Chapter Text
The weather had been fairly calm recently, and Cabbie supposed he could only thank the heavens for that.
Even with the incessant clamoring of antsy Smokejumpers, Dipper’s horrible singing, Blade’s moping, Maru’s griping, and Windlifter’s irritating aloofness, Cabbie was quite happy with the state of things. After the Great Piston Peak Barbecue last year, nobody was really looking for trouble.
CLANG! Except the Smokejumpers, apparently. Cabbie grimaced as he heard some of the unholiest words ever uttered from Avalanche’s and Maru’s mouths as raucous laughter echoed throughout the base. Jeez, those two needed a talking-to about their language. Perhaps Cabbie would mention it to Blade at dinner.
That’s not the only thing y’all would need a dressing down for, his mind supplied treacherously.
“Oh, jeez,” Cabbie muttered aloud, sinking even lower onto his landing gear.
He could find out any day, you know.
Cabbie sighed in disgruntlement. This was not the time to get into a mental argu–
THUD! CRASH! DING! Cabbie let out a startled noise and whipped himself around to where the noise was coming from.
“Did somebody drop a bomb out here or something?!” he hollered as he sped to the site. “In the name of Chrysler I will end you all–”
He was met with outright laughs from all the terrestrial vehicles on base (minus Patch. Patch had common sense. Cabbie suddenly felt a great surge of affection for their very serious C.O.)
“What in the HELL is goin’ on here?!” the Flying Boxcar boomed.
The noise level went from ear-splattering din to pin-drop silent almost immediately. Making Cabbie cuss was a very clear warning sign that someone had pissed him off royally.
“Well?” Cabbie thundered, glaring at each and every single one of the slimy fu–frick–fritters. Frickers?
Everybody else on base trickled in to see what was going on. Dipper opened her mouth to say something, but was shot a look by Windlifter and decided against it. Blade’s eye ridges seemed to sit even lower on his face, and Windlifter wore the same stoic expression as always.
After a long silence, Dynamite finally spoke. “Drip and Avalanche decided to play Hot Potato with one of Maru’s toolboxes while he was tinkering with something in the back. Drip got a wrench to the head and started cussing, Maru started cussing and threw another wrench, which caused the noise you heard.”
Cabbie’s glare remained on his face.
“Sorry, Dad,” Pinecone muttered absently. The rest of the Smokejumpers plus Maru hastily murmured out apologies to the C-119.
“Don’t you dare pull shit like that again, you hear me?” Cabbie said. His voice was gentler now, but it was still clear that this was definitely a scolding. “We’ve gotta keep the noise levels down. Don’t want to scare people half to death. You got that? Drip, Avalanche, you shouldn’t’ve been horsing around with Maru’s toolboxes. And Maru, one wrench is all it takes–you should know that by now. Both of you, that was some of the most vulgar , horrible language I have heard in my whole life . Blade, I hope you’re gonna talk to them about this.”
“That I will,” Blade said. “My hangar, noon tomorrow, Drip, Avalanche, Maru.”
All three mentioned vehicles nodded, too ashamed to look anyone in the face. Everybody went back to what they were doing before, although this time the Smokejumpers engaged in quiet conversation or opted to remain silent completely.
Cabbie groaned. This was the second time that week he’d been shocked out of a very pleasant stupor by yelling voices.
He couldn’t really complain, though. He really didn’t like hearing swear words being screeched out for the world to hear. People had probably heard the three in Connecticut and the Flysenhower. Even though Blade’s gravelly, slightly raspy, screeching voice was no Chopin etude, he knew it was better than vulgar language.
The C-119 had been raised in a time where people spoke with grace, care, and dignity. He had never heard his parents or family utter a swear word once, and it was only in the military that he gained an extensive vocabulary. He had tried cussing once–it had felt like ashes in his mouth, and he never repeated the words again.
