Strike always dreaded hearing his alarm in the morning, especially when it was still dark out. Even if the morning wasn't that cold, a cold start was an agonizing process. The steamers didn't know how lucky they were; just being able to spark their fireboxes and get rolling first thing in the morning without having all of their internal mechanics seized up overnight. Strike supposed with increased power and efficiency would come some drawbacks, naturally.

Not only did Strike's body need to warm up so the diesel in his system would work out of it's gelled state, but Strike's body was unique in that he was one of the only diesel electric locomotives with 20 cylinders as opposed to the usual 16. This gave him more power, but also made it take longer for him to get him going in the morning.

Strike eyed the energy drinks he kept stored in the fridge of his shed, pondering whether he should take one to help speed up his jumpstart. They made him feel more efficient, sure, but they had a way of messing with his head too.

Since his last meeting with Wrench, he'd been in rough shape mentally. To say it didn't do much for his sense of self worth was an understatement. Most nights he would stay awake, sitting up, letting his mind fog over with the thought that he'd be more useful as a pile of scrap metal than as a running locomotive. Some days it just hurt to be alive, he couldn't always explain it.

He was constantly tempted to come up with an excuse that he wasn't feeling well, but that would of course mean that the mechanics would be all over him trying to find an issue that wasn't even mechanical.

Strike's change in mood didn't get past Rusty. He noticed the diesel looked more worn out, and didn't talk much. He never really did to begin with other than the occasional snide comment, but now he was lucky to get more than a grunt in response to any questions he asked.

Today was no different. Strike went through his chores alongside the small steam switcher. He carried a tired glaze in his eye. He worked slowly, like he was running on little fuel, though they both knew that wasn't the case since his tank was just topped off that morning.

Rusty was worried about him, but was afraid to ask. He didn't want to upset him, but he hoped he would come forward and trust him enough to talk if he needed to. Though Rusty didn't fully know how much Strike trusted anybody.

As much as Rusty hated to admit it, he also hesitated around him. Not only was his history with diesels not the best, but he knew Strike's behavior could take some unpredictable turns. Rusty knew Strike would never hurt anyone on purpose, but sometimes his sickness would take over.

As much as Rusty wanted him and Strike to be friends, he couldn't help but feel there was still a barrier between the two of them. Like they were trying to protect themselves from each other.

The freight passed to move out of the yard for transport. Both locomotives were surprised to see CB at the back with minimal supervision. The higher ups must have allowed him a bit more room due to good behavior. Strike side eyed the caboose as the train moved out. The gaze, albeit minimally alert, did not go past the caboose's attention.

"See ya later old buddy!" The caboose chirped in his usual cheery yet unreadable manner. His expression only wavering slightly when Strike mustered up the energy to give the shady little rat a nasty snarl.

Rusty laughed inwardly a bit. At least he wasn't completely lost.

Strike and Rusty got to work moving flat cars as intermodals were transferred onto them by crane.

As he worked, Strike once more got lost in the fog of his head. Thinking was so tiring. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and stop functioning altogether. He felt like he was trying to move through molasses. Everything was heavy, his body ached. He was frustrated, but had nowhere to put that frustration. It just drilled further into his head wearing him down, till he felt he could barely function.

"Rusty!"

Rusty heard something snap followed by a crack and creaking of metal. His eyes shot up. He saw the crane buckle under the weight of one of the intermodal wells. He had no time to react. He clenched his eyes shut and braced for a nasty impact. As he felt the displacement of air just above his head he heard a crunch and groan in pain, but it wasn't from him…

Rusty's eyes opened to see Strike's piercing eyes staring right at him. His teeth bared, but he wasn't aggressing him. Strike was holding the deflected intermodal.

Strike's body went from half dead to overdrive upon seeing Rusty about to be crushed under an intermodal and collapsed crane. His body moved without even a second thought.

Strike's body creaked, it was painful, but Rusty being a small switcher would have fared much worse had he not stepped in to take the brunt.

"Strike! Hold on!"

Rusty stood up and did his best to help alleviate the load of the fallen intermodal.

Seeing the chaos a few other engines on standby unhitched themselves and made their way over to lift the well from Strike's shoulders.

Strike's knees buckled under him causing him to fall down where he stood.

Once the well was casted off, Rusty, still shaken up, rushed to the diesel's side. Strike was down on his knees and elbows trying to breathe through the pain that plagued his back and shoulders. Initial pain was almost always the worst so it was hard for him to gauge whether or not he was injured.

He tried to get up but Rusty did his best to hold him down.

"Strike no, don't get up. Just stay still and wait for help" Rusty said firmly.

Naturally the first at the scene were the crew of engineers, conductors, and breakmen working on the freight train being loaded along with the yard workers and crane operator.

The crew surrounded Strike, doing their best to check him for serious injury. Shortly after they arrived, Poppa appeared, concerned about what the commotion was about. He felt a twist in his gut when his eyes became drawn to Rusty, who looked incredibly shaken up, along with a collapsed crane. He hadn't even seen Strike's form in the crowd of BNSF engines and workmen.

"Rusty! You okay son?" Poppa grabbed the young switcher's shoulders and hastily turned him around.

"I'm okay Poppa", he replied in a shaky voice, "but Strike..."

Poppa followed Rusty's gaze to the fallen diesel engine, "Oh my…"

The muscular diesel looked quite helpless laying on his side in the cold mud. His sides heaving as he panted in pain and exhaustion.

For an engine like him, pulling stacks of loaded wells was nothing, but he was not built to withstand the force of loaded wells falling on top of him, no engine was. Even the freight cars made to carry such vessels would have buckled under that kind of force.

"How did this happen?" Poppa asked.

"I was under the crane when it buckled, and Strike… he saved me".

Rusty turned his attention back to Strike, once more kneeling down beside him. Poppa followed suit, kneeling behind him with a shoulder on the young steamers back to help calm him.

"What can I do?" Rusty asked the team.

"Just stay where you are and try to keep him still and calm".

"It's okay fella, you're gonna be okay", the steamer puffed anxiously.

Strike was half hoping Rusty noticed the Not sure I'm buying that look he returned.

With the way you're talking to me it seems like the opposite.

Naturally the little steamer would be shaken, he was almost made into an iron pancake after all, and now his comrade was on the ground potentially seriously injured. Strike did his best to put on a brave face for his sake. Rusty reached for his hand and squeezed it.

Strike firmly squeezed back.

Maybe I'm down but I'm still alive.

Rusty could see a new fire upon looking into Strike's old yet passionate crimson eyes. A small smile came to the steamers lips.

The good news was that BNSF would likely pay for the damages since the two were on loan for the work day.