Archive of Our Own ^beta

The kid, aged 4

She wanted to go home. She was cold, and scared, and she wanted Mummy to stop playing this game. She didn’t like the game. She couldn’t see Mummy because it was too dark, and she couldn’t hear her because the scrapyard made lots of funny noises at night. She wanted to go and find her, or find her way back home, but her engine wasn’t working properly. Mummy had done something to it, and it hurt. She couldn’t go fast anymore. Well, Mummy had said she couldn’t go fast before. Not fast enough, anyway.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there. Mummy had said they’d play hide and seek, but it had been lots of nights and lots of days since then. She wanted to cry, but Mummy didn’t like it when she cried, so she didn’t. She just sat there, and maybe if she was good and quiet enough, Mummy would come back and get her.

The noises were louder at night. Metal scraping against metal, bricks shifting against bricks. The remnants of old trains who hadn’t been useful enough, piled as far as the eye could see.

Metal creaked behind her, and then she heard voices. Maybe it was her mummy. Her large, wide eyes looked out from under the large rusted chassis that she was hiding under. She watched as two huge, misshapen lumps of metal trundled by. Definitely not her mummy.

“Hurry up, they’ll be wonderin’ where we got to.”

“Well if they want their dinner, they can bloody well wait.” 

“Y’know what the Major’s like when he don’t eat.”

“S’not my fault the engines this week were slim pickin’s.”

She watched as the voices went by, their parts rusted and broken. Their wheels screeched and their engines groaned. Were they monsters? Did they eat engines? She was an engine - were they going to eat her? She tried to be quiet, but she couldn’t help but let out a quiet whimper. She felt very, very scared.

“Oi - you ‘ear that?”

“Hear wha’? Your dodgy engine?”

“No, shhh. I’m gonna go look.”

She held her breath, trying her very best to be still, and quiet. The sound of wheels faded, and she breathed out a little. Then, all of a sudden, a hand reached into the chassis, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck.

She screamed and kicked. Her wheels hit something sharp, and it fell to the floor with a clang. Another hand came up to grab her face, and she bit down, hard.

“Starlight, it bit me!”

The kid fell to the floor, and she scrambled up over the rusty plates, trying to escape. Her eyes were wet, and she swiped at them clumsily, but kept scrambling. She tried to use her engine, but it didn’t start. She tried again, tried with all the might in her scrawny body. It made a spluttering sound, but still nothing. The hands picked her up again, and she squirmed. She just wanted Mummy. She wanted home.

The hands were gentler this time though, and eventually, after a while, she stopped wriggling. She opened her eyes hesitantly, coming face to face with a toothless grin, a face pockmarked with rust, and tired, tired eyes. The eyes didn’t look so scary though. “What’s a little sprog like you doin’ out here on your own?”

The kid didn't speak, just gazed up with wide terrified eyes. “I ain’t gonna hurt you, kid. Where’s your parents?”

Mummy had always said not to talk to strangers. But then again, Mummy had also said she would never leave her behind. Maybe Mummy was a liar. “Mummy left me.” Her voice was quiet from days of disuse.

“Mummy left you? Well you’re an engine in’t ya? Why didn’t you go find ‘er?”

“Engine won’t work.”

“Huh? Let me see?” The hands turned her over, and the big scrapper peered into her engine cavity. “Oh kid, someone’s taken you apart huh? Not to worry. You’re in the right place.”

The kid nodded, her lip trembling. “I want to go home.”

“Your engine’s broke, kid. This is home for now.” He said, resting her against his hip. “Come on. We're gonna get you some fuel, then you’re gonna help me out. We’ll make a decent scrapper out of you.”

She turned her head towards his neck. She wanted to rest her head there, but she was practically stiff with fear. She let him carry her, her back ramrod straight, with the ache in her engine still throbbing. He smelt of dirt, and oil. She was tired, and dirty, covered in a layer of grease. She wanted home, and sleep, and fuel.. 

“Fuel?” she whispered.

“Yeah kid. Fuel. What are you, diesel? I got a bit of that spare.” He carried her slowly, his wheels barely turning. He was very old, the kid thought. Older than any engine she’d met before. She wondered how he pulled anything.

“You got a name, you little greaseball?” The kid shook her head. She couldn’t remember. Mummy didn’t use names. Mummy used yelling. “No name?”
She shook her head again, her eyes wide. 

“Ah well. I’m sure we’ll think of something for you.”

Dinah, aged 6

Dinah hadn’t been expecting it to hurt that much. I mean, she was a big, brave girl - that's what Dad said - and she was smart - that's what the teacher said - so she knew that the marks would hurt a little bit. It was meant to hurt, that was the whole point; you felt your soulmate’s pain. If they got hurt - so did you. A soulmate - the one person who couldn’t hurt you - who wouldn’t hurt you. Dinah liked that idea.

When they first learnt about it in school, the idea had enthralled her. From the day she turned five, she’d woken up and checked every inch of her body, searching for a shiny scar, a faded bruise, even the tiniest little cut that didn’t belong to her.  Feeling for somewhere, anywhere, that hurt without explanation.

After a few months of no marks, she came to the conclusion that her soulmate hadn’t turned five yet. Marks only started appearing once both soulmates had had their fifth birthdays. Dinah preened a little at that. To a six year old, being the oldest was a badge of honour. Still, she hoped she wasn’t too much older. Some of her friends at school had already started to get their marks, and Dinah didn’t want to wait too long. Even if it was going to hurt a bit.

Everyone else had said it would hurt a little - like a pinch - and then it would be tingly, like pins and needles. On the day that Dinah woke up screaming, she realised that wasn’t always the case.

“Dinah? Dinah, what is it?” Her dad came rushing into the bedroom at the sound of her wailing. She was curled up under her pretty pink duvet, clutching her head and sobbing heartily. “Sweetheart, what happened?” Her dad’s voice was urgent as he tried to pull her hands away from her face, but despite her small frame, she was surprisingly strong. “Babygirl, let me see?”

Dinah practically threw herself into her dads arms. She took a great hiccupping breath, letting the tears run freely down her face. “Daddy. It hurts.”

“What does, baby? Show me.”

Dinah peeked out at her dad with big wide eyes, and slowly removed her hand. He leant in, and then his concern morphed into a beaming smile. His big hands, soft but firm, cradled her face and he gently rubbed his thumb over the new red scar that stretched the length of her eyebrow.

“Looks like your soulmate has had a nasty ouchie, princess,” he smiled down at her.

Dinah’s eyes widened impossibly bigger, and she returned his smile with a toothy grin.

“My soulmate?” 

Her dad nodded, “Yep. Feel the tingling? It’s not hurting as much any more now is it?”

Dinah shook her head, before trying to clamber desperately out of his arms, “Let me see! Let go Daddy, I wanna see!”

He released his grip, and she shot towards the mirror, running her small finger over the mark. It looked like a healed up scar, a little bit red, but fully closed over. She leaned closer, and saw the way it glimmered a little in the light, like a spill of oil, denoting it as special. “Daddy! I have a soulmate!”

Her dad laughed, coming to kneel beside her. She watched as his reflection wrapped his arms around her body, and pressed a tender kiss to her hair.

“Yes you do, baby.”

“And I’m older than them?” she asked eagerly, twisting her neck to look up at him.

“Well, probably. Unless they haven’t hurt themselves since your birthday. Which isn’t very likely for a six year old. Maybe they only just turned five today.”

Dinah turned to look at the kitten calendar on her wall, making a mental note to mark the date later. “We should make a birthday cake!”

Her dad laughed, “Maybe. Or a first soulmark cake?”

“Birthday cakes taste better.”

Her dad laughed, slapping his thighs and standing, “You get dressed princess, I’ll go see what Mummy says about birthday cake for breakfast.”

Dinah didn’t get dressed straight away, instead settling cross-legged in front of the mirror. She peered at the scar, her fingers ghosting over it, almost reverently. She wondered what her soulmate was doing right now. Maybe they were crying. Dinah always cried when she got hurt. She hoped they weren’t. She didn’t really like that idea.

She looked a little closer, and wondered what they were like. It was a pretty big cut, bigger than Dinah had ever seen. She hoped it wasn’t hurting too much. Maybe they liked playing outside. The engines who played racing outside were always getting scrapes. She hoped her soulmate was okay. She suddenly felt a little sad. As much as she’d been eagerly awaiting her first mark, seeing it in real life was a little upsetting. She didn’t like the thought of her soulmate getting hurt. She hoped she wouldn’t get any more marks for a while. 

Greaseball, aged 10

Greaseball was almost entirely inside an engine carcass when she heard her name. Someone kicked her ankle to get her attention. “Oi, Greaseball. Dung wants you.”

She wiped the sweat from her forehead, smearing a line of grease in its place. “Nice try Baz.” She spat a bit of oil from her mouth. “I’m not falling for that again. This is my haul. I saw it first. I got here early. You ain’t taking this catch.” 

She used her teeth to unscrew a pipe connection that was in rather nice condition. That’d fetch a decent price. She might even be able to make it work in her private collection. Her own little personal project.

“I’m serious, kid. He’s asking for you.”

“Well tell him it can wait until I’ve collected my scraps. You don’t leave a half-gutted train out in the open. He taught me that. He’ll get it.”

“Not this time GB. He’s not well. I think it’s time.”

Greaseball banged her head on the fuel tank in her haste to scramble out. She wasn’t even half Baz’s height, but she looked up at him as though she were an equal. “What? Dung is- He’s- what?”

“Go see him. I won’t take your loot. Scrappers honour.”

“If you’re lying to me, I’ll gut you myself. While you’re still switched on.” She growled at him, picking up her makeshift toolbox, stuffing a few of the smaller parts she’d collected in her engine cavity. She scrambled off over the rusty heap, looking for all the world like she belonged there. She only turned to snarl back at Baz, “And I won’t even sell your parts! I’ll use them to build a new dunny!” She kicked a canister towards him, “And then I’ll piss all over your ugly face!”

---

“Dung?” Greaseball called out as she made her way back to their little shelter. Scrappers were territorial, but Dung’s seniority meant that the others left his turf alone. And by extension, her turf. Dung was leaning back against the oil barrels, his chest panel open. His eyes had been closed, but he cracked one open and gave her a weak grin.

“There’s the ugly lil’ greasemonkey.” He choked out, before his engine groaned. Greaseball reached out towards his panels, aiming to take a look at his systems, but he waved her off. “Still living up to your name I see?” Dung gave her a lazy smile, nodding towards her grease-covered face. She swiped at her face roughly with her arm.

“Dung what's- what’s going on? Baz said- He said,” Her voice wavered a little.

“It’s time, kid. I’ve been too damn old for too damn long now. I’m heading to the Starlight.”

“No.” Greaseball shook her head, her lips pushed together firmly. “No.”

“Yes kid. Look at me.” 

Greaseball looked at him. Sure he looked a little worse for wear, but he’d looked worse for wear since that very first night they’d met. The night he’d pulled a scared little diesel engine out of an engine chassis and decided he was gonna keep her. Starlight knows how many years ago that was. 

“I taught you everything about being a scrapper. Don’t tell me I didn’t teach you what a broken down engine looks like.”

“You’re not- You can’t.” Greaseball shook her head frantically. “I’ll fix you.” 

Dung shook his head. “You’re good, kid, but you ain’t that good.”

“Please Dung,” For the first time in a long time, Greaseball let a little vulnerability seep into her voice, “I need you.”

“Nah, you don’t.” Dung coughed. “You got your whole life ahead of you kid. I’m old.”

Greaseball felt tears in her eyes, and she swiped them away roughly. “I don’t-”

“Don’t cry kid. Scrappers don’t cry.” Dung said sternly, though his own eyes were glistening too. “Now, listen to me. I got summat to say.”

