Author's Note: This first story is a get-well gift for IvoryS-J. I hope that this helps distract you from the pain for a bit and that you heal up quickly!

Sticks and Stones

Sticks and stones could do a whole lot of damage to an aircraft…Dusty should know, he had after all crash-landed through a forest after a gearbox failure…but he trusted Dottie, Maru, and the other mechanics to put him back together when that happened. Yes, sticks and stones did a lot of damage, but words could slice through him in a way that created deep, festering injuries that the little plane didn't have a clue how to heal.

"You are nothing but a novelty."

During the light of day, in the middle of the thrill of the race, Dusty was mostly able to ignore the cruel words said by some of his competitors and just soak up the energy of the crowd. But when the lights went out and the crowds went home, there was nothing to drown out the comments being made in the corner or the thoughts in his head.

"He doesn't have any personality, so the crowds will grow tired of him eventually."

Yes, there were some racers that kind to him, whom Dusty considered to be close friends. He enjoyed grabbing dinner and drinks with them after the races were wrapped up and before everyone traveled home. But even in the relaxed company of friends, the whispers always seemed to follow.

"They are hanging out with their pity project again."

Dusty loved the race, he loved the speed, he loved the cheer of the crowd. Dusty loved being a racer…but event after event, race after race, cruel words got sent his way and those words were gradually eating away at his soul. He knew that most of the statements were lies and that he really should just ignore them. But it was just so easy to doubt yourself when you heard the same thing said about you over and over again.

"You did an impressive job on that last race." Cabbie said with a big smile, and Dusty really wanted to trust his words, but something in the back of his head kept trying to call Cabbie a liar.

"It was nothing." Dusty tried to deflect, not meeting the large plane's eyes. This managed to get him a harrumph and a roll of the eyes from Skipper.

"Modesty is all and good, but it is also okay to bask in our accomplishments." The C-119 spoke with such soft encouragement that Dusty couldn't help but look up with a shy smile.

"Thanks." The little plane allowed his eyes to drop to the ground once again. He nervously started to draw lines on the tarmac with one of his front tires. "And thank you for coming, I know that you all are really busy with it being fire season and all."

"It was our pleasure." The old plane's voice was filled with a warm honesty that made Dusty ignore his doubts and trust him. "The smokejumpers enjoyed being able to watch the race and stuff their faces full of festival food during their day off, and I always enjoy having an excuse to visit friends."

Dusty finally broke into a full smile at the memory of Drip, Blackout, and Pinecone on the sidelines eating their way through an absolutely gigantic tub of popcorn. He was about to make a comment about it, when he saw a flash of green out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively Dusty backed up, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and the racer who was stocking towards him.

"Hiding your sorry aft behind another old military aircraft I see." Ripslinger practically sneered as he looked between Skipper and Cabbie. Then he turned his full attention to Dusty and spoke in a condescending tone. "One babysitter not enough?"

Dusty tried to open his mouth in protest, but he didn't have a chance to say a word because Cabbie spoke first. "If anyone is doing any babysitting here, it is Dusty." A ghost of a predatory smile appeared on the C-119's lips. "But I doubt a racer such as yourself would ever have the chance to learn the depth of trust that a jump plane forms with their lead."

Ripslinger's eyes narrowed as he tried to puff himself up to appear bigger…but while intimidation tactics might work on his fellow racers, the attempt easily bounced off Cabbie's scarred hull like a fleck of rain. When his attempt to assume dominance using his posture failed, he tried to attack using words once again.

"Well, I have far too busy and important to waste my time playing firefighter…"

"Playing?" Cabbie injected, interrupting Ripslinger's rant before it had a chance to fully build up steam. "My boy, if you think ariel firefighting is play, you have lived a very sheltered life and should probably stick to racing because I doubt you would have the fortitude, nor the grit to put your life on the line to rescue others." Cabbie settled low, anchoring himself to the space and giving more weight to his words. "Firefighting is mentally and physically the hardest thing that I have done in my life, and I have fought in two wars and was nearly shot out of the sky on numerous occasions."

