Dottie sat in the shop finishing up her repair reports for the day. At the top of the file she was currently scrutinizing for clues that she knew weren't there was the lengthy title of “MBIS MNSBIS RNS RINS GCh Ripslinger SRM OTRM REA3”. She wasn't used to having inpatients. Let alone psychotic inpatients. Most of her work was outpatient oriented, technical stuff. Losing some part of your body was one thing, but losing your mind? Head cases were quite outside her typical caseload.
	Dusty had been absolutely adamant that he remain in their care, to hell with the fact that they were so ill-equipped to handle a case so severe. He never really went into detail for his motives on the matter, only ending most conversations on the subject with something along the lines of, “He ended up like this because he risked himself to save them. Don't you understand? He saved them.”
	That statement had filled Dottie with dread. She had a good idea of what Dusty was getting at even though he wasn't coming out and saying it directly. She wasn't so scared of the possibility of failure being an outcome as she was of what may happen if they were to succeed. A Freudian quote was brought to mind. Something about those that attempt to wrestle against another's demons couldn't possibly come out unscathed themselves at the end. What would that mean for Dusty? Or for the rest of them for that matter? 
	Dottie put the thought out of her mind as she read through her write ups. Altered mentation... (“Make that severely altered.”), hypersensitivity to sound or quick movements... Violent response to certain stimuli... Anorexia... and the list went on. He still suffered from occasional bouts of incoordination and mild fits of tremors, but those episodes usually only occurred if he became overstimulated. They eventually found that he remained placid if the lights in the hangar were left off.  
	Dusty hated it, the idea of keeping Ripslinger shut away in the dark like he was some wild  animal. But it couldn't be helped at the moment. First priority was keeping everyone, including Ripslinger, safe, and that entailed that only Dottie, Sparky, and sometimes Chug if they needed the muscle, were allowed to enter the hangar. His reactions to them were mild at worst, so long as they kept the lights low and moved slowly and quietly around him. It was proposed that because they weren't familiar to him, Ripslinger had no deep feelings for them wherever his mind was currently, whereas the mere sight of Dusty would throw Ripslinger into a rage-state that he would not calm down from unless they sedated him, which was starting to get harder and harder to do anymore. Sparky was worried that the recent excessive use of drugs might even be doing more damage. He was as stumped as the rest of them as to how to proceed actually treating Ripslinger. Altered mentation due to either physical or mental trauma could be difficult to tell a part if you didn't have any kind of history on the matter, which they didn't, and Dottie herself had the distinct feeling that somehow this wasn't something that they could actually “fix”. They were all pretty much playing the waiting game. 
	No, they would have to figure out ways of getting around using sedatives as much as possible which meant that Dusty was forbidden from going into the hangar due to the extreme reactions it would illicit from Ripslinger. Skipper and now Clarice caused much the same kind of response, so they were to keep away as well, and it was later revealed in a huge setback that it may have even been nothing personal about Clarice, but that Ripslinger reacted badly toward all humans. Hugh had actually volunteered to help with the day's morning exam, and no sooner than he'd closed the doors behind him Ripslinger had charged the bars, sitting at the gate to the cell and trying to attack Dottie or Sparky if they came near it. Needless to say they weren't able to do anything with him for the rest of the day. Trying to get him properly eat in the hopes that it would somehow help was an idea that Chug had thrown out that Skipper had quashed in his typical, blunt manner. 
	“He's not going to eat anything right now; he doesn't even know where or who the hell he is.”
	They gave it a shot anyway. Ripslinger fussed with the food a bit but ultimately left it alone. It's not like he was exerting himself all that much to need it that badly, in fact he hardly ever ran his engine at all except to take up all the hissing and growling and carrying on at them. Other than a few odd, almost sub-vocal utterances, he never spoke either. There was one time that Dottie could have swore that he said something like “Off”, but it also sounded more exploratory in nature than an actual attempt to speak so she wrote it off as just a coincidence. 
	The first attempt to directly add fuel into Ripslinger's system was a disaster. Dottie and Sparky quietly crept in, opening the doors only as wide as they needed to fit through them. They turned up the dimmer switch for the barest minimum of light needed to work with and waited for their eyes to adjust. Ripslinger was standing up on his landing gear with his back to them in a corner of the cell, not moving. When they'd opened the gate, the  only acknowledgment they got was a low, heavy chuffing. As Sparky moved into position with a fuel can at the ready, his engine made that hiss-snarl noise that everybody would come to hate from then on. It was Ripslinger's “get away from me” noise, but it was also difficult to distinguish from his “I'm going to eat you” noise. Not that it mattered, whatever it was being used as, it never led to anything good. 
	They both froze where they were, eyes glued unblinking toward the front of Ripslinger's body.  He remained motionless. They decided to proceed. Sparky got closer and Ripslinger stiffened, then when he politely gave a gentle tap next to his fuel cap so as not to startle him he suddenly snarled and spun around. 
	“Watch out Sparky, he'll have you!”
	At the sound of Dottie's shout, Ripslinger's attention was now focused on her. He went for her, but fortunately the movement was sluggish and Dottie was able to get out of his way, but unfortunately she was forced toward the back wall and away from the gate. She tried to duck past him as he turned toward where she had moved, but quickly learned that she'd made a mistake as he'd caught one of her forks in his mouth as she went by. 
	Ripslinger dragged her back into the corner, letting her go and letting loose such a terrible noise from his engine as froze the antifreeze in both Dottie and Sparky's engines when they realized that he was actually speaking. His lips moved, his voice sounding guttural and utterly unnatural as a slight tremor began shaking through this body. They could just barely understand the words, “You're not... getting... out...” through the sounds of his engine. Dottie whimpered as Ripslinger brought his nose forward right into her face, teeth bared in a snarl as he drooled in feverish dementia. 
	“Damn you...” he growled through his engine, and suddenly a black fluid began dripping from his jaws, his voice becoming clearer the more he spoke. “I'll fight it... I'll tear you to pieces. Damn the humans... Damn you all!”
	Ripslinger sagged into his landing gear, gagging, threatening to collapse. Dottie watched in muted surprise as Sparky, without any hesitation, went to brace himself against Ripslinger's body. A growl gurgled up from his engine as he made a weak attempt to shrug him off, but Sparky didn't budge as he helped to try to control his descent to the ground. Ripslinger lay partially on his side, still trembling and panting heavily as if in pain. Sparky stayed right by his side, stroking the side of his fuselage with a fork before turning a slightly anxious eye to Dottie, who simply stood where she was, staring at Ripslinger with an empty but mildly curious expression. 