Greaseball nodded, and she sat, folding her legs into herself. She fiddled with a lengthy scab on her shin. Dung began to speak.

“I been selfish kid. No, don’t shake your head - I have. I kept you around, when I should’ve sent you off to live with a proper family, in a proper yard-”

“I don’t want nothing proper! I’m a scrapper. I collect scrap, and I live in the heap!”

“The heap’s no place for a kid GB. I knew that. The rest of us, we’re here because there ain’t no other place for us. We can’t pull, we can’t ride, we can’t race. We’re old, we’re broken, we’re scrap. We hang around here and pick apart the dead for scraps because we’re clinging on, but only barely. And then we become scrap ourselves.”

“I’m broken too! I ain’t got no engine. I can’t pull either.”

“I know kid, but you’re young. You know as well as I do that engines can be fixed.”

“Let me fix you then.”

“Kid, shut up and let me finish. I was selfish, keeping you ‘ere - stop rolling your eyes - but you can get out. So I want you to promise me. You’re gonna leave.”

“I don’t-”

“Stop interrupting. Promise. An old train’s dying wish.” Dung’s voice was stern, and it made her feel a little better. This was the Dung she was used to.

“I promise,” she mumbled, her tears flowing freely now. "Scrapper's honour."

“Good. Now, I been keeping some stuff aside. The best scraps. In that barrel. You use that, you save up some money, you trade it for parts, whatever you gotta do - but you fix yourself up alright? Brand new engine. And then you get the hell out of here. Get a job. Pulling, racing, I don’t care what. Get yourself a garage. Find your soulmate. Whatever.”

“I don’t have a soulmate.” Greaseball huffed. It wasn’t a point of contention, it was just a fact. When she was little, after she’d heard some of the scrappers talking about the subject, she’d searched endlessly for a mark for weeks. She never found one, and with time, she’d become resigned to the fact that that was it. She didn’t need anything like that. She wasn’t little any more. She wasn’t built to be loved, she was built to be tough. That’s what Dung had always said.

“Find a pretty girl who don’t care about that shit then. I don’t give a damn what you do with the rest of your life Greaseball, as long as you do it as far as hell away from here as you can get. You hear me?”

She nodded. This was all too much. Dung wasn’t the nicest, but he was all she could remember. This couldn’t be happening.

“Now there’s one more thing,” Dung’s voice was weaker now. The cracked light that flickered in his chest was dimming. “The rest of the scrappers are vultures. Some of them ain’t gonna hold back from you once I’m gone. You’re gonna have to be tough.”

“I’m tough.”

“You are. But you’re gonna have to be tougher.” He paused, and took a shaky breath, “And I want you to be the one to do it.”

“Do what?” Greaseball’s voice wavered. She was pretty sure she knew the answer, and she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“You gotta be the one to take me apart. I don’t want them clunkers taking my metal apart. Once I’m gone - and you’re gonna have to be quick - you gotta dismantle me. I got old parts, but there’s a few bits that’ll fetch a pretty penny down at the racetrack. You know where to go. Don’t be sentimental, kid. Be smart. Use it for somethin’ good. Use it to get out. Promise.”

Greaseball could barely utter the word, but she would do it. For Dung. “Promise.” 

“Good kid.” Dung nodded, and closed his eyes. He reached out a hand, and Greaseball scrambled to hold it. Her hand looked so tiny in his. She’d never felt so small. Dung heaved a rattling breath. “Good kid.”  Dung’s engine gave one final rattle, and then the hum faded out. The hum that had been her only comfort over the years, now gone quiet. Dung was gone.

Greaseball gasped a shaky breath, and leant forward towards his motionless body. She lifted his heavy arm, and clambered underneath it. She couldn’t see, tears clouding her vision, but she let the arm fall over her back and clutched tightly to Dung’s breastplate. She buried her head in his chest, and she cried. He wasn’t much of a family, but he was all she’d had. He’d never tucked her in at night, never wiped her tears or kissed her bruises better. But he’d taken her in, taught her how to live on the scrap. 

He’d taught her to throw punches, how to take apart any sort of train and put it back together, how to sell dodgy parts for more than they were worth. He’d taught her to take no shit, he’d taught her to hold her own, he’d taught her how to stay on top. He wasn’t a good guy, he was rough around the edges and he was tough on her, but he was all she’d had. 

And he was gone.

Greaseball allowed herself to cry in Dung’s arms for five minutes. Five minutes, that was it. Then she heaved a big breath, wiped her eyes, and picked up her wrench. She was getting out. No matter how long it took. She looked down at Dung’s broken body, and she began to work.

Dinah, aged 13

“Dinah, are you listening to me?”

Dinah blinked, snapping to attention and turning towards Tassita with her lips pressed thin. “Mhmm.” She nodded, though her attention wasn’t entirely undivided. “Just-” She waved a hand noncommittally. “Yes, I’m listening.”

Belle peered at Dinah a little closer. “Soulmate stuff?” She pouted sympathetically.

Dinah nodded, her shoulders relaxing as she rolled her eyes. Her words came out in a reluctant sigh, “Yeah.”

“What is it this time?”

Dinah sighed again, waving her hand around her lower back and midriff. “This like, whole area. I don’t know what the hell is going on with him, but it’s, like, so annoying. It’s like my systems are being taken apart and put back together, over and over. It’s been going on for weeks now.”

“Aw, sorry babe.” Belle smiled slightly. “Your soulmate sucks.”

Tassita nodded, giving Dinah a begrudging look. Dinah felt a sudden surge of protectiveness, a burning need to defend her soulmate, whoever he may be. That being said, she didn’t want her friends to think she was a loser who cared too much about that sort of stuff. “Well, you know. It might not be his fault.”

Tassita rolled his eyes. “That's what you said yesterday, when you got that black eye-”

“Well yeah, but it's faded now, see!”

Belle chimed in. “And the day before, when he sliced his leg open.”

“Well no because-”

“And two hours ago, when your whole hand got burnt.” Dinah shoved her hand behind her back, glaring defensively. “And those are just the big ones. Don’t think we don’t notice that you never wear short sleeves anymore.”

“I just like this outfit.” Dinah mumbled feebly, though she knew they were right. Her body was constantly being mottled by new cuts, scrapes and bruises, and while she didn’t mind too much, it got a bit tiring answering all the questions.

“Listen, I’m not blaming your soulmate,” said Tassita, holding his hands out placatingly. 

Dinah pretended not to hear Belle’s quietly uttered, “I am.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not normal that your soulmate gets hurt this much.”

“You don’t know anything about him!” Dinah was back on the defensive. She knew it wasn’t normal, and yeah, it was a little annoying that her body was a constant collage of wounds, and that she couldn’t hold a conversation without at least muttering a few curses, or stifling a few winces, but that didn’t mean her soulmate was at fault. They were the one getting hurt all the time. Maybe they needed help. Maybe they needed Dinah.

“Neither do you-”

“I know he’s in pain! And I know he’s my soulmate!” Dinah’s outburst shocked Tassita, and he winced at the sudden raise in volume. “I’m not gonna let you talk shit about him when you don’t even know the reason!”

Tassita nodded, stretching out his arms to calm Dinah. “You’re right. I’m sorry. We’re sorry. Belle, say sorry.”

Belle scuffed her wheels against the floor. “Sorry.”

“We’re just worried about you Dinah. We don’t like seeing you in pain.”

“I know. Sorry. I just-” Dinah ran a hand through her hair. “I’m worried too.”

Tassita nodded, and he pulled Dinah in for a one-armed hug. She winced, and he pulled back quickly, “Did I hurt you?”

Dinah shook her head, “No, no, sorry - it’s fine.” She pulled her two best friends into a tight group hug. “Pretty sure my soulmate just got hit in the head with a screwdriver.”

“Your soulmate is an idiot.” Belle said flatly, and Dinah glared at her. Belle smiled sheepishly back. “Affectionately.” 

Dinah rolled her eyes, but nodded. “The junior race is about to start, we should get to our seats.”

The others murmured in agreement, their expressions a little less enthusiastic than Dinah’s own. Dinah at the races was an… exuberant personality to say the least. Since she’d connected the dots between her soulmate always being injured, and the high-octane lifestyle of a racer, she’d become slightly obsessed. Only slightly.

“Which one is it this week?” Tassita sighed as they watched the racers taking the starting positions.

“Block number 4.” Dinah pointed to her newest crush. “Green Arrow. He’s pretty good, he races pretty violently, so, you know” she gestured pointedly to her body, “and get this, I snuck into the office and checked his racing forms-”

“Is that legal?”

“Shh - anyway I checked his form and he’s like a year younger than me! I really think he might be the one you guys.”

Belle and Tassita shared a glance. The injuries had always been frequent, but since the severity had started picking up, Dinah seemed absolutely desperate to find her soulmate. Not many people attended the Junior Races - it was the senior races later in the day that attracted the big crowds - but Dinah had been coercing Tass and Belle to come and watch every single one with her in the hopes of finding her soulmate. Every week Dinah took them to a different yard, and they were made to watch as she vetted out a new potential soulmate. 

The race began. Dinah’s catch of the day started strong, but she wasn’t overly impressed by his technique. In her quest to find her soulmate she had watched a lot of races, and she’d gotten pretty knowledgeable about it all. This guy was clumsy, too slow into the turns. She frowned. Maybe she didn’t want it to be him after all.

There was a screeching noise, and Green Arrow flew off the track, landing heavily into the sidebar right in front of them. Tass and Belle turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. Dinah sighed and shook her head.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

---

As soon as the race was done, Dinah was out of her seat. Tass and Belle followed quickly, trying to catch up with her. When did Dinah get so quick on her wheels? 

“Hey, Dinah, don't be upset! Wait up! You’ll find your soulmate one day!”

Dinah spun to a stop quickly. To her friend’s surprise, she was smiling widely. “I don’t care about that. I’m going to the sign-up tent.”

“You- What? You wanna race?”

Dinah nodded, spinning primly on her heels and wheeling off again. “I just realised, I’m never going to find him from up in the stands. I need to be in the thick of it.” 

That was the excuse she was using anyway. It was true - she really did want to find her soulmate. But watching that race, realising the way she instinctively knew what Green Arrow and his partner were doing wrong, Dinah had realised something else. She really did know a lot about racing. She really did enjoy racing. A lot. She understood it, she wanted to take part. She wanted to be on that track.

“Dinah are you - are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

She shrugged. “Why not? I know a lot about racing, I’m smart, I’m quick, I’m light. I’d be a great racing partner.” 

“It's kinda dangerous. You might get hurt.”

“I’m always hurting. If I’m going to be in pain it may as well because I’m actually doing something.” She smirked. “Why should my soulmate get all the fun?”

Greaseball, aged 13

Greaseball could feel the stares as she walked into the unfamiliar yard. She’d been here a few times before to peddle wares with Dung, but only on the seedy tracks out back, never in the main plaza. She looked around at the other engines who were hanging about, and when she caught them looking back, she bared her teeth. Some hid smiles behind their hands, but others were less covert with their jeering. Greaseball rolled her shoulders back. She was not letting them ruin this for her. She needed this.

She knew she didn’t look the part. She may have been strong from years of manual labour, but she hadn’t yet outgrown her scrawny frame. She’d had a growth spurt in recent years, but she was still tiny in comparison to the other engines who were gearing up to race. 

She looked around at the other engines, taking note of which modifications they favoured over others, looking for weaknesses in their mechanics, as well as picking out ideas for the paint job she would get once she had won. Because she was going to win. 

All the others were large, definitely relying on pure horsepower and strength to get them through. They’d be heavy on turns, she thought, would have to overcompensate by having lighter coaches. Their balance wouldn’t be as good as a result, and wouldn't have the capability for drag that she had. She had to be smart, if she was going to win. And she needed to win.