Those morals never left him. Even after all these years, changing life styles, and basically adopting some of the most dirty-mouthed-and-minded mechanisms on the planet, he didn’t cuss. Unless he was pissed to high hell. He had to keep tradition alive, after all.
Speaking of keeping tradition alive…
The dinner circle that night was devoid of its regular chatter. Even though crickets chirped in the warm night and orange-yellow light emanated from the lanterns on the ground (as they did every night), things were not as joyful as they were with the absence of five voices.
Patch and Dipper were eagerly plotting out a “fic” for something called “AO3” and “Wattpad”. Cabbie heard Dusty’s name come up a few times, and he hoped that it wasn’t anything too bad. Poor thing didn’t need even more trauma after his multiple near-death experiences. Windlifter, himself, and Blade were usually the silent ones (save for discussions about new tactics to implement), preferring to let the atmosphere wash over them than contribute to it. Without the arguments and nattering of Maru and the Smokejumpers, however, it didn’t feel okay.
The tense atmosphere only worsened as time went on. It was almost a relief when everyone finished their meals (which it almost never was ordinarily) and headed back to their hangars to sleep. As Cabbie rolled into his, he paused for a minute to listen for noises from the Smokejumpers’ place.
There were none.
He sighed and went the rest of the way into his. As he situated himself on his sleeping mat, he only hoped that things would be better tomorrow morning.
As it turned out, things were not better the next morning.
The base was too quiet. There were tapping noises coming out of Dipper’s hangar where Patch and the seaplane (seriously, when had this developed? All of a sudden they seemed to sneak around with superior secret motives and stolen giggles. Whatever floated their boat, he guessed.) had sequestered themselves. Maru’s clangy tines and off-tune humming faintly floated over from the Main Hangar, and Windlifter’s grunts and thumps echoed throughout the entire base. Blade, as usual, was silent. But the Smokejumpers…
Sighing, Cabbie rolled out of his hangar and towards the Smokejumpers’ usual gathering places. No sign. He then rolled over to their cabin and found three very desolate-looking little parachuters.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Their eyes snapped up in shock–apparently they had been so far in their heads they hadn’t heard them coming. Then Drip sighed.
“Hi, Cabbie,” he greeted dejectedly.
One of Cabbie’s flaps twitched minutely. This wasn’t just a classic case of hurt feelings–it went deeper than that. Cabbie could feel the mistrust radiating off the younger mechanism.
“Drip, Avalanche.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about the way I yelled at you guys yesterday. I shouldn't've been that loud–it’s obviously scared you both, and I can tell that you’re scared I’ll do it again and hurt you. Please, be rest assured that I would never do that, boys. Although the cussing was pretty inappropriate, I shouldn’t’ve gone about it that way.”
“IT’S FINE, DAD.”
Drip, however, didn’t look too convinced. Blackout leveled a look of concern at his teammate, before turning to Cabbie a little accusatorily. Cabbie sighed.
“You wanna watch some CHoPs this evening?”
Drip’s face instantly brightened. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. That’ll make it up, won’t it?”
Drip grinned and let out an earth-shattering whoop, which was quickly echoed by the other three.
Cabbie closed his eyes and smiled. Even as his audials rang for the better part of five minutes as he informed everyone (minus Blade) of the new developments, he felt comforted in the fact that his kids were happy again.
Blade Ranger was not feeling it today.
The heat was oppressive and he had mountains of paperwork to complete. Sure, it was much less than what he had been subjected to under Cad, but the red helicopter felt that one of these days he would literally choose death over paperwork.
Have some sympathy for Wind, a voice chided in his mind.
Blade rolled his eyes. He’d known the green Skycrane for 20 years, and he had not changed a single bit over that time (other than slight creaks from his engine in recent times). He was just as aloof, mysterious, all-knowing, and prophetic as he had been when he first arrived at Piston Peak. And yet, deep down in his frigid soul, Blade knew that it would be a crime to subject Windlifter to this plus death papers.