Ripslinger was clearly getting more and more flustered. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again as his eyes darted between Cabbie, Dusty, and Skipper. Realizing that he wasn't going to be able to win a battle of wits against Cabbie and that Skipper had more dirt on him than the plane would like to admit, he turned his full attention to the vehicle he knew he still had sway over.

"This isn't over Dusty." He glared at the little plane as he reversed back to the main tarmac. "We will talk when you don't have anyone to hide behind."

The former crop duster tried to put on a brave face, but he couldn't help but stiffen at the bully's word. Even when Ripslinger was out of sight, he wasn't able to relax back into the carefree moment he had been having before the interruption. Cabbie gave Skipper a long look, in which the two planes seemed to have a conversation that no one else could hear. When they broke eye contact, Cabbie gave a long sigh.

"Why don't you join me and the crew for dinner." The old plane settled heavily on his tires. "We are staying the night at Nimbus's hanger and we are due for a proper catch-up."

Dusty allowed his eyes to drift towards the gaggle of other racers sitting on the tarmac. "I…"

"Blackout is cooking." Cabbie said with a wry smile, and Dusty's mouth instantly snapped shut as the excuse he was about to make evaporated on his lips.

"If it isn't a bother…" Dusty started, only to have Cabbie give his canopy a light whack with his wingtip.

"Go get cleaned up and all of your paperwork filled out." Cabbie once again settled on his tires. "I will send Drip to come to fetch you at 1900 hours."

With a time limit in place, Dusty did his best to power through the rest of the day. He smiled and greeted his fans, he chatted up his fellow racers, and even got in a couple of interviews with the local press. Skipper, Sparky, Chug, and Dottie did their best to keep him present in the moment, but Dusty knew that none of his friends from Propwash Junction realized just how much comfort he got from knowing that in just a few sweet hours he was going to be able to switch from racer mode to firefighter mode.

The hours ticked down to minutes, then minutes to seconds, and true to Cabbie's word, Drip pushed himself through the crowd to pick up Dusty. It took a bit for Dusty to explain to security that, he was in fact, expecting Drip and that no, the racer was not being kidnapped. But once he had been formally signed out of the racer's area of the event Drip promptly dragged him across base to a cozy hangar on the edge of the residential zone.

"Welcome." A gray and white painted C-119 greeted him as he approached. "I was starting to get a little worried that the two of you had gotten lost."

"My apologies for that." Dusty felt a blush of embarrassment starting to form, but his companion had no such shame.

"The security was crazy." Drip replied practically bouncing on his tires. "I was worried that I might fail my mission, but Dusty was able to convince them that I wasn't trying to kidnap him and let him come to dinner."

The look of pure amusement on the C-119's face was enough to get Dusty to fully relax. With that, the old plane motioned for both vehicles to enter his hangar. "Welcome again to my home, I am Nimbus by the way."

"Dusty." The smaller plane said with a polite bob on his tires.

Rolling into the space, Dusty hadn't known what to expect…but he certainly was unprepared for what he saw. Below his tires was an incredibly intricate map of the United States that had been stained into the concrete floor. Above him was a mural of cloud formations that were just as detailed as the map. There was just so much to see that Dusty couldn't help but slow to a stop and stare mouth a gap.

"It is pretty spectacular isn't it." Cabbie let out a low chuckle as he rolled over. "Nimbus has been putting a sizeable chunk of his paychecks towards this project ever since he got grounded." Dusty looked at Cabbie quizzically, so the old plane continued. "Nimbus is a ground ghost, not unlike what Skipper use to be…but unlike Skipper, there is no possibility for him to ever take to the air again."

Dusty felt his face furrowed into a frown. It was just so incredibly sad, he looked towards Nimbus to give his condolences, only to see the amusement on the aircraft's face.

