Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clockwork and steam machinery, when it was working correctly, sang to Runt. Ticking gears and hissing steam, machinery thumping in time, a perfect rhythm. That sound meant possibilities brought to life. That sound meant wonder. A steady beat that matched her heart, even if the breaths of steam were more steady than the breath of her own lungs. It was the only kind of music she knew how to make, and though it could be hard sometimes to get the rhythm just right, it was a song she knew by heart.

Living things, however, were where her vast expertise fell short. And she was kneeling in an alleyway, and there was an unconscious, bloodied uplander lying in front of her with a bruise blooming across his face, and the only other person she knew for miles was off looking for more advanced medical equipment than any of them had, and she was supposed to do something about it all by herself.

But that was how she always had to do things, so Runt pulled her gauntlets off, wiped off her hands, and rolled up her sleeves.

Honestly, she was still on the fence as to whether Troy even deserved her help. He was stupid at the best of times, violent at the worst, and rude throughout it all. He’d probably done more to endanger her life — and the lives of too many townsfolk to count, not to mention Blink — than he had to save it. But he was on her side, for whatever it was worth. And inventors were supposed to help people. Besides, she didn’t know how they did it up there, but down here, if someone went out of their way to help you, you owed them. Life debts were serious business, and she’d hold him to it. He’d have to thank her.

He can thank me by not calling me “little” no more, first of all.

The alleyway was coated in shadow, but the wondrous coal at her chest illuminated Troy in dim purple light. The largest patch of blood was spreading out from his right shoulder, a tear in the fabric slicing sideways along his sleeve and the skin below. That first, then she and Blink would figure out what to do about his head. She’d never had to treat a brain injury on anyone normal before, much less a human, and she had no idea what would be rattling around in his skull on a good day, anyway. Her hands flew down the line of buttons on his shirt, and she unpeeled it from his skin, leaning in to assess the damage.

The wound glistened as the light fell over it, and she couldn’t help a sharp, whistling inhale at its depth. A gleaming white ligament peered out through the gash, and more hot blood oozed down his chest and arm.

And bent in so close to him, in that eerie, unfamiliar silence, was when she finally heard the ticking.

If it hadn’t been off-rhythm, she might not have even noticed it. But when she did, she glanced first at her discarded gauntlets, lying still and powered off. The sound wasn’t coming from them. Nor from anything else she had on, and certainly not from Troy’s sled — that was all steampower, no gears needed. But, come to think of it, that churning was a dead ringer for a steam engine, and not Troy’s heart rate like she’d assumed. Maybe it was on…? Or maybe human hearts just sounded like that? But then where was that ticking coming from? Had she damaged something in her bag?

Nevermind. Nevermind! He was bleeding out right in front of her; whatever it was could wait. Runt grabbed a clean-enough rag from her things and went to press it over his wound.

But something stopped her yet again. She hadn’t seen many exposed ligaments in her short life, thankfully. But she had seen plenty of pistons, and as she looked closer, she realized that wasn’t connective tissue in his arm. It was metal.

Her nose twitched. She couldn’t smell the blood on him, either. Just oil. Oil that was seeping out of the gash, into his shirt, into her makeshift gauze. It was as red as blood should be, but it was so much thicker than her own. Her eyes crept from the fabric to Troy’s face. His eyelids were flickering in time with the faint, irregular metronome.

Plenty of people had prosthetic limbs. They weren’t too commonplace, given the high resource and upkeep demands, but she’d seen them and worked on a few before, the rare times when someone would let her tinker with theirs. She’d even heard of attempts at making artificial organs, though the process was so expensive and demanding that the projects often fell through. But though she knew the uplanders had vastly better resources than they did, this couldn’t have been even the world’s most advanced prosthetic. The skin between his arm and torso had no dividing line, nothing to indicate it was either detachable or a new piece fastened permanently on, and they might’ve been good up there, but they weren’t good enough to completely erase scars. And even if they were, none of that could explain the machinery still whirring quietly inside him, and its identical cadence to the movements of his eyes.