Jeez, I need a therapist, he thought, shaking his head as he grabbed a pen in between his teeth and began filling it out. He slowly melted into a stupor of morbid concentration as paper after devilish paper was filled out and set aside. His concentration levels were higher than ever before–if he kept up this same pace he might still be able to enjoy the day–
An ear-shattering whoop from a Smokejumper quickly dispelled that fantasy. Blade groaned, letting the pen fall from his lips with a “Fuck!”. He glared down at the ground. Great. Now he would have to nearly break his landing gear trying to pick the thing up…
He knew he was being dramatic. Good fucking job he did it mentally, because Maru would never let him go if he knew the red heli was even more of a diva than Nick was…had been. Grasping the pen between his teeth (albeit with a pang in his engines now), he began to complete the paperwork again. This time, however, his pace was much slower than before.
After dinner that night, and after Blade had retreated to his cliff, the team gathered in the Main Hangar. Maru fished out ““Howard the Truck”” and clicked the ‘Play’ button.
The familiar beats pelted merrily throughout the hangar as everyone inside bounced from side to side. Some oil cans knocked over, and their stench filled the already-stale-smelling hangar. One would’ve thought this would suffocate the team, but it was all part of the CHoPs ritual: the slight hangovers in the mornings, the cult cheering for their favorite fire chief, and the smiles or frowns on everyone’s faces.
Little did they know, everything was about to change.
Blade wasn’t able to sleep that night. This common occurrence led him to spend his nights gazing off of the cliffside, watching for fires. These nights typically gave him some much-needed peace and solitude, so that he could gather himself. He couldn’t go flying to pieces while fighting an active fire, after all.
Today, however, Blade’s thoughts kept tending towards self-reflection. He tried to do something that he’d heard from a therapist many years ago–try to look at the current situation from the perspective of an outsider. He quietly imagined a regular day on the base as an imaginary team member, with himself in charge.
As usual, his assessments were: ice block, cold, harsh, and distant. Definitely not someone worth sticking around, or with. He still didn’t know how Maru managed to put up with his shit. He figured that the rest of the team wouldn’t be too warm to him, either.
But how the hell else was he supposed to protect himself? The chopper sighed and spun his rotors around. He had foolishly let the stylized Hollywood life and plastic people weasel their way into his heart. Sometimes, he truly missed it–missed thinking the world was his oyster, missed being a tease with the public, missed fretting over when he would be able to steal his co-star away for a few quick, risky kisses. He ached for an earlier time, when his heart wasn’t so heavy and his face remembered what it was like to smile.
Nick had been his everything. To say the Hughes had stolen his heart from him would be an understatement–he had taken Blade’s whole soul and very being. Blade had never loved another mechanism so wholly and truly as he had loved Nick.
And he never would again.
Blade squinted his eyes shut, trying not to let the tears fall. He couldn’t rip this wound back open again by remembering it–he just couldn’t. He had to divert himself.
Nick’s lifeless eyes flashed before his own, as did his funeral, and the tears of all those around him…his head had hurt then. It felt suspended in a sea of molasses by gears and whatnot behind his cockpit. He remembered that feeling–his head spinning as he tried to stay above the deluge.
And as the goneness of Nick penetrated his frame once more, Blade set out to do the thing he always did next.
On nights like these, Blade would usually take a small tour around the base. Simply rolling around and seeing that everybody’s hangar had someone happily sleeping in it would usually quell his misgivings. It didn’t take the pain away, but it took the edge off.
In fact, this was how Blade had discovered that Dusty had regular nightmares. He remembered that night like it was yesterday:
Blade had been rolling around the base, taking in the quiescence of the aircraft occupying it. Windlifter’s snores were loud and rumbly, and Cabbie’s were light and soft. Dipper huffed every so often in her sleep. One of the Smokejumpers had some form of sleep apnea (Blade had never found out who–only mentioned it to Maru and let the forklift take it from there) while the rest slept in varying degrees of silence. Blackout would sometimes talk in his sleep, although it was usually in Spanglish.
