#ttte wendell

[joezworld]

Sodor in the days of Privatisation

Hey so this is actually a fic, but unlike just about everything else I've written, which is inspired by the fact that nobody can stop me, this one is actually a bit of a spite project.

So, like most of you, I'd assume, I've read the Extended Railway Series (ERS) and the ERS Novels (ERSN) on the Sodor Island Forums (SiF). And I super duper don't agree with them on how they portray... well anyone really.

There's a couple of reasons why, but the main thing is that they just... do not understand how the interpersonal relationships between the engines would be - and I'm not saying that how I interpret it is better, but like, each and every one of these engines has been through a literal or emotional hell at least once, sometimes twice, and yet in the ERS, they continue to be jerks to one another with surprising regularity.

That's not how those relationships should work - that's not how we've seen it happen in canon:

It takes all of two pages (54 & 56) in James & The Diesel Engines for James to become friendly/on-board with diesels. They're literally the only two pages in which that even comes up, and from that point onwards, I really can't find many stories featuring the engines having actual malice towards each other like they did in the early books.

Why? Because they like each other now!

They've spent 50+ years right next to each other in the same damn shed - it'd be stranger if they hated each other, and I find it really hard to believe that they'd continue having such bad blood (or oil) considering what they've all collectively gone through, and what they've all lost.

Ordinarily, I wouldn't bring this all up unless someone asked (or if you're @mean-scarlet-deceiver at which point I bombard your DMs) but I figured I should mention this because at this point I'm blatantly stealing characters from the ERS and I figured you should all know why: Because I'm tired of seeing these fucking trains be unhappy for no damn reason.

-------------------

October, 1990

“I’ve done it!” He exclaimed, slamming his briefcase on the thick oak desk and extracting an even thicker sheaf of documents.

The special train had barely stopped rolling when the door to the inspector’s saloon coach was thrown open. Stephen Hatt, the director of the North-Western Region of British Rail (for now) charged out of the plush pre-grouping Pullman and stormed into the station office complex. He was so intent on getting there that all other sights and sounds were ignored until he finally reached the door labelled: “Arthur Agnells | Legal”

Arthur, who had nearly gone through the ceiling when his door was thrown open so suddenly, did not need more than a moment to get up to speed. “No!” He gasped, the adrenalin already running through his veins. “They agreed?!”

“Every. Word!”

Arthur let loose a cry of wordless laughter and practically ran round the massive desk to embrace his employer and friend. It had been a massively risky gamble, but it had paid off.

In the next few days, a memo was faxed, mailed, and in a few cases hand-delivered to every station, shed, office, depot, warehouse, union hall, workshop, and signal box across the region. It had two sections; The upper portion was typed, but the lower was written in extremely elegant handwriting - clearly done just before the memo had been run through the Xerox machine.

-

OFFICIAL NOTICE ON THE PRIVATISATION OF THE NORTH-WESTERN REGION:

As of 19 October, 1990, an agreement has been made between the management of the North-Western Region and the British Railways Board. This agreement - of which copies are available to read in main-line station offices - stipulates that as of 3 April 1993, The North-Western Region will be privatised into its own independent railway company. This company will consist of the following:

All British Railway Board assets on the Island of Sodor

All British Railway Board assets located west of the easternmost point of Barrow Station - with the exception of tracks Four and Five, which will be rerouted outside of the sorting yard to allow for uninterrupted British Rail access of the Cumbrian Coast Line.

The Sodor Motorail terminal at London Kensington Olympia Station

The Sodor Motorail terminal at Stirling Station

The Sodor Motorail terminal at Aberdeen Station

The Sodor Motorail terminal at Barrow-in-Furness Station

The British Rail Booking Office in Tidmouth, Sodor

The British Rail Booking Office in Douglas, Isle of Man

The British Rail Booking Office in Belfast, Northern Ireland

The new railway company, tentatively known as the North Western Railway Company, will be chaired by the current leadership structure of the North-Western Region.

The British Railway Board wishes the North Western Railway Co. the best of luck in their new endeavour.

We've done it! Anything on this island come 3-4-93 is ours! Free & clear! Start requesting equipment transfers posthaste! - S.T.H.

-

Equipment and rolling stock began coming in almost immediately. At first, it was small things - a coach here, two wagons there, and so on. The motorail terminal at Kirk Ronan made the first big play, requisitioning an entire rake of newly rebuilt Cartic wagons, which was approved without delay.

Following that, bigger acquisitions began to be made…

---------------------

January 1991 - Barrow-in-Furness

The first locomotive acquired under this scheme showed up in the winter. Bear collected him as part of the morning goods train. “Hello, what are you doing up there?” He asked the small six-wheeled shunter strapped to a low loader wagon.

“Currently?” He said with an accent that seemed to be half-Southampton and half-seagoing scallywag. “Freezin’ me axles off! Name’s Salty, by the way.”

“Bear. Nice to meet you. I assume that you’re our new harbour engine?” The harbour at Tidmouth had been rapidly expanding thanks to growth in both containerized freight as well as bulk commodity shipments, and the current shunter could not keep up on his own.

“Aye!” He said as the shunters connected the wagon and the diesel’s crew began running a brake test. “Though I unno how long I’ll be ‘ere for - I’m a bit o’ an unwitting journeyman - every few years I get sent somewhere else - no respect for us old salts eh?”

Bear laughed. “As much as I want to relate, I’m afraid I can’t. Us ‘old salts’ are the ones running this island - you’ll fit in fine!”

“Izzat really?” Salty asked, a little surprised.

“Oh yes!” Bear chortled as he was throttled up to leave Barrow yard. “In fact, you and I are practically spring chickens compared to some engines I can name!” He directed that last comment to Bloomer, who was steaming into the yard with a short passenger train from Norramby.

“I can work you under the table any day, youngster!” The old single harrumphed as he steamed by. “An’ don’t you forget it!”

Bear laughed - partly at Bloomer’s antics, but mostly at the gobsmacked expression on Salty’s face at the sight of steam traction with a TOPS number - and powered across the bridge onto Sudrian metals.

--------------

April, 1991 - BREL Crewe Works

The foreman stared at the list of items that had come off of the teleprinter. “They want this junk? What for?”

“Search me.” Said his secretary. “But they were very insistent about it.”

“Well, I suppose it does keep it from going to waste...” Most of the old works complex was being torn down to allow for new commercial development, and anything that wasn’t involved with the Class 91 programme or couldn’t be sent elsewhere would likely end up in a skip.

But seriously, the man thought to himself as he went out to inform his underlings. What could they possibly need with this? Old casting molds from the steam era? Sulzer engine blocks? Crown sheets? Wheel truing machines? Wheel drop tables? Steam heating boilers? Everything here is decades old! We found them in the weeds! What could they possibly be maintaining? Steam engines? Vintage diesels?

It took a week for everything to be loaded into a load of wagons that had also been specified on the transfer orders, and things became more curious when a freshly-painted Class 46 came down especially for them.

She was sparkling from buffer to buffer, and smiled and laughed as she was connected to the long train of old rubbish. It took only a few minutes for the train to be assembled, and then the diesel roared away without a hint of clag or a single misfire - implying much better maintenance than just about any other engine the men at Crewe had seen in months!

Also… “Didn’t they scrap those years ago?”

------------------------

November, 1991 - Crovan’s Gate Works

The works foreman examined the rake of coaches carefully. “Wendell,” He said slowly. “These are the coaches they told you to take, right?”

The big diesel blinked slowly. “Yes? Why wouldn’t they be?”

“These… aren’t Mark 2 stock.”

This drew a chorus of jeers from the coaches:

“Of course we’re not!”

“How dare you!”

“We’re better than those old wrecks!”

“You weren’t actually going to put those heaps on mainline services?”

“You should consider yourselves lucky that we agreed to come along!”

“Mark 2 stock indeed! We’ve just been built!”

Man and engine exchanged a look. “They said that they were the only proper coaches in the yard…” Wendell said, realizing his mistake all too late.

-

King’s Cross Station, London

“What do you mean, ‘they’re gone?’” The stationmaster asked. He was a very busy man, and didn’t have time for nonsense like this.

“I mean,” Said the head of the rolling stock depot over the phone. “That they aren’t there. We can���t find them.”

“You lost two rakes of Mark 4 coaches?!”

---------------------------

February, 1992 - Tidmouth Docks

“I must say Stephen,” Jim the Harbourmaster said as he led the Fat Controller around the docks in his car. “I didn’t think that we’d be able to handle all the additional expansion - what with the automobile unloading dock and whatnot, but that extra engine has certainly done us a treat!”

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.” Stephen visibly relaxed into the car seat. “Out of everything, the expansion has been one of my biggest worries - we don’t need any problems here.”

“And thanks to you we haven’t got any.”

“Thank heavens for that. How is the new one settling in? I know Merlin worked alone for so long, but Salty seemed quite knowledgeable. I hope there haven’t been any issues.”

Jim pulled a face. “Salty is getting along great, but… I wouldn’t say he’s fine.”

“Oh?”

“His axleboxes.” Jim said severely. “Anything over twenty and they just start to fail from the heat. Crovan’s has been working on a solution but it’s severely limiting his range; we certainly can’t send him further than the big station, and the ferry boat trains are right out.”

Stephen stared at his subordinate, a picture of bafflement. “But you said that everything was going well..?”

“Oh yes!” Jim was not at all concerned. “That’s all Marina, not Salty!”

“Marina?”

“Oh, the Class 33 you got from Eastleigh.”

“What Class 33?”

-

They found Marina shunting trucks with Salty out by the aggregates yard. Both engines were engrossed in a raucous sea shanty, and didn’t notice the men.

Stephen actually gasped when he saw the engine, and Jim made a noise as he realized that he should have spoken earlier. “Ah, yes, I - perhaps I should have mentioned that earlier… You see, the works was full at the time, and she wasn’t all that bothered about it…”

At an almost total loss for words, Stephen could only glare at the harbourmaster in a way that screamed In What Universe Is That An Appropriate Response?!

This response was somewhat understandable. At some point in the past, some amount of calamity had befallen Marina - what kind exactly, she’d refused to elaborate on - and caused significant cosmetic damage to her front.

Quite significant and deeply concerning cosmetic damage.

Her “A” end cab was basically destroyed - all of the windows were gone, with not even jagged glass remaining in the frames - and in some places the frames were gone! There were deep gouges in the metal of her bufferbeam and up her front - mercifully her face was untouched - to the point where bare metal was showing all over. The damage was so bad that drivers had to use the “B” end cab whenever possible, leading many trucks to think that she’d driven herself out of the scrap heap, and causing them to give her a nickname: “The Haunted Disaster”!

Despite all of this, however, she seemed happy. Her blue eyes sparkled like they were filled with a million stars, and her voice was clear and bright as she sang along to the chorus of whatever song Salty was singing.

Then like Mary Ellen Carter, rise again!

Rise again, rise again!

Though your heart, it be broken, or life about to end

No matter what you've lost, be it a home, a love, a friend

Like Mary Ellen Carter, rise again!

The song finished as Stephen strode insistently across the ballast. “Excuse me,” He said, trying his best to be polite. “But who are you?”

“I’m Marina.” She said happily. “I’m the harbour engine.”

“For this harbour?”

“Yes, but not originally though - I was the Harbourmaster of Weymouth until they shut the tramway. Then I was withdrawn for a while, but now I’m here.”

“I… I see.” It was rare for Stephen to be so off kilter. “And may I ask who approved your transfer to this harbour?”

“I did.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Another harbour engine was needed, so I came here.”

Stephen’s mouth flapped open and shut several times. “I see.” He lied. “And was this… before or after you… damaged your front?”

“Well after that, sir.”

“I see,” He was saying that a great deal and it had yet to be true. “And you haven’t been mended?”

“No sir. I’ve been quite busy.”

“I see…” The Harbour was a three-engine job, that much was clear. And he hadn’t been able to find a suitable type three for love or money… “I would ask you if you will work hard, but somehow I feel like I know the answer to that.”

She smiled, and one of the depot allocation plates on her side sparkled in the sun. It was from Saltley MPD - notorious for being one of the hardest working depots on British Rail. “I get the job done, at all costs.”

--

Several days later

“Stephen, why the fuck is there a bagpiped 33 in my repair bay? And why does she look like you dragged her out of a scrap heap?” Leigh Hunt’s voice crackled over the phone. The head of the Crovan’s Gate diesel shops was a cantankerous old man who held very little respect for anyone who wasn’t a locomotive, and such exchanges were normal.

“Oh, Marina?” It had been several days, and Stephen was now much calmer about his mystery locomotive. “She’s one of ours.”

“I’d’ve never guessed. What am I doin’ to her? The usual?”

“If that’s what’s needed, then yes. She seems to be working perfectly, damage aside.”

“Ah was to ask about that - She’s bein’ awful tight lipped ‘bout that.”

“Then you know as much as I do, Leigh.”

“Huh. Figures. We’ll get ‘er done in a week so long as nothin’ calamitous happens. Oh, by the by, how’d ye swing one of these? London’s got it out for any type three that ain’t a tractor - I’m surprised she isn’t razorblades yet.”

Stephen sighed, not entirely sure how to explain this. “Sometimes, Leigh, you just come into engines…”

------------------------------------

July, 1992 - Crewe Electric TMD

“No, Hatt.” Bruce - the head of Crewe Electric Depot said in greeting.

“Bruce! You didn't even know what I was going to say!” Stephen protested.

“Don’t need to. You’ve been getting everything between hither and yon for your Nowhere Railway and I’ve not got a steam engine hiding under a cover or anything like that - I run an electric depot, in case you didn’t know.