“Junior races are in the other yard, pipsqueak!” One of the bigger engines called. Greaseball spun, and she glared at him. Her engine revved, and she relished the feeling. She’d gone without it for too long, and though it had been over a year since she’d fixed herself up, she still enjoyed the sensation it brought.

“Good thing I’m not entering Junior then.” She said plainly. The other engines just laughed.

She turned back around, and tried not to let it get to her. She knew how it looked - some scrawny kid, covered in dirt and grease, with her paint job chipped and her plates dented from years on the scrapyard - but she had to push past that. She could’ve entered the Junior division, sure, but there was no prize money in Junior. Without that, she was just delaying her escape.

The past few years, life in the scrapheap had just been on a violent decline. She may have been resistant at first, but she’d figured out pretty quickly that Dung was right. In his absence, the other scrappers had gotten a little too cocky for her liking, and she found herself having to fight, often physically, every day just to hold her own. She needed to get out.

She’d done what Dung had asked, had dismantled him quick and clean, and spent that evening sorting out his parts into piles. She hadn’t slept, too worried that someone would try and steal them while she did, and she’d wheeled down to her usual haggling place as soon as the sun had risen over the scrapheap. She’d kept her promise to sell all of him, almost. She had kept one thing. Dung’s prized possessions -  his titanium reinforced axles. They’d never rusted, never scratched, never snapped. Greaseball knew that selling them would have bought her half a ticket out of there, but she’d snapped at the first train who had offered her a price for them, and then punched him in the gut. She just couldn't do it.

Instead, she’d painstakingly screwed them to her own feet. Numbing cream would’ve been nice, but that would have cost money. She needed money for something else. Engine parts.

For two years, everything she did was for those parts. She knew a lot about engines, thanks to Dung, and so she knew exactly the kind of engine she’d be giving herself. She would’ve liked to be able to kit it out with brand new parts and fancy modifications, but that would take too long. She’d been painfully welding her engine back together, one find at a time, often having to hack bits back off and weld them back together. It had taken two long years to complete. It wasn’t pretty but it sure as hell worked. Greaseball had laughed and laughed as she raced down the tracks the first, feeling the wind in her hair for the first time in a very, very long while.

Since then, the rest of her time had been devoted to training. She’d snuck into racetracks in the dark to practise, she’d challenged back alley racers in seedy betting rings, she’d watched hundreds and hundreds of champion racers fly past her from her hiding spot under the stands, and she learnt from it all. Now, it was time to put everything she’d learnt into practice. Now, she was finally going to enter an official race.

Greaseball had sold scrap in a lot of places, but her favourite places were always the rally tracks. As a young kid, she used to offload her scrap as quickly as possible, before sneaking down to the fence to watch the races. She’d always get bollocked for it afterwards. The speed, the adrenaline, the chaos - Greaseball adored it. As soon as Dung had gone, she’d decided it was time to go out and do it herself. She knew exactly what she had to do if she was going to leave the heap. She had to race.

She could’ve got a job pulling, but no reputable station would hire a kid to work, or someone who looks half-scrapped - believe her, she’d tried. If she wanted to find a decent yard to work and live in, she needed to look respectable, and if she wanted to look respectable, she needed money. Enough for a full new set of plates, a full new inner system, and a sparkly new paint job. So, a lot of it.

Racing was lucrative - but only if you were good. Brand deals, endorsements, sponsorships, that was all well and good, but the real motivation was the prize pot. If she won, it would be enough money for her to fix herself up properly - not with a mismatch of scraps, but with a full set of shiny new parts. Maybe she could even get some custom-built.

Greaseball was snapped out of her reverie by a bored looking marshall clearing his throat. “Sign ups are open,” he called wearily into a megaphone, and Greaseball made a mad dash for the front desk. She weaved between the throng of engines, and found herself at the front of a very disordered queue. She brushed her hair back, and rolled forward.

The old steam engine sitting there didn’t look impressed at the sight of her. “Junior races were earlier.”

“I’m entering this one.” She raised her chin defiantly.

“How old are you?”

Greaseball swallowed nervously. It wasn’t that she had any qualms about lying. It was more that she genuinely didn’t have a clue. Still, she rolled her eyes. “Fifteen.”

“Date of birth?” The steamer said sceptically.

“Fourth of January, 2001.” 

“Fine. Name?”

“Greaseball.” Dung had started calling her that when she was young. It had stuck.

“That’s it? Just Greaseball?”

“Just Greaseball.”

“I’m gonna need to see some ID.” The engine said, looking unimpressed. Luckily, she’d thought ahead. It had cost a decent chunk of her savings, had set her back a whole rally period in her timings, but she’d procured a fake ID. She knew her story like the back of her hand.

“Home station?” He said, his eyes poring over the small identification card she’d handed to him. 

“King’s Port.” She answered simply. Reluctantly, he nodded, and handed it back.

“Do you have a partner, or do you need a coach provided to you?”

“Provided. If I could have a-”

“No requests. You get what you’re given.”

She nodded. This was fine, she’d practised with every kind of load out there. From the lightest wagons to the heaviest freight trucks - she could pull it.

He placed a waiver and a race number on the table in front of her. “Sign these and bring them to the race. Be at the blocks ten minutes early. Your assigned truck will meet you there. You’ll be provided a garage for your team and pit crew to set up in. Where are they? They need to be signed in.”

She took the waiver and stuck the number to her chest, then grinned and began to wheel away backwards. “No team. Just me!”

---

She barely remembered the race. She remembered stretching up in the blocks, a fairly young, though still older than her, coal truck hitched up behind her. She remembered laughing as she accelerated hard, feeling the air rush though her hair. She remembered the burn of her engine as she strained it, the satisfying clunk of her wheels against the track as she pulled harder and harder. She remembered how she overtook the leader on the penultimate corner, as he slowed down to maintain balance, while she leant into it and curved around the bend, so close to the floor that she could feel sparks coming from her fingers from where she grinded them against the track.

She remembered her cheeks feeling like they were gonna split as she crossed the finish in first place, and the way that she immediately schooled her features into a cocky smirk. She remembered lifting the trophy, and she remembered the sweet, sweet feel of success. She remembered the hope that maybe, just maybe, she had finally made it out.

The memories flashed on a loop through her brain as she sat in the temporary racing shed after the race. It was customary for the race winner to throw the after party, and so she’d thrown her shed doors wide and shouted at some poor buffet car to fetch some drinks, hoping it sounded confident enough that they wouldn’t realise she was underage. Not that she was drinking. She wanted to remember this day as much as she could.

She was perched on a barrel in the corner, eating some food that someone had brought over, watching as the throng of trains danced and chatted. She hadn’t had a proper meal in a while, all her money going straight towards new parts. She thought about the stash of winnings now residing in her breast plate and smirked. Not any more.

“Nice race.” She turned rapidly at the voice, her jaw set, only to see the coach she’d ridden with. She nodded. 

“You too.” She said gruffly.

“How come I’ve never seen you race here before? You new to the area?”

She shrugged, “Not really. This is my first race.”

“Wait for real? But you-” he whistled appreciatively, “Damn. You are good.”

“Yeah.” Greaseball muttered.

“Hey, listen, if you’re ever looking for a permanent partner, I’d be more than happy to race with you again.”

Greaseball blinked. That hadn’t really occurred to her. She’d been on her own so long. She considered it briefly. It would be nice to have a constant when she was racing. Someone she could really adapt to. “Oh, um-”

“What yard do you live in? Me and my girl have been looking for a change anyway, so I’m down to move. Hey, baby!” He called out to a pretty wood truck who was walking by, and she turned and waved at the call. “That’s Ash, my soulmate. You met your soulmate yet, kid?”

Greaseball stood suddenly. She didn’t want to be here anymore. She didn’t want a partner poking around in her business, and she definitely didn’t want to ride with this guy if he was gonna talk about bullshit like soulmates. 

“I’m actually moving up north soon, to the pro tracks. I need better competition if I’m gonna be in the Championship one day.”

“Oh- uh okay. Well, nice racing with you. I’ll look out for you when you’re a big shot.”

“Yeah. Good race. Again.” She stood and walked into the throng of people. She picked up the trophy, her backpack and her helmet, and she slunk off into the night. 

Later that night, for the first time in a long time, sitting by a campfire she’d made somewhere along the northern rail line, she inspected her body for marks. There were a few new bruises and dents from the race, but she knew they were all hers, no one else’s. Her jaw clenched, and she stared at the bruises for a while. She only broke her gaze away when the horn of a passing engine sounded, and she jumped back. 

Feeling a flush of embarrassment, she pulled her arm guards back on. She was being ridiculous. She didn’t have a soulmate, she knew that. She kicked out the fire and curled up on her side. It felt a lot colder out here.

Dinah, aged 17

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Belle smiled, passing Dinah a drink. Dinah wiped the sweat from her brow and nodded.

“Belle, babes, I swear I’m fine. I’m honestly not even thinking about him any more. We broke up two whole days ago! And honestly, he kinda sucked! He was kinda annoying, like, he always chewed with his mouth open, and do you know what? He was actually shit at racing! He told me the reason we were slow is because my centre of gravity was wrong! Me! Can you believe that? When everyone knows that it's down to the engine to-”

Belle cut her off, “I meant about your arm. That fall looked nasty.”

“Oh.” Dinah flushed a little. “Um, yeah, it's fine. Flash kinda broke my fall, it honestly didn’t hurt.” She smirked slightly, “My soulmate wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

“I’m really not sure about this Orange Flash character Dinah,” hummed Belle, pulling her own helmet on before handing Dinah hers. “She seems a little… brash. Has she even raced before?”

Dinah waved her off, “So she’s a little inexperienced, but it's fine! Honestly it's kind of nice racing with someone new. You never know - she might be my soulmate. I think I’m getting a little bored of guys honestly, the last four have sucked. I’m starting to think my soulmate probably is a woman.” She fiddled with her helmet straps. 

“And yeah, okay, we crashed, but for one, it was only a warm up, and two, it wasn’t really her fault.”

“I mean, it kinda looked like her fault.”

“Well, if her stance was better, then yeah, we wouldn’t have hit the sidebar, but she was only off balance because that prick came speeding up on our inside.”

Belle hummed, “Yeah I was gonna ask about that, do you know much about her?”

Shrugging, Dinah stood, readjusting some bolts as she walked towards the door, “Not really. I’ve seen her at a couple races up north, but she doesn’t usually race at our yard. I think she’s from The Iron Works.”

Belle sucked in a breath. The Iron Works didn’t have a great reputation as a train yard. Its inhabitants tend to be avoided. “She races dirty then?”

Dinah shook her head, “Nah, she doesn’t have to. She’s pretty good. She does race rough, but I don’t think she’s a cheat. Just a prick.”

“She seems fast.” Belle said as they joined their engines in the starting blocks, nodding her head to where the engine was warming up. Dinah just nodded. “Who’s that she’s racing with?”

Dinah just shrugged, hitching up behind Orange Flash and pulling her goggles down. “Never seen her before. Probably some girl she’s shagging. I heard she’s a bit of a player. New coach every race and all that.”

Belle nodded, “Fair. Good luck guys.”

The warning gun sounded, and the thrum of engines filled the air. Oh, how Dinah loved that sound, she bent into position, and felt her mind clear. Just her, her engine and the track. “See you on the flip side.”

Greaseball, age 16

ID age: 18

Greaseball rolled out her neck, reclining against the plush sofa she was sitting on. She looked around as she took a sip of her beer, taking in the shed she’d been allocated. It was nice - normally at races they just put the travelling engines up in empty old warehouses - but this was an actual train shed. The sofa was comfy. 