However, that night there had been a new addition to the cacophony. Blade knew the whimpers immediately, as he had made them many times in his own sleep.
Champ was having a nightmare.
The spare hangar didn't have latches on it for a reason–it was necessary to look after whoever occupied it to make sure they didn't do anything stupid. (Blade often thought he was half the reason the rule was made.) Therefore, it was easy for Blade to push the doors open and peer inside to see the orange and white plane’s face screwed up in terror.
Blade quickly rolled in, shutting the door behind him. He gently nudged Dusty’s prop.
“Champ, wake up,” he said gently. Dusty whimpered.
Blade shook Dusty more insistently this time. “Wake up!”
Dusty let out a blood-curdling scream. Blade shook him as hard as he could without damaging his trainee. Finally, Dusty’s eyes flew open with a jolt.
Dusty spluttered. “Wh–where–wha–?”
“Ssshh,” Blade whispered. “It’s okay. You're at Piston Peak Air Attack, with me, Blade.”
“Blade?” Dusty asked, still very disoriented.
“Yeah, it's me,” Blade replied, his voice soothing. “You're safe.”
“Hmm,” Dusty said, seeming to come to his senses a little bit. Then his eyes flashed open again, seemingly realizing the situation.
“Oh–I–Blade, I’m so sorry! I didn't mean to–” he started to apologize, but the Agustawestland quickly cut him off.
“Don’t,” Blade whispered. “You didn't do anything.”
“But you're out here?”
“I couldn't sleep, heard you, guessed I might as well help,” Blade said. “Going through those alone is no fun.”
At this, Dusty’s eyes widened. “You–you have ‘em too?”
Blade quirked an eyeridge.
“Right, dumb question,” Dusty muttered, evidently remembering that Blade was a firefighter, and had been for over 30 years. Of course he would have nightmares. The racer chuckled awkwardly.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Blade asked. Dusty stared up at him in surprise, and Blade suddenly felt a small pang. Had he really come across as so harsh?
“Um,” the plane started. Blade waited. He looked down, then up…and then down again. “No, thank you. I’m good. But thanks for asking.” At this, he looked back up at him.
“Okay,” Blade had said gently. “But if you ever need me, I’ll be there.”
Dusty nodded.
Blade smoothly maneuvered his way out of the racer’s hangar, pausing slightly at the entrance.
“‘Night, Champ,” he said.
“Goodnight, Chief,” he heard in response. Was that him, or did the racer’s voice sound a little husky?
As he rolled out of the hangar and made his way back to his own, he could swear he heard someone crying.
And if Blade had been a little misty-eyed when he got back to his hangar, too, well, that was nobody’s business but his.
Blade shook himself out of the flashback. Even now, he could hear Dusty’s phantom sobs. What had been going through the cropduster’s mind that night? Did it have something to do with his life prior to arriving at Piston Peak? Or had it just been something random that his brain had conjured up?
Blade shook his head. Best not to dwell on past events. He listened closely–no breathing. They must all be in the Main Hangar, then.
His team was fond of gathering there every month or so. Blade had never asked what exactly it was that they did. It didn't cause any harm as far as he could tell (other than slight buzzedness in the mornings–Blade suspected that these meetings were the sole consumer of their store of high-grade), and they never admitted it to him either. Still, a very small (albeit there) part of him stung at the fact that he was never invited.
Blade supposed he deserved it. He was an ice block, and Cabbie and Maru could attest to the fact that Blade and high-grade was not a good mix. Blade shuddered at the thought of his own dependency on the stuff. It had turned him fizzy and soft before Nick died, but after…let’s just say you didn't want to be around him.
He closed his eyes as familiar guilt coursed through his hydraulics. Those nights were ones that he barely remembered, but what he did remember was blinding pain (both mental and physical) and screaming voices (his, Maru’s and Cabbie’s). Why the current chief had kept him on was beyond him–he was a wreck. He was grateful, of course, but he couldn't ever figure out why.