XXxx

	A few days had gone by and everyone had been thanking their lucky stars that there hadn't been another incident, at least not any that involved Ripslinger trying to kill them. He was mostly placid during medical exams, so long as they followed the rules, but was still refusing any sustenance by any means. That last attempt was a mistake, Dottie had realized that now, and was beating herself up over not catching on that he may have grown hypersensitive to anything being around his fuel cap through this whole ordeal. Whether that was due to what may have happened to him while in the hands of the cutters or from the numerous times that they themselves had to sedate him remained to be seen. 
	Ripslinger usually only had his worst fits when he was alone anymore. His sleeping patterns were even more erratic than usual due to being kept in constant darkness, and they noticed that most of his outbursts occurred upon waking up. They were alerted to these episodes either by a sudden onset of thrashing coming from the inside of the hangar along with the frustrated, rage-filled roaring and snarling of Ripslinger's engine, or the air would be filled with tortured screams as he cried out in anguish at some horror or another that his demented mind kept forcing him to re-live whenever he tried to sleep, and then either Dottie or Sparky or both of them would have to go in there and try to calm him down again. It was an awful, heartbreaking thing to have to hear, and it was more than what most of them could take, especially Ned and Zed, who hadn't been able to see Ripslinger since he'd almost killed Dusty. They had still stuck around for the most part, only flying back home every now and then to relay news and drum up the appearance that Ripslinger had taken an unexpected hiatus. 
	Clarice leaned back against the side of Zed's fuselage, who was hunkered down in the dewy grass and was thoroughly enjoying the early-spring mornings that Propwash Junction had to offer. After being in close contact over the last week and a half she had really come to like them, and they her. She quickly understood why the two were virtually inseparable.  
	They had a habit of making toys out of any ordinary object to entertain themselves, and Clarice had noticed that Zed played a lot harder with them by contrast to Ned and yet seemed to lose interest much faster. There were few things that could hold his attention for very long and he startled easily, scurrying under something, usually his brother, if someone were to drop of crate of tools or other such noises. Zed just didn't have much of an ability to separate what was important in his environment from what was not, and it didn't take Clarice long to realize that he had some sort of plane version of ADHD, and Ned always made sure he was on hand to steer him back in the right direction he started straying. Despite constantly fighting like cats and dogs against cats and dogs, the two were extremely close, and if the time came for them to actually work together, whatever the job, their teamwork was as cohesive as if they really had been one plane. 
	Zed was making his way over to them when the strangled roar of an engine rang out across the fields, breaking Clarice from her thoughts and causing the three to snap their attention over to Ripslinger's hangar. There was a loud crash and a snarl, and then another terrible roar ripped through the air, actual screams just barely audible over the furious noise as more thrashing was heard, then all was silent. The girl and the two Zivkos were also silent as they watched the hangar, waiting for something else to happen, and when it didn't they all let their breaths out. Ned's engine fluttered anxiously as Zed practically crawled to Clarice for comfort. His engine purred as she stroked his nose, and then Clarice let out an “oof” as he moved up and tried to settle into her lap.
	“Ugh,”Clarice grunted as she tried to adjust herself under his weight even though he was trying his best to be gentle with her, “Do you think you're a fucking chihuahua?”
	“What's a chihuahua?” Zed asked, his voice partially muffled in her chest. “I like your boobs.”
	It was no big secret that despite being what they were most aircraft and other vehicles enjoyed soft things, but Clarice still didn't quite know how to respond to that one. She felt Ned shift a bit behind her.
	“Okay, get off,” he ordered. 
	“Mm-mm,” Zed smiled and snuggled further into Clarice.
	“You know how badly I can beat you right?”
	“Mm-hmm,” he nodded, still smiling. 
	Before things could escalate further, they were all distracted by the voices of Dusty and Dottie, and it sounded like they were having a serious conversation. 