She had to find out how this worked. No, she needed to hide this before Blink got back. No, she needed to slap Troy awake (would that even work?) and demand answers. No, she was supposed to be stabilizing him. Was he even a person? Was he just a pile of mindless gears following orders? But pile wasn’t the right word, he was the most incredible machine she’d ever seen, how had he managed to pass as human for this long, who built him and how —

Runt was breathing so quickly that she started coughing before she’d even felt the warning in her throat. Once she managed to take in a clear lungful again, she dove for her bag and grabbed the bandages. She had to stop the oil from leaking out first, then she could figure out what it was even for. Replacement blood? Joint lubricant? Fuel? It couldn’t have been fuel, he was running on springs and force — but he was running on steam too, somehow, she could hear the engine pumping somewhere in his abdomen. What exactly did he have in there?

She didn’t have time to tear him open to check, and the mental image of doing that made her feel sick, even if there was no real gore to be found. Stick to patching him up; worry about the rest later.

She leaned in as close as she could to give herself enough light. Inside his arm was a complicated system of pistons — no oil tubes, so no way to stop the flow beyond closing the gash. And of course she didn’t have any needle and thread on her. Must’ve left ‘em at Uncle’s.

So she tucked the gauze into the gash as carefully as she could — don’t worry about messing with the hydraulics, you can fix it later — and bound up his arm with the bandages. A muscle spasmed once in his face, but his expression remained slack.

Now for the hard part. Blink had been the one supporting him as they rushed for the alleyway, and now trying to lift him herself, she could hardly believe he hadn’t collapsed under Troy’s weight. With a grunt of effort, she managed to prop him up into a sitting position. His head slumped forward, eyelids still twitching.

What would she even do if she couldn’t fix his brain? They’d have to drag his inert form to someone who might not have any more luck and might not be trustworthy. Too bad they hadn’t found the Inventor yet…

If there was a seam or a latch on the back of his head, she wasn’t finding it. “God fuckin’ damn it,” she muttered, and couldn’t stop herself from hitting him like she would an uncooperative machine. She quickly withdrew her hand — hopefully that hadn’t made things worse — and tried to breathe. Troy was damaged goods in more ways than one, and she owed it to Blink, at least, not to break him further.

She tugged her magnifying goggles over her eyes and looked closer, shoving his hair out of the way, and finally her eyes snagged on a tiny pinprick dot hidden behind his left ear. “Ah- ha .” From a distance it looked like an oddly placed freckle, but it caved in like a piercing, and with a careful prod from a lockpick, the back of his head opened with a puff of steam.

As her dim light spilled over the ticking gears of his brain, Runt grinned wide. On one hand, this was an extremely serious and unfamiliar operation on the very essence of a person she knew. On the other, this was extremely fucking cool. Who could’ve guessed what a marvel of engineering Troy had been hiding under that thick skull?

I wonder if he even knows.

It was an idle thought, swept into the flurry of Looks like the cogs are stuck and There should be a spot to rewind the spring in here and How much is clockwork and how much is steam? that she didn’t really process it until she’d gotten halfway through an estimated equation for spring force. Was Troy knowingly keeping this all a secret, or was it a secret even to him? Was he even conscious enough to understand what he was?

She felt immediately guilty for the thought. Sure, he might’ve been dumb as rocks most of the time, but he wasn’t just an unthinking construct. Frankly, he might’ve been smarter if he was just that. More logical, at least. There had to be some kind of soul or whatever in him. What he had was pure, bona-fide human stupidity.

Maybe that was a little mean. Whatever. She didn’t have time for this.

There was a tiny keyhole set low in the opening. Runt flipped through the different-sized keys in her gauntlet until she found one that was close enough, and fit it in.