The cacophony of the party surrounded her, and, combined with the fair few beers she’d had, it provided her a mellow distraction from her thoughts. She shifted slightly, dislodging the coach who was sitting in her lap a little. Greaseball’s free hand gripped her a little tighter, and the coach turned to kiss her neck.

To be perfectly honest, Greaseball couldn't really be arsed. She was tired, and bored, and her wheels stung from where she’d hurt them in the race earlier. Sure the coach was cute, but she was a bit of a dead weight when it came to racing. Yes, Greaseball had still won, so it didn’t matter too much, but being shit at racing was kind of a turn off for her. Also Greaseball couldn’t remember her name. 

“Thanks sweetcheeks.” She said, standing up and dislodging the girl fully. “Catch you later.” The coach looked like she wanted to protest, but Greaseball was gone before she could speak.

There were a lot of trains about, so much so that the party was spilling out into the train yard. This yard must have been pretty popular. Greaseball tried to recall its name for future reference. Station 34? 42? She wasn’t sure. She scowled as a group of engines laughed obnoxiously beside her. She recognised a couple of them from the race. They’d been decent, but she was better. Obviously. Greaseball didn’t know how they could be so happy after losing a race. She saw a couple off trucks making out, and nearly gagged. Probably fucking soulmates.

She huffed, her eyes drifting to the door again. Fresh air, that’s what she needed. She barged past a couple of brightly coloured coaches chatting by the door, glaring at them when they turned and looked.

Beer in hand, she settled on a nearby wall and heaved a big breath. She needed a change. Racing was all she had. The parties, the girls, none of it was exciting her the way it used to.

She didn’t normally venture this far west. Apart from the national championships, she didn’t really stray too far from the Iron Works, unless on a pulling route. It wasn’t too bad a station, definitely an improvement on the scrapyard lifestyle, but she didn’t love it. It was just a place to sleep and refuel after a day’s work. The other trains weren’t too bad, but then, she didn’t really interact with them. Fraternising on the job was a punishable offence, along with many other things.

While Greaseball held nothing but contempt for the station masters, she had the good sense to keep her job. So she took the beatings, so she let herself be branded. Sometimes as punishment, sometimes as a scare tactic. No matter what though, Greaseball wouldn't let it phase her. She forced herself to let it roll off her like water on a duck's back. She just had to endure it for a little longer. It was all part of the plan.

Still though, she wanted something new. Part of the reason she’d been racing at stations further and further afield this season was to try and scout some potential new yards. The Iron Works was wearing her down, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, and her contract was coming to an end. She really didn’t want to have to renew it. Time for pastures new.

Her musing was broken by the sound of laughter, and she looked up suddenly to see the two coaches from earlier, plus a third, falling over themselves as they giggled.

Greaseball growled, and the three of them looked up.

“Oh sorry! Hey, congrats on the win earlier.” Greaseball couldn’t even tell which one of them had spoken. The pink one, maybe? Either way, she wasn’t in the mood.

“Fuck off.” 

The orange one looked her up and down with distaste in his eyes.

“Come on, let’s go.” He turned, and the purple one followed. The pink one, however, wasn’t deterred.

“It’s Greaseball right?”

Greaseball rolled her eyes, and was about to start swearing again when she looked up, and the words died a little in her throat. She wasn’t really sure why.

“Uh yeah.”

The girl held out her hand, “I’m-”

“Dinah! Let’s go!”

The coach - Dinah - withdrew her hand and smiled apologetically. Greaseball kind of forgot how to speak. 

“Sorry, gotta go. Congrats again!”

Greaseball just nodded, but the girl had already turned on her heels to chase after her friends. Greaseball watched her go. 

---

She had planned on going back to the party, but she kind of couldn’t be bothered now. It wasn’t until she heard the last of the noise dissipate and the lights of the other sheds gradually flick off that she made her way back into the shed.

It was quiet when she entered, and the overhead lights had been turned off. She was expecting it to be empty, and so she jumped a mile when she heard a soft, “Hi.”

She spun round with a snarl on her face, but she calmed when she saw who it was. “Oh. You again.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The coach spoke shyly, almost bashful. Greaseball knew she had that effect on people. She’d cultivated it on purpose. This coach seemed a little different though. Normally they were more, well, scared.

Greaseball rubbed the back of her neck. “Thought everyone went home.”

Dinah smiled, “Well, I only live in the next shed.”

“Oh.” Greaseball muttered dumbly, before she recollected herself. “Listen, you’re cute and all but-”

“Whoa whoa - I’m not here to have sex with you. Although I would like to.” Greaseball blinked at that, dumbfounded. “I just came back to give you this.” She held out a small tub. When Greaseball made no move to take it, Dinah placed it on the table next to her. Greaseball peered down to make out the words. Why was this coach bringing her wheel ointment?

Dinah turned to go, but Greaseball leapt out to grab her arm, a little harsher than she intended. She loosened her grip quickly. 

“Sorry, just uh- what’s your station master called?”

Dinah pulled her arm free, smiling ever so slightly.

“We don’t have one. We’re a unionised yard.” Greaseball blinked. She didn’t even know what that meant. Dinah wheeled away, stopping and looking back over her shoulder in the doorway. “But if you want to speak to someone in charge, Momma is the head of the union board. She handles all the admin - finances, regulations, schedules,” Dinah paused ever so slightly, “transfer requests. That sort of thing.” 

And with that she turned again and rolled out the door. “See you, Greaseball!”

Greaseball watched her go for the second time that night. She stared softly after her. “See you,” she breathed out - far, far too late for the coach to hear. “Dinah.”

Dinah, aged 18

Greaseball had been at the yard for approximately one week, and Dinah was already losing her mind. She’d imagined a million different versions of what her soulmate would be like, and Greaseball was like exactly none of them.

When she’d brought the numbing cream to Greaseball that night, she hadn’t been exactly certain. She’d wondered if she’d made it all up in her head, but she could see it all so vividly. The screech of Greaseball's wheels as they grinded against the track at an unfortunate angle, the sparks flying, the snap of Greaseball’s spokes, and of course, the shooting pain in Dinah’s own wheels that had accompanied the whole thing.

She doubted her mind a lot in those following months. It could have been adrenaline induced hallucinations. Maybe the fumes had gotten to her head. Maybe she had just injured her own foot. The voice in the back of her mind though, the hopeless romantic voice that had followed her around her whole life - the voice that had encouraged her to watch her first race, to say yes to dates with countless wannabe daredevils - that voice, was adamant. When Momma had announced that Greaseball would be joining their yard, Dinah was sure it was fate.

On Greaseball’s first day though, Dinah’s confidence had wavered. The engine had shown up alone, with very few possessions, and had almost immediately started a fight with Orange Flash. Belle had asked her where she came from, and Greaseball had just sneered. Momma had asked her what she liked to do, and Greaseball had made a very suggestive joke. Tassita had asked how old she was, and Greaseball had said nineteen. Deflated, given that Dinah was almost certain her soulmate had to be younger than her, Dinah had asked if Greaseball had found her soulmate yet. Her answer had not only further deflated Dinah’s heart, but had punctured it, drained it dry, and trodden all over it for good measure. 

“I don’t have one, thank god. Guess I was born lucky. Leaves me free for all the other ladies, huh?”

Dinah had been convinced that she’d been mistaken, torn between defeat and relief. She pondered how she could have gotten it so very wrong. Her silent turmoil had lasted all of a day before she got her answer. After Greaseball had regaled a particularly implausible tale that evening about welding her own chassis shut, Golden Eagle had challenged Greaseball to prove it. In a ridiculous show of strength, Greaseball had done just that. Dinah watched on, wide eyed and teeth clenched in agony, as Greaseball held a red hot poker to her own arm, unflinching. That had been all the confirmation she’d needed, and then some.

She'd gone home and cried after that. Partially from the pain, but mainly because she knew exactly why Greaseball could endure that. Dinah would never forget the way she'd felt the first time a soulmate mark had appeared in the form of a red hot brand, one day around two years ago. The brand might have only remained burned into her skin for a few days, but the image had never, ever left her mind. Prior to that, she'd willingly complained about her various soulmate marks to her friends, but after that, she'd stopped. That just didn't feel like something you should share. Especially not once it became a repeat occurrence.

It had complicated her thoughts on the matter then, and it complicated them now. How did you approach that kind of topic with someone? While most of the others all already saw Greaseball as just another cocky engine, Dinah knew that there must be something underneath all that bravado. She was determined to find it. She wanted desperately to talk about it with Greaseball, but they'd only just met. This wasn't exactly something you sprung on someone during your lunchbreak at work.

While Greaseball’s rather literal baptism of fire had bought Dinah a shocking confirmation, all it had bought Greaseball was considerable ego, and some devoted groupies. The other diesel engines followed her around like a gang of excitable puppies, and Greaseball lapped up the attention. It was impossible to get a moment alone with her. 

The need to confess was practically eating her alive. How she hadn’t blurted out that they were soulmates yet, Dinah honestly didn’t have a clue. Each day it got harder and harder to keep it in, made impossibly worse by the fact that Greaseball had a serious lack of care for her own personal safety. Or a death wish.

The frequency of marks had decreased in the time that Greaseball had moved to Station 24, but it was still a number far higher than average. Every new day brought Dinah a splattering of new marks. If it had been hard to hold a conversation while enduring Greaseball’s pain before, it was made impossibly harder by the fact that, now, while Dinah could feel her knuckles splitting open, or her shins bruising, or her chassis getting scratched, she could see it actually happening to Greaseball in the distance.

How Greaseball never showed it was beyond Dinah. She knew Greaseball was in pain, but she was pretty sure she was the only one who did. Not once did she see Greaseball wince, or flinch, or grimace in pain. Meanwhile, Dinah would have to forcibly school her own features into passivity almost every ten minutes. She wasn’t very good at it.

Finally, three weeks after Greaseball had arrived, they were put on the same pulling shift. Belle and Tassita were recalled to help out on a larger cross country route, and so Greaseball was pulling Dinah on a reduced capacity trip.

Greaseball may have been brash, and annoying, but she was a damn good engine. Dinah hadn’t expected her to be so smooth. The raging fire that she became on the race track was tampered down into a controlled blaze when she was in pulling mode. Dinah relaxed into the comforting hum of the engine, and geared herself up for the big conversation.

“So Greaseball. Why don’t you want people knowing you have a soulmate?” She began, a little nervously. Coupled up against Greaseball’s back, Dinah could feel the way she stiffened. 

“What are you talking about?”

“You heard me.” Dinah hoped her voice didn’t betray her nerves. This was it.

“I don’t have a soulmate. I said that.”

Okay, maybe this would be harder than she thought.

“Everyone has a soulmate.”

“Yeah? Well not me.”

“How do you know?”

Greaseball was getting angry now. Dinah could feel it in the way her engine vibrated harder. 

“I’ve never had a mark.”

“Well, you must have. Don’t you want a soulmate?”

“What the fuck is your problem? I think I’d fucking know if I did. I have never had a fucking mark? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Greaseball heaved an angry breath, and Dinah shied back, as much as she could while they were hitched up to each other and hurtling down a track. She’d thought Greaseball had just been lying to protect her reputation, but the way she was shaking in anger, Dinah realised, she genuinely didn’t know. Greaseball wasn’t finished.

“And no, I don’t fucking want one. Why would I want some clingy bitch all up in my business like that? I’m better off on my fucking own. I always have been, and I always will be.”

“I’m sorry.” Dinah mumbled.

Greaseball growled. “Don’t fucking talk to me.”

They didn’t speak for the rest of the trip.
 

Dinah, aged 19

Dinah didn’t even look up as Tassita stumbled out of his bedroom, too engrossed in whisking the batter in front of her. Wordlessly, she held out a mug of coffee. Tassita just grunted in thanks.

