Chapter Text
The sun shines brightly, glowing warmly against a canvas of blue, and flocks of birds soar overhead, chittering happily. Edward steams along peacefully, pulling supplies to Knapford. He smiles serenely, admiring the scenery, and continues along the tracks with not a care in the world.
“Hello, Edward!”
Edward startles a bit, before glancing over towards the voice. He blinks, before a small smile crosses his face. “Hello, Emily. How are you?”
The emerald engine beams broadly at him. “I’m doing fine. I’m on my way to Brendan Docks to pick up some passengers. You?”
“Ahh…“ He hums quietly, puffing along the tracks, “just off to deliver some supplies to Knapford. They’re reconstructing one of their older buildings I believe.”
Emily hums thoughtfully, eyeing the flatbeds coupled up to the blue engine. “Sounds like quite the heavy load.”
Edward laughs quietly. “Nothing I can’t handle, Emily! I’ll be there in a huff and a puff.”
“Well, best be on your way, then.” Emily grins cheekily at him. “Don’t be too long, aye? After all, they don’t have all day to wait for you!” And then she speeds off down a branching track, off to Brendam Docks to pick up a load of arriving passengers. Edward watches her go, stunned into silence for a moment, but shakes off the comment with a shrug. It’s nothing new after all; the others are always making jabs about how old and slow he is, and he’s gotten used to them at this point. He knows he can be just as reliable and efficient as Gordon or James; maybe even more so.
But, still, it doesn’t mean the comments don’t hurt. How many times must he prove himself in order to be treated the same as everyone else? It seems like no matter what he does he’ll always be slow, unreliable Edward. It’s getting tiring, honestly, trying to constantly prove his worth.
The smile falls from his face somewhat, but he tries not to think about it too much. Sir Topham Hat has faith in him after all, and that’s all that really matters, right? Right.
Edward stews in his thoughts for the remainder of the trip, his expression falling further and further. Do the others really see him as too old to be reliable? He doesn’t understand why. He’s had to push Gordon up his hill more times than he can count, and he’s managed to catch up to a runway James on his own, so surely he’s more than proven himself at this point.
By the time he arrives at Knapford, an ugly frown has stretched his lips and a heavy weight has settled in his firebox. He hardly registers being uncoupled from his load, too lost in his head. He’s only startled out of his thoughts when the sound of a fellow engine appears beside him, and he glances to his right to see a familiar smiling face.
“Hello, Edward.” Duck’s smile is infectious, and Edward finds himself cracking a small smile despite his inner turmoil.
“All right, Duck. Nice seeing you here.”
“Likewise.” Duck’s uncoupled from his own load, and he drifts closer to Edward to better talk to him, wobbling slightly. His smile falters at the strained look on Edward’s face, and he says, “You all right? You don’t seem well.”
“Ahh, y’know—“ Edward shrugs as they pull out of the station, trying to seem better than he feels, “just a few comments and such. Nothing I’m not used to, so don’t worry yourself about it.”
Duck frowns at that, knowing what the blue engine is talking about. “Don’t listen to ‘em, Eddie. You’re just as reliable as the rest of ‘em.”
Edward’s smile becomes a little more genuine at that, and a knot that he didn’t know was there eases inside his firebox. “Thank you, Duck. It’s just tiring is all, constantly having to prove myself to them.”
“Sounds to me that their funnels are all full of smoke,” Duck grumbles, but seems very pleased with himself when Edward laughs at his comment.
The two continue chatting as they rattle along, and Edward relaxes further the longer he talks to Duck. He hadn’t realized he’d been so tense; Emily’s joke must’ve gotten to him more than he realized. Duck, thankfully, doesn’t prod further into the topic, and their conversation is rather pleasant. It’s nice to just exist, for once, and not have to worry about worth and work and all that other nonsense.
“So,” Duck says as they slow at a junction. He eyes the signal above their rail, continuing, “any work after this? I myself got some loads I need to bring to Vicarstown—the work never ends, does it?”
Edward laughs quietly, puffing a cloud of steam from his funnel. “Aye. I’ve got to shunt some trucks for James to pull later on. He’s got a delivery to make to Suddery.”
“Eesh.” Duck makes a face at that, faking a shudder. “I don’t envy you, Eddie. James can be a real piece o’ work.”
“Oh, he’s not so bad. Just a little… Impatient, is all.” The signal turns green, and Edward begins forward. “Well, I’ll be seeing you around. Don’t get stuck in any ponds, now, all right?”
