Railway Ties

by FanFictionEngineer

Summary:

31 short one-shots using the prompts of Traintober 2023
Prompts and characters used will be in the chapter titles. Tags will be updated as chapters are posted.
Prompts made by @theflyingkipper on Tumblr

Notes:

"The Railway Series" was originally written by Reverend Wilbert Vere Awdry with his son, Christopher, adding to the series till 2021. This book series would lead to the development of "Thomas the Tank Engine"/"Thomas & Friends" TV show which was developed by Britt Allcroft. The show was originally produced by Gullane Entertainment, but after 2002, is now produced by HIT Entertainment.

I do not give permission for my work to be put through an AI or copied anywhere else.

Chapter 1: Morning - Diesel 10 & Pinchy

Summary:

Day 1 - Free Day
Went with something different to try out and I think it honestly worked out well enough.
This is my first time doing an October month-long event, and I have no idea how it's going to go as this is my first fic for anything TTTE related. But I am hopeful that this works out in the end and I don't lose steam (haha) before I complete this.

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 451

They watch and wait from their spot, stretched out and aloof. Though they might not have eyes, they can tell that dawn is approaching, for they are connected to many different electronic systems that are hardwired into a heavy metal frame. With the coming of the times, came the addition of a new system that allowed connection to the free Wi-Fi spots throughout the island.

Through old copper wiring and new fiber optic cables, they tiptoe through systems that have been maintained, repaired, and replaced numerous times till they find what they are looking for; the internal chronometer. The time reads 5:50 AM.

Not many would be up at this time and yet, they can feel through the rails the rumblings of the other engines, steam and diesel and electric alike. Moving out and about in the yard, starting their respective tasks of retrieving and delivering goods and shunting their trucks. But not them, not yet, for it is not time yet.

So, they wait, watching the minutes tick by until they feel it: the turning of the ignition to start the motor. However, it never turns all the way, to ignite the fuel that causes the powerful motors to roar to life.

A sleepy chuckle rolls over the metal frame until it reaches them. They clink their teeth together, but the warning goes either unnoticed or ignored for the ignition still stops short, and the motor does not turn on. They clink their teeth louder this time, but still no response as the diesel below seems content to be lazy this morning.

The systems are shared, but they are a 2-in-1 being, not a 1-to-1. What systems he can use, they can use, as long as fuel runs through the lines and the connections hold true.

And so, they strike for the time is now.

BANG!

The force of the blow isn’t much, more of a rough tap that they had done before in the past, but it does the trick as the diesel comes to the waking world with a loud blare of his horn. He lurches on the track, the force of the movement making them rattle, with a half-yell half-snort escaping his voice box.

Their strike has landed right on target.

“Pinchy! You know I hate it when you do that!”

They know, and yet, they do it anyway. And for all of his grumblings, the diesel isn’t so much mad as he is annoyed. They clink their teeth a third time, this time the message is received. Diesel 10 grumbles but allows his motor to finally start and the two, plus crew, to roll out into the new day, the rising sun greeting them both warmly.

Chapter 2: Bridge - Toby

Summary:

DAY 2 - Bridge
Set after the ending of "Toby and the Flood" (Season 5, Episode 10)

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 858

Toby regarded the wooden bridge before him, it looked sturdy and he had been reassured by both his crew and the Sir Topham Hatt that it was safe, that he would be safe if he crossed the bridge, that his crew would be safe in his cab. But that didn’t stop the uneasy feeling from sitting heavy in his boiler, nor the cold prickling that ran along his wooden frame.

The wood is creaking underneath his weight and for an unholy second, Toby fears that the broken bridge, now floating freely, would sink underneath his wheels, plunging him deep into the muddy waters. His driver and fireman are yelling, their words indistinguishable over the rushing water.

Following the disaster that was the collapse of the Great Wall near his branch line, a great deal had been done such as cleaning up most of the debris, and repairs/reconstruction of what had been damaged. The Great Dam, for instance, had been repaired so well that it might as well have been a completely new damn. Another one was that any parts of the tracks that had been washed away had been replaced.

The muddy waters turning beneath and around him are an ugly brown-orange color, with ribbons of pale wheat yellow along the edges of the river. The heavy rains have washed away a great deal of loose dirt into the river and the fast current has mixed it all together into such a mess.

And Toby knew that whatever something went wrong on any part of the Sodor tracks, Sir Topham Hatt would ensure it was fixed. So why was he so hesitant to cross this bridge?

Toby is on the edge of a panic attack, heaving so heavily that he can feel his fire crackling with sinful delight. And yet, he cannot feel the warmth of the fire. All he can feel is the coldness of the rain as it pounds down on him, the coldness of the running water beneath his wheels as it rushes both over and underneath the track bed.

Every other bridge on both his branch line and the other lines had been no problem. It was this bridge that he was having issues with. Toby continued to stare at the bridge, at the tracks that went onto the bridge, and continued on the other side. Apprehension made his flame feel cold and small and he felt like he didn’t have the steam to move.

His driver and fireman are still arguing, their voices like the buzzing of insects in summer. Toby pays them no mind as his mind is a whirling mess that he can hardly think. But his eyes latch onto a sign that he is slowly approaching and the world around him falls into an almost hushed silence, a distant roar in the background.

BEWARE THE WATERFALL.

“Come along now Toby,” gently urged his driver, his tone sympathetic. Toby could feel the calloused hands on his control valves. An engine could override the controls under rare circumstances, but in everyday operations, an engine’s crew had the controls. If his driver wanted to, he could force Toby to cross.

But the man was patient and kind and knew better than to force the old tram to do something he didn’t want to. And Toby wasn’t blind to the fact that the normally steady hands were fidgety and tense. “We need to cross. We need to check to make sure everything is in order and in tip-top shape before the line is reopened to the public.”

If Toby had his way, he could reverse back down the track, away from the accursed bridge. But useful engines didn’t run from their jobs, no matter how much they disliked the task. And Toby was too old to start throwing such tantrums now; (better leave it to the other engines that already had a record of doing such things).

Toby took in a deep breath. His wheels were firm on the new rails, his fire was burning well. The air smelled clean with hints of fresh earth and blooming flowers. He looked up to see the blue skies with were dotted with small white clouds. Turning his attention back to the tracks in front, Toby could feel a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. But slowly, his wheels began to turn.

He tensed when the wooden bridge creaked the moment he was on it, but he continued to puff along, keeping his eyes on the other side of the bridge. He let out a sigh of relief the moment he was off. He would have to cross the bridge again when he came back down the rail but that was a problem for later.

“Well done,” praised his driver. His fireman let out a breathy chuckle and patted the doorway into his cab. Toby felt a great deal of relief as he slowly rolled along the line, taking note of how the rain had affected the surrounding areas.

If there was one takeaway from all of this, it was that he was never ever going to cross a bridge when the floodwaters were high.

Chapter 3: Twins - Mavis

Summary:

DAY 3 - Twins
Does it still count if it mentions TWINS?

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 570

Mavis watched with great interest as she watched the twin Scottish engines move about in the yard. She had just finished delivering the last few trucks from the quarry and had a few minutes to rest her overworked engine. Bill and Ben had been up to their usual naughtiness and had caused some trucks to derail and spill over.

As a result, they had been restricted to work in the quarry and no further. Mavis was then forced to run back and forth with multiple trains of China clay between the quarry and the yard near Edward’s station, the docks being too far away and time-consuming for her to make the constant back-and-forth trips.

She had heard from Percy the few times he had stopped by on how the bigger tender engines didn’t shunt; how they saw it beneath them. It was the smaller engines, both steam and diesel, that usually had to do all the work so the bigger engines could pull the trucks where they needed to go.

But the Scottish twins – Donald and Douglas – were different. They didn’t mind shunting, in fact, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. She heard them laugh and whistle to one another and make jokes, through their accent made it hard to tell what they were saying.

That was fine, Mavis was more memorized by how they moved about in the yard. Most of the large tender steam engines seemed to lack the ease of way the smaller steam and diesel engines had. But they moved about with an air of grace that told not only of their years of experience but also of their crews. 

“Wow,” she murmured. Her voice was quiet so her words didn’t travel to the other engines, but it did travel enough for her driver to hear.

“I know,” agreed her driver. She was also taking a break, finally having a moment to eat part of her lunch. Her engineer had gone off to grab some drinks from the nearby town that was a few minutes’ walk away. “They are good.”

Mavis sighed. “Too bad they can’t be in the quarry, they would right those troublesome trucks, and every job we had would be on time.”

Her driver laughed. “That would make our lives too easier if that was the case. Besides, the quarry isn’t big enough to have two tender engines and it wouldn’t be right to separate the twins just for something like that.”

Mavis pouted at that but she knew her driver had a point. If the Scottish twins were anything like Bill and Ben, then separating them was only asking for trouble. But still, one could have some hope.

“Think Sir Topham Hatt would allow them to work in the quarry every once in a while?” she asked, eyeing her driver as she took a thoughtful bite of her apple. The woman was silent for several clicks before shrugging.

“Maybe, but who really knows what and how Sir Hatt thinks? Might be easier if those two gave our little demonic bees some tips.” Mavis thought it over before shuddering.

“If they did the twins would be taking over the island by the end of the week.” Mavis’s driver laughed at that. Mavis didn’t find it that funny. And when her engineer came back and was told of what had happened in her absence, she had laughed too. Mavis still didn’t find it funny.

Chapter 4: Devious - Diesel

Summary:

DAY 4 - Devious
Glad everyone is on the same page when it comes to this prompt :3 I mean, who else would fill this role?

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 764

“All right,” growled Diesel to the gathered steam engines in the yard. Most of them were building up steam to begin the day’s work, making this the perfect time to confront them. “Which one of you put your crew up to this?”

He was met with several different expressions; blank stares, raised eyebrows, eye-rolls with scoffs, and minor confusion. It was Edward who asked, one of the few steam engines not put off by his constant rudeness.

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked. His eyes flickered over his frame before looking around the yard, trying to see what the issue was.

“Which one of your drivers or firemen,” he began slowly but was broken off by a loud cough. His eyes flickered over to Emily, whose firewoman was staring at him with a scowl.

“Which one of your crew members, regardless of position,” he amended before turning his attention to the listening steam engines. “Thought it would be funny to paint on me.”

There was a pause, only the sounds of distant working engines breaking the silence. There was a snort and Diesel flicked his eyes over to James who looked amused.

“You were painted on?” he asked slowly, amusement dripping from his words. “That’s why you are upset? If you want my opinion-“

“I don’t” sneered Diesel.

“It would be an improvement,” James finished, having ignored Diesel’s interruption. “Besides I don’t see any paint on you.”

“It's near the end of my cab and on my back,” snapped Diesel, feeling uncomfortable as several eyes, metal and organic, looked over him. “I didn’t even know it was there until my driver did his pre-work safety walk and noticed it. And when he tried to erase part of it, it smeared.”

James sneered. “What a shame. Guess you're going to be stuck like that for the rest of the day till your washdown.”

Diesel growled, narrowing his eyes at the eye-searing red engine when Duck intervened. “I am sorry to hear that, Diesel.” Even though he was trying to be professional, there was something in his tone that made Diesel’s lips curl. The two of them would always be unpleasant to one another, despite the years of having to work with one another. “I don’t think it would be one of our crew members. Most of us were at Tidmouth while you were at the Docks. Not very practical.”

“I know it has to be the crew members of one of you tea kettles,” Diesel hissed. “And I will find out who, even if I have to get the Fat Controller involved.” That absorbs all of the humor and smug expressions in an instant. Diesel watched as each of the engines eyed each other, the cogs turning as they thought long and hard about who the culprit could be.

Having said everything he needed to, he slinked away to get his empty trucks to take to the quarry. And as he turned, he had several snorts and a very clear squawk from both the engines and their crew. Since they could no longer see his face, Diesel grinned.

He already knew what it said, having come up with the phrase with his driver.

NEED A BARBER? QUACK AT THIS NUMBER.

Diesel wondered if anyone would call the number and figure out that it belonged to the barber shop that Duck had once crashed into many years ago. The place had been repaired back to its original state after the accident but in the years since, it had undergone some renovations with the changing of the owner. If what he heard was correct, the new owner had gone with a bird motif for its décor.

 

“You really are a devious diesel.” Diesel grins, all toothy and sharp.

“Just living up to the expectation of the Thin Clergyman,” he replied with some glee. “It wouldn’t do for me to begin to lose my reputation or to let the steam kettles think I’ve gone soft after all these years here.”

His driver laughed; he had gotten the cold shoulder from the other engine crew members when Diesel had come back to the island and while some had warmed up, they were far from outright friendliness. So having an opportunity to be able to get one over them was never missed. “So, what should we write this time?”

Diesel thought it over, mulling over the options that would pass by the Fat Controller before an idea flew into his radiator. The grin he gave his driver truly belonged to a devious diesel. “How about something in regards to bootlaces.”

Chapter 5: Its Only Me - Harvey

Summary:

DAY 5 - It's Only Me
Set during "A Bad Day at Castle Lock" (Season 7, Episode 11). And the 2nd honorary mention of the Scottish Twins :)
(I will write a chapter with them, I promise. But its currently set is near the end of the month)

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 875

Harvey chuffed slowly along the line, the heavy fog coating him in a layer of cool mist. The fog was a normal thing that occurred near and on the lakes of Sodor, especially near the lake of Lord Callan’s castle but tonight it was exceptionally thick. It covered every rock and made monster-like shadows out of the nearby tree along the tracks.

The lake faired no better, covered from one shore end to the other in fog, looking as if it was underneath a thick layer of swirling snow. Harvey shivered; perhaps it was his years working in and about many factories before coming here but there was a clear nip in the air that would have tricked him into thinking it was snow.

The sound of some twigs snapping underneath his wheels made him tense before letting out a huff of annoyance. Harvey wasn’t fond of driving when he couldn’t see where he was going, even if he was going slow and his wheels were firmly on the rails. He also wasn’t fond of how the fog dampened the sound of his chuff and occasional whistle. Accidents easily occurred in these kinds of conditions and because of the low visibility, it made rescue operations more hazardous.

But an engine was in need of help. Well, actually two engines; Donald and Douglas. They had been taking a long goods’ train from the harbor to Lord Callan’s castle for its reopening and had they gotten stuck en route because first of some knocked down trees on the tracks and second because of a landslide. They had been essentially trapped at both ends.  

Thankfully none of the crew members were hurt but it had been hours since the incident had occurred and Harvey was finally able to go help. He would have tried to be there earlier but he had been busy at the docks all day and there had been no spare engine. Then there was the issue of the twins being too heavy for him to try and lift with his crane so he had to get the breakdown crane and the men who could.

Harvey let out a small sigh as the causeway came into view. It was a bit of old track that ran through the shallowest end of Lake Loch and was also the fastest way to get to the twins. Within a few minutes, he would arrive at the twins’ location and begin the rescue.

The old part of the track creaked when the breakdown crane was on it and Harvey hoped it was strong and stable enough. The last thing anyone needed was the rescue engine to rescue himself; that would just be embarrassing. As Harvey chuffed closer, he listened for the sound of an engine’s welcoming whistle, but all he could hear was his own dampened chuffing.

But as he got closer, rounding the corner and going from the causeway tracks to solid tracks he could hear talking, a familiar accent on the words he couldn’t quite make out. Harvey sighed with relief; he had found the twins.

He was within eyesight of the twins and was about to whistle in greeting when-

“Is it the monster?!” “But, for sure it is!” the screams in double made Harvey jolt, causing him to bang the breakdown crane heavily. He winced as sharp pain lanced through his buffers. He gritted his teeth as the pain slowly ebbed away; that was good, that meant he hadn’t dented anything seriously.

“It's not,” Harvey called out. “It's us.”

Harvey fully rounded the corner and came face-to-face with a very relieved-looking Donald. He wasn’t able to Douglas from this angle and with the breakdown crane in the way, but no doubt the other Scottish engine had a similar expression on his face as well. As soon as he stopped, the men began to clamber out, setting up lamps to start work on digging the twins out.