“And that’s exactly why I called - you see, I have an electric branch in need of-”

“Absolutely not.” Bruce’s eyes widened at that. “I’ve barely got enough engines to go ‘round, and I’ve got those new leasing companies crawling up my arse every other day trying to inspect things! I do not need to go transferring assets off to your little hole in the ground!”

“Fair enough.” Hatt said as though Bruce hadn’t just massively insulted his region. Bruce wondered exactly how many phone calls he’d made in order for statements like that to go unnoticed. “Do you know of any other TMDs that might have excess motive power?”

“Not off the top of my head; the 91s and the 90s are sending everything else into out-of-use. You’d have to call around and see who’s got what on their storage lines - and that’s only if you need a locomotive.”

“That I do. You see, I’m in need of a higher-power unit to use for heavy goods services. A 90 would be perfect, but everyone I’ve spoken to has been reluctant to part with theirs.”

“Good luck with that.” Bruce scoffed. “I only have three of the damn things and I’m across the bloody railway line from the works! I’ve to make do with some clapped out 85s for the time being.”

He surveyed the yard as Hatt tried to wheedle a pair of ‘clapped out 85s’ from him. The electrics had been getting grubbier and sadder as the years had been going on - lack of maintenance expenditure from management, coupled with a lack of care (also from management - his crews hated not being able to fix something) had made the engines a damn sorry sight.

Sending them off to the Island of Woebegone Locomotives would be a mercy, really. He thought to himself, before stopping as something registered in the corner of his vision. He suddenly had an idea.

Hatt was still blathering on about how he ‘needed’ a suitable freight engine (don’t we all, Hatty), when Bruce cut him off. “Actually, I might be able to help you with your issue.”

“Do tell…”

“You still run the Island of Misfit Prototypes, right? Or have you finally gotten some standard stock?”

“I wouldn’t exactly characterize it as that-”

“Well you’d better,” Bruce sighed as he looked at a particularly sad-looking engine sitting by itself on the weed-filled out-of-use tracks. “‘Cause I’ve got one and she’s yours iffn’ ye want her.”

-

Crovan’s Gate Works - a week later

The engine had been towed in on an extremely delayed goods working - so delayed in fact, that the mainland diesel who had brought it to Barrow had run all the way down to Wellsworth under the cover of darkness in order to make every station stop. (The diesel had also been offered a place to stay the night, and had instead fled the Island as fast as he could! Perhaps the region’s new reputation was growing…)

As such, it was only in the dawning light of the morning that anyone from the North-Western Region actually saw what Crewe had sent them.

“Land’s sake!” Rolf Tedfield, the works manager said when he laid eyes on the engine. “She’s huge!”

“I will admit,” Stephen said as the two men walked over the sleepers, headed towards the engine. “I was not expecting such a… sizeable engine.”

“Not expecting - Stephen, you had this engine transferred! What did you think it was?”

The Fat Controller ignored him and approached the engine. While not the biggest engine in the world, there was a certain… mass to the engine, perhaps brought on by its bogies, that made it appear powerful; they were three-axle Co-Co trucks, instead of the smaller two axle Bo-Bo trucks that every other diesel and electric engine - save Delta - sat on. It also might have been the size of the engine - while no taller than the other engines, it was a good ten feet longer than Abbey and Dane - the Island’s other electric locomotives - and overall she looked heavier, faster, and burlier than most of the other engines on the Island. Painted in bright white Intercity livery, the engine’s name was stamped on a brass plate in the center: Avocet.

Already present at the engine - who hadn’t said a word the entire time, choosing instead to stare at them with bright blue eyes - was Mr. Williams, the chief electrical traction engineer for the works. In charge of maintenance for the railway’s small electric fleet, he was an excitable man with hair that stuck up in every direction. His first name was Emerson, but this was only theoretical, as he never used it, instead preferring a nickname that seemed appropriate both because of his chosen profession, and also because he’d electrocuted himself so many times that he could stick a penknife into a live electrical outlet with no adverse effects: Sparky.

“Sah!”He shouted, springing to his feet from where he’d been inspecting a traction motor. “Do you truly expect me to repair this engine? To turn this malfunctioning pumpkin of an aardvark into a carriage fit for the royal ball?”

The engine - Avocet - looked offended at that, but Stephen and Rolf were used to the man’s antics. “Yes, Sparky, I do intend for you to return this engine to traffic. Is that going to be a problem?” Stephen asked.

“Sah!” Sparky said, bounding around the engine like a man possessed by himself. “You have just asked me to accomplish what BR cannot - nay, what the manufacturer of this stock cannot! And turn her into a proper goods engine at the same time!”

“Can you do it or not?” Avocet finally lost patience with him, revealing that she spoke with a melodious London accent. “You’ve been bounding around here talking about thyristors and chopper circuits for twenty minutes! I’d very much like to not go into the out-of-use lines again, so out with it!”

“My Lady!” Sparky hopped around, balancing on one leg atop a rail. “I’ve only been asked to perform the impossible! Please allow me some room for gesticulation!” He didn’t sound put out over this.

“Emerson…” Rolf said quietly. “She’s new. Don’t drag this out.”

“Ah yes! Of course!” Sparky said, spinning himself on the rail so he faced the engine directly. “My lady, you have it on my word as an electrician and a gentleman that you will be operational post haste!”

With that, he spun around a third time before bowing deeply to both men and the engine. “Now, if you will pardon my absence, I must prepare my staff.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and bounded off towards the electric depot at the corner of the yard.

“Is he… always like this?” The engine asked, watching him bound across the rails like a stag prancing across a field. When he reached the building that said “CROVAN’S GATE TMD: ELECTRIC DIVISION”, he kicked the door open and disappeared inside with a flourish. “MEN! GATHER YOURSELVES! WE HAVE A CHALLENGE!” Echoed out from the open door, followed shortly thereafter by cheering from the staff within.

“Unfortunately yes.” Rolf said, burying his head in his hands. “But let it be known that he’s a very skilled electrical engineer… who most certainly would be fired if he wasn’t.”

This did not convince Avocet, and Stephen tried to be encouraging. “If it makes you feel any better, he is more excited than normal - we haven’t let him work on a prototype in a while.”

That did not help, and Rolf again had to calm the wide-eyed engine. “Ignore him - well, don’t, because he’s your controller - but for right now pay him no mind.”

He paused to give an innocent-looking Stephen a glare. “What he means is that we’ve only got a few electrics - most of whom are standard production units.”

This did calm the engine, for all of a moment, before her brows furrowed. “Most? Who’s the prototype? Did E2001 survive?”

“Ward - our Class 370.” Stephen said blithely. “You will meet him in time.”

Avocet stared at him. “No. No. You do not have an APT on this pokey little island!”

--------------------------------

January 1993 - Peel Godred

“Stephen, what is that?” Gareth choked out.

The Fat Controller looked over at the suddenly-red representative from BR’s head office. “What is what?”

“That!” The man sputtered, pointing towards the passenger train that had rolled out of the tunnel and was coming to a stop at the platform.

Stephen blinked. “That’s Ward - he’s our class 370.”

Gareth choked some more. “Class 370?! You daft old man, that’s an APT! We scuppered that program a decade ago! What’s it doing here?!”

“Running our 13:30 passenger service, by the looks of it.”

“Don’t you play coy with me! That trainset was supposed to be withdrawn and scrapped! Not shuffled off to your little island fiefdom! You’ve still got three months before we’re free of you, and we will not let that thing keep running!”

The uppity young corporate drone continued raving like this for some minutes, promising that a large amount of inevitable doom would come down upon the heads of the Region’s managers as soon as he got back to London.

When he reached a lull in his threatening, a much sterner Stephen Hatt drew his attention back to the platform of the station, where a crowd had now gathered, looking at the two men in the station’s carpark. “Aside from the fact that you are now causing a scene, I would like to remind you that Avocet was transferred to us with the full cooperation and knowledge of London.”

“Avocet- what? - WHAT?!” The man shouted as he turned around to look at the platform again, almost jumping out of his tailored suit in the process.

There was no APT at the platform any more. Instead, Avocet was running around a few coaches, giving the younger man the evil eye as she did so. “You would do well to calm down,” She said in her snootiest accent as she rolled past. “Excitement is unbecoming of you.”

Gareth looked like the rug had been ripped out from under him, and frantically looked around the yard for any sign of the train that had been there just moments ago. It did not calm him to find nothing other than Abbey and Dane, who were backing a long string of wagons across the yard switches and into the sidings for the Alumina Plant.

He continued sputtering and shaking for several more minutes before he left, leaving Stephen in the carpark and stalking across the street towards a pub.

Everyone waited until the door to the establishment slammed shut, before collectively exhaling a sigh of relief.

“Am I ever glad we’re going private…” Avocet muttered.

“Glory, that was one of the worst ones yet.” Abbey sighed. “Thank you for going along with it sir.”

“Not a problem.” Stephen said. “I will admit, I had thought your… protectiveness of Ward to be somewhat unusual, but I can see that it’s not undue at all.”

“I’m just glad that we managed to find something big enough to hide me behind!” Ward called from behind Abbey and Dane’s train. “Normally it doesn’t work.”

“That’s because you’ve got me now,” Avocet said seriously. “The three of you could get lost in an empty shed with a map.” She looked over at Stephen. “I’m the brains of this line, sir.” She said without a hint of cheek.

Almost unconsciously, Stephen turned to the others. On the main line, such a statement would bring forth a host of jeers and corrections, but Abbey and Dane were all smiles.

“Yep!” Abbey Chirped.

“And most of the brawn.” Said Dane.

“Don’t forget the looks!” Called Ward. “At least a quarter of that!”

Stephen shook his head. Once they were free of BR, he’d have to spend more time on the branches!

-------------------------------------------------

2 April 1993 - Barrow-in-Furness

It was almost midnight, but the yard was alive with music, engines, and lights. It seemed like half the Island had made their way out to the mainland to watch as the first step in BR’s privatisation took place.

A stage had been assembled at the station throat, and many speeches had been made. Coffee was flowing liberally, and members of the press were on hand.

Many of the engines had elected to attend: Those who remembered the time before BR like Gordon, Edward, Henry, and Toby, and those who had never experienced anything but, like Delta, Bear, and Daisy, were all parked end-to-end in the station platforms. In the yard, those who had been saved by the Fat Controller from BR, like BoCo, Marina, Avocet, Douglas, Donald, and Oliver sat with baited breath; they held no fond memories of BR, and were waiting to be rid of it.

At twenty minutes to midnight, a quick headcount was performed of all the engines and staff who were in attendance - namely to make sure they were on the correct side of the station!

At ten minutes to midnight, The Fat Controller ordered a track crew to sever the tracks on the “mainland” side of the station.

It took several minutes to unbolt the rails and lift them out of the way, and at two minutes to midnight, Sodor was officially separated from the mainland rail network.

At one minute to midnight, a countdown began, while the stationmaster and his staff began pulling down BR logos from the station. The largest sign was a light-up model on a pole above the carpark, and when they thought nobody was looking, Leigh Hunt and several others from Crovan’s Gate retreated outside, pulling an air rifle from the back of Leigh’s BMW.

He took aim at Thirty Seconds to Midnight.

The first three shots missed. Twenty Seconds.

The next two chipped holes in the BR arrows. Ten seconds.

The next one opened up the hole to the point where the bulb could be seen. Five seconds.

As the crowd in the station began counting down from five, Leigh took aim once more, and fired.

The station clock struck midnight, drawing jubilant cheers and deafening whistles and horn blasts from the people and engines. Sodor was officially free from BR.

Stephen Hatt had taken a proffered bottle of champagne and shook it to the point where the cap would come off easily. At midnight, he popped the cap, and was quite surprised to hear a much louder BANG, followed by tinkling glass.

Looking around, he saw that the station sign had suddenly exploded. From where he was standing, Leigh and his celebrating conspirators were invisible.

Glancing down at the ‘magnum’ of champagne, Stephen decided not to question it any further, and poured himself a drink. “To the North Western Railway!” He shouted.

#yeah I basically wrote a fix fic #sue me #ttte #sodor #literally half of sodor has been stolen from somewhere else #half of sodor is basically stolen #rws sodor #fic #ttte bear #ttte salty #oc: avocet #oc: Abbey #oc: Dane #oc: Ward #oc: Marina #stephen hatt #you'd think that salty is just from the tv show but the ERS had him there for about five minutes and then got rid of him #I'm really mad about some of the choices in the ERS #ttte wendell #I think I've stolen as many characters as stephen hatt has #sodor shenangians #sodor headcanon #sentient vehicle headcanon

[joezworld]

Sodor's Lightshow

Hey, so @sodorgazette is doing a holiday challenge/ event called Sodor Lightshow. I imagine that this will be easier to do as an artist, but I'll make do with what skills I have.

Fic below! ↓

2021, Tidmouth

The shed was silent as the TV producers followed the Fat Controller out of the shed.

“But it’s October,” James said finally. “Why would they do a Christmas commercial now?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Gordon sighed. “By the time they’ve finished it, it will be Christmas!”

The other engines in the shed looked excited, but Edward was concerned. “I don’t like the idea of us being ‘screen tested’ or anything like that.” He said to shed at large. “If they only pick one of us, it means the rest of us might get our feelings hurt.”

“Then don’t participate!” This was from Oliver. “But I think that I’d be a great ‘holiday train’!”

“You?” Henry looked prideful. “Not to hurt your feelings, but you’re too small for this. Those people said that the commercial would have an engine pulling containers - I’d assume being large enough to pull containers is a prerequisite.”

“They also said that the engine needed to be ‘iconic’, which I think is more of a pre-whatever you said than being the right size! I’m plenty iconic - I’m Great Western, after all!”

A groan rolled through the shed at this, and Oliver opened his mouth to retort when Tornado cleared her throat, completely missing Thomas’ attempts to keep her from speaking. “Um, Oliver, I don’t mean to boast or anything, but if they’re going to pick a really famous engine… well, let’s be real - it’s probably going to be me.”