"I can still fly in my dreams. Plus, luckily, I still have my work as a weatherman, and I am able to volunteer at the airspace museum here on base. This may not have the life that I would have chosen, but it is a good life nonetheless. But, we are not here to talk about me." Nimbus motioned towards an already set table. "We are all here to enjoy Blackout's good cooking."

The little smokejumper's five-alarm chilly was as fiery and delicious as Dusty remembered. He practically inhaled his first bowl but took his time to savor the second one, licking the bowl completely clean. Then bowls of vanilla ice cream topped with ripe, juicy peaches and whipped cream, and Cabbie got to business.

"So Dusty, how long has the bullying been going on?"

Dusty felt the blush once again trying to form and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want." Cabbie spoke softly. "But we might be able to help if you tell us."

Dusty just let the plane's words hang, not wanted to open up. Not wanting to show his friend just how weak he was.

"Did you know that Cabbie and I were both bullied mercilessly while we were in the service?" Nimbus spoke into his ice cream. "Plane for plane, we flew more missions and got more shot up than any other aircraft in the Korean War, but we weren't fighter aircraft so we were considered the bottom of the bottom."

"Trash Haulers." Cabbie had a faraway look in his eyes. "They called us Trash Haulers."

"They called us that if they were in a good mood." Nimbus ribbed the other plane. "I can't repeat the names the came up to call us when they were in a bad mood in polite company. But that is beside the point. The point is, we were cargo aircraft, and there are just some people who can't see beyond your build…or your previous jobs."

"They choose to take out their insecurity on you, even when you become an aircraft that is equal or superior to them on the battlefield." Cabbie face softened into a sad expression. "Not even the exemplary service and selfless sacrifice of the combat C-119's during the Vietnam War will ever convince some vehicles of our value. But…" The plane allowed his eyes to lock on Dusty's. "But, as long as we didn't lose sight of our own worth, we were able to survive the abuse."

"We were told that we were worse than useless, but we C-119's proved them wrong."

"Oh, did we prove them wrong." Cabbie breathed. "We flew missions that were thought to be impossible, we were the first to catch satellites falling from space, the first to land and transport cargo to Antarctica," a broad smile crossed his lips as he looked directly at Dusty, "we even became firefighters."

"C-119s were supposed to only have one purpose." Nimbus looked to his friend. "But I am so glad that so many of us had the strength to look beyond our designation, to look beyond the taunts and the teasing to realize that the sky was our limit."

"It is getting late." Cabbie said with a yawn. "I think it is time for all of us to get some sleep."

"Would you like one of us to escort you back to your quarters?" Nimbus asked the little plane, but noticed that Dusty flinched slightly at the suggestion, so he added a second option. "Or would you like to rack out here? There is plenty of room as long as you don't mind racking out with the smokejumpers."

"Here please…" Dusty said in a voice barely over a whisper.

So, Dusty stayed. It didn't take long for smokejumpers and Dusty to get properly put to bed, though it did take a stern word from Cabbie to keep them there until they finally drifted off to sleep. But eventually, their breaths evened out and the snores began. The jump plane couldn't help but find the whole scene amusing and he wondered if he should find a way to take a picture of Dusty in a cuddle pile to send to Blade and Skipper…but he decided against it. Dusty needed this to be a safe moment.

"I think he is going to be okay." Nimbus rolled up to Cabbie nudging along a drink with a far higher grade than what had been served when the smaller vehicles were awake.

"I suspect you are right." Cabbie said as he nosed the high grade. "Thank you so much for your help this evening."

"Anytime." Nimbus chuckled. "Now that the little ones are asleep, I think you owe me a proper catch-up."

Cabbie didn't argue. With a smile he started to tell the newest stories from Piston Peak, making sure to include as many details about the sights, sounds, and smells as he could. As he spoke, he watched as Nimbus's as eyes drifted closed and a smile blossom across his lips. Every once in a while, the plane would ask for just a little more detail to help complete his mental image of a particular moment, which Cabbie would happily provide. For Cabbie knew, that to Nimbus, the precious words he spoke were a balm for his broken soul. And that any word that nurtured another was worth saying.