“Ach, it's only Harvey,” replied Donald with a sigh. If he had had steam, he would have whished.

“Yes, it's only me,” Harvey parroted, with a raised eyebrow. “Did you think I was the Loch monster?”

Donald didn’t answer him, he only looked embarrassed and stared down at his buffers. Amusement bubbled in Harvey’s boiler, remembering the earlier argument between the twins as they had left the harbor. “I thought you didn’t believe in the monster?”

“Ah don’t,” Donald said with a huff, his green eyes snapping back to Harvey. “But ah was only lookin’ out for Douggie-”

“Me?” came the snap from further down the line. “It was ye who started all the monster talk.”

The two began to bicker, but Harvey could tell that there was no real heat in the words being tossed back and forth. As he began to assist the workmen in clearing the mess, Harvey realized something; he now had a tall tale he could tell Salty. He could finally tell a story that would impress the old sea engine.

Now, should he tell the story when the twins were at the docks or not? That was the question. One he pondered as he continued to work to clear away the mess which took the rest of the night and into the morning.

Chapter 6: Special Letters - Percy & Mr. Tipper

Summary:

DAY 6 - Special Letters
Refers to "A Scarf for Percy" (Season 3, Episode 1) and "Mind that Bike" (Season 4, Episode 26)
Who else could I use for this prompt except Percy. And can you guys tell I had fun with this one?

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 1072

Percy chuffed along the line, doing his best to keep the time. A finicky signal box had delayed him by 30 minutes and while he wasn’t completely behind, he needed to make sure he made the next transfer.

“Woah there Percy,” called out his driver. “We’ll get to the station on time, no need to rush.”

Percy let the words float around in his funnel and while he didn’t push himself as hard, he still kept a fast pace as he raced down the line. He pouted when he felt his driver force him to slow down but soon smiled when he saw the station ahead and let a long call with his whistle.

The usual figures – such as the station master – were already on the platform, ready to take their mail. But it was the two special figures, one dressed in the usual postman attire and the other in some causal wear, that Percy whistled more to in greeting.

“Morning Mr. Tipper, morning Mr. Sawyer,” Percy greeted with a smile. Both men smiled and laughed in return. While Mr. Sawyer set to work to go through the mail carts, Mr. Tipper took the time to greet and talk pleasantries with Percy and his crew.

Though Mr. Tipper had long since retired from taking the mail, that hadn’t stopped him from making his rounds and being on the platform to always greet Percy and his crew. And while he couldn’t work as fast or lift as well as he had in his youth, the man still did what he could to help the staff and his replacement, Mr. Sawyer.

Percy liked Mr. Sawyer; he was very similar in personality to Mr. Tipper and was just as easy to talk to. The big difference between the two men was that Mr. Sawyer had a wicked sense of humor, one that Percy found refreshing at times.

Of course, it wasn’t always smooth sailing. So many children had read about Mr. Tipper that when a group of tourists, a family of eight, made their rounds early one morning, they greeted Mr. Sawyer as Mr. Tipper!

Percy had been alarmed and surprised but in hindsight, it had made sense. No other postman or postwoman had their name in the books, only Mr. Tipper. But Mr. Sawyer had played along, greeting the family warmly and answering the young children’s questions with patience until it was time for him to leave.

This had happened enough times, especially during the warm summer months, that Percy had asked Mr. Sawyer about it.

“I don’t mind at all Percy,” Mr. Sawyer had said with a laugh. “It was Mr. Tipper’s stories that he had told me when he had delivered the mail to my house when I was a boy that inspired me to become a mailman in the first place. If taking on the role does the same for others as it did for me, then I don’t mind.”

“Of course,” he had added with a cheeky smile. “As long as you don’t run over my bike, then we are good.”

Percy had whished some steam playfully at that. But he hoped that the next time the Thin Clergymen stopped by, he would write another book about the mail train, and introduce another generation to some of the newer folks that worked the railway.

“Well,” Mr. Sawyer said with a whoosh of his own. “That just does about it. You would think with the introduction of emails, the post would see less traffic and yet I found myself busier than you in your heyday.”

Mr. Tipper laughed. “Well, if what I heard is correct,” there was a sly look on his face as he eyed Percy, “it might have to do with a certain little green saddle tank engine.”

Percy blushed. He had made an off-handed comment to Duck and Thomas some weeks ago about how the mail runs had been short nowadays but he didn’t think anyone else had overheard it. But then again, something similar had happened before.

When the story regarding him and a scarf had first come out, the mail had been flooded with many fan letters and hand-made scarves, just for him. There had been so many that a storage area had to be rented out just for all of it. Mr. Tipper and his fellow mailmen had all been good sports about it but by the end of the third week, even they had gotten tired of the heavy workload.

And it was unfortunate that Percy also couldn’t really wear the scarves when he was working either. The first and only time he had tried to he had accidentally set it on fire because of a stray spark from his funnel. Percy had been most upset and the Fat Controller had been most displeased by the delay and when he found out for what afterwards.

But the scarves did go for a good cause, as clothing donations to the less fortunate, especially during the cold winter season. (Though he did keep several of his favorites which Harold kept for him in his hanger even if the whirlybird copter did tease him about it every now and then).

“I might have mentioned that the mail seemed light lately,” Percy admitted sheepishly. “But I doubt that word has already traveled so far and so fast.”

“Ah,” mused Mr. Sawyer with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Once again, my friend, you underestimate how connected the world is, especially with the World Wide Web.”

“Regardless,” Mr. Tipper chimed in. “I am sure there are plenty of special letters for you and the other engines in this latest batch from the mainland. Perhaps if I have time, I might deliver it myself.”

Percy whistled in delight. “That sounds wonderful Mr. Tipper! Please do!”

Mr. Tipper laughed but before he could say more the guard’s whistle sounded. The mail had been unloaded and it was time for Percy to depart. Percy was sad he wasn’t able to talk more with his friends but the mail had to be delivered.

He whistled once again and slowly puffed out of the station. “Goodbye Mr. Tipper, goodbye Mr. Sawyer. I will be seeing you around.”

“You as well,” both men called out as they waved goodbye.

Percy smiled as he continued to chuff along the tracks. Truly, the mail train was the most useful train one could pull on the island of Sodor.

Chapter 7: Refreshment - Peter Sam & The Refreshment Lady

Summary:

DAY 7 - Refreshment
Set after the ending of "The Refreshment Lady's Tea Shop" (Season 7, Episode 8)
I gave the Refreshment Lady the same name as her real-life counterpart because why not? It's a pretty name.

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 814

It was just before dawn, still early enough that the firelighters weren’t here yet. But Peter Sam was already wide awake, eagerly awaiting their arrival. But he made sure to do his best to be quiet. While some engines loved having an early start to the day, some did not.

In fact, a very particular engine was a rather heavy sleeper and didn’t appreciate being woken up well before they needed to.  Peter Sam didn’t want to do a repeat of last year when he had accidentally woken Duncan up before the sun had risen. The yellow engine had been so crossed he had been spitting sparks and steam for the entire day and, as a result, the Thin Controller had put him on goods’ work.

The troublesome trucks had been left sore and bad-tempered from how roughly they had been bumped and rattled and clanged about and around the yard that they had refused to work with Duncan for an entire week afterward. The other engines were forced to take the brunt of the troublesome trucks' mischief, even Peter Sam who normally got along well with the trucks had a hard time with them.

So now, Peter Sam sat quietly, watching through the window of his shed as the black sun slowly began to change into colors of yellow, pink and blue. When the door slowly creaked open he gave the startled firelighter a huge grin. The man blinked at him in surprise before chuckling.

“First day of summer huh?” asked the firelighter, his raspy voice quiet and low for only Peter Sam to hear. Peter Sam nodded; the first day of summer always heralds the arrival of tourists who come from far and wide to see the engines that run on the island of Sodor. As a result, they would be busy well into the fall being really useful engines, which made everyone happy, even Duncan.

It also meant that the Tea Shop Special would begin running again, as with all of the tourists on the Skarloey Railway, they would need tea and treats as they explore the surrounding areas. The Refreshment Lady would run the moving Tea Shop while her assistant and other staff would run the station Tea Shop and keep things moving smoothly in the background.

Peter Sam, having helped create the Tea Shop Special, was the main engine that pulled the coach, with the other helping when he needed a break or he was unable to. It was one of his favorite runs in the summer and he looked forward to the first day of summer every year.

Soon enough his fire was burning, and he had a good head of steam. His driver and fireman worked quickly so that he could leave the shed. The birds chirped and sang around Peter Sam as he chuffed down the rails until he came across the station. And already waiting on the platform was the Refreshment Lady.

“Peter Sam!” she greeted with a large smile.

Peter Sam whistled, long and loud. “Mrs. Davies!” he greeted in return. “Are you ready to begin the Tea Shop Special?”

Mrs. Davies laughed, the type of laugh that was always warm and welcoming, the type that made Peter Sam’s firebox glow. “Indeed, I am Peter Sam. In fact, I made some new additions to the menu this year. I bet they will be a smashing hit.”

“Will I be able to try some?” Peter Sam asked, doing his best to make his face innocent.

Mrs. Davies laughed again. “Why not? As long as we skip the cakes, I don’t think I need another visit from an unhappy Thin Controller.”

Peter Sam’s crew laughed and he blushed. He had convinced Mrs. Davies to let him try one of the cakes that she sold in her shop. It had been sweet and delicious but had clogged his pipes. That had meant a visit to the Works to be cleaned of all the now burnt sugary junk that coated and covered several key parts.

The Thin Controller had not been impressed when he had heard about it and had made a rule that engines were not allowed to eat people's food, nor allowed to have people's food be thrown into their fireboxes. Several of the other engines had found it funny that Peter Sam, of all engines, had helped make an unofficial rule an official rule for the Railway.

“Don’t worry Peter Sam,” chimed his driver. “We’ll take your slice of cake.”

Peter Sam whished playfully, and everyone laughed. Mrs. Davies then asked to wait for a few minutes, so make sure everything was in order before they left. While she conveyed with her staff, Peter Sam carefully maneuvered himself until he was back-up to the coach. Once he was coupled and the guard whistle was blown, he gave a whistle of his own and was off.

Chapter 8: Bird - Duck & Dilly

Summary:

DAY 8 - Bird
I was thinking of using Rusty for this prompt because of the fan episode "Rusty and the Bird" but then I remembered Dilly :3

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 1190

Duck waited patiently in the shed; his eyes closed to feign sleep as he listened carefully. But all he could hear was the chirping of insects and calls of the birds, with the distant roar of the ocean. He frowned but Duck wasn’t deterred as he continued to wait and listen.

Donald and Douglas were doing a late-night run to Vicarstown while Oliver had taken Toad and Isabell, his brake van and coach respectively, for a tune-up at the Works and would most likely be spending the night there, leaving the Great Western engine alone in the shed. Normally Duck didn’t mind the nights he was alone in the shed, finding it soothing to hear the world shift into the night around him.

But tonight wasn’t going to be relaxing, for Donald had asked Duck for help before he had left, knowing he wouldn’t be back till early morning at best. And was it not the Great Western Way for one engine to help another as long as it didn’t interfere with their duties?

But of course, what Donald had asked for wasn’t easy for an engine to accomplish, so more help was needed. This being Duck’s and Donald’s firemen switching places, with the former going with the Scottish engine and the latter staying behind to help Duck.

“Maybe you should quack?” Duck’s face twitched but he didn’t reply.

“Leave him alone Anderson,” sighed Duck’s driver before adding in with a tone of weary annoyance. “If you think that would work, quack yourself. Dilly happens to like Donald more than any other engine, and she is familiar with his crew. She might come if you call.”

Anderson scoffed before walking off, and Duck let out a small silent sigh. The favor that Donald had asked was for Duck and his crew to check up on Dilly. The station master had reported that Dilly had been coming by less and less to the station, which had concerned the Scottish engine.

Though Dilly did leave the station to swim in the nearby pond every now and then, she always came back. And she always came, quacking an utter storm, when Donald was nearby and he whistled. The fact that she hadn’t been seen much in the week had led to some assuming the worst, especially since there had been reports of foxes in the general area.

But Duck was honest, he wasn’t sure what he could exactly do. Dilly was familiar with him and his crew because of his close friendship and interactions with Donald but it wasn’t much. For an animal, that meant as much as recognizing that he wasn’t going to eat or harm her. And he wasn’t going to go up and down the lines looking for her, especially since doing so could interfere with the free rails of the Flying Kipper.

So, all he could was wait in the shed, hoping his presence and green paint would entice Dilly to come waddling up to him. Meanwhile, Duck’s driver and Donald’s fireman would try to lay out some bait – her favorite snack of peas – to try and draw Dilly out as well as searching and asking around if any of the locals had seen her.

It was the best they could do as night was approaching. If their ideas didn’t work, they would have to escalate the matter but Duck squirmed at the idea of getting any of the higher-ups involved, especially the Fat Controller, even if it was for the sake of Donald and Dilly.

Duck heard Donald’s fireman return and the two men moved about, the sounds of wood and metal scraping on rocks unpleasant. Duck hoped the racket wouldn’t scare Dilly away, even though she was unbothered by the sounds of steam engines in motion and their whistles. The two men worked for several minutes until they were done with whatever they were doing.

“That should do it,” huffed Duck’s driver. “Whether it works or not depends on how hungry Dilly is.”

There was a clear snort from Donald’s fireman which was ignored. Duck felt a warm hand on his buffer, to which he cracked an eye open to see his driver. “We’ll go and talk with the station master regarding Dilly,” he explained. “Then we’ll ask around and maybe, if the light holds, we’ll also stop by the pond. If nothing turns up, we might need to resort to flyers and word-of-mouth.”

Duck nodded and walked as the two men walked off. He then closed his eye and pretended to go back to sleep. Dilly had a bad habit of waking him up by nipping (and one time biting rather hard) at his nose; perhaps staying out of the shed and being a target for the duck’s mischief might work.

Time continued on, and as the air got cooler and there was no sign of his driver or the firemen coming back, Duck felt the worry become more unpleasant as if his boiler was being covered in frost. But then, he heard the rustling of reeds as something came closer. Duck waited and listened as an average-sized something made its way through the weeds that grew by the shed.

QUACK!

Duck tried his best to cover his relief. He knew that sound, knew that call, despite it sounding like every other duck call. He opened one eye to stare, and there, stark white among the dark green was Dilly. Duck smiled and was about to greet the little bird when out of the weeds stumbled several little yellow ducklings.

Duck’s eyes opened with shock, and he stared agape as Dilly waddled over, the little ducklings following and beeping. She seemed to regard the empty space beside Duck, Donald’s usual resting place, before turning to regard the doghouse that had been placed beside it, a plate full of peas inside.

Dilly quacked and waddled over, inspecting the doghouse before jumping in. The ducklings followed and soon Duck could hear the clinking of the glass bowl as several mouths moved it about, eating the peas with gusto. Once the peas were all eaten, there was more quacking and chirping before silence; the little family had settled down for the night.

Duck didn't say anything, couldn’t think of anything to say, even when his driver returned, looking forlorn. Duck only used his eyes to point to the doghouse, hoping that Dilly wouldn’t run off because of the approaching human. But the doghouse was silent as he looked inside, his tired face breaking into a large grin. The man nodded to Duck before tiptoeing away.

Duck knew he should fall asleep himself, but he couldn’t seem to settle down as his eyes kept wandering over to the doghouse. Of course, when Donald returned early the next morning, the trip to and from Vicarstown having been delayed, did Dilly set out, quacking loudly.

Which was followed by the chirping of the ducklings as they stumbled out. The Scottish engine’s face broke into a huge smile, one full of tenderness and relief, when he saw his duck. And it utterly softened when he caught sight of the ducklings. Duck only grinned.

