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Chapter Text

YOUNG IRON TRAINTOBER 2024

Contents of Chapters
Seems like we only just did last year's Traintober to me, how odd and funny time is, isn’t it? This year I’ve made my own prompts which I’ve posted on Tumblr as well if you want a nice graphic to refer to. Feel free to join me if you’re a writer or artist or otherwise, come along and enjoy the ride!

Same as last year, I will not be taking requests or prompts from readers. Enjoy!

1 - Dawn
Olivia Spence is excited to drive her first Gresley engine, unfortunately, Bittern doubts that she can handle him.

2 - First Light
Duchess of Hamilton takes Tornado to meet some of the LMS express engines much to the dismay of Sir Nigel. The Jubilee’s Galatea and Leander are delighted to meet her.

3 - Trust
Gordon goes up to Harwick to entertain the tourists. Ryan is in charge of the line but he doesn’t trust Gordon not to belittle him.

4 - Great Race
Tornado has been invited to Australia to take part in the Great Race at the Maitland Steam Festival.

5 - Exhibition
Gordon goes to visit the NRM during a special rail tour while Scotsman is in Australia. There he meets his most famous of cousins; Mallard.

6 - Harmony
Duck and James never got along in the old days.

7 - Sleepy
Merry Hampton often works herself into the night, is rarely at the top sheds and barely sleeps. Pretty Polly worries for her sister's welfare.

8 - Impact
Merlin has a word with Gadwall after his foolish attempt to impress his brother.

9 - Old Iron
Spencer teases Edward but finds someone unexpected to confide in.

10 - Flora
Flying Scotsman decides to introduce Lady of Legend to the lovely Mayflower.

11 - Fauna
Henry shares his love of the forest with someone unexpected.

12 - Teamwork
Emily & Green Arrow have a little argument while working together.

13 - Leaves
Young Iron, Tornado underestimates the hazardous nature of leaves.

14 - Screech
Locomotive 828 is braver than she thinks she is.

15 - Star
Gordon shares his love of the stars.

16 - Golden
Flying Scotsman meets 3801/Grey for the first time.

17 - Seagull
Flying Scotsman is looking for a seagull. Instead, he finds something else.

18 - Water
The one where the actual Flying Scotsman almost exploded.

19 - Admire
James isn’t impressed by a visiting engine. Or at the very least, he says he isn’t.

20 - Twins
Flying Scotsman visits Sodor with a gift for the Scottish Twins.

21 - End of the Line
A3 Pacific, Prince Palatine makes a wrong turn.

22 - Duck
Gadwall makes a promise to Mallard.

23 - Beyond
Blue Peter has a bad day. Someone unlikely cheers him up.

24 - Accepting
Truro reunites with Pendennis Castle after his return from Australia.

25 - The Last One
Blue Peter reflects on being the last Peppercorn.

26 - Music
Kip Spence has a moment with his adoptive daughter, Olivia.

27 - Twisted
Mallard senses himself falling into despair and finds himself in strange company while Merlin is away.

28 - Plot Twist
Bittern thinks Flying Scotsman and Mallard have teamed up to prank him once again.

29 - Misty
Thomas awakens in a strange place.

30 - Oncoming Storm
Thomas meets an ethereal engine known as Proteus.

31 - Dusk
Olivia Gresley finally fulfils her lifelong dream of being the Flying Scotsman’s driver.

Chapter Text

Traintober 2024 | Day 1 - Dawn

“So.”

“So?” Bittern asked as his new stoker climbed into his cab to check his fire, and the rest of his crew fumbled about. Said stoker, Oscar O’Brolchain had been on his crew for 3 years and had only recently proved his worth to one of the legendary icons of steam.

Ever fussy things, Steam Engines were and none more so than the prestigious express engines of the golden age of steam—the Gresley A4 Pacific’s.

An example of one of these celebrated and powerful engines was rocking on his frames in an almost imperceptible rhythm as he sat in his shed. Over the years of spending time with him, Oscar knew the engine well enough to recognise that he was agitated somehow.

“Are you nervous?” Oscar asked with slight amusement.

“No!” Bittern spluttered indignantly. “Why would one of the best steam engines in the entire world be ‘nervous?’”

Oscar rolled his eyes and gave the large blue engine a smirk as he leant out of the driver's side of the cab to look at the streamlined engine.

“It’s not every day you get a guest driver now is it?” He pointed out amused but Bittern only wheeshed steam in response, the large engine disgruntled and petulant.

“As long as they know what they’re doing,” Bittern grumbled quietly and Oscar snorted mirthfully in response.

“I’m sure that they do,” Oscar reassured the engine. “They wouldn’t have been invited if they weren’t. Most trusts prefer in-house crews so this driver must be something special to get invited.”

“What do you know about him?” Bittern questioned, eager to glean any information about the visiting driver.

“Not much,” Oscar admitted. “Only that of all the engines they’ve driven, every single one said that this driver had such a familiarity over controls that it was like they were an engine themselves.”

Bittern’s fire dropped slightly in confusion, causing Oscar to tutt in disapproval and turn to open the fire door to allow more oxygen into the firebox.

“Watch yourself, Bluebird,” Oscar chided the A4 Pacific. “Don’t let your fire drop so harshly.”

Bittern only humphed and shook his frames in annoyance.

“Yes well, your words didn’t exactly put confidence in this new driver, whoever he is,” He replied. “No human could ever truly understand what it is like to be an engine!”

Oscar sighed and shrugged.

“It’s just what I’ve heard from the other guys,” Oscar informed the big blue engine. “It’s up to you to judge when he gets here. Knowing you, you’ll probably dislike them because you’re a fussy primadonna.”

“I expect only the best,” Bittern puffed himself up on his wheels slightly. “Being the grand engine that I am.”

“We shall see about that,” an unfamiliar voice called out to them and Oscar moved to the cab window to investigate.

Standing at the entrance to the engine sheds stood a tall woman with a stern expression and long brown hair done up in a tight bun. She was dressed in formal clothes coloured green and bronze badges pinned upon her lapel.

Oscar frowned, she wasn’t any of the crew and none of the public was allowed near any of the sheds. Regardless of that fact, the woman strode towards them, confidence on her face and an air of superiority about her. Her eyes roamed over Bittern, inspecting him and judging him.

“Who do you think you’re doing in here?” Bittern thundered incredulously. “Members of the public are not allowed to see me in such a state! Get out, woman!”

“Bittern, I don’t think-” Oscar almost went as red as a tomato when he realised that the woman was his new driver.

“Do you often speak to your drivers with such disrespect, A4?” The woman suddenly scolded him and Oscar felt the engine underneath him flinch. “I was led to believe that the LNER A4s were respectful and appreciative of their crews. Sir Nigel was most upstanding in that respect. I am disappointed to see that his brother is not.”

There was a pause as Bittern appeared to process what the woman had just told him.

“You’re my provisionary driver?” The A4 exclaimed in shock. “A woman?!”

“Bittern!” Oscar immediately scolded the engine. “Don’t be so backward!”

“But, a woman!” Bittern spluttered indignantly. “I have never had a woman on my crew let alone a driver!”

“Bittern!” Oscar snapped at the engine but the woman in question just held up a hand to silence him and he felt the need to obey her. Whoever this woman was commanded respect.

“Then it will be a first for both of us,” she reprimanded the large blue engine. “Because I’ve never driven an engine with the attitude of a petulant child before.”

She never raised her voice but the tone behind her words was dangerous. It was as if she was threatening the A4 Pacific but not directly so. The was something about how this woman spoke and carried herself that demanded respect. So much so that the usually confrontational Bittern was quiet as he contemplated her words.

“I am not a petulant child,” Bittern groused, annoyance in his voice. But he was noticeably more subdued than he usually was when trading barbs with someone.

“I have yet to see evidence to the contrary,” The woman disapproved and Oscar could feel Bittern’s flame flare. He was very much not used to being spoken to with such a tone from people at least, not in recent decades. To his credit, however, he kept quiet and Oscar could almost imagine the intense glare the A4 was giving the woman.

The woman instead decided to ignore the engine and turn her attention to his cab. Oscar immediately felt his stomach drop out of his body and he was vaguely aware of himself attempting to look more professional.

He backed away as the woman climbed up into the cab, her attention not on him, instead surveying Bittern’s controls with a barely concealed fascination. He was ignored as she inspected the controls. She frowned as she inspected the feeds.

“Not lubricated properly,” she criticised her expression one of disdain. “Dials not properly readable and rubbish in the cab. I am disappointed. This is how you treat one of Sir Nigel Gresley’s finest designs?”

Oscar felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment as he felt Bittern’s amusement rise, his complaints fresh in Oscar’s mind. He knew that the engine was feeling vindicated right now, despite his initial hostility towards the woman, he seemed pleased that she agreed with her judgement.

“Sorry ma’am, I’ll let the crew leader know,” he mumbled as the woman turned to size him up.

She looked him up and down, Oscar feeling very small in both his physical and his sense of self.

“Stoker?” She questioned him.

“Yes ma’am.”

“How long?”

“Only a couple months ma’am,” oh did he feel inadequate right now. “But I have been on Bittern’s crew for 3 years.”

The woman paused for a long moment then nodded to him.

“Does Bittern’s stoker have a name?” She finally asked.

“Oscar. Oscar O’Brolchain ma’am,” he introduced himself.

“Irish?” The intimidating woman inquired, her expression relaxing and humour in her eyes. At least someone found this entire interaction amusing.

“Yes ma’am, father married into an old Irish lineage,” Oscar nodded to her.

“How grand,” the woman suddenly gave him a wide grin and offered him a handshake. “Olivia. Olivia Spence.”

“Oh!” Oscar was surprised. “Are you related to famed driver Kip Spence?”

Olivia shrugged before answering. “He taught me all I know.”

Oscar felt his excitement begin to rise knowing that he would be working with a respected and celebrated driver.

“I look forward to working with you, Ms Spence,” Oscar returned her smile to which she smirked.

“You won’t when you see how hard I work my firemen,” she warned but Oscar’s smile only widened at her words. He liked a driver that wasn’t afraid to put pressure on those they worked with. He relished it, in fact.

“Try me,” he challenged and she raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Very well then.”

To say that Bittern was an abrasive engine towards his crew would be an understatement. While not as demanding as Sir Nigel who insisted that every single valve and bolt was polished or lubricated appropriately, Bittern was known to provide unsolicited ‘critiques’ to her crewmembers which were less critiques and more insults about their skill and the level of attention they gave him.

Fussy things, Gresley A4’s were. She supposed it came from the prestige of Mallard’s record. But from the two times she had met the engine at the museum, Mallard seemed, dour and subdued like there was a giant weight pressed upon him. Something that wasn’t noticeable in other A4 Pacific’s. Even ones that were exhibited.

Olivia felt sad for Mallard, but she didn’t know why. It was strange.

Olivia and the rest of his crew were up well before dawn, a routine common to Bittern from back in the days of the LNER but to the volunteers and crews of this day and age, less so. Olivia did not mind it in the slightest. She relished a challenge, even if said challenge was a grumpy, irate Gresley a4 Pacific with a particularly hazardous and brazen attitude.

“Don’t let my wheels slip, woman,” Bittern harshly called back to her and immediately the stoker beside her flinched, turning to her, ready to mutter an apology but she held a hand up to him in response.

“And just for that comment, we will only be going to 40 miles per hour,” Olivia quickly chided the A4 whose fire immediately flared up in protest.

“I will do no such thing!” He snarled. “You will not disrespect the fastest steam engine in the world!”

Petulant thing, this Bittern was. It made no difference to Olivia however.

“You are not Mallard, Bittern, you do not get to claim the record of another like Silver Link does,” she clarified. “And we will be going 40 miles per hour unless you want to push your luck? I can make it 25 if you wish.”

The big, proud A4 rumbled in protest at those words but otherwise said nothing, not willing to risk calling the woman’s bluff. 40 miles was embarrassing to the A4. 25 would be humiliating especially if one of his siblings or cousins saw.

Olivia nodded with a hum of approval seeing that she had won this particular argument.

“If you behave and perform well, I will allow you to exceed past 40mph. If not then you can go back in the shed and come back out when you’re ready to behave,” She ordered, Bittern’s footplate shuddered suddenly and he spluttered in disbelief.

“You don’t get to decide that!” He exclaimed in both protest and shock.

“I think you will find that I can,” Olivia chided him. “Your owner has given me full permission to do as I wish, so long as you are ready for the Great Gathering next year.”

The A4 paused at the mention of the Great Gathering.

“Great Gathering?” He asked, confused. “I thought it was an exhibition of A4s, not a running day.”

“Correct, but if you perform well and up to standard, the Railway Authorities are granting permission for a possible 100mph run,” Olivia explained.

“A… 100mph run?” Bittern was practically quivering with excitement at the prospect. “I can be free to speed down the line like the old days?!”

Olivia gave a nod of approval.

“So long as you behave, if you do not, I will extend the offer back to Sir Nigel,” Olivia explained matter-of-factly.

She could practically hear Bittern’s enthusiasm as his frames began squeaking in excitement.

“Yes ma’am, I shall behave, ma’am!” The big blue engine chirped brightly. Olivia chuckled in response.

“I am glad to see that you have changed your tune,” she remarked. “But it should not have taken this offer for you to show me basic respect. Even if I am a woman, as you say.”

His squeaking and excitement faltered and his fire died down slightly, the flames growing smaller as the big blue engine became embarrassed and perhaps a touch ashamed.

“It was wrong of me ma’am,” Bittern conceded. “I was surprised. I have never had a female driver before. I don’t know how to feel about it.”

Olivia was thoughtful for a second.

“Well, a new engine can always be a challenge for a driver until they understand said engine's ways,” Olivia nodded to him. “Let’s find out what each other is about, hmm?”

“Are all female drivers like that?” Bittern asked Oscar giddily as he sat in the yard looking over his crew who were all buzzing around him like bees in a hive.

Their excitement only grew as they looked over the analysis of the trip he had taken. The A4 seemed more than ready and able to safely undertake a run at speed. The results almost seemed as if he were a new engine just out of the works.

Oscar ignored them, however, trying to catch himself as his breath and tried not to keel over and die. Olivia had not been kidding when she said that she worked her fireman hard. He had struggled to keep up with both Olivia and Bittern, both of them demanding every single ounce of his strength and stamina forcing him to draw on strength he never knew he had.

His mind wondered to Mallard’s speed record and the trails those men and the engine had gone through to achieve it. He marvelled at the feet of those men and he suspected that if given a chance, Olivia Spence would try to beat them.

“Hey! Are you even listening to me?” Bittern’s voice snapped in his ear and he looked at the large engine leering over him.

Oscar shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

“Sorry, what did you say?” He asked and Bittern tutted, annoyed.

“You never listen to me, clear your ears out you silly little thing!” Bittern huffed irately and Oscar just shook his head at him in response. “I asked if all female drivers were like Olivia!”

Oscar chuckled. “No Bittern, not all female drivers are like Olivia. Just like all drivers aren’t like Jordon,” he pointed out and the A4 gave a soft hum in response.

It was then that he realised that Bittern’s cheeks were pink. He was surprised. An engine’s didn’t normally flush red after a run unless they had been pushed to the very limit.

“She worked you hard, didn’t she?” Oscar laughed at him and Bitten went even redder at his words.

“I haven’t had a driver like that since the days I pulled the Flying Scotsman. It was-” Bittern glanced around, making sure that there wasn’t anyone eavesdropping. He continued, his voice a low whisper. “Quite thrilling. I miss it.”

“I do seem to have made an impression it seems,” Olivia’s voice rang out across the shed and Bittern gave an unholy screech of fright causing Oscar to burst out laughing.

“You have ears like a fucking bat!” Bittern hollered loudly, attracting the attention of the shed workers who erupted in raucous laughter as Oscar slapped his palm to his face in embarrassment.

“Bittern! Language!” He chided as Olivia wandered over to them. She waved him down, however.

“I’ve heard much worse,” she beamed, her previous stern and intimidating meanour nowhere to be seen. She turned to Oscar who smiled at her. “But I haven’t had a fireman work themselves quite as hard as you.”

Oscar straightened himself up and nodded to her.

“I relish a challenge, ma’am,” he acknowledged her. “And you certainly gave me one.”

“Sir Nigel’s fireman could certainly take a leaf out of your book,” Olivia attested. “And it’s just Olivia. I’m just a driver, nothing special.”

“I disagree,” Oscar contested. “I think you are a remarkable and talented driver.”

Olivia blushed slightly and nodded to him.

“A driver is only as good as their engine and crew,” she insisted.

“And I am the best!” Bittern puffed up on his frames, emboldened by her comments.

“I disagree,” She smirked and Bittern’s wide grin fell. “Flying Scotsman would be the best.”

“That’s-” Bittern looked ready to argue but then huffed and looked away clearly annoyed. “Yeah okay, you have a point.”

“According to the old crew hands, Bittern used to be quite the fanboy of Flying Scotsman back in the day,” Oscar laughed and Bittern loudly cursed at him in response.

“I wish he’d stop telling people that! So embarrassing!” He complained but Olivia and Oscar ignored the big blue engine.

Olivia looked concerned but her voice was hopeful. “Any news on when Scotsman is coming back?”

Oscar shrugged. “No idea, his rebuild is… complex from what I’ve heard. There’s a rumour that- ah best not to mention it here.”

They both glanced at Bittern as a grim expression appeared on their faces. Oscar preferred not to think about the very real fact that the Flying Scotsman could be dead, her sentience lost and her engine nothing more than a soulless husk.

“I pray that that rumour is just a rumour,” Olivia spoke, the sternness returning to her voice. “Well, it was a pleasure working with you Bittern, Oscar, but I must get going.”

“Oh,” Oscar was disappointed. It felt like she had just arrived. “You’re leaving?”

Olivia nodded.

“I’m heading South, wanting to see how Bulleid engines ride,” she explained. “Ms Catherine needs a hand or two dealing with a few Spamcan’s.”

“Not Tangmere I hope?”

Olivia gave a snort of mirth.

“We shall see,” She then smirked. “Probably why Ms Catherine hasn’t told me who it is yet.”

Oscar laughed. “Good luck if it is.”

“Thanks, you keep safe now and don’t let this blue menace bully you,” she chided and Oscar grinned.

“I’ll try not too,” he promised.

Olivia gave him a nod of acknowledgement and turned on her heel with a swish of her long coat.

“Wait!” Oscar called to her back and she stopped in her tracks but didn’t turn around. “Will I ever see you again?”

Olivia just shrugged.

“Maybe. Who knows?” Was all she said with a dismissive wave of her hand before exiting the shed with nothing more than a nod to one of the nearby engineers.

And like that, Olivia was gone.

Oscar O’Brolchain stood there staring after her for a very long while, not noticing the ‘shit-eating’ grin that appeared on the engine’s face behind him.

“Somebody likes her!” Bittern teased and Oscar immediately went bright red and slapped the engine on the buffer.

“Shut up!” He shouted at the A4 who just jeered at him.

Chapter Text

Traintober 2024 | Day 2 - First Light

“Must you insist on introducing Tornado to the Jubilee’s?” Sir Nigel’s tired voice came from Tornado’s left. In front of the sleepy Peppercorn, a large brilliant red engine rolled her eyes and tutted disapprovingly at the old LNER A4 Gresley Pacific.

“It is good for a young mind to be exposed to different perspectives!” The red engine, Duchess of Hamilton insisted. “Tornado’s got a good view of the Great Western and their… ‘ways’ from Truro yet she has barely been exposed to any LMS engines!”

“Henry is an LMS engine,” Tornado yawned, trying to blink the sleep from her eyes. “Isn’t he a Black 5?”

“He was originally a Gresley!” Sir Nigel muttered and Hamilton rolled her eyes, indicating that she had heard this argument more than enough times. “He should have built into an A3! Or even an A4!”

“Oh please!,” Hamilton scoffed, “Did you think that the Sudrian Controller at the time was going to waste money and hours of travel sending an engine to Doncaster Works when Crewe was right there, an hour away? How preposterous! Such a thing would have been absurd and a waste of money!”

“It was not proper!” Sir Nigel protested loudly, making Tornado winch at his voice. “Henry should be of LNER stock! As is his heritage!”

“We gave Henry a loving family!” Hamilton scolded. “The Black 5’s have Henry’s tender, no matter what!”

“Henry would have had Gordon with him!”

Both engines were getting louder now, and Tornado suspected they were about to devolve into a shouting match which she very much did not want to deal with at 4 in the morning.

“Oh my Lady, I don’t fucking care about this stupid argument! It isn’t even first light and you’re arguing!” She shouted over Hamilton who was being snide at Sir Nigel. “It doesn’t fucking matter where Henry came from only that he’s happy!”

Both engines were silent for a brief moment, the both of them staring at Tornado who was sitting there was a grumpy look on her face and scowling at the both of them, not appreciating their banter at such an early time.

“Ah, I do apologise Tornado, it was rather,” Sir Nigel glanced at Hamilton, “Inconsiderate of us. But you are right, so long as Henry is happy, that is all that matters.”

Tornado humphed, proud of herself for getting Sir Nigel to concede turning back to look at Hamilton who had a warm smile on her face.

“Quite right,” Hamilton agreed with her. “Would you like to know about the engines you are meeting this morning?”

Tornado perked up and an excited look appeared in her eyes.

“Yes please, Ms Hamilton!”

“Their names are Leander and Galatea, they have been asking to meet you for a very long time,” The Duchess explained. “They are as excited to meet you as you are to meet them.”

“Be sure they don’t lead you astray, Tornado,” Sir Nigel warned and Tornado humphed at him annoyed.

“I’m not a child anymore, Sir Nigel,” the Peppercorn grumbled irritated. “You don’t have to baby me. And besides! I’m not a LNER engine so I don’t follow your rules!”

Sir Nigel frowned at that.

“You are still a LNER legacy engine,” Sir Nigel reminded her and Tornado huffed in response.

“Yes, but I’m not a part of the LNER, I don’t abide be their rules and besides, Iain says I need to find my own place in the world,” Tornado insisted. “If there’s one thing that Blue Peter taught me, it’s that I will never understand what it was like to go through dieselsation and preservation. I’m okay with that. It just means I need to forge my own destiny.”

There was a brief moment of silence as both engines stared at her, unreadable expressions on their faces.

“Remarkable, truly remarkable,” Hamilton marvelled at Tornado as a small smile slowly eased itself onto the A4’s face.

“You’re becoming wise, Tornado,” Sir Nigel approved. “I’m glad to see it. Your designer would be proud. Perhaps it would be good for you to meet the Jubilee’s.”

“Marvellous!” Hamilton chirped, her eyes focused on Sir Nigel. “Good to see you saw sense this time, Sir Nigel, instead of being the stubborn Yorkshire engine that you are.”

“Indeed, you know what they say,” Sir Nigel chortled. “‘Yorkshire born, Yorkshire bred, strong in arm, thick in head!’”

Tornado burst into laughter at his words.

“That sounds like the perfect description of Flying Scotsman, to be honest,” She giggled to herself and Hamilton grinned as Sir Nigel gave a chortle.

“Wendsleydale,” Leander rolled his eyes, as Galatea stared blankly off into the distance beside him. “Seems like a bit of a dump’.”

Without even breaking her blank gaze, his sister replied in a bored tone.

“Shoul’dan be sayin’ that in earshot of the locals’ lad.”

Leander looked over to find a couple of people on the station platform nearby. They were throwing then glares and mumbling things.

He just rolled his eyes, not bothered by their disgruntled botherances.

“Is’a bumfuck village north’tha Donnie,” Lender complained. “Shouldn’t have been expectin’ anythin but a moody hole teh be honest!”

“Aer shut yer caek’ole!” Gatalea snapped at him annoyed, finally snapping out of her bored trance. “I dun wanna be starting a bost-up when we be meeting the new lass! Instead you up here being right yampy!”

“No I day,” Lender protested.

“Yes you ay!” Galatea argued. “What Hamm gonna thunk of us actin’ like fools?”

“I ain’t no fool!” Lender humphed annoyed. “Hamm is a good un’ not like those city LNER lads!”

Galatea just raised an eyebrow at him before she tried to shake the sleep from her frames.

“What do yer think the lass will be like?”

“Tor’nado?” Leander gave a soft hum and looked thoughtful for a moment. “I do hope that she’s a gud ‘un! Connor seems to think she is.”

“Connor be a poor judge of character though,” Galatea pointed out and Leander rocked on his frames. “That Hillsy girl still causing a right mess.”

“Hillsy is family, yer know how it is,” Leander dismissed and Galatea just glared at her brother.

“Don’t mean I hav to like her,” She grumbled to herself.

Leander was about to reply when two plumes of steam appeared in the distance, rising above the rolling hills.

“Ay up, it’s the boss,” Leander remarked as two larger engines slowly appeared in the distance.

The striking red of Hamilton was unmistakable, as was the striking express blue of the young engine known as Tornado as they came down the line together, a pair of indomitable express engines.

“At least she ain’t no LNER apple,” Galatea approved as both engines trundled into the yard. “Nowt worse than that ugly livery.”

“What livery would that be, dear Galatea?” Hamilton asked, a look of amusement on her face.

“Apple Green,” Galatea explained with a shudder. “Looks horrendous.”

“I think it looks good on Mayflower,” Tornado disputed. “I don’t like it on me though. It makes me look fat.”

Galatea raised an eyebrow at Tornado while her brother burst out laughing at the Peppercorn’s comment.

“Ye alright Tornado!” he greeted her before turning to Hamilton with a smirk. “Ay up duck, how goes the museum?”

“The Gresley’s little squabbles are as entertaining as ever,” the Duchess of Hamilton enthused. “I have so much to tell, Flying Scotsman put Sir Nigel in his place the other day. It was most amusing!”

“Only took ‘im 100 years to grow a blithering backbone!” Leander exclaimed. “But oi, you finally convinced ‘em to stop hogging Tornado, ay!”

“More like I got tired of people trying to dictate my life! I’m not a kid anymore! I can hold my own!” Tornado bitterly lamented and the two Jubliee’s glanced at each worried. Tornado looked at the two of them and blushed, embarrassed. “That’s- sorry for ranting, I don’t mean to trouble you with my problems. That’s rude and I’ve just met you.”