“You?! When Thomas is right next to you?”

“I don’t want to be in a Christmas commercial!” Thomas yelped, not expecting or wanting to be drawn into the conversation. “I don’t like how commercialized it’s become.”

“Oh hauld yer wheesht!” Donald grumbled. “Yer so commercialized there’s a store of ye at Knapford station! Ye jus’ don’ wan’ ta do it ‘cause yer entire branch line would hold it over ya smokebox for the next year!”

“Yes, but that’s not Christmas. Christmas is special. And speaking of not being able to forget things, I distinctly remember that signal box outside the big station not having a bullseye painted on it at one point.”

Donald wheeshed angrily at this.

James, now having a minute or two to think, (which was just as dangerous as him speaking without thinking) spoke up. “Actually, it’s probably not going to be any of us,” He said, drawing jeers from Henry, Oliver, and Tornado. “Considering how Daphne and Wendell have basically made Christmas ‘their’ holiday.”

Tornado got a headache every time that someone mentioned Daphne so casually, (How they could be so casual about an engine appearing from the ether is something that she just didn’t get) and she tried to move the conversation away from that direction. “I mean, didn’t they say that they wanted a steam engine? If they wanted a diesel they could just do it with a 66 or someone else, right?”

Everyone else looked thoughtful at that, before James spoke up again. “Well then, I guess they’ll just have to pick me!”

Edward and Gordon groaned in unison as the conversational gauntlet was thrown down, and the other engines immediately began arguing.

“Oh please, they’re gonna pick me!”

“Excuse me, but which one of us actually pulls container trains on a regular basis?”

“They can use computers or something for that! I look the part!”

“Ye? Yer too wee and ye knoo it!”

“Well it’s not like they’re going to pick you!”

“Wanna bet?”

At the word ‘bet’, a trio of eyes widened, and for one fleeting moment Edward, Gordon, and Thomas all shared the same thought.

“Why would you say that?”

“You are all too old for this kind of reckless competition-”

“Christmas is not a competition!”

But it was too late. Word of a “Christmas competition” soon spread across the island…

----------------------------------------

“Are you using those decorations for anything?” Henry asked Dennis, the Tidmouth station master as he opened a supply closet.

Dennis looked into the closet and found it to be filled with Christmas decorations. He looked back at Henry. He shivered, remembering exactly what had happened the last time the big engine had taken an interest in a holiday. “Yes. Storing them until Christmas.” He said, shutting the door and locking it securely.

Henry had the gall to look put out over this, and for a moment Dennis felt sorry for him, until he looked down the platform. The station’s pub had a pumpkin-flavored seasonal beer on tap, and had put out a jack-o-lantern shaped advertisement for it.

Every member of staff who walked by the plastic pumpkin, with its jagged teeth and red LED eyes, had shivered slightly.

Dennis had no sympathy for Henry.

-----

Thomas groaned as he tried in vain to sleep. Tornado had spent the night at the Ffarquahr sheds, and was trying - with some success - to get Bloomer into the “holiday spirit”.

“Do tHey kNOw it's ChRIstMas time at all?

Here's tO yOU

RAISE a glAsS fOR EVeryoNE”

“Okay, well, we can still work on it!”

Tornado might have had the voice of an angel, but Bloomer sounded like a cement mixer full of gravel.

“I envy Percy right now.” Thomas grumbled.

“Isn’t he getting his boiler replaced?” Toby asked sleepily.

“YES.” Thomas and Daisy snapped as one.

--------

“I say,” Daphne said, her voice reaching an unusually low tone. “I am most insulted that we weren’t even considered.”

“Maybe they didn’t know?” Wendell tried his best to defuse the situation.

“It would make them amongst the last to know!” She scoffed. “I pull their dratted containers all the time!”

“Are we sure that they’re only going to pick one?” Delta asked from the next road in the diesel shed. “I’m certain we could do a pretty good double act - if it’s me and Bear we’ve already got the colours down!”

“Mm,” Bear said, half asleep. “They wanted a steamer for some reason, I’m afraid.”

“Really? Why?”

“Couldn’t begin to speculate.” Bear yawned. “Henry thinks it's because the TV show only focuses on the steam fleet.”

Delta looked murderous at that, and Daphne just looked even more determined.

“Well then,” She said. “I shall just prove to them what they’re missing out on, won’t I?”

James, who was sitting next to Delta with his eyes shut, but wasn’t yet asleep, suddenly regretted saying anything at all!

-----

The sheds at Wellsworth were quiet.

“So,” BoCo ventured. “I hear talk of a commercial being shot soon?”

Edward rolled his eyes. “Please don’t tell me you’re trying to get involved in that too!”

“Oh no, but I think that puts us in the minority.”

“Oh thank goodness!”

-----

“They’re not going to pick us.” Emma said as they rolled into Barrow station. “We can’t pull containers!”

“But - but - but it’s Christmas!” Pip protested. “And everyone else is doing it!”

“And everyone else is going to be sorely disappointed when the TV people pick a steam locomotive like they said they were going to.” Gordon was waiting at the platform with the morning semi-fast and had heard them.

“Oh come on!” Pip was still insistent. “We’re pretty enough to be on TV! Just look at us!”

Emma and Gordon could only laugh at that!

----

“Lemme in!”

“No!” “You’ll steal our plans!”

“Ah dinnae care about yer plans! We’re gonna win wit’ or without yer stupid plans!”

“Oh! So our plans are stupid, are they?!”

Rex, Jock and the other small engines watched as Duck and Oliver barricaded the shed from Donald and Douglas. The inside of the shed was aglow with multicoloured Christmas lights, and a strand of tinsel was caught on one of Duck���s wheels.

“Do you know what a screen test is?” Bert asked, the small engines having gotten some idea of what the big engines were in such a state.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think it means what they think it means.”

-----

Stephen Hatt walked into the Railway’s office complex from the platforms at the big station. “Can someone tell me why the engines are so excited about tinsel? The commercial shoot isn’t for a week or so.”

From deeper within the offices, a cry of “A WEEK?!” bellowed out, followed quickly by a string of unprintable epithets.

----

The head cleaner for Tidmouth sheds stared at his staff schedule in dismay. He was not a Sodor boy by birth, and this was one of those times where he wished he was. His entire staff was putting in unpaid overtime just to put up these bleeding Christmas lights (IN OCTOBER), and didn’t think there was a damned thing wrong with that.

“I can’t even bring this to Mr. Hatt…” He said in dismay. “He’s just as nutty as they are - he’ll say I’m the strange one!”

---------------------------------------------------------------

A week later, the film crew arrived for the ‘screen test’. The engines had been expecting a larger production, and were rather underwhelmed by the film crew being four men who showed up in a hired van.

The Fat Controller showed them around the yard, and once they’d decided on a potential filming location, they were taken to meet the engines. “- and, as you can see, they’ve all been very eagerly awaiting you!” He said jovially. “Christmas has become quite an event around here.”

He wasn’t wrong. The film crew actually did a double take at the sight of the engines:

Daphne and Wendell had been bedecked from buffer to buffer in their ‘holiday train’ lights, which covered their entire bodies in patterns of string lights, light up snowflakes, and the words “NWR HOLIDAY TRAIN” spelled out in giant vinyl graphics.

James and Delta were polished to a mirror finish, and their red paint was nicely offset by minimal amounts of green wreaths, tinsel, and lights that ran along Delta’s sides and James’ boiler in a rather tasteful manner.

Duck and Oliver were the inverse - their green paint was scarcely visible underneath a simply massive amount of red lights that ran all over them. It was honestly quite hard to look at.

In comparison, Tornado (who was appearing solo - Bloomer had decided not to attend - at Thomas's insistence!) looked almost normal. Multicoloured string lights were wrapped around her boiler handholds, exposed pipes, and her smoke deflectors, while green and red tinsel hung from her cab. Her buffers had been painted so they said MERRY and CHRISTMAS on them, and she’d changed the colour of her eyes so one was green and the other red. A Christmas song played softly over her speaker system, and she wore a headboard that read “TESCO HOLIDAY TRAIN”.

Henry, having been barred from any Christmas decorations by the station staff, had been forced to find an alternative, meaning that he and Bear were nicely polished but undecorated… other than a pair of enormous Santa hats that had taken three men to drag up onto the top of each engine.

Donald and Douglas were nowhere to be seen. They had managed to short out their AWS systems with their lights, meaning they couldn’t move until they were mended.

Finally, a ‘surprise’ entry came in the form of Abbey, one of the engines from the electric branch. She’d heard about the competition from engines at the junction and thought it would be fun to try her wheel at it. Where she’d found the massive bow, or the giant red ribbon to go with it, remained a mystery.

-

The director, a Mr. Pemberton, wandered around the engines with his cinematographer in tow. He was an excitable man, but knew very little about railways. His underlings knew this, and one of them whispered to Stephen Hatt when they were certain nobody was listening. “You do know that he’s not going to use any of these, right?”

“I don’t follow.”

“He’s been imagining this ‘ideal locomotive’ in his head for two weeks now. We don’t have much time left, and I’m not even sure if such a thing exists, but this is all a bit… much, especially for how long they’ll be in the ad for.”

“Oh, don’t you worry.” Stephen said kindly. “I’m sure that one of them will be suitable.”

“Oh good heavens!” Mr. Pemberton exclaimed, collapsing theatrically into a seat in the rear of the van. “I have so many ideas now, but none of these trains are what I want!”

The underling quirked an eyebrow in Stephen Hatt’s direction, as if to say I told you so.

“Well Carter,” Stephen said to the director. “They’re not the only engines on this Island, but what is it that you’re looking for, if not them?”

“Oh, it has to be fast!” The director said, gesturing with his hands as if to illustrate his point. “It needs to be easily identifiable, and totally iconic. None of this visually busy stuff you’ve got here - I’d almost take that one with the ribbon and bow, but the electric thingy at the top kind of ruins it - it needs to be clean, with as few lines as possible. Just a train, no more or less.”

Suddenly, he stood up, looking off towards the yard. “Something like that!” He exclaimed, heading off in that direction.

Stephen watched him go. There, in the distance, Osprey was arriving with a train of containers - with so many engines in Tidmouth for the ‘screen test’, those who weren’t participating were doing jobs outside of their usual duties. Coupled right up behind her was the special container wagon that was to be used in the commercial - it had been polished and cleaned before it arrived on the Island, and its TESCO branding stood out in the lights of the signal box.

The Fat Controller shook his head as he watched the man bound across the sleepers towards the train, several members of railway staff trailing behind him in an attempt to make sure the director wasn’t run over by a passing train. “I feel as though this should have been an obvious outcome.”

The ad aired in the middle of November, and drew some controversy from those on the fringes of the political spectrum due to a scene where Father Christmas showed his vaccine passport.

On the Island of Sodor though, there was a much bigger matter to be upset over…

“I’m almost glad I wasn’t in it.” Daphne said after watching it. “I certainly wouldn’t be so calm.”

Osprey was bemused. “I don’t understand why they wanted one of us for it - you could barely see me!”

“There weren’t even any lights!” Delta and Tornado both groused. “What kind of a Christmas advertisement doesn’t have us decked out in lights?”

“I’m more offended that Mr. Pemberton thought I was too ‘visually busy’.” Henry grumbled. “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean…”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Bear soothed. Privately he was just as confused, but kept it to himself in the name of not making a fuss.

Oliver merely seethed.

Nobody could tell what Donald and Douglas were saying - they had slipped fully into Scots, and Siobhan had turned an acute shade of pink when she tried to translate.

Duck refused to talk about it.

“I mean, really!” Finally, James was livid. “They make us jump through all those hoops and go to all that effort just for that?!”

The ‘that’ he was referring to was Osprey’s appearance in the advertisement. It had come and gone in six seconds:

A shocked-looking snowman without a nose had been placed next to a railroad crossing. In its hands was a newspaper saying “STOCK SHORTAGES?” on the headline.

The crossing lights lit up, and a train rushed by - it was barely identifiable as Osprey, instead focusing on the Tesco container behind her.

A carrot was now in the snowman’s nose, and it looked much happier. The newspaper headline changed to say: “OR NOT!”

After that, the scene changed to an airplane trying to take off from a runway.

Gordon and Edward, meanwhile, had found the entire thing hilarious, and both of them took great joy in mocking the others.

“I did say that this would happen, didn’t I, Gordon?”

“Oh yes, you did. It’s strange how nobody else listens to us when we are clearly the smartest engines on the Island.”

“Nobody listened to Cassandra either, so perhaps there is some precedent.��

“How right you are!”

"As are you!"

"Ah yes! How wonderful it is - to be right!"

The other engines glared at them, but they were too busy chortling about how right they were and paid them no notice.

I’d like to say that everyone got over this silliness in due time, and that no retribution was planned, but that would be a lie - this is the Island of Sodor, after all!

#sodor lightshow #fic #sodor #sodor shenangians #ttte #ttte henry #ttte james #ttte boco #ttte gordon #sodor headcanon #sentient vehicle headcanon #the island of sodor #ttte edward #ttte donald #ttte douglas #tornado #osprey #rws bloomer #ttte wendell #oc: daphne #oc: delta #ttte thomas #this is ttte #ttte daisy #ttte toby #ttte pip&emma #ttte pip #ttte emma #christmas #christmas special

[joezworld]

Traintober Day 21

Today's Prompt: Off the rails... again!

I don't know what it says about me when I see a prompt called off the rails and immediately do 1,800 words about Bulgy before a train is even mentioned.

(Also, this happens just before the events of Day 14's story)

-

Smashing!

Bulgy is a rather disagreeable old bus on the Island of Sodor. Many years ago, he had gotten stuck underneath a bridge on Duck’s branch line, causing damage to both it and himself. As a result, his owners abandoned him in a field next to the line and the farmer who owned it used Bulgy as a henhouse!