Chapter 9: Viaduct - Thomas

Summary:

DAY 9 - Viaduct
I was going to use a different character for this prompt but I think Thomas works out just as well.

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 842

Thomas regarded the viaduct before him. It had been partially rebuilt since large portions had fallen into the river fall below some months ago. And it looked safe and sound, it probably was in better shape than it had been before but Thomas still didn’t want to cross.

After it had been rebuilt, many engines, especially the large tender engines, had been nervous and worried about crossing the viaduct. It also didn’t help that Diesel 10, the engine that had fallen through and had been saved by a passing barge, recounted his perilously tale to the other diesels.

The tale spread like wildfire among the engines, and by the time Thomas heard the story that had made its way around the other engines he had been stunned. So many details were missing or had been changed completely that it was now a completely different tale and not all accurate for what had actually happened. And he would know, he had been there; he had felt Pinchy nearly grab him by his back buffers several times during that chase.

So, in order to soothe the worries of not only his engines but the crew of said engines, the Fat Controller had ordered that several safety checks and tests be done before any of his engines were allowed to cross. The paperwork connected to said safety measures was to be validated and associates verified for the official records.

And today was the day; the final testing day. If everything went well, the viaduct would be reopened to service. This would help lessen the heavy workload and long train from the other lines which was important. Timetables had to be structured to make sure that the passenger trains in the area still ran in a timely manner, meaning that goods trains were done before, in between, and after these runs. At the end of the day, many felt as if their wheels were about to fall off.

But that didn’t mean Thomas wanted to be here; to be the first engine to cross. Sir Topham Hatt had been firm; as he had been a witness to everything that had transpired regarding Diesel 10 and Lady, him helping prove that the viaduct was safe would help show the other engines that there was nothing to be afraid of. Now, Thomas liked to be a useful engine, and he liked even more to be a really useful engine but there was a limit.

And he had told the Fat Controller that. But Edward, kind and reliable Edward, had scolded Thomas for his stubbornness but seeing that he wasn’t going to budge, had offered a compromise. If Thomas crossed first, then Edward would take over for the rest of the tests and if the viaduct held up to his weight and the trucks he would be using, then it would be safe for everyone else.

Thomas couldn’t find fault with that, and as it was okay with the Fat Controller, agreed. So here Thomas was, staring down at the tracks that he had crossed what almost felt like a lifetime ago. He remembered how the tracks had creaked and groaned, how the once sturdy stone had wobbled and faltered, giving way underneath. He remembered the brief flashes of seeing the river through the tracks.

‘Well Thomas,” prompted his driver. “It's now or never.”

A slight breeze blew across the viaduct and Thomas thought he heard a voice, gentle and soft, speak with the wind. A swirl of dust gathered on the viaduct and in the brilliant sun, appeared golden.  

It's your shining time moment.

‘Lady,’ Thomas thought. He had not seen the small little engine since she had escaped from Diesel 10, having through she had disappeared back to the Other Railway through the magic buffers. But every now and then, he thought he glimpsed her, or heard her, or saw the flickers of gold dust. He had once asked Edward about her, but the older engine had just smiled and said that ‘engines like her were special, and did things differently than normal engines.’

Though his wheels wobbled slightly and his fire didn’t feel as if it was burning as brightly as it should, he set out across the viaduct. But this time, the stone didn’t grind against one another, nor did the rail buckle. The stone bridge was quiet and solid, the rails sturdy.

But Thomas was more than happy once he was off and onto the other side. He whistled as he passed Edward, who was waiting on the other side with a small train of goods and some of the engineers who would be along for the tests.

“See,” laughed his driver. “There was nothing to worry about.”

Thomas let out a chuckle, the nervousness from earlier easing out of him like loose steam. Perhaps there wasn’t, but he still was glad that he didn’t have to be on the viaduct more than he had to. And perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he had heard another engine chuckle along aside him.

Chapter 10: Happiest - Gordon

Summary:

DAY 10 - Happiest

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 711

Gordon thundered down the line, the express trailing behind him. He smiled when he saw the signals were green; with the way this run was going he might make a new record for himself. He chortled in amusement at the thought. There was nothing finer than pulling the express; the wind as it rushed over and around him, the humming rails beneath him, the passengers singing his praises, the freedom of speed. There was nothing that could compare. 

Gordon was built for to pull passenger trains, he had carved himself a niche by doing the express and continuing to do so for the North Western Railway after all these years. To do anything else or other was a sully to his name and to his designer. So, suffice to say, the express made Gordon feel happy and fulfilled.  As Gordon rounded the bend, he could see Boco coming in the other directions, pulling a goods train from the mainland. He whistled, loud and long, and Boco returned the call with one of his own, his electric horn just as loud as his whistle.

“Looking Splendid Gordon,” Boco called out as Gordon passed. Gordon felt smug pride burn just as brightly as his fire inside of him. Never would he have thought he would share friendship with a diesel, especially after the first introduction of Diesel having soured every encounter since. But yet, he did and Gordon was ever grateful; it was an added bonus of knowing an engine besides little Edward who could keep the little bees from the quarry in line.

With the approaching station, Gordon slowed down, but his frame still seemed to hum. He felt exuberant, as if he had the energy to pull a full express train from one end of Sodor to the other and then back to the beginning.

“Easy there Gordon,” his driver called out, over the hustle and bustle of the Big Station. “Can’t have you wearing yourself out. You know who is visiting after all.”

“Of course, I do.” Gordon replied with a sniff. “I had to remind you. Not up to snuff of being an express crew you are.”

There was laughter from his cab; his crew already use to the at times huffy and pompous large engine. But his driver’s reminder made a shiver go through his frame; yes, he knew who was visiting. Though they were had exchanged letters since the last visit, it had been years since they had last since each other face to face.

And there was nothing like a well overdue family reunion.

A guard’s whistle sounded over the chaos and Gordon let lose a whistle of his own before he slowly pulled from the station. This was the last run for the day, and with no other jobs for the night, he would be free. He had gotten word that Sir Topham Hatt had set up Scotsman at the private sheds, ones only used for special guests.

Gordon would be joining him there and as James would be pulling the morning express run, an offer given to the red mogul out of the kindness of Gordon’s own firebox, the two of them would be allowed to catch up.

Gordon had already thought long and hard of what tales and news to share with Scotsman, and no doubt the other had also put thought into what he would tell Gordon. Their revived brotherhood was still shaky and at time, Gordon still felt the oily feeling of envy rears itself but those feelings were easily snuffed out just like small flames underneath shovels of sand. But it was there, it was present, and it was alive.

Which was more said for his other brothers, sisters and cousins. And if living for as long as he has on Sodor taught him anything, it was that one shouldn’t take anything for granted, and to live for the moment.

Yes, Gordon was made for the express. He lived for it and it made him content, a type of lazy happiness. But true happiness was found within the friends, within the family he had made on the Great Western. As it was also true with reconnecting with family thought gone, thought lost. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter 11: Roundhouse - Spencer

Summary:

DAY 10 - Roundhouse
I was thinking about this and got the idea at work (and I didn't forget it)

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 1152

Spencer chuffed along the line; his face in such an unpleasant frown that you would have thought it was frozen like that. That was, if you didn’t know him, and by now, probably every engine knew who and what Spencer was. And none of what he heard in passing was good.

A red signal forced him to stop and Spencer gritted his teeth, wanting nothing more than to turn around and to return to his shed. To his shed that would be comfortable, soundproof, and built to house all of his needs. Even if it was missing some of the finer details and therefore was incomplete, it was still better than anything that was currently available to all permanent and visiting engines to this railway.

However, the Duke and Duchess of Boxford had other ideas. Ever since they had found out the full extent of Spencer’s actions in regards to Hiro and his neglect of helping build their summer house, they had been most displeased. Spencer and his crew had gotten the most unpleasant – but still professional – verbal chewing out in their careers.

Of course, the indignation didn’t stop there. The Duke, believing that Spencer needed to atone for his actions as they were not a reflection of the Boxford household, had loaned him out to help the North Western Railway for the rest of the summer, as if he were a common goods engine!

Spencer had nearly burst a safety value when he had first gotten the news. And no amount of moaning or complaining changed the Duke’s mind, nor of his orders from the Fat Controller himself. So, in between his duties as an express engine for the Duke and Duchess, Spencer had spent days pulling goods from one end of the island to the other. From harbors that stunk of rotting fish and salt to dusty quarries to rickety old mills. And if he wasn’t pulling goods, he was shunting. Shunting!

And the trucks, which were all old and dirty, had taken to making every single time miserable. From off-key singing to making terrible jokes and puns, and that was on top of seeming to do everything, short of derailing him, to make his trains late. Someone had put them up to it, he was sure of it. The North Western was somewhat successful; there was no way a decent two-bit railway that owned his many steam engines would be as it was if the trucks were this troublesome to everyone.

All in all, Spencer was exhausted, but tonight was the last day of him helping out. By tomorrow morning, he would be back to being a private express engine only. The light finally changed to green and Spencer was off once again. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in deep shades of red and orange. When he arrived at the Tidmouth Roundhouse, he sighed in relief at the empty spot. At least he wouldn’t have to sleep outside which had happened before and more than once.

However, as he got closer, he took in the engines that were already there. And stopped short, causing his driver and fireman to cry out in alarm. He ignored the angry yelling that came from his cab as he took in the old large steam engine that was beside Edward. He knew that not only was he being restored, but despite having weathered the elements for some 50 years, he was still in good enough shape to steam.

“Ah, hello Spencer,” Hiro greeted with a small smile, his accented English soft. “Joining us tonight?”

“He will be,” came Gordon’s cool reply from the far-right side. Spencer meant his cousin’s cool glare with a heated one of his own. “Otherwise, he can expect another letter from my brother.”

Spencer flinched. Two weeks into his duties he received a letter from the Flying Scotsman, and it had been filled with brotherly disappointment and disapproval. He had felt lower than pond scum when his driver had finished reading the letter out loud. And it hadn’t taken much to figure out who had ratted him out to family.

“Of course,” Thomas chimed in, a truly cheeky grin on his face. “Spencer is more than welcome to sleep outside, or share a shared with Diesel.”

Spencer cut his eyes to the shed that was past Gordon, and indeed, the black diesel was already in there. His face pulled into a scowl that basically said ‘No’.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Spencer puffed onto the turntable which slowly spun him around so that he could go into the spot that was between Gordon and Edward. His driver and fireman quickly dropped his fire, and once down, left. Their lodgings were with the other staff members who were employed by the Boxford’s so they still had to make long commutes from wherever Spencer was left.

“I see you have been repaired to full operations,” Spencer said stiffly in lieu of an actual greeting. An engine out of his sight snorted but Hiro didn’t look offended, if anything, he looked amused.

Hiro let out a small laugh. “Indeed, I feel as young as the day I first steamed. Not too bad for an engine that can barely puff.”

Spencer blanched before he flushed. He had been reminded time and time again of his actions and how unbecoming they were, especially for an express engine for the Duke and Duchess of Boxford.

“Sir Topham Hatt was able to get into contact with some descendants of Hiro’s original builders. They were more than ecstatic to be able to see their kinsman's prized engine return to Japan.” Edward added softly. “He is here to say some goodbyes before he leaves.”

Spencer mulled over these words before asking. “Is that why you are here tonight? To say goodbye to me?”

Hiro hummed before replying. “In a sense, yes. But I also wished to speak with you.”

Spencer caught the old engine’s eyes as he continued. “I am not one to hold grudges, but what occurred between us, what you did. We must talk about it all before I leave for who knows when I will be back. And if time has taught me anything, is that there are things that should not be left unsaid.”

“Edward is here as a mediator, to ensure this conversation is held in full. Thomas is here as Hiro’s emotional support.” Gordon said, side-eyeing him. “I am here as your emotional support“ – Spencer couldn’t stop the grimace from crossing his face at that – “while Henry and Percy are witnesses.”

Spencer is quiet. And the others are all eyeing him as if he was going to bolt onto the turntable and flee down the line. But he wasn’t going to (couldn’t if he was asked at a later time). But Spencer knew one thing for sure. This was going to be a very long night.

Chapter 12: Something borrowed - Nancy & Skarloey & Rheneas

Summary:

DAY 12 - Something borrowed
I just think that the relationship between Nancy, Skarloey, and Rheneas is super cute and it doesn't get enough love.

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 1195

“Boys are stupid,” huffed Nancy. Skarloey and Rheneas shared an amused look before turning it back to the young girl as she stomped her way over to them. With a great exasperated groan, the girl heavied herself onto Skarloey. Rheneas watched as the little girl seemed to shift her weight one way and then the next before lying flat on her back.

Thankfully Skarloey hadn’t been steamed today, due to both his driver and fireman having called in sick and there not being enough extra hands, otherwise Nancy would have been burned. But perhaps that was why she was draped across Skarloey instead of Rheneas.

“Tell me Nancy,” began Rheneas, eyeing the young girl as she continued to scowl up toward the sky. “What has you in such a mood? I would have mistaken you for Duncan with that frown.”

Normally the old engine’s humor would do the trick, making the young girl smile and laugh, but today wasn’t one of those days. Nancy continued to scowl as if she hadn’t heard Rheneas at all. Rheneas looked over to Skarloey for help but he seemed just as lost as him.

“Boys are stupid,” Nancy said suddenly, repeating what she had said earlier.

“Is that so,” Rheneas said slowly. “And why is that?”

“They take what belongs to others and say it's ‘borrowing’ and then don’t give it back.” Nancy snapped. Both engines were taken aback by the anger in the young girl’s voice for rarely, if ever, they have heard her with that kind of tone.

“What happened my dear,” Rheneas asked softly. While Nancy didn’t always talk about her school life, more eager to listen to stories from the engines about other engines or times long past, she did mention it every now and then, especially when she learned something new that she thought the engines would like to hear about. But it has always been told in a positive light, so this was a first.

Nancy shifted her weight around, now looking unsure. “Come on now,” soothed Skarloey. “You can tell us; we promise we won't tell anyone.”

A sigh was the answer to that. But Skarloey and Rheneas waited patiently until they heard, in a small voice. “Andrew took my pens and he won't give them back. But well…” Nancy trailed off but the two engines once waited patiently, waiting for the young girl to collect her thoughts. “He borrowed some nice pens of mine earlier this week and he won't give them back.”

“What is so special about these pens?” Skarloey asked gently.

Rheneas watched as Nancy bit her lip, her face furrowed in the way that it always did when she was thinking hard, be it from explaining something that was every day to her but strange to them or coming up with a most interesting lie.

“It's because you two gifted it to me,” she finally said, her voice small.

Skarloey and Rheneas both blinked, dumbfounded as Nancy went on. “Both your firemen were the ones who had bought everything but it was you two that planned on what to get me for my birthday. And maybe it wasn’t much but it means a lot to me.”

“And the pen set was one of those things,” Rheneas said, and Skarloey felt his own mouth from an ‘oh’ as everything came together like a well-put-together goods train. Now it made sense why Nancy was so upset.

“Yeah,” Nancy sniffed. “I mean, they are just pens. Really nice glittery pens, but still pens. But they are my pens. It doesn’t feel right for someone else to have them and not give them back.”

“Have you talked to your teacher?” Skarloey asked.

“I did tell her but she said to ‘be patient, he’ll return them soon enough’,” the young girl’s voice took on a nasal rasp, a – most likely – poor attempt at mimicking her teacher’s voice.

“Have you talked to the boy himself?” Rheneas then suggested.                        

“I did,” and this time Nancy’s voice had an unhappy edge. “He said that since he asked for permission, he can use them however he wants and for how long he wants.”

Skarloey and Rheneas eyed each other. Nancy had just mentioned this boy by name today and already they weren’t too sure of him.

“Well,” Rheneas said slowly. “If words aren’t working and you have observed the chain of command. That leaves one other choice then.”

Nancy shifted so that she was on her stomach, looking over at Rheneas’s face, a curious expression on her face.