“Good night?” She smirked after a while, turning to rummage through the cupboard. He huffed, and she laughed brightly.

“Shhh. Too loud.” Tassita curled up on the sofa, his hands over his ears.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just excited! Not every day your bestie finds their soulmate!”

“I didn’t find him. He found me. By crashing into me.”

“You should be celebrating!”

“I did celebrate. Last night. Now I’m sleeping.”

“Well you better wake up, because our shift starts in an hour.”

“Fuck. Tell Momma I’m sick.”

“Hydra will be there!” Dinah said in a rather sing-songy voice. Tassita huffed.

“Where’s Belle?”

Dinah nodded towards Belle’s bedroom. “Take a guess.”

Tassita sat up, dragging his hands over his face. After a while, he stood, rather tenderly, and came and leant on the counter where Dinah was working.

“What are you making?” He said, dipping his finger into the batter. Dinah slapped his hand away.

“Not for you! A cake.”

“Who’s it for?”

 Dinah shrugged, hoping her blush didn’t show. Thankfully Tassita was far too hungover to care, and he slunk away from the table, presumably to freshen up.

----

Tassita looked a lot more alive by the time Dinah ushered him and Belle out of their shared shed. Belle yawned, “Who’s the cake for, Dinah?”

“Nobody.” 

Belle just shook her head. Dinah just did stuff sometimes. It wasn’t worth trying to figure her out. The three of them, a little early, took seats on the yard wall, waiting for the rest of the workforce to arrive. Tassita was soon occupied by the arrival of the freights, and Belle began to whisper something in his ear, presumably of the teasing nature. Dinah just swung her legs against the wall, waiting for a certain someone. She glanced at the date again. 13th of November. She just hoped her hunch was right. She might’ve been out by a week or two.

Someone nipped at her earlobe, and she turned to see Greaseball smirking down at her. It had taken Greaseball only a few weeks to forget about their argument, during which time she’d clearly decided that her efforts were better spent trying to convince Dinah to sleep with her. Dinah might’ve caved one time. Three times. It was hard to resist, okay? For all Greaseball’s faults, she was a damn attractive engine. “Didn’t fancy the action last night then?”

“No, Greaseball. I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You asked me back to yours while you were in the middle of groping another girl!”

“So?” 

Dinah just rolled her eyes. She didn’t make things easy. 

“You’re a dick, Greaseball.”

“Not my fault you’ve got a stick up your arse.”

Dinah sighed heavily. It actually was Greaseball’s fault, but she didn’t need to know that. It would only stroke her ego.

“Listen Dinah - I’m a free woman. I’m not gonna be tied down by a relationship, or a soulmate.” Her voice jeered at that. Dinah clenched her jaw. 

“I’m not in the mood to argue, Greaseball.”

“Fine.” Greaseball took a seat next to her, spreading her legs widely. She nodded towards the cake, smirking slightly. “Someone’s birthday?” 

“Yes.” said Dinah, sneaking a glance at Greaseball’s reaction, “Well, I think. Maybe.”

“Who’s?”

“Um… yours?” said Dinah, her confidence in her plan wavering. Greaseball looked at her blankly.

“No?”

“No?”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“When is your birthday?

“January.”

“It is?”  Dinah was shocked, but Greaseball just nodded. There was positively no way Greaseball’s birthday was in January. With the amount of marks Dinah had received during their childhood, it seemed highly unlikely that Greaseball had gone ten months without getting hurt once. Dinah had already suspected she was lying about her age, and this seemed to confirm it. “Are you sure?”

Greaseball stared at her. Dinah thought she saw a flicker of fear in Greaseball’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by her usual cocky attitude.

“Who’s the cake really for?” She laughed, looking away. Dinah laughed too, if a little awkwardly. It definitely sounded higher than usual. “Um. Tassita. He found his soulmate.”

“Oh not this shit again. Fucking soulmates. I’m so fucking glad I don’t have to bother with that.”

Dinah nodded quickly, willing herself not to cry. “Yep. Um, in fact, I’m gonna go give it to him right now. Yep.” Her voice rose steadily in pitch as she leapt to her feet, grabbing the cake. “Tass, hey! Here, I made you a cake!”

“But I thought-” Tassita began, confused.

“Nope! Surprise! I’m just gonna - I um- I forgot uh - something.” She dashed back towards their shed, leaving Tassita, Belle and Greaseball staring after her, utterly perplexed.

Greaseball said what they were all thinking. 

“What the fuck was that about?”

Greaseball, aged 18

ID age: 20

Greaseball’s day wasn’t going great. First, she’d burnt her breakfast. Then, she’d got to the yard and found that she had to pull the fucking freights. She hated pulling the freights. Definitely because they were annoying. Not because she liked pulling the coaches. Well, one coach. Then, she’d decided to take her frustration over a certain dining car out on the track, which, in fairness, she did most days, except she really wasn’t focused, because she’d completely misinterpreted a bend and had ended up scraping her entire side down the track. 

The real kicker though, was when her current racing partner, a buffet car named Kayla, had started a screaming match with her in the yard, and then promptly resigned. So now here she was, hungry, tired, hurting and coachless. On the night before a race.

She was pulled out of her sulking by a knock on her door.

“What?” 

“Greaseball, it's Dinah. I brought cookies. Can I come in?” Of course it was Dinah. It was always Dinah. Still, Greaseball perked up a little hearing that. About the cookies, not about Dinah. Obviously. She trudged towards the door and pulled it open, barely grunting out a greeting before she collapsed back onto her sofa.

“Why are you in a mood?” Dinah nudged her uninjured side gently.

“Kayla left.”

“Okay…”

“She’s not coming back. Where the fuck am I gonna find a new coach the night before a race?”

“You could ask me?”

“I am asking you. Where the fuck am I gonna find a new coach the night before a race?”

“No, you idiot. I’m saying I’ll race with you.”

“You?”

“Mmhmm. Flash is racing with Belle instead tomorrow. I’m free.”

Greaseball didn’t really know how she felt about the idea. A foreign mix of emotions swelled up inside of her. It was kind of uncomfortable - she couldn’t quite decipher it. She had the urge to say no. 

She always got this weird feeling when she saw Dinah racing. A simmering sort of rage, but something else too. Too many times she’d looked over at Dinah on the starting line, and she’d felt the urge to punch the engine she was coupled up to, and forcibly put Dinah in the stands, where she couldn’t get hurt. Wait what? No that wasn’t it. It wasn’t that. Why would she care if Dinah got hurt?

Then again, the thought of Dinah pressed up against her like that…

All of a sudden she was too hot. Dinah handed her a cookie. 

“You don’t have to. I just thought-” Dinah sounded a little sad, and Greaseball eyed her carefully. She was feeling something else now, almost like guilt, and she didn’t like it. 

“No, I’ll race with you.”

“You will?” Dinah brightened considerably. She leant forward on the sofa and pulled out a pad of paper. “Should we go over our gameplan? I’ve had some thoughts about how you could use your height to an advantage. Oh and I’ve been wanting to experiment with torque-”

Greaseball stared at her, wide-eyed. She’d never seen Dinah like this before. It was making her feel weird. She couldn’t quite place the feeling. It was as though her heart was going to jump out of her chest. It was as though her engine was revving too hard, making her fuel tank feel all fluttery. Sure, her and Dinah had slept together a couple of times, but Greaseball had slept with most girls. Suddenly, her skin practically burned with the desire to touch Dinah. She drew her hands close in her lap.

She tried to tamp down the feeling. Dinah was really into the whole soulmate thing. It could never happen. Greaseball continued to stare. Seeing her expression, Dinah stopped.

“We don’t have to. I just, well I assumed you’d want to discuss it.”

Greaseball shook her head, and tried to ignore the way Dinah seemed to be emanating a halo of light. She sat up, shaking her head. “No, I do want to. Carry on.” She shifted, her injured side screaming in pain. She didn’t let it show though. She never did.

Dinah was looking at her with an odd expression. “What?” Greaseball scowled.

Dinah shook her head. “Nothing. Just- nothing.”  

Dinah, aged 20

People had been knocking on Dinah’s door all afternoon. She hadn’t answered a single one of them. None of them had been the person she’d wanted it to be. 

She turned over in bed, her mind practically ticking over as she thought about that morning’s events again. Her and Greaseball had gotten into another fight. It was a fairly frequent occurrence, but this one had touched a nerve. 

Another knock came, this one accompanied by Belle’s voice. 

“Dinah? Can you just let me know you’re okay. We don’t have to talk.”

Dinah sighed. She needed to get over herself. She should be used to Greaseball by now. Somehow though, it never got any easier. She stood, and unlocked the door.

Belle looked a little surprised that the door had opened at all, and she blinked a few times before she entered. Dinah patted the bed next to her with a begrudging smile.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just- Just tired.” She really was. She was so tired of pretending. She was so tired of Greaseball's blatant denial of having a soulmate, so tired of Greaseball leading her on, making her believe they had something, just to ditch her for the next pretty girl that came along. She was tired of the way Greaseball would snake back into her good graces, and her heart, and her bed, and she’d let her. No matter what, Dinah would always, always let her. She couldn’t help it.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Dinah shook her head, but she found herself speaking anyway. “I’m just so sick of her.”

“Greaseball?”

“Yes! She just - ugh - she’s infuriating. Every time I think we’re getting closer, she goes and does something stupid, or gets with another girl, or starts lashing out at me. Can’t she see I’m just trying to help?”

“What did she do this time?”

“So she hurt herself right? Her engine got damaged in the last race, but she lied about it. But I knew, and she insisted on training anyway, and then she popped a connection because of it. So I was just trying to help her, because you know, obviously that hurt, and she just flipped! Started yelling at me about how she’s not my soulmate, and that she was fine on her own, and why did I have to hover around her all the time. And then she just got nasty. I don’t want to go into it.”

“I mean - maybe she has a point. She’s not your soulmate. You know she doesn’t have one. Maybe you should stop trying.”

“That's not the point! I’m just trying to be nice, and she thinks what? That because I sleep with her sometimes that she can just treat me like shit? And we are close - she can deny it all she wants but we are! We’re damn good racing partners too, but I guess she doesn’t see that. We literally won the Championship together! But to her I’m just another, I don’t know, a groupie!”

Belle sighed, her hand coming up to stroke Dinah’s hair. She’d heard this tirade many, many times. Frankly, she was sick of it.

“I wish you’d just ditch her Dinah. She’s not worth it.”

“I- I can’t-”

Dinah looked away, running a hand over her tired face. Belle didn’t let up though.

“You always say that! I don’t get why! She’s a dick, she’s rude, she’s entitled, and she’s horrible to you!"

“I just- I can’t- okay?”

“No Dinah, it's not okay! I don’t understand! You used to be so obsessed with finding your soulmate, and now all you seem to care about is her!

“Belle! Just drop it!” Dinah could feel tears pricking at her eyes. She knew how her friends felt about Greaseball, but they could never understand. They’d both found their soulmates. I mean, Dinah had found hers. It was just... complicated.

“No Dinah, I won’t! You’re my best friend, and it kills me to see you do this over and over again.”

“You don’t know her like I do Belle,” sighed Dinah. She didn’t want to fight.

“I know enough! You can’t force her to be your soulmate Dinah! She doesn’t even have one!”

“She does.” Dinah’s voice was barely audible. 

“What?”

Dinah shook her head, standing abruptly and moving to walk out the room. Tears were welling up in her eyes properly now, and she knew if this carried on she’d say something she wasn’t supposed to. She could practically feel the confession bubbling up inside her, but she was powerless to prevent it. Her frustration manifested in the form of tears. Belle grabbed her arm, her voice low and rippling with rage. “Dinah. What?”