However, this was not the end of Bulgy. Farmer Drury, his new owner, was a very successful man who owned several farms across the Island. As his business grew, he repaired Bulgy and put him back on the road as a farm transport vehicle and rolling storage bin - a duty that Bulgy hated even more than being a henhouse!

He complained bitterly about his treatment for many years, often irritating Farmer Drury in the process, and thus ensuring that he would never be anything more than a dirty work vehicle for as long as Farmer Drury owned him!

Eventually, Bulgy’s fortunes improved - although his attitude didn’t - when Farmer Drury retired and handed the business over to his son David.

David Drury had gone to school on the mainland, and unlike most Sudrians, was rather obsessed with old cars instead of old trains. He owned several classic race cars and the Island’s only Ferrari, so when he discovered Bulgy in the back of his father’s barn he was immediately taken with him. Almost before Bulgy knew what was happening, David Drury had restored him to ‘concours condition’, and he went from a dirty, dusty, and creaking work van to a pristine ‘show bus’ so fast that his eyes spun!

Now Bulgy was more or less permanently retired, living inside a nice warm garage on the outskirts of Marthwaite village. He never had to work, or get dirty, or even go out in the rain!

Except for one time…

April 13, 2015

Bulgy was startled awake by the door to his garage being thrown open. “Whassat?!” He groaned, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes.

“Come on Bulgy!” It was David, his owner. “We’ve got a sticky situation down in Hackenbeck. Let’s go!”

Far, far too quickly for Bulgy’s liking, he was started up, put into gear, and driven away. “What’s wrong?” He asked. “Where’re we going?”

“Those moro-” David started angrily, before calming himself. “I have been trying to rebuild the roof on one of the storage barns in the Hackenbeck farm for a month, and when the roofers finally show up, they didn’t check the weather, tore off the roof with no plan to finish it, and it’s going to rain this afternoon, so we need to finish the roof today or the entire harvest will be ruined!”

“Whaddya need me for?”

“The van broke down! You’re the only other big vehicle I’ve got that’s road legal!”

“You’re gonna make me work?!”

“I’m sorry Bulgy, but it’s only for today - look, I’ll make it up to you later, okay?”

Bulgy acquiesced, but grumbled all the way to Hackenbeck.

The barn was located near the railroad line, accessible by a dusty and rutted tractor path that crossed the line at one point. Bulgy grimaced as he bounced down the “road” - this was no place for a show bus - even the four wheel drive pickup trucks were complaining about the potholes, and he could feel his paintwork getting dirtier with each passing second.

It didn’t get any better after that - his owner was serious about him working, and Bulgy made five trips into town for supplies like wood planks, nails, lunch, scaffolding, and even huge buckets of tar. It was disgusting and dirty work, and he hated every minute of it - at one point, men had to stand on his roof to do work, and after that he was quite literally dirty from top to bottom.

Then the rain came.

According to the weather forecast, the real downpour wasn’t to start until later that night, but the broken clouds started to knit themselves back together as the clock struck four. The men had just enough time to hang tarpaulins over the unfinished sections of roof before the deluge started, so the grain harvest wasn’t spoiled, but everything else was soaked. Anyone who couldn’t hide in the barn took refuge inside Bulgy, and he growled as muddy boots clomped across his floors, sweaty clothes fouled his seats and dirty water dripped off of his bonnet and into his eyes. “I thought I was done with this sort o’ nonsense…”

Fortunately for Bulgy, the rain shower was short-lived, and everyone resumed work after it passed, leaving him alone for the first time since the morning.

“Oi! Mate!” Evidently he couldn’t be alone for too long, could he?

Cracking an eye open, he found a big Volvo HGV with Irish registration plates idling next to him. “Can you please bother someone else?” He asked, doing his best to be polite.

“Rude.” The lorry said before continuing on anyway. “But I’m in a bit of a pickle - ya see, I’m supposed to be in someplace called “Wellsworth”, but my GPS conked out me, see? So now I’m lost.”

“Have your driver talk to Mister Drury - it’s his farm you’re on.” Bulgy said dismissively.

“Driver?” The lorry said, before looking at Bulgy more closely. “Oh, this is one of those places.”

Then the lorry drove away, leaving Bulgy confused and feeling vaguely insulted. “Well I never...!” He said, before realizing that he probably had at some point.

“Well, s’not my problem anymore.” He said after a moment. Seeing as everyone else was occupied, he closed his eyes and tried to take a nap.

“Come on Bulgy, no rest for the weary!” David Drury said as he hopped into the driver’s seat.

“What now?”

“That lorry has gotten himself good and lost, so we’re going to show him the road into town.”

“Why’ve I got to do it? I’ll sink into the mud!”

“You’ll do it because everyone else is busy.” David said. Looking over at the other quad bikes, four-by-fours, and Land Rovers, Bulgy was forced to admit that he was the only vehicle not in use at the moment and so he bounced and juddered and sloshed along the now-muddy path towards the road.

Then there was trouble.

The railway line was on a slightly raised embankment to allow for drainage. This hadn’t been an issue before, but now the small hill leading to the tracks was nothing but slippery mud. Furthermore, the path itself was narrow, with only enough room for one vehicle to go through at a time - if two were coming in opposite directions, one of them would have to pull off to the side of the road. As they approached the crossing, an orange tractor with caterpillar treads was pulling a trailer over the line, so Bulgy and the lorry pulled over at the bottom of the hill to let him pass. As they set off, neither Bulgy, David, nor the lorry realized that the road up to the tracks was nothing but mud - the tractor had made it look easy with his treads, and didn’t say anything more than “Hello!” as he passed them. Not realizing what was about to happen, David drove Bulgy up the hill from a standing stop.

If they’d been traveling at speed, they might have made it, but when Bulgy’s front wheels bumped over the rails, his back wheels weren’t going fast enough to push him over, and he stuck fast on top of the tracks, his rear wheels spinning furiously but unable to gain any traction in the slick mud.

“Oi!” Yelled the lorry as mud pelted him. “Stoppit! Yer stuck there! Get a chain and I’ll pull ya free!”

A rummage through storage compartments in both Bulgy and the Lorry revealed that neither of them had a chain strong enough. David called back for one of his employees to send a thicker chain - they arrived on a quad bike, along with the orange tractor - who introduced himself as Terrance - and his driver.

“I say,” Terrance observed idly as the men tried to figure out where they could attach the chain without damaging Bulgy. “You picked a most inopportune time to do this - Thomas will be most upset if his passengers are delayed.”

David, Bulgy, and the lorry went very still and very pale.

“You did call the railway, didn’t you?”

“Jus’ hook that chain to anything!” Bulgy bellowed. “Get me off of here!”

“Now let’s… let’s be calm.” David sounded anything but as he poked his mobile phone urgently. “We still have time to call - all we need to do is find out what the bleeding number is!”

As it turned out, they didn’t have time.

A steam whistle sounded in the distance, putting everyone into a panic. David’s employee tore off on the quad bike, trying to stop the train before it arrived, while David and Terrance’s driver tried desperately to mount the chain. “It’s not going on! There’s no hook on this end!” They yelled.

“Get in, put him in low gear, and when I say, step on it!” The lorry ordered. David scrambled into the driver’s seat, and frantically engaged first gear.

The whistle sounded again - the noise echoing off the surrounding hills to the point where its location couldn’t be determined.

The lorry grimaced. “This is gonna suck.” He muttered, before revving his own engine. “Now!”

Bulgy’s engine roared, and mud flew everywhere. Black exhaust poured from the lorry as he engaged his low-range gearbox and charged up the incline.

With a thunderous CRUNCH he slammed into Bulgy’s rear bumper.

The whistle sounded again, this time much longer and more urgent. The quad bike must not have gotten very far, which meant that the train was close indeed.

The lorry’s wheels spun, but he revved his engine well past the red line on his tachometer as he put all of his considerable strength against Bulgy.

The train appeared from behind the trees. Terrance noted with some detached portion of his mind that it wasn’t Thomas pulling the train, but rather a big engine he’d never seen before. As soon as the engine saw Bulgy, they yelled in panic and put on their brakes, but it wasn’t going to be enough…

The lorry’s wheel dug deep enough into the thick mud to find dry dirt. With a lurch and a roar he surged forward, shoving Bulgy off of the line and onto the downhill on the other side. Seconds later, the lorry followed, his back wheels clearing the tracks in just a few seconds.

But there was still his trailer. It was a long canvas sided box trailer, fully loaded with cargo, and its wheels sank into the mud a few inches as it rolled up the hill. Those few inches were the differences between safety and disaster, and the trailer’s low-hanging side underride guards caught between the rails with a screech that brought the lorry to a standstill.

“Go!” He shouted to Bulgy as he roared his engine, trying to break free.

Bulgy needed no encouragement, and raced forwards as the train got closer and closer.

The lorry pulled so hard that the trailer’s king pin snapped in half, and he shot forwards, leaving the trailer sitting astride the train tracks.

Terrance and his driver could only watch in horror as the train got closer and closer, before…

Later

Stephen Hatt arrived at the crash site to find a much more colourful scene than he’d been expecting. “Is that… paint?” He asked the Hackenbeck stationmaster, who was acting as the incident commander.

“Yes sir. The lorry was full - over thirty tons worth.” The man said as he strategically stepped over puddles of silver and yellow that were soaking into the ground despite the best efforts of the cleanup crew. Tornado had still been going at well over thirty miles an hour when she impacted the lorry, and paint had been fired in every which way as the trailer had more or less exploded on impact. Following that, there was a two hundred foot long streak of Dulux-coated destruction leading down the trackbed as the mangled trailer had been dragged along before it came apart at the seams and was deposited along the lineside.

Then there was Tornado herself, who had collided with the trailer before it started to come apart, and had therefore been impacted by individual cans of paint, instead of a fine spray of liquid colour. As a result, her LNER green was covered from buffer to cab in huge blotches of dull green, bright yellow, metallic blue, glossy red, vibrant purple, and flat white from individual cans smashing against her. In some spots, the colors had mixed together, forming steaks of orange, brown, black, and gray that ran down her boiler in a way vaguely reminiscent of a Jackson Pollock painting.

Fortunately, no one was hurt. Tornado was pulling a goods train, and despite some minor damage to her buffers and front end - miraculously, her smoke deflectors hadn’t been damaged thanks to the trailer having canvas walls - she had only derailed her leading bogie, and was actually smiling as gold paint dripped down her nose. “Well, I think I caused some confusion and delay, didn’t I?”

“Now, now,” Stephen said as he inspected her himself - the Trust was going to have a conniption as it was, so he’d better make damn sure that there was nothing seriously wrong. “I wouldn’t say you were responsible for this,” His eyes sparkled mischievously as he looked over her damaged front end. Nothing seemed to be too amiss other than the obvious, thankfully. “But I would say that you have busted your buffers.”

Tornado laughed as the rest of the breakdown crew sighed deeply.

--

It never did rain that night, (“Whaddya mean it didn’t rain?! I almost died for nuthin?” “Calm down Bulgy.” “Calm down?! Mister Drury, those blasted trains almost turned me into scrap! See, I was right! We need to rip up all the rails and turn them into nice smooth Boulevards!” “Not this again…”) and with the dry conditions, it only took Wendell and the breakdown train until midnight to finally get Tornado to the works. It was very late, and everyone was very tired, so Tornado and the cranes were already asleep when Wendell shunted them away.

Wendell was himself exhausted, and rolled into his berth at the works intent on sleeping until someone came to wake him up.

“Oi - wha’s the score with the mystery one?” Bloomer hissed from where the men had been working on him.

“I think she was at a heritage railroad for a while.” Wendell groaned as his crew set his brakes and left. “She definitely knows more about BR than any other engine I’ve met.”

“How so?”

“She knew the firing order of my engine - I think it’s safe to say that she was someplace with an archive, or the NRM has gotten very loose with their records department.”

“Huh,” Snorted Bloomer, who, like any engine that had been within earshot of Gordon in the last few years, was well aware of the NRM’s fall from grace. “Mebbe she’s just a smart egg.”

“Easter egg, more like…” Wendell yawned. “Hard boiled and painted and all; She just took a lorry’s worth of paint to the face and thought it was the highlight of her day.”

“Paint?” Bloomer peered outside of the shed doors. “Mercy me! Look at her! She’s coated!”

Wendell didn’t respond, and when Bloomer looked over, he found the diesel already fast asleep.

“Ugh, young engines these days!”

----

Several days later

The men had had their work cut out for them. The paint was latex and enamel based house paint, and it didn’t want to come off without strong solvents, the use of which also stripped off Tornado’s paint and undercoat. It took two whole days for the men to find all of the paint - it had worked its way into every crease and crevice in Tornado’s body, and if the Fat Controller hadn’t authorized copious amounts of overtime, it likely would have taken far longer.

This process was not helped by the fact that removing Tornado’s plating revealed the numerous modifications she’d received from her time in Germany - while they were safe from the paint, they weren’t safe from the deeply curious mechanical staff, who swarmed over her with cameras and notebooks, trying to determine what everything was. If it weren’t for the works manager telling them to get back to their jobs, they likely would have stayed there all day!

Eventually, the mechanical staff were shooed away, the paint was stripped off, a spot of rust on her running board was found and cleaned, the workers were able to finish, and Tornado was finally reassembled and rolled into the paint shop to be repainted into LNER green.

Except…

“We don’t have any green? On this railway?” The foreman stared at the head painter disbelievingly.

“Not this shade.” The woman said. “And somebody didn’t clear it with me before they started stripping, which means there’s none to sample, so we can’t make more.” In anticipation of a new coat, they’d decided to strip the paint off of Tornado’s tender as well. At the time it had seemed like a good idea.