“Action,” Skarloey replied. “Sometimes when words aren’t enough you just need to push those troublesome trucks and everything else will follow.”

“Or you’ll follow the trucks and into the mud,” Rheneas said with a chortle. The two old engines shared a small chuckle. Nancy seemed to ponder over this before a large grin crossed her face.

 

“I’m not mad,” began the Thin Controller. “Just disappointed.”

Rheneas and Skarloey found their buffers most interesting to look at. It was definitely better than staring at the disappointed face of the Thin Controller who had asked to speak to the two of them separately after a long day’s work.

“You two are the last engines I would expect any trouble or mischief.” The Thin Controller continued. “So, imagine my surprise when I am called by Mr. Rushen to come to his daughter’s school, to explain to the headmaster there why two of my engines gave advice to Miss Nancy that involved the instigation of a playground brawl.”

Skarloey and Rheneas still didn’t look up from their buffers but Rheneas began. “That wasn’t our intention sir. We were only trying to help in the ways engines can. We didn’t think that Nancy would take our advice and start trouble.”

“Rheneas is correct Sir,” Skarloey said, picking up from where Rheneas ended. “Nancy was most upset about her pen set being borrowed and not returned. We are old engines Sir, so there is only so much we can do and advise on. It wasn’t our intention for Nancy to get into trouble or for the boy to get hurt.”

The Thin Controller regarded them with a cool look. The minutes seemed to tick by until finally, he spoke. “I understand, and I am sure that Nancy appreciates having an engine lend a sympathetic ear when needed however“ – the two old engines flinched but dared not say anything as he continued – “perhaps in the future, should Miss Nancy be having some issues, call in myself or one of the rail workers to have an organic perspective?”

“That is not to say to not give advice when asked,” the Thin Controller hurriedly added on, seeing how Skarloey and Rheneas eyes each other. “Some advice can be well applied to issues not connected to the railway, but not all.”

“We understand Sir,” Skarloeu and Rheneas said in unity.

“But I must ask Sir, did Nancy get her pen set back?” the Thin Controller looked a little surprised at the question but gave the two a small smile.

“She did indeed, along with an apology.” Skarloey and Rheneas smiled, the relief making their boilers feeling just a little lighter.

Chapter 13: Something new - Nancy & Neil

Summary:

DAY 13 - Something new
Decided to do another prompt with Nancy but this time Neil is added into the mix.
And I am sure that when the engines got the "birds and the bees" talk, it must have been awkward.

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 1159

Neil heard someone approach but kept his eyes closed. Most likely it was one of the staff members or volunteers, considering this area was off-limits to tourists. But it also wasn’t time for him to run the museum afternoon special, so there was no need for him to be alert. Instead, he could enjoy the warm sunshine while it lasted.

“Really Neil,” came the tease. “Not going to greet your old friend.”

Neil opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to chase away the sleep. When he saw who was staying in front of him, hands on her hips and giving him an amused smile, all he could do was laugh.

“Well hello Nancy,” Neil said, ending with a yawn. “What brings you to the Railway Museum? Thought you would be chatting with Skarloey and Rheneas.”

Nancy, who had been a young girl when Neil had first met her, was now a young woman. One that had happily married her sweetheart some 2 years back. But that didn’t stop her from coming to the Skarloey Railway to chat and swap gossip with the narrow-gauge engines, especially the two engines that had seen her grow up from a small baby: Skarloey and Rheneas.

But at the mentioned at her favorite two engines, Nancy’s smile dimmed. It began nervous and unsure, and Neil could only raise an eyebrow at that; since when did Nancy, who had always been cheerful and kind, ever become sheepish?

“Is everything alright?” Neil asked. He knew of the young woman, had heard the many stories about her from Skarloey when he had the trip down to visit him every now and then. But he couldn’t say he knew her as well as Skarloey or even as well as Rheneas for that matter.

“Everything is fine, its just…” Nancy trailed off, seeming to be a lost for words. Now Neil was really worried. This wasn’t normal, not normal at all.

An idea flew into his funnel. “Come over here lass.” Seeing the question in her eyes, Neil used his eyes to point to his running board. Though she had grown much that it was possible awkward for a normal fully grown adult, Nancy still had no issues with making herself comfortable, leaning against his boiler with ease.

“Now,” Neil began. “Why don’t you tell his old engine what’s bothering you. It isn’t that husband of yours now, is it?”

Nancy let out a weak laugh. “No, it isn’t him.”

“That’s good. I swear, I thought poor Skarloey was going to burst his safety valve wide open when he told me who you were dating.” Neil still remembered that day with good humor even when Skarloey did not. On how he had rushed into their usual sidings by the museum for their talks, spitting steam and looking every bit like a hound from hell.

Neil had thought that someone had died or an engine had been scrapped but no. It had been that his dear little Nancy, now a teenager, had told him and his brother from another builder that she was dating someone romantically. And it had been the boy who she had punched when he had borrowed her pen set and hadn’t returned it in a week back during her childhood.

Neil had laughed, long and hard, at that. And still couldn’t quick muffle his chuckles, even when Skarloey had released enough steam they had been covered in from funnel to cab door in water. Even now, whenever that day was brought up, Skarloey would turn as red as his livery at how he had handled the news. Nancy would tease on how he had handled the news worse than her father who was a well-known worrywart.

“So, not him then. Did something happen at work?” Neil felt Nancy shake her head, so he went over what else could be bothering her.

“….ant.” Nancy said finally but her words had been so muffled, spoken more into his boiler, that he hadn’t heard it well.

“Sorry dear,” Neil felt himself flush a little with embarrassment. “Could you repeat that?”

Neil heard Nancy talk in a deep breath, and in a voice that shook only a little, said. “I’m pregnant.”

Neil blinked, stupefied as those words flew around and around in his funnel till he felt dizzy. Neil was an old engine, and while he had been sheltered and kept at arms length in regards to personal human interactions, he was smart enough to know how humans made other humans. And the one thought that was clear over the static in his head was ‘Skarloey is going to bust his boiler when he finds out’.

Neil was brought back when he felt Nancy shift on and he cursed himself; he had fallen too quiet for too long.

“Nancy,” Neil began, and he felt her stiffen. But as he continued, he let the warmth flood his words. “Nancy, congratulation. This is wonderful news!”

Nancy relaxed, and she let out a watery laugh. “Yeah, Andrew and I…I mean, we wanted to start a family but we weren’t sure of the timing but….We are both ecstatic. Andrew actually cried when I told him.”

Considering the boy had gone white as a sheet after being talked to by Skarloey and Rehneas when Nancy had first brought him to yard, it made sense. “I bet,” Neil grinned. “Do you know who far along?”

“A little over 3 months, we waited since according to Dad, Mom had a rough pregnancy with me.” Neil had seen and heard how many expected mothers, though eager for their little ones to arrive, had griped about the unpleasantness that was being pregnant and pregnancy in general.

“Have you told anyone else?”

“Well, obviously dad and Andrew. Told Mr. Percival cause he’s like an uncle to me and now you.”

Neil blinked in shock. “You didn’t tell Skarloey or Rheneas yet or even anyone on the Skarloey Railway?”

Nancy sounded embarrassed. “Wasn’t sure how. I mean, you guys are old, even Luke who is pretty young by engine standards is much older than me. I wasn’t too sure how you would handle the news.”

Neil couldn’t argue with that. Everyone still saw Nancy as the young little girl who would polish the engines after school, not the young married lady who had a job that she was now.

“But, seeing how well you took the news. I feel confident that it should be fine.” Neil felt something shimmer in his firebox as the words tumbled out.

“Wait Nancy,” he called out. Nancy who had been in the middle of getting off his running board, froze. “When you do tell them, would it be alright if I was there?”

“Sure, if the museum doesn’t mind but why?”

Even though Nancy couldn’t see his smile, he couldn’t quite keep out the glee from his tone. “Oh, no reason. Just would like to be there as the announcement of the new arrival. That’s all.”

Chapter 14: Young Iron - Edward

Summary:

DAY 14 - Young Iron
Set after, and a follow-up, to "Edward's Exploit" (Season 2, Episode 23)
One of my HC is that engines when left idle, fall asleep and when left for really long periods of time, hibernate. A type of self-preservation as engines, and machines in general, are meant to be on the move. This probably brings up the idea of stimulation for static displays. An idea to explore later.

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 782

“Edward.” The voice sounds far away as if whomever they are is standing on the far side of the platform. But it doesn’t have the rasp or bark of someone yelling.

“Edward.” It sounds closer now, and not only that, but it is familiar. Edward knows that voice, like how his firebox knows fire and his wheels know the North Western rails.

“Edward.” The darkness is comforting, and pleasant, so much like that of a warm shed on a cool autumn night. But the voice calls to him; it makes him fight against the darkness, pushing through the heavy fog that seems to cloud his mind and pull at his eyelids.

When push comes to shove, any useful engine worth their steam will keep moving, will keep pulling their trains whether it be goods or passengers, will keep being the backer engine to a too-heavy train for the other engine. And if there is anything Edward is, despite his old age, it is that he is a really useful engine.

He opens his eyes but the world is out of focus. The shapes around him are blurry and all in shades of gray and brown. Everything around seems muffled, like how the first snowfall of winter seems to quiet the world, making Sodor feel more separated from the Other Railway than before.

He slowly blinks his eyes and bit by bit, the world becomes that much clearer, that much brighter. He looks around, his mind still foggy as he takes in the familiar warehouse. Its then that he looks down and sees his driver and firemen, both looking relieved.

“Edward,” says his driver. The voice from before, the one that called him out. Edward smiles down at his crew, his firebox warm despite no fire burning within.

“Hello,” Edwards greets. His voice is raspy, as if he is extremely thirsty even though he doesn’t feel like it. What he did feel was a bit stiff, like back when he had been couped up in the shed for far too long, from a time that felt like a lifetime ago. “Driver, fireman.”

The two smile and his driver almost look like he is in tears. “Its good to see you up,” says his fireman.

“Its good to be up,” replied Edward, as his moves his gaze to look around more. Its then that he realizes where he is. “We are at the Works.”

“Indeed, old friend,” nodded his driver. “You have been worked on and off for several weeks. They had to keep your fire out until all of the repairs were done. And during that time, you seem to…drift off, for a better word. Workers here say that’s normal for engines that are in rough shape and/or have been left unused for too long.”

“The repairs were just finished two days ago,” continued his fireman. “We just got the OK to light your fire but we were told to build it slowly, to allow you to come back easily. Burning your fire too hot after being out for so long would have just hurt you.”

“So, how do you feel?” The question catches Edward off guard and he slowly stretches, feeling every metal seem, every rivet, every weld. Old aches and pains that he had grown accustomed to every time he worked, even when it was light work, were gone.

But was notable absence being the most recent pain, from when his side rod had torn into his side, ripping his splasher and frame. The pain had been unlike anything Edward had ever felt, and hope to never feel again. But now, it felt as it did before his accident.

No, that wasn’t quite right. It felt better than it had before. In fact, he almost felt like-

“I feel like a new built,” laughed Edward, his eyes wide with amazement. He had heard from Boco what the Diesel Works had done for him and his spotty engine but to actually experience it. It was truly something.

His driver and fireman let out sounds of both relief and joy at Edward’s statement. They began to talk, but Edward’s was far away as he continued to feel out his frame. It was like every part of him that had felt old and worn, thin from heavy wear and tear, had been replaced. Places that felt as if rust was settling in was now scrubbed cleaned.

“So, tell me Edward.” His driver’s words pulled him back and Edward could see the mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Does that mean your nickname is going to be ‘Young Iron’ now?”

Edward laughed. “With the way I feel, it just could be.” And he meant every word.

Chapter 15: Maintenance/Inspection - Rusty

Summary:

DAY 15 - Maintenance/Inspection
Only one engine came to mind for this prompt :)

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 760

“This part will need to be mended eventually but the tests show it is still strong enough to last another two seasons. We can leave it since winter is approaching or if there are concerns, we can replace it but we will need to divert the passenger trains if that’s the case.”

“The ballast stones will need to be redone on this bit of track. Should we talk with the quarry about using larger pieces of stone?”

“The sleepers have begun to rot. All that excess rain over the summer soaked right through and the channels didn’t drain the water properly. We will need to place an order with the mill.”

Rusty watched and listened as the working force of a dozen strong talked and planned with one another. Going over maps of every single stretch of narrow-gauge rail along with land charts and primarily reports done by the first sweep of inspections.

This part of inspections and rail maintenance fascinated Rusty. There was something amazing about watching and listening to a well-organized team come together, pour over maps and reports that made no sense to him, and come up with a plan on how to either repair or replace bad bits of tracks.

Of course, it wasn’t always a smooth operation. There were at times delays for a variety of reasons. Delays due to lack of manpower, or lack of supplies and/or tools, or because the weather wasn’t cooperating. The delays that involved the troublesome trucks in one form or another were the most interesting and usually the most destructive.

Though the team had changed over the years since Rusty started working on the Skarloey Railway, it was nice to see such cooperation between people of different backgrounds and skill levels. Rusty spied among the men and women the head inspector, a man that he had seen climb through the ranks until he had reached his current position.

Rusty had heard once, a hushed conversation between his driver and engineer, that the man must have an excellent work ethic and a clear head to rise as he did, that or no one had wanted the job. And seeing how his hair was half gray now and he was on his third cup of coffee so early in the morning, it did make Rusty wonder.

“Alright everyone,” came the call. Everyone paused as they looked over to the head inspector. “Do we have a plan for the day?”

There were murmurs of agreement as the men and woman began to pack the papers strewed about. Seeing that everything was wrapping up nicely, the head inspector walked over to Rusty, who was parked in a siding, his engine off.

“Good morning, Rusty,” greeted the head inspector. “Ready for the day?”

Rusty smiled. “Indeed, I am. I have the train ready to go.” And indeed, he did, as he had grabbed it out of the sidings that he had parked it the previous day on the way to the meeting place to begin work on this part of the line.

The head inspector nodded, looking pleased. “Well organized and prepared. I like that it is a person and an engine. Hopefully, we can wrap this up before the weather turns.”

Rusty looked up to the sky in confusion. Though it was still morning, it was looking to be another beautiful day with blue skies and no clouds in sight. It was near the end of summer but still not quite fall so the air was warm and pleasant but not too hot or humid.

The inspector laughed. “Even summer weather can be unpleasant, so I would like to have a great deal of the heavy work before the days become cooler. Goodness knows we don’t want to be working on bridges when the frost comes.”

Rusty shuddered at the thought. It made him recall a section of track they had repaired two weeks back. Old and worn-down and near the Whispering Waterfall, it had sunk into the mud and had needed immediate replacing. The feeling of the heavy cold mud on his wheels and his undercarriage had made him shiver all the way through the day until his washdown. He can’t imagine working in water cooled by frost was any better.

“My thoughts exactly,” agreed the head inspector. “So, let’s be off.”

Rusty nodded and his engine rumbled to life. The men and women all walked over so that they could climb into the work coach. Once everyone was aboard, he tooted his horn and set off for another day of work.

Chapter 16: Purpose - Lady

Summary:

DAY 16 - Purpose
People have different takes on Lady, from seeing her as a normal engine to literally a Godlike figure for steam engines. For me personally, I see her as a combination of the two and neither at the same time. She's a small engine, smaller than Thomas, who looks like she would fit on the narrow gauge. That to me translates to 'prototype engine'. But she has access to gold dust, literal magic dust, that connects two parallel worlds.

So, my head-canon is that Lady once had been a prototype engine that had either been built on Sodor or was moved there long long ago and somehow came into contact with gold dust. This contact transformed her, changed her, making her not exactly a God but more of an awakened Saint - someone capable of great feats but still has a physical body and therefore tethered to the mortal realm, and must follow the rules of physics.