“Ay, you’re fine ‘nado!” Leander quickly assured her. “You won’t find none O’ us trying to tell yer how to live yer life. Only if you’re being a right fool.”

“Yeah, you stick with us and we’ll show you the ropes, lass,” Galatea flashed her an enormous grin and the Peppercorn gave a small chuckle in response.

“You Jubliees are funny,” she smiled. “I like you.”

“Ay up, the Peppercorn’s got her smokebox about her!” Leander cheered as Galatea grinned. “I’m Leander by the by and this here’s my sister.”

“Galatea, at your service, young ‘un,” the Jubilee smiled sweetly at the Peppercorn. Tornado grinned back at her.

“It’s nice to meet you too!”

“Finally got Sir Nig’ to see sense, Duchy?” Leander turned his attention to Hamilton who chortled.

“No, no, Tornado gave him an earful when she found out that he was trying to keep her away,” Hamilton explained. “Never would have seen that ten years ago.”

“He’s gon soft, he ‘as!” Leander laughed. “No matter. Ain’t no one keeping Tornado from what she wants!”

Tornado beamed, her smile reaching from smoke deflector to smoke deflector.

“You bet!” She exclaimed proudly. “Being the first engine on a new era of steam wasn’t exactly the most, lauded thing, when I was young.”

“Ay but you proved them wrong didn’t ya lass?” Galatea reassured her. “I may not speak for all of the LMS lads, but you’ve proved yourself a good ‘un.”

“Thank you!” The Peppercorn gratefully replied as the Duchess of Hamilton cleared her throat.

The Jubilee’s and Peppercorn directed their attention to the coronation who was gazing at them with a warm and welcoming expression.

“Now Tornado, I know that you are not a Stanier or one of the LMS, but I do believe that we should have extended the offer of acceptance to you much earlier,” the Duchess proclaimed. “It was a little hard with the LNER ‘upper class’ keeping you so coddled.”

“At least it wasn’t as bad as what happened to Miss Lady of Legend,” Tornado pointed out and a collective groan came from the Stanier engines presence.

“Despicable what they did to her,” Galatea huffed, anger in her gaze as her brother hissed steam angrily.

“If I ever see King Edward the First I’m going to-”

“Yes well now, I’m sure we would all like to, but that’s rather a moot point now,” Hamilton quickly interrupted before Leander could go on and be even more belligerent. “I’ve never seen City of Truro as angry as he was when he confronted King Edward I. It was rather impressive.”

“Truro isn’t someone you piss off,” Tornado appealed. “He might seem like a nice old man but when he goes off on you, he makes you feel really small.”

“Hamilton has personal experience of that,” Leander laughed and Hamilton humphed.

“Leander please!”

“What? It’s true!”

“How is that new Great Western anyway?” Galatea butt in with an eyebrow raised at Hamilton. “Is she doing okay now?”

“She’s doing marvellous, Flying Scotsman is taking her under his ‘wing’ per say,” Hamilton praised. “Scotsman’s quite good at mentoring now that he’s found his footing as a leader.”

“Good for both of them I guess,” Leander muttered. “I still think Flying Scotsman is overhyped as an engine.”

Leander paused for a long moment then looked to Tornado, blushing slightly in embarrassment.

“Ah, sorry, I know he’s yer friend and all,” He quickly apologised but Tornado laughed his comments off.

“It’s okay! I know how ridiculous he is, it’s any wonder how he got famous in the first place!” She retorted to which the Stanier engines exploded with laughter.

“Yer alright Tornado! A fine addition to the Stanier family!” Leander praised and Tornado blushed even deeper.

“But I am a Peppercorn!” She protested. “I’m not a Stanier!”

“Oh it matters not to us!” Duchess of Hamilton declared proudly. “We would be proud to consider you part of our family.”

“But why?” Tornado was confused. “I’m nothing special.”

“Don’t be a fop, of course, yer are!” Leander disagreed. “You’re the first light of an entirely new generation of engines, regardless of railway or class!”

“If you ever need help or you want some company, you just tell your crews to give us a buzz and we’ll be right there,” Galatea offered Tornado warmly. “Even if it’s far away, a Black 5 or one of our lot will back you up!”

“This offer should have been made to you long ago, but nevertheless, it is offered to you now,” Duchess of Hamilton continued. “You are a very special engine, Tornado. You deserve more than you know.”

Tornado paused for a moment, silently regarding the Stanier engines before her as tears of happiness welled up in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she thanked the Stanier engines who beamed at her.

“It is our pleasure, Tornado.”

Chapter Text

Day 3 - Trust

“I’m not sure about this,” Ryan mumbled to himself as he stared up at the roof of the shed. “What if he doesn’t listen to me?”

Beside him, Daisy opened a weary eye and peered at her friend curiously.

“If who doesn’t listen to you, pet?” She asked with a yawn, her face illuminated by the orange glow of the setting sun.

“Gordon!” Ryan wailed in despair. “He’s coming up from the mainline tomorrow to help out with the tourist season, remember?”

“Oh that old sod,” Daisy humphed with a roll of her eyes. “He doesn’t listen to anyone except himself!”

Ryan glared at the diesel railcar, annoyed.

“That’s not helpful Daisy!” The little purple tank engine complained. “The Fat Controller says that he’s ordered Gordon to listen to me but I doubt that he will!”

“Gordon might be many things, but he’s grown out of his rebellious ways,” Daisy pointed out. “He only tends to act out if one of his friends is in danger.”

“Yes but-” Ryan tried to argue but Daisy was not having any of it.

“You always get like this Ryan,” she pointed out. “Worrying over working with people you don’t know that well.”

“Yes, but this is different!” Ryan protested. “This isn’t just anyone! This is my cousin! And his class always had the highest standards of any of the others! Except maybe the A4s but this is Gordon! He’s probably going to take one look at me and scoff before trying to order me about!”

“You need to learn how to stand your ground Ryan,” Daisy chided her friend and Ryan looked down at the tracks before him.

“I know,” the tank engine moaned. “I know Daisy, I know.”

Daisy gazed over Ryan, her expression turning to one of sympathy. Ryan was often far too nice for his own good. A fact that she had taken advantage of a few times in the past but could never see herself doing now.

“Listen, Ryan,” Daisy advised. “Your problem is you lack confidence in yourself. Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from how your cousin handles himself.”

“He’s an express engine,” Ryan deflected. “It comes with the territory. He struts around like he owns the place because he does.”

“Now that’s just wrong now, isn’t it?” Daisy huffed. “Are you not the lead engine on the Harwick Branchline?”

“Yes but-”

“Then act like it!” Daisy proclaimed proudly. “Instead of moping around like some sorry sod, you go up to Gordon and you tell him that the Fat Controller has put you in charge and no express engine is going to jolly well barge in here and make demands!”

Ryan fell silent for a long moment, allowing Daisy’s words to sink in slowly. She was right of course. But it did not make Ryan’s confidence any better.

“I guess,” he responded nervously.

Daisy tutted in disapproval.

“If Gordon tries to boss you around then you come and get me or some of the Little Western fellas and we’ll pay him out, alright?” Daisy propositioned and Ryan gave a small smile at her reassurance.

“Thanks, Daisy, I appreciate that,” the small purple tank engine smiled at his friend.

“Good form, pet,” Daisy smiled at him warmly before yawning and giving herself a shake before remarking, “Oh my springs are so tightly wound tonight!”

Ryan smirked to himself knowing that the diesel works would be expecting a visitor in the morning.

“Maybe some sleep will help,” he suggested but in typical Daisy fashion, she scoffed at the suggestion.

“Oh don’t be silly Ryan!” The railcar tittered. “It doesn’t work that way for us diesels!”

Ryan could hold back his smile.

“Of course Daisy.”

“Hey champ! What’s got your buffers in a twist?” Called Rex as Ryan found himself hiding underneath the gangway that connected the Arlesdale Railway to the standard gauge.

“What? Oh, nothing really,” Ryan absentmindedly answered, not even bothering to look at the little green engine that had rolled up beside him.

“That’s a whole lotta quaking for just nuthin’!” Bert called from the turntable ahead of Rex, to which the green engine laughed. Ryan just sighed glumly and deflated onto his frames in defeat.

“It’s, uh, Gordon,” Ryan reluctantly admitted.

“Oh right, heard he’s coming up here for the summer,” Bert babbled, “Should be good for business! All those lovely tourists coming along to see the engine of Great Nor Wester’!”

“Not good for Mike’s boiler though!” Rex laughed, ignoring the disgruntled shout from somewhere nearby.

As amusing as the three little engines were being, Ryan wasn’t feeling it like he usually was.

Bert and Rex looked at each other concerned.

“Hey, you know Gordon’s not as bad as he used to be,” Rex reassured him.

“He’s pretty relaxed and jovial once you get to know him,” Bert added.

Ryan looked down at the tracks before him, biting his lip nervously. “I can’t help it. Just bad memories from my old railway I guess. Gordon’s class wasn't exactly… nice to the smaller engines.”

“That was 90 years ago,” Bert pointed out. “A lot of things have changed. Plus, you get on with Flying Scotsman, don’t ya?”

“Well, yeah but Flying Scotsman’s always been nice! Even back then, that's why he became so famous, people just loved him,” Ryan deflected, but Rex and Bert just signed in response.

“Sounds like you’re just getting yourself into a tizzy,” Rex appealed. “Besides, if Gordon tries anything, he’ll have us lot to deal with, right?”

“Right!” Bert echoed but Ryan barely heard them over his anxiety.

“I know, I know,” Ryan murmured to himself before looking back at the little Arlesdale engines. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up. I know that I can be a bit of a worrier.”

“Don’t worry about it Ryan, we know,” Rex reassured Ryan, the little purple tank engine smiling at them in return as the deep low booming whistle of Gordon echoed in the distance.

“Oh, the big man’s here,” Bert commented as he rolled off the turntable. “Don’t let him get you down, Ryan!”

Ryan did not answer, his attention trained on the distance as thick, billowing puffs of silvery white steam began to rise through the canopy of the trees, the rhythmic beating of valve gear growing louder and louder as a large blue engine snaked his way through the trees.

Ryan wanted to run and hide, the same as he had done when meeting Flying Scotsman for the first time, only for the famous engine to gently talk him down and reassure him that he wasn’t going to bully him like his other siblings.

But to his credit, Ryan held firm. This was Gordon after all, he’d seen him plenty of times. He’d greeted him plenty of times in passing and had the occasional small talk but he had never actually worked with the Sudrian Express Engine.

The blue engine’s eyes searched around, spying Rex and Bert before fixing on the space under the gangway where Ryan was hiding. The larger engine chuckled as he saw Ryan and Ryan flinched, memories of his days on the LNER surfacing.

“Please little Ryan, I may be big but I am not that intimidating,” Gordon jested in amusement. “The Fat Controller sent me here to add a little bit of sparkle to Harwick!”

Ryan rolled out from the gangway with a nervous titter before clearing his throat. He could at least attempt to assert himself.

“Well, I’m in charge of this line and I want to- I mean I would like you to shepherd the tourists from Arlesdale to Harwick via the ocean track,” Ryan stammered, his confidence waning as he went on. His face turned red as he inwardly cringed, knowing how unsure of himself he must sound.

Gordon did not look impressed. He had one eyebrow raised in question and he was staring at Ryan as if he were simple.

“Are you sure you’re in charge, little Ryan?” Gordon asked and Ryan felt what little of his ego deflated and sank to the bottom of his boiler. It was as if he was on the LNER again, that A3 of old bossing him about.

“I- I am- I mean I-” Ryan stammered, his mind drawing a blank at what to say to his cousin who he could feel was staring at him expecting an answer. To his relief, Bert decided to save him.

“Hey Gordon, you seen Boco lately?” The little blue engine teased to which Rex joined in.

“Heard he likes steam engines,” Rex laughed. “You’re a steam engine ain’cha?”

Gordon immediately went red in the face and coughed loudly before unleashing a loud wheesh of steam and began to move forward.

“Right, I’ll best get going, can’t keep those tourists waiting!” Gordon exclaimed loudly, now avoiding the gaze of the little engines and Ryan.

He puffed north without another word, leaving Ryan to stew in his misery while Bert and Rex cackled until the large express engine was out of sight.

“You have to have more confidence in yourself, Ryan,” Rex implored the despondent tank engine.

“Yeah, no offence but no one’s gonna respect you if you can’t respect yourself,” Bert pointed out.

“I know that but-” Ryan began but he was quickly cut off.

“No buts! Ryan, you've been working at Harwick for almost 50 years now,” Rex tried to reassure him. “No one knows this line like you do.”

“Except Daisy!” Bert interrupted but he was ignored.

“Ryan, you have this, we believe in you!” Rex assured him and Ryan felt his spirit lift slightly.

Rex was right of course.

“Thanks, guys,” Ryan was grateful but still doubtful of their words.

The first week of that summer was filled with anxiety and skittishness from the small Gresley Tank Engine as he was decidedly evasive and fleeting in the presence of his larger cousin.

It irritated Gordon to no end.

Whenever he had a query or trouble regarding the Harwick Line, Gordon would get nothing but short and vapid answers before the little tank engine shot off to goodness knows where. It was becoming an issue as now the express engine sat at the end of the line at Harwick, receiving a talking-to from the Fat Controller himself.

“This is unlike you Gordon,” Sir Topham insisted, annoyed. “I’ve never known you to be so complacent and tardy!”

Gordon grits his teeth in annoyance and frowns at him.

“With all due respect sir, my issues are the direct result of Ryan being ambiguous and evasive! Every time I ask him a question about how this line is run, he gives me a vague answer and expects me to guess when and where I am supposed to be!” Gordon fumed, his expression that of a snarl. “I cannot be reliable when there is no communication or trust from the lead engine who runs this line!”

Sir Topham Hatt stared at him for a long moment then raised his hand to his chin in a thoughtful gesture.

“Do you have any idea why he might be so evasive?” The Fat Controller questioned and Gordon frowned.

“I thought perhaps he was treated poorly by others of my class, but that doesn’t make sense as Ryan is good friends with my brother,” Gordon offered. “That was all I could come up with sir.”

Sir Topham nodded to the big engine slightly before turning away.

“I’ll make sure the Harwick Station master gives you proper instruction for now,” The man spoke objectively. “Keep to it as best you can, I shall have a chat with Ryan.”

“Yes sir,” Gordon acknowledged as the man strode away from him, an air of purpose about him.

Gordon watched him go, a myriad of thoughts running through his smokebox.

The big blue engine had a suspicion about what was going on with the little purple tank engine but he knew that confronting Ryan on the issues could make things worse. Perhaps he should speak to his brother? Or perhaps not. He did not want to entangle the web further.

It hurt Gordon, the way that his cousin was avoiding him. How little Ryan didn’t trust him.

He would have to try and make it up to little Ryan somehow, but he didn’t even know where to start.

At this point, just getting Ryan to stay and talk to him would seem like a miracle.

“Good evening Ryan!”

Ryan gave a small yelp as he was shaken out of his trance to glance down at the Sudrian Controller that had appeared at his side as he rested in his shed for his afternoon break. He hadn’t even heard the man approach; he had been so caught up with the thoughts in his smokebox.

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t even notice you there!” Ryan squeaked nervously.

Sir Topham just waved his hand down dismissively, his expression one of compassion.

“You seem distracted Ryan, is something wrong?” The man asked and Ryan immediately averted his gaze. Sir Topham’s gaze hardened. “Ryan. Gordon has been having issues keeping to schedule. I put you in charge of this line, it is your responsibility to make sure that engines are aware and understand their duties.”

“Yes sir but-” Ryan quickly tried to deflect but the man was not having it.

“Ryan. It has come to Gordon’s attention that you are actively avoiding him,” Sir Topham continued, blustering over Ryan’s protests. “This is very inappropriate for a leading engine.”

Ryan sank into his frames, defeated. He had tried to ignore the issue and hold out until Gordon was sent back to the mainline but it didn’t seem that that was going to happen anytime soon.

“I know sir, I am sorry sir,” Ryan apologised. “I- I- don’t mean to but… Gordon just makes me nervous. I’m afraid…”

Ryan stopped wondering if he should continue.

“Afraid? Are you afraid of Gordon?” Sir Topham asked, deeply concerned.

“I- no, well kind of, it just-” Ryan stopped, taking a breath in, trying to calm himself before looking back at the Sudrian controller. “I… there was one engine… back on the LNER… he was an A1, he- he wasn’t very nice to the little shunters like me. He would target us and even seek us out to upset us or treat us like toys! He- I- I- know Gordon’s not the Prince but- but his appearance-”

Ryan shuddered and looked away from the Fat Controller.

“I’m sorry sir,” he mumbled, his voice full of shame. “I should have told you earlier.”

“Ryan,” a voice called to Ryan from outside his shed wall and Ryan looked over to see Gordon, rolling into view, a sympathetic expression on his face.

“Gordon! I- I didn’t-” Ryan stammered but he was quickly cut off by the big blue engine.

“Is that why you don’t trust me? You think I’m going to hurt you like my idiotic brother?” Gordon asked, concerned.

“I know, I know that you’re not Prince Palatine but-” Ryan looked away from Gordon and frowned. “Well, Thomas told me stories about the tricks you pull on him. I’m afraid that you’ll do that to me too!”

There was a moment of silence as Gordon pondered his words, Sir Topham Hatt remaining quiet but watching the interaction with both concern and interest.

“Thomas is a very cheeky engine,” Gordon finally spoke after a while. “He has a habit of pulling pranks and making a nuisance of himself on purpose. My tricks on him are often the result of some mischief he has caused me or a joke between friends. They are relatively harmless and done in jest. I would not pull them on an engine that I did not know or has been nothing but courteous to me.”

“I see,” Ryan admitted, looking down at his buffers. He had already known that this was the case but, it was hard for his mind not to catastrophize certain scenarios in his smokebox. “I’m- I’m sorry Gordon. But, I was afraid that you would make fun of me. You called me, ‘little Ryan’ when you first came here. It put me off.”

“Ryan, I apologise for calling you that. I do understand that you have reservations about me, but I would rather they not impact my work as they have the past week,” Gordon continued. “I know that you do not trust me but, perhaps if you were willing to be open to my presence, we can come to an understanding, for the sake of being a good working team. Perhaps, over time, we could even be friends.”

Ryan stared at his buffers for a long moment then looked to Sir Topham Hatt who gave him an encouraging smile. He looked back at his cousin whose often grumpy expression had turned into an encouraging smile that completely changed his entire face.

It was so unlike the sneering face of Prince Palatine and his cold eyes that were filled with nothing but sadistic intent. No, Gordon’s face gave him confidence and filled him with hope. The Prince’s had only given him dread.

Finally, Ryan gave Gordon a small smile.

“I’d like that,” Ryan admitted in a small voice and the warmth in Gordon’s eyes grew.

“I’d like that too, Cousin,” Gordon beamed.

Daisy almost missed it when a few days before, her purple friend had fretted and trembled with anxiety all night long.

It had taken all of her springs to not snap at Ryan for keeping her up all night, knowing that the steam engine was going through it.

Though she was glad that Ryan had finally built up the courage to work things out with Gordon, she was now faced with the dilemma of having the both of them tittering away all night long like a pair of gossiping hens.

It would only be for the rest of the summer she told herself.

Oh, how she was wrong.

Chapter Text

Day 4 - Great Race

“This place smells weird.”

“Tornado!”

“It does, Miss Merry!” The Peppercorn whined to her companion as the Australian crowd slowly dissipated. The day grew old, and the sun began to set behind the horizon.

“Nah, don’t worry about it!” 3801 laughed as 4201 yawned sleepily at the back of her train. “She’s right though, the eucalyptus smell is something you don’t notice until you’ve been away from it.”

Tornado gave a soft hum in response as her eyes caught the spectacle of the vivid orange sky that spread across the landscape, washing the lands with a fiery glow.

“I’ve never seen a sunset like that before,” Tornado marvelled. “Is this what a sunset looks like every day in Australia?”

“Not always, but often,” 4201 or Gold mumbled, trying to blink the sleep out of their eyes. “As pretty as this is, I’d very much like to get in the sheds and have a sleep on something that’s not moving.”

“Alright, grumpy,” 3801 acknowledged, laughing at her friend’s clear disdain of sea travel. “Let’s head to the roundhouse shall we?”

This perked Tornado up immediately.

“Will I get to meet some of your friends, Grey?” She asked excitedly.

“My friends and Jaxon,” 3801 explained with a snort. “My brother is hardly my friend.”

“Right fucking prick he is,” Gold mumbled from behind Grey and the 38 Class rolled her eyes in response before turning her attention back to Tornado.

“Come on mate, back your tender up on here!” Grey called to Tornado. “Let’s meet some loud cunts and turn in for the night.”

Tornado gave a squeak, not used to what would be considered foul language back in the UK but shook it off and quickly reversed back onto the train. She then realised a rather glaring issue.

“I uh, don’t know where we’re going, Ms Grey,” She regretfully told the 38 class but Grey just laughed her off.

“That’s alright, we got you a navigator, besides, the way’s been cleared for us, you just follow the signals, mate,” Grey reassured her. “Besides, best views upfront, you just let us do most of the work.”

“A nice evening train, how delightful,” Merry praised from within Tornado’s cab. “It’ll be nice Tornado. You should enjoy it.”

“Well, it’s been a long trip,” Tornado admitted tiredly. “I would enjoy it more if I could just-”

“Tornado enough,” Merry quickly cut off the Peppercorn with a harsh reprimand before she could continue. “You know not to speak about such things in public.”

Tornado grumbled, giving her frames a shake before falling still, waiting for the guard to signal them to leave.

“You sound like Olivia, Ms Jaqueline,” Tornado offhandedly commented, the Peppercorn sounding annoyed and fed up with everything. “Olivia when she’s being bossy and bitchy.”

Behind her, Grey started to yell at some of the people on the platform for getting too close to her but Tornado was silent. Merry could tell that the Peppercorn wanted to go into a shed and get to sleep but her comments still stung. Merry and her daughter were… still figuring things out to say the least.

Merry Gresley had no response to the Peppercorn as the guard’s whistle blew and they began to set off into the ever approaching twilight.

Seeing that Tornado had been less than hospitable after the long ship ride across the ocean, Grey and Gold had decided to sneak her into the sheds and distract their friends from overwhelming the young engine.

For this, Tornado was eternally grateful, being allowed to get a good night's sleep after two weeks of constantly rocking and feeling unbalanced. Perhaps she could ask Merry to use her Gold Dust to transport her back to the UK.

If there was one thing she had already learnt, it was that she preferred to avoid travelling by sea.

There was a creak of metal and Tornado looked over to the human entrance of the sheds, a sheepish Merry Gresley peering into to gaze at her, trying to gauge if Tornado would snap at her this morning.

Tornado felt guilt bubble to the surface as she remembered what she had said to the gold construct of Merry Hampton the night before.

“Ms Hampton!” Tornado squeaked, her cheeks flushing red with shame. “About last night- I’m really sorry-”

“It’s okay Tornado, you don’t need to apologise,” Merry waved her down. “The trip wore us both down. But I think some sleep did us good, yes?”

Tornado straightened up on her frames and flashed the gold construct of A3 Merry Hampton a brilliant smile.

“Bright and perky Ms Merry!” She delightfully sang and Merry smiled at her, approaching her and placing a hand on her cylinder block. “I just wish Ms Olivia was here. She told me stories about Australia. She was friends with Ms Grey.”

Merry was silent for a long while before gently motioning towards Tornado.

“Olivia would love to be here as well Tornado but she has a family to look after,” Merry reminded her. “Besides, I would love to get to know the engine my daughter raised so well.”

Tornado relaxed down on her frames and gave Merry a shy smile.

“Thank you, Ms Merry,” she grinned but then looked despondent. “I don’t see why I was invited to Australia instead of a more famous engine like Gordon or Truro.”

Merry looked concerned before resting a hand on Tornado’s buffer.

“Tornado, you are famous,” she reassured the engine but Tornado did not look convinced. “You are! And besides, Flying Scotsman insisted, he thought it would be a nice break from everything that happened with Blue Peter.”

Tornado flinched at the sound of her cousin's name. She would prefer not to dwell on such horrible events of the recent past.

“Can you please not mention him,” Tornado asked of Merry, her voice barely over a whisper and Merry’s face quickly softened as she nodded to the Young Iron.

“I apologise, it was rather inconsiderate of me,” Merry admitted. After a brief pause she turned and motioned to the large roller door leading to the turntable outside the roundhouse. “Shall we go and meet 3801’s friends?”

Tornado immediately lit up with delight, glad to put terrible thoughts behind her.

“Let’s!”

“Here she is!” Sang the cheery voice of Grey as Tornado sheepishly made her way to the big yard where a motley crew of engines were gathered. “Still a bit stormy? Or are we feeling better this mornin’ ay?”

“Feeling less volatile this morning Ms Grey!” Tornado chirped. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Nah don’t worry about it,” Grey laughed her off. “Couple weeks on a boat would make anyone cranky!”

Tornado gave Grey a coy smile then her eyes flickered to the engines that were gathered before her. They were all painted in striking, vibrant colours except the biggest and strangest of them who was coal black and had a smirk on her face as she eyed Tornado up and down.

Before she could ask who they were, the largest engine rolled forward with a sweet smile.

“Name’s Corrino sweetheart, but you can call me Corrie!” The large engine boomed and Tornado stared at her in awe.

“I’ve never seen an engine like you before!” Tornado exclaimed, a mystified expression on her face. “Why do you have so many wheels? And why is your boiler in the middle? Are those… tenders on either side of it?”

“Tornado,” Merry sighed and gave a quick tap on her cab as Matthias and Sean laughed at their engine.

“Oh it’s alright!” Corrie declared cheerfully. “Bet you never seen a Beyer Garratt before, have ya?”

“The other’s talk about them,” Tornado admitted. “They say there’s still one in the UK but they’re miniature, like my friend Typhoon!”

“Well ya can have a gander at me mate! Am I not, impressive?”

Tornado decided to be deliberately evasive to the loud and large engine. She was reminded of Bittern and his boisterous ego, how he liked to flaunt it whenever a new person looked his way. How fun it was to mess with the ridiculous bird.