“Don’t we have other greens?”

“Yes. Great Western green.” A long pause followed this. “Do you want to be the one who painted the pride of the LNER in GWR colours?”

“BR Blue?”

“Only the diesel shade of Rail Blue.”

“Henry’s Green?”

“On backorder.”

“... James' Red?”

“No.”

“Well, what do we have?”

“In sufficient quantities?” A tin of paint was produced. “This.”

“We can’t use that! They’ll think we’ve bought her!”

“Well it’s either this, or we ask the Skarloey Railway if they’ve got any of their red going spare, but considering she's bigger than all of their engines put together...”

“Okay… point made, but we’re going to have to make sure that we don’t do any of the striping or numbers - I don’t want the rest of the engines to think that we’ve bought her or anything.”

-

Tornado was actually hyperventilating as the paint shop workers buffed and polished the freshly-applied numbers and striping. She’d caught a few glimpses of herself in the mirror mounted on the far wall, and had been unable to contain herself since. “You’ve got the pictures?” She asked the head painter.

“Of course we have,” She said genially. “Now let’s get you outside for some more in the sun. Maybe we’ll even get everyone for a posed shot like they did in the twenties.”

They’d done a pressure test to make sure that nothing had been damaged in the collision, and Tornado had just enough steam left to roll into the yard under her own power.

In the yard, the midday sun was shining, the air was clear, and there were many pictures to be taken of her new paintwork. It took over an hour, and when the workers finally retreated into the sheds to work on “other jobs”, she was left alone.

“I still can’t believe it.” She said to herself quietly. “It’s like I’m really one of them.”

When the paint crew had told her they only had the NWR’s blue paint on hand, she’d been a little excited. Now that it was applied and dry, she was much more so. The red lining and gold numbers on her tender and frame completed the look, and if one ignored the smoke deflectors and squinted slightly, she could almost pass as a copy of Gordon.

Even without any steam, she could feel the excitement bubbling up through her boiler. “I’m a really useful engine you know,” She sang to herself, not really caring if anyone was listening.

“All the other engines they tell me so,

I huff and puff and whistle, rushing to and fro,

I’m the really useful engine we adore!”

She’d found the instrumentals of the song somewhere, and it quietly began playing.

“I’m the one! I’m the Really Useful Engine that we adore

I’m the one, I’m the Number One

Torna-”

“Peep Peep! Hello Fatfac- oh you’re not Gordon!” A blue tank engine had pulled alongside her.

He had six small wheels.

A short stumpy funnel.

A short stumpy boiler.

And a short stumpy dome.

“EEEP!”

#in case it isn't clear #someone asked tornado what she wanted to be when she grew up and she said thomas the tank engine #so this is a big deal #ttte #sodor #sodor headcanon #sodor shenanigans #ttte sodor #tornado #they're all just... so dumb sometimes #fic #traintober 2021 #traintober #the railway series #ttte bulgy #ttte terence #rws bloomer #ttte bloomer #ttte wendell

[joezworld]

Traintober Day 5

Today's prompt is "New Engine in The Sheds"

Yes, the official solution to a Sodor Problem™ is to hold a deputation around a turntable.

Also, if you're an avid reader of the Sodor Island Forum's Extended Railway Series, you'll recognize my blatant theft of their background characters

-

Deputation

It took several days for the engines to organize a deputation around the turntable in the big sheds. As many of the main line engines as possible were in attendance, even Pip and Emma. BoCo and Edward made the trip from Wellsworth, Duck from the Little Western, and Wendell came down from the works towing Bloomer, who had cracked a tube in the interceding days.

Gordon was parked on the turntable itself, which was slowly spinning to make sure everyone could hear him. “Now, I am sure that by this point that all of us have met the engine known as Tornado, correct?”

Murmurs of assent met this.

“I assumed as much.” Gordon continued. “I now have one simple question for all of us: Who is she?”

The sheds were silent. “It isn’t a difficult question.” Gordon said calmly. “This is an engine - one of our contemporaries! - who seems to know us all personally. She is familiar with our ways, our customs, and even our less familiar members.”

He paused and looked specifically at Delta, Bloomer, and Wendell. “And yet, none of us have even the slightest idea who she is. How can this be?”

“Maybe she works one of the branches?” Suggested Pip. “Like Kirk Ronan?”

“As if.” Delta said dismissively. “Alex barely tolerates Simon as it is. If she was down there he’d have blown his crown sheet just to be rid of her.”

“And if not there,” Bear put in. “I can scarcely imagine us not noticing her on the Norramby branch, and I doubt she’s hiding a pantograph that lets her go up to Peel Godred.”

Duck and Edward had been parked next to each other, and glared at everyone else. “Don't look at me!” Duck protested. “I’ve never seen her in my life!”

“Nor I.” Said Edward. “I don’t think I could handle her and the twins.”

“Well,” Gordon said from the table, looking at the main line engines. “That settles that. She must be one of us - the main line engines.”

“How?!” James spluttered. “I’ve never seen her before yesterday, but it’s not like she’s hiding from us!”

“An’ she’s not in my shed!” Bloomer shouted. He was the only engine who was permanently based out of Barrow.

“So,” Said Duck. “That settles it then. She must be from another railway. We know everyone on the Island, and she isn’t one of them. Maybe she knows us somehow - are there more books that we don’t know about?”

BoCo, who had been pensive and silent throughout the deputation, finally spoke up. “Are we sure that we know every engine on the Island? I certainly couldn’t tell you all the engines on the electric branch, not with any certainty.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” James said with confidence. “There’s four of them.”

“I thought there were five?” Henry said.

“Ah’ve only known t’ree of them.” Bloomer chipped in. “But Ah hevn’ seen ol’ Loey in an age.”

“Loey’s dead, and has been for thirty years!” Duck exclaimed. “Couldn’t have happened to a worse engine - or at least that’s what Donald said - But he is dead.”

“Ahem!” Wendell cleared his throat. “There’s six of them.”

“Are you sure?” Someone asked.

“Yes!” He cried. “I’m the one who hauls them to the works! I’ve met them all!”

“Are you sure?”

Wendell looked aggrieved, but Gordon cut him off before the argument could continue.

“So!” He said firmly enough that nobody else spoke. “It would appear that it is in fact possible for an engine to, somehow, be here and for us to not know them.”

He paused for a moment as the turntable spun. “What is much more troubling is that she knows us. That is a bigger problem.”

“The biggest problem is that we didn’t notice her!” Bear said. “How could we not?”

“I don’t know,” Gordon sounded pained. “Maybe she was on loan to somewhere. I believe she mentioned that she had recently visited the heathens at the National Railway Museum? Perhaps she has been there, or at another railway? The Nene Valley perhaps? Or the Bluebell?”

The engines murmured their assent, and he continued. “Whatever the reason, she may not have been here recently, but she was before. I don’t think I need to tell you all how embarrassing and unseemly it would be if we, collectively, forgot that she existed during her absence.”

“So we’re just going to lie to her.” Henry was quick on the uptake. “To keep Thomas and Percy from mocking us.”

Gordon glared at him. “Yes, but I was going to phrase it in a more dignified manner. I propose that we act as though nothing is out of the ordinary, and speak to her as usual. Then, we take the information that she tells us, and fill each other in, so that we may know who she is. Does everyone understand? Are there any questions?”

“I have one.” Emma said. “Can you stop spinning? It’s making me giddy.”

-------

Over the next few days, Tornado - who up until this point had only gone as far as Crovan’s Gate, started running further and further into the Island’s interior, before eventually making her way to Tidmouth on a stopping train. Oliver met her there, but wasn’t able to speak to her much before he had to leave.

“What’s that new engine doing here?” He asked Duck when he returned to Arlesburgh.

“What new engine?”

“Big green lass? Looks like Gordon?”

“Ah. You mean Tornado. She isn’t new at all.”

“My buffers she isn’t! I've never seen her before in my life!”

“I don’t know what to tell you then.” Duck said earnestly. “Maybe if you spoke to her, you’d remember.”

“I’ll do just that!” Oliver exclaimed, and set off on his next train, a determined glint in his eyes.

Two hours later, a confused and conflicted Oliver rolled back into the yard at Arlesburgh. “I think I’m going soft in the dome.”

Duck sighed in relief. “It happens to us all eventually.”

“It was like she knew me, but I’ve never seen her before!”

“Really? Do tell.”

“I… I… I just can’t explain it! It was like she’d known me for years!” Oliver paused for a moment, looking horrified. “You can’t tell anyone about this Duck, promise me that!”

“Of course!”

#ttte #sodor #sodor headcanon #sodor shenanigans #ttte henry #ttte sodor #ttte james #ttte gordon #tornado #ttte duck #they're all just... so dumb sometimes #fic #traintober 2021 #traintober #the railway series #ttte edward #ttte bear #ttte boco #ttte wendell #ttte oliver #oc: delta #rws bloomer

[joezworld]

Bismuth

Bismuth - a harmless metal when consumed by humans, is known to have significant hallucinatory effects when introduced to a mechanobiological system such as a locomotive. 

Due to its non-fuel state, non-intentional bismuth contamination is rare, but has been known to occur, especially in instances when impurities from lead refining, which include bismuth, are introduced to locomotive fuel sources such as open coal bins or wood piles. 

Introduction to diesel locomotives is more complicated, and typically involves being within close proximity to steam locomotive that is burning bismuth-contaminated fuels, at which point the aerosolized mineral can enter their air intake systems. In some cases, fuel contamination can occur, however most known instances of fuel contamination have involved intentional dosing of fuel stocks with either bismuth or bismuth-derived pharmaceuticals (BDP). 

The stomach-settling use of bismuth in humans has meant that most locomotive contaminations occur after a well meaning relative or friend introduces a BDP such as Pepto-Bismol into the locomotive’s fuel or water system. 

Of course, intentional/recreational ingestion is a known activity, however all reputable sources (J. Small Berries et al) indicate that the hallucinatory events are notable in their inconsistency. The resulting "bad trips" often deter repeat usage.

- An excerpt from: The ABCs of Locomotive Health Care (10th ed., 1984) - J. Bigbooté, J. Whorfin; Yoyodyne Publishing Laboratories, Grover’s Mill, New Jersey. 

------------------------

April, 2000

Nobody’s quite sure how the bismuth got into Sodor - presumably it arrived in the shipment of coal from the mainland. The railway bought coal from a broker in London, and their usual shipment of high-quality coal had been lost - quite literally, as nobody could find it -  and therefore the broker had scrambled to find more. A Polish metal refinery was found to have some surplus coal, and it was sent on without informing anyone on Sodor of the change. 

It arrived at Tidmouth docks on a cargo ship and was promptly sent out to the big stations across the network - Wellsworth, Knapford, Tidmouth, Barrow, and Crovan’s Gate. 

The coal trains ran late at night so as to not be in the way, and it meant that most engines would take on the new coal around midday, as the last of the old stocks in the coaling stages was used up. 

It took about an hour or so for the last of the old coal in the engine’s tenders to be used up if they were working hard. 

This meant that, as the engines rested in the yards after their noon trains, a lot of things started happening...

--

Tidmouth

Mid-sentence, Gordon’s eyes began to roll into the back of his smokebox. He was still speaking, but he slowly began to stop producing any intelligible sounds. His words turned into a mushy babel of slurred syllables and stuttering clicks as the men began frantically wondering if a locomotive could have a stroke. 

Nearby, Thomas giggled dreamily. The pretty pink unicorns that had suddenly appeared on his bufferbeam were prancing about in a most amusing fashion. 

---------

Crovan’s Gate

Percy had been undergoing a pressure test when his smoke started turning yellow. 

The men had dropped his fire and immediately began an inspection, but not before Wendell was totally enveloped in the thick yellow cloud.

Percy felt like his boiler was inflating and inflating, as though the pressure test would never stop. The men eventually stopped what they were doing as he began ranting and raving about being turned into a zeppelin. 

On the other side of the workshop, Wendell was speaking in hushed, manic tones to no-one. Whoever this “Lion” was seemed to be quite concerned for his wellbeing, even if he thought that they were overreacting. 

--------

Arlesburgh

The evil diesels were after him, he was sure of it. Look! There was one there! And another! And another! 

Well not today! Try and catch this example of Great Western Metal!

The men slowly backed away as Oliver ranted and raved at absolutely nothing. Duck and the Scottish twins watched from a safe distance, and decided not to get involved. 

-------

Barrow Sheds

James was past being concerned about the yellow smoke - the little pixies fluttering around his smokebox said that he didn’t have anything to worry about at all. 

Delta, sitting next to him in the cloud of yellow smoke, was much more concerned, but not about the smoke itself. 

"Jamie, something's wrong."

"What makes you say that?

"I can hear Jefferson Airplane.”

"What's Jefferson Airplane?"

"I don’t know."

-------

Barrow Yards

“Why are you not fixing this?! Don’t just stand there! DO SOMETHING YOU MEATBAGS!” Bear roared at the workmen from within the yellow cloud. He’d woken up deeply congested, and didn’t understand why they were saying he needed to be out of the cloud of yellow smoke - it wasn’t like he could breathe much to begin with, and Henry was in trouble and he clearly needed help and these men wouldn’t do anything!

“Holy shit Bear I can swim” Henry said from whatever la-la-land state he was in. 

“That’s nice dear, NOW ONE OF YOU FIX HIM OR I’LL KILL ALL YOU STARTING WITH THE WEAK ONES!”

On the other side of the yard, the men stared at the Hymek, which was bellowing and screaming at a staffing agency billboard on the side of the tracks while Henry belched yellow smoke over the both of them. 