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 761

The bright green rolling plains and hills are dotted with flowers of all colors, shapes, and sizes. Small shrubs, a different green but still just as bright as the grass, with white and blue flowers of their own near the tracks while in the distance, tall trees with leaves of emerald green.

All of this surrounded her on both sides of the track as a never setting sun shone down, adding in a slight golden tint. Lady looked up from a patch of sunflowers that had started to grow near the tracks to the lavender mountains that sat on the horizon, with caps of snow at their summit.

She took in a deep breath, the warm air pleasant and sweet. As she wasn’t in motion and didn’t adhere to a timetable like a normal engine, she closed her eyes, listening to the gentle breeze rustle the grass and leaves around her.

There was a special kind of magic, one she couldn’t touch or recreate, that seemed to exist in places like this. And perhaps that was the beauty of it. That for that technology had evolved, for how the human race has changed, for how engines had been reinvited, for how magic still existed: some things couldn’t be recreated.

“Sleeping on the job?” teased a voice, the low baritone as similar to her as her own whistle.

“Just resting my eyes,” Lady teased back as she opened them to look at her driver.

Burnett Stone had changed much since she had last truly seen him, and it had shocked her to see him now as an old man with children and grandchildren, rather than the young driver who had accidentally crashed her while on the run from Diesel 10.

It was truly mind-boggling to see just how time had passed and while she had been somewhat aware when she had been stuck in Muffle Mountain, able to hear Burnett and Tasha talk. She hadn’t been able to truly keep track of time; the worldly events that had been talked about or described on the radio had just been a tumbling mess of words and numbers. And there had been enough times she had nodded off, which had spanned for months at a time, that had led to her sense of time being completely off.

“Finished?” Lady asked, eyeing the large bouquet of field flowers.

“Yeah,” there was a softness in his voice. “I think Tasha will like them.”

A cold ache settled in her frame. It had hurt to know that Tasha had passed away; the woman, the few times they had interacted, had always been kind to her. And what hurt even more was the fact that she couldn’t be there when he had needed her the most. But that was in the past, and even she couldn’t undo death.

All she could go was still move forward and be there for him, for how ever long she could. Because it was obvious that while Burnett would still be around for a few more years, he wasn’t young anymore. He was getting older and therefore more worn-out, thinner, less agile. There was a lack of spring in his steps and it took him longer to do what he uses to do before. He would no doubt have to retire from being her driver and someone else would have to take his place.

But until then, she would keep being his engine, would still keep being the guardian of this part of the Magic Railway, bringing magic to Shining Time that sat at the foot of Muffle Mountain, would still connect Sodor to the other World via the Magic Buffers.

That was her purpose, the role she was to play in the grand scheme of things. One she had inherited from the previous engine that had ran this line. Just like all of the other parts of the Magic Railway, each one with its own engine.

Just as it was the purpose of the other non-magic engines to push and pull freight, to move passengers from one designation to another, to be a means to a way when it came to connecting the world. In a way, she was just along for the ride when she puffed along this track. And while some found it confiding, Lady didn’t mind.

As Burnett hoped aboard, she took the time to look around once more before letting out a whistle. “Time to depart,” Lady said and slowly, they began to make their way along the tracks. Next stop, Burnett’s shop deep within Muffle Mountain.

Chapter 17: Holiday - Cranky

Summary:

Day 17 - Holiday
The holidays are fun, except when you work in face-facing restaurants/retail. So I feel for Cranky

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 532

Cranky let out a sigh, which was drowned out by the blaring horn of the departing ship. He looked out to the ocean which was as black as the sky overhead. Though the lights at the docks were powerful, lighting up the area so that it was almost as bright as day, it was nothing compared to the natural darkness that followed winter.

He then turned his eyes to the trucks which were already being neatly shunted by Salty. As much as the diesel had a wagging tongue and could go on for hours telling tall tales, he was an efficient worker. The crane had yet to meet another engine of any kind who could keep up with the fast brutal pace as well as Salty did.

“Ahoy captain!” Speak of the devil. Cranky turned his eyes downward towards Salty, who was grinning as they just hadn’t been ordered to unload a huge barge in almost half the time. “That looks like the last of the cargo.”

“Thank you Captain Obvious,” Cranky snarked. “I couldn’t have guessed that myself.”

Salty, already used to his sharp tongue and sarcastic tone, laughed. “Don’t be like that matey. It’s the holiday season.”

Cranky wanted to groan but restrained himself. But just barely.

It was the day before Christmas Eve and the island had been in the festive mood since before Halloween. Now, he didn’t have anything against the holiday season or even any of the holidays in the calendar, a day of work was a day of work for a crane. But working at the docks had taught him a most painful lesson: the holiday season was always the busiest.

If he wasn’t unloading and loading trains and ships till he thought his arm was going to fall off, he was having to deal with the ‘festive spirit’. And everyone had an opinion of which holiday was the greatest, how to celebrate the holidays, how to sucker your coworker into doing something for the holidays.

It didn’t help that the engines that frequent the docks all had their personal favorites and would try to pull him into celebrating it with them. Cranky shuddered at the memory of the last holiday he had ‘celebrated’ (and he used that term loosely). He knew there was going to be trouble when he saw the Clay Pit twins last April Fool’s Day.

The one and only time he had sworn out loud and long and didn’t get reprimanded for it.

“Cheer up Captain,” Salty called up, bringing Cranky out of his thoughts. “Tomorrow will be lighter work, and then smooth sailing after Christmas.”

“Oh goodie.” Cranky’s tone was drier than the dry dock on a hot summer day. “And then the pace picks right back up for the New Year.”

Salty rolled his eyes with a smile on his face as he went back to shunting the trucks. As Cranky turned to look around the docks, he heard a snicker from his cab and he heard his operator mutter, just loud enough for Cranky to hear. “And I thought Ebenezer Scrooge was the official grump for Christmas.”

“Bah humbug!” Cranky snapped. His response brought on a roar of laughter.

Chapter 18: Blueprints - Neville

Summary:

DAY 18 - Blueprints
A little headcanon but before Neville came to Sodor, he went by his number 33010 (which is the number to the real-life engine he was based on - the Southern Railway (SR) Bulleid Q1 Class locomotive as per the TTTE Wikia page).
And I got some feelings for the guy whose class had several official nicknames, one of them being "Ugly Duckling"

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 1126

“Look at him! I say the blueprints for that fellow must have been taken out of the trash.”

“I wonder if the designers were drunk when designing him. No respecting man worth their salt would create such a thing.”

“How do they do it, working and living as half an engine?”

“He is so funny-looking! Do you think that when he passes by houses, all of the glass panels and mirrors in them shatter?”

“I wonder if they represent the time, they were built in. War is ugly after all.”

“Is it a mercy for them when they are-?“

“Hello,” greeted the man in front of him. He was tall but rather stout and round. He was dressed from head to toe in a sharp fine suit, with even a real top hat to finish the look. If 33010 had passed by this man anywhere else, he would have thought him as someone from an old English family or an eccentric businessman.

But neither description accurately described the man before him. And this man was in the yard, the train yard where the engines came to rest in-between jobs. The fact that the yard master had looked nervous the moment he had appear said enough.

“I am Sir Topham Hatt, the Fat Controller of the North Western Railway on Sodor.” His tongue felt it had been tied into knots so he only nodded, hoping his lack of answer didn’t come across as rude or impolite or standoffish.

Everyone knew who the Fat Controller was – a legacy that had been living through a family linage now immortalized in books and children’s hearts – and what he stood for. And everyone and every engine knew what Sodor stood for, especially in these seemingly endless days of scrap.

‘An omen’ would be whispered among the other engines, especially for the steam engines that knew the cutter’s torch was coming for them soon. ‘If you see the man with the top hat in your yard, it means the scrappers aren’t far behind. Say your goodbyes.”

Sir Topham Hatt was regarding him with a critical eye, so much like the many men who worked the line, looking for faults, looking for someone to blame. But it lacked the sharp glint that made him tense, made him look at his buffers when answering questions.

“It is a pleasure to met you Sir.” His voice, finally found, was small. Sir Topham Hatt frowned and 33010 wondered if in a single sentence he had managed to offend the man.

“Engines on my line are respected and are respectful in turn. I would prefer if you look me in the eye when we talk.” It was a reprimand, but probably one of the kindest he had been given. So, 33010 lifted his eyes to see a stern but kind face looking back at him.

“You probably already know why I am here 33010,” said Sir Topham Hatt. “So, I will speak plainly. I am interested in purchasing you for my island.”

33010 had guessed but hearing it, straight from the man himself, made it seem all the more unreal, all the more fantastical. It was almost like a dream, one that 33010 wondered if he was in the process of being scrapped and his mind had wondered off instead of facing reality.

“I have heard Sir.” He had indeed, and so had several other engines. He remembered the looks of disbelief, of surprise and shock, of ugly jealously and restraint fury. He had heard the sound of steam being let out sharping, the wet sighs that is always followed by weeping, the gnashing of teeth.

“So, 33010, would you like to come to my island?” He looked the man in shock.

“I…I can choose if I want to go to Sodor?” 33010 can feel how wide his eyes have gotten, how wide his mouth is open that his jaw must be on his buffer.

“You can, yes. Just because I can purchase you doesn’t I should, especially if the engine doesn’t want to.” 33010 couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that an engine, especially one who could feel the heat of the cutting torch on their back buffers, wouldn’t want to go to Sodor.

There is a part of him, some small and far away part of him, that has always pushed him to accept the late trains, the heavy and smelly goods that no one wants to take, to work himself to the point of wearing out his parts, that the others will accept him if he worked hard and proved how useful he was, despite his looks.

It is telling him to say ‘no’.

To let a worthy engine have this offer. To accept his coming fate with grace, knowing he had helped give another engine a 2^nd chance. But another part reminds him of the sneers and odd looks, of how he had once broken down and asked his driver and fireman why he had been built as he is. And how they had had no real answer to give him.

So, what comes out is, “I accept Sir.”

Sir Topham Hatt nods, looking pleased. “I am happy to hear that. I will start the paperwork. Come this time next week, you will official be one of my engines. So, tell me 33010, would you like to have a name?’

33010 blinks, dumbfounded once more. “A name Sir?”

“All engines on my railway have names,” Sir Topham Hatt explained. “Some had been named by me, some by their crew, a few had come with names from their workshops and others have named themselves. So, would you like a name?”

33010 feels as if his pipes are clogged, but he managed to say. “If I can Sir, may I choose my own name?”

Sir Topham Hatt nods. “Then, I would like to be called ‘Neville’ Sir.”

Perhaps the man before him knows, or perhaps he doesn’t, or perhaps he does but pretends that he doesn’t know the reason for why 33010 would like to be called as such. Just like he can know or doesn’t know or pretends not to know when his eyes had lingered on the small plaque, hidden except to a few.

A plaque with a name of a man, a driver of an engine that all others looked at with amusement or with mocking scorn. A driver who had been a friend on the long nights when he had needed a friend. A man, who was no longer on his Earth.

“A most splendid name. If that is what you wish, then Neville you shall be.”

The newly minted Neville smiled, one that was honest and hopefully and happy. A smile he had not had for far too long.

Chapter 19: Revolutionary - Boco

Summary:

DAY 19 - Revolutionary
We need more Edward and Boco friendship in this fandom.

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 1158

“With this technology, we will revolutionize travel for all of Great Britain!”

“Its his engine Sir. With the way it is and how it was built, he had a snowball chance in hell of being able to do work before he breaks down.”

“The day of tomorrow is here, today!”

“Did you hear about what happened on track 2? How that Class 28 lost his front windshield and it ended up all over the tracks? The station master was pissed.”

“Steam engines are that of the past, the future is diesel!”

“Honestly and truly? After he set that shed on fire it would be better to sell him for scrap than keep him. He and others of his ilk are a danger, to both passengers and freight.”

D5702 slowly blinked into awareness, his mind foggy and engine cold. Words formed in his mind but took no true shape so all he could do was blink his eyes slowly until common sense came back to him.

Bit by bit, the world around came into focus. And it was then that he saw it, something big and blue, sitting in front of him. D5702 narrowed his eyes, but the blue blob persisted. So, whatever was there was real, that was good. Nice to know that the physical defects that plagued all Class 28s didn’t mean mental problems.

“Awake finally?” asked a voice. There was something familiar in it but he just couldn’t place it. D5702 blinked some more until a kind and elderly face of a steam engine came into focus. It took several long seconds for him to place a name to a face.

“Edward.” His voice was raspy and his tongue felt like it was coated in ash.

The blue engine smiled; his golden eyes brown in the partial darkness around them. “You remembered, I’m glad. I have heard that when engines are severely overhauled, they can,” Edward trailed off, seeming to think of the right word before finally replying. “Lose themselves.”

D5702 had also heard that but he had met two diesels that had undergone such work, one because of a nearly fatal engine fire and the other to rework his entire brake system, and both had come out fine. He wondered where the rumor had started, and if it had been started to drive fear into the engines that didn’t work properly.

“Where…” D5702 looked around, trying to put a name to this place. He had been to the Steam Works, but this didn’t look like it. It was very similar but different. For one, it lacked the tools that seemed to belong to a bygone age and was rather modern. And…was that an actual system calibration computer in the corner?

“You’re at the Diesel Works.” D5702 snapped his eyes back to Edward who smiled. “The Fat Controller, now having several diesel engines working here on the North Western, made an area just for the diesel engines for maintenance and repairs. You’re the first major project actually.”

D5702 looked at Edward in surprise. “I was worked on?”

Edward nodded. “Your engine failed and wouldn’t start after that trial run of yours. I spoke with the Fat Controller-“ D5702 flinched, but Edward kept going, his eyes soft with sympathy “-and thought you are plagued with mechanical issues, I can see the engine you can be if given the chance.”

There was a pause, and D5702 wasn’t sure what to say. But he didn’t need to as Edward continued on. “I, and a few others on this island, know what it’s like to know that you could do it, but you just can’t do it because your frame won’t allow it.” The smile which had been rueful turned soft with a familiar pain that D5702 knew all too well.

“Thankfully, when you arrived you came with your blueprints and once the workers saw it, they were…well, aghast would be the best way to put it. It was clear what would be needed to be done before you even set off onto the rails. And as you, most likely, will not be the first or last engine that came here as a declared ‘failure’, it made sense…” This time when Edward trailed off, there was obviously less finesse.

“To use me as a proverbial guinea pig to see if a massive overhaul could be done and if it will actually work, and therefore worth the time to do the same for other diesel engines,” D5702 said bluntly and Edward winced before nodding.

“The Fat Controller does want to save as many engines as he can, but he is a businessman. He needs something in return for him to take a risk.” There was a small edge in his voice but D5702 only nodded. From a pragmatic point of view, it made sense and many of British Railway would agree with that kind of thinking. But he wasn’t on the British Railway anymore and if he was worked now, hopefully never now.

“Glad to see you two chatting about,” mused a worker. “Edward didn't want to leave until he knew that you were all right.” Edward blushes and D5702 bit back a small laugh. The worker then turns to face D5702. “You gave us some trouble there, not going to lie. Your engine was a mess. I have no idea what anyone was thinking when they put your class together.”

D5702 knew what they had been thinking, and why they had done as they had. But the words didn’t come to his tongue, and D5702 found himself rather OK with that.

“So, since we did all we could. Let’s see if we can get you started.” The worker walked out of view and D5702 felt him climb into his cab. As the man went about, a fear settled deep inside; what if, after all the North Western had done for him, it didn’t work? What if he didn’t start? What if he went up in flames? What if-

D5702 caught Edward’s eyes, which were encouraging. ‘It’ll be fine’ they seem to say. And D5702 believed him.

That’s when he felt it; the turning of the ignition, the flowing of fuel in his lines, the sparks in his ignition, and then…the slow rumbling purr of his engine. No clanks, no cracks, no rattling, no fuel or oil being pumped where it didn’t belong, no ball of fire. No pain, no aches, no feeling like he was about to fall apart, no choking on tar-black smoke.

