Greaseball held up his hand cagily in defense. "Okay," he sighed, moving away from the door, "come on in."
Greaseball's house was messy and Darren soon understood the noises he had made coming to the door. An overturned lamp lay on the floor, as well as a few chairs, magazines, cups, and old, discarded, newspapers. It was hard to make their way over to two light blue armchairs that had yet to fall over, it was near impossible to not step on anything.
Darren sat down in the one on the left and Dinah sat on the arm, her hand sitting comfortably on Darren's shoulder. She looked at Greaseball expectantly. He blinked, "oh!" he said, putting his hand to his hair again, "do you want anything to drink or…something?"
Dinah nodded, "tea would be nice. Darren, would you like anything?"
Darren moved her head 'yes' once, slowly, "tea would be very good," she muttered.
"So," Dinah began, looking down at Darren as the mail car looked up at her, "what's your story?"
Darren's gaze went right, "me and my…roommate…we…had a fight. I was upset…that's all."
"What was it about?"
Darren shrugged, "I'm not quite sure. He—"
Greaseball, who had returned, teacups in hand, dropped the white class and all three cups smashed when they hit the ground by his skates. "HE!?" the diesel engine exclaimed, "you're living with a GUY!?! A-are you coupled to him?"
"Greaseball!" Dinah scolded.
Darren shook her head, "no. He's four years older than me anyway."
"Then how old are you?" Greaseball asked.
"Seventeen," Darren answered slowly.
"Seventeen!?"
"Greaseball!" Dinah scolded again.
Greaseball counted on his fingers, "Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…YOU'RE LIVING WITH A TWENTY-ONE-YEAR-OLD GUY!?"
"Greaseball!"
"What?" he groaned, turning to his coach.
"Clean that," She gestured to the mess of tea and glass at his feet, "and make us some more tea," she ordered.
Once her engine was out of sight, Dinah turned back to Darren with soft eyes, "I'm so sorry about him. Please continue."
"Well, like I said, he came home late and I was worried. I told him and that I cared and he said, 'No one cares about me, and I'm glad they don't!' Then, he told me to get out. So, here I am!" Darren finished her story, gratefully taking a cup of tea from Greaseball; who had returned for the tail end.
"That's what you get for living with a twenty-one-year-old—"
"Greaseball, would you be QUIET!"
Greaseball sunk lower into the seat he had taken only moments ago and glared at Darren who gladly glared back.
Dinah's attitude changed from angry to compassionate as she hugged Darren into her chest comfortingly, "Awww, you poor, poor, dear!" she cooed, causing Greaseball to stick his finger into his mouth and pretend to gag.
"I'm so sorry!" the dining car exclaimed, hugging the mail car tighter.
Darren tried to say something, but the lace around Darren's collar muffled her speech.
Greaseball rolled his eyes, "C'mon, Dinah, can't you see she needs to breathe?"
Dinah finally let go five minutes later, and Darren, gasping for breath, looked at her watch. Her eye's widened, she'd been gone for an hour.
She sat up quickly and her hosts looked at her oddly.
"What is it?" Dinah asked.
Darren smiled, "I've been gone for a while. I need to get home."
"But…what about?"
"It'll be fine," she assured, "he's probably asleep now anyway."
"By the way," Greaseball started, "who is this 'mystery man'?"
Darren's face fell. Should she tell them? How would they react? Darren knew that the other cars looked down on CB, would her living with him change the way Greaseball or Dinah thought of her? She looked at the couple before her and decided.
With more confidence than ever before that night, Darren answered, "You wouldn't know him."