-------

Wellsworth

The rails had turned to jelly some time ago. The crossties had begun speaking in the language of the beast. The sky was a deep blood-gray, and the clouds wept for their lost raindrops. The engine watched as his smoke curled away into letters of an unknown alphabet. He was concerned as to how the menaces had managed this, but he wasn’t going to let them win by acknowledging that anything was wrong. 

If he concentrated hard enough, he could just make out the signal aspects behind a curtain of iridescent sounds. That was a little bit too dangerous in his opinion, and he resolved to inform the twins that their pranks should not involve signals. 

Across the yard, Bill, Ben, and BoCo watched in horror as Edward puffed out of the yard. His pupils were two different sizes, his tongue lolled out of his mouth, he was mumbling and chittering in an indescribable fashion, and his smoke was thick and turning a worrying shade of yellow. 

But he was still pulling his train as though nothing was wrong. 

-------

Farquhar

The apocalyptic wasteland spread out on all sides. The sun burned and burned until the land was scorched to a godforsaken ash. The river Els was filled with blood. Roving gangs of madmen patrolled the ruins - their war machines littered with the bones of their victims.

Mad Tobias the Brown, last of the North Shed, protector of the Anopha Stone, keeper of the soul of Saint Pedroc, guardian of the survivors, rattled through the wastes with his precious cargo of human lives.

A cry rose up from his faithful warrior bride Henrietta as she sighted a roving gang approach from the south. Their war wagon was the converted husk of an old railcar that he once called a friend, but that was long ago. Now she was merely a convenient vessel for the beasts.

The war music sounded in the distance, and he set off - a confrontation was inadvisable with his charges aboard. His smoke scudded off to one side in the stiff wind as he charged - he would have to pass them at the old loop if he wished to be avoid being trapped in the Stone Mountain, and speed was key to avoid their wicked bone hand-and-a-halves.

As he approached, he bellowed a warning cry to intimate his foe. The corpse of the railcar stared back at him in a rictus grin, but its crew recoiled - as one should when facing off against him.

-

Daisy and her crew watched in amazement as Toby and Henrietta, wreathed in sickly yellow smoke, roared towards them with the midday workmen's train. They screamed through the passing loop and disappeared into the distance, incomprehensible epithets trailing in their wake.

-

Inside his cab, Toby's driver had long since given up trying to stop his engine, and was now trying to reign him in so that he didn’t come off the tracks before the fireman could finish dumping the fire.

-

Inside Henrietta, the guard pulled back on the handbrake so hard that the lever came off in his hand. It didn't work.

Terrified workmen bashed at the radio with their lunch pails, trying to make the Norwegian Death Metal stop playing, but it was no use. The radio kept bellowing out tunes even after its faceplate was smashed in, and began to get even louder.

-

Toby was eventually brought to a stop near the Kyndley family's home, but Mad Tobias the Brown didn't stop yelling until the last of the coal ash was cleared from his smoke box three hours later.

------------------

It took most of the day for the bismuth to work itself out of everyone's systems. Nobody at the railroad was quite sure what was wrong, but considering the dull yellow smoke, it was easy to guess that the coal was bad.

The broker was summoned to the island, and when he admitted that the coal was from a random colliery in Poland instead of the high quality American anthracite that the railroad had paid for, he was quickly sent packing - along with the coal!

A new coal merchant was found, and an emergency supply was bought locally to cover the gap, bringing the saga to an end.

Nobody likes to talk about it - except Daisy, who has no trouble mentioning the tale of Mad Tobias the Brown whenever she wants to bring Toby down a peg!

#drugs #drugs drugs drugs #ttte bear #ttte thomas #ttte gordon #ttte henry #ttte edward #ttte james #ttte percy #ttte wendell #ttte oliver #ttte bill and ben #OC: Delta #Comedy #Have a nice trip! #ttte toby #ttte henrietta #fic

[joezworld]

📁

Would any of the engines enjoy doctor who or get a paint scheme like the Tardis?

There are exactly 3 4 engines on the Island who are the right age demographic to fall into the “Whovian” fandom. It has never occurred to them to do a “fantasy” paint scheme like that and they’re going to feel real stupid if they ever find out. 

That being said... this also dropped an idea into my head. (Don’t worry, it’s probably not canon)

October 2020 - Tidmouth Diesel Sheds

“I’m bored.” Delta announced with some finality. 

It was now day three million of the Coronavirus lockdown, and travel volumes had not yet risen to the point where all of the engines were in daily service again. 

“So you’ve said.” Grumbled Bear, who was wondering if it was possible to sleep until 2021. 

Wendell and Daphne looked at each other. They’d run out of things to say months ago, and were trying to see how long they could go without speaking, just to keep themselves occupied. 

“Well we have to do somethin- what on Earth?”

Delta stopped as a startlingly familiar sound filled the air of the shed, followed by the sudden appearance of an even more familiar-looking object. 

A deafening silence filled the shed once the noise ceased and the phone box fully appeared. The engines were totally motionless, save Daphne, who was shaking on her frames in a most concerning way. 

Eventually the doors to the box opened, and a tall man in a coat stepped out. His attention was engrossed in a beeping and blinking device in his hand. “Well, this seems to be the source of the temporal disturbance, but I don’t...”

He trailed off as he looked up and saw the engines. “”Well that’s unusual - I didn’t recall having to account for dimensional - oh.” 

He turned the device over. “Well, maybe I should have realized that before now!” He said to himself. 

He looked back up at the engines. “Apologies for the interruption, if you would be so kind as to not mention this to anyone else?”

He turned to re-enter the phone box. 

Bear finally found his voice. “Doctor, wait.”

The Doctor turned around in surprise. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“Not as such.” Bear looked at the other diesels before continuing. “I don’t suppose you’re in any need of some traveling companions, would you?”

----------------

Later that day

Richard Hatt stared at the empty shed in befuddlement. “Well, if they aren’t here, then where are they?”

“Dunno,” Said Ted the Yardmaster. “But this was pinned to the back wall.”

He handed Richard a note. 

“Went to Doctor’s appointment at 22:40 will be back later love Bear Delta Daphne and Wendell.” The assistant Fat Controller murmured to himself. “What the hell does that mean?”

#ask response #sodor #sodor shenangians #ttte #Richard Hatt is forced to know things #ttte bear #ttte wendell #oc: delta #oc: daphne #the doctor #doctor who

[joezworld]

Memories

A continuation of this

January 29, 2020

“Well, despite my extensive protestations, I cannot find any reason whatsoever to keep you here.” Anton, the head of the Crovan’s Gate diesel shop, said as he shut his toolbox with a petulant clang.

55 010 and Wendell looked at each other with no small amount of relief. Since the events of Christmas, the works had been beside themselves in trying to find a cause of 010′s existence as well as fixing the damage to Wendell’s chassis from when he fell off the jack stands on Christmas day.

A naturally superstitious man, Anton had refused to clear 010 for traffic until he went over her with a fine-toothed comb. This was a process that had taken over a month, and had insulted Wendell more than it had 010, as the Class 47 had believed that Anton was looking for a way to keep 010 out of traffic (he was), while the Deltic - who hadn’t been properly serviced since the late 1970′s - found the whole process very therapeutic.

All that being said, the pair were anxious to get out of the sheds and onto the main line once again - Wendell wanted to stretch his wheels properly, while 010 was deeply excited to see the bright future of the year 2020.

Anton left, shutting off the lights behind him. The two engines would have kept talking, but they’d honestly exhausted their conversational reserves after being together for over a month, so instead they fell asleep, dreaming of the world outside the sheds...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

December 26, 1981

Doncaster Station, Doncaster, South Yorkshire, England

55 010 sleepily opened one eye to the sounds of an argument. Some men were clustered around the Class 47 that was on the siding. They sounded like they were trying to figure out what to do with her.

One group was saying that she should be shoved onto the out of use lines, while the others were saying that doing that would take too long. The 47 seemed to be stuck in the middle, unsure of which side to take. At one point, he opened his mouth to agree with the shunting plan, before he stopped. A flurry of emotions passed across his face in an instant, before he shut his mouth, glared at the men he’d been about to agree with, and put his wheel down.

“I’m not going to miss my path and spend all day in passing loops just to put her away - look at all the switches you’d have to hand throw! It’d take ages!”

With that the other men now held a majority, so without much more discussion the 47 was coupled up to her, and the train set off for parts unknown.

-

“Where are we going?” She’d sleepily asked the 47 - who’d introduced himself as number 556 - as they rattled across the Pennines.  

“Dunno,” He’d said quietly - they were coupled face-to-face, and she felt vaguely bad that he was driving backwards on her behalf. “Some coach depot I’ve never heard of - Titfield or Tidmouse or something like that.”

-

December 27, 1981

Tidmouth Station, Tidmouth, Tidmouth and South Haltraughshire, Sodor

47 556 and 55 010 eventually made it across the bridge and onto the Island very early on the morning of the 27th. It was a quiet little Island railway out here in the west country, and they met few trains on their way by.

A class 86 shouted hello from an electrified branch.

A old Hymek, somehow still in service, honked amiably as he passed with a goods train.

Even an old blue steam engine clattered by on a rail tour. This one looked at them funny, but the expected malice wasn’t there, merely confusion at the unusual double-header.

Eventually arriving at the big station at the end of the line, the two engines were met by a older gentleman in a top hat.

He introduced himself as the Controller for the region, and asked what they were doing here.

As 556 explained why he was also carrying a broken-down Deltic on his train, 010′s attention wandered to the rest of the station.

It was a beautiful design, like King's Cross, or Euston before they ruined it, but the roof of the trainshed was simply covered in soot - it was almost like they hadn’t cleaned it since before the end of steam.

Then there was a whistle from outside the platforms.

Both diesels goggled as a tender engine, painted an almost gaudy shade of bright blue with red lining, rolled into the station with a train of teak coaches.

At almost the same time, two more whistles were heard, and a train of GWR autocoaches complete with a Pannier Tank in the middle rattled in alongside a green saddle tank engine of indeterminate origin towing a pair of ancient compartment coaches.

“What is that?” 010 asked, shocked to see clean and well-maintained steam this far into the 1980s.

“Those are Gordon, Duck, and Percy.” Said the controller kindly.

“Are they all on rail tours?” Asked 556, causing the controller to laugh.

“No! They’re my engines! They work every day because they’re still useful.”

Neither diesel said anything. 556 was shocked that BR was allowing this to happen, but 010 suddenly felt a surge of hope. If they were still running steam here, maybe she could convince 556 to leave her here on his way home...

Something must have shown in her face - or maybe even 556′s, because the next thing the controller said was: “If I may, my railroad is currently experiencing a locomotive shortage. We have to keep relying on the other railway for temporary engines, but they aren’t the most reliable. Would either of you happen to know where I could find some strong, hardworking locomotives?”

-

They stabled 556 and 010 in the sheds with the steam engines over the New Year’s holiday. It was an almost out-of-body experience for 010, who was used to the cold and unfriendly atmosphere of Finsbury Park TMD, and had no idea how to deal with engines who, when told to treat her nicely, immediately made sure to include her in their singing of  Auld Lang Syne.

A few weeks later, both engines had been successfully outshopped at the massive works complex in the west of the island. 556 had required little repairs, but had rolled out with a new coat of paint and a new name, Wendell, chosen after a friendly dog that hung around the works.

It took longer for 010. She had many, many worn out parts that required removal and repair, and her engines needed a full overhaul. During this time period, some of the female welding staff had spoken to her about needing to choose a name before one was chosen for her - apparently the Hymek she’d seen was named Bear, and she didn’t want that did she?

After a few days with books on baby names, a set of brass nameplates were bolted to her sides - they read “DAPHNE” in big letters.

While she was there, the workmen asked her what she wanted to be painted. When her request for a new coat of Rail Blue was met with groans, the men explained that they were bored of normal paint schemes and would paint anything she wanted.

-

Two weeks later she rolled out of the works feeling like a new engine. Her motors fired on all cylinders, her grease and oil was fresh, and her new paint sparkled in the sun. She’d always liked how Deltic - The Deltic, DP1 - had looked, and the men had grinned at each other when she told them about how the irritable prototype had spent most of his free time whining about not having stripes that went the whole way down his body.

Daphne found out why when she rolled into Tidmouth Shed that night. There was another express diesel on this island - a big Class 46 - and the similarities were striking. Both had similar designs, and had non-standard paint - the 46 was red, she was blue - with gold stripes down their sides. The 46 was named Delta - a very similar sounding name, and when she opened her eyes and took in Daphne and her nameplates, it took her all of two seconds to begin smiling broadly.

“You look like you could be my big sister!” She said.

Daphne, expecting some sort of hostility, wasn’t sure how to respond. “Well, all of my sisters are dead, so it would be nice to have one again.”

She began to backpedal when the 46 stopped smiling, but the look she gave was thoughtful instead of hurt. “Come to think of it, all of mine are probably dead too. Shall we make our own family then?”

And so it was.

-

A few weeks later, Daphne and Wendell finally met all but one of the other diesels on the region - a Class 28 named BoCo, Bear the Hymek, and Daisy, a deeply customized Class 101. According to Daisy, there was also a Class 01 named Mavis who worked on a private quarry at the end of her branch line.

“You know,” Daisy said after Delta finished introducing everyone. “Aside from having one of each power rating, I think all of us but Wendell would have been scrapped by now if we were on the mainland. I think we should do something to celebrate the fact that we aren’t dead.”

The other diesels agreed - word had already spread about Delta and Daphne’s nontraditional sisterhood - and they agreed to form a club: the Non-Standard Survivors Society.

“But, I’m not non-standard?” Wendell asked as they dispersed. “Am I?”

“No, but you are really cute,” Delta joked. “So we’ll give you a pass.”

Daisy chuckled as she headed for the platform. “I’ll have to remember that when I tell Mavis about this club she’s in now.”

Daphne was confused. “Cute? What do you mean cute?”