Just the smooth rumbling of a working engine, such a simple thing, and yet D5702 was moved to silent tears. Edward beamed, a smile full of teeth as tears glistened in his eyes, appearing like pieces of stained glass from great cathedral windows.

“How do you feel D5702?” Edward asked, his voice choked with emotions.

“I feel fine, in fact and pardon my language. I feel like a real Revolutionary diesel engine. And please…..call me Boco.”

Chapter 20: Live Wire - James

Summary:

DAY 20 - Live Wire
Man, James has gone through the wringer, hasn't he?

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 1211

James had once talked to an electric engine. It had been when Gordon had been taken to the Works for some maintenance and he wouldn’t be released before the morning express run. While there had been other engines available to pull the train, James had jumped in first. Proclaiming he would take it and while he had heard some mutters, no one refuted him.

The engine for the transfer at the Big Station hadn’t been there, so James had to go to the mainland to make the connection. The engine had been unremarkable; a drape paintwork that looked plain and unfinished compared to his red, and had gone by a number rather than a name. James almost felt sorry for the poor thing.

Until it had opened its mouth and asked what it was like to run on steam. And who would James be if he couldn’t be a reliable useful engine, telling those unaware of what it meant to not only be a steam engine, but a Sodor steam engine? There had been delays in his return, so when James had finished explaining, the electrical – without prompting – had explained what it meant to run on a powerline.

But he was pretty sure that what the electrical had explained – a warm buzzing sensation that starts in one place and goes everywhere else like you have some friendly little bees coming along with you – did not match what he had just gone through. If he ever saw that engine, he would give them a piece-

“James, how are you feeling?”

“How do you think I am feeling?!” he snapped, his voice shrill, before doing a full-frame wince. His driver also winced, but more from the red engine’s tone than actually being hurt.

“The power company cut the line, and the breakdown crane is coming. You just need to be patient,” soothed his fireman, and James, who was gritting his teeth, only nodded.

He had been pulling a goods train, one that had been full of Troublesome Trucks, when disaster struck. The trucks, feeling naughty, had pushed faster and faster till he had come off the rails. He only had enough time to swear and tell his crew to jump before he slammed into a pole.

The old wooden pole had splintered because of the force and the live cables had fallen over James. The sensation of live electricity running over his frame, from front buffer to back buffer, had been excruciating. His vision had whited out, all he could taste was hot molten metal and he couldn’t breathe.

It had only lasted seconds before the lines went dead but to James? It had felt like an eternity. It had taken several long minutes before he had regained his senses; coherent thought had taken longer. And the first thing he had smelled was burning.

And for one terrible dreadful minute, he thought the burning was organic in nature. Until his driver and fireman appeared far on the other side of the tracks and away from him, banged up with his fireman holding his arm, but very much alive. His breath had gotten caught, and it was then that he felt it; pain.

It was everywhere, there probably wasn’t a part of him that was hurting or aching. The only time he had felt so awful had been when he had his first accident, back in the early days of his career on the North Western. But it was also worse; it was as if every nut and bolt had swelled to twice their size while the plated metal had shrunk. His face throbbed and he had a horrible headache.

But the stupid thing was that he wasn’t in enough pain to black out. He would have laughed if it didn’t hurt to breathe. A whistle, loud and long and full of alarm, filled the air. James was relieved that help was finally here and ready to throttle the engine that was coming. Minutes later, the sounds of a familiar engine could be heard from behind.

“Oh goodness! James! Speak to me!” James could only let a stuttering groan of pain at Henry’s words, and soon enough a 2^nd train could be heard coming from behind.

“Don’t worry James, we are here! And we have several engineers from the electrical company to help!” Edward, who was always reserved and calm, sounded flustered and frazzled. Considering this had to be the worst accident to happen as of late on this island, James could understand.

Or, would have if he hadn’t been in as much as he was and therefore, had enough thought to ponder rather than wonder when the agony would stop.

“Get these lines off of him!” A voice, powerful and strong, boomed over everyone, making everyone flinch and making James hiss and close his eyes tight. Edward was the first to take action, being coupled up to James’s goods trains and taking it away, post haste. That set off everyone else as soon the sounds of many people moving could be heard, as many shouted instructions to one another.

The engineers began making checks, doing tests, and making calls. James cracked an eye open to see one attaching clamps to his buffer before closing it shut. He would ask later what he was doing. Bit by bit, the work continued and soon, James was cleared to be moved and touched, having been fully grounded.

The red engine let out a sigh that made him sag as the power lines were finally moved off of him. The lines were completely dead, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Because of the current that had been going through them, they had fused to this boiler. They had dug deep enough into him that he had been able to clearly feel the strains of the cable.

His paint was no doubt utterly ruined, he felt like something that had been dragged out of a scrap heap and would have to spend some weeks in the Works. He was going to demand he be pampered like a damn queen for what he had gone through.

“James, can you hear me?” James opened his eyes just enough to see the Fat Controller looking up at him, his entire being radiating worry and concern.

“This is awful,” he croaked. “I never ever want to go through this again.”      

“And you won’t,” vowed the Fat Controller. “I will deal with those trucks myself and see to it that something of this magnitude never happens again.”

 

When James came out of the Works several weeks later, his paint utterly gleaming under the sun, he had been treated to a joyous homecoming and had been given passenger work. But of course, some did make some minor jokes about his accident, like saying that ‘he was electrifying’. It all had all been in good humor, even James cracked a few himself.

But of course, as he was a mixed-traffic engine, he was eventually put back on goods work. But when he went to the docks, the trucks that had caused his accident were nowhere to be seen and the others refused to look him in the eye and were rather well behaved.

Suffice it to say, James was a very pleased red engine.

Chapter 21: Roots - Henry

Summary:

DAY 21 - Roots
Based on a video I saw on Tumblr, of a fox playing with a dog toy in someone's garden. It was super cute.

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 789

It was a perfect day, there was no other way to put it. The sun was shining, the air was warm and pleasant, and even the trucks seemed to be behaving well. And as Henry watched from his siding, it seemed that for every little creature that called the forest home, it was a perfect day for them too.

The fox cubs, twins unless there was more out of view, raced around the nearby tree. There was a yip from the first one and it threw its head back, the dog toy flying through the air before it landed among the gnarled roots of an ancient oak tree. The second one chased after it, letting out annoyed huffs as it pawed at the roots.

Soon, he managed to grab the toy with its jaw and then chase was back on, this time the first cub chasing the second which had the toy. Round and round the cubs chased each other, every so often one would toss the toy or lose its grip. The toy would fall either on the ground or between the many roots that that had risen above the ground.

There would be a great deal of huffing and snorting along with many acts of pawing and biting when the toy would land awkwardly in-between the roots. Normally Henry would be concerned for the trees that made up the forest at seeing their roots treated so poorly. After all, it had been Trevor and the pastor that had explained in great detail the importance of a strong root system.

But seeing that as soon as the toy was grabbed, the cubs would go back to playing, Henry decided to give the animals a pass for today.

Henry wasn’t sure for how long he watched the cubs chase each other or play with the toy, but he found himself so enthralled with the little creatures that when something spooked them, sending them pouncing off deeper into the woods, he was taken back.

His eyes looked all over before landing on his driver and fireman, both looking rather sheepish. Henry couldn’t stop his frown and both looked even more sheepish than before.

“Sorry old boy,” began his driver. “But if we don’t leave now, we will be late for our goods train at the docks.”

Henry bit back a sigh as he looked over to where the cubs had run off too. The toy they had been playing with was now abandoned on the ground and there was no guarantee that they would come back to play or even come back at all.

This time, Henry let out a sigh through his nose as his driver and fireman climbed aboard. His fire, once gently glowing was soon burning bright, and he was off. But as he puffed through the forest, he let his gaze travel over the many trees that lined the track on either side.

Much had been replanted after a terrible storm had come through the area many years ago. He could still picture the devastation in his mind and it always left him feeling cold and miserable. Thankfully, no storm as powerful had rolled through since then, and by now many of the trees had grown so tall with broad branches and strong thick roots that it would take just a strong engine to even try and knock one down.

Of course, everyone knew better than to try or even joke about doing so. And the trucks had quickly learned that if there was one thing out of several you do not tease Henry about, it was about his forest and causing accidents in said forest. Henry had even asked the others that if trucks ever did say something like that again or caused some kind of accident, to let him deal with the trucks.

Seeing many of the truly troublesome trucks pale an unhealthy shade of white had been very very satisfying.

And Henry wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the peace and quiet the forest had to offer. Murdoch had loved it the moment Henry had shown it off, and the orange engine could usually be found here, especially when his migraines were particularly bad.

The Scottish twins, Donald and Douglas, also enjoyed coming through. The place seemed to remind them of home and often after having come through, could be heard telling tales of ancient faes or secret worlds hidden beyond the mortal veil of men and machines. It all sounded fascinating, and it, at time, made Henry wish he could leave the rails and explore the forest more.

Ah well, perhaps another time. While he may always be moving, the forest was not. It would still be here when he came back.

Chapter 22: Top Hat - Sir Topham Hatt

Summary:

DAY 22 - Top Hat

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 828

Stephen regarded the glass cases that were sitting on a hidden corner shelf in the office – his office now, was it? Hard to think that the place where he had waited for his father when he was a child was now his, and would be his until he retired or passed away, whichever came first.

 Both contained old top hats that had some wear and tear but still retained their shape. They had belonged to his grandfather and father respectively, when they officially retired from the position of the Fat Controller for the North Western Railway. Instead of wasting metal or stone to make a bust, they had gone with something simple; the symbol that belonged to their family, one that was well known to the visitors whenever they came to the island.

He regarded the hats of the men who had shaped the Railway, for better and for worse. Both had been pioneers in their own right; expanding the railway to make it better, more profitable, and more accommodating to the ever-increasing number of engines, workers, and visitors. All was done to always outpace, and in the hope of outliving, British Railway.

They also had both been fathers who had managed to be both stern and fair, doing their best to raise their families in the times. Stephen remembered hearing the stories of worker strikes, of engine strikes, of failures on and off the line, of sweltering summers and freezing winters, and of the Wars. And how it had all affected Sodor.

He turned his attention to the first case, the hat of his grandfather.

Sir Topham Hatt the first, the Fat Director who would become the first Fat Controller. The man who started the North Western Railway, and who helped it run and survive during both wars. The man who gave a home to engines that he considered basically family at this point. The same man who had bricked Henry in a tunnel, who had let James run when he still had his wooden brakes.

His grandfather had been, in blunt terms, a hard-ass but considering his time and what he had lived through, how could one not be? He barely remembered the elderly Hatt, who had died when he was still a child. But the photos, old and yellowed with age, still live in many albums.

Stephen then turned his attention to the second case, the hat of his father.

Sir Charles Topham Hatt II, the second Fat Controller who inherited the position after the death of his father. The man continued on the legacy as the first, who lived during the formation and implementation of the Modernisation Plan of British Railway. The plan that saw to the active scarping of hundreds of steam engines, and the introduction of diesel engines.

His father had been kinder than his grandfather, being more lenient with his engines and workers, but he had still run the railway with a clear schedule and itinerary. When British Railway sent diesels in, to show off how better they were to steam, he had been open to the idea of running both diesel and steam. It had taken time, 20 oddish years, but a balance had been struck between most if not all engines.

And now, it was him: Sir Stephen Topham Hatt III, the third Fat Controller. What kind of person would he be as he stepped into the role that he had been preparing for since his father had named him as the successor? Would he live up to the high reputation and legacy as those before, or would he fail? What legacy would he be creating that his children would try to live up to?

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and with a quiet “enter” his assistant – his assistant! He has two that are to work with him daily! – enters quickly.

“Apologies Sir,” the blond man begins. “I know you are settling into your office but an issue has come up at the Steam Works and your assistance is required.”

Stephen’s mind is buzzing, possibilities endless, but he takes a breath and calms himself. “Very well,” he says. “Let’s go, please fill me in on the way.”

Just before he leaves, he grabs the new top hat, the last gift from his father before his retirement, and places it on his head. It’s a perfect fit; snug so that it doesn’t fly off in the gentle breeze but not too tight that it would leave red marks in his skin. It's like a spell comes over him, and it's in that moment that he finally feels, for the first time since it’s been official, that he really is the Fat Controller.

And with that, he follows the other man out of the office, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click. The gazes from the family portraits, both living and deceased, in his office and the symbol of the men before him, seeing him off.

Chapter 23: Big World - Flying Scotsman

Summary:

DAY 22 - Big World
I would totally see Thomas, the number 1 engine on Sodor, and the Flying Scotsman, who has been on several successful tours in multiple countries, would total have a 'who dunnit it better?' kind of competition in regards to their travels and you cant convince me otherwise.

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 798

Despite the sun beginning to set, only two engines could be seen conversing in Tidmouth shed: Thomas and the Flying Scotsman. One was there because his fireman had fallen ill in the afternoon and there had been no one to replace him, and the other having come to Sodor to visit his brother and as his duties had been light, had retired earlier to the shed.

So, what does two well-traveled engines do when they have time to kill? Tell stories, of course.

 

“Oh really?” asked Thomas, a cheeky little smile on his face. “Have you ever been to the Canadian Rockies?”

Scotsman regarded the small blue engine and replied with a smile of his own, but more amused and less cheeky. “No, no I haven’t. Have you?”

Thomas grinned. “Indeed, I have. You think the mountains of UK are something, but they are nothing to what the Rockies are. They are so tall that there are days where you can’t see the summits because of the clouds. And the snow falls so heavily that normal plows can’t even go through it. I found that out when I got stuck.”

“Then how did you get unstuck?” Scotsman asked. “You’re back here on Sodor after all.”

Thomas laughed. “I didn’t get unstuck on my own. I had help from Marshall, and his rotary snow plow.”

“Rotary snow plow?” Scotsman repeated, looking at the other engine inquisitively.

“Its basically a snow plow that has something akin to helicopter blades in them,” Thomas explained with some giddiness. “The snow is heavy in the mountains and piles in places higher than your funnel. So, a special plow is needed to cut through that snow to clear the lines.”

As Thomas began to talk more about both Marshall and the rotary snow plow, Scotsman listened. Though he had traveled to the US for his disastrous tour back in the late 1960s, he had never gotten the chance to experience a true western winter. The kind that the engines there had talked about in hushed whispers; one that had storms that knocked engines off their wheels and buried them in feet of snow.

So, to get the chance to hear about it, even if it was from a puffy little blue non-tender engine, was still a nice treat. With his centenary tour coming up maybe he could get the chance to meet one for himself.

“And that is the basic history of the rotary snow plow,” Thomas said, finishing off his speech. The blue engine looked mighty pleased with himself, and Scotsman can give credit where credit is due. No doubt Thomas, or most likely his crew, either had done their research to gain all that information or Thomas had just basically BS everything and no one here would be any wiser.

“Quite impressive,” Scotsman concluded and Thomas looked prouder than before. “And allow me the chance to tell a tale of my own.”

“Oh?” Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Do tell Scotsman. But I believe I have heard most of your tales already.”

Scotsman doubted that; though his past tours were very much public knowledge, there was much that had gone on behind the scenes that wasn’t. And he doubted that Gordon would ever gossip about to the other engines about what had gone which he had detailed in his many letters he had sent his brother.

“Then you no doubt know about the Great Emu War that occurred in Australian back in 1932 and how it led to the birds today having a great deal of fury against machines,” Scotsman bit the inside of his cheek to prevent his laugh at seeing the utter dumbfounded look on Thomas.

Well, could it be…had the Flying Scotsman beat the number 1 engine on Sodor at his own game?

Thomas seemed to shake himself and his confident smile was back. “But of course. But please, do tell. I would like to hear this tale, because it seemed that you know something that I don’t.”

“But of course,” agreed Scotsman. And he began to tell of his Australian tour; of the engines and people he had met, the tracks he had been on and the wildlife he had seen. And how the wildlife seemed to see him, and by extension his crew, as a most interesting target, especially the emus.