XXxx

	“Look, Dusty, we can't go on like this,” Dottie was saying. “The very instant we think we're making just the tiniest bit of progress, we keep getting set back; we're in deep slag here!”
	“I know,” came Dusty's exasperated reply, “But these things can take a long time sometimes, I mean, look at Skipper.”
	“This is nothing like Skipper,” Dottie said, slowly and quietly. “and even if it was, if it hadn't been for you, he probably would never have come out of it; he's made that perfectly clear himself.”
	Dusty opened his mouth to object, but ended up just letting it out in agreement. 
	“Ripslinger is cracked up, Dusty. You can't possibly think that you're going to have the same effect on him; you know damn well what happens if he so much as looks at you. We've got to get him some real help. With professionals.”
	“No!”
	Both Dusty and Dottie looked around to see Ned and Zed coming toward them. Ned was the one that spoke.
	“You can't send him back! Our image is hurting enough as it is since you beat him in the WATGR.”
	“If he goes back,” Zed continued. “They'll just end up putting him in some psych ward and everyone will know about it! And they'll ruin him worse than anything in there. He's way better off staying here.”
	Everyone was quiet for a time. Then Dottie broke the silence.
	“Well what do you suggest we do? What aren't we doing to help him that we aren't doing already?”
	“Let us see him!” Ned answered.
	“Yeah, let us see him! You said he freaks out whenever he sees Dusty; he's gotta remember us then!”