“She has a soulmate.” Dinah muttered, swiping at her eyes and trying to move away. Belle didn’t let go of her arm, her voice rising in volume again.

“Well, does she know that? Because it doesn't fucking seem like she does!”

“She doesn’t know.” 

“Oh but you do? How the hell would you know tha-”

Dinah shook her head, tears streaming down her face. The anger on her face had deflated completely, replaced by something that Belle could only describe as heartbreak. Belle studied her closely, and then her eyes widened as Dinah saw it click. 

“Dinah," She breathed out slowly, "No. No. Tell me it’s not what I think.”

Dinah shook her head again, her lips pressed tight together. She couldn’t say the words, couldn't physically utter them. She knew, however, that her expression, her silence, and the tears rolling down her cheeks were more than enough to give Belle the answer.

“Oh. Oh.” Belle nodded, clearly trying to take it in. She sat heavily on the bed, and Dinah did the same. “Dinah I- I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

Dinah let out a suppressed sob, the noise ragged. “No one does. No one but me.”

“How long have you known? Always?”

Dinah nodded, burying her head in her hands and sobbing again. Belle reached out a hand, and began rubbing placating circles on Dinah’s back, their earlier argument forgotten immediately.

“Shit Dinah. And she doesn’t know?”

“She’s convinced she doesn’t have one. I’ve tried talking but she just gets mad. She’s so against the idea.”

“Why don’t you just, well, tell her?”

“I don’t know how she’d react. She’s so loud about not wanting one, about being glad she doesn’t have one, about not wanting to be tied down. Part of me is scared that her reaction will be worse than just, not knowing. I love her Belle, I do, and I know she doesn’t treat me right, I know that. But she is getting better. She can be sweet. Really, she can. When it's just us two...she's different. Sometimes I can almost pretend that we're just a couple of normal soulmates." Dinah took a deep breath. "And I’m terrified that if she found out her reaction would be bad, and I’d lose her completely. I’d rather have half of her than none of her at all. So I’ve kept quiet. You don’t know how much it hurts Belle, to hear your soulmate loudly proclaiming how great life is without one. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Belle sighed, but nodded. “Is there anything I can do?”

Dinah shook her head sadly. “Just don’t tell anyone. That’s what I do.”

Belle sighed. All of a sudden. Dinah let out a hiss, cradling her hand.

“What’s she doing?”

“Punching her wall I think. Look.” Dinah pulled back her wrist guards to show Belle the damaged metal on her knuckles, the grazes already starting to fade into shimmering marks, before being replaced by new ones. By the time she next sees Greaseball, they probably won’t be there at all. 

Dinah tilted her head in the direction of the open window, craning her neck slightly and raising a hand. “There, hear it?” She paused, and sure enough, Belle could hear a faint thumping. Dinah sighed. “She does it quite a lot. I don't know why.”

Greaseball aged 19

ID age: 21

Greaseball slammed the door to her shed. She’d done it again. She was always doing it. She kicked the wall, and winced at the stab of pain that shot through her wheels.

She’d done it again. Every damn time. Every time she felt settled with Dinah, something happened that reminded her that Dinah had a soulmate, and it wasn’t her. She was such an idiot.

She hadn’t meant to lash out at Dinah, but then again, she never did. She still did it though. She collapsed on her sofa, digging her nails into her palms and relishing in the pain it caused her, bitterly wishing that someone else could feel it too. Those kind of thoughts had been increasing in frequency lately, and Greaseball was at a loss with how to deal with that.

She hated this. She hated soulmates. She especially hated Dinah’s soulmate, whoever they were. 

After that first race together, Greaseball and Dinah had realised very quickly that they were very good racing partners. Since then, they’d been spending an awful lot of time together. Dinah was an exceptional racer. She was so attuned to Greaseball, it was almost freaky. She could tell exactly when she needed to do something, purely from the change in Greaseball’s stance, or the hum of her engine. 

She was also scarily attentive. Greaseball had thought she was pretty good at hiding her injuries, but Dinah seemed to have a sixth sense for it. Dinah seemed to just be able to tell whenever she was lying. It was bizarre, if a little annoying.

So yes, racing with Dinah was nice, but it was also absolute torture. Not because Dinah was caring almost to the point of overbearing, even though she was, but because Greaseball had to spend every single minute of every single day reminding herself that her and Dinah could never, ever be a real couple. No matter how good being with Dinah felt, the bitter taste of reality was never far away.

Greaseball was trying, she really was, but being around Dinah was becoming utterly unbearable. Every time Dinah spoke, Greaseball wanted to kiss her. Every time Dinah hitched up to her, Greaseball wanted to grab her welding torch and weld Dinah’s metal to her own. An extreme thought, Greaseball knew, but being around Dinah made her mind feel lost somewhere far beyond reason.

Every time Greaseball was angry, she wanted Dinah. When she was sad, she wanted Dinah. When she was hurt, she wanted Dinah. Dinah was all she thought about. Every waking hour was consumed by thoughts of Dinah, and every night she dreamt of her too. It was awful, and Greaseball didn’t know what to do about it.

Greaseball looked at her hands, covered with tiny faded scars. All of them hers though. Not for the first time since meeting Dinah, she found herself wishing she had a soulmate. She told everyone that she didn’t want one, she sneered at anyone who mentioned soulmates around her, but she knew that really, she was just jealous. Jealous, and lonely. It wasn’t fair. She'd been alone for so long - basically her whole life. Didn't she deserve someone just for her?

That was the thing though. She didn't deserve it. Good people got love, and soulmates. People like her, well, they got this.

Greaseball found herself imagining what it would be like if Dinah actually was her soulmate. She quickly shook her head to clear the images. She couldn’t be thinking like this. It just made everything worse.

Dinah was so into the idea of soulmates. Every time she brought it up, Greaseball felt like someone was taking a saw to her engine and gutting her from the inside. And so Greaseball did what she had to do. She shut it down. She lashed out. She was rude and she was mean. She did everything in her power to remind Dinah that there was someone else waiting for her out there. Someone perfect, built just for Dinah.

Her and Dinah weren’t meant to be together. She had to push Dinah away for both of their sakes, as much as it killed her each time. She knew Dinah wouldn’t understand, but it still made her feel impossibly guilty every time she saw Dinah’s sad face. Every time she hurt Dinah, she felt like she was ripping her own heart to pieces too.

Dinah had a soulmate. She would never, and could never, understand. They weren’t built the same.

They were already living on borrowed time. Some day, probably some day very soon, a sparkly new engine would arrive and take Dinah away from her. Greaseball didn’t know what she would do then.

Greaseball stood abruptly. She wanted to cry. The pain in her chest was unbearable and all she wanted was to curl up into a ball and cry. Preferably in Dinah’s arms. Dinah would know how to make it better.

She couldn’t do that though. That was the kind of thing soulmates did. 

Instead, Greaseball punched the wall. The harsh sting of her knuckles against bricks and mortar released a bit of the pressure in her chest, and so she punched again. This time she was glad she had no soulmate. At least no one else was feeling what she felt. She rammed her fist into the wall, over and over and over. Her pain was meant to be endured by her, and her alone.

Dinah, aged 21

The bed was empty when Dinah woke up. She sighed and stared up at Greaseball’s ceiling. They’d been getting together more frequently lately, but Greaseball was still always gone by the time Dinah woke up. Even when they were in Greaseball’s own shed.

Dinah rubbed her eyes and sat up. She knew she shouldn’t be endorsing this thing they had going on. As nice as it was to have Greaseball to herself for a while, to allow herself to pretend that everything was okay, and they were just a normal pair of soulmates living in domestic bliss, the truth always made itself very clear. She wanted so badly to stop, but the pull that Greaseball had on her was so intense, that she never could stay away. Besides, she didn’t really want to stop.

She toyed yet again with the idea of telling Greaseball, as she got out of bed and began to walk to the kitchen. There were too many ways for it to go wrong though. Greaseball probably wouldn’t react well. She’d probably get angry, and lash out. Again. She’d made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want a soulmate. 

Dinah just didn’t want to lose her, and she was becoming more okay with just accepting the situation as it was. If this was all she was going to get of Greaseball, then that was okay. It had to be okay.

Dinah entered the kitchen, and then blinked. She hadn’t been expecting Greaseball to be home. She definitely had not been expecting Greaseball to be cooking.

“You’re still here.” Dinah mumbled, a little dumbly. Greaseball looked up with a charming grin. Clearly she was in a good mood today.

“It’s my shed.” Dinah couldn’t ignore the way Greaseball’s eyes twinkled as she looked at her. Maybe it was finally time.

“Why didn’t you um-” Dinah rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I wanted to let you sleep. You mentioned your soulmate was giving you some trouble last night so I figured I’d leave you to rest.”

“Oh um, thanks.” Dinah flushed. She'd nearly blown her cover last night, too sleepy and comfortable in Greaseball's arms to stop the wince that had burst out when Greaseball had cricked her neck. She'd hurt it in a crash recently, and while she had lied profusely about it being fine, it still had a tendency to get stiff and achy. Not that she'd told Dinah about that though. Dinah had had to think quickly for an excuse, instead saying it felt like her soulmate had pulled something in her internals. Thankfully Greaseball had believed the lie, just nodding slightly with a small scowl. Dinah had felt bad. She tried to avoid soulmate talk around Greaseball. It usually didn't end well.

“Is it better?” Dinah watched Greaseball’s expression as she asked, searching for any sign at all that she knew more than she was letting on. Really, she just looked pained. Dinah knew Greaseball hated talking about soulmates, and she found it kind of sweet that she was forcing polite conversation on the topic for Dinah. It didn’t feel great, but at least Greaseball was trying to be nice.

“Yeah, yeah it is. It was just an old injury flaring up so... She was probably just being stubborn about it, as always.”

“You know who it is?” Greaseball’s expression had darkened slightly, and she'd asked the question with a small hint of urgency.

Dinah’s eyes widened imperceptibly, and she tried to school her features into stone as she realised her slip up. 

“Um no, no. I can just, um, tell.”

If Dinah didn't know any better, she’d have said that Greaseball breathed a small sigh of relief. Her girlfriend (were they girlfriends? They hadn’t really discussed it...) nodded slightly, passing Dinah some food.

“Fair. All seems a bit of a pain to me.” She picked at her nails, not looking at Dinah.

Dinah sighed as she nodded in agreement. That summed it all up really. Pain.

Greaseball, aged 20

I D age: 22

“Nervous?” Dinah smiled as she joined Greaseball in the starting blocks. 

“Me? Never.” Greaseball smirked slightly, but her gaze was soft as she looked down at Dinah.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were. It’s a big one. Defending your championship title.”

“Our championship title.” Greaseball smirked, eyeing Dinah side on. Dinah laughed, and Greaseball smiled a little wider at that.

Things were going okay. They’d been better recently. She still hated soulmate talk, and there were still times when it all got a bit too much and she pushed Dinah away again, but it hadn’t been too bad. Better than that actually. It had been the best year of Greaseball’s life.

That thought scared her. She’d achieved everything she’d wanted to. She’d won the National Championship, she was (sort of) dating the best coach around, she had a good job, good pay, she had friends, she had a home of her own. She was safe.

She had a life that she could never even have dreamed of having, all those years ago on the scrapheap. She thought about that little kid who didn't have anything at all - not even an engine - who used to bite down on her knuckles at night so she wouldn’t cry. She thought about the scrawny preteen who used to sneak under the stands to watch the racers go by. She thought about the lonely teenager who used to endure beating after beating at the Iron Works, just so she could get out quicker. 

They would never have believed her if she told them what was coming.