With every wind, she could see muscles in his neck and arms twitch, his fingers grabbing at nothing, until he lurched upward, back ramrod straight. His mouth opened as if to say something, but no sound came out except the now-steady ticking of his clockwork brain, and the distinctive, faintest humming of a wondrous coal. Runt allowed herself one triumphant smirk before she carefully closed the panel with a click. “Alright, how you feelin’?”

“Aw, dude, what—” His voice was slightly slurred and it seemed to skip on his first word, but he was back. He was fine. Runt’s gaze dropped to his bandaged arm, a few spots of oil seeping through the wrappings. But it was less than had been pouring out earlier, and it looked enough like blood in this light, so it’d just have to wait a little longer to get fully repaired.

“All I really need to know is if you can walk,” Runt said, “and then we can actually get somewhere with decent lighting. I’m gonna have to stitch that up for you, you know. Or at least someone is.”

Troy’s eyes were unfocused. For a moment, Runt had the terrible thought that she’d reset his memories. “I—” He stuttered, stopped, and started again. “Where’d Blink go?”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, by the way,” Runt grouched. Troy didn’t seem to notice. “But he’s lookin’ for something to help you. Too bad I can’t let him know I already took care of it.” But she hadn’t expected to, up until the point this’d turned from medical to mechanical. “You’re gonna be alright. I think. But the arm is still an issue. So come on, I ain’t got the strength to drag you all the way to Uncle Threestrings’.”

“Of course I can walk, what do you think I am?” Troy went to prop himself up with his bad arm, glared at it when it didn’t move like he expected, and got up using the other one, staggering slightly as he did. “And I didn’t pass out, okay? I was totally conscious the whole time.”

Runt didn’t need to have known Troy for very long to hear the attempt at convincing himself in his voice. She rolled her eyes. “Sure. I’m sure Blink will be super impressed.”

Troy picked up his sled one-handed with a little too much ease for a person of his build. But hey, looked like he was in working order. Runt listened for Vixens’ booted footsteps as she packed up her things and grabbed her bag. There was nothing but the typical murmur of Trench street traffic. Time to move.

Chapter Text

Blink wasn’t hard to find; though he was evidently doing his best to remain stealthy, Runt recognized the quiet clicking of his clawed footsteps well enough to catch him a few alleyways over, and if she could find him, that fox lady definitely could too. She waved him over, and, sticking to the shadows, the three of them crept back to her uncle’s shack, blessedly uninterrupted.

Runt caught herself scanning Troy as they walked, searching for something, anything, that she could’ve missed all this time. Even with his weird, tiny ears, bare skin, and lack of a tail, his form was similar enough to her own that surely if there was something to pick up on, it would be obvious. But other than his slightly stiff walk, a few residual twitches, and the way he kept rubbing at his neck, there was nothing. It had only been in close quarters with him, without his constant yammering filling the silence, that she’d heard that ticking. Whoever had built him had done a fine job in the realism department.

But then the question was, why? She scurried ahead of the other two as they neared her uncle’s, her boots sinking into the marshy grass. He said he was a racer; had he been built for the prize money? Why not build him for a less physical career, where he’d be less likely to be exposed as an android? Why even spend precious resources making him look so perfectly human on the outside? He’s a walking cabinet of the best machinery money can buy, something in her said, probably worth more disassembled.

She cast a glance behind her at him. He still looked human. She felt ill.

Uncle Threestrings was overjoyed to see her safe, though less than pleased to be hosting an injured Troy, whose arm was starting to drip onto the floor. Runt winced when she noticed; she’d have to clean that up before anyone got a closer look at it.

Finally, she had Troy in a chair, steam-sled propped against the wall nearby, her in her own mismatched chair beside him. He was already in a huff, as if he didn’t have the patience to sit still for more than a minute. His eyes followed Blink, whose pacing was going to wear a groove into the floor if he kept it up.

“Why are we even bothering with this again?” he grouched as Runt set the suture kit on a side table.