“I dunno Ms Corrie, I haven’t seen you run yet,” Tornado humphed. “Maybe you’ll slow me down, being such a large engine?”

Grey and a few of her friends burst out laughing as Corrie looked most offended.

“Slow you down? Slow you down!” The Beyer Garratt shrieked, offended. “You cheeky ratbag! I’ll show you a thing or two during the race!”

“Oi, I like her, got her bearings about her!” A steam engine that sat next to Grey smiled.

Tornado gazed at the engine curiously. He was of similar size to Grey, but his features were more bulky and traditional-looking. It was if he was a more striped-down version of Grey in a way.

“You look like Grey, but… not?” she pointed out and the engine grinned.

“Aay yeah well I bloody hope so,” said Engine grinned. “Grey’s ma sister.”

“Jaxon!” Tornado exclaimed remembering the stories Grey had told her and said engine looked over to 3801 who gave him a sly grin.

“You been tellin' the young sheila stories about me huh?” 3830 confronted 3801 who laughed at him.

“Only the worst ones,” Grey sneered back at him to which Jaxon hissed steam at her. Tornado sniggered to herself as the two 38 class’s began arguing with each other.

Tornado watched them for a while before an engine that was identical to Gold except being a deep red colour instead of bright green approached her, 4204 on her numberplate.

“Ignore them, chook,” she advised with a glance at the now arguing 38 class’s. “I’m Matilda! We’re very proud to have such a fine and respectable engine accept our invitation! You’ll draw quite a crowd for the steam festival this year.”

“That’s right,” Gold rumbled, the Bulldog proudly grinning at her. “This ain’t even the full welcoming party, wait until you meet the R Class’s and their friends. They’re gonna give you a bloomin’ hero’s welcome.”

Tornado blushed in embarrassment. She wasn’t famous. She was undeserving of all this celebration. She wasn’t like Flying Scotsman or Mallard, she was just a silly little engine that had been built to resurrect an extinct class.

“I don’t deserve all this,” Tornado mumbled to herself. “Really, I don’t.”

The sounds of Grey and her brother died down as they realised that their guest was upset. Tornado looked despondent and ragged, her thoughts on those years of being called a fake and an imposter, heavy on her mind.

She had pushed it all away, told herself that it bothered her no longer but still the thoughts lingered. Like a menacing shadow that nipped at her wheels.

She would have to address these feelings in time. Least she end up with a fate like Blue Peter.

“Oh don’t be an idiot!” Corrie huffed, not having a word of doubt from her. Tornado looked up to see the Australian engine rallied around her. “You’ve been famous even well before you were built. You’re a hero to many of us!”

“Here, here!” Came the chorus of the engines gathered and Tornado felt all that doubt and anxiety wash away in a warm that flowed through her like fresh steam on a bitter cold morning.

She grinned and gave the gathered engines a shy smile. The anxiety and doubt was still there, like a cloud of black smoke, sitting in the farthest corners of her boiler but being here surrounded by such happy engines made it insignificant and powerless.

“Thank you, I’m honoured,” Tornado inclined to each of the engines.

“We’re the one’s honoured mate,” Jaxon protested. “You came all the way from England to see us!”

Tornado smirked, a mischievous grin playing across her lips.

“No, I came all this way to beat you,” she proclaimed and the engines burst out into raucous laughter.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” the Beyer-Garratt disputed but her manner and tone was friendly.

Tornado paused for a moment and grinned to herself as the engines began to argue on what to show her first.

She didn’t mind though.

She was happy.

Chapter Text

Day 5 - Exhibition

LATE OCTOBER 1988

Of all the tales and stories his brother told of the LNER, Flying Scotsman was always strangely quiet on that of the most famous of Gresley A4s, Mallard. On the few occasions that he did it was always with regret and an underlying anger that Gordon could not understand.

He had always assumed that it was a venom towards his record being beaten by the A4 but that did not make sense. After all, Scotsman had a firm respect for the A4s much to his chagrin. Granted he had respect for almost everyone he encountered, bar a select few who had in some way managed to achieve his ire.

It didn’t make sense at all. At times there was even a brief sentiment of sadness directed towards the other famous Gresley. Yet, that cold venom that was so uncharacteristic of his famous, all-loving brother made Gordon worried.

What made him even more worried was the fact that Mallard was furious at the fact that he had failed a boiler test and had been sidelined while Flying Scotsman had been sent in his stead. Not to mention the fact that the engine was now said to have run his last ever train in July.

It did not bode well for the mood of the fastest Steam Engine in the world.

“Hello there old chap!” Came a strangely familiar voice and Gordon looked up, his face creasing in confusion as he studied the little yellow engine before him.

“...Stephen?” Gordon asked confused and the Rocket laughed at him. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on Sodor!”

“I am still on Sodor!” The engine that looked exactly like Stephen replied. “But I am also here at the NRM as part of the national collection!”

“But- But how can you be in two places at once?!” Gordon spluttered. “Don’t be preposterous!”

“But I am ever so preposterous!” The Rocket exclaimed brightly. “If I wasn’t ever so preposterous then I wouldn’t be the legendary Rocket now would I!”

“Stephen please!” A voice called to the Rocket sounding displeased but equally amused. “Stop being such a mischievous scamp now would you?”

“It can’t be helped, sir!” Stephen replied with a sparkling grin to the tall, brown-haired young man who was approaching them. “I am who I am! And who I am is the most mischievous of scamps!”

The man rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Gordon who was watching on, the confused expression still plastered across his face.

“I apologise, Gordon,” the Man nodded to the A1 Pacific. “But our replica Rocket here and the original tend to mess with engines and people concerning their identity.”

The Stephenson Rocket replica pouted at the man and rolled his eyes.

“You’re no fun, Mr Mullen,” The Rocket huffed, although the playful tone still lingered in his voice. “Stephen and I are one and the same. Replica or not.”

Mr Mullen just gave a tut before scolding the engine, “You can’t go around saying the original just as Stephen can’t go around saying he’s the replica! It’s dishonest to our patrons as it is to Sir Robert’s.”

“Perhaps, but most people don’t know the difference,” a sly smirk appeared across the replica’s face. “We even fooled you, Mr Director of the museum.”

“Alright, alright, be off with ya!” Mr Mullen quickly gestured for the Rocket Replica to leave and they did so, but not before beguiling the man with a mocking giggle. The man shook his head before turning his attention to Gordon. “Gordon! Such a pleasure to have the original A1 Gresley Pacific with us for a visit! You must thank Sir Stephen for me! My name is Iain Mullen! Director of the NRM!”

At his words the Sudrian Express Engine puffed up on his frames, a strong sense of grandiose superiority filling his boiler tubes. Oh did Gordon like it when someone recognised him for the grand, magnificent engine that he was.

“Thank you, sir! I do so aim to please!”

“I do not doubt that you will,” Iain exclaimed with a hearty laugh and clapping his hands together with joy. “Now, I hope you don’t mind but we’ll be putting you with Mallard for a few hours until we get your space at the turntable ready.”

“Not at all sir,” Gordon boomed, “In fact, I am looking forward to meeting my famous cousin!”

Iain’s smile did not falter but a shadow passed across the man’s eyes at his words and Gordon felt an unexpected chill run through his boiler.

There was something about Mallard that had made the air around them cold and uninviting. Iain Mullen stepped forward and gave Gordon a gentle tap on the cylinder block.

“Yes, well, any issues or if you no longer want to be in his presence, you just let one of the volunteers know, alright?” Iain offered and Gordon frowned, his excitement quelled at the sudden shift in demeanour in the Director.

Gordon was ready to protest his words but there was an instinct that hung in the back of his firebox that demanded that he should not. Instead, he gave the man a gentle tip of his running board in acknowledgement and a brief smile.

“I’ll be sure to let you know,” Gordon noted with unease and Iain gave him another acknowledging pat and a smile.

“Thank you, Gordon, I would prefer your stay here to be a good one,” the man nodded. “I would hate for one of my last events as director to be an unpleasant one.”

Gordon was a bit crestfallen at that. He rather liked what little he had seen of this director.

“You’re leaving sir?”

“Yes and No, I’ll still be on hand if my replacement ever needs me, I won’t be too far away after all,” Iain smiled. “But one must go on to other things.”

“Other things?”

“There’s a project in Darlington that requires someone with my expertise,” Iain explained. “Should take up most of my time.”

“Ah well, I wish you luck on your endeavours, sir!”

“Thank you, Gordon.”

The Grand Hall of the National Railway Museum was vast and as its name suggested, rather Grand, Gordon thought to himself as the diesel shunter, Matey rolled him into place beside the famous A4 Pacific.

There was an awkward silence as the A4 watched him with calculating, cold, grey eyes, a fierce and terrible intelligence hidden within their depths. Flecks of dazzling azure occasionally surfaced in his iris hinting that they were once a brilliant blue.

The A4 Pacific watched silently as Gordon was positioned next to him, those piercing eyes never leaving him. Suddenly Gordon had an idea why his brother rarely if ever spoke of Mallard. The engine had a terrifying aura. Like a cold and icy presence permeated the engine itself. Gordon did not want to admit it to himself but he was scared of this engine. He felt a dread that he had not felt since the days of dieselisation.

Regardless, he steeled himself and refused to let himself be intimidated or scared by the famous blue engine. He turned his attention back to the Class 08 diesel before him, the diesel also nervous but holding himself to a stoic and professional demeanour.

He was quite unlike the Class 08s of Sodor. An example of a hard worker and a formidable personality, Matey was. Unlike ‘Devious Diesel’ as he so preferred to be called. Before he could ask any questions of the shunter, the diesel was quickly uncoupled and with a gruff, “Good luck lad,” he shot off at considerable speed.

It seemed even diesel’s could feel the aura of the world’s fastest steam engine. Gordon stared after the diesel as the doors to the museum were quickly shut and Gordon was left with the strange and terrifying engine that was his cousin. A cousin that only 20 minutes earlier, he had been excited to meet.

Now, he was not so sure.

He dared not glance to the left of him, refusing to meet the oppressive gaze of the engine next to him. He was deciding whether or not to greet the engine, his mind a turmoil of emotions but thankfully or horrifyingly, he wasn’t sure which, Mallard spoke to him.

“Great Northern never mentioned one came before him,” the A4 Pacific spoke in a cool and deep baritone voice that sounded surprisingly friendly but was laced with a hidden intelligence. The A4 Pacific was observing, judging but always attentive. It was rather unsettling. “I was very surprised to hear that my cousin had a surviving sibling.”

Gordon however was more annoyed than scared. The mention of Great Northern, a name he hadn’t heard in decades was riling him up.

“Great Northern was a fool,” Gordon scoffed. “At least he was when I was around, I only stayed on the LNER for a year but the damn arrogant fool made it a blessing to leave.”

There was an amused snort from Mallard but the A4 said nothing more, finally, Gordon felt the A4s gaze shift away from him and to elsewhere. He didn’t know where, he was just thankful that it wasn’t on him.

“He was an arrogant and self-righteous old man,” Mallard rumbled, his voice laced with spite and anger. “I did not care for him or his class one bit.”

Gordon wasn’t one to feel threatened. He’d seen a lot in his years, but the sheer menace and hatred in the A4’s voice made him scared for his very soul. It made him miss Spencer of all things.

The Silver A4 was insufferable, yes, but he was at the very least amicable and he could at least banter with him. With Mallard, there was nothing but hostility coming from the engine.

“Are you usually this hostile to visiting engines?” Gordon snapped, quite annoyed with the attitude of his cousin. Regardless of how intimidating he found the engine, he wasn’t one to just sit there and take it. Especially not from someone who felt inclined to insult him for whatever reason.

Mallard returned his gaze to the A1 Pacific but this time Gordon wasn’t intimidated, only annoyed by the A4’s attitude. Gordon braced himself, expecting a snide comment or an insult but instead, the A4 gave him a smile that made his boiler grow cold and uncomfortable.

“I do apologise,” the A4 Pacific clarified, his voice taking on a devilishly charming tone. “My disposition isn’t all that friendly these past few days. I’ve been put in this place to preserve me at my ‘most pristine condition’ as they say. I’m not exactly happy about it.”

Gordon was unnerved at just how easily and quickly the blue A4 just slid so seamlessly from hostile and dangerous to charming and effortlessly friendly, a cold and cunning intelligence hiding beneath his words.

If anything, Gordon preferred the hostility. It was any wonder Spencer had told him not to trust his brother. That although he could be charming and warm, it was a front and Mallard himself had become heartless and callous over the years.

There was something terrible and insidious within that boiler of Mallard’s and Gordon was terrified of it.

It felt like his very soul, his willpower was being sucked into a vortex of negativity. Of hatred and pure malice.

Something eldritch lay within his cousin.

But still, Gordon decided to play along, not wanting to come off as rude. Especially not to the fastest steam engine in the world.

“That’s a damn shame,” Gordon commented gruffly. “The fastest steam engine in the world out of steam? It’s disgraceful.”

And he meant it. Despite his feelings regarding Mallard, it was still a shame to see such a magnificent engine on a plinth.

Every so slightly, the coldness dissipated, a brief warmth flashing across Mallard’s eyes.

“I will endure,” Mallard remarked quietly. “I have been through much worse. Besides, there are worse fates than this.”

’Would you like to see one I could grant you, cousin?’

Nope. The was more than enough of that. Whatever this was, Gordon was not having it. He shook the invisible cold tendrils that had been creeping over his boiler off and hissed steam at Mallard, the A4 responding with a snarl.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Gordon snapped, trying to keep the panic from his voice. “I bid you farewell, Mallard!”

With great enough he managed to blow his whistle to attract the Diesel shunter, not once taking his eyes off of Mallard who glared at him in turn.

There was something very wrong with that engine and Gordon wanted nothing more than to be as far away from him as possible.

“What is that engine’s problem?!” Gordon thundered angrily as he stood outside, Matey sitting beside him after having pulled him out of the museum.

“Ay, we don’ rightly know,” The Class 08 murmured. “He just feels… off… y’know?”

Gordon did know. Deep in his frames, he could feel that something was deeply wrong with Mallard.

“Has he always been like that?” Gordon asked the Diesel who looked thoughtful for a moment.

“According to Sir Nigel, his brother, he ain’t,” Matey replied. “Said he were a compassionate an’ warm engine once. But then his brothers died, ain’t been the same since.”

Gordon looked thoughtful for a moment. His mind wandered to Scotsman, far far away in Australia. He was beginning to suspect that there was more to Mallard not being sent to Australia than it seemed.

“Can I give yer some advice if yer would care ter hear from a lowly shunter?” Matey suddenly requested, his Yorkshire dialect reminding Gordon of younger days.

Unlike his younger days, however, Gordon was willing to listen to the Class 08 diesel.

“Go on,” he approved and the diesel looked around nervously before answering.

“I’d keep away from tha Blue Duck,” Matey advised. “There’s been a few engines that… ended up dead from being ta close ta him.”

“Dead?” Gordon was concerned now.

“Yeah, like thee had the life sucked out o’ ‘em.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

“Right ya are lad, gotta get back ta it, keep well Steamer!” and with a well wish, the Class 08 trundled off elsewhere.

Gordon was not one to believe the superstitions of diesels. But just this once, he felt inclined to.

Chapter Text

Day 6 - Harmony

“In need of a bootlace are we?”

‘Oh, great,’ James thought to himself despairingly as he heard the mocking tone of the Great Western menace call to him as he sat at the bottom of the hill. Between this and running into leaves near the top and Thomas accidentally mixing up his trucks that afternoon, he was in a rather foul mood.

Duck’s comment had plunged said bad mood into depths he hadn’t seen for a long while.

“Shut up!” James spat at the Panier Tank engine as he siddled up to him, the smugest and most ‘punchable’ as the humans would say, look on his face. The Great Western however only laughed at him.

“What’s the matter, James? Get a scratch on your paint? Afraid the wind is going to spoil your coat?” Duck teased and James hissed steam at him.

“There were leaves at the top of Gordon’s Hill!” James snarled angrily. “Stop making fun of me!”

“I’ll stop making fun of you when you stop being red,” Duck commented with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t like this any more than you do but Edward’s gone Ulfstead to help Sir Robert.”

“With what?” James demanded and Duck frowned in response.

“I don’t know, why do you ask your boyfriend when you see him next?”

“Edward is not my boyfriend!” James shrieked, his voice rising higher with every word.

Duck did not look convinced. In fact, he looked even more amused somehow.

“Yeah you two ain’t fooling no one,” the Great Western snorted, still chuckling. “I don’t have no problem with it, just I didn’t expect Edward to fancy you of all people.”

There was a very awkward pause in which James felt his anger flare.

Was Duck really insinuating that Edward wasn’t good enough for him? How dare he!

“What’s that supposed to mean-?” James snapped but he was quickly interrupted.

“Alright, you two, enough!” Came the yell of James’ guard. “Let’s get this train moving! The sooner we do the sooner we clear the mainline!”

At the man’s words, the Great Western immediately went to business.

“You want me on the tail or-”

“Tail,” James interrupted. “I’d rather not listen to you yapping about the Great Western Way.”

Duck frowned, obviously annoyed with his attitude but James did not care for it. He had never liked the Great Western and he wouldn’t start now.

“Very well,” Duck muttered with a glare, reversing down the line to change tracks, all the while James shimmered in embarrassment and irritation. “But it’s the right way whether you like it or not!”

James bit back the urge to snap at the Pannier Tank as he gave a cheery whistle, his voice more mocking than stating fact. It was a sentiment that James had heard so many times before over the few years Duck had been here and always it grated on him.

While James did appreciate Duck’s work ethic and his assistance, for some reason, the both of them had butted heads and come to each other's aid when the other was in need.

Although unspoken, there was a silent agreement between the two that they would never really be friends. And that was fine. In a place as vast and as expansive as Sodor with the fleet growing every year, it would be impossible to befriend or get along with every single one.

Perhaps it was that LMS and GWR sentiment that was a holdover from the early days of steam. Or perhaps the fact that Duck was rather critical of the way James went on and on about his paint. It was certainly not something that was appreciated on the Great Western, James had heard,

Tall Poppy Syndrome was not at all looked upon well in the Great Western regions. Not unless you were a King Class, that is.

Regardless, what mattered now was getting this train to its destination and avoiding the wrath of Gordon for blocking the mainline. He knew that Duck shared this sentiment, regardless of how easily he could give Gordon a piece of his mind.

James felt a little flutter of sadness in his boiler. As much as he disliked the Pannier Tank, he did hope that one day, they could be friends.

There was a soft jolt as Duck buffered up to the train, the Pannier tank being surprisingly gentle and careful.

“Ready!” The Great Western called to him and James whistled in confirmation.

Regardless of their feelings, James and Duck made an unlikely and surprisingly good team. They were harmonious, unlike Gordon who never liked to work with his bankers almost always against them.

The trek up Gordon’s Hill was not the hardest, even when James’ wheels once again slipped on the pesky leaves, Duck held firm and moved him up and over the danger with no protest.

As James finally crested the hill he heard Duck suddenly call to him from the back of the train.

“Sorry about the comments at you and Edward, it was uncalled for,” Duck apologised.

“It’s… alright,” James said despite still being bothered by his comments. He wanted to get to his destination and put this nonsense behind him.

“Maybe Edward sees something you that others don’t,” Duck said as James and his train pulled away.

James said nothing in response to that.

He didn’t want to tell Duck that he was right.

He’d never hear the end of it if he did.

Chapter Text

Day 7 - Sleepy

“There you are, Merry!”

Merry’s boiler almost jumped off her frames and into the tree above her she was so startled.

“P-Polly!” Merry stammered in fright and surprise. “What- What are you doing here!?”

“I came to check on you, see if you were alright,” Her elder sister was sparkling in the moonlight as she rolled up beside her, her coat looked as if it had been recently cleaned. “You’ve not returned to the Top Sheds at appropriate times this past month.”

Merry narrowed her eyes, her expression becoming a scowl as she recalled her recent return trips to the sheds.

The other express engines sneered at her and made unwelcome comments behind her back or in the case of Solario, insulted her directly to her face.

It was shocking just how unlike his twin brother Solario was. Whereas the Flying Scotsman was kind-hearted and a gentleman, Solario was a crude and nasty engine.

“I prefer not to be sneered at or gossiped about while I’m trying to sleep,” Merry snapped, annoyed. “I prefer my own company if you don’t mind.”

Polly gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Then allow Scotsman or I to find your quarters away from those gossiping hens!” Pretty Polly offered but Merry just snorted steam and humphed.

“I’d rather not make things worse,” Merry hissed stubbornly. “People will talk if I am moved away. I don’t want any more attention.”

The A3 looked around nervously, her eyes scanning the tracks before her as if expecting something but Polly was oblivious to her searching gaze.

“There must be something that I can do for you, Merry,” Polly offered again, this time, Merry swayed on her frames in annoyance.

“You can leave me alone,” Merry snapped pointedly, her eyes still scanning the racks growing ever more agitated.

Polly looked taken aback by her sister’s sudden hostility. It was then that she noticed Merry’s demeanour and a look of realisation morphed across her face.

“Waiting for someone are we?” Polly noted and despite the dim light of the evening, she could see that her sister’s face had gone bright red.

“Shut up!” Merry snarled. “Just… leave me alone!”

Polly frowned in response, her eyes narrowing and her demeanour changing to that of an annoyed parent.

“Merry, I care about you,” Polly appealed. “But you haven’t been sleeping since the accident. You’ve been coming back to the sheds at unruly hours and it’s been reported that you’re falling asleep on the job. This can’t go on! Especially if you’ve been going this far north every night!”

“Don’t pretend to care about me!” Merry exploded at Polly. “You never cared when Solario was harassing me! Or when the others make fun of me for being unlucky or a ‘devil’ engine! So shut up and leave me alone!”

Polly however would not back down and frowned at her younger sister.

“Merry, you could have always talked to me, you could always talk to Scotsman,” Polly reminded her but Merry’s expression turned into anger.

“Why would I talk to people I don’t trust?” Merry coldly stated and Polly’s face fell, a deep hurt in her eyes.

“Just, leave me alone,” Merry growled as she blasted steam at her sister and stormed off in a huff leaving Pretty Polly to stare after her, no longer having the heart to stop her or even call her back.

The moon was high when Pretty Polly was heading back to the Top Sheds after her failed attempt to help Merry Hampton. She had half a mind to seek her little sister out again but it probably would not help matters.

She had distracted herself by visiting some of the V2s and their leader, Green Arrow, the usually snappy smaller engine was surprisingly amicable for once though that could have been since the mischievous engine was looking for some information about some LMS engines he had been having issues with. But after he realised she had nothing to offer him, he promptly told her to get lost.

Rude, but she expected nothing less from such uncouth mixed engines and had politely left with nothing more than a sweet farewell.

She meandered back towards the siding where she had found Merry earlier. She was expecting it to be empty but to her surprise, it was instead occupied by Merry once again.

She hesitated contemplating going back and trying to talk to her again, thinking she may have returned looking for her but she stopped in her tracks when she saw the engine that was sitting next to her.

Her boiler ran cold as she saw the distinct red of the LMS and the shape that could not be mistaken for another. It was a Red Stanier, a Jubilee to be precise. One of the upstarts from the neighbouring Railway.

Pretty Polly felt steam flush into her tubes and she let out a wheesh of steam charging forward to shoo away the intruder.

She was stopped by something unexpected though.

Merry was laughing.

It struck Polly that she hadn’t heard her sister laugh before. Not really, she’d heard her awkwardly laugh or nervously chuckle but never a genuine, joy-filled laugh.

Merry was truly happy and it dawned on Polly that she’d not once seen her sister like that.

It made Polly sad at the realisation.

“Hey!” A male voice suddenly snapped and Polly jumped, startled as the Jubilee suddenly began hissing steam, an angry expression on his face. “Get lost you!”

“Arethusa, please!” Merry begged the Jubilee as he began to approach Polly. “Don’t make a fuss! I don’t want any fuss!”

Merry sounded up and distressed and that would not do, in Polly’s mind.

“Wait, stop, it’s alright,” Polly tried to reassure the furious Jubilee. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, I’ll be on my way!”

“Ya best not be tellin’ anyone I’m ‘ere or they’ll be trouble!” The Stanier snarled back. “I don’t want my Merry gettin’ upset over this!”

Ah. So that’s why Merry had been coming back to the sheds late. It all made sense now.

She was sneaking out to see the LMS lad under the cover of night. A Romeo and Juliet tale if there ever was one.

Polly looked to Merry who looked terrified, hiding behind the Jubilee who was ready to throw a buffer in her direction.

“You’re secret is safe with me, no one shall hear a word of this, I promise,” She reassured the two and after a long moment, the Jubliee, Arethusa, backed off, a satisfied look on his face.

“You better not,” Arethusa declared. “Or they’ll be hell to pay.”

Polly could believe that. If one Stanier was hurt or had a grudge, well, then all of them did.

“You have my word,” Pretty Polly reassured Arethusa. “I bid the both of you good night.”

And without another word, Polly was on her way.

“You… you kept your promise?” A small voice asked Polly one day as she was waiting in one of the yards near the Top Sheds. Polly didn’t need to see the engine to know who it was.

“Of course,” Polly assured Merry. “I am an engine of my word.”

There was a pause.

“Thank you Polly.”

The engine that spoke moved off and continued on it’s way as Polly wished that she could hear Merry Hampton laugh again. But she would make do with earning her sister’s trust.

Chapter Text

Day 8 - Impact

“Where is Mallard?” A small whine caught Merlin’s attention and the LNER A4 looked over to find his newly repaired brother sitting outside their shed, his younger brother’s eyes desperately searching the empty place where Mallard usually slept.

“Ah! Gadwall!” Merlin perked up immediately, his weariness leaving him as he wished to proudly welcome his little brother back from the works. “It is grand to see you safe and well once more-”

“Where’s Mallard?!” Gadwall interrupted, not listening to Merlin.

Merlin sighed, watching his younger brother twitch and shudder agitated, not uncommon for an engine who had been released from the works after such an unfortunate accident.