Thomas let out gasps of surprise and laughs at the right moments and by the time Scotsman was done telling his tale, the two of them were laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes.

“That was….a most impressive…..tale Scotsman,” Thomas said in between gasps as he regained his breath. And once he did, his cheeky grin was back and he asked, his tone once again oh so innocent. “But have you ever been to Japan?”

Chapter 24: Odd Jobs - Salty

Summary:

DAY 24 - Odd Jobs
The way I understand someone doing odd jobs, is someone doing a little bit of everything, menial labor included.
Which I totally see Salty doing, especially for a dock as large as Brendan.

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 860

Salty loved working in the harbor; there was nothing better than working by the sea. The sight of the sun as it rose and set on the horizon which set it alight with colors, the cry of the gulls and the hustling dock, the smell of salt, the companionship of the ships when they came to dock. There was nothing like it anywhere else and he wouldn’t trade it for anywhere else.

He had worked in many harbors in his career, and in each one, he was assigned other work on top of his usual shunting and preparing coaches. In one harbor near where a ferry service went to Scotland, he helped out with monthly safety inspections. Another one on the coast in Northern Britain, he had worked at, for only a short time sadly, with expanding the line which had involved explosives. That had been a new one, and a good tale to tell.

Of course, he had been sent before to quarries and mills because of how efficient he was, and while he did the work to the best of his abilities, it wasn’t the same as being at the docks. Some engines might roll their eyes or scoff, not understanding the appeal of working near salt and troublesome trucks all day long, but for him, it was the only life for a dockyard diesel like him.

But here at Brenden Docks? He literally did a little bit of everything, and not because was always eager to help, but because he had had so much experience from the Other Railway. The dock master had been shocked when he had seen his Salty’s history record, or as his driver had put it, his ‘resume’.

It had taken some trial and error, as well as getting some new engines to the island, before Salty and his crew had their work schedule pretty much worked out. Of course, it wasn’t always set as the weather and tides followed their own timings but that suited Salty just fine. The sea was a harsh mistress, it was always better to take what was given nicely with thanks and be understanding when confusion and delay occurred.

And what a schedule it was! From sun-up to sun-set and even after, Salty was working, working and more working. It was packed with work to be finished, tasks to be accomplished and goals to be met. But it all made him feel like a really useful engine. Sometimes a very tired engine, but still very useful.

Salty would always have his usual truck shunting, making sure he was timely and efficient so that Cranky was…well, less cranky. He would get the correct trucks needed for the load and bring them to Cranky who would start unloading. Once the ships were unloaded, the trucks were organized into the proper trains which were taken away by the other engines.

This included helping Percy with his mail trains (which he had helped in the beginning but by now the green engine had it under control so his help wasn’t needed) and the many long good runs that the larger tender engines would take.

Every Sunday he was in a meeting with the dock master and Cranky talking about the ships coming in and what was on them, be it passengers, or goods. As well as what goods were critical and/or time-sensitive. Salty had found these meetings at time boring but he always did his best to pay attention and make mental notes. (Of course, he always made sure to compare notes with his crew, to make sure he didn’t miss anything or misunderstand something).

Monday through Thursday was the usual business; organizing trucks for incoming and out-going goods, helping out with the trains when needed and if necessary, talking with Cranky (and seeing if he could make the crane smile; it hadn’t happened yet but Salty was optimistic) and telling the engines that stayed overnight at the dock’s stories of times long past.

Every Friday was the basic safety walk-through, making sure that nothing had been vandalized and that all of the safety precautions and pieces of equipment where all were supposed to be and in working order. At the end of the month, a more in-depth walk-through was done which was more specific and nearly everyone dreaded.

And every Saturday had the wrap-up meeting, which looked over the work done over the week and if it had been done on time, the results and findings of the safety walk-through and if any minor and/or major incidents/accidents/issues had come up during the week.

And then the everything would repeat; there would be differences from one week to the other depending on the time of year as some goods that came through the docks were seasonal, and bad weather (from storms and/or winter) meant Salty was more than not often lending a wheel for cleanup and de-icing duties.

It was good honest work, but it could be tiring some days while other days pushed even his patience (leading him, more than once, cursing a blue streak that had amused Cranky to no ends). But he wouldn’t change it for the world.          

Chapter 25: Distress Signal - Harold

Summary:

Day 25 - Distress Signal

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 924

Harold hovered in the air, scanning the area below him as his search light pierced the white mist below. A shape loomed in the darkness, and Harold’s eyes snapped to it. But it was only a dilapidated barn, its roof having caved in some time ago and the supports making the walls sag and buckle.

Harold only pursed his lips before moving his light onto another spot, hoping that he would be able to find them soon. The sun had already set and the sky was darkening; night was no time for a search and rescue as the risks for aerial and food searches increased.

 A call came in through the radio and his pilot answered. “Talk to me. Over.” The man’s tone was short and clipped when normally it was pleasant. But considering the circumstances, Harold was sure no one would hold it against him.

“We’ve done a sweep along the main line and found nothing.” Belle’s driver said over the radio. “We’ve also talked to some of the station masters, the train had had its intended stops on time. Meaning that it was after they left, heading towards the sheds for the night, that they went missing. Over”

“Copy that. We will continue out sweep in our area and move onto the next quadrant. Keep me updated, over.” His pilot cut the connection. Harold could feel the tight grip on his controls and how he was shifting constantly in his seat.

“Where do you think they could have gone?” asks his pilot.

“Its possible they might have ended up on one of the less known branch lines since they were last seen on the main line. That would mean one of the signalmen fell asleep at this position.” Harold said, feeling his mouth turn into a frown at the end. It had been a problem that had been occurring every now and then.

And while some engines had gotten lost, the time with Oliver coming to mind, everyone had always been found; healthy and safe but a tad bit shaken up. Until tonight that is. Sit Topham Hatt was too dignified a man to throw a fit but his temper was no doubt flare, especially as this was a visiting preserved engine that had gotten lost.

“Makes sense,” mused his pilot. “But which branch line? And if they had kept going, its very possible they might have ended up in one of the many industrial areas around.”

Something cold settled into his petrol lines at the thought. There were multiple industrial areas all across Sodor which connected to the mainline, as it aided in the transport of goods such as lumber or steel. But this guaranteed connection also had its downside as several mainland diesels had been found to sneak onto Sodor rails. Every time they did, trouble always followed and it was varied, from stolen goods to damaging rails.

He had heard about some of the tales from Percy, who once had the misfortune of derailing because of one such case. He had been in the Works for two weeks because his buffers and front wheels had been badly damaged. Harold had been rightly horrified when he had gotten the news.

Suddenly, something blue flashed underneath him and Harold zoomed in, his stoplight roaming over the shape. It was then a steam engine’s whistle, loud and unfamiliar, pierced the air. Two men then appeared on the roof of the cab, waving their jackets in the air.

Harold let out a weak laugh, relief making his frame shiver. He had found the missing engine, and his crew. His pilot quickly comm. over the radio and an affirm went over the line; Belle along with one of the large tender engines would make their way over to retrieve the missing engine and take the crew for the mandatory medical overview/treatment.

His pilot activated his megaphone and called down. “We see you! Help is on the way!”

Even from his place in the sky, with his blades cutting through the air, he could hear the relief from the three below. Harold glances around to see if he can find a place to land, but the sky is black now and his vision, and that of his pilot, is limited to what his spotlight can illuminate. His pilot looks as well and finds a spot not too far to land; a farmer’s field.

Harold winces when he bumps roughly on the soft soil, his landing gear sinking deep into the recently plowed area. His pilot turns off his engine, but keeps the tracking beacon on, making it easier for Belle to find them. The man grabs the first aid kit and is off towards the crew, as was his job as a first responder.

Harold finally then allows himself to go limp, the stress from earlier leaving his frame as suddenly as it had come. This job wasn’t easy and despite being built and trained for it, every call made the petrol in his lines go cold and frame tense with worry. Times when he had been too late, too slow, not prepared enough seemed to pulse behind his eyelids but he pushed them back.

He had been in the air the minute the call had went out and had found them within the crucial 24 hours. The crew for the engine had been awake and active, showing no physical injuries and the engine had looked to be intact and still on the rails. His job was done and now, it was time to rest.

Chapter 26: Summit - Luke

Summary:

DAY 26 - Summit
I was thinking of two different characters for this prompt before Luke just popped into my head with a simple little idea.
And I am not 100% sure how the Blue Mountain Quarry is set up but I am assuming there is a bit of track that goes to, at least, one of the easier to reach summits because why not? The view from up there is nice and it makes total sense to me to have something there.

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 719

Luke quietly puffed along the rail until he was at the top, his driver putting on the brakes just before the set of buffers. The air was cool and crisp, and he could feel the chill that was attempting to dig into his boiler despite his fire burning nicely. It was still dark, everything either black or dark hues in color. But on the horizon was a sliver of yellow, a small thing that was almost completely covered by the leftover clouds from last night’s rain.

But as he waited, the sky slowly changed colors as the sun began to slowly rise over the horizon. The black-blue of night slowly became the orange, yellow and red of sunrise as the lingering clouds became hot pink. He looked up, up as far as he could, to see the last of the brightest stars and the crescent moon of the night sky.

He then turned his attention to down below. From his vantage point, he could most of the quarry which were still bathed in darkness. But the stone at the summits, like the one he was sitting on which had rails, were bathed in light making the blue stone sparkle, as if it was all covered in glitter.  

He sighed as he took in the sight, all of it from the sunrise to the quarry equipment to the mountain stone, there was noting better than being here and seeing all of this, especially when the air smelled fresh after a spring rain.

It was like he was in another place, far away from duties and responsibilities and worries. Some would find the quietness of such an active place unnerving, but to Luke, it was peaceful. Day in and day out, he was constantly surrounded by noise and engines and while he enjoyed his work in the Blue Mountain Quarry and the friendship with the other narrow-gauge engines, there were times he needed some time to himself.

It was almost funny to think that this was his current favorite spot to be when, until recently, he hadn’t known this spot existed until the day he had brought the quarry manager along with some visitors from the mainland. They had been part of some important board and had wanted to get an overview of the quarry.

Luke, at first, had been uneasy about the height, and how only a single wooden buffer was the only thing stopping him from tumbling down the mountain and becoming scrap metal. But as he continued to make trips to this spot, he found that he enjoyed the view.

He remembered the sunrises and sunsets when he had been on the ship coming to Sodor, so he had asked the quarry manager if he could see the sunrise from the summit, before he started work one day. The man had been surprised but agreed, stating that as long as Luke was back in time for the first duty of the day and it worked out with his crew.

And once he saw that sunrise, he knew that he had to come back. And his driver and fireman, when they could and time allowed, did see to it that every so often or when Luke needed a moment, they would bring him up here while they enjoyed their tea and breakfast.

As he looked around, he was grateful that the quarry had even been installed a piece of track that went up to this point, as stone at the summit was difficult to mine and therefore, not worth the effort. And perhaps that was for the best, the lack of equipment made it easier to disconnect, to allow himself a time to just be.

By now, the sun was almost completely over the horizon and right on cue, the sounds of the equipment below rattled and roared to life. Luke bit back a sigh, even as his driver and fireman shot him an understanding look. But as he was slowly backed away from the buffer, Luke took the remaining time he had left to in the view from the summit until he rounded the bend and he lost sight.

“Always tomorrow or the next day Luke,” his driver called out. “There will always be plenty more sunrises to enjoy.” And that made Luke smile, for he was right.

Chapter 27: Record-breaker - Donald & Douglas

Summary:

DAY 27 - Record-breaker
This is shorter because I can't do Scottish accents :'( If anyone has a good resource for it, please let me know.
Inspired by a headcanon Tumblr post from anonymousboxcar, click HERE

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 662

“And it is with great honor that we, the officiants on behalf of the Board for the Guinness World Records, present this plaque to both Donald and Doulgas of the North Western Railway of Sodor.” A great deal of cheering and whistling came out from the crowd, so much so that it was deafening. A high pitch shriek came from the sound system and the announcer had a motion to cut the power which thankfully solved the issue.

Donald and Doulgas stared out from Tidmouth’s shed, looking around at the many engines they called friends as each one smiled, shouted words which couldn’t be heard, and whistled in celebration. The twins then eyed each other, smiling so wide their cheeks hurt and their eyes watered from all of it; all engines wanted to be useful, and to be complimented when they did a good job. But never in their entire careers have they ever had gotten such a standing ovation.

Even when the Fat Controller had announced that they could stay and neither would be sent away so many years ago had they gotten such a reaction from their fellow engines.

It took several more minutes before the crowd quieted enough so that the announcer could continue, the sound system being turned back on. “Donald and Douglas are being inducted into the Guiness World of Records for the fastest plowing of snow by steam engines.”

A great whoop went over the crowd and many let out a laugh. Douglas looked over to catch Oliver blushing as Duck, who was beside him, rolled his eyes with a small smile. Dilly, not wanting to be left out, quaked just as loudly from her place near the Fat Controller. Once again, everyone let out a laugh.

The announcer, grinning, continued. “This record was observed by many as the twins dutiful cleared the snow from the tracks from the previous day’s snow storm. And while this wasn’t the record we had expected to observe, it is a welcome one.”

“Records involving clearing of snow or involving snow are often found overseas, with our Canadian neighbor due to their winters being as rough as the stories make them out to be. This is the first time that a British engine-“

Donald let out a cough and the announcer looked, taking in him and his brother and his mouth formed a small ‘ah’.

“My apologies gentlemen, this is the first time that a Scottish engine, two in fact, had come to obtain this record on British soil.” The announcer corrected; a nod of apology given as well.

“We look forward to seeing you two continue your hard work and we will no doubt be here again next year to see not only see you two maintain this record, but to maybe even improve the time.” And with that, the officiant handed over the plaque over to Sir Topham Hatt who nodded his thanks. Donald and Douglas, along with everyone at the area that had been designated as the ‘stage’ for this ceremony smiled as a great deal of flashing of cameras went off.

And when the Fat Controller handed the plaque over to the Scottish twins’ crew, there was another round of flashing lights. By the time the last camera flashed, Donald and Doulgas were blinking the spots from their eyes; hopefully they weren’t going to have to work so soon afterwards, it just wouldn’t be safe if they couldn’t see where they were going.

There was a great deal of talking, as soon reporters began asking question and talking among themselves and with the other engines. Donald and Douglas eyed each other, still smiling. This ceremony seemed to be a lot for something that they always had done and enjoyed but then again, how many engines could say that they had set a record while being really useful?

“Cannae wait till next year.” Douglas said, his voice just loud enough so Donald could hear.

“Aye.” Donald agreed.

Chapter 28: Which Way Now - Bertie

Summary:

DAY 28 - Which Way Now

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 810

Bertie frowned as his driver looked over the map, then at the street sign, then back at the map again. He wasn’t mad at his driver per say, more of annoyed. But it also wasn’t the man’s fault that this had happened either. Said man sighed and seemed to slump forward, burying his face into the map.

“Crinkle that anymore and you won’t be able to use it,” Bertie said dryly. The only response he got was a snort before the man pulled his face back and seemed to regard the map intently.

Now, nearly everyone liked spring in one way or another. Thomas because it meant he no longer had to use his snow plow and they could race again, as its too dangerous to do so during the winter months. Henry loved it for the way how the forest bloomed into life from the dreary winter. Older engines like Edward and Toby enjoyed spring as the season was easier on their older frames. And so on and so forth for all of the engines that Bertie called a friend.

That wasn’t to say that Bertie didn’t like spring – which he did – or enjoyed winter – which he didn’t, especially with the black ice. It’s what usually occurred in spring that would last all the way to the cooler months of autumn that gave Bertie and his drivers the biggest headache.

Construction.