“Blade, it's either the high grade or the job, pick one!” Maru had told him one turbulent night.
“Blade, put the knife down,” the former chief commanded. “Hurting yourself won't do you any good.”
“It was not your fault!” Maru’s voice howled in his mind.
“Blade, you do not want to stick those rotors in me, because I will crush them,” Cabbie threatened.
He shuddered. The warbird had seen him at his worst, and was still here. Looking at it now, it almost seemed like a horror movie.
He looked towards the Main Hangar, where they seemed to be watching something. The sounds from the TV sounded vaguely familiar, though Blade couldn't quite place from where.
Making a decision, he twirled his rotors and rolled towards the thing. After all, why not? Maybe it would do him some good.
They were in the middle of the episode when it happened.
The hangar door rolled open. At first, Cabbie thought nothing of it. Perhaps someone had gone to the latrines and was returning. He shrugged and kept watching the CHoPs episode that had been playing…
…until he remembered that nobody had been to the latrines.
That could only mean one thing.
“Dynamite,” he asked. “Who’s at the door?”
The Flying Boxcar would knock everyone around like dominoes if he turned around unannounced. And there wasn't any time to let people move out of the way.
The Smokejumper Captain turned around and squinted. Her eyes widened.
“Guys, turn off the show,” she said.
Somebody turned off the TV (Cabbie didn't see who; his eyes were trained on Blade, watching carefully for any sort of reaction. When distressed, the heli could act pretty ugly.) and all the noise in the hangar ceased. Everybody turned to face the newcomer, slightly shocked. Nobody spoke for a very long, tense moment.
Blade rolled further into the hangar and stopped a few feet away from them.
“Guys, what is this?” He asked. His voice was shaking.
Maru quietly rolled forward. “Blade–”
Bad decision. Blade whipped towards him, spun his rotors, and jerked back. “DON’T EVEN START, MARU! WHAT IS THIS?”
“Oh, he’s pissed,” Drip mumbled.
“This is not the time!” Dynamite hissed.
Blade turned towards him, about to speak. Cabbie revved his engines aggressively and spun his props.
Blade froze. His eyes filled with tears and his eye ridges scrunched up. Cabbie hadn't seen the red helicopter look this vulnerable in years–he looked just as lost as he had one night when he stumbled into Cabbie’s hangar, seeking warmth and comfort.
There was another tense silence, before Blade turned around to head out. He hesitated, then turned around.
“Don’t watch this show ever again,” he said huskily. “And Maru…please don't talk to me.”
“Blade–” Maru tried to start again.
“You’ve lost my trust,” the helicopter told him softly.
Maru shrunk back, about to say something else, then retreated back and closed his mouth. He nodded. “Fair enough.”
Blade turned around and rolled out of the hangar.
A tense silence.
“Let’s go,” Dipper whispered. “‘Night, y’all.”
Everybody mumbled some variation of “good night” and trundled out. There wasn't a calm soul on base that night.
In many ways, Blade Ranger was Cabbie’s first kid.
When the young helicopter had turned up to base with nothing but white paint and a scratched-off decal, a resume, and a vague warning of “fragile mental state”, Cabbie had been pretty confused. What was a city guy–Hollywood, from the looks of it–doing here at Piston Peak? And why the hell would someone show up to be a firefighter if their mental state was “fragile”?
These questions only became more burning as time went on. The newbie was very antisocial, shy, and seemed like he was dealing with a lot. It was a tense time for the team–the dude learned and fought fires well, but missed out on the other 90% of firefighting: teamwork.
Having a good (or at least civil) relationship with your coworkers played a lot into how you dealt with each other in life or death situations. In order to fight a fire with a teammate, you had to get to know them first. Blade…wasn't keen on doing that.