“Mallard is in Scotland,” Merlin informed the nervous engine. “He will be back in a week or two, he still has to run the Flying Scotsman despite your, ‘mishap’. His workload has increased to cover the lack of an engine.”

Truth be told, Mallard had insisted upon working himself into exhaustion. It was the only way he could keep his mind off of Gadwall. Merlin had of course protested but Mallard had an infinite amount of Gresley stubbornness.

“It was not a mishap, it was an accident!” Gadwall immediately protested, becoming defensive and angry. He scowled and pouted at his elder brother like a child who had been caught doing something bad.

Merlin’s demeanour immediately changed to that of a disappointed parent scolding a child. He would have none of this, especially not when he had watched Mallard stress and fret for the last few weeks.

Merlin did not like seeing Mallard distressed. It was upsetting and Mallard had grown cold, aggressive and nasty in the absence of Gadwall, even for just a few weeks.

Merlin shuddered at the thought of Mallard losing Gadwall. It would not bode well for anyone.

“You know full well that what you did was no accident, young iron!” Merlin sternly warned the young engine. “Do you have any idea how much pain and anguish your actions have caused me and Mallard?”

“I-” Gadwall looked away ashamed. He continued his voice on the verge of tears. “I just wanted to impress Mallard… I want to be like him! I wanted him to like me!”

There was a desperation and a pleading in Gadwall’s voice that struck a cord of sadness within Merlin.

Did Gadwall not think that Mallard liked him?

“Of course, Mallard likes you Gadwall, why would you think otherwise?” Merlin asked of the young engine, his voice soft and gentle now.

Gadwall looked away, sniffing as he tried to blink the tears from his eyes.

“It’s just, I don’t- he doesn’t really… express or I don’t know, it doesn’t feel like he does when I talk to him,” Gadwall explained. “He always seems… distant. I don’t know- I don’t know if he even likes me!”

Gadwall was sobbing now, tears running down his face despite the young engine furiously trying to blink them away.

“He probably hates me now, for trying to steal his record,” Gadwall mumbled through his tears. “I just, I just wanted to make myself worthy in his eyes.”

It made sense now. Why Gadwall had shaken his crew free of his footplate and barrelled away into the night on his way back from King’s Cross that one dreadful night attempting to beat his brother’s record despite his crew forbidding him.

Why he had hit a curve in the track at such a speed that he had derailed and slammed into the back of an empty train that had been placed in a siding.

How Gadwall had almost crumbled his entire smokebox and now stood before him with sealed cracks in his face plate.

“Oh Gadwall,” Merlin sadly called to the engine. “Mallard loves you more than any other engine in the world. You light his fires and give him a reason to be the best of himself. If anything, Mallard feels unworthy of you.”

Gadwall stopped sniffing and stared at Merlin incredulously, disbelief written all over his face.

“It doesn’t- It doesn’t feel like that-” Gadwall mumbled and Merlin gave his younger brother a sad smile.

“Just because Mallard doesn’t outwardly show it that often, does not mean that he doesn’t love you,” Merlin reassured the young engine. “Mallard he, struggles to express himself, especially to those he appreciates. He prefers not to be affectionate with others because it makes him uncomfortable. Can you understand that Gadwall?”

Gadwall looked thoughtful for a long moment, his eyes on the tracks before him, brimming with regret.

“I- I think I do,” Gadwall murmured. “But I’m not sure.”

“Then perhaps you can ask Mallard when he gets back?” Merlin suggested. “Even if he may come off as blunt or aloof, Mallard is very open to talking. Especially for his favourite brother.”

“I’m his favourite brother? Really!?” Gadwall asked excitedly and Merlin gave him a brief smile.

“Yes you are, he has told me himself,” Merlin stated confidently. “So much so that he refused to work until Sir Gresley himself confirmed that you would be safe and well.”

There was no point in explaining the truth of the matter to the young engine. He would not understand just how Mallard had saved him, in more ways than one. Gadwall would not be here without Mallard’s intervention and adoration of his younger brother.

“Mallard did for that me?” Gadwall asked surprised and Merlin gave a soft hum of confirmation.

“Yes, and it is imperative for you to understand how much pain you have put Mallard through these past couple of weeks,” Merlin’s brow furrowed and his face became stern once again. “I don’t think I have ever seen Mallard so distressed. So you must promise to never, ever do something like this every again.”

Gadwall looked guiltily at Merlin, the deepest regret in his glacial blue eyes.

“I promise, Merlin.”

Merlin smiled in approval.

“I expect you to promise Mallard the same when he returns from Scotland,” Merlin advised and Gadwall looked both terrified and excited about seeing his brother. Merlin couldn’t blame him, Mallard could be very blunt and critical, even if he wasn’t being intentional.

“I will! I’ll promise Mallard I’ll never make him unhappy again!” Gadwall exclaimed excitedly and Merlin chuckled.

“I know you will, little Duckling.”

He didn’t know what he would do without such a bright spark in his life.

He suspected that Mallard didn’t either.

The world would be a very dark place without him and he shudder to think what would happen without him.

Especially for Mallard’s sake.

Chapter Text

Traintober 2024 | Day 9 - Old Iron

Edward swore that the trip from his own branch line to Knapford hadn’t seemed as hard nor it has exhausting as before.

“Feeling your age Furness?” Came the snide voice of Spencer from the next platform over and Edward reluctantly looked over to find the Silver A4 smirking at him.

“Nothing I can’t handle, Spencer,” Edward matter-of-factly assured the ridiculous private engine.

“Those creaks say otherwise old boy,” Spencer sneered at him. “Perhaps they should finally consider finally putting you in the museum? Or perhaps you’d prefer a lovely glasshouse like Old Coppernob?”

“Shut up, you overhyped, ridiculous, Silver kitchen appliance!”

Spencer’s mouth dropped open in shock at Edward’s outburst.

The hostility that came from Edward surprised himself. It was very unlike him. Incredibly not himself. He was unaware that he could even be that hostile to someone else. Even to someone like Spencer.

Usually, Edward prided himself on being the most polite and reasonable engine on the entire island but the mention of Furness Number 3 had hit a ‘nerve’ as the humans would say.

“I-” Edward’s cheeks turned bright red in embarrassment and shame. “I- do apologise… that was very uncalled for, excuse me.”

Spencer snorted in response and glared at him before wheeshing steam in Edward’s direction and storming off with a loud grunt.

Edward watched the A4 depart for a long moment before sinking on his frames, a dejected look on his face.

The loud echoing whistle of Gordon sounded in the distance and Edward gave an exhausted exhale and glared behind him.

He was not in the mood to deal with another Gresley express engine and so, before Gordon could even greet him, the Seagull blew steam and thundered away leaving a bewildered Gordon to stare after him as he eased into the station.

“What’s his problem?” Gordon rumbled and looked over at Thomas who had been shunting in the yards.

“Spencer,” Thomas muttered and a scowl appeared on the Express Engine’s face. “He was making fun of Edward being old again. It’s the third time this month.”

“Say no more,” Gordon declared. “Someone needs to teach him a lesson.”

A wide, devious grin suddenly appeared on Thomas’s face.

“Oh I’ve got some ideas,” the little Tank engine smirked.

“Do tell.”

“Greetings Edward!” Gordon’s voice boomed right next to the elder engine and Edward almost shrieked in fright. He hadn’t even heard the other engine approach him.

“Gordon!” Edward exclaimed as he tried to catch his breath back. “You almost scared the rivets off of me!”

There was a pause as Edward suddenly gave a sad chuckle.

“Maybe my hearing is going too,” the old Seagull lamented. “Time for this old seagull to join Sir Robert’s collection at long last.”

There was a tense moment of silence, filled with a dark and creeping existential dread that made both engines uncomfortable.

To distract himself, Edward looked out over the sea watching a few tug boats silhouetted against the warm light of the sinking sun. Perhaps maybe Spencer was right. It was finally time. Even the Brendam twins had steered clear of him that afternoon, the story of him snapping at the Silver A4 had spread all over the island.

Such gossipy hens, Sudrian Engines were.

“I do not think so,” Gordon finally spoke after a while. “Besides, Spencer is a foolish and dimwitted engine who has nothing better to do with his pathetic existence.”

Edward looked over at Gordon in surprise. Of all the engines…

“Never thought I’d hear you of all engines reassuring me I don’t belong in a museum,” Edward answered and Gordon gave a sad chuckle.

“We’re all young and stupid once,” Gordon murmured with a sad smile. “I was so very wrong about you back then and I have wisened up to how important you are to Sodor.”

Edward smiled a small and affectionate smile.

“I built the mainline, you know,” Edward reminisces quietly. “I was supposed to go back to the Furness after it was finished but-”

Edward paused and sighed, looking back out at the sea.

“I never felt at home on the Furness,” Edward admitted quietly. “It felt like I was always destined to be here.”

Gordon joined in staring out over the ocean with Edward, his expression glassy and reflective. Edward wondered what the big engine was thinking about.

“The LNER never felt like home to me either,” Gordon softly revealed and Edward’s expression softened.

“I suppose you were always destined to be here too, old iron,” Edward acknowledged and Gordon gave a soft chuckle in response.

There was a moment of pause before Gordon cleared his throat and looked at Edward.

“Spencer, however, he’s never really fit in on Sodor,” he added. “Still has that mainland attitude, so I wouldn’t take anything he says seriously.”

The larger engine began to move off, steam hissing from his valves as he prepared to head home for the night.

“Gordon,” Edward called to the Gresley.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Edward.”

Edward stayed a little longer at his favourite sea lookout before returning to the Brendam branch line sheds. To his surprise he found the twins tittering and carrying on, with Boco and Bear.

“What’s going on?” Edward asked suspiciously eyeing the Bagnall Bees knowing such behaviour usually meant mischief.

“Did you hear Edward? Thomas tricked Spencer into crashing into a huge compost heap near Callan Castle!” Bill exclaimed excitedly.

“Shush Bill!” His brother whispered to him urgently, “Edward’s going to reprimand us for laughing at an engine’s misfortune.”

Edward however just raised an eyebrow at the two and looked away, trying to hide the smirk that threatened to reveal itself.

“I’ll overlook it this once,” the Old Seagull announced much to the diesel’s surprise.

That night, Edward went to sleep, comforted in the fact that he was very much, home.

Chapter Text

Traintober 2024 | Day 10 - Flora

Lady of Legend blinked the sleep out of her eyes as she slowly awoke one warm summer’s night. It had been unseasonably hot in the past week and it seemed no end was in sight.

As a result, some lines had closed and young Tydfil found herself stuck inside with nowhere to go.

She hated it.

She grumbled and shook her frames agitated, knowing that the most she could travel was around the yards of the NRM at best or be stuck inside at worst.

She gave a frustrated whine and rocked her frames violently, like a child stamping their foot in a tantrum. A few of the shed hands threw disapproving looks her way but she ignored them.

“Scotsman!” She whined loudly, calling to her new guardian and mentor. There was no answer.

While she was still getting used to the larger engine’s overly friendly personality, she couldn’t help but be thankful that she had decided to take her under her guardianship.

She had been worried of course, as it meant that the City of Truro would be a constant fixture in her life and she very much did not want to see any Great Westerns anytime soon. But the City of Truro was always kind and knew when to back off and allow her space. She appreciated him. The one Great Western she could stand right now.

Speaking of which…

Tydfil quickly glanced to her left to find the spot usually occupied by the famous Flying Scotsman was unoccupied but the doors to her shed were closed. To her right, there was no sign of the loud mouth, Braunton either and she felt her anxiety rise.

She didn’t like to be alone, she couldn’t be alone, if she was alone then it meant that King Edward could come and take her. Or Clun Castle could find her and bully her again.

Her frames began trembling and she squeezed her eyes shut, desperately wishing for the big green idiot to come back.

”You promised you wouldn’t leave me alone!” She shouted angrily at the roof of the shed, regardless of whether the Scotsman could hear her or not. ”Asshole, you promised!”

She sat there for a long time, unsure how much time passed until she finally felt the buzzing in her frames that only occurred when Gold Dust was active near her.

“Maindy?” She called out, her voice barely over a whisper as she hoped beyond hope that it was the engine she could only consider some sort of ‘mother’. But no, to her disappointment it was that big, green idiot transporting herself back into her shed, trying to be as quiet as possible.

“You left me!” She hollered at Flying Scotsman who yelped in shock, she was so startled by her yell. “You said you wouldn't, you lying bastard!”

“I am truly sorry, Lady Tydfil!” Scotsman apologised profusely. “But I was away for a very good reason.”

Tydfil didn’t want excuses, she didn’t want any of Scotsman’s faff. She was angry and she was scared and the combination of the two did not bode well for Scotsman who winched when the young iron immediately began rounding on her.

“You a lying prick, you are!” Tydfil shrieked. “As shady as a fucking-”

“Tydfil, please! Can you just listen to me?” Scotsman quickly interrupted before she could start being crude which would always end up happening with the young Lady of Legend.

Tydfil humphed, knowing that if she didn’t then she would get a stern talking to from Mr Corbyn.

“Fine,” she humphed, looking away from the Scotsman.

Flying Scotsman gave an exhale of exhaustion and continued, gracing Tydfil with a tired but understanding smile.

“I had to leave to make sure that someone would be able to look after you while I was away in Scotland for the month,” Flying Scotsman informed the grumpy young iron who was still glaring at her.

“I could just go with you to Strathspey!” Tydfil insisted but Scotsman frowned at her.

“Now, you know that’s not possible, Tydfil,” the Gresley chided. “Strathspey is far and you have your tours to go to while I am away.”

“Oh,” she had to begrudgingly admit that the Scotsman had a point.

“That’s why I’ve asked Mayflower to look after you in my absence.”

“Mayflower? I don’t want to know anyone named Mayflower! That sounds like a dumbass name-”

“Lady of Legend!” The Flying Scotsman snapped, her voice now stern and unwavering. Tydfil immediately shut her mouth knowing that she had gone too far. “You have never met the engine I speak of and so it is disgraceful that you slander them! Hold your tongue or I will call upon the City of Truro to take over looking after you!”

Tydfil felt her cheeks burn. She did not mean to be so abrasive, but she struggled to express her frustration and so as per usual, it exploded as vitriol.

“I- I’m sorry,” Tydfil apologised. She paused, trying to sort out her thoughts but “It’s just… I- don’t- I don’t like being left alone! It makes me scared! You left me!”

Scotsman’s expression softened slightly but held firm.

“I understand that and I am sorry, truly I am,” she admitted. “However, I do not appreciate you taking your anger out on my acquaintances. I am more than happy for you to take it out on me as I am the cause of your upset but do not take it out on Mayflower. She is a sweet and kind engine.”

Tydfil was silent for a long moment before glancing over at Scotsman who waited expectantly.

“I’m sorry for insulting your friend,” she murmured. And she was. She hadn’t meant to explode but Scotsman was right. “But, you can’t just leave me without telling me what’s going on!”

Scotsman gave her an understanding smile.

“It won’t happen again, young Tydfil,” Scotsman promised. “You can count on me.”

And Tydfil was sure that she could.

The next day was just as hot if not more so than previous days and already Tydfil wanted to go back in her shed despite it not even being 10 in the morning.

“Why is it so hot?” Tydfil complained as Scotsman took her East. “I hate it. I want to go home.”

Scotsman just chuckled.

“30 degrees is nothing compared to what they have in Australia or parts of America,” she pointed out and Tydfil just huffed in response.

“I’m not in Australia or America now am I?” She took her words literally. “You can be really stupid sometimes Ms Scotsman.”

Scotsman chuckled in response before starting to hum some song she often liked to sing when she was in a good mood. Some old Yorkshire folk song she would often hear Pendennis sing to annoy the King Class’s when he was annoyed.

On Ilkla Moor Baht ‘at, Pendennis had explained when she asked him one day. He had learnt it from Flying Scotsman when he had had a forbidden relationship with the LNER’s flagship express engine.

Tydfil had always meant to ask Pendennis about what he meant but had never gotten around to it. Or rather, the King Edward’s had stopped her from asking him about it.

Tydfil felt herself scowling at the memory of them yelling at her for even trying to talk to Pendennis most days.

The memory made her sad so she quickly focused on the large engine humming to herself before her.

Maybe she could ask Scotsman about it instead.

“Why are you humming that? Where is it from?” The Lady of Legend asked Flying Scotsman who stopped humming and turned her attention to her young companion.

“I’m humming to amuse myself and the song is an old Yorkshire folk song,” Scotsman answered. “The crews used to sing it after a particularly brutal run to cheer themselves up. We engines caught on and sang it with them. It made the worst jobs easier.”

“Pendennis said it was called, On Ilkla Moor Baht ‘at,” she recounted. “He used to sing it all the time to piss off the other Great Western’s. He said he learnt it from you.”

The Flying Scotsman laughed heartily at her words.

“Always said Pendennis had the soul of a LNER engine! Swindon my tender,” she snorted. “That boy’s Doncaster built no matter how hard he denies it!”

She was about to ask more when she felt Scotsman ease on her brakes and blast her whistle.

“Are you ready to meet Mayflower, young Tydfil?” She asked enthusiastically.

“Not really,” Lady of Legend grumbled. Truth be told, she was very nervous and anxious about the whole thing.

“That’s alright, if you feel uncomfortable or unsafe, I shall be nearby,” Scotsman reassured her as she was uncoupled from her. “She’s over in the sheds. They should be a lot cooler than out here.”

“Say no more,” Tydfil muttered, glad to have somewhere out of the heat and promptly raced out to the sheds.

She heard Scotsman give a tutt and amused chuckle but she didn’t care, only wanting to get out of the accursed sun.

“Hello dear! Over here!” A bright and cheerful voice called to her. “That sun is terrible!”

“Don’t I bloody know it!” Tydfil scoffed to herself and quickly made her way over to the source of the voice.

A bright green and strangely shaped engine greeted her as she reversed into the shed alongside them.

“I hope that the sun didn’t make your paint flake, it is horrendous out there!” The engine exclaimed. “I’m Mayflower by the way!”

Tydfil shook the tension out of her frames before looking over at the engine.

She was roughly the same size as her and had a gentle face which contrasted greatly with her bulky industrial look. Freckles dotted her cheeks and stunning emerald eyes that shone with kindness stared back at the young Great Western.

Any desire to be snarky towards this engine dropped and Tydfil found herself smiling at them.

“I’m Tydfil,” Lady of Legend greeted the engine. Her thoughts stretched back to the comments she had about this engine's name and she felt guilty. “You’re very pretty.”

“Oh! Aren’t you a dear!” Mayflower exclaimed, delighted. “A grand Great Western complimenting me, how grand!”

Tydfil just smiled back in return. Mayflower’s happiness was surprisingly infectious, not that Tydfil was complaining.

“Your name is pretty too!” She enthused. “Mayflower’s are ever so pretty!”

Mayflower giggled to herself.

“I see you and I are going to get on quite well, Miss Tydfil!” She remarked and Tydfil couldn’t help but agree.

Chapter Text

Day 11 - Fauna

“Trees, Henry?” Green Arrow scoffed, irritated at the Black 5. “You pulled me all this way to have me look at trees?!”

“Not just trees, the birds and the animals too,” the Sudrian engine pointed out. “I just wanted to share why I love the forest so much.”

There was a pause as Green Arrow considered.

“Well, when I asked about the forest, I wasn’t expecting a tour,” he commented and Henry huffed at him.

“I had some spare time, I thought you would enjoy it, but I obviously wasted my time,” the big green engine sounded disappointed even irritated and Arrow felt guilty.

“It’s just, I don’t get what you find so interesting about trees and plants,” Arrow admitted. “I’m sorry to disappoint you but it’s just not stimulating my mind.”

Henry looked despondent and Green Arrow felt guilty. Henry was a gentle giant, he had probably hoped that Green Arrow would join this.

“Oh, “ Henry sounded glum and disappointed. “I’m sorry. We can go back if you like.”

Of all the engines on Sodor, disappointing Henry was probably the worst feeling. Sure, Edward made you feel small if you upset him but with Henry, it felt like you were kicking a puppy.

“Thank you for trying though,” Arrow quickly interjected, if only to stop Henry looking at him with those sad eyes. “Most people don’t make the effort to show me things they’re passionate about, so thank you.”

Henry gave Arrow a small but sad smile in return. The Black 5 had probably been wanting to find someone to share in his enthusiasm.

“It’s okay,” Henry murmured. “We can head back if you want.”

“Well, we came out here,” Green Arrow suggested, not wanting to disappoint Henry any more than he already had. “Might as well keep going.”

Henry brightened up at that suggestion.

“Alright! Sounds like a plan!”

The Black 5 chuffed off with renewed enthusiasm, Green Arrow following behind with a small, barely audible chuckle.

“What is that?” Green Arrow shouted as he saw a towering monolith in the distance.

Henry was confused for a second until his eyes caught sight of the Sodor Wishing Tree towering above the canopy of the forest; the train tracks had to have been moved away from the tree as its roots had begun to make the metal buckle.

It had grown larger in the last 50 years. So much so that experts from the mainland had declared it one of the oldest trees in the UK, not just Sodor.

The tree was said to be old when the Romans had come to the British Isles they had said and Henry could believe them.

“That’s the Wishing Tree,” Henry explained. “Impressive isn’t it?”

Green Arrow didn’t answer, instead, the V2 had slowed and stared at it with awe, watching the squirrels and magpies annoy a large owl that was sitting in a hollow.

“It is,” Arrow finally answered as Henry watched him carefully. What Arrow said next filled Henry with delight.

“I think I get it now.”

Chapter Text

Day 12 - Teamwork

“What’s wrong with Donald and Douglas?” Green Arrow called back to Emily as she made her way through the snow with her snowplough clearing the lines while humming.

It was annoying Arrow, having to listen to her so he decided to distract her, striking up a conversation.

“Nothing’s wrong with them,” Emily explained.

“Then why are we doing their job?”

“They’re away in Scotland,” Emily sounded guarded but Arrow didn’t notice.

“Oh! Are they visiting 828?” Arrow asked. He’d heard little from the Scottish Rails despite his web of little shunters spreading far and wide back in the day. He did not know much of them, only that 828 was lonely and terrified of ghosts. She believed the peaks and valleys were haunted, their screeches driving her mad.

Such a silly little thing. There were no such things. Then again her class was rather superstitious. Believed in Banshees and Selkies, all sorts of nonsense. A lot of the Caledonian engines were.

Behind him, he heard Emily give a disgruntled huff.

“She has a name,” Emily coldly retorted. “It’s Caoimhe.”

“Caoimhe,” Arrow mused quietly. “Pretty little name. Met her once or twice. Would never have guessed her to be the Twin’s sibling. But she was flighty and anxious.. Scared of ghosts, she was. Stupid thing.”

Emily abruptly stopped, causing sparks to fly and slam backwards into the van between them with a loud and painful clang.

“Ouch! HEY!”

“Caoimhe is not stupid!” Emily snapped angrily at Arrow. “And I’d like to see you say that to Donald and Douglas!”

Green Arrow immediately shut his mouth at that.

The Scottish Twins were the very last engines that Green Arrow wanted to piss off. The very first was Thomas.

“I’m sorry,” Arrow apologised. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t believe in ghosts, I think it’s stupid.”

Emily was silent and still for a long while. Then without a word, she resumed clearing the snow.

Arrow and Emily travelled in silence for a very long while. It was miles and miles taken before Emily started to hum and when she did so, the tension eased and Arrow relaxed.

Despite the tension easing, Green Arrow decided not to say anything more for the remainder of their snow-clearing duties.

He would prefer not to incur the wrath of a Stirling Single.

It wasn’t until they were about to head back to the mainline that Emily spoke again, with a strange muteness.

“Ghosts are real, I’ve seen them,” she murmured.

Arrow wanted to mock her but there was a certain sincerity that was to be believed.

Emily was genuine, he could tell.

And the way she spoke… she was petrified of whatever this ‘ghost’ was.

Whatever she had seen had terrified her to her core. Green Arrow wanted to ask more but he didn’t want to be rude and allowed her words to hang in the air until they reached the Wellsworth junction.

They exchanged a departing whistle but no more was said on the matter.

That night, Green Arrow’s.thoughts dwelled on Emily’s words, his dreams were filled with ghosts that shimmered silver and gold and snarled and screeched, sending shivers through his boiler.

Chapter Text

Day 13 - Leaves

“Such a horrid day,” City of Truro mused to himself as the wind galed outside. His attention turned to the young iron beside him who was practically vibrating with excitement. “Mind yourself on inclines this day, young iron. There may be leaves across the tracks.”

“Leaves? Leaves!” Tornado scoffed indignantly. “Don’t make fun of me Mr Truro!”

The City of Truro gave a soft chuckle and looked back at the Peppercorn, his young ward looking agitated and anxious to be on the rails again.

“I am not making fun of you Tornado,” He assured the young iron. “Leaves can catch on the tracks and make your wheels slip, especially if they are wet. You must be wary of them, especially on steeper gradients.”

“They’re just leaves!” Tornado scoffed. “It’s not like it’s snow or ice! Be serious Truro!”

“When am I not serious, Tornado?” Truro retorted and Tornado fell silent for a moment before scowling.

“I will be fine!” She snapped. “Stopped treating me like a child!”

City of Truro sighed deeply to himself realising that this was a lesson to be experienced, not taught.

“I only ask that you watch yourself out there today, young one,” The Elder Great Western smiled.

Tornado gave him a childish sneer in response.

“I’ll be sure not to slip on any leaves, Mr Truro,” she huffed and Truro inwardly sighed as he watched the Peppercorn let off her air pumps with a loud hiss, preparing to leave.

“Just be safe dear,” was all he could offer but the young engine only humphed and naively slipped her wheels in her haste to leave.

If Truro had a head to shake, he would.

The wind had died down considerably when Tornado approached Barnsley, Truro’s words running around her smokebox.

Leaves. Really?

Did Truro think she was simple or something? How could pissy little leaves stop such a large engine?

“Oi!” Came a shout that rattled her out of her thoughts and Tornado looked up to see a Class 42 watching her from a siding. “You best nowt be up Worsbrough Bank with out tail lad! Y’ll do ur nut in!”

Tornado stared at the Diesel in complete confusion. The only thing that she understood from that was the diesel calling her, a lad.