“I gotta stitch it up, okay? Or else it’s never gonna heal over and you’re gonna be stuck with a big ol’ gapin’ hole in your arm. It’s not gonna be pretty either way.”

“Yeah, I know how it works, alright? You think I’ve never gotten split open doing, like, a really cool maneuver on the slopes before? ‘Cause I totally have. Like, lots of times. Like, I can’t even remember—”

“Okay, alright, I get it! I’m just tellin’ you not to look while I do it, ‘cause you’re gonna freak out if you see your bones or whatever pokin’ outta your skin!”

“I’m not a fuckin’ baby, I’m not gonna freak out—”

“Blink, you make sure he doesn’t fuckin’ look at it. And I don’t want you lookin’ at it, neither.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse, but, sure. Troy — don’t look.”

“ Fine, I don’t even care, I didn’t even wanna look at it anyway. But I could totally take it if I did.”

“I’m sure you could.”

Runt carefully tugged his sleeve off and undid the bandages, glaring back at Troy when she saw his eyes flick over to her — “What’d I just say!” — and pried the gauze away from his wound. “And don’t move a muscle.” If he shifted too much, she worried a piston might hiss loud and clear in the quiet air.

She doubted she could get away with sneaking oil back into his system, so that’d have to wait. Taking up her needle and thread, Runt warned, “Alright, brace yourself,” and sunk the point into his skin. She braced herself for a reaction from him, but Troy was completely still, eyes fixed on the ceiling. It didn’t seem like he’d even winced.

“I’m ready, just do it,” he said flatly. Runt pulled the needle through to the other side, watching his face the whole time. His eyebrows furrowed. “What’re you waiting for? I’m literally fine.”

Huh. Runt tried to think if she’d ever seen him flinch in a fight. Surely she’d have noticed if he’d taken a hit completely straight-faced. “I already started.”

“Oh.” He didn’t seem perturbed by the lack of pain.

“You said you’ve gotten stitched up before,” she said, falling into the somewhat familiar rhythm of sewing. “You ever been awake for it?”

“No, I’ve always been knocked out.”

“Do you not feel pain or somethin’, then?”

He scoffed. “I’m just built different.”

“I’ll say,” Runt couldn’t help herself from muttering. He didn’t notice. “And so you’re sure you never seen yourself cut open before?”

“Why?”

“I dunno, I’m just curious,” Runt said, slightly too hastily. Blink looked up from his pacing. Troy, unsurprisingly, did not.

“Well, I guess there was that one time,” he said. A couple more stitches went by.

“You gonna elaborate on that, or…?”

“I mean, it wasn’t even that bad, but all the Wrenches were totally freaking out about it, so. But I dunno. It was honestly just silly.”

“I just wanna know if it was on this arm or not, so I know I’m not messin’ with scar tissue or something.” That sounded reasonable enough.

“Naw, it was my leg,” Troy said. His arm had loosened in her grip; he seemed calmer talking about himself. “I landed the Deluxe Triple Troy Flip right over the finish line—” like hell he did — “fuckin’ tumbled out of it, and I guess I broke something. It kinda hurt a lot.” Interesting. “And they all rushed over, and the crowd was goin’ wild, and I couldn’t really tell what was going on, but there was like, blood and stuff. And I think I saw my bone sticking out, but it wasn’t much. It really wasn’t that serious.”

“Did you pass out?”

“Only after they jabbed me with something.”

“Where?”

“I dunno, dude, these questions are getting really invasive.” The stitches were almost done. She was running out of reasonable interrogation time.

“Runt,” Blink spoke up, “if there’s something else wrong with him, I think you should probably just tell us—”

“I said I’m just curious, alright? Get off my back!”

Too harsh. Blink immediately put his hands up in surrender. “It’s just a lot of questions!”

“Yeah, Runt, why don’t you mind your fuckin’ business?” Troy shifted suddenly, pulling the thread tighter than it should’ve been, and it snapped. Runt stared down at the broken thread for a heartbeat. She’d probably have to redo the whole thing.