Somehow, Maru was the only one on base to gain his trust. Cabbie later learned that Maru had been a huge CHoPs fan and had known exactly who Blade was when he arrived at base. However, the forklift hadn't ever mentioned Blade’s past upon his arrival, at least not to any of the other members of the team. It was only later that he introduced them to those old tapes. Either way, it had been Maru who finally coaxed Blade out of his shell and encouraged him to start talking to others.
Cabbie had done his best to make sure that Blade felt safe, whether it was starting a conversation with him, deflecting conversation attempts, or simply ignoring him (which proved to be the most common course). That had all changed when Blade had gotten hold of the high-grade…
Cabbie shuddered. Those had been dark times. When the helicopter had shown up to the breakfast circle suddenly very jovial, Cabbie had been surprised, but took it as a sign that their newest teammate was finally opening up. How wrong he had been.
Over time, it was discovered that Blade would drink high-grade every morning to “start himself up”. This was technically allowed under Piston Peak’s policy, but it wasn't something that was typically done unless one had a death wish. Dangerous wildfires and being even slightly inebriated could prove to be a very deadly mistake. Thus, everyone was on high alert around the AW139, watching for any signs that he would have to be removed from a situation.
Then Blade started drinking every night to get to sleep. This was even more worrying. He didn't seem to be suffering very much…until the happiness faded.
Cabbie didn't know what changed to cause the shift in demeanor. All of a sudden, Blade was an asshole when he was drunk, and an asshole when not. He wouldn't cuss outright, but he'd be stiff and rude to his teammates, even Maru. It started getting real bad when he began defying orders during fires–much like Dusty had done. It endangered the team–even though they managed to get out of it fine, precious resources were wasted, strategies were thrown to the wind, and fear was sown.
There were other things too. Cabbie would sometimes hear screaming in the night (when the heli hadn't had a can or two to sleep). He'd seen Maru rushing over to Blade’s hangar with a first aid kit many times, and his tires would be covered in hydraulic fluid when he came out. It had all come to a head one very fateful night.
Cabbie jolted out of his stupor to a loud noise. Sounded like metal against metal…
The C-119 grunted. He’d better see what was going on before things got out of hand.
As he neared Blade’s hangar (because of course it was Blade–he had to get his act together soon) he heard raised voices.
“Don't you fucking dare, Maru,” Blade snarled.
“Blade, please, I’m trying to help you!” Maru pleaded. PLEADED. Cabbie had never heard this kind of note in the young pittie’s voice, ever. Cabbie rolled even faster.
The hill to Blade’s hangar was pretty steep, and Cabbie kept losing his treading on the loose dirt. With some revving of his engines, however, he eventually got up.
“NO!” Blade yelled. At this point, most of the base were heading over to see what was wrong. Cabbie growled and drew in a deep breath for what he was about to say.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOIN’ ON IN THERE?” the Flying Boxcar yelled. “Both of you, outside, now, if possible.”
He quickly backed away from the hangar door, and both Maru and Blade came out.
Cabbie let out a soft gasp. The AW139 had completely torn up his side. With what, he didn’t know, but either way, Maru looked very concerned.
Both of them could smell the high grade from their positions.
“Why the fuck’s it your business if I try to off myself?” Blade slurred out.
Nobody spoke a single word.
The helicopter growled. He began to start up his rotors, but Cabbie quickly rolled forward.
“Blade, you do not want to stick those rotors in me, because I will crush them,” the Flying Boxcar threatened.
There was a huge CLANG as one of Blade’s rotors snapped off. He screeched in pain–
–but at least it had subdued him. Maru quickly put his tines on the helicopter’s side, and with Cabbie’s assistance, rolled him down to the Med Bay.
The whole team had gotten an apology from Blade after that. And Cabbie could see a consistent effort from the helicopter from those days onward. He followed orders, tried to interact with the team, and overall began his journey of building himself up to who he was today.
He had also been banned from high-grade. Permanently.
“Cabbie, what’s up?”
“Hmm?” the C-119 responded, looking over at the wall.