“I am a lady!” Tornado huffed at the diesel. Said Diesel rolled his eyes at her.

“Everyun’ a lad here, lad, gender mean nowt!”

Tornado was just even more confused.

“I don’t know what you’re saying! Are you even speaking English?!” Tornado rudely snapped at the diesel.

“Tornado!” Olivia’s stern voice chastised her engine and Tornado immediately fell silent. “This is just how they talk in this part of the country, you will be respectful. Apologise.”

Tornado looked back at the Class 42 who had been glaring at her after her outburst.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” She apologised. “But I can’t understand anything that your saying.”

“Ay, I got it,” the Diesel coldly responded. “But yer need a banker teh get up Worsbrough Bank, thee leaves on tee line.”

“Again with the leaves!” Tornado snapped. “Why is everyone so worried about leaves? First Truro now this-”

“Tornado, you should listen to the diesel, he is giving you good advice,” Olivia quickly countered before nodding to the diesel. “Are you the banker on today boss?”

The Diesel’s scowl dropped when he turned to look at Olivia.

“Aye, mam, Im banker fer today,” The Class 42 responded. “I’ll gladly push yer up hill regardless O’ the youn’uns piss poor attitude.”

“Much obliged,” Olivia nodded to him before turning her attention to her shimmering Steam Engine. “Tornado, this Class 08 is offering to bank you and the train up the hill. I suggest you take it.”

“I don’t need help!” Tornado shouted angrily. She was tired of people making fun of her. “I’m not falling for this joke!”

“This is no joke Tornado, Truro was correct in warning you and so is this diesel,” Olivia sternly advised. “Or shall we make this a practical lesson today?”

“I can get up the bank on my own!” Tornado stubbornly insisted and Olivia deeply sighed knowing that there was no way that Tornado would accept the help.

“Very well,” She turned back to the Class 42. “We’ll see if her stubbornness prevails.”

The Class 42, despite Tornado’s rudeness, was now looking amused.

“O’ she’ll learn!” The diesel jeered as Tornado began to pull away with her train, Olivia and the Class 42 giving each other a knowing look as the Peppercorn steamed on, determined and wanting to prove the world wrong.

Tornado wanted the shrink herself down and hide in embarrassment as her wheels slipped and spun, Olivia quickly catching them and putting her pistons in reverse.

It hadn’t been a joke orchestrated by Truro or that Diesel. The leaves had made the tracks so slippery that she could barely retain a grip on the lines.

And so it was with great embarrassment that she now found herself back down where she started, that Class 42 grinning at her like a maniac. She was so embarrassed that all she wanted was to crawl back to her shed in Darlington and never come out.

“Alright! You were right! Okay!” She abruptly snapped at the Class 42.

The Class 42 was about to sneer at her, but his face seemed to soften when he saw the look on her face.

“Ay, chin up pet,” he advised her. “Every’un learns about te leaves the hard way.”

Tornado still didn’t understand what the Class 42 was saying but she could tell from the tone of his voice that he was at the very least trying to be kind.

“Could you, um, bank me up the hill please?” Tornado asked in a small and embarrassed voice. She felt like crying.

“Sur thing lad,” the Class 42 agreed. “Name’s Greyhound.”

Tornado gave him a small smile.

“I’m Tornado,” She introduced herself quietly.

“No wonder yer thought yer were above leaves wi’ a name like that!” Greyhound chuckled as he backed into position. “S’aright lad, yer be a bold youn’un.”

“I think he likes you despite that rough start,” Olivia commented.

“A Tornado conquered by leaves,” Tornado muttered to herself.

Olivia shrugged.

“There are worse things to be embarrassed by,” she noted. “Maybe ask Scotsman about them next time you see him.”

Tornado could only smirk at that.

Chapter Text

Day 14 - Screech

Locomotive 828 never liked travelling alone but especially not at night. Not when wild things shrieked in the forests beyond the closed tracks and banshees screeched in the foothills. She had never liked going near old abandoned tracks and she never would. But for some reason, the visiting Sudrian engine insisted and Caoimhe didn’t want to be rude to a guest. At the very least, she would have company on this little adventure.

The Sudrian Stirling Single had a cheerful demeanour and Caoimhe couldn’t help but feel emboldened and Courageous.

Still, Caoimhe did not like the mischievous look on Emily’s face as she eyed the bend and broken closed-down sign, hanging from a rusted chain.

“Are ye sure about this?” Caoimhe asked nervously, glancing around. “There are ghosts de wail in the night in those woods.”

The crew however did not share her sentiment. There were a large number of people just for a ‘test trip’. None of them, listening to her. It made her angry. As did Emily's next quip at her expense.

“Since when is a Cally engine scared of ghosts?” Emily asked bemused as she watched the crews work to unblock the unused track. “Donald and Douglas aren’t afraid of ghosts.”

“I nay Donald nor Douglas!” Caoimhe shouted back at Emily who just smirked. “Yer should have brought them here not me!”

“But they’re on Sodor!” Emily protested.

“I’ll drag ye back to Sodor if there ends up being a ghostie in them woods!” Caoimhe hollered at Emily agitated.

She did not like this. Not one bit.

“Oh stop being silly, it’ll be fun!” Emily brushed off 828’s threat.

“Nothin’ fun about a banshee, Em!” Caoimhe huffed. “Ye’ll be sorry when her screams drive ye mad!”

“They’re just folktales meant to scare children!” Emily dismissed but there was an air of worry in her voice.

With a clatter, the crew managed to take down the sign and half of them moved forward with purpose, scouting the track for its worthiness.

Caoimhe watched on confused. She was missing some context here.

“What’s going on?” She demanded but Emily just gave her a mysterious smile.

“You’ll find out soon,” she sang and 828 just scowled annoyed.

“Ye all spaces,” she snapped but her insult was only met with laughter.

It was slow going down the tracks, but the two engines and the crew working to clear and check the tracks.

All the while the screeches of strange creatures echoed around them, the dark imposing forest casting inky black shadows across the tracks and no matter how hard she strained her eyes the edge of the forest was nowhere in sight.

Before her, Emily was oblivious to the dark and looming presence. She was either very naive or such things did not bother her.

Why would they? Emily was a prestigious express engine in her day. Caoimhe realised that few things bothered her.

She felt bad. Here was Emily, a strong refined express engine unafraid of anything. Then there were her remaining brothers, Donald and Douglas, fierce and indomitable.

And then there was her, currently shaking at the sounds of animals. She’d never been that brave. But, she did try. Or at least that was what her crew told her. She was just glad that Emily was here.

Caoimhe suddenly found herself coming to a stop as Emily slowed before her.

“Split up? There wasn’t any mention of a track leading off,” one of Caoimhe’s crew muttered. One of Emily’s crew ran back to them.

“What are we even doin’ out ‘ere?” She asked annoyed that she was out of the loop.

“Been a tip-off that there’s hidden engines out ‘ere!” Her driver called and Caoimhe was surprised.

Was that the cause of the unholy screeching in the middle of the night?

Emily’s voice brought her back to reality with a jump.

“We’ll have to split up,” she told 828 and the Caledonian engine disagreed immediately.

“We ain’t splitting up!” She argued. “Nay chance in hell!”

“We’ll cover more ground that way, besides, we might find the source of yer ‘wee ghostie’,” Emily laughed and Caoimhe hissed steam annoyed.

“It ain’t no joke! There be monsters up ‘ere in the abandoned lines!” Caoimhe warned.

“Ghosts don’t exist!” Emily argued back but 828 was having none of it.

“You’ll nay be saying that when a ghost rips yer soul outta ye engine!” Caoimhe shouted back and she could just feel Emily rolling her eyes at her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Emily huffed and Caoimhe snorted in response as Emily began to travel off down the line. “I’ll see you back here in an hour.”

Before Caoimhe could argue with the Stirling Single, she was off down the track, several crew members walking the tracks to make sure it was safe.

“Foolish,” Caoimhe tutted before reluctantly trudging onwards.

Nothing dramatic happened to Caoimhe for the first twenty minutes or so of wandering the lady-forsaken forest. But she couldn’t help but notice that the inky black shadows stretched across the ground seemed to move, while the trees stood still.

Some dark presence was within the forest, Caoimhe just knew it. She could feel it writhing and hissing in anger. It terrified her, dread filling her boiler and making her feel smaller and smaller as the trees around them seemed to grow taller, more menacing, and cruel.

Then it happens like the flick of a switch or the abrupt snuffing of a flame.

The animals suddenly became silent and the gentle wind that blew through the trees stopped and a deadly silence descended over the forest.

Caoimhe stopped in her tracks and she could feel her crew’s demeanour go from jovial and casual to high alert and terrified in an instant. She nor her crew spoke for a few terrifying moments that dragged itself out for an eternity.

Then it came a wailing, blood-curdling screech that filled Caoimhe with such terror that she thought she might die from terror on the spot. It came from no animal nor any human that Caoimhe had ever heard.

Then a scream, from the Stirling Single.

The scream snapped Caoimhe out of her terror and she shot backwards, faster than she had ever travelled before. Time and space became a blur around her as she retraced her steps back along the line to the junction and down the track Emily had taken a mere 20 minutes before.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed but Caoimhe found herself racing out into a small abandoned yard, worn down sheds and rusted, abandoned tracks ground underneath her wheels.

“Emily!” Caoimhe called to the Stirling Single.

She found said engine in the middle of the yard, in front of her was a shimmering, silver apparition of a dilapidated engine.

Its smokebox door was faceless, half of it was punched in, a numberplate reading 14647 over it. The boiler was full of rusted holes and its wheels were bent in ways that they should not have been. The Cab had rusted away and what remained of a tender was on its side being dragged behind the back of the engine with rusted chains that clanked and clattered deafeningly.

“What is it? What is it!?” Emily screamed at the thing as it made noises that sounded like broken gears grinding against each other, the ripping of aluminium sheets and a howl of a raging fire within its boiler.

Before Caoimhe could even respond, the wretched thing lunged with a hellish roar towards her and Emily shrieked in pure fear, reversing backwards but only slamming into a set of buffers behind her.

Without even thinking, Caoimhe put herself between Emily and the phantom, snarling back at the eldritch thing.

“No!” She shouted and the thing paused, staring at her in surprise before snarling at her and moving to lunging at her again.

“I said no!” Caoimhe bellowed at the thing. “Whatever yer want, yer nay gettin’ it from either of us so back off!”

The thing, ghost, snarled and Caoimhe was sure that it would be baring its teeth if it could.

“Whatever yer want, this is not how yer asks for it yer, monster!” She sounded more confident now and began advancing towards the silver ghost.

The ghost shuddered and hissed, glowering at her.

“You… abandoned us…” A voice that could barely be called a voice rasped. It sent a chill down Caoimhe’s boiler. ”You promised you would save us… You said you would return…”

“Abandoned?” Caoimhe asked confused but then the silver ghost began to withdraw, fading into the inky black shadows that framed the yard. “I doni’ under-”

It was then that Caoimhe suddenly noticed the sheds, doors fallen of their hinges and shattered glass all over the ground. It suddenly clicked in her head as the shadow of several engines could be seen within. She recognised two of them.

“Greybacks!” She exclaimed approaching the sheds. “They were here this entire time!”

Her driver had been right. The ghosts that haunted these hills had been the souls of abandoned engines.

“They must have been stored here to be saved during dieselisation, but they were forgotten, and their souls grew angry and wrathful at being forgotten!” Caoimhe’s driver exclaimed.

Caoimhe looked around at the feeling of silver eyes watching her. The souls of these engines are still bound to this realm, trapped by the promise of those long dead.

“We should honour their promise,” Caoimhe told her driver and despite being shaken at what just happened, he nodded to her.

“We will,” He smiled. “We need to alert Mr Stanier and Ms Gresley. They’ll organise something.”

There was a tense moment as Caoimhe stood still, feeling those silver eyes watch her for a few seconds more than… nothing.

A huge weight lifted off her boiler and the inky black shadows seemed to retreat, the sunlight breaking through the forest's canopy.

Caoimhe released her tense breath and suddenly realised how much she was trembling.

She had after all just fought a ghost.

She gave a shaky laugh and then remembered the Stirling Single behind her.

“See, I told yer ghosts were real,” she offhandedly commented.

Emily had no answer for that. She just stared into the space where the Greyback had once been.

Chapter Text

Day 15 - Star

It was not often that a meteor shower graced the skies of Sodor. Gordon had only ever known of one other occurrence in his time on the island and it had occurred over the he had been here. During that event, he had been working in the evening express and had fallen asleep before the first shooting star blazed across the sky.

Tonight he was adamant that he would not miss it. So much so that he had petitioned Sir Topham for months so that he could be at Ulfstead Castle to observe the phenomena.

An so, Gordon found himself arriving an hour before the sun sank behind the horizon, a cool biting breeze coming from the west bringing the smell of salt with it. He hoped that there would be no one else to bother him at the castle grounds but he was assured by Sir Robert that the Castle Engines would be going about their own business for the evening.

Slowly, the air became colder and the air became electric in anticipation. Gordon’s frames rattled with excitement. Or the cold. He couldn’t tell to be honest.

“Oh! I didn’t realise you were going to be here,” a voice suddenly called to him and Gordon feel his face plate grow warm as he blushed, realising who it was.

“Oh?” The Grand Express engine spluttered. “I have been here for a while.”

“Then you must be excited to see the meteor shower tonight!” Boco chimed, “I was going to watch it at Brenham but Arrow said that the view would be better at Ulfstead Castle.”

Gordon almost scowled at the diesel's words. His cheeky and mischievous cousin had been throwing constant ‘suggestions’ at how to impress Boco and he was not amused. Now it seemed the smaller Gresley was up to his old tricks in manipulating engines.

“He’s not all bad your cousin,” Boco pointed out. “He’s come a long way from what he was. I think he means well.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like him in any way,” Gordon humphed and Boc chuckled.

“Of course not,” Boco smiled and he settled beside Gordon. There was a brief pause before the diesel continued. “I’m glad to have company that will appreciate the stars.”

“Oh,” Gordon paused and blushed slightly. “You have an eye for the night sky yourself?”

“Not at first,” Boco admitted. “In fact, it took some convincing from an old friend on the mainland for me to be interested in astronomy. But they were persistent.”

“It paid off,” Gordon chuckled. “I mean, I’ve tried to share my interest in it with others, but they never seem interested and so I let it be.”

Boco looked sympathetic.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured. “Having a passion and no one to share it with must be difficult.”

Gordon chuckled, a sad smile stretching across his face.

“You’re here now,” Gordon pointed out and the Diesel blushed as red as James’ paint. Gordon saw this and was afraid that Boco would leave and cleared his throat. “I- that is if you’d care to see the stars with a silly old kettle.”

Boco made a strange sound that sounded like the cross between a hiccup and a couch before clearing his throat and looking over to Gordon.

“I would love to, Gordon,” Boco agreed and Gordon felt higher than the moon itself.

The next morning, Gordon was startled awake by Thomas whistling at him as he napped in the yard.

“Ah! Wha- must you always do such things, Thomas?” Gordon growled at the little tank engine but his question was ignored.

“Soooo?” Thomas pressed and Gordon stared at him confused.

“So what?”He grumbled.

“How was your date last night with Boco?”

“Wasn’t a date!” Gordon snarled, defensively.

“That’s not what I heard!” Thomas giggled.

“Well, you heard wrong!” Gordon snapped at the little menace. “Be off with you!”

“Alrighty gov!” Thomas trilled and the little blue tank engine was off.

Today was going to be a very long day, Gordon realised.

Still, the night watching meteors fall to Earth with Boco was worth any ridicule.

Maybe he could convince Boco to spend another night of it under the stars.

Yes, that would be most pleasant, Gordon thought to himself and closed his eyes to return to his nap, a small smile across his face.

Chapter Text

Day 16 - Golden

“Greetings!” Came the shrill and highly enthusiastic call of the foreign engine, to which 3801 inwardly groaned. The UK’s Golden Engine that could do no wrong, they had called Flying Scotsman.

She hoped that this ‘fabled Flying Scotsman’ wasn’t as arrogant or boisterous as that Great Western engine when he had first arrived. Said engine had proclaimed himself the jewel in the Great Western Crown that had come to share its wisdom with Australia.

The Australian engines, steam, diesel and otherwise had not taken kindly to such proclamations and quickly taken him down a peg. 3801 eyed the famous engine with a hesitant but hopeful gaze.

“G’day mate, how’s it going?” 3801 acknowledged the United Kingdom Engine. “Name’s Grey. Or Thirty-Eight-O-one if you wanna be a train-chaser.”

The Flying Scotsman gave her a shy but friendly smile.

“Oh uh, G’day!” She exclaimed, the greeting sounding awkward and clunky for someone unfamiliar. “I’m Flying Scotsman!”

Grey chuckled. At least she was trying.

“Not bad, you’ll get the hang of it,” she reassured the engine.

“I hope so!” Flying Scotsman chimed. “Thank you for accepting my offer to replace Mallard. I know that Mallard was the first choice for your celebration but I hope that I’ll be at the very least, a decent replacement!”

Grey found herself enamoured with the engine, all her thoughts and worries about Flying Scotsman being an asshole went out the cab window.

Grey laughed heartily and the Scotsman blushed deep red, looking embarrassed.

“You’re alright mate!” She laughed. “You’re a fine engine from what I’ve seen so far!”

“Thank you!” Scotsman blushed an even deeper red and refused eye contact with Grey. “You’re not bad yourself.”

Oh. So that’s how it was.

“You cheeky ratbag! We barely just met and yer having a go at me!” Grey smirked and the Scotsman immediately became flushed at the suggestion.

“What? No I wasn’t- I didn’t mean it like that- oh dear!” The Flying Scotsman immediately fretted and Grey felt pity for the poor thing. She very much was the opposite to the outright confident and boisterous Pendennis Castle. The Scotsman continued on, still greatly flustered. “I promise I’m much better at this sort of thing usually!”

She didn’t seem all that sure of herself.

“Calm down, I was only having you on mate,” Grey reassured the engine who frowned in confusion. Ah, right, not used to Aussie slang, Grey reminded herself. “It means I was playing a joke.”

“Oh, right,” Scotsman mumbled to herself. “They warned me about that.”

Of course, they did.

“You know PenPen?” Grey asked and Scotsman looked up at her, an unreadable look in her eyes.

“You- could say that,” Scotsman admitted, her cheeks once again flushing red.

She was very unsure of herself this Flying Scotsman, Grey thought to herself.

“You know, yer not exactly what I was expecting,” Grey pointed out and Scotsman looked at her.

“You were expecting a big ego? Someone who was going to throw their weight around?” The Flying Scotsman asked and Grey gave an incline with her running board.

“That’s about the size of it,” She admitted. “You’re rather… quiet and shy. I was expecting the Flying Scotsman to be all pomp and circumstance or whatever.”

The Flying Scotsman sighed and sank down on her frames.

“Usually, yes,” She murmured. “But, I get tired of that facade and I was advised to drop that and be myself when I got here.”

“Ah, Pendennis,” Grey smirked. “Yes, he was quite the nasty lil oilrag when we got here. Had to take him down a peg or two. Glad to see he cares about you enough to avoid our displeasure.”

Scotsman gave a small squeak at Grey’s words but quickly cleared her throat and straightened up on her frames.

“I never said that Pendennis was the one who told me that,” she quickly refuted but Grey just smirked.

“You just confirmed it, mate,” she pointed out and Flying Scotsman really looked embarrassed this time. Grey wanted to laugh but she felt bad. She’d apparently done nothing but embarrass the poor engine since they had met. She quickly added, “Don’t worry about it. You just stick with me and you’ll be golden mate!”

The Flying Scotsman looked uncertain for a moment then smiled at her, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

“Thank you, Miss Grey,” Scotsman smiled at her. She then continued, a lot of curiosity spreading over her features. “My owner told me that Australians often call you the ‘Flying Scotsman of Australia.’

Grey released some steam and rolled her eyes at the sound of that old claim.

“It’s just bulldust,” She snarked. “There ain’t no comparison for me, I’m Grey and Grey is all I need to be!”

Scotsman laughed at that.

“I like that,” she smiled. “You have no idea how many engines claim to be ‘the Flying Scotsman’ of their railway. It gets exhausting after a while.”

“Well, I ain’t no poser,” Grey humphed. “I am the Grey Nurse and that suits me just fine.”

The Flying Scotsman flashed her a wide grin in return.

“It does,” she admired. Then a devilish look appeared over Scotsman’s face, taking Grey completely by surprise. “I’d like to get to know this, ‘Grey Nurse’.”

The Flying Scotsman then had the audacity to wink at her. Grey felt her face turn bright red.

Grey was speechless. The sheer audacity of this engine. Maybe her first thoughts were right about her.

“You cheeky fucking toerag, you are flirting with me!” Grey managed to splutter.

“Certainly wouldn’t be the first time with those lines,” Flying Scotsman goaded and Grey was about ready to shunt the pesky UK engine away from her in embarrassment.

Shy and quiet her tender.

“Alright you fucking joker, you,” Grey hissed at her and the Scotsman just smiled at her. “Let’s get on out of here before you try anything else that’s funny.”

“You’re the Boss Lady,” Flying Scotsman piped and sat there expectantly.

Grey stared at her before narrowing her eyes at the engine.

“Gonna keep my eye on you, you cheeky galah,” Grey warned and Scotsman smiled in return.

“Shouldn’t be too hard for you,” she retorted and Grey once again felt her face turn red.

“Shut up!” She snapped but still, the Scotsman kept smiling that mischievous smile.

This would be a very long visit, Grey thought to herself.

Chapter Text

Day 17 - Seagull

“How hard is it to catch a seagull!” Green Arrow heard an annoyed voice fume as he pulled into Brendam docks.

He groaned internally, knowing exactly who it was. He would rather not deal with the ever-so-famous Flying Scotsman. He snorted and sneered at the back of his tender before pulling into the docks, trying to avoid the big express engine's attention.

There was a point in time when Green Arrow and his ‘Horde of Hull’ could intimidate and bend the will of any express engine, using his enormous web to blackmail and extort any engine that dared try to assert itself over the goods fleet of the LNER. But those days had long since passed and now Green Arrow found his power greatly diminished. In no small part thanks to Mallard and that treacherous Cain Dover.

Still, the Flying Scotsman… he was different. The shunters always liked him, unlike the rest of his class. He always treated them well and defended them when he could.

When he could, Arrow reminded himself. Scotsman never went out of his way to stop his siblings from oppressing them, which angered Arrow. The fact that Scotsman had more of a backbone, he could have stopped them.

How infuriating.

Said engine, however, did not even pay him mind, he was distracted by yelling and a commotion near the end of one of the docks.

One of Scotsman’s crew was holding a large net, another with an animal carrier, the both of them struggling with a very large and angry seagull.

Green Arrow’s immediate thought would be that Henry would not be pleased in the slightest. Come to think of it, Cranky wouldn’t be all too pleased about it either. The dockyard crane had a strange affection for the creatures.

The entire scenario was bizarre. Green Arrow sat there for a long moment, contemplating his options. He could go and interrogate the famous engine, which he would rather not do considering everything that had happened over the past few years. Or he could go and chastise him for antagonising some innocent birds.

And if he could get one up on Flying Scotsman, well, how could he resist?

“What are you doing?” Green Arrow snapped as he approached the famous engine, watching his crew struggle. Flying Scotsman gave a soft hum of acknowledgement and turned his attention to the V2 as he rolled up beside him.

“Oh, hello Arrow!” The engine exclaimed absurdly brightly. “If you must know, I’m trying to get a seagull for Tornado.”

Green Arrow paused, confused.

“You’re… what?” He asked, befuddled.

He knew that Tornado liked seagulls for some reason. Hearing that she was going on a coastal route made her ridiculously happy as it meant seagulls. Arrow didn’t understand the fascination with the irritating little things.

“I’m catching a seagull for Tornado,” Scotsman repeated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Green Arrow rolled his eyes, annoyed.

“I can see that, why exactly are you trying to catch a seagull for Tornado?” Arrow demanded. “Cranky will have a fit if he sees what you’re doing!”

“You know, Tornado didn’t exactly say why she wanted a seagull,” Flying Scotsman mused but then creaked his frames in thought. “It is her build day coming up though. I assumed she was giving me a suggestion.”

Green Arrow snorted and wheeshed steam in response. He knew when Tornado’s birthday was. He would be celebrating it with her if… if Tornado didn’t outright hate him.

He looked away from Scotsman, knowing that the last time he had seen the both of them hadn’t exactly been great.

His boiler ached and phantom pains began to travel through his boiler as the memory of it bursting travelled through him physically and mentally.

He had saved Tornado from Diesel 10 and that collapsing mine. He had almost died from it but still… Tornado would not- could not…

Green Arrow stood there frozen, his surroundings melting away from him as his mind travelled back to that horrible and terrifying night.

“Green Arrow?” Flying Scotsman grew concerned as he suddenly noticed Green Arrow fall silent and still, not at all responding to his quips and retorts like he normally would.

He looked over and found the V2 staring off into space, his eyes glazed over and he had started hyperventilating. His expression was one of panic and shock.

“Vincent!” Scotsman called to his driver and the man was quick to catch on, immediately pulling Scotsman into a position where he could be front buffer to buffer with the V2 without even a word.

The man was good, a driver should always know what their engine wanted or needed.

“Green Arrow?” Scotsman gently called to Arrow as he touched his buffers with a gentle bump. Green Arrow’s expression did not change but he did whimper.

“It’s alright Arrow,” Scotsman gently tried to coax his cousin back to reality. “You are safe. Whatever is happening, is not real.”

Arrow whimpered even more and tried to retreat from Scotsman but Arrow’s driver held him in place so he could not hurt or damage himself or others.

“Easy,” Scotsman warned before gently summoning the smallest bit of Gold Dust and reached out to Arrow, allowing the Gold Dust to flow between them. “Come back Arrow. Do not give into anxiety.”

Slowly, Arrow blinked and life returned to his eyes with a confused frown and then he stared at Scotsman.

“You were gone for a second there,” Scotsman gently informed Green Arrow who was blinking rapidly now, his senses returning to him.