Bertie loathed construction; from the noise of the equipment to the smell of the tar for the roads to how the workmen and their machines hogged up the road or even took over whole sections of road for repairs and whatnot. That meant that bus services had to be rerouted, more stops to be made, more planning on how to be on time, and doing their best to keep the passengers happy.

All that extra work to do the same routes he had been on since he started on Sodor worn him and his engine out. There had been days that he needed a break, and when the other buses came back, they would also be worn out. And the same could be said for the many divers and managers who were employees by the Sodor Transit department, who were often had to deal with petty and/or irate customers and their complaints.

But it was necessary evil; to make sure that the road markers were visible, and that all of the potholes formed over the winter and with the constant freezing and thawing in the beginning of spring were patched and smoothed over. And that was on top of the other construction projects going on which were either on-going or short enough that they could be completed before the next winter.

Which lead to today’s predicament: Bulgy’s bridge was soon going to be worked on, as it seemed to have become unstable during the winter. It was one of the main scenic routes that Bertie took tourists on, as well as a route used by the mailmen and their trucks. Construction could start as early as tomorrow so Bertie and his driver were tasked with testing the new routes for timing and how well it actually was.

They didn’t need any surprises like the last time when Bertie had to be detoured near a farmer’s field and ended up being stuck for an hour because said farmer had removed his fences to let loose his cows. The animals had refused to budge and had even surrounded Bertie and his passengers, even after he had blown his horn. That had been a fun little surprise early that Monday morning.

“So…” Bertie began. “Which way now?”

“Manager wants us to go down Castle Road but the map shows that it doesn’t connect at Miller Junction,” sighed his driver as he scratched his head. “We can still go down it but if it doesn’t, then we will have to reverse all the way back here; there just isn’t a lot of space on this little country roads.”

Bertie pursed his lips as he looked to his right; the road just had enough space for two vehicles to pass each other, if they drove right on the edge of the pavement.

“What do we have to lose?” said Bertie as he wiggled his tires, the car’s equivalent of a shrug. “If we do go down and confirm it doesn’t connect, we will have the proof that management didn’t really plan too well.”

“Waste of petrol through,” sighed his driver again. But he folded the map, and climbed into the driver site. Soon Bertie’s engine was running and seeing that the way was clear, his driver turned onto the country road. As Bertie drove down the road, he could feel the small loose pebbles ding his undercarriage, making him frown at the itchy sensation. The repairs to Bulgy’s bridge couldn’t happen fast enough.

Chapter 29: Out of Service - Bulgy

Summary:

DAY 29 - Out of Service
Set after "Bulgy's Bridge" (Season 3, Episode 23)

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 451

Bulgy watched, his frown sharp enough to cut glass, as Duck chuffed by with a cheerful whistle. He scowled at the green eyesore and his scowl only got deeper as the passengers on one side pointed to him and seemed to talked with one another. He was tempted to open his mouth, to spit out curses at the Great Western engine but he kept his mouth shut.

During the first two weeks of his punishment as a hen house, he hadn’t done so. He had declared supremacy of the roads over rails, how he was still better than them, he had told them there were useless piles of steaming scrap. But the engines had paid him no mind, and it was only the two Western engines – Duck and Oliver – that smiled and whistled in greeting when they had passed.

Bulgy had gritted his teeth, stewing in his anger as the days rolled by until it had finally reached a boiling point. He was going to do something and soon. That chance happened the next day, when he had seen Duck coming up the line, pulling several coaches full of passengers. His passengers no doubt!

As soon as he could clear make eye contact with the engine, and before the other could whistle in greeting, he had taken in a deep breath and cussed him out, long and loud. He didn’t know what words he had spat out or what insults he had strung together (his mind was still fuzzy on the details). But he knew that he had been creative, mixing in both vehicle and human words.

And it had felt good; he had felt as if he had helium in his tires and fuel lines. And it had even felt better when he saw just how utterly stun not only Duck was, but his crew as well. Bulgy had grinned, and had felt rather pleased with himself for maybe an hour until the Fat Controller had come speeding into his field, red in the face.

Apparently, the passengers had heard everything Bulgy had said, and had made complaints on behalf of Duck and his crew to the station master. And the station master had immediately forwarded everything to the Fat Controller. He hadn’t even been able to look anyone, not even the chickens, in the eyes after the dressing down he had gotten. Every word had been sharp and biting, the tone as hard as a stone. And then the Fat Controller had thrown the metaphorical brick into his windshield.

“I had thought that once you had spent some time here, reflecting on your actions, I might return you to service. But after your actions today against not only one of my engine’s but his crew and passengers, I have decided against it. You will sit here until I believe you have truly changed Bulgy. And if I ever, ever, hear of another incident like this again, I will do much more than make you a hen house. Do I make myself clear?”

And Bulgy did, and anytime a train came up – didn’t matter what kind it was or who was pulling it – he made sure he clenched his jaw till it ached.

Soon the train was out of sight, and Bulgy sagged, unclenching his jaw. But oh, what he wouldn’t do to pull passengers again. Hell, he would love to just get out of this field and be able to just drive. To feel the pavement on his tires, the wind on his face, and the freedom of having a job that made him really useful.

Anything would be better than sitting in this field, banged up and broken and miserable, surrounded by chickens that made constant noise and smelled awful. And as if on cue, one of the more puffer hens waddled up to his face, eyeing him.

“Shoo,” Bulgy snapped, baring his teeth for good measure. But the chicken didn’t listen, instead she cocked her head, seeming to regard him for several unpleasant seconds before making an odd clucking sound, one that was very different to the normal sounds the birds usually made.

Bulgy took in a gulp of air and blew it hotly over the bird, hoping that would make it go away. But the stupid bird didn’t move, it didn’t even seem bothered at all. Instead, it blinked several times before it seemed to hunch down, as if it was going to sit down right there.

At least, that’s what Bulgy had thought before she leaped up, her talons sinking into his face. It took all of 5 seconds as he processed what exactly had happened, and during that time, the chicken dug her talons even deeper into his face and beat her wings as she tried to gain a sense of balance.

“ARGH!” The scream tore out from Bulgy as he tried to shake the bird off, but it held on tight. “Get off!”

The bird thrashed and Bulgy cursed for what seemed to go on for an eternity before the chicken lost its grip and fall down to the ground. Bulgy panted, his face aching terrible as he glared down at the feathered monstrosity. But once again, it only blinked at him before waddling off, not at all bothered that what it had done to him.

Bulgy gritted his teeth, which made his face ache even worse. There had to be something he could do to convince the Fat Controller that he deserved to be in service once again. There had to be a job, any job, that only he could do that would make him truly useful. Anything would be better than sitting in this field, being attacked by chickens!

Chapter 30: Middle of Nowhere - George

Summary:

DAY 30 - Middle of Nowhere
'Asphalt' is used in the US while 'Bitumen' is used in the UK. The more you know.
Set before "Bye George!" (Season 5, Episode 7)

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 997

George watched as the men place shovels full of bitumen onto the potholes; it was as riveting as watching paint dry. But it wasn’t like the workmen could just dump the bitumen and he could roll over it. There were numerous potholes of different sizes and depth in the road, a sign from the years of neglect and constant wear and tear from the passing seasons. So extra time had to be taken to ensure the road was fixed properly the first time.

George turned his attention to the field to his right and then to the one on his left; the former was wheat, and the later was barley. But what else did he expect to see when so deep in the countryside, away from many major source roads and the only thing that the eye could see were fields of something?

“Alright, your turn George,” said one of the workmen. His attention was turned back to the piece of road in front of him; the potholes had been filled well, now it was to be rolled flat.

His engine came to life and he started to roll forward. Normally he would be enjoying himself, working on roads and making them smooth and free of potholes was one of his favorite things to do in the non-winter months. But it was hard to enjoy himself when he was literally in the middle of nowhere, working on a road that probably saw one car every month as best.

What was the point of fixing a road that saw barely any traffic? It seemed like a waste of resources and time when roads that saw a higher volume of traffic should be a higher priority, especially since they would one day replace rails. They should be focusing on widening the roads for tourists, not fixing old country roads.

George grumbled under his breathe as he continued to work. The workmen, used to his constant complaints, ignored him and talked among themselves. He continued to roll back and forth over the area for countless minutes and by the time he was done, the patch of road was smooth and flat, the now filled potholes steaming from the fresh bitumen.

“One section done, several more to go,” sighed one of the workmen as they started to move along the road. The truck, with the bitumen mixer attached, goes forward ahead but George is forced to wait as his operator cuts his engine. With the road as shabby as it is, the truck and mixer bounce down the road, the workmen on foot sticking to the edges which crumbles underfoot.

“Why are we doing this?” George asks. “We should be working on the main road, especially on the parts that are near the rails, not….here.”

His operator sighed. “Look George, every road is to be maintained. That is the law, and we were given these small countryside contracts because we have some time in-between the larger projects. It might not be as fun as on being on the main roads, but a job is a job.”

‘And doing your job makes you useful, despite how difficult you can be to work with’ was left unsaid but George got the message loud and clear. That didn’t mean he liked it anymore. There were plenty of other operators and their rollers that could have taken the contract. But then again, those other operators weren’t like his operator, who had seen the pay and had decided that it was worth taking the contracts despite George’s vocal protest.

Some feet away, the truck came to a stop and the workmen started the mixer back up. Taking that as a sign, George felt his motor come back to life and he rolled along the road. By the time he came to a stop, the men were beginning to shovel bitumen onto the next patch of potholes.

“How long do we have to do this?” George asked, as he closed his eyes. This constant starting and stopping was beginning to make his motor overheat; he was made for constant rolling stopping, not stopping like an old human grandmother at every stop sign.

“There is a junction ahead,” began the foreman who was looking at his clipboard. “In order to met our deadline, we have to be there by either end of day or by early tomorrow. Then we are to immediately go to our next worksite; a side road for a small active farm.”

“Is it by any part of the main roads?”

The foreman glanced at George before turning his attention back to the clipboard. “No. If I recall, its 30 minutes from here.”

George groaned; from one spot of nowhere to the next, he wasn’t going to be seeing any true road work for the foreseeable future, that was for sure.

“Keep that up and we might just get another roller to do your job,” said one of the workmen coolly, making George crack open an eye to glare at him.

“Go ahead-“

“And you can then sit in the shed while we work on that new road by Thomas’s branch line.” There is a smug grin hanging not only on the face of the surly workmen but on all of the workmen. George glances at the foreman who nods

“It’s the next big project,” he replies. “We are ripping up a part of the old branch line and replacing it with a new road. We are still working on the plans so we haven’t decided on the crew and equipment yet.”

“And only really useful steamrollers get chosen for nice road projects,” said his operator, his words making George recall a previous conversation between the two when he had been fouler tempered than usual and had been left in the shed for two weeks to ‘think about his attitude’.

George didn’t need to be told twice and for the rest of the time he was on the back country roads, he was pleasantly quiet.

Chapter 31: Lights Out - The Hatt Family

Summary:

DAY 31 - Lights Out

I do not own any part nor do I make a profit off such works. All spelling, grammar, and tense errors are my own.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Words: 1121

“The mountain stood tall; its summit so high up that it was in the clouds. But yet, no evil could be seen or felt as the little engine chuffed quietly along the overgrown tracks. But as Proteus came closer and closer, it began to loom over him, like a dark shadow. And once his wheels touched the tracks that had been dug deep into the mountain, it was as if a curse had been unleashed.

“First came the fog, thick and cold and as gray as the stone that made up the mountain. His driver and fireman doubted, unsure of even where they were going as nothing could be seen. But Proteus had no doubts, for his wheels remained on the tracks, and the tracks will always lead an engine where he needs to go. So, the fog lifted, and Proteus was one third of the way up the mountain.

“The came the rain. Pouring down as if the angels were weeping from up on up in heaven. It was blistering cold, colder even then the snow that came in the dead of winter. His driver doubted, convinced that the chill would get them. But Proteus had no doubts, for his fireman shoveled the coal into his firebox as if gone mad, and so his fire burned brighter and hotter than ever before. And so, the rain stopped, and Proteus was halfway up the mountain.

“Then came the wind. At first gentle, like familiar hands which tugged at him, trying to lead him to the paths that went to nowhere. But then it stronger, more forceful. Soon it was as if the very wind was trying to push the engine and its crew off the tracks. His fireman doubted, fearful that they would be blown away. But Proteus had no doubts, for his driver had a grip of steel and keens eyes like that of hawk, able to make the calls of when to speed and when to slow. And so, the rain stopped, and Proteus was almost at the top of the mountain.

“To get to the station, they had to go through a long and narrow tunnel. Barely large enough for a small engine, Proteus puffed carefully inside. The tunnel was dark, darker and blacker than a starless and moonless night. His driver and fireman were scared, for they could not see where they were going. But Proteus had no doubts, for his lamp was bright enough to cut even through any darkness and through any storm.

“And there, at the end of the tunnel appeared a light. So small and so faraway, but the end was in sight. But the tunnel began to rumble ominously, as if it was about to collapse. And so, Proteus began to chuff faster and faster, pushing himself like he had never pushed himself before. And just as they were about to exit the tunnel-“

“Ok kids-“

“AH!” came the shriek, as the lights were flicked on. Lady Amanda Hatt, blinked in half surprise and half amusement as the pillow fort came down on her two children and husband, covering them in floral patterns. There was a great deal of shuffling underneath as the three bodies wiggled until two heads of messy hair and one head that was bald popped out.

“Mom!” Stephen said. “You scared us!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry dear,” soothed Lady Hatt as she walked into the room. Gently pulling at one corner, the large blanket lifted up, showing the large assortment of pillows that had been gathered.

“We were at the best part too,” moaned Bridget as she flopped onto the floor, using one arm to cover her eyes.

“And how would you know that dear?” asked Lady Hatt as she finished folding the blanket, placing it on the nearby couch.

“Because we never got to hear this story before!” Bridget exclaimed. “Dad never tells us stories about Proteus.”

Lady Hatt eyed her husband who looked rather sheepish; there was a reason why he didn’t which was the same reason for why the previous Fat Controller never told the Thin Clergyman about Proteus for his books. The bits that had gotten in were fine as long as no one dug too deep. But now was not the place nor the time for such a discussion.

“Perhaps that is true. But there is a reason for that,” began the Fat Controller.

Stephen, who had been busy trying to bury himself into the pile of pillows, poked his head out to stare at this father. “Really? Why is that?”

Bridget was also staring, her eyes wide. Lady Hatt could hear the gears in both their minds turning, and could hear the spluttering of her husband’s as he now seemed unsure of how to proceed.

“Its quite simple you two,” Lady Hatt stepped in. Both of her children turned to face her, and with a smile she replied with. “Its past both your bedtimes.”

The silence lasted for several seconds before loud groans echoed in the living room. Both children flopped onto the ground, scowling up at the ceiling. “Now, now, none of that. Tomorrow is a school day and you need to get ready for bed.”

“But mom!” came the cries in unison but all Lady Hatt had to go was give the look, the same look her mother had given her when she had been a little girl. With great sighs, the two stood up and trudged to their room.

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth!” she called after them. She then turned to her husband, giving him the same look that she had given her children. “And you can help me put the pillows back and then you can to bed. You have a meeting early tomorrow with the Works director.”

“Yes dear,” came the sigh. The pillows were placed back into the rightful places while the spare ones placed onto the blanket so that they would be moved back into the linen closet.

“Thank you dear,” and Lady Hatt placed a kiss on her husband’s cheek.

“Ew!” “Gross!”

The two rolled their eyes in good humor as they looked over to see Stephen and Bridget, already changed in pajamas with slippers on, twisting their faces with young disgust at the public romantic gesture. Ah, to be young again.

School bags were placed by the door, and the two were ushered up to their rooms. Once both were tucked in, and given a goodnight kiss on their foreheads were the doors gently closed and the two made their way to the room. They changed and once found themselves comfortable, the lamp was turned off and the room, along with the rest of the house, fell into a peaceful quiet.