Wendell was similarly puzzled.

Bear and Delta looked at each other meaningfully. “You two have so much to learn...” The type 3 said as he backed into the station.

That didn’t make Daphne or Wendell feel any better!

-

1983  

“You know,” Said Delta one morning in the newly-refurbished diesel shed. “We should have nicknames for the society.”

“My name is Bear,” Said Bear. “yours is a Greek letter. How much more nickname-y can we get?”

“The rest of us should get nicknames then. And I feel like I could get a great nickname, like Tiger Stripes!”

Daphne giggled as Bear growled under his breath. “And why, pray tell, are you Tiger Stripes?”

“Because I’m fierce like a tiger! And I have stripes like a tiger does! It also matches the animal theme we’re going with.” Either Delta could think at a mile a minute, or she had been considering these nicknames for a lot longer than she let on.

“A tiger does not have stripes like you do.”

“How do you know?”

“My name is Bear. I know about animals. I have to.”

“I figured it was so that we could be ‘Lions, Tigers, and Bears, oh my!’” Quipped Daphne. “I guess that makes me Lion Stripes then.”

Delta’s sputtering and spluttering made it very clear that she hadn’t thought of that, and Bear and Daphne roared with laughter.

-

Later that year

The Thin Clergyman’s son made another trip to Sodor to research for his next books.

Daphne, as an express engine, had been rather removed from the strife among the rank-and-file engines caused by the Thin Clergyman’s books, and had no idea why Delta wanted to hide from him.

After a “short” explanation that took almost an hour, Daphne was now furious.

While she did help Delta by hiding her deep inside an old carriage shed, she did not stay there herself; She was an engine of action, and would deal with the problem directly.

Two days later, the Clergyman’s Son approached her to ask her some questions.

“If my sister shows up in one of your books you won’t survive to write another.” She said darkly to the author, who retreated immediately! 

The Clergyman’s Son’s next book focused about Diesels and James. Much to everyone’s amusement, Delta was nowhere to be found in it, despite her being being the biggest reason why James was more accepting of diesels.

Unsurprisingly, Daphne did not appear either, and everyone wondered if the story of the rude diesel who crashed through a wall was based on her in some way. Delta, on the other wheel, stayed uncharacteristically silent!

Wendell was most offended that they hadn’t even bothered to include his name in the book, and refused to speak to the Clergyman’s Son again!

-

1985

Bear and Wendell had both gotten very scruffy looking after several years without a repaint, and went into the works with the intent of coming out looking the same as they had before.

They had reckoned without Delta and Daphne, who had very kindly asked the paint shop workers to be imaginative on their friends.

Bear had rolled out first, looking furious about the deception, but rather pleased with his paint. The men had been inspired by some American locomotives, and he rolled out of the shop in a dark shade of green with metallic gold stripes down his sides.  Any lingering discontent he had felt lasted until Henry saw him for the first time and dragged him away behind a shed without a word. Daphne tried to ask what was going on, but Delta, laughing too hard to even speak, had pulled her away to the station.

Wendell came out a few days later. Whatever the men had originally tried hadn’t been to his liking, he explained, and he’d asked them to try a different design from the same book that they’d pulled Bear’s paint scheme from. When he came into the sheds painted a glossy black with grey and white stripes, Daphne felt both of her crankshafts do a flip-flop.

Delta took one look at the slack jawed expression on her adopted sister’s face and sighed deeply. How had Jamie seen this coming before she did?

It took all of a week for Bear and Wendell to have nicknames foisted on them by the express sisters - Ursus and Cobra stripes, respectively. Delta explained that she liked the predatory animal theme that went with Lion and Tiger, while Daphne innocently pointed out that it had absolutely nothing to do with how much it annoyed Bear.

The nicknames did eventually stick though, in no small part because Henry had taken one look at how irritated Bear was and started calling him Ursus!

It took a month after that for Tiger Stripes to take pity on her sister and the piteous faces she made when she thought Wendell wasn’t looking, pulled a Flying Scotsman, and told her and Cobra Stripes exactly what those feelings meant. She was very unsurprised when Wendell revealed that he was also growing attracted to Daphne.

Henry and James both joked that one day, Bear or Delta would put one of them through a wall, but three weeks later, Daphne managed to put herself and Wendell into the parking lot behind Barrow Sheds.

-

1990

After realizing that Mavis and Daisy both technically had stripes painted on them (making them Wasp and Cougar stripes), the other diesels began to seriously peer pressure BoCo into getting repainted with stripes so they could complete the set.

He’d held out for many years, but after Daphne took a special train to the clay pits, there was suddenly pressure from within the Brendam Branch as well, and he folded like a house of cards in less than a week.

When he came back from the works, he was now green, gold, and white, but also red, if you counted the angry blush on his face.

“I asked them for Southern Railway Green with a gold stripe.” He seethed. “But clearly there was a misunderstanding.”

The howling from his compatriots was earthshakingly unsympathetic, but nobody could deny that he looked striking, and he was quickly dubbed Jaguar Stripes, even though - as he and Bear were quick to note - he did not look like a Jaguar at all.

-

1995

James asked Delta to marry him. The other engines were overjoyed, even if they BoCo and Daisy needed some catching up on how exactly that was possible.

Daisy groaned. “Mavis and I are going to have to have a talk, aren’t we?”

The other diesels - which by this point included James and Henry in an honorary capacity - hadn’t quite processed that when BoCo announced that if he was being honest, he and Edward were “so emotionally codependent that we’ve probably been married for twenty years without realizing it.”

Henry couldn’t take it any more and screeched with laughter at the conversational disparities - he’d just left the steam sheds, where the engines were still unaware that London had multiple termini, and were therefore having a rousing argument as to whether the impending fall of British Rail meant that London’s terminus station would magically return to being King’s Cross or Paddington instead of the current Euston.

-

1996

James and Delta were wed in a quiet ceremony behind the diesel shed - Siobhan, her fiancé Declan, and all the members of the “Non Standard Society” - including Mavis, who traveled down specially for the event - were present, with Daphne and Henry acting as bridesmaid and best man.

By design, the engines had arrived in pairs, with only BoCo “going stag”, as he hadn’t yet told Edward how he felt. The officiant - a kind looking man from the Arlesburgh judiciary - had taken one look at the rest of them and asked if he should be preparing for any other weddings in the near future. Daphne and Wendell were the only ones to say yes instinctively. (Much to each other’s surprise!) When Daphne looked over at Bear and Henry, they said with no small amount of irritation that it wasn’t legal yet for them to be wed. Similar grumblings then erupted from Mavis and Daisy, which briefly made the quiet ceremony very loud, as none of the other engines had been aware that either diesel was dating!

-

2000

Dull yellow smoke billowed out of Percy’s funnel as the men did a pressure test. Before Daphne or Wendell could do anything, they were enveloped by the choking cloud. 

Daphne shut her eyes to avoid getting any of the strange metallic soot in her eyes, and when she opened them again, the works looked... different somehow. 

A few of the new inspection pits were gone, while the diesel shop building had one less door than it should. 

Daphne opened her mouth to ask Wendell what was going on, and then stopped dead in her tracks when a workman ran right through her. 

Looking down at herself, she appeared to be fully transparent, floating above the rails like a ghost of Deltics past. 

“Who are you?!” Wendell squeaked. 

Daphne looked at him for a moment. His paint was a different colour than it had been a minute ago - Rail Blue instead of Black and Gray - and he seemed like he didn’t remember her at all. 

“Cobra,” She said, not even thinking that this was not the time for nicknames. “It’s me, Lion. You know me.”

“I know exactly who you are.” He said frantically. “You’re the ghost of the engine I killed! It’s not Christmas! Begone with you!”

“What?!” Daphne was horrified. “Wendell, what on Earth are you talking about!? Nobody’s dead! How can you say that?!”

“Don’t you overreact here Lion!” Wendell snapped. “I should be the one screaming! Ignoring whatever it is you are, there are dinosaurs eating the ballast! That water tower has a face!”

Daphne suddenly understood that there was something in the yellow smoke that was making both of them see things that weren’t there. With that in mind, she spent most of the next few hours keeping Wendell calm until the hallucinations stopped, and he turned back into the black and gray diesel she’d fallen in love with.  

A few weeks later, and Daphne asked Wendell about what he saw in the yellow smoke. 

“I saw a bunch of brightly coloured horses singing about friendship. Why?”

“Just curious...” Daphne said as she realized that maybe her hallucinations had been much stronger than she thought!

-

Later That Same Year

A new high speed trainset arrived on Sodor. Their names were Pip and Emma.

They had been on the island once before in the early 80′s, but somehow none of the diesels had met them in anything other than passing.

After three nights on Sodor, Delta declared that she liked them and was “keeping them”, giving them no choice in the matter on the subject of express engine sisterhood. Daphne explained that Delta was less of an engine and more of a force of nature, to which Emma responded that she and Pip were ‘the Dragon Sisters’ and could take care of themselves.

Both Dragons realized that they had even less of a choice when Daphne's face lit up like a Christmas tree upon hearing that!

Learning that the duo already had animal-themed nicknames for themselves made it much easier for Lion and Tiger Stripes to press-gang their new sisters into the “Non-Standard Survivors Society”, and even easier to get them painted into the old Intercity “Swallow” paint scheme.

Even for express locomotives, the speed at which the two went from Pip and Emma to Dragon Stripes was remarkable.

-

Even later that same year

Donald screamed all the way to the Little Western, unable to shake the image of a unified force of Red Eyed, Soul Stealing, Mind Controlling, Memory Altering, Diesel Electric Monsters!

-

2001

Pip and Emma taught the other diesels how to breathe fire.

Being the sort of sisters that they were, Daphne, Emma, Pip, and Delta soon began hosting competitions to see who could shoot fire the furthest. This did not help Oliver’s mental state at all.

-

2004

The United Kingdom allowed same-sex couples to enter into a “civil union” on the 14th of March. The engines knew it wasn’t actual marriage, but it was more than they’d been allowed before, and Daisy and Mavis, and Henry and Bear were wed by The Magistrate that night, with Delta and James acting as best man and bride/groomsmaid in all the ceremonies.

Immediately afterwards, Daphne and Wendell - who had agreed not to be wed until their friends could - tied the knot as well.

The rest of the Society (BoCo, Pip, Emma) and Siobhan and her husband Declan cheered until they were hoarse.

The next morning, Stephen and Richard Hatt, as well as most of the steam engines, could not understand how every James, Henry, and every diesel on the island were somehow exhausted and happy at the same time.

-

Later that same year

Flying Scotsman showed up on what would turn out to be his last railtour before his overhaul. Not realizing what he’d started way back in 1979, he jokingly asked if Henry and Bear had ever done anything in regards to their relationship.

When they and seemingly every other diesel on the Island regaled him with wedding stories he almost burst a boiler tube!

-

2007

Pip managed to convince the paint shop staff to paint huge fire breathing dragons on herself and Emma for Christmas.

Within two weeks all the other diesels had their own respective animals painted somewhere on their bodies.

After a while, they all started to notice that the animals seemed to be in different places on different days... Daphne's Lion and Wendell's Cobra would even swap locomotives sometimes - not that they'd ever admit it!

After an even longer while they noticed that an identical Bear and Tiger had ended up on Henry and James - despite neither of them having gone near the paint shop in months!

Richard Hatt has asked why this happened, but nobody has yet said anything close to the truth. It may be because they don’t know themselves...

-

2017

A certain Class 5 diesel convinced her driver to hang some mistletoe over the turntable.

Everything was going well until Donald chuffed in unexpectedly and saw Henry and Bear under it.

A lot of explaining was required.

-

2020

Wendell loved Christmas, and had spent every year since the early 90′s covered in lights and pulling the N.W.R.’s holiday train. In more recent years Daphne also joined him, and they usually spent a few days in the first or second week of January getting the lights removed and their paint touched up.

This year, heavy traffic in early January meant that they couldn’t make it to the works until late on the 28th, and spent all of the next day getting de-lighted and touched up. They went to sleep eager to go to work the next morning...

-------------------------------------------------------------------

January 30, 2020

Wendell woke up with a start. What a dream that was! It felt so realistic, and...

55 010 was staring at him, eyes wide to the point of bulging out of her face.

“What?” He asked, trying to shake off the feeling of strangeness - in his dream, they were married, but engines can’t get married - can they?

“Wendell,” She said quietly, her voice shaking. “I just had the most amazing dream.”

“Really?” Maybe they could compare notes, Wendell wondered. Maybe in her dream they were all brightly coloured crime fighting action heroes.

“We were married.” She said after a moment.

Wendell felt the world go fuzzy around him. The last thirty-nine years of his life flashed before his eyes in some sort of visual stereo - one side sad and depressed, the other side...

“Daphne?!” He gasped as he returned to reality.

That was all the confirmation the big Deltic needed. “It wasn’t a dream!” She cried joyously.

“It was,” Wendell said, his brows furrowing under a sudden and massive headache. “But it wasn’t. How can it be both?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.” Daphne/55 010 said, her voice laced with quiet joy. “I have sisters. I have a family. I have you.”

Wendell could feel his mind short circuiting. On one wheel, he was in his shed in the works. It was his home. He’d lived here since the 80′s!

On the other... He lived at the diesel shed in Tidmouth. He’d asked The Fat Controller in 1982 if he could stay there so he could be with his friends - with Daphne. His home was the road between Daphne and Bear in Tidmouth.

Bear. His eyes widened as he thought of the Hymek.

He didn’t know the diesel that well, but - he did. Did he? Was this all a shared dream between him and 010, or was Bear really Henry’s husband? Were Delta and James married? What about Daisy and Mavis? Was 010 actually Daphne? He didn’t know what was real or not anymore.