“I didn’t mean it like that —” Blink was saying. Runt slapped a hand over the gash, eliciting a confused look from Troy (though he still didn’t peek at his arm, at least), and said, “Everyone stop talkin’! I can’t focus on what I’m doing if we’re all arguing here, so one of you’s gotta get outta here and there’s only one of you who it can be!”

“Wh—! You yourself said you weren’t that good at medical stuff; why can’t you let me do it?” Blink said, feathers ruffling.

Runt didn’t know how to respond. “…I’m gonna finish what I started. And I gotta do it on my own.” She pointed her most stubborn expression at Blink. “If I got an issue I can’t fix, I’ll ask. But until then, I’m doin’ this. Now get outta here.” Please, she could’ve said, but didn’t.

“Can whoever just fuckin’ hurry up?”

“I’m tryin’ my best here, Troy.”

Blink opened his beak to say something else, but backed off, and turned away with only a furrowed brow in response. Runt exhaled when she heard the door shut behind him.

Troy glanced down at her hand. “Did you even wash your hands since last time you were runnin’ around on all fours or whatever you do?”

She glared back. “Watch yer fuckin’ mouth. I’m not an animal.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m a person.” Unlike you. “Just like you. So don’t be so goddamn rude.”

“You’re like a rat though. I’m normal.”

Runt just rolled her eyes. “That’s worrying.”

“Why? Did you not know you were a rat before? I thought I mentioned it.”

“Do you ever think before you speak, Troy? Or are you even capable of that?”

“Yeah!” he protested. “And probably.”

Runt took her hand off his arm. The hydraulics beneath his skin gleamed. “You’re real frustratin’, you know that?”

“Yeah. My dad says so all the time.”

Runt sighed. Indirect confrontation was exhausting. “Look, Troy… you ever feel like he or anyone else tryin’ to protect you just end up hurting you worse than whatever they were trying to protect you from?”

Troy turned to look at her; she shoved his face away from his shoulder.

“Ow, dude. And like, no. I can take care of shit on my own. I don’t need his help. Weird thing to ask.”

Runt’s heart was racing. She still wasn’t sure this was a good idea. But if not her, who was going to tell him?

Person or not, he shouldn’t have to live a lie anymore.

“I… I gotta explain something to you, Troy. He’s not telling you the truth—”

“Don’t.” Troy had gone very still. Something in his eyes dimmed. “I don’t care.”

“Whaddya mean, you don’t care? I’m tryin’ to tell you something important here!”

“You don’t have to tell me. Just fix my arm. I’m not gonna look.”

“Troy—”

“Last time a Wrench started talking to me like this, they got fired. I know my dad doesn’t like me that much, but if he’s hiding something from me, he’s probably got a good fuckin’ reason. So just don’t.”

She had never seen him look so serious. But she couldn’t believe him. “Your dad is miles above our heads right now. Are you really gonna let him control you from that far away?”

Troy slumped forward and put his good hand over his eyes. She swore he was trembling, and she wondered if the gears inside him were rattling unheard.

Runt chewed on her lip. “I’m sorry he lied to you. But you gotta be honest with yourself, too. It’s just gonna hurt more if you try to hide from it.”

“It doesn’t matter, Runt. Things are chill with him right now, and if I find out whatever shit he’s been hiding from me, it’s gonna be a lot less chill. I’m already stuck here in a fuckin’ hole in the ground, I got kidnapped — I mean, someone got kidnapped, it could’ve been anybody — I just can’t handle that shit right now. Okay? So just drop it.” A pause. “Please.”

Runt’s eyes fell back to the gash. Grease dribbled out of it and down his arm. Robots took verbal commands, didn’t they? Could she order him to listen?

That guilt twisted through her stomach again. Even if it would work, she knew she couldn’t.

“Fine.” Wait. “What was that about being kidnapped?”

“I’m not sayin’ anything.”