And yet, despite all the good things, she was never free from the looming certainty of Dinah’s soulmate. No matter how great things seemed, it could all come crashing down at any moment, the second that Dinah found her soulmate. The thought was completely and utterly paralysing, and yet it was the one thing in the world Greaseball knew was guaranteed to happen.

She pushed everything else to the back of her mind. There was no soulmate on the scene yet, and she would cling on as long as possible. For now, it was just her, her girl, and the racetrack. 

Dinah hitched up behind her, and that vulnerable feeling faded. The warning gun sounded, and Greaseball assumed her starting position. The second shot came, and the two of them exploded out the blocks. They were off.

---

Greaseball let herself relax into the familiar motions of rocking as they hurtled down the track. She could feel Dinah counterbalancing her, giving her the freedom to push even harder. They took the lead early on, and she grinned. This was going to be easy. 

Greaseball didn’t see the engine coming up on her inside. She didn’t see the way the other engine lost control, or the way the box car they were pulling was swerving madly as they tried to stay on their wheels. She didn’t hear Dinah’s warning, or the screech of metal on tracks. One second she was comfortably leading a race, and the next, all she knew was that she was practically paralysed by complete and utter, unrelenting, agonising pain.

---

Greaseball wasn’t sure if she had passed out or not. She didn’t think she had, but she also didn’t remember getting thrown from the track. Dinah had uncoupled from her at some point during the crash, which was good, she supposed. She breathed through the agonising pain still bursting from her torso and began to take stock of her injuries. Her torso was definitely the most pressing issue, and she could hardly think because of how painful it was. She must have ripped a couple of plates off at the very least, and she wouldn’t be surprised if her systems were exposed. 

She didn’t really want to look at that just yet, and so she kept her eyes screwed shut and made sure the rest of her body was okay. Unable to do much amidst the burning agony emanating like a starburst from her chest, she frantically ran her hands over her limbs. A few cuts and scrapes, a pretty gnarly bruise down her leg, but other than that, nothing major. Just the absolutely massive hole in her chassis to worry about then. 

Greaseball gritted her teeth and sat up, the pain fading slightly. She breathed hard, before opening her eyes and looking down, wincing preemptively at what sort of mess she’d find in her - Oh.

Greaseball frowned hard, perplexed. Tentatively, she brought a shaky hand to the deep slash across her chassis, the mangled mess of metal running from her breast to her midriff. Or at least - it would’ve been. If it wasn’t already sealed shut.

Greaseball stared at the wound, or indeed, lack thereof. Where there should have been what felt like a gaping wound in her torso, there was simply a large welded together scar. It didn’t make any sense at all. The pain seemed to be fading a little, enough to make her head a little clearer. She was so confused. How was it fixed? 

She ran a hand over its surface, peering closer. The scar shimmered faintly. It still hurt, a lot, but definitely not as much as it should have. It was almost tingling, like pins and needles. Greaseball blinked. 

Was this-? 

No, it couldn’t be. 

Was it?

She prodded it gently, expecting the pain to return in full force. Nothing. Just a scar, that apparently didn’t even belong to her.

Greaseball stopped. She wasn’t even sure she was still breathing. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe she had passed out, and now she was hallucinating. She pinched her leg, and when that wasn’t convincing enough, she punched herself in the arm. She winced. Not dreaming then.

Greaseball took a shaky breath. Holy shit. There was only one possible conclusion, and she felt dizzy at the very possibility of it. She looked at the scar once more, and then again just to be certain. Then she grinned.

It was a soulmark. She had a soulmate. 

Holy shit, she had a soulmate. 

Grinning, she got to her feet on shaky legs. She didn’t care about the pain. She couldn’t wait to tell Dinah. She briefly entertained the idea that Dinah was her soulmate, but then she shook her head. Dinah would’ve told her. Dinah - where was she anyway? She was normally the first to Greaseball’s side when she got hurt. Although, Greaseball supposed, it wasn’t really her that got hurt this time. 

She looked around. It was hard to see through the haze of smoke surrounding the crash site. She needed to find Dinah. She blinked, and her eyes adjusted a little. There, not far from where they came off the track, a flash of pink. Greaseball scrambled over, grinning from ear to ear.

“Dinah! Dinah, guess what!” She practically slipped over in her haste to tell Dinah her news, “Dinah I-”

The smoke cleared, and Greaseball’s chest imploded. “No.” She breathed out, shaking her head. Slowly, in disbelief, at first, and then frantically. “No, no, no.”

All the joy rushed out of her like a punch to the gut. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. She thought back to five minutes ago - to the image she’d been expecting when she’d looked down at her torso. 

Greaseball couldn’t prevent the gag that came out of her mouth at the sight. Because there was the wound she’d been expecting. Only it wasn’t hers. It was Dinah’s - and it was so much worse than she could’ve imagined.

Dinah groaned weakly, and Greaseball’s knees buckled. She wasn’t sure if it was from the fear of seeing Dinah like this, relief that she was, at least, alive, or just from the screaming pain that flared in her own chest as Dinah shifted slightly. 

It was enough to move Greaseball into action, and she burst forward, cradling Dinah’s head.

“Dinah? Dinah, it’s me. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” The words came tumbling out, but Greaseball didn’t know if she believed any of them. She could hear the sirens of the medics in the distance, but they brought little comfort. How could they, when Dinah was lying here like this? Dinah, who she’d been in love with for years now, but never thought she’d had a chance. Dinah, who was injured. Dinah, who was her soulmate.

Greaseball let out a ragged sob. 

Dinah was her soulmate.

Dinah. 

The raw mixture of emotions made her head spin. It was all she’d ever wanted, and yet she had never felt so terrified in her life. She stroked Dinah’s hair back, and tried to put pressure against the wound. Where was the fucking medic truck?

She looked at the wound again. It was big. Greaseball had thought it looked huge when she’d seen the scar on her own chest, but on Dinah’s small frame it was incomparable. Greaseball’s lips trembled, her hands moving frantically as she tried to stem the leaking. 

“Dinah, please.” She was begging now. Dinah was her soulmate, and now she was going to be taken away from her. Greaseball couldn’t think of anything more cruel. “Please baby, please. Don’t go. Don’t go.”

The sirens got louder, and suddenly she was descended upon by a crowd of people. Someone touched her shoulder, but she threw them off with a growl.

“Darling, you need to give them space so they can help her.”

Greaseball shook her head frantically at Momma’s words, her grip on Dinah only tightening. “Greaseball, come on.” She felt Momma’s hand on her again, but she ignored it. A medic reached out towards Dinah, and Greaseball was all at once blinded by fear. She couldn’t let Dinah leave her. Not when she’d only just gotten her properly.

“Don’t touch her,” she hissed. When he made no move to stop, Greaseball growled, her voice raising. “I said don’t fucking touch her! She’s mine!” 

Greaseball’s voice was raw with panicked rage, her eyes wild like a cornered animal. She let out a ragged sob, and that’s when she realised she was crying. Her voice quieted, and she spoke through shaky gasps. “She’s mine.”

Momma squeezed her shoulder, and Greaseball turned to look at her. She saw Momma’s eyes flicker downwards to her chest, and Greaseball saw quiet recognition flash in her eyes.

“Oh sweetheart.” Momma nodded, finally understanding, “Okay. Okay.”

Greaseball let out a noise that has half-sob, half-gasp. Momma opened her arms, and Greaseball practically collapsed into them. Momma’s grip was firm, and Greaseball felt herself break down fully. She could see the medics working on Dinah in her periphery, but she let them. 

“Momma-” she gasped through stuttering breaths, “I didn’t- I didn’t know - I didn’t know.”

Momma nodded, pressing a kiss to her hair. “It’s okay sweetheart, she’s gonna be okay.”

Greaseball pulled back, her eyes frantic. “You don’t know that!” She yelled, her voice cracking. “I didn’t even know! And now- and now I finally figure it out and she’s gonna- she’s gonna-” She broke down into tears again.

“You wanna know how I know she’ll be okay?” Momma asked softly, unphased by Greaseball’s outburst. Greaseball looked up with desperate eyes. “Because she’s got you.”

“But I-”

Momma cut off her protest. “You can feel it, can’t you?” She reached out a hand to the mark on Greaseball’s chest. “You can feel her pain.”

Greaseball nodded, her face crumpling and her voice weak. “So much. She’s in so much pain.”

“If she’s in pain, she’s alive. And if she’s alive, we can fix her.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But you do. Feel it Greaseball. She’s your soulmate. You’re linked. You can feel that she’ll be okay, can’t you?”

Greaseball closed her eyes. She tried to look past the fear, the panic, the pain. She was about to give up and call Momma a crackpot old hippie, when she felt it. Amidst her turmoil, there it was, a small patch of calm, pulsing like the beat of a heart. She breathed in, and she nodded. She could feel it. Dinah would be okay. As long as Greaseball was there. She would be okay. 

“Come on. They’re taking her back to the repair shed.”

Greaseball whipped her head around, and she scrambled to stand. “I’m not leaving her.” She insisted, her panic rising once again. Her eyes were set, daring Momma to challenge her, but Momma just smiled.

“You bet your arse you’re not.”

Dinah, aged 21 (and a half)

The first thing Dinah felt was pain. A dull, aching pain that ran right through her rib cage, all the way down to her midriff, throbbing incessantly. She winced, and opened her eyes. It took a few harsh blinks against the light to recognise where she was. She’d been in the repair shed many many times, but usually to visit Greaseball. It looked slightly different from the bed.

She stretched her neck slightly, testing the extent of stiffness. She winced a little, but was able to turn her head and get a proper look around. The room was quiet, and the bright morning haze streaming through the window told her she’d been asleep for at least 12 hours. Hopefully not more. 

She turned her head the other way, and there she was. Greaseball. The engine was rigid in the chair by her bed, awake, but clearly with something on her mind. She was glowering into the middle distance, staring at the door like a particularly alert guard dog. She wasn’t touching Dinah, but the chair had clearly been pulled as physically close to the bed as possible. 

Greaseball still hadn’t noticed her, and so Dinah took a moment to take her in. She looked tired, Dinah thought. Exhausted even. The dark shadows under her eyes made Dinah wonder if she’d even slept at all. Her jaw was clenched, and she was covered head to toe in a mixture of dirt, oil and grease. She looked awful.

Dinah’s eyes drifted downwards, and that’s when she saw the huge slash down Greaseball’s chest. It looked as though her plating had been ripped in two and welded back together in a hurry. Dinah frowned - an injury like that… Greaseball should’ve been bed-bound. There’s no way she could just be sat up like-

Dinah reached a shaky hand to her own chest, flinching as her pain spiked at the touch. She looked down to realise she was wrapped in bandages as far down as she could see. Oh. That explained the pain. And Greaseball’s expression.

Dinah cleared her throat, “Hey.”

Greaseball’s head snapped to attention, and she let out a ragged gasp. She moved towards Dinah, as though she wanted to touch her, and then stopped.

“You’re awake.” Her voice was hoarse, her eyes red and puffy. Her expression was reminiscent of a kicked puppy.

“You’ve been crying.”

“Dinah, I- I was so worried.”

“I’m okay.” Dinah mustered a weak smile. She nodded to the huge welded scar down Greaseball’s torso, faded, but still prominent. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Greaseball breathed deeply, her eyes searching Dinah’s - for pain, for anger, for guidance, for anything at all. She wanted to say so much, but before she could gather her thoughts, she heard herself speak - as though her voice wasn’t even hers, as though her lips moved of their own volition. “You knew,” said the voice that was hers, but also wasn’t. Dinah just nodded. “How long?”

“I wasn't certain but - the first time we raced. I was riding with Orange Flash, and you showed up with some coach. I’d seen you before, at some of the open rallies up north, but it was your first time here.”

“I remember.”