The Great Western pannier puffs indignantly. “That was one time!” But the grin on his face betrays his tone, and he gives Edward a goodbye whistle before he turns down a branching track, heading off to The Little Western. Edward himself continues down the tracks back to Tidmouth, chuffing along merrily. He’s not concerned about being late; there’s more than enough time before James needs to depart, and he’s rather good at getting the trucks shunted. He can make it in good time, so long as he doesn’t run into any issues.
The trip, thankfully, is uneventful, and they make it back to Tidmouth in good time. It’s a calmer day; engines and people bustle around alike, and it seems as though Thomas hasn’t found any trouble for himself. A pleasant surprise, he muses. Lady knows they need a break from his shenanigans.
Edward chuffs along to the Yards, and as he nears it he notes that the trucks seem particularly rambunctious today. He slows to a stop as he nears them, watching them cackle together before rolling forwards once again, whistling to get their attention. At his whistle, they finagle themselves into a line, though it’s rather misshapen and uneven.
Greeting the group (and getting some ‘hellos’ in return from the group), Edward relays their instructions for the day. He tells them to behave, cracking a small smile. He remembers when they’d run James off the tracks, and while it’s amusing to look back on, he’s not eager to repeat the incident.
From somewhere down the line, a truck hollers, “No promises!”, to Edward’s exasperation. He rolls his eyes good-naturedly at the cheek. Backing up, he positions himself behind the line, herding them forwards like a sheepdog. It’s a finicky job, making sure they don’t ram into one another, but he manages just fine. They yammer and squabble the whole way there, and Edward chimes in whenever he’s directly addressed by one of them.
Before too long, the back of James’ tender comes into view, and Edward slows somewhat, lest he bumps into James. The trucks, eager to cause trouble, attempt to pull forward, but Edward manages to keep them from ramming into the red engine, much to their dismay. He shakes his head at their antics, slowly rolling them forward.
“About bloody time you got here!” James’ funnel steams furiously, and Edward does not need to see his face to know that he’s scowling. “Seriously, can you be any slower? I’ve got places to be!”
The blue engine sighs tiredly, rolling back as the trucks are coupled up to James. “I’m not slow, James. I can be just as fast as you.”
The red engine snorts. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re always rattling down the tracks, taking your sweet time. Honestly, it’s a miracle you get anything done!”
Who was the one to stop you from running off? Edward thinks bitterly, but bites his tongue. There’s no sense in reasoning with the splendid engine; he won’t listen anyways, and he’d rather not waste his energy trying to convince him otherwise.
A familiar whistle breaks through the air, and Gordon pulls into the station next to them, pulling the expressway. A weird sense of nostalgia washes over Edward, and he’s reminded of the early days back when James had first arrived.
Gordon raises an eyebrow at James’ pinched expression and says, “My, my, what’s got your boiler bubbling?”
“Old Iron here thought he’d take his sweet time shunting the trucks,” James snarls, and his expression sours as he lurches forward when the trucks push into him. Gordon huffs a laugh.
“Are you even surprised? I’m amazed he’s still working, given that he’s breaking down all the time.”
No matter how many times he hears it, the words always manage to get under his boiler jacket, and he frowns, growing defensive. “I haven’t broken down in ages!”
“Oh, really?” Gordon smirks condescendingly at Edward, and it makes his boiler churn. He knows he shouldn’t let it get to him—they’re just words after all, and nothing he hasn’t heard before—but the demeaning look in Gordon’s eyes gets under his boiler jacket, and a sickening feeling twists in his firebox.
Before he can respond, however, the guard blows her whistle and gives the all-clear. James immediately speeds off, eager to finish his task as fast as possible, but Gordon begins forward slowly, eying Edward in a way that makes him feel like he’s something horrid on the bottom of his wheel.
“Sir Topham Hatt needs really useful engines,” he says, and the smirk is gone from his face now, instead replaced with a harsh frown. “Not old engines who should be let off. I really don’t know why he keeps you around.” And then he speeds off, leaving a stunned Edward in his wake.
Edward stands there, his mind reeling, and he’s too stunned to move for a moment. Eventually his driver eases him forward, slowly, and Edward collects himself enough to pull out of the station. He tries to reorient himself as he chuffs back to the Yards, but Gordon’s words linger in the back of his mind, leaving him in a daze.
He’s quiet as he goes about his work, ruminating on Gordon’s comment. Normally he’d brush it off, but Gordon had sounded so genuine about it, and it irks him. In his distracted state he rams into the trucks a tad harsher than normal, and he startles himself out of his thoughts, hastily apologizing to the truck in front of him.