He could almost see Dipper staring at him, looking a little forlorn. Cabbie sighed. “Nothing, just thinking about…”
“About what?” the seaplane pressed.
Cabbie sunk a little lower onto his landing gear. “About how Blade was when he first arrived here.”
“Oh,” Dipper said. “Was it–was it bad?”
“Bad enough that he got banned from high-grade for life.”
“For life?” Dipper asked, shocked.
Cabbie could only thank the heavens that each member of the team had the capability to indulge in a private frequency just for themselves and a few (or one) other people. Currently, the entire team (save for Blade…obviously) was on the frequency. Even given the very uncharacteristic and aggressive behavior from their chief 20 minutes earlier, nobody could bring themselves to sleep.
“Yeah,” Cabbie said. “I…won’t pretend that I don’t know what he was getting up to in that hangar of his, but I will tell you that it was not pretty.”
There were some mumblings and mutterings from everyone.
“He hurt me,” a voice finally piped up, soft and quiet. Everybody quickly quieted down.
“He did?” Pinecone asked, evidently shocked.
“Yeah,” Maru whispered. “I mean. I get where he was coming from–”
He was cut off with a slew of “No!”’s and “It wasn’t your fault!”’s and “He shouldn’t’ve been doing it, anyway”’s.
“I get where he was coming from,” Maru continued loudly, and the whispers died down. “But I also know that it probably wasn’t okay.
“But the thing is…some things I’ve done to him aren’t okay, either. I treated him really harshly despite what he was going through at the time–he needed support, not snark. And I gave him snark. And it shows.”
The pittie’s voice shook as he uttered his next words. “It really shows. I…I’ve…I’ve never really seen a guy like him. So destroyed, yet so destructive. Both to himself and other people. I would like to say that the only guy he ended up hurting was himself…but I can’t say that honestly.
“This is going to sound dark and petty, but…at least he blames himself now. I think…I think he’s aware of how much he hurt me in those years, and he’s always tried to make it up. Always. And I don’t really ever let him. He was suffering , guys. So much. He…had everything ripped away and it…it tore his soul to ribbons. He might think he put himself back together, but I don’t think so. He’s an ice block. He…I…”
Maru paused then, attempting to find the correct wording.
“The only time we ever saw him warm…” Cabbie prompted.
“...When he was drunk. Yeah. Even that went away after a while,” the mechanic continued sadly.
Nobody spoke for a few minutes.
Finally, Blackout came forward with a question. “Maru?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but…when Blade said you’d lost his trust…is that because you showed the team CHoPs?”
“Yes.”
“And…does he not like talking about or remembering CHoPs because it had something to do with what happened to…land him here?”
“Yes.”
“...Does it have to do with Nick?”
A shaky sigh escaped Maru’s lips. “...Yes,” he whispered.
They ended their chat there for the night. And, if they could still hear Maru’s quiet cries from where they were at, well…
That wasn’t anybody’s business but their own, right? That was how it always went. But Cabbie realized something in that moment.
Of course Blade had never told them about CHoPs because he didn’t want to. Of course he had fear. But the warbird speculated that it went deeper than that. It wasn’t just him. It was them too.
As a general rule, the team had always, always, always preferred other people over Blade Ranger. The lone red helicopter was gruff, grouchy, and commanding. Most thought he couldn’t take a joke if they didn’t know him well, and all believed that there were better, more approachable people on base.
Their monthly binges in the Main Hangar only proved their point more. Blade had never been invited–and Cabbie wasn’t dumb, he knew the helicopter had noticed.
Even as much as Piston Peak Air Attack acted and behaved like a family, they always ended up leaving their own alone when they needed others the most.
Cabbie grunted and rolled out of his hangar towards the Med Bay. He softly called out Maru’s name.
And if they both spent the night sequestered in that cluttered space, Maru huddled quietly under Cabbie’s wing murmuring out apologies to Blade, and Cabbie gently snoring next to him…
Well, that was no one else’s business but theirs .