“You were in the lead, but we were close behind. You snapped some wheel spokes after you grinded a hairpin too quick. I heard you telling your carriage that it didn’t hurt, but it did. I felt it. I knew immediately. You were lying - it did hurt you, quite a lot.” Dinah sighed, “You do that all the time. Hide when you’re in pain.”

“You bought me numbing cream after.” Greaseball breathed, as though she was realising the significance of it for the first time. “You came to the shed I was staying in, after the party. That was the first night I spoke to you, wasn't it?” Greaseball’s voice was barely above a whisper, so much so that Dinah had to strain to hear it. It seemed a lot of things were clicking into place for her.

Dinah nodded. “You didn’t wonder how I knew?”

“No I-” Greaseball shakes her head weakly, her eyes locked onto the middle distance, like she’s afraid to look at Dinah all of a sudden. Dinah can practically hear the gears whirring in her brain. When she speaks, she sounds lost. She sounds so young. “Why did you never say anything?”

“You were always so… loud. About how you didn’t have a soulmate, or want a soulmate, how you didn’t need one. I had no clue how you'd react. I didn't want to scare you off.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t think I had one. I wasn’t built to be loved.”

“You were.” Dinah, with some effort, reached up a hand to gently cup Greaseball’s cheek. Greaseball’s eyes fluttered, and her gaze locked on to Dinah’s like it was an anchor in a raging storm. “You were built to be loved by me.”

Greaseball blinked back a tear, and Dinah brushed it away with her thumb. “Why didn’t I ever get a mark? All this time. I looked, hard, at first, and then as time went by I just… never felt anything. I stopped looking”

“I think you did - it's just, well, you were always so hurt as a child. I doubt you would have noticed it. When you moved here, and I realised you didn’t think you had one - I admit I became a little more careful. I wasn’t sure how you would respond. If you’d even notice at all. Somehow - it felt better not knowing.”

Greaseball realised then that Dinah has been feeling her pain for fifteen years. And there had been a lot of it. “You felt it all - all these years - Starlight, Dinah, I- I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t even think, I- You felt everything.”

“I did. I won’t pretend to know everything about your past, but I know it wasn’t good. We don’t have to talk about it, but you don’t have to hide it from me. You don’t have to be strong about it. I already know.”

“I hurt you. I put you through so much.”

“You didn’t put me through it. You were the one who was put through that. You’re the victim here, Greaseball, not me.”

“I’m sorry I caused you pain.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. It just meant I wanted to find you more. Protect you from whatever was getting you so hurt.”

“I didn’t need that.”

“I know. You found me first.”

Greaseball took a deep, steadying breath. She was a little shocked to realise that, for the first time ever, she wanted to talk about it. Closing her eyes made it seem a little less daunting, so, with another shaky breath, she spoke.

“I grew up in a scrapyard.”

“What?” Greaseball couldn’t look at Dinah, though she could hear the shock and concern in her tone. She wanted to take it back, play it off, but she knew she owed Dinah this, at least.

“I grew up in a scrapyard. That’s why I was always hurt. I was left there as a child. I managed to survive on my own for two weeks, and then a group of scrappers found me. Some of them were nice, most of them weren’t. One took me in. But I was small, and quick, and so they could send me into places they couldn’t reach themselves. I did the work in exchange for food, and fuel. That’s why.”

“Greaseball…”

Greaseball still couldn’t look at Dinah, but she needed to get through this in one go, or else she wouldn’t get through it at all. “I don’t like talking about it. I don’t want to talk about it right now, but I’m telling you because I think I owe you an explanation as to why you were probably always in pain.”

“Greaseball I- I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“Don’t say anything. Let’s not talk about it right now.” Greaseball was amazed her voice had stayed firm, but she had done it nonetheless. She raised her eyes to look at Dinah, and gave a soft, uncharacteristic smile. “Do you remember the first mark?

“I remember all the marks. Right here, on your eyebrow, was the first. 15 years ago.” Dinah reached out and stroked Greaseball’s eyebrow, her fingers grazing the now faded scar. It had faded into non-existence for Dinah soon after it happened, but she’d recognised it immediately the first time she saw Greaseball up close. 

Greaseball remembered that one too. She’d slipped while helping Dung and some others dismantle an engine, and she’d cut her face on a rusty piece of metal. She remembered it because she’d cried, and the scrappers had said that they wouldn’t help until she stopped crying. She hadn’t cried since. Apart from when Dung died. And last night. It had been her second month in the scrapyard, and she’d hurt herself badly the night prior - but wait, the eyebrow had been the first?

“On your birthday?”

Dinah looked at her confused. “No. It was in November.”

“Are you sure it wasn't a cut on my knee?”

“Positive. I used to check the mirror every day from the day I turned five.”

“But I- I scraped my knee the day before. I remember. Because I couldn’t kneel down properly, which is why I slipped and cut my eye.”

“Okay…? Well you must have only turned five that day then.”

“So, so, that was my birthday?”

“Well, obviously. I’d already had my birthday. That was the first time you got injured after you turned five. 13th November. If you got injured on the 12th and it didn’t show up on me - then you turned five on the 13th.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know that.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“When I turned five.”

“You didn’t- you didn’t know your birthday? I thought you were just lying about your age to sound cooler.”

Greaseball shook her head softly. “I was abandoned when I was a kid. I don’t remember much about my life before that. I just remember not being good enough. I was too weak, they said. They wanted an engine, not a kid. So they took me to a scrapheap and left me there. They disconnected my engine so I couldn’t leave.”

“Is that why your back always hurts in the cold?”

“How-” Greaseball cut herself off, “Right. You can feel it.” 

Dinah smiled, “Don't worry. I know it’s gonna take some getting used to. I know a lot about you, Greaseball.”

Greaseball nodded. “Right. But uh, yeah - that’s why. Once I got a little older, y’know, once I’d gotten pretty good with tools and that, I reconnected my engine. Had to undo all the welding and that. Fixed it back up. Did a pretty good job but - it still twinges in the cold. I’d been gathering the parts from old scrapped engines, and I knew if I wanted to get out, I couldn’t rely on anyone else. I had to get out myself. So, I entered a race. And I won. I took the winnings, used it to buy a full new set of parts, swapped out everything again, and moved across the country. Found the first station that would let me work aged fifteen. Or well - I guess fourteen, if I’m younger than I thought.”

“Thirteen.”

“What?”

“You would’ve been thirteen. You tell people you’re twenty two, but you’re actually only twenty. So if that was seven years ago, you were thirteen.”

“What? No. I’m not twenty. That would make me like, a year younger than you.”

“You are. I was already six by the time I got my first mark, not five. It was the November after that.”

“I’m a year younger than you?”

“And then some,” smirked Dinah.

“Fuck. I don’t like that.”

Dinah just laughed. “Sorry, carry on. Thirteen, that’s when you moved to The Iron Works?”

“Yeah. Not a nice place, but it was better. I had a bed. And wages.”

“They used to beat you there. Brand you.” It wasn’t a question. Dinah had recognised the shape of those marks, and the image was burned into her mind. And her skin. Frequently. Her voice quivered with a hint of anger.

“I’m sorry you had to feel that. I’m so, so sorry.” 

“Don’t you dare apologise for what they did to you.” Dinah’s voice was properly angry now, the kind of wet anger that made her lips tremble and her eyes well up. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, her voice wavering. “Don’t you dare.”

“Dinah. Please don’t cry.” Greaseball reached forward weakly to take Dinah’s hand, stopped herself, wondering if she was allowed to. Time to be brave. She swallowed and took Dinah’s hand anyway.

“I’m sorry. It just makes me so angry. So upset. What you went through, Greaseball, it wasn’t okay. None of it.”

“We shouldn’t be talking about me. You’re the one who got hurt.”

“We both got hurt,” smiled Dinah, “Don’t think I can’t feel that bruise you’ve got all up your leg.”

“I really can’t hide anything from you now, can I?” Greaseball gave a reluctant smile. 

Dinah chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling, “Oh darling, you never could.”

Greaseball gave a weak smile and swallowed, her thumb rubbing circles on the back of Dinah's hand as though it were second nature. Greaseball realised in all the time they’d been casually together, they’d never held hands before. Their hands fit together so perfectly together, she noticed, like they were built to. She supposed, really, they were. She nodded slowly.

“But still, I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry, Greaseball. It’s not your fault. You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“Okay.” She mumbled.

“Okay?” Dinah repeated gently. Greaseball nodded again, a little stronger. Dinah smiled, but bit back a wince as she shifted slightly.

“Are you okay? Should I get the medic?” Greaseball was halfway out of her seat before Dinah could respond.

“No, no. I’m okay. You can feel it, right?” She nodded towards Greaseball’s chest. “It’s just a little sore, but it's okay.”

“It was bad, Dinah. The crash - you could’ve - you could’ve-” Greaseball couldn’t even say the words without getting choked up. She sniffled harshly and swiped at her eyes with a rough hand.

“But I didn’t,” Dinah smiled, “You were there, you made sure I didn’t.”

“I thought it was me - I thought it was my chassis that had ripped. And then I saw you - Dinah, you were just lying there and - and I thought- and then I realised. I realised all of it.” Her eyes had been fixated on their entwined fingers, but at the last sentence she forced herself to meet Dinah’s eyes. “I was so scared. I always wanted- I never thought- and then I realised, and I was so happy - because I had a soulmate - but I was so scared. I was so, so scared Dinah.” Dinah listened intently, her eyes never leaving Greaseball’s. She nodded slightly, encouraging her to continue. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been okay. If I’d spent my whole life thinking I couldn’t have a soulmate, only to find out I did, but that it was too late.”

“But you didn’t. I’m here. We’re both okay.”

“When you were asleep, I just couldn’t stop thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

Greaseball didn’t laugh at Dinah’s quip. “I’m serious Dinah. I sat here all night, thinking about all the times I should’ve realised. Thinking about how awful I’d been to you. Thinking about how obtuse I was. I should’ve realised. I couldn’t help but think, if you had died, and I’d wasted all that time? How could I deal with that?”

Dinah bit her lip sadly. Greaseball continued, her voice earnest now. “I don’t want to waste any more time with you. Can you forgive me? For all of it? For not noticing sooner? For putting you through all that pain?”

“Greaseball what did I just say? Don’t apologise for your past.”

“That's not what I mean! I mean the pain I did cause. Leading you on. Sleeping around. Parading different girls about.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I really am sorry Dinah. It’s not an excuse, but I- I closed myself off to love a long time ago. You made me… feel things. But you were so into the soulmate thing, and I was so sure I didn’t have one, that I didn’t let myself get close to you. I pushed you away. It hurt too much. To know that someday the perfect engine was gonna come and take you away. I told myself it wasn’t love and I did everything I could to convince myself of that. Even if it meant hurting you.”

“You love me?”

Greaseball’s eyes widened as she realised her slip of the tongue. She flushed red, but forced herself to meet Dinah’s eyes.

“Uh- yeah.” She cleared her throat and spoke again, a little stronger. “Yes. I do. I’m sorry it took me so long to come around.”

Dinah smiled, and wrapped her other hand around the joined fingers. “I love you too.”

“You do?”

“Obviously. And all that other stuff? I forgave you a long time ago. Sure, it hurt - and you will be making it up to me by the way - but I understood. I’ve known you for a long time, Greaseball, I knew you even before I met you. I knew something deeper was going on.”

“I will make it up to you. I swear. I’ll do anything - anything at all. I was built to be yours and if you won’t have me I may as well send myself to the scrapheap now. If I spend another second without you by my side then my whole life will have been wasted. I’ve been stupid for too long, and I’m not taking any longer to make you mine.”

Dinah laughed brightly, and it was the most beautiful sound that Greaseball had ever heard in her life. 

“Why don’t you just start by taking me on a date?”