XXxx

	Despite Dusty and Dottie's misgivings, Ned, Zed, and Dusty stood outside the doors to Ripslinger's hangar as Dusty rattled off all the Rules In Order to Keep Ripslinger from Having a Conniption. 
	“Keep the lights low, and keep the bars between you and him; do not try and get inside with him. Don't forget to go slow -”
	“We know how to act around him!” Ned interrupted, and with that, the two brothers, wearing matching haughty expressions rolled past Dusty and into the hangar.
	Dusty's engine chuffed sheepishly as he watched them go, making sure to keep out of sight, but staying just outside should he hear any trouble. Ned and Zed did do as they were told, though, and kept the lights dimmed. Ripslinger appeared to be dozing, hunkered down into this landing gear, but at the two Zivkos entering the hangar his eyes opened, alert but appearing calm as he rose up slightly and turned toward them. 
	No one moved for a time, each taking in the appearance of the other. Ripslinger looked in rough shape. Whatever damage he caused to himself was repaired and dents hammered out as quick as Dottie could make it before he came out of sedation from the bigger outbursts, although a few little ones still remained here and there, but his paint was looking more the worse for wear, being more intricate a design and thought to be less important a thing to remedy, all things considered. Ned and Zed both refrained from recoiling at the sight of what their leader had been reduced to and the fate that he'd spared them from. 
	Ned moved forward first, as was custom. Ripslinger watched him as he made his way over at a steady, not too fast; not too slow pace, the P-51's expression never wavering from mild interest. Then suddenly he got up and moved from his corner, the abrupt action startling the green-fronted Zivko into stillness as Ripslinger went right up to the bars, bumping his nose as far as it would go between them before stopping. Ned fought to steel himself. For all his vanity and domineering personality, Ripslinger actually despised signs of fear or submission in his presence. It greatly upset him for reasons that no one could figure out and was even more likely to become aggressive toward that kind of behavior than one who might act too bold around him. 
	An eager chuffing emanated from Ripslinger's engine as he pressed a little harder into the bars. Ned gulped, and continued forward, slower this time, closing the distance until the points of their noses touched in a typical airplane greeting. Satisfied with their interactions so far, Ned backed away, turning to the side to call his brother over, which unwittingly put the tip of his wing close enough to Ripslinger's mouth that, almost as if on a reflex, he grabbed it and then pulled him savagely against the bars. Zed gasped and sped forward, grabbing Ned's other wing in his own teeth and pulling, almost uselessly, in the opposite direction. 
	Alerted to the commotion inside, Dusty rushed into the hangar to see Ned crushed against the bars of Ripslinger's cell, the Mustang pulling and yanking as if he were trying to pull him through them. Shaking himself out of the initial shock, he too jumped in and took the other side of Ned's wing in his mouth and pulled for all that he was worth, which caused him to really start screaming.
	“Stop! Stop, my wings are gonna get ripped off!”
	Fortunately with the added resistance, his wing came tearing out of Ripslinger's teeth. The three smaller planes all fell to the floor in a pile, struggling to get free of one another with the intention of getting the hell out of the hangar. Ripslinger remained pushing at the bars, growling along with his engine in anger and frustration. Then he suddenly wheeled away as if to go back to his favored corner, but then Dusty, Ned, and Zed drew back in shock and fear as he turned and charged the bars, ramming into them with such a force as to make them start to bend outward. He backed up once more, then charged again, this time deforming the bars almost to the point of breakage. 
	Ripslinger tried to back out again, but he appeared to have gotten himself stuck as well as caused severe damage to his nose and propellers. He struggled and twisted a bit to free himself before seeming to give up. Then all was still as the three outside the cell stared, wide-eyed, up at the deranged checker-marked plane as he glared back at them, seething against the bars. Then, before anybody could breath a sigh of relief, Ripslinger did the unthinkable. His engine snarled as he began actively trying to push himself the rest of the way through the bars. Dusty, Ned, and Zed looked on in horror as his frame became more and more horribly disfigured the more he twisted, pushed, and thrashed in the bars.
	“He's gonna kill himself!” Zed exclaimed over the noise.
	“Stop! Rip, stop! Stop!” Dusty screamed in a panic, “Stop, Ripslinger!”
	It was then that Dottie came racing in, unlocking the gate and dashing into the cell with the struggling Ripslinger, who paid no attention to her as she quickly administered sedatives to him. Due to how worked up he was, it took effect almost immediately. He quickly tired, letting out one last, drawn-out rev from his engine, slumping against the bars as his body relaxed and his eyes became half-lidded and unfocused. 
	Dusty stood rooted to the spot, his breaths coming in quiet, shaking pants, only faintly aware of the sounds and movement around him. Ned was crying in pain and despair as his brother tried to comfort him and licked around his face and wings. Dottie and Sparky were already cutting an unconscious Ripslinger out of the bars. Maybe she was right. He closed his eyes tightly. 
	It's hopeless...

XXxx

	After Ripslinger and the cell had been repaired, along with foam coverings added to the bars in the hopes of it making it harder for him to hurt himself, the mood to the place had become very subdued. Even Ripslinger had seemed quieter although he had become more difficult to work with now.
No one hardly spoke, least of all Dusty. He and Clarice were sat inside Dottie's garage, watching the residents going about their business and the planes coming and going. Clarice stroked back and forth across Dusty's hood. She felt him relax a bit and he sighed with a flutter of his engine as he settled down in an attempt to take a nap. 
	It was hard for her to see him like this. She didn't want to give up either, but it was difficult when even Dusty was at a complete loss. She quietly left her spot next to Dusty and started across to the other side of the tarmac. 
	The sun was setting behind her as she stood in front of the hangar that held Ripslinger. Clarice stood looking up at it while the far away sounds of Propwash Junction wafted over the area. Slowly, she slid one of the hangar doors open a few feet and looked in, and Ripslinger's immediate reaction was to look up and turn toward her, kicking up his engine in a fierce growl as he glared at her with hate-filled, yet seemingly empty, lifeless eyes. Clarice only stared back at him, her expression a mix of unease and uncertainty before her eyes drew downward and she closed the door, walking somberly back across the runway to the shop.