“Fizzling fireboxes.” Thomas blinks, pace slowing from where he’s pulling his coaches along a parallel track. He looks at Edward, baffled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so rough with the trucks before, even when they’re being really troublesome.” He eyes the line of trucks apprehensively as Annie and Clarabel are uncoupled from him, and Edward can’t help but let a small laugh escape him.
“They’re fine, really,” Edward says (Thomas looks more incredulous at this). “I’m…just a bit distracted, is all.”
“Yeah? By what?”
“Oh—” Edward shrugs as he settles the trucks into place, ready for tomorrow’s deliveries. “It’s just Gordon being Gordon. Nothing I’m not used to.”
Thomas frowns. “Well, Gordon is a git who can shove a stick down his—“
“Thomas!” Clarabel exclaims.
“I’m just saying!”
Clarabel glares disapprovingly for a moment, before she sighs quietly. “Oh, he does have a point, I suppose. That engine is entirely too full of himself. Don’t listen to him, Edward, dear. You’re just as useful as he is.”
“And a lot nicer as well,” Annie adds.
Edward hums quietly. “Don’t worry, I know. I don’t let his comments get to me.” Much. He keeps this detail to himself. It doesn't really matter.
“Good.” Clarabel sniffs. “Goodness knows his ego needs to be taken down a notch. I swear, sometimes I think he’s all full of smoke!”
The blue engine laughs, startled, and he cracks a small smile at the statement. “He is quite haughty, isn’t he?”
“Don’t even get me started!” Thomas complains loudly. He scrunches his face, pitching his voice low in a poor imitation of Gordon’s voice. “I’m so grand and superior because I pull the express even though I can’t do that without someone shunting the coaches for me! Being a goods train is beneath a grand engine such as me and I’m so much better—!”
“All right, all right. That’s quite enough, Thomas,” Annie chastises. “He may be full of himself, but Gordon is just as useful as the two of you.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Thomas grumbles, but desists his mockery. The uncoupling goes by smoothly, and soon Annie and Clarabel are being pulled back to their sheds. Thomas rolls towards Edward once he’s detached from them, and the pair begin to pull out of the Yards.
“Be safe, Thomas!” Annie calls as she’s pulled away. “And take care, you two!”
“We will!” Thomas yells back, and as they pull out of the Yards he grumbles, “I fall down a mine one time…”
“Oh, you’ve done a lot more than that,” Edward teases lightly.
“Don’t you start now too!”
Edward laughs, and Thomas’ face breaks out into a large grin in spite of himself. The two lapse into a compatible silence as they steam back home, content with simply being in each other’s company. They chuff along like this, for a while, before Edward asks Thomas about his day, and the smaller engine begins rambling on. Edward smiles lopsidedly, listening patiently. It’s always nice listening to the others talk.
Before too long the familiar worn roof of Tidmouth Sheds appears in the distance, and he spots the others already nestled in their berths. Henry’s on the turntable, in the process of easing into his own berth.
“Oh, you’re back.” Gordon eyes Edward as the pair nears. “And here I was thinking you’d broken down again. You were gone for a while.”
“Lady almighty, Gordon.” Thomas scowls as he slowly begins towards the turntable. “Why don’t you just can it, you prick. Edward’s twice the engine you’ll ever be!”
The grand engine sneers at the smaller one. “I’m simply stating facts, Little Thomas; Edward’s too old and too unreliable to be useful.”
“Who’s the one always pushing you up your hill?” Percy asks indignantly, and Gordon’s expression darkens further.
Before an argument can break out, however, a powerful whistle sounds through the air, startling the engines, and Edward feels his firebox sink as recognition dawns on him.
A large, black engine rolls to a stop right before the turntable, and though he’s more weathered than the last time they saw him, his smile is still as warm as ever, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, shining benignly.
And just like that the tension between them dissipates, instead replaced by an airy surprise, and the sudden change in the atmosphere throws Edward off kilter. His heart drops into his firebox as he registers the sight before him.
Edward begins to feel sick.
“Hiro?” Thomas gasps, eyes wide. His jaw slackens as he registers what he’s seeing. “Is that you?”
Hiro laughs quietly, and his smile widens. “Hello, my friends! It’s good to see you again.”
“What are you doing here?” Thomas rolls forward to address Hiro better, grinning widely. “I thought you went back to Japan!”
“I did. It’s still very beautiful,” Hiro says, and his expression softens into something wistful, “but it has changed so much from when I was there last. It’s no longer the home I remember.”