With a snarl, Arrow realised that Scotsman was touching his buffers and he jerked away annoyed.

“Don’t touch me!” Arrow snapped at Scotsman and he pulled away from Arrow to give him space. “What happened? Was it Black Smoke or whatever that parasite Mallard had?”

The Scotsman looked at Arrow with a sad look. He knew that Green Arrow would never like him. He hadn’t liked him when he had first awoken his sentience. Scotsman was not hoping that Arrow would like him 90 years later.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Scotsman assured him. “You were stuck in your own mind. Reliving the past.”

Arrow now looked ashamed and immediately avoided Scotsman’s gaze.

“PTSD,” Green Arrow bitterly spat. “Victor diagnosed me after my rebuild. Said that you had the same. Said I should ask you or Thomas for help if I desperately needed it.”

Ah, now it made a lot of sense.

Scotsman gave a sympathetic look to his cousin.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “It’s not an easy thing to live with.”

“It’s whatever,” Arrow spat and Scotsman frowned.

“Arrow,” he warned. “Do you want to know why Mallard became infected with Black Smoke? Why I was plagued with it after my NRM rebuild? How Blue Peter almost died after his accident-”

“I know, I know!” Green Arrow suddenly snapped furiously. “Untreated mental issues! Don’t treat me like a fucking child Scotsman!”

“I’m not trying to, I’m just worried about you,” Scotsman implored his cousin but the ever-stubborn Gresley shook his frames in rage.

“I don’t want your worry! I want you to leave me alone!” Green Arrow snarled. “I don’t have to like you Scotsman! Just because you’re famous and Gresley’s Golden Boy or Girl or whatever doesn’t mean I have to like you!”

Ah, so that was the issue at hand. Old wounds that had never healed.

“I’m not trying to force you to like me,” Scotsman clarified. “And it was wrong of me to do so in the past and for that I am truly sorry. But you were in distress and I just wanted to help, so I used a little Gold Dust to do so.”

Green Arrow snorted in annoyance and looked away from Scotsman.

“Just take your seagull and fuck off,” The V2 snapped and Scotsman sank on his frames.

“For what it’s worth, I heard how you stopped Mallard,” Scotsman called out as Arrow began pulling away. “You’re an amazing engine, Arrow.”

Green Arrow said nothing. He just stared at him but his angry expression relaxed, ever so slightly. It was at least something.

“For what it’s worth, you were right,” Scotsman continued.

“Right about what?” Arrow sneered.

“About myself being a weak and spineless coward for not standing up to the other express engines for picking on the other engines,” Scotsman admitted. “Although I did if I saw something, I should have advocated harder. I’m sorry, for letting you down.”

Green Arrow looked surprised, his face growing slack in shock but then disappointment morphed it into a pained expression.

“Too little, too late,” Green Arrow mournfully muttered and Scotsman looked at his buffers shamefully. “Everyone it mattered to is dead now.”

“I know,” Scotsman sighed. “No wonder Sir Gresley turned to Mallard as a backup.”

Green Arrow hissed at the mention of Mallard before staring at Scotsman for a long moment and then left without another word.

Flying Scotsman sat silently for the longest moment, his thoughts confused and hazy.

“...let’s get this seagull to Tornado shall we?” Hos foreman Oscar suggested, trying to lighten the mood and Scotsman shook himself out of it.

“Yes, let’s,” he murmured. “Can’t keep our Young Iron waiting now, can we?”

Chapter Text

Day 18 - Water

LEICESTER 1958

The Flying Scotsman never liked crew changes. Granted they happened every day but it was the part of his job that he never really liked. Once he was getting used to a crew a new crew came in to take over and the process of adjusting to the new crew began all over again.

“Aye, it’s the nice A3!” Came the joyous exclamation of the new driver. “Ay up, Scotsman!”

Flying Scotsman chuckled in response as the Firemen joined his driver and the rest of the crew.

“The lads said something ‘bout injectors playing up,” he commented and Scotsman rumbled in agreement.

“Aye?” The Driver turned to Scotsman who hummed in agreement.

“They had trouble getting water from the tender,” Scotsman confirmed. “I’m not sure what the issue is. I can call another engine in my stead if you wish.”

“Nah, we’ll make do,” The driver nodded to Scotsman. “You’re a tough lad, aren’t cha?”

Flying Scotsman wasn’t so sure but he did want to disappoint his new crew. It wasn’t that far and it certainly wasn’t a gruelling ‘Flying Scot’ run.

“The Flying Scotsman can handle a little trip to Marylebone, don’t you worry,” he brightly exclaimed and the driver laughed.

“I’d expect nothing less!” The driver laughed and Scotsman grinned. “Reliable old lad!”

Still, something felt off. He wasn’t sure about this run and his hunches were rarely off.

“I’d be cautious, nevertheless,” Scotsman muttered. “My injectors have been rather unreliable the past few days.”

“Noted,” the driver acknowledged and turned to address his fireman.

The Flying Scotsman felt squeamish, something was not right here. But before he could meditate on it further, there was a clang of the doors to the coaches being secured and then the loud trilling of the guard's whistle.

Much to Flying Scotsman’s relief, most of the journey had gone smoothly, the express engine thundering across the countryside enjoying being in his element.

There was nothing more wondrous to an engine than to be roaring through the countryside, the wind flowing across his lines and his smoke plume marking his tracks like a personal cloud that reflected the sunlight like a silver trail.

His peaceful, meditative journey however came crashing down when he heard a shout from the fireman just passing Aylesbury.

“Water injector failed!” The man exclaimed and Scotsman cursed in response. Not again!

Scotsman pleaded for it to simply be a blocked injector that could easily be dislodged. It had occurred before. It was no big deal. Besides, the other was working, it was no issue, the engine told himself.

He could continue, mindful of his water reserves as he eased into London. For a trip, London wasn’t far but right now with only one injector working, Marylebone Station felt like an eternity away.

Things seemed to stabilise and after a while, Scotsman eased himself and was cautious not to lose too much water, spurred on by the encouragement of his crew.

Things would be okay. Things would be-

“Second injector failure!” Came a shout and Scotsman immediately panicked.

His driver immediately began to drop his fire through the grate and onto the tracks, dials were tapped and feeds were checked over and over again.

Sheer panic and dread began to overtake him. If his water level dropped too low… then…

He quickly pushed the thought from his mind and carried on, mindful ever mindful of the shouts and increasing panic from his footplate.

He had to trust his crew, he had to. What other option was there? There were no sidings to pull into and no point pulling into the next water tower if his injectors had failed. Water could not get to him from his tender regardless.

It felt like an eternity passing as his hyper-awareness of his water glass increased tenfold.

His mind was plagued with scenarios, certain that he would not make it.

He could not stop on a main thoroughfare, there was a train right behind him, he could not- then again what if his boiler exploded and killed his passengers? What if the train behind them could not stop in time? There would be mass casualties and he would be at fault. He would be responsible. He would be dead yes, but still responsible and whatever afterlife awaited him he knew that he would not be able to handle the knowledge of knowing that he had doomed all these people and some innocent engine-

“Both injectors working!” Came the call of his crew like a beacon of hope and sanity and immediately the thoughts of dread and despair lifted, Scotsman giving a shaking and lilting laugh, the tears of terror slipping down his face.

It had been close.

So very close.

Scotsman and his crew did not speak from the rest of the journey, what little of it was left anyway. All crew and engine were shaken and terrified, their eyes constantly checking and rechecking the water gauge and injectors however no other issues thankfully cropped up as Flying Scotsman slid into Marylebone Station, a mere 5 minutes late.

Scotsman said nothing as the passengers began to disembark, spilling out onto the platform like ants, his crew equally shaken from the scare at the later half of their journey. They did not speak to each other, only trying to regain some semblance of normalcy as the adrenaline wore off.

One of the passengers waved at them with a handkerchief as she strode on by.

“Thank you for my safe journey!” She cheered them on and the driver and stoker glanced at each other with a dark look.

“No- no worries ma’am!” The Stoker acknowledged her and she smiled and went about her day.

If only she knew…

“What do you mean fish?!” The Flying Scotsman furiously shouted. “I almost exploded because of some fucking fish?!”

“Keep your voice down-”

“I almost died to some fucking fish!” Scotsman objected to the engineer’s request. “I will most certainly not keep my bloody voice down!”

“Scotsman-”

“Fish! I refuse to move until they have all been removed!”

“Scotsman!”

“You bloody well heard me!”

An exasperated sigh came from one of the engineers, who then noted to the crew.

“Time to get the fishing rods out, aye lads?”

Chapter Text

Day 19 - Admire

When Emily heard that there would be a mainland engine taking over she had groaned and moaned to James.

They did not like the mainland engines and their attitude. Always trying to one-up others and acting like they were the next best thing. Like they had been specifically chosen by the Lady herself to survive the mess that had been British Railway’s modernisation plans.

Even when it had been revealed that said engine was a new build, it still did not prompt any cheers or jubilation. James was even angrier, claiming that said engine would be even more arrogant, having been brought up by arrogant fools. Emily hadn’t been so sure but she could see the logic in James’ reasoning.

And so when a large, blue engine that Emily had never seen before nervously entered the Tidmouth Yard, she was most surprised. The engine looked, terrified not arrogant, hiding behind her smoke deflectors and glancing around like a spooked animal. Emily felt sorry for the poor thing.

“Hello, are you lost?” Emily asked kindly and said engine almost jumped off her frames in fright, her eyes wildly staring at the Stirling Single.

“I- um- I- is this Knapford?” The engine asked nervously and Emily smiled encouragingly.

“No, this is Tidmouth,” Emily explained. “Knapford is the next station south by mainline.”

“Oh!” The large engine’s face went red in embarrassment. “Silly me, I’m sorry!”

Emily smiled at the engine encouragingly. “It’s okay, we all get lost once or twice. I’m Emily! What’s your name?”

“Tornado,” The large engine mumbled shyly.

“That’s a nice strong name for a strong-looking engine!” Emily praised and the engine went even redder.

“Thanks,” The engine tried to hide behind her smoke deflectors in embarrassment. “I- uh- should get going. I’m late already!”

Before Emily could answer, the engine released a large plume of steam and started to storm off.

“What the hell was that?” James asked, peering out from behind the signal box, as the large express engine disappeared down the line.

“I think that was Gordon’s replacement for the express,” Emily didn’t even look at him as she stared after the engine that had called themself Tornado. “Very impressive.”

James snorted.

“Just because an engine looks big doesn’t mean they’re all that impressive,” the red engine scoffed. “Plus you saw how scared and timid she was. Ha! I was worried for nothing!”

Emily said nothing in response.

She only hoped that James would be proven wrong.

James had only gotten so far with his goods train when the tracks began to tremble beneath his wheels. The ballast shivered and shook over the sleepers and the loud screamer whistle of an A4 roared from behind him.

He barely had time to contemplate the source of such gravity when a dark blue flash thundered past with the express at such a speed that James thought he would be knocked off the rails.

He shrieked and almost slammed his brakes on he was so startled by the engine.

“Sorry!” Came the distant cry of the said engine as she disappeared into the distance as quickly as she had appeared, leaving James to sit there, completely befuddled and shocked.

“That Tornado sure is something,” Emily was musing as James pulled into the sheds for the night.

James said nothing, only looking at her quizzically.

“Arrived at Vicarstown 5 minutes early despite being 30 minutes late to leave Knapford!” Henry admired. “Remarkable!”

“I don’t think even Gordon’s ever done that!” Thomas laughed. “No wonder he was impressed with her!”

Impressed Gordon? James thought to himself. Huh, maybe this girl was worth her metal.

“Um, hello!” A shy voice squeaked, the sound of a large engine drawing the Tidmouth Roundhouse’s attention.

“Tornado!” Emily greeted her. “Here’s our superstar!”

Tornado went red with embarrassment again.

“I’m not a superstar,” Tornado mumbled quietly. “Please. I’m just a replacement while Gordon works on the mainland.”

“Rubbish!” Henry declared loudly. “You’re quite brilliant, young engine!”

“You scared the soul out of James, it was brilliant!” Emily enthusiastically claimed and James glared at the Stirling Single.

“No she didn’t! Shut up!” James shot back but no one listened to him, the rest of the engines shot him annoyed glares and pointed looks.

“I’m sorry!” Tornado squeaked. “I didn’t mean to scare you! I was just in a panic because I was late and I thought that I was going to let everyone down!”

Tornado began visibly trembling all over, her expression one of about to burst into tears. James immediately felt bad for the young engine.

“James!” Henry hissed at the red engine and James quickly tried to talk her out of it.

“No, no, it’s okay!” James quickly tried to assure her. “I uh- I was more impressed than anything really.”

Tornado sniffed and looked at him from behind her smoke deflectors.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Tornado looked unsure but then smiled a nervous, but cheeky smile at James.

“Thank you, James,” she gratefully said. Then her smile widened. “I like your paint. It’s very bright. I haven’t seen anything like it.”

The other engines groaned, knowing what the topic of tonight’s shed conversation would be.

James however was delighted.

This Tornado was alright after all.

Chapter Text

Day 20 - Twins

“Aye lads,” came the very familiar voice from behind Douglas. Donald peered past his brother to see a very familiar and large engine coming towards them.

“Oh aye, is the false Scot!” Donald exclaimed, the engine laughing as she pulled up alongside Douglas.

“Aye, but ye accents got better!” Douglas commented. “Ye been practising?”

“Aye!” Flying Scotsman exclaimed proudly. “Aye had help!”

“Yeah, we heard about yer wee accident up at Strathspey!” Donald jeered and Scotsman went red in the face from embarrassment.

“That wasn’t my fault!” Scotsman shrieked, dropping the Scottish accident completely and shaking her frames in protest. “My crew wasn’t paying attention!”

“Aye, nay were ye!” Douglas chastised the famous engine.

“Did ye brakes nay work, Scotswoman?” Donald jeered and Flying Scotsman shuddered in response.

“Stop! It’s not funny!” She shouted angrily. “It’s hard enough showing my face on the mainland these days! You bump into a train a bit too hard and everyone goes to pieces!”

‘It weren’t any train,” Douglas argued. “Was the Royal Scot!”

“Fer shame!” Donald lamented. “Fer shame!”

The Flying Scotsman pulled a pouty face and shimmered at the two Scottish engines, irritated.

“If you two are gonna make fun of me I’ll take the gift I brought for you back home,” she childishly proclaimed and the two engines perked up suddenly.

“Gift?” Donald asked.

“Ye bought us a gift?” Douglas added.

“I don’t think you deserve it now you’ve made fun of me,” Scotsman scoffed at them, though her tone was playful and not serious.

“We were only jokin’,” Donald quickly put in while Douglas looked excited.

“What’s the occasion?” Douglas asked and Flying Scotsman hummed thoughtfully before replying.

“Can I not do something for my favourite three Scotspeople?” She asked mysteriously, wriggling her eyebrows.

“Three?!” The twins exclaimed in bewilderment.

A plume of smoke appeared behind the Scotsman with a sharp and quick whistle.

The Scottish twins immediately erupted into cheers as Flying Scotsman rolled forward to reveal his ‘gift’.

“‘Ello lads!” Came the cheery voice of an engine of their very own class, 828 painted on her buffer and her Caledonian blue coat shining brilliantly in the warm sun.

“Caoimhe!” The Twins cheered as their Sister laughed at them.

“A fine gift indeed!” Donald approved.

“Aye, we’ll be taking back what we said about the accident,” Douglas told Scotsman and the large Gresley breathed a sigh of relief as the twins moved to greet their sister.

“Thanks, you’re platinum lads,” Scotsman grinned. It dropped when Donald gave a snort and added:

“For now,” he smirked and Flying Scotsman pouted at him.

She was ignored however as the three Scottish engines began singing in celebration.

Chapter Text

Day 21 - End of the Line

If there was one place on the LNER that the premiere express engine avoided, it was Hull. Home to the largest collection of engines in the entire railway, the aptly named “Horde of Hull” by the crews and engines alike consisted mainly of goods engines that serviced the huge fishing industry and industrial complexes nearby.

Although the Express Engines considered themselves the most prestigious of engines, most of the railway was kept running by those engines considered beneath them. Those who dared argue against this would soon find themselves paid out. Even more so if they had a reputation for being particularly arrogant towards those deemed ‘lesser’.

The A3 Prince Palatine had heard of such rumours and dismissed them. What nonsense, he had told himself, these small insignificant engines having any power or sway over one as powerful and as important as he? It was unbelievable.

Yet still, his crews believed such nonsense and refused to even entertain going near Hull unless it was necessary. Though truth be told, he had no desire to go to some ‘smelly’ fishing port anyway.

Despite this, this is where he unfortunately found himself. At the End of the Line of some strange track after his new and green idiotic crew failed the proper procedure to head north and instead received the wrong set of points and ended up in such a low place for one as ‘magnificent’ as he. His crew had left him near the docks to sort out their mess and now he was embraced with the overpowering smell of sea salt and fish.

Prince Palatine was most displeased. He was above this and he knew that he would not hear the end of it from the Top Sheds fleet if he returned stinking of putrid fish.

“Ay, you lost little Prince?” Came the gravelled sneer of an engine to his right and the pompous engine looked down with a disgusted glare to find a small Stirling J75 sitting next to him, a couple of fish trucks he was shunting at his front buffers.

“How dare you address me in such a way!” The A3 snarled. “You best go about your business and not speak another word to your betters or you’ll find yourself at the bottom of a canal!”

The J75 did not look impressed one bit at his words and immediately wheeshed steam in his face, causing him to sputter and choke. He spluttered indignantly, unable to find the words to dress down such insolence but the J75 was not having any of it and snarled back a warning.

“You listen ‘ere you posh southern fob!” The smaller engine thundered. “You ain’t coming here with that attitude or you’ll find yourself well out of sorts!”

“I have no idea what a classless little feral like you is saying!” Prince Palatine snarled back. Then it stopped and gave an evil smirk. “You’re a class J75, are you not? I thought your pathetic lot went extinct! Are you the last? Oh well, off to the furnace soon I hope!”

The J75 looked hurt momentarily but then he steeled his expression and bared his teeth in a snarl.

“You gonna regret comin’ here,” he promised. “You ain’t goin’ back to London unscathed, I promise you that!”

Without another word the smaller engine resumed shunting his trucks, one eye kept on the A3 who looked unbothered and still turned his nose up at him.

“Wretched and uncouth thing,” Palatine insulted, unfazed.

After all, the J75 was a small engine, and no small engine could ever lay a scratch on his magnificence.

“Bastard!”

Coldstreamer opened an eye to look at the little J75 who had come into the shed, hissing steam and his face twisted into an expression of pure hatred.

“Who’s a bastard?” She asked with a yawn, shaking her frames to rid herself of sleep for the long night trains. The fastest goods engine in the East was more than happy to indulge the upset J75.

“That A3 out on the docks! I have no idea why you even befriended one of those gaudy, bitchy things!” The J75 snapped angrily. “Yer need to cut off that friend oh yer’s, Sass, they’re no good I tell you!”

Coldstreamer rolled her eyes and gazed at the smaller engine with a smile.

“Not all A3’s are the same, Angus,” Coldstreamer chided him then relented. “Most of them, however, no good, I agree.”

The J75, Angus, humphed at her reply and looked over to see her brother, Green Arrow watching him silently.

“Whacha looking at Mail boy?” Angus jeered and Green Arrow smirked at him. Angus then frowned at him. “You plannin’ something?”

“One of the Holden’s saw what happened with you and the Prince,” Arrow revealed. “I didn’t mean for you to get caught up in my plan, I’m sorry.”

Angus’s eyes widened in revelation.

“You brought the bastard up here?” He accused and Arrow smirked.

“This A3’s been particularly nasty to the shunters at Edinburgh,” The V2 explained with a smug look on his face. “He’s been a menace for such a long time but it’s been covered up because he’s had such a tightwad crew. One of the P2’s let on he had a new crew so I pulled some strings.”

Angus looked impressed then gave a chuckle.

“You’re a right devious cunt, Arrow,” Angus blustered. “No wonder them uptight bastards hate yer.”

Green Arrow raised himself up on his frames proudly, a sly grin on his face.

“I do have a talent for being a conniving bastard, do I not?” He exclaimed proudly and Coldstreamer rolled her eyes.

“You’re as bad as some of the A4s, I swear,” She muttered and wheeshed steam at him.

“Sassafras please!” Arrow exclaimed though he was still beaming like a lunatic as she started to roll out of the sheds.

“That Prince fella was proclaiming I should be scrapped,” Angus told Arrow as he watched his sister leave. Green Arrow’s smile faded in a scowl at the little engine's words.

“Well then,” Arrow declared with a hiss of his air pumps, preparing to leave. “Prince Palatine will wish that he’d been scrapped when I’m through with him!”

Prince Palatine was not at all pleased when his crew came back. He snarled and yelled curses at them, almost scaring the poor young teenage boy who was his fireman to tears. His more experienced driver was less than impressed but regardless, they declared they were ready to set off.

“Time we left this useless and ghastly part of the country,” the A3 snarled to himself. His crew ignored him, the driver more preoccupied with comforting his new fireman and set his wheels in motion.

He hadn’t gotten far when he saw three engines blocking his way. They weren’t as big as him, but they were larger than the J75 he had met earlier. He recognised them as Thompson engines and sneered in response.

The engines were unfazed and glared at him.

“You ain’t welcome here, you big fucking tool!” One of them snarled. “We’ll be sure to remind you not to pick on our engines again!”

“Oh really?” Prince Palatine mocked them. “Three little ugly things like you couldn’t take me on! You are of Thompson stock! Inferior! Only good as scrap metal for fence posts and wire!”

In his ranting he failed to hear the click of the points switching directly in front of him, his attention focused on the Thompson engines who had started jeering at him and insulting him, the trucks joining in with relish. It was rare that the engines themselves joined their games.

“Let me through!” Palatine demanded furiously at the Thompson engines. “I’ll not stand another second in this Lady Forsaken place!”

“And we’ll not stand for yer nasty attitude ter our Angus!” The one on the left thundered. “Yer’ll be sleeping with the fishes when Arrow is through with yer!”

“Sleeping with the-” Palatine exclaimed incredulously but before he could even finish his sentence, something hit him from behind with such force that it pushed his tender up off the rails and fell sideways, the momentum so great that it tipped his entire engine along with it, sending him crashing onto his side with a howl.

He was dazed, only being dimly aware that whatever had hit him now surged forward, dumping its cargo all over him, the peeling laughter of the Thompson engines in the distance.

He lay on his side for a long moment before the smell hit him and he realised what the cargo was. It was fish.

“You wretched freaks!” Prince Palatine shrieked. “You planned this! You have defiled me!”

The only response he received was laughter, not just from the three Thompson engines but from what sounded like a hundred engines, surrounding him in the docks. He felt his cheeks burn as his embarrassment began to grow.

The engines at the Top Sheds would not let him live this one down, till the end of his days, he just knew it.

Chapter Text

Day 22 - Duck

“Where’s Gadwall?”

Merlin opened his eyes to find his most famous of brothers approaching him, an exhausted look on his face.

“He’s working late tonight,” Merlin advised. “You look exhausted. You must rest. It’s good to have you back, Mallard. Gadwall has missed you. We all have.”

“Missed parading me around like a trophy, you mean?” Mallard scoffed and Merlin looked at him sympathetically.

“I hope you don’t think that I do such things,” Merlin murmured and the other A4 looked abashed.

“I don’t,” Mallard gruffly murmured. “Never.”

“I’m glad,” Merlin smiled. “I would never sink to such a level. And neither would Gadwall.”

Mallard offered him a small smile before reversing back into his berth and a yawn. He tried to shake the fatigue out of his frames but it was useless.

“Gadwall doesn’t think you like him,” Merlin quietly murmured.

“What?” Mallard felt his sleepiness wash away at his brother's words. “Why would he think of such a preposterous thing?”

Merlin rocked uncomfortably on his frames, trying to figure out how to broach the topic. He mused for a moment then looked back at Mallard who was waiting expectantly for an answer.

“You aren’t the most… affectionate of engines, Mallard,” Merlin hesitantly commented and Mallard stared at him.

“I’m not an affectionate person,” Mallard bluntly declared. “I dislike it. It makes me nervous and agitated.”

“I know this Mallard, but Gadwall, he is an emotive and affectionate person,” Merlin advised. “He thought that trying to impress you was the only way to get your affection.”

“So I was right, it is my fault Gadwall almost died,” Mallard bitterly spoke and Merlin gazed at him sadly.

“Gadwall is responsible for his actions and he should have known better,” Merlin disagreed. “While impressing you may have influenced his decision, Gadwall is his own engine and his actions are his alone. He is responsible for what happened, not you.”

Mallard stared at Merlin, considering his words, his mind looking for an excuse to shield his brother but he knew that Merlin was right. As if reading his thoughts, Merlin spoke up, a kind tenor in his voice.

“Mallard, I know you care deeply for Gadwall, but you cannot coddle him,” Merlin advised. “He must take responsibility for his actions.”

“I am aware,” Mallard snapped at Merlin agitated but then looked away from him. “It still does not sit right with me, however.”

“I know Mallard,” Merlin gave him a sympathetic smile. “You love Gadwall very much.”

Mallard sighed and then sank on his frames, exhausting seeping from his entire body and into his frames and wheels. He felt as if the weight of the world was pressing down upon him and in some ways it was.

“Rest Mallard,” Merlin gently consoled the engine. “Gadwall will return soon.”

Mallard said nothing as he looked out at the yard, watching as a few stragglers came in for the night while other engines were departing. He watched as one of the A3s from the neighbouring shed began to pull out of the shed and head towards the stations.

Mallard had fallen asleep before the engine had even gotten halfway across the yard.

Gadwall had arrived back at the night previous to find Mallard back in his berth, though to his disappointment fast asleep, a harsh word from Merlin keeping him from waking his famous elder brother.

He struggled to sleep that night, finding himself glancing at Mallard in the hope that his older brother had awoken but he had no such luck. It seemed like he had only closed his eyes when he was woken by the firelighter rummaging around in his cab to start him for the day.

He looked over to find Mallard’s brilliant blue eyes staring at him. Gadwall was about to squeak and start lauding over his brother in excitement until he saw the look on Mallard’s face.