He looked back at Daphne/010. As much as he wanted to believe it was true - that he really did have thirty years of family and love - but as he looked over at the Deltic and down at his own buffers, he didn’t see the blue-and-gold or black-and-gray of Lion and Cobra Stripes, just the basic Rail Blue of two anonymous British Diesels.

Then...

As he looked at 010/Daphne, her dark blue paint started to muddy and shift before his eyes. Starting at her buffers and moving backwards, a ripple of colour began to work its way across her body. The rail blue and yellow warning panels faded away, leaving a trail of sky blue paint and metallic gold stripes. A roaring lion, standing atop a crushed double arrow, appeared below her cab window.

He would have watched the transformation in more detail, but a sudden and intense itching caused his him to look down at his own body. Where there had previously been blue and yellow was now a dark gloss black with grey stripes. The very hint of a snake's tail could be seen stretching around the corner of his bodywork.

It was over almost as quickly as it begun, and when the two diesels looked back up at each other, they didn’t see Wendell and 55 010, they saw:

“Lion?”

“Cobra?”

---

The drivers who went to take Wendell and 010 back to the works had no idea why the diesels were crying like babies, but assumed it was due to the outrageous paint schemes the works had elected to cover them in. They were in no mood for shenanigans, and coupled up the engines and left before the works staff could notice and ask questions.  

In a remarkable parallel to the 1981 of their dreams, Wendell hauled an unpowered Daphne and a rake of coaches from the works down to Tidmouth in the predawn light of winter. They passed Abbey, who shouted hello from the electric branch, and passed Edward, who stared at their paint in utter bafflement.

The train arrived in Tidmouth, but there was no Fat Controller to meet them that day, so they left the coaches at the platform for The Limited and departed for the diesel shed.

Wendell felt another headache come on as he rolled up to the concrete-and-steel structure. With only Bear and Delta permanently in Tidmouth, The Fat Controller hadn’t built the shed until Pip and Emma arrived in 2000, knocking down an old brick warehouse to do so.

But, with Daphne and Wendell, that old brick building had been spruced up and expanded in the 80′s. Looking at the building, Wendell felt woozy as his mind layered an image of the cozy warehouse overtop of the sleek shed.

“There’s supposed to be windows there.” Daphne whispered as she looked at the blank wall of the shed.  

Wendell grimaced as he looked up. That blank concrete wall was in no way special, but at the same time, the light that streamed in through bank of windows set into the brick had been the source of many arguments - nobody wanted to be the one in that road because the morning sun was at just the right angle to shine into the eyes of whoever was parked under them.

But that wall was blank specifically because the architects had realized that - in 1999.

But it was an old shed - from the 1920's, right?

Wendell grimaced and hoped that his mind would pick something and stick to it.

Arriving in the shed to the sound of Genesis drifting through the doors - dream or no dream, Henry had apparently still infected them with his prog rock obsession - the men first shunted Daphne onto one road before putting Wendell next to her,  powering off off his motor and scarpering to the staff canteen and its coffee maker, leaving the two diesels outside.

Their presence was noticed after Bear’s voice drifted out of the shed with a command to turn off the voice activated speaker. In the silence, the quiet pinging of Wendell’s cooling engine was heard, drawing eyes to the outside.

“What the hell are you painted like that for?” Called BoCo from inside the sheds. “And who are you?” He asked Daphne.

“Hi Jaguar, it’s so good to see you.” Daphne evidently did not care that BoCo had no idea who she was.

“Good morning!” Said Wendell, trying to figure out how on earth he was going to explain this. “We had a doozy of a dream last night!”

The other diesels poked out of the doors to gawp at the oddly-painted engines.

Delta in particular looked like she wanted to say something, looking down at her own stripes before looking at Daphne’s.

“You look like you could be my big... sister...” She didn’t make it all the way through her sentence before her jaw dropped and her eyes glazed over. Wendell imagined that this is what he looked like earlier that morning.

“You...” Delta was on the verge of tears. “You were at my wedding. You all were!”

“Your what? You know this engine?” BoCo was more confused than ever.

“Yes! And so do you! We all do!”

“Delta, I have never... met...” BoCo stared in shock after his eyes glazed over for a long moment. “Oh soot and oil... Daphne?!”

And so it went through the other engines, who all suddenly remembered.

“How?!” Bear eventually managed. “How did this - what?”

He was cut off as his paint rippled and changed, an effect that quickly rolled across the other engines. From within the shed, Emma and Pip swore loudly as their NWExpress livery roiled and shifted from blue and yellow to black, white and red. BoCo grimaced as his BR green suddenly became a lot more American. Bear grinned unconsciously, suddenly remembering how well Henry had taken his stripes last time.

Within a few minutes, the disparate group of diesels were gone, replaced with the members of the Non-Standard Survivors Society.

Daphne, who watching this happen with no small amount of glee, squealed with happiness.

-

In the station, Henry and Daisy were congratulating Richard Hatt on his recent promotion to assistant controller of the railway. As they spoke, both engines kept one eye on the diesel shed in the distance - two new diesels in some absolutely ludicrous paint schemes were parked in front of the diesel shed, and a commotion was quietly audible, much to their consternation.

Richard eventually took notice of the new engines as well, and took a long moment to try and figure out why the original Deltic prototype was on his railway. A gasp drew him back to the engines on the platform, both of whom now looked like they’d seen a ghost.

“Are you all right?” he asked with concern.

Daisy, who was wide eyed and shaking on her suspension, was the first to react. “I’m married!” She shrieked before setting off for the junction almost before her signal dropped. Richard wasn’t sure, but as Daisy left, frantically blowing her horn to the diesels in the yard as she did so, she seemed to shimmer in the sun for a moment.

“What?” Richard asked. He thought he’d heard what Daisy had said, but was really hoping that he’d misheard her. He looked back at Henry, suddenly forced to remember that he had to give the engine a day off every March.

“I don’t think I could explain that to you if I had all day.” Henry said quietly.

Richard wanted to investigate the sudden faraway look in the engine’s eyes, but remembered what usually happened to him when he asked the engines personal questions.

As he left the platform, he noted with some amount of confusion the elegantly-painted bear that was on Henry’s cab side. It definitely hadn’t been there when he walked up.

He turned around to ask Henry about it, when James raced into the station, a wild look in his eyes.

“Henry!” He demanded. “What just happened to me?!” The pouncing Tiger painted on the side of his tender gave some idea as to the “what” he was talking about.

Richard turned and fled for his office. The pub didn’t open until noon, and he was not about to deal with any new earthshattering revelations sober.

#ttte #sodor #sodor shenangians #headcanon compliant #headcanon #long #fic #ttte bear #ttte henry #ttte james #ttte pip&emma #ttte BoCo #ttte mavis #ttte daisy #Oc: Siobhan #oc: the magistrate #OC: Delta #OC: Daphne #Richard Hatt is forced to know things #ttte wendell #I'm so opposed to character death I'll retroactively add one so nobody is sad #also i feel the need to point out that nobody else on sodor knows what just happened #as far as they know an engine magically appeared out of the ether and it's because she did

[joezworld]

Story - The Railway Prometheus, or, when the Diesels discover fire

Based off of this headcanon that I made.

And this one.

And also parts of this one.

I decided to write an actual honest-to-god RWS style thing

Dragons teaching Diesels

2001

Most diesel engines dislike being cold started.

Cold starting occurs when a diesel is started while their fuel and engine block are both cold. Diesel engines do not work like petrol engines, which use a spark plug to ignite the fuel, and instead compress the fuel vapour, causing it to ignite on its own. This is called compression ignition. 

When the engine block or the fuel is cold, the fuel does not compress properly, and it means that some of the engine’s cylinders will fire, while others do not. This causes the engine to fire unevenly, makes a ghastly knocking sound, and produces a lot of smoke and soot - commonly called clag. 

On the Island of Sodor, a cold started diesel also produces another ghastly noise - this time coming from the Steam Engines watching. They assume that something has gone dreadfully wrong, and make many unhelpful comments about the clag and the noise. 

Bear and BoCo are well aware of what cold starting is, and try to avoid being near other engines - partly so that they can cold start without Gordon or James’ unhelpful commentary, but mostly so that no one could hear them yelling...

“FUCK!” BoCo swore from within a cloud of soot and clag. It was a bitterly cold February morning, and nobody wanted to start properly. His engine was knocking like it belonged in an old jalopy, and he felt most uncomfortable. 

Bear grimaced in sympathy as he shot his own tower of clag into the otherwise crisp morning air. His motor mounts were going to ache later, and- “Aggh!” He cried as fire shot out of his exhaust vents. 

Another issue with cold starting was that unburnt fuel would build up within an engine’s exhaust manifold. Once the manifold got hot enough, the fuel would then spontaneously combust - sending huge gouts of flame out of the exhaust stacks. Bear hated it when that happened, as it caused a very unpleasant sensation. He knew BoCo hated it as well. 

But, for some diesels on the island, it seemed to be the highlight of their day…

“Three, two, one, GO!” shouted Pip and Emma in unison. At their call, massive pillars of flame shot out both sets of exhaust stacks, bathing the yard in a bright orange light for a moment. 

“How do you two enjoy that?” He asked. Before this winter the HST pair had been stabled at Barrow, but had been moved down to the Tidmouth diesel shed in the summer of 2000. Now that he was regularly in close contact with them, their numerous eccentricities began to stand out.

“It’s fun!” Came the response from the blue and yellow passenger train. 

From inside his cloud, BoCo hacked incredulously. “Fucking How?!”

 “You have to do it right.” Said Emma. The massive grin on her face meant that she was eagerly anticipating somebody asking her to demonstrate the ‘right way’.

“There’s a wrong way?” Bear raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t letting her get what she wanted that easily. 

“Of course there is! It’s the wrong way if it hurts!”

“We’re catching on fire. How does that not hurt?”

“By being a dragon, silly!”

“What.”

“Just be a dragon!” Pip shouted from the other end of the HST trainset.

“You still haven’t made sense.” Bear puzzled as his engine finally started firing on all cylinders. 

More bursts of fire belched from within the BoCo-shaped cloud - his motor just wasn’t having it today. 

“Bear - stop. What is the right way Emma?” Implored the cloud. 

“I - I don’t know how to explain it,” she began. “But you need to - it feels like-”

“Just breathe in through your exhaust manifold!” Bellowed Pip, as if this made any sense.

After a few minutes of listening to BoCo making bizarre sounding whistling noises, Bear began to think that Pip and Emma were making fun of him. His only evidence against this was Emma’s genuinely earnest expression as she tried to talk the diesel through this ‘breathing exercise’.

Finally, a hacking cough emerged from the Cloud Formerly Known as Boco, before a giant column of flame shot ten feet horizontally out of where BoCo’s mouth would be. 

Swearing loudly, the Hymek lurched backwards as Pip and Emma cheered. 

“Was that supposed to happen?!” He cried. 

“Yes!” Pip called as BoCo began to fire on all cylinders. 

Bear goggled at her, to which she wryly grinned, before shooting her own blast of flames - right out of her mouth. 

“See, this is why we’re the Dragon Sisters!” She said exuberantly. 

“Really?”

“Nah. But it sure is fun!” 

As Bear pondered the class 43’s sanity, BoCo’s cloud dissipated, revealing a happy Metrovick - engine now firing on all cylinders. “Pip, Emma, however did you learn how that worked?” He asked as his crew emerged from the yard office - totally ignorant to the many bursts of fire that had just happened. 

“I dunno,” Emma said after a moment of thinking. “It just sort of happened. But it’s really cool! I can do it whenever I want to as well!”

To prove this, she smiled, and a small burst of flames licked around her teeth, but didn’t explode outwards like before. 

“What an incredibly odd thing for the factory to do to you. Carry on.” BoCo was at a loss for words and was unsure if he should be concerned, but decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and said no more as his crew ran across the yard and into the warmth of his cab. His cold engine had made them very late, and they wasted no time in driving him away. 

“You weren’t built like that, were you?” Bear said as BoCo disappeared into the distance. 

“No.” Said Emma. 

“Can you teach me?”

----------------------------------------------------

Revenge is best served on fire

BoCo lived on Edward’s branch line, serving as the primary freight diesel for the industries in Suddery and Brendam. As a result of this, he is often forced to be in close proximity to Bill and Ben. 

Bill and Ben are two yellow menaces tank engines that work for the China Clay company in Brendam. Originally, they were restricted to working just on the small industrial spur that served the clay pits, but as cargo traffic increased in the late 1990s, they had been given permission to travel as far as Wellsworth to deliver their trains of clay directly to the main line. 

This sounds like good news for BoCo, as it means less work for him, but in actuality it is the opposite. 

You see, Bill and Ben are very dedicated pranksters, and spend many hours having fun at BoCo and Edward’s expense. While the pranks only work occasionally, their goal of annoying BoCo and Edward is often met regardless. 

One day in March, BoCo was resting between trains at Wellsworth Station when Bill and Ben peeped into the yard, a long string of clay trucks rattling behind them. 

Maybe they’ll be too tired to do anything. He thought to himself. 

“Oh! There’s BoCo!”

“He’s sleeping! Let’s do plan seven!”

How naive I must be. 

BoCo kept his eyes shut as Bill and Ben began babbling to each other in German. He had no idea how or when the terrible twosome had managed to learn it, but it had proved most irritating - which was probably why they learned it in the first place.

 “Mal sehen, ob er das merkt!”

“Ja!”

BoCo had no idea what they were saying, but knew he’d be annoyed by it. Perhaps a pre-emptive strike could be arranged…

Breathing in deeply through his exhaust vents like Pip and Emma had taught him, BoCo waited until the twins drew nearer. 

As they got close, he dropped his jaw open as if he was about to begin snoring. After waiting a few more seconds, he let out the deep breath he was holding. 

A massive blast of fire shot out of the Diesel’