“Well—” Edward strains for a smile, trying to ignore the gnawing ache in his heart, “you’re always welcome here, Hiro.” And then Hiro smiles so sweetly at him, and a sickening weight curls in his firebox and his throat tightens until it feels like he’s suffocating.
“Good to have you back, ‘Master of the Railways’.” James grins as Edward’s firebox drops further, and the splendid engine continues, “Missed seeing your tender around here.”
Gordon smiles too, warmer than anything he’s ever given Edward, and it makes him want to throw up because Gordon has never looked at him like that, despite having known him for longer and being several years younger than Hiro. The ugly feeling rises in his tank again, curling tightly in his throat, and it hurts.
But he swallows it back. Because what right does he have to be so upset when Hiro is so happy? Hiro, who had been forgotten for so long, who no longer has a home he recognizes. Hiro, who trusted them blindly and had come back to them, the only engines he’s got left. Hiro, who…
No. He can’t be mad at all. So Edward stuffs down his emotions and forces a smile onto his face, feeling like an ugly, ugly monster as he watches the others chatter about with Hiro. Their faces stretch into wide, beaming grins, and it makes him feel all the more hollow.
Sir Topham Hatt needs really useful engines. Not old engines who should be let off. I really don’t know why he keeps you around.
Edward ruminates on the words, against his better judgement, and he scowls at the tracks. The Sheds are quiet, the others having fallen asleep hours ago, and the silence settles heavily on him. He knows he’s overthinking, that he’s getting stuck in his mind, but it’s hard not to when there’s nothing to distract him.
He eyes Gordon, who’s sleeping peacefully in the berth next to his, and Edward can’t help but compare his serene expression to the sneer he’d given him earlier that day. Gordon’s eyes are closed, his brows unknit, and the way he can just—sleep so peacefully after what he’s said makes something coil tightly in his firebox like a wound spring, and—
He looks away after a moment. It's becoming almost painful to look at the grand engine.
Edward’s mind wanders to Hiro and the way even Spencer had admired him, and then it wanders to the way James’ face had brightened and the way Gordon’s eyes had crinkled at the corners almost uncharacteristically, and his boiler begins to churn. It’s not fair how everyone respects and reveres Hiro and how he was fixed up almost immediately because of some title he held when he’d first come to Sodor while Edward had to earn those rights—
And then he slams down those thoughts, mortified by his own feelings as Hiro’s gentle smile flashes across his mind. And he feels so sick, because how can he even think of being mad at Hiro? He’d been left forgotten and alone for Lady knows how long, on that siding in the middle of the woods, and even when Thomas had found him there was no guarantee he’d turn out okay. How could he be so selfish when Hiro had had it so much worse?
An ugly feeling lurches and catches in the back of his throat, and it makes him sick. He feels like he’s something awful disguised as an engine—some gaping void covered in a mass of metal—and he aches, because he wants that same respect and care the others give Hiro. And he’s so disgusted by this—this childish want to be appreciated. It shouldn’t—it doesn’t matter. He should be happy that Hiro is getting the recognition he deserves after being deprived of it for so long. And he is! He’s happy that Hiro isn’t alone anymore and that his hard work and accomplishments are acknowledged. He’s not upset at all.
(Edward can tell himself this all he wants, but, deep down, there will always be that little worm of envy, buried deep in his tank. It makes his heart ache every time he looks at Hiro, and he despises himself for it.)
He sighs quietly, his emotions seeping out of him like water releasing from a sponge. It’s awfully late, and it takes so much energy to be so torn up about this. He knows that come tomorrow he’ll be right as rain, compliant and patient as usual, and things will go on as they always have.
Sir Topham Hatt needs really useful engines. I really don’t know why he keeps you around.
Edward clenches his jaw, his expression hardening. They want him to be useful? Fine. He’ll be useful. He’ll work harder than he ever has before, and he’ll prove he’s just as reliable as any of them.
(And so what if something in his firebox twists sickeningly at the fact he has to do this at all? It’s fine. He’ll do it. The weight curled up in his tank means nothing.)
He sucks in a breath, holding it for a moment, and exhaling quietly in an attempt to calm his nerves. And though his boiler jacket still prickles and uncertainty lingers in the back of his mind, the turmoil sitting in his firebox settles somewhat, and his mind has quieted enough to allow him to fall asleep.
Edward settles down in his berth, sighing quietly as he closes his eyes, and after a while he drifts into a dreamless slumber. Tomorrow, he decides, is a brand new start.
(So why does he feel like he’s making the wrong decision?)