He’d never seen Mallard look so angry. Never seen him look so… hurt. Gadwall’s excitement evaporated in an instant and he felt small compared to the presence of his brother.

That presence Mallard always commanded. It was unlike any of his other brothers. There was a cold, clipped and almost mesmerising aura to Mallard that drew others in. Pressed upon them that Mallard was an engine of power with a deep burning intellect within him. All A4s had an air of superiority to them, but none of them embodied it in the way Mallard did.

“I’m disappointed in you,” Mallard growled and Gadwall wanted to shrink upon himself and disappear, anything to get his brother's gaze off of him.

“I’m sorry,” Gadwall squeaked, his voice sounding more like a squeaky toy. Disappointing Mallard was the very last thing he wanted to do. He had wanted Mallard to like him, not this!

“Do you understand why?” Mallard asked, ignoring Gadwall’s apology. Gadwall sank lower on his frames and wanted to melt away.

“Yes,” Gadwall woefully admitted. “It was stupid of me to impress you by risking people’s lives.”

“It was stupid of you to risk your own life! Mallard snapped at Gadwall harshly. “Do you have any idea how much pain and stress you’ve put me through the past month?! Gadwall!”

Gadwall felt numb. He cast his eyes to the tracks before him and tried to blink the tears out of his eyes.

“I just- I just wanted you to like me…” Gadwall whimpered. “I’m really sorry Mallard, I really am, please believe me, I never meant to hurt you, please-”

“Gadwall,” Mallard interrupted his rambling and Gadwall fell silent. “You are one of the few siblings that I truly like. It pains me when you are hurt. This last month has been absolute hell. I have barely slept. I worked myself into scrap just to keep my mind from being so anxious about you. I almost watched you die! Do you have any idea what that’s like?!”

The colour drained out of Gadwall’s face at his brother's words. He hadn’t meant to cause Mallard such pain. He hadn’t meant to drive Mallard into the very dirt with his actions.

Gadwall barely felt the tears that were slipping down his face. He barely felt anything right now. Oh, he had been so wrong, so very wrong.

A frustrated sigh came from his left and he felt Mallard’s frames creak as the older brother shifted on them.

“Gadwall,” Mallard spoke again after a brief pause, his voice softer and almost gentle this time around. “I know that I am not the most affectionate of engines. I know it can be hard to tell what I am thinking or feeling but I want to reassure you that I do love you. You are my favourite brother and I would be lost without you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Gadwall sniffed, blinked his tears away and offered Mallard a smile, his thoughts on what Merlin had told him when he had returned home.

“I promise to never do anything like this again!” Gadwall piped up. “Please, believe me, Mallard! I never want to hurt you like this again! I’ll always be there, you won’t ever have to worry about me ever again!”

“I believe you,” Mallard acknowledged, a smile in his voice. “Ducks stick together, yes?”

Gadwall couldn’t help the bright smile that stretched across his face. But then he frowned.

“What about Pochard and Garganey?” Gadwall asked and Mallard rolled his eyes.

“The best ducks, stick together,” Mallard corrected himself and Gadwall tittered in delight as Mallard tried to hide the smile growing on his face.

Chapter Text

Day 23 - Beyond

Today was a painful day, it would appear both in the physical and emotional sense of the word.

Blue Peter did not want to be anywhere near the Didcot Railway. He wanted to be back home in his shed, alone and not talking to anyone, especially not these gaudy and haughty Great Western Engines.

He’d been sneered at by a few of them the moment that he had entered the yards and he immediately wanted to go home. He hated this, he hated attention. He wanted nothing to do with cheering crowds and window hangers. He always had and it had only gotten worse after his accident a few years ago.

His valve gear felt raw and his entire boiler was full of pain. The engineers had said the pain would fade with time, but it had only gotten worse. There were times when he refused to leave his shed, and times when he could not stop screaming because the pain was too much.

Perhaps he would have to accept that the pain would never go away. It was an outcome he dreaded.

“Weakling,” an oily voice suddenly hissed next to his smokebox and he looked over to find a King Class in GWR Green passing him with an unpleasant sneer plastered across his face. “What a sad pathetic thing you are.”

Blue Peter humphed and scowled at King Edward I, wanting nothing more than to derail the oafish and nasty engine. He doubted that he could derail a King Class but it would be therapeutic to try, Blue Peter reasoned to himself. Before he could even respond, a woman’s sneer rose from his other side.

“Heard him crying in his shed last night,” Came the taunting voice of Clun Castle. “These Peppercorn’s are a sad lot.”

“Were,” King Edward I corrected the castle. “This sad kettle is all that’s left. Shame that accident didn’t take them all out!”

Both Great Westerns began laughing at him as Blue Peter felt his pressure build, his temperature rising dramatically. He wanted to yell and scream, do anything but the two engine’s laughter rang in his smokebox, overwhelming him.

He was about to snap at the both of them when he heard the loud whistle of another King Class and immediately the two engines fell silent.

“What do you think the both of you are doing?” A voice scolded and Blue Peter looked up to see another King Class coming towards them, an expression of disapproval on his face and a large golden bell atop his buffers.

“We were just making our visitor comfortable,” Clun Castle tried to weasel but the new King Class glared at her.

“I doubt taunting and insulting him would make him comfortable, Clun Castle,” the New King Castle reprimanded her.

Clun Castle looked like she was about to argue but the new arrival was not having it.

“Both of you will return to your sheds and not leave until I or Truro see fit to release you,” the King Class scowled and both engines looked ready to protest but said the engine did not have it. “You will leave now!”

With a glare at him, both engines left, making sure to blast Blue Peter with steam causing him to sputter and choke in response. The two engines cackled as they thundered off, leaving Blue Peter to blink the steam out of his eyes.

“I do apologise for that,” the new arrival apologised profusely. “I’ll make sure those two do not harass you any longer.”

Blue Peter frowned. Another thing he found irritating was engines thinking he was a pushover or a weakling. He most certainly was not. No matter how much pain he was in, no matter how much despair, he was not one to be so easily swayed or intimidated.

“I can defend myself,” The Peppercorn argued. “My accident did not render me so crippled that I am so helpless as to not defend myself.”

The King Class before him chuckled warmly at his words. Blue Peter could see no malice in his eyes. He had a suspicion that he knew who this engine was but did not want to seem rude by assuming who they were.

“I meant no insult,” he reassured Blue Peter. “Those two have been making a nuisance of themselves to all visiting engines. I would prefer that they did not tarnish this Railway’s reputation. I apologise if I came across as demeaning to you.”

The A2 Peppercorn acknowledged him with a slight tilt of his frames, eyeing the King Class curiously.

“I was under the impression that most King Class’s were arrogant and selfish,” Blue Peter noted and the King Class looked momentarily offended before smirking at him.

“I see our reputation preceded ourselves,” he commented, trying to lighten the mood but Blue Peter just gave him a hard and unflinching stare. “Even as far as the North East.”

“It’s not something to be proud of,” the Peppercorn bluntly stated. “It wasn’t exactly good in the slightest.”

“I suppose not,” The King Class acknowledged reluctantly. “But only three of us remain and my class has long since been surpassed by other engines. There is no point holding on to arrogance, especially not after all this time. No matter what my foolish brothers think.”

Blue Peter was surprised. A Great Western Railway King Class being humble? Now the world really didn’t make sense.

“A humble King Class, how absurd,” Blue Peter smirked. “I don’t think it suits you.”

The King Class stared at him for a long moment then burst out into a hearty laugh, surprising him.

“Not everyone would agree with you, but thank you, Blue Peter,” the King Class grinned then he gasped in realisation. “How rude of me, I haven’t even introduced myself. I am King George the Fifth! Class Leader of the Great Western Kings.”

“I suspected so,” Blue Peter glanced down at the Golden Bell that sat on his running board in front of him. “The bell gave it away.”

King George chuckled and looked down at it with pride.

“A gift from America,” He grinned. “Flying Scotsman has been trying to steal it from me for a great number of decades.”

Blue Peter smirked.

“It would look better on you than that galloping sausage,” The Peppercorn jeered and King George V raised an eyebrow at him.

“A LNER engine telling me that I deserve my bell more than the Great Scot himself?” King George asked, surprised. “I must be losing my rivets.”

“I don’t belong to the LNER anymore. I have no allegiance to them, especially after they-” Blue Peter stopped, unsure why he was revealing something so private to someone he had just met. He shook his frames and gave a deep sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I am beyond such things now.”

King George’s gaze softened and a look of sympathy flashed across his face for a brief moment.

“You’ve got some demons haven’t you, old Peppercorn?” King George wondered and Blue Peter sank on his frames, feeling the weight of many decades descending upon him.

“Too many than I would like to admit,” Blue Peter quietly conceded.

The King Class looked sad for him, then approached him gently.

“You are welcome to transfer from the sheds with all the tank engines to mine during your stay here,” King George offered. “Our little engines can be a tad, unruly, to put it nicely.”

Blue Peter was surprised at the offer. The past few nights, the little GWR engines had been… loud to say the least. He wasn’t sure what sharing a shed with a King Class entailed but… it surely had to be better than being pestered all night.

“I would appreciate that, King George, Thank you,” Blue Peter thanked the King Class.

“You are more than welcome, old boy.”

Chapter Text

Day 24 - Accepting

The last time the City of Truro had seen the industrious and irreplaceable Pendennis Castle had not been a good day. They had argued, the City of Truro furious over Pendennis revealing that she had been seeing Flying Scotsman through the decades. That she did not like her assigned gender when she had awoken, that she preferred being male. Flying Scotsman had opened her mind to a lot and at the time, City of Truro had been appalled.

The City of Truro had not been nice, he had even demeaned her to some degree. Pendennis had been furious, renouncing the Great Western Way, renouncing him as a friend and confidant. It had hurt and he had been mad at her. He was not proud of the things he had said to her. He would never forgive himself for lashing out at her in such a terrible way. Even back then he had felt shame.

When Pendennis was shipped to Australia as an envoy for the Great Western Railway, the City of Truro was disappointed that Pendennis hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye to him, Pendennis still holding a grudge over how he had been hurt by one of his oldest friends. He certainly wasn’t surprised though by his decision.

The City of Truro thought that the last time he would see Pendennis Castle would be forever marred by pain and anger, all of which was his fault. He had refused to accept Pendennis for who he was. He had been jealous of him and Scotsman, he knew that now, only realising too late to fix things.

But to his and a lot of people’s surprise, Pendennis was being sent home, Australia’s unable to upkeep him realised that the best place for him was to be sent home, where he could be repaired and continue to work as he wanted.

City of Truro was delighted to have his old friend back but then again the memories of their last meeting still stung in his boiler after all of these years. He wanted to make things right with Pendennis, if not for him then for Scotsman who had been the subject of both of their desires for the better part of a century.

Said engine was off sick once again and the frequency of Scotsman’s failings were of major concern. Truro wondered if Pendennis knew. Maybe he did, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it wasn’t his place to tell him, he wasn’t sure.

“We’re here old boy,” came the kind and weary call of his driver and Truro looked up to find himself at Didcot. His thoughts had wandered so far that he hadn’t even been aware of his surroundings.

“Oh,” Truro gave a soft gasp and looked back at his driver. “Why thank you, Clarence.”

The old grizzled driver just grunted in reply as Truro’s attention turned back to the old wooden doors of the shed before him as several railway hands began to open them. He barely had time to collect his thoughts when the sunlight illuminated the engine within and the visage of Pendennis Castle appeared before him.

He appeared older than when he had last seen him, but that was a given considering the decades between then and now. Crow’s feet sat at the edge of olive-shaped hazel eyes and freckles had appeared on his once clear complexion. He was aged but not worn or rusted.

In fact, Pendennis Castle looked remarkably preserved and pristine. His carer’s in Australia had taken care of him very well, Truro was impressed.

Pendennis stared at Truro, apprehension in his gaze and a nervousness about him.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Pendennis greeted him abruptly. “It’s been… a while.”

Truro felt his boiler squirm, this entire interaction he had been dreading for days and days. Even Scotsman hadn’t been sure if he should do this, especially after he had revealed what he had said about Pendennis.

What Scotsman had been very clear about was that he was to apologise for what she had said. Scotsman was less than impressed about that, furious by the look in her eyes. And there were very few things that Scotsman was infuriated by.

“You look very well,” Truro offered lamely.

Pendennis frowned in response. He didn’t look comfortable with Truro’s presence and the City class did not blame him.

“Thanks,” the Castle Class retorted, his eyes surveying Truro with a suspicious gaze. “But if you’re just going to call me slurs like the last time we met you can fuck right off.”

“I did call you those terrible things didn’t I?” Truro admitted. “I was angry and I was furious over finding out about you and Scotsman but it does not excuse what was said. I have never stopped regretting what I said to you, Pendennis Castle.”

Truro took a deep breath, Pendennis Castle watching him expectantly, his face unreadable.

“Pendennis… Beynon,” City of Truro implored his oldest remaining friend. “I have never forgiven myself for what I said to you that last time we met. I don’t think I ever will and I don't expect you to either.”

Truro gazed up at Pendennis, sorrow and anguish at what he had done in his eyes.

“If my word is worth anything, I want you to know that I am truly sorry for what I said to you. It was unacceptable and it was atrocious behaviour on my part,” Truro apologised, every rivet of his being trembling with sincerity.

He did not expect to be forgiven and a part of him did not want to be.

“Thank you, Truro,” Pendennis replied, his voice soft and his tone reflective. “That means a lot to me.”

Truro gave him a small smile in return. “It was only right, my old friend.”

“May I be allowed time to consider this?” Pendennis asked.

“Of course,” Truro agreed. “There is no rush. I do not want to pressure you into anything.”

“Thanks,” Pendennis gave him a grateful smile. It faded however when Pendennis gazed up the tracks before him. “Just one thing though.”

“Of course.”

“What’s wrong with Scotsman?” Pendennis asked, his voice full of concern. “She came to welcome me back but when I saw how she was, I dunno, it looked like she was dying of Cold Iron or something. What happened to her, she’s not infected is she?”

Truro looked away sadly, a heavy weight sinking to the bottom of his boiler at the mention of Scotsman’s condition.

“It’s not Cold Iron Sleep from what I’ve been told,” Truro informed him. “But her current wardens are quite useless at maintaining her. I fear for her. She is not well. They are considering selling her but we do not know if she will remain under UK wardenship.”

“No!” Pendennis shouted, his expression devastated. “You cannot allow that to happen!”

“I’m doing my best but it’s difficult, especially on her,” Truro grimly stated.

“Well… keep me updated, won’t you?” Pendennis asked and Truro was surprised by the request, but otherwise gave Pendennis a reassuring smile.

“Of course, Beynon,” he smiled, using his true name again.

Pendennis smiled in return, some of that old playful warm of his old friend sparkling in his eyes.

“Thanks, Truro.”

Chapter Text

Day 25 - The Last One

“How does it feel to be the last Peppercorn, Bluey?” Came the taunt of that wretched Castle Class that had been nothing but a menace to him this entire trip. She was sitting a distance away but her sights were focused on him like some kind of petulant and irritating bird of prey.

“Don’t you have anything better to do with your pathetic existence, Clun Castle,” Blue Peter snarled back at the Great Western. “Or are you so devoid of interaction that antagonising people is the only way you can feel anything?”

The Castle class frowned at the A2 Peppercorn before giving them a glare and an ugly expression plastered across her face. She snarled and hissed at Blue Peter, his words striking a nerve with her.

“At least I have friends, you pathetic loner!”

“I won’t say that the people who tolerate you would consider you a friend, more of an irritating blemish on their livery,” Blue Peter muttered. He wanted no part of this, he wanted to be far away from Didcot and their nasty little blemish that called itself Clun Castle.

“Better to have company than to be a sad pathetic loser!” Clun Castle snarled but Blue Peter just rolled his eyes at her.

“At least I don’t lie to myself and surround myself with people I’ve tried to suck up to,” The Peppercorn grumbled. “You calling me pathetic is just projecting, Great Western.”

Clun Castle glared at him, furious at having been called out. Though to be fair, if she didn’t have that one King Class backing her up she was fairly easy to bully back. She was a known coward and one that Blue Peter was fed up with. She wasn’t particularly clever and only tolerated because she was a Great Western Castle.

“I don’t see why they would even consider bringing back a pointless class like yours!” Clun Castle suddenly shouted before storming off in a cloud of her own steam.

Blue Peter stared after her with a bored look on his place.

Thank the Lady he only had a day left in this hell hole.

“You look quite down old chap,” King George’s voice called him as he returned to the shed that night. “Something wrong?”

Blue Peter let out a sigh and looked away.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he muttered, wanting the King to drop the subject.

King George frowned and tutted. He didn’t look all that impressed by the Peppercorn’s disregard.

“Was it my brother or that Clun Castle again?” King George asked and Blue Peter scowled at the mention of the Castle. “Ah, so it was Clun Castle. That wretched engine, she always does this. I cannot apologise enough for her behaviour.”

“Then don’t,” Blue Peter snapped, catching King George off guard. “The only one who should and can apologise for Clun Castle is herself and she doesn’t appear to be one to do so, so why bother?”

The King Class stared at him for a while and Blue Peter thought that he might have insulted the grand engine, not that he cared Blue Peter was not one for caring. Instead, the King Class’s expression changed to one of surprise, even admiration.

“You’ve got your smokebox on right there chap,” King George chuckled. “Still, it is not right for her to go about degrading other engines. I hope that she did not rattle your rivets too much. Much of what she says is meaningless drivel.”

Blue Peter knew that he was right but still, one thing that Clun had said confused him. He frowned to himself as he remembered her words.

“There was something she said that didn’t make sense,” Blue Peter murmured to himself then looked to King George who was suddenly gazing at him intently. He quickly backtracked and looked away from the engine. “It doesn’t matter, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“My dear Peter, it very clearly does matter if it bothered you enough to mention it,” The King Class pointed out. “If it is private, however, I will not pry.”

Blue Peter stared at King George for a long moment. Ever since he had rescued him from being accosted by Clun and his brother, King George had gone above and beyond to be nice to him, making sure that he was alright. It was rather… refreshing. Most people didn’t even bother to give him a second look after talking to him.

It was a nice change. He decided to lower his defences. Truth be told, King George was rather similar to Saint Mungo only the King Class held himself high and proud, something that Mungo was far too humble to ever do.

Blue Peter decided that he liked that.

“She was taunting me about being the last Peppercorn,” Blue Peter offered.

King George frowned, a scowl appearing on his face. He continued before King George could interrupt him.

“But then she said that she didn’t understand why someone would be considering bringing back a class like mine,” Blue Peter frowned. “It didn’t make sense. I’m still here. I’m the last one left.”

King George hummed thoughtfully, his gaze spacing out slightly.

“There was a rumour from Green Arrow, floating down from the north,” King George began but Blue Peter scoffed.

“Arrow is a liar and a brute,” the Peppercorn scowled. “I shouldn’t believe his rumours, they are merely vessels for his manipulations. Arrow gives nothing away for free, do not trust him.”

“Perhaps, but even Arrow has standards,” King George argued. “He would have nothing to gain from this particular rumour. Besides, I heard this from Hamilton and the stories seem to corroborate.”

“What rumour?”

There was a pause before the King Class answered.

“There are plans, or at least ideas of a human trust being formed,” King George murmured quietly. “To bring back the A1 Peppercorn Class.”

Blue Peter sat in silence for a long moment then hissed steam, his face turning into a scowl. King George looked confused and shocked.

“Does- does that not please you?” the King asked, his expression one of bewilderment. “I thought that you would be pleased.”

Blue Peter bit his lip and a sneer appeared across his face.

“‘I would have preferred an A1 Peppercorn but they’ve all been cut up,’” Blue Peter snarled, a menace and anger to his voice that made King George’s eyes widen in shock. “Imagine hearing that after years of being shut up in a shed, your last crew never bothered to clean out your firebox because they were sure you were going to be scrapped.”

“Oh,” King George frowned, realising his mistake. “I’m truly sorry Blue Peter, but I’m sure that they never-”

“I don’t care,” Blue Peter snapped. “I never wanted to be saved in the first place, Saint Mungo was supposed to be saved, not me. I guess they’re finally getting their wish.”

“Blue Peter-” King George tried to appeal to the Peppercorn but he was no longer listening.

“I guess I knew this was always going to happen,” Blue Peter muttered. “Thanks for being nice to me but you shouldn’t have bothered.”

Before King George could argue, Blue Peter hissed steam and his wheels turned abruptly, almost slipping as he stormed out of the shed, a mixture of fury and anguish on his face.

King George stared after him as he thundered off for a moment.

Without a second thought, he followed the Peppercorn.

Chapter Text

Day 26 - Music

“I didn’t know you played the Saxophone,” a voice called to Kip Spence as he found himself playing in his study, the dreary and gloomy day calling for a little bit of dazzle in his opinion. He turned to find the young woman perched on his drum kit stool, peering at him with inquisitive eyes.

He flashed her and smiled and displayed the glittering and spotless musical instrument that was harnessed around his neck to her.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Little Livia,” he smirked and Olivia smiled in return. Her eyes searched around the room curiously. “I like to keep my true self a mystery to all.”

Olivia ignored him, looking around the room she hardly entered and so Kip allowed her a moment to observe.

There wasn’t much. Just his drum kit, several guitars and basses hanging on the walls, posters of musicians and a little shelf with an adornment of objects on top of it. It was more a music room than a study.

Olivia frowned as she noticed something that didn’t quite belong amongst the music paraphernalia.

“A bit of a strange place to put an engine’s nameplate, don't you think?” She pointed out and Kip followed her finger to see the engine nameplate of Spion Kop perched above the shelf. “Don’t you think it should be in the living room? It’s a display item after all.”

Kip felt his heart skip a beat as he recalled why he scarcely allowed Olivia in his music room. He would rather not deal with the consequences of North’s complete and utter lack of foresight.

“It has a special meaning for me,” He explained. “I prefer it here in a space where I can be at peace.”

Olivia gazed at him, her eyes sparkling with hidden intellect. She looked as though she was in a trace for a moment but then returned to herself with a shrug and her attention was directed to the Saxophone in his hands.

“You’re very good,” she commented and Kip gave a small bow to her.

“I thank you, my dear girl,” he grinned and looked at her concerned. “Did you need anything? You don’t usually come back this early after work.”

“I’m not sure,” Olivia muttered, her voice distant. “I- I think I forgot. I’m sorry to bother you.”

She went to turn and leave, a look of confusion on her face. It was like she had forgotten who she was again.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Kip,” she apologised and Kip could only gaze at her with sympathy.

’Poor girl,’ He thought to himself. He wanted to hurt North for mishandling her life so poorly. But it didn’t matter now. He had taken her in to hopefully live a brighter and more hopeful future.

“Olivia?” He called to her and Olivia turned back to him, that same lost and confused look on her face.

“Yeah?”

“If you ever need to talk, if things don’t make sense, you know you can come to me, right?” Kip reminded her.

Olivia nodded to him gratefully and a small smile appeared on her face.

“I know. Thank you Kip,” she acknowledged before slipping out of the study, the door closing behind her with a small click.

Kip Spence released the breath he was unaware of holding and cursed to himself.

“What a fine mess, you’ve created North,” he spat harshly before looking down at his saxophone and then to the nameplate of Spion Kop, that hung above the room.

I wish that you would use my real name, little Liv.

Chapter Text

Day 27 - Twisted

It was Mallard’s first night alone after- well, he’d rather not dwell on that. For the past month, Merlin had been there to ease the burden. Whenever he would awaken screaming from his hideous nightmares, there would be a whisper of reassurance and kind soothing words from the elder.

Tonight, however, Mallard found himself alone, Merlin travelling elsewhere to cover for a few of their siblings who were worn down by the ongoing war. Mallard feared for him, he feared that the bombers would spot Merlin on the tracks and take him from the world just as they had Gadwall. Mallard had no idea what would happen if he lost Merlin and Gadwall to this war. He dreaded the thought of being alone. Even though he refused to admit it to himself, being alone was probably his biggest fear.

He watched as the sky darkened and the golden disk of the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon. He was unaware of his frame trembling, which meant he would soon fall asleep. Or perhaps the air raid sirens would keep him up all night again—he wasn’t sure which was worse.

Falling asleep and seeing the mangled and twisted remains of Gadwall in his mind, his brother screaming out to him or herding the thundering of the bombers overhead, explosions in the distance and imagining that Merlin was caught in one of their assaults.

Mallard felt like he was going insane, the anxiety of it all was driving him mad. He had no one to talk to, Sir Gresley was gone and most of his most trusted engineers had been called away to assist in the war effort. He truly felt alone. He wanted to scream and cry but that would attract attention and the last thing he wanted was engines in other sheds ridiculing him.

As the glow of the sun disappeared, swallowing the world an inky black darkness that devoured everything, Mallard felt the cold chill rise in his boiler again. It had been less prevalent in previous nights, but now that he did not have Merlin to distract him, he could feel it grow colder and colder. It felt like it was suffocating him, he could hardly breathe.

“Hello Mallard,” A soft, quiet voice distracted him from the sensation in his boiler and Mallard looked up to find a familiar A3 Pacific standing before him. He hadn’t even heard her approach, he really was losing it.

He didn’t even have the normal urge to snap at anyone who came near him to go away, instead, he just stared at her blankly as Pretty Polly’s expression became concerned.

“Is it alright if I stay the night here?” She asked him. “It’s night and I’d rather not be on the tracks when there’s a raid.”

Liar.

She was lying to him, evidently, Merlin had asked her to check on him or keep him company. He didn’t have the energy to shoo her away, however. Truth be told, he could use the company and Pretty Polly was one of the engines that he could tolerate.

He grunted in reply and looked away from her.

“Thank you, Mallard!” Polly brightly thanked him and with a small peep of her whistle, the turntable began to turn so that she could back into the shed next to him.

“Sure,” Mallard sighed to himself. “Whatever.”

“How have you been holding up?” Polly asked him, concerned in her voice.

Mallard looked at her briefly then looked away. He glared at the ground before giving a huff and looking back at her.

“Do you know when Merlin will be back?” Mallard asked, ignoring her question.

“A couple of days, but with the war, I honestly don’t know,” Polly explained regretfully. “I guess we have to ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ as the humans keep saying.”

“Utter rubbish,” Mallard snarled. “We are constantly under threat and they have the gall to constantly tell us that.”

Polly sighed, looking up into the night. Mallard looked over at her and suddenly he could see the lines on her face and the dull look in her eyes. It seemed that she too was haunted by this war. Maybe they all were.

“Humans live in optimism,” Polly offered lamely but the tone of her voice said that she did not believe the words coming out of her mouth.

“They are lying to themselves,” Mallard muttered and Polly gave him a mournful gaze. “They are responsible for their suffering as well as the animals and us sentient vehicles.”

Polly had no response to that, remaining quiet and staring up into the night sky. For a moment they sat there, completely silent though the silence was calm and content, something that Mallard hadn’t felt in a long while.

If he was honest with himself, Pretty Polly was one of the first engines he had met outside of Quicksilver and North. She had always been nice to him, even now when he had grown cold and distant from his peers, she was always there with a kind smile and a word of encouragement.

“I think I’m losing my mind,” Mallard said despite himself. Polly looked at him concerned.

“Mallard?” She asked, troubled.

Mallard sheepishly looked away from her, embarrassed.

“I just feel like something in the back of my mind is slowly eating away at me,” he murmured. “Like something dark and twisted is trying to destroy me from within. Something praying on my anguish over Gadwall.”

Mallard’s eyes widened as he blinked and then shook his frames, trying to relieve the tension that had unknowingly wound up inside him as the darkness clouded his thoughts.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Mallard croaked as what sounded like both a chuckle and a sob. “I don’t even know you.”

Polly was staring at him with worry and deep concern.

“Mallard, if I may, I don’t think you should be alone,” she advised. “If you need any help please don’t hesitate to ask me or anyone else.”

Mallard snorted and huffed.

“Everyone just parades me around like a trophy,” he muttered then looked at Polly sadly. “You, Gadwall and Merlin are the only ones who make me feel like a person.”

“Mallard-”

“Thank you, Polly,” Mallard interrupted her, ignoring her sad, pleading eyes. “I would prefer to sleep now. The past few nights have been raided and I haven’t slept much. So if you would.”

Pretty Polly did not look pleased, Mallard knew that she wanted to press him but he did not want that. Not right now. He didn’t think he could deal with such things now. Despite her obvious disapproval, she relented.

“Alright Mallard,” she smiled half-heartedly at him. “Sleep well.”

Mallard attempted to smile back but he didn’t have the heart to and simply closed his eyes intending to sleep.

Polly said no more but at the very least her presence chased away the darkness that had been building within him.

The images of Gadwall’s twisted and broken remains did not haunt him that night.

Chapter Text

Day 28 - Plot Twist

“I’m sick of this!” The loud shout of an A4 Pacific echoed through the yard causing the engines gathered to turn and look at him. He promptly ignored the stares he was receiving and thundered towards the blue and green engines that were parked in front of the sheds away from the crowd.

“Hello, Bittern!” Flying Scotsman called cheerily to his old friend while Mallard only lazily opened an eye to look over at his furious brother. He was not bothered and it only made Bittern angrier.

Bittern didn’t know which was worse; Scotsman and Mallard tolerating each other openly allowing them to plot and plan together, or sneaking around and getting their crews to harass him.

He did not wish for either option. In fact he found it bizarre how Scotsman and Mallard were noticeably amicable towards each other. Bittern decided that he didn’t like it.

“I thought having Olivia on your crew would stop you doing this bullshit!” Bittern shrieked at the Scotsman who just stared back at him blankly.

“I don’t understand,” Scotsman’s brow creased in confusion at hum.

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Bittern hissed and Scotsman looked annoyed now.

“I’m not! I have no idea what’s going on!” Scotsman snapped back as Mallard began chuckling to himself as a raven perched on Scotsman’s Smoke Deflectors began squawking loudly to which Bittern winched, not wanting anything to do with the feathered creature.

“Sure you don’t!” Bittern sarcastically sneered at his friend who only looked lost.

“What the hell are you on about, idiot brother?” Mallard rumbled, now glaring at Bittern with irritation deep in his eyes.

“The Seagull!” Bittern snapped furiously. “That damn Seagull one of you put in Scotsman’s Corridor tender before my trip to Nene!”

Scotsman and Mallard exchanged a confused glance.

“Well I certaining did no such thing,” Mallard denied with a roll of his eyes, Scotsman frowning and looking back at Bittern.

“Neither did I,” Scotsman admitted. “Perhaps someone was trying to frame us?”

Bittern’s face turned red in anger, hissing steam at the both of them, causing the raven settled on Scotsman to shriek and perch itself on Mallard’s cab roof.

“I’m sick of your games! You’ve always done this! You’ve done this since the 30s!” He accused but still Flying Scotsman and Mallard stared at him clueless.

“Bittern, neither of us tried to pull a prank on you,” Scotsman tried to reassure Bittern but the A4 was too angry.

“Oh forget it!” Bittern snarled. “I should have known better than to think either of you would ever admit fault! You never have so why would you start now!”

With his furious proclamation, Bittern thundered away, making sure to blast steam in their direction, all the while muttering curses and swears at the two famous engines. Bittern could have sworn he heard that raven laughing as he pulled away.

As he disappeared from view, Scotsman looked to Mallard and Mallard looked to Scotsman.

“Well?” Mallard demanded of the A3 who raised an eyebrow.

“I did nothing of the sort,” Scotsman rebuffed.

“Then who did?” The famous blue engine growled. “I certainly did nothing to my idiot brother.”

The Flying Scotsman was silent, a frown appearing across his face as he was deep in thought. His face suddenly lit up as he realised.

“Oh!” He exclaimed, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. “So that’s why she wanted a seagull!”

“Who?” Mallard asked but he was ignored as Flying Scotsman burst into a laughing fit.

Mallard rolled his eyes and ignored his idiot cousin.

Chapter Text

Day 29 - Misty

Thomas opened his eyes, finding himself not in his own world but another. Unlike Lady’s realm which shone with vibrant colours and saturated with gold dust that it made him feel weightless and fluid, this realm was dark and gloomy, a thick fog hung in the air and he felt as if the rails beneath him would bend and crack. He felt heavy in not just the physical sense but an emotional one. It was a realm that reeked of fear and death and it scared him down to the tracks.

Before him lay disused standard and narrow gauge tracks, covered in leaves and had lost their shine. On either side of him a dark and suffocating mist pressed around him, the feeling of being watched pressing in from all sides as the trucks of trees appeared blurred in the distance. It was a fog-covered forest, but unlike any forest he had ever known.

He had no idea why he was here, last thing he had known was he had been falling asleep in a shed on his branch line, Toby and Percy on either side of him. He had barely closed his eyes when he had felt the brush of a fox against his wheels, startling him awake.

Thomas frowned and looked around, his eyes caught on a strange, pure white fox that sat beside the tracks expectantly, staring at him with an intense look.

“Hello, what’s your name,” Thomas asked, not expecting an answer from the creature at all.

“Martin,” the fox spoke and Thomas’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh um, okay,” Thomas was unsure how to answer. He looked around confused. “Where am I exactly?”

“The World Between Worlds,” the fox or Martin rather, answered. “A place where lost souls come to dwell before they find their final resting place.”

“Lost souls?” Thomas repeated nervously. “You mean, engines who have…died?”

“Yes,” Martin confirmed. “But rest assured that you are not dead, because you have a Golden Soul you may enter while still being present in reality. Others may enter with a guide like myself but that’s not important right now.”

“You brought me here?” Thomas asked confused and Martin nodded at him.

“Some of us stay to assist the guardian of this realm,” Martin explained. “I have been here for a long time. So long that I don’t think I belong anywhere else.”

Thomas’s face pulled an expression of realisation.

“Were you an engine once?” He asked and Martin once again nodded to him.

“I used to work South of the country, it’s been so long that I don’t remember where but I was a tank engine shunting for a dockyard,” Martin explained. “I was barely a year old when an accident sent me into the sea.”

“That’s terrible!” Thomas exclaimed but the fox just shrugged.

“I don’t remember much besides, I like being a guide in Proteus’ realm,” Martin dismissed. “I’m one of the few souls that he trusts to guide the Lady’s Servants. Other souls would take advantage of such a post. Try to resurrect themselves, that sort of thing which is rather against the rules of reality.”

“Proteus? Reality? Rules?” Thomas muttered before looking up at the sky but only seeing fog. He frowned as he considered Martin’s words. “Proteus is a story that the Narrow Gauge engines tell each other to scare them from doing foolish things and rules. What rules? Lady never mentioned anything about rules!”

Martin chuckled to himself.

“Would you like to meet this ‘fictional’ Proteus? It is the reason I brought you here after all,” Martin cheerily offered and Thomas stared at him for a long while, unsure of how to answer.

He was unsure. Lady has never mentioned Proteus before. There was never any real indication that they even existed to him. Maybe this was a trick, maybe he was dreaming, Thomas wasn’t sure but his past dealings with Gold Dust-related things usually leant towards strange things happening and said strange things being rather real. Even if it was in a metaphysical sense of the word.

He looked back at the fox, the thought in the back of his mind wondering what sort of engine Martin had once been.

“You know me! Always up for an adventure!” Thomas cheerily agreed and in the blink of an eye, the fox was now on his running board.

“Off we go then!” The Fox brightly exclaimed and the world around them twisted and warped as the two of them disappeared from those old abandoned tracks in that misty forest.

Chapter Text

Day 30 - Oncoming Storm

Thomas meets an ethereal engine known as Proteus.

The world around Thomas and the fox solidified and the little blue tank engine found himself in a dense forest, the fog had lifted to reveal an old run-down engine shed, much like the one Duke had been found in. Around him the forest was darker and the tree canopy shadowed the ground with an oppressive gloom that permeated the forest around them.

Before Thomas could speak, the old, rotten doors of the shed slowly swung open to reveal a small orange narrow gauge engine with a lamp bracketed onto his funnel. Said lamp was bursting with gold dust, the beams of light shimmering like rainbows.

“Nice lamp,” Thomas commented and the little engine chuckled.

“Why Thank you! Lady gave it to me as a gift and a very long time ago,” he chirped. “We aren’t allowed to see each other in person so it was a lovely surprise.”

“Oh? You aren’t allowed to see each other? That’s sad,” Thomas commented and the narrow gauge engine gave him a grateful look.

“I am allowed to talk to her through those with Golden Soul’s however and she speaks a lot about you,” The engine praised. “I am Proteus but Martin probably told you that.”

Proteus looked at the silver fox sitting on top of Thomas’ buffer with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“He told me a lot of things, most of them were confusing,” Thomas admitted. “But other than that he’s very lovely.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Proteus grinned. “He’s been here a very long time. Almost as long as engines themselves have existed. Though admittedly, not much is remembered of those days. The days when Gold Dust began to manifest itself in engines.”

Thomas was befuddled by where this conversation was going and so he decided to just cut to the chase. It seemed better than just standing there

“Why did you bring me here?” He asked plainly and Proteus chuckled.

“Straight to the point, I like it,” Proteus chimed and smiled widely. “Well, to be frank, I just wanted to meet you.”

“Meet me?”

“Yes. I’ve met all of Lady’s other Warden’s but you and you are arguably the most famous one! Along with the most devious and cheeky!” Proteus praised and Thomas stared at him with a cheeky grin stretched across his face.

“Thank you!” Thomas grinned then looked down at Martin. “So you’re like some kind of keeper of lost souls?”

“That’s a very apt description of what I do, yes!” Proteus exclaimed proudly. “I take care and look after the souls of the engines who died in distress until they can move on.”

“So they’re ghosts?” Thomas asked and Proteus frowned.

“No, the souls I look after have passed on to this realm,” he explained. “Ghosts are twisted reflections of themselves. Their souls so wracked with emotion or distress that passing beyond the veil is impossible.”

Thomas looked down at Martin, trying to process what was happening before he looked back at Proteus, an idea forming in his mind.

“Can souls go back to back to my world? Martin mentioned something about rules,” He asked and Proteus’s smile fell, regret written all over his face.

“Theoretically, they could,” Proteus admitted. “However if souls were to go back to the living realm, they would rip through the veil between worlds. It would be like pulling a thread on a piece of fabric. The holes between threads would get bigger until they unravel. One does not want the fabric of reality to unravel, the consequences would destroy all worlds not just yours but this World Between Worlds and the Shining itself.”

Thomas’s face paled and Martin whimpered, the implications of Proteus’s words weighing heavily upon them.

“What- what would happen then? Wait! I saw Martin in my world earlier today!” Thomas realised as he remembered the distinct image of a silver fox sitting on a fence post earlier that day.

Proteus chuckled at that, a smile on his face.

“I see why you are one of Lady’s favourites, always got your eye on the ball,” he remarked before looking at Martin who had curled up on Thomas’ buffers. “But a piece of fabric has natural gaps between the threads. Every so often we can send a soul through, be it a lost soul to guide others or a golden soul in terms of Lady.”

“Oh!” Thomas exclaimed excitedly. “So Lady occasionally visiting me was like Martin!”

“He catches on quick, this one,” Martin chuckled. “We’re like messengers from another realm.”

“Is that why Lady never interferes?” The little tank engine asked. “It always bothered me how she could talk and communicate with us but never moved to act, even when things were dire.”

Proteus smiled a proud smile as Martin stood up on his buffer, stretching his petite fox body as he did so.

“It is,” he confirmed. “Involving ourselves so directly would destroy all worlds, which is why I send willing souls, in the form of animals. Lady prefers to pull the minds of those she wishes to speak to, often appearing in dreams. just as you are now.”

“I know, I’ve felt it,” Thomas mused with a gentle smile. “You know, you seem pretty chill for an entity that watches over the dead.”

“Well one needs a certain composure with those who are recently deceased,” Proteus pointed out and Thomas hummed in affirmation.

Proteus' eyes shifted, looking out at the forest beyond before looking back at Thomas.

“The sun is rising in your world, I have lost track of time, I apologise,” the narrow gauge engine regretfully chimed. “I have but a warning and an advice.”

“A warning?” The smile on Thomas’s face fell at his words. “What do you mean?”

“A young engine will arrive on your island, a titan will be wounded, and things will never be the same,” Proteus warned cryptically. “But this is not necessarily a bad thing. Have faith in yourself and your friends, they’ve got you this far.”

Thomas’s brow creased in confusion and he was about to question the little orange engine but immediately found himself with a startled gasp back in his shed, the morning light shining through the wooden slats in the door.

Thomas stared into space for a long moment, his thoughts full but at the same time not. What had Proteus meant? A young engine? Engines weren’t built anymore, at least not to his knowledge although there had been whispers from the mainland…

Thomas looked to his left and found Percy still out with the mail train and Toby still dozing but the slight twitch of his eyelid revealed that the sneaky old man was awake.

“I know you’re awake, Toby,” Thomas teased.

Without even opening his eyes, Toby responded, “Somethings shaken you Thomas. Talking with the Lady again?”

Thomas frowned. He had no idea how Toby had worked out his position as Golden Warden, many decades ago but he was grateful he had someone to confide in that wasn’t a human.

“Something like that,” Thomas admitted. It was hard to explain what had just happened. He barely understood what had just happened.

“Whatever it means, we keep at it and don’t let ourselves down,” Toby smiled at him with a reassuring smile.

Thomas couldn’t help but return it.

“Thanks, Toby, I appreciate that more than you know,” the little blue tank engine gratefully admitted.

Toby just smiled.

“Anytime Thomas.”

Chapter Text

Day 31 - Dusk

“Flying Scotsman!” Olivia shrieked as she ripped the gift wrap off of the present from her Uncle Nathan. Inside was a large model of Flying Scotsman, beautifully crafted and rather expensive.

Olivia was so enamoured with the model train that she failed to notice her mother glaring daggers at her Uncle Nathan.

The girl looked up at Nathan, her eyes full of tears of happiness as she hugged the box to her. She looked ready to thank him but before she could, the present was snatched from her grasp by her mother.

“Mother!” Olivia shouted angrily. “Give it back!”

“Little girls don’t play with trains!” Her mother scolded her and Olivia immediately grabbed the box and tried to pull it back.

“It’s mine!” Olivia screamed at her, “Uncle Nathan gave it to me!”

“Then he should know better,” she snapped before wrenching it out of her daughter's hands with a rough tug.

“Give it back!” Olivia shouted at Jacqueline but the woman was having none of it.

“Go to your room!” Jacqueline demanded.

“I hate you!” Olivia shrieked, trying to grab the toy from her. “You never let me do anything I want!”

“Olivia-” Uncle Nathan tried to step between her and her mother. “Please calm down. I’ll talk to-”

“You’re a terrible mother!” Olivia screamed, “I hate you!”

Before they could stop her, Olivia sprinted from the room, slamming the door of the living room as loudly as she could behind her.

Uncle Nathan frowned after her and glared back at Jacqueline.

“You can’t keep running from the truth, Merry,” he chastised her to which she glared at him in return. “And you can’t keep shielding Olivia from the truth of what she is.”

“I don’t want her to have anything to do with what we are North!” Jaqueline or Merry snarled. “But you keep putting these ideas in her head!”

“She will find out eventually! She’s naturally drawn to our engines, she can’t help it!” North argued. “The Black Smoke still makes her ill Merry. Exposing her to Scotsman’s Golden Soul could heal her-”

“Enough, I will not entertain this any longer!” Merry snarled, a finality to her voice. “I have told you not to speak about what we are to Olivia! Do you remember what happened to her father? Do you remember the people who came after me and Arethusa because of your mess?!”

North immediately backed down at her words, a look of shame on his face.

“I did not think that-”

“You never thought at all, did you, Great Northern?” Merry spat bitterly. She looked at the model in her hand and shoved it into North’s chest roughly. “Get rid of it. I’ll not have something in my house that reminds me of the cutters ripping me apart.”

Oh.

Great Northern finally saw the hurt and pain in Merry’s eyes and felt guilty. He hadn’t considered that the blasted thing would be a reminder to her.

“I’m sorry Merry,” he quickly hid the model from view but Merry had already left the room, tears in her eyes.

“Ah, you are a fool, Old North,” North muttered to himself. “Polly was always right about me.”

“You’re up earlier than usual,” Flying Scotsman commented as Vincent and Oscar came through the doors of his shed. “The firelighter hasn’t even arrived yet.”

“Today is a special day,” Oscar murmured with a glance at Vincent who smiled.

“Finally getting yourself a good driver, ay Scott?” The old driver joked and Scotsman laughed heartily.

“All my drivers are good drivers,” The engine chimed. “After all I’m still here, am I not? Admittedly there have been a few close calls-”

“You mean with the fish?” Oscar pointed out with a smirk.

“I NEVER MENTIONED THE FISH!” Scotsman exploded in anger, waking the engine next to him with a gasp.

“Now look what you did, you woke Truro!” Oscar scolded Scotsman who looked sheepish as City of Truro’s face creased into an expression of annoyance before glancing over at Scotsman who immediately recoiled and looked sheepish.

“Ah, I’m terribly sorry,” Scotsman apologised profusely. “I may have gotten carried away.”

“As you tend to often do,” Truro rolled his eyes then narrowed them and he surveyed Scotsman’s face. “But I sense that you are particularly ‘carried away’ today.”

“Olivia’s first trip out with me today!” Scotsman blurted out as his frames trembled with excitement.

“Oh, of course,” Truro’s face relaxed into a kind smile, his previous irritation melting away. “It’s surprising to think that Olivia hasn’t been your driver as of yet. She seems such a natural fit for it.”

The Flying Scotsman gave a thoughtful hum but said nothing more. There was the rustle and crunch of someone approaching the sheds, their dark shadow stretching over the rails and the Ulfstead Castle lights casting a dark menacing silhouette as a tall and muscular frame appeared before Flying Scotsman’s berth.

“Speaking of,” Truro smiled in amusement. “The Lady of the Hour.”

Olivia Gresley appeared at the doors of the shed, her bag slung over her shoulder and an excited yet nervous look on her face. It vanished the instant she saw Oscar and Vincent before her.

“What are you doing here?” She growled out annoyed.

“I thought you said you were going out for a walk,” Oscar pointed out and Olivia gave a deep sigh and shook her head.

“I am, I went for a walk to see Scotsman,” She pointed out and Oscar and Vincent stared at her. She frowned and scowled at them. “The intention was to visit him alone. I wished to speak with him about private matters.”

“Oh, right,” Oscar looked embarrassed now. He glanced at Vincent who looked abashed. “Truth be told, we were going to set something up for you before you came to start up for today’s trip.”

“Hopefully I shan’t be too long,” Olivia gave them an apologetic smile but Oscar and Vincent shrugged.

“It’s been spoiled now anyway,” Vincent admitted. “It was less a surprise and more a prank.”

Oscar glared at Vincent who just shrugged.

“Off you go,” Olivia gestured for them to leave with a flick of her wrist. “And no eavesdropping.”

“Yes boss lady,” Vincent nodded to her, giving her and Oscar a nod before departing as Oscar stepped forward and approached his partner with a small smile.

“Today’s the big day huh?” He offered and Olivia nodded to him.

“Don’t think I’ll ease up just because we’re fiances now,” She reminded him and Oscar smiled a wide and thrilled smile.

“Oh I’m counting on it,” Oscar enthused. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I’m glad,” Olivia chuckled and embraced him before kissing him. “I’ll be seeing you later.”

And with a wave and brilliant smile Oscar followed after Vincent, leaving Olivia with the famous GWR and LNER engine.

“Would you like me to remove myself, Ms Olivia?” The City of Truro asked and Olivia quickly shook her head at him.

“No, no, of course not,” The woman reassured him. “I’d rather not uproot you just to have a quiet moment with Scotsman.”

Truro smiled at her and said no more, allowing Olivia peace with her favourite engine.

Olivia then turned to Scotsman who waited expectantly, his cheeky demeanour dropped for a sombre and quiet one as he looked down at Olivia as she stared up with him, a young almost childish gaze upon him.

“You look like the kid I met so many years ago,” Scotsman murmured.

“It feels like aeons have passed since then,” Olivia whispered quietly as she approached the famous engine, her face a glow with a strange, almost awestruck expression. As if she was looking upon the Flying Scotsman for the first time, despite her numerous interactions with her. “I suppose a human existence is but a flash for an engine.”

“In a way,” Flying Scotsman agreed. “But every human is different, every driver is different and I appreciate every single one of them. No matter their skill. Though, I admit, there’s been something different about you.”

Olivia frowned and looked up at the Scotsman in confusion.

“Different?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Scotsman frowned at her. “You seem to have a spark that other humans don’t.”

Olivia stared at him for a long moment before sighing quietly.

“Spark?” She asked, her voice small and timid like a child’s.

“Like an engine’s, golden but had smears of oil over it, it was strange,” Scotsman admitted. “Now that my mind has been opened to Gold Dust I sense… things I did not before. Your soul is… strange. I don’t quite understand it. Then again I don’t understand most things.”

Olivia shook her head at his self-deprecation.

“Again with the low self-esteem, it is unsightly Scotsman,” Olivia admonished and Scotsman looked embarrassed.

“A lifetime of being told you’re worthless by your brother will do that to you,” Scotsman muttered bitterly, his eyes darting away from her. “I know that North was close to you but… I can’t help but blame him for what happened between myself and Mallard. I think Mallard did too— it doesn’t matter anyway. Mallard is gone.”

Olivia looked at Scotsman, noticing Truro shudder uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye. Deciding to shift the conversation, she pulled herself onto his buffer beam and perched on top of it, Scotsman not minding for a moment.

“I guess you can thank him for leading me to you,” Olivia murmured and Scotsman looked at her surprised.

“What do you mean?”

Olivia looked hesitant for a moment, staring at her knees as she swung her legs off of his buffer beam.

“My mother wasn’t… exactly the most loving of parents,” Olivia admitted. “As a child, she was always so distant, so I don’t know, it was like she didn’t even want to deal with me like I was a burden to her. I never felt wanted in that cottage, except for North.”

Flying Scotsman remained silent allowing Olivia to air her grievances.

“I- a lot of my memories from that time are confusing but there was always North,” Olivia continued. “He would gift me things and spend time with me so I wasn’t so lonely. I think, looking back on what happened, he was probably lonely too.”

Scotsman gave a soft hum, mulling over her words.

“I am glad that North became someone for you,” he finally said. “He is who gave you your fascination with me from what I recall.”

Olivia nodded.

“Mother was always against it, said that ‘girls didn’t play with trains’ but even back then I could see she didn’t believe that,” Olivia recounted glumly. “North gave me an original Hornby Dublo Flying Scotsman but she took it from me and smashed it. I don’t know why she had such a violent aversion to trains but it just… it made me hate her even more.”

There was a long silence, as Olivia hung her head, her posture slumped and curled in on herself.

“And yet, despite everything, here you are,” Flying Scotsman assured her quietly. “An engine driver who is unsurpassed if Bittern and Braunton’s accounts of you are anything to go by. And trust me, those two are very hard to impress.”

Olivia smiled a little and turned slightly to look up at him.

“Here I am,” she murmured and Scotsman smiled encouragingly.

“You’re my driver and no one will take that away from you,” Flying Scotsman assured her. “I mean, you’re the Director of the NRM, people literally cannot.”

Olivia chuckled and rose to stand before Scotsman, the engine giving her a proud look.

“Thank you, Flying Scotsman,” she gave him a bow of respect. “You’ve saved my life in more ways than you will ever know.”

“And you’ve done the same for me, Olivia Gresley,” Scotsman praised gently. “I hope that I am everything you’re expecting and more.”

“I’m certain you will be,” Olivia smirked. “You are quite the headache.”

Flying Scotsman snorted with mirth as Truro gave a small chuckle.

“I try my best!” The Scotsman exclaimed proudly.

“I’d much rather you didn’t,” Olivia scowled, returning to her more playful self.

“Then I wouldn’t be the famous Flying Scotsman now would I?” Scotsman complained and both Truro and Olivia rolled their eyes in response.

“You are impossible,” Olivia complained, but there was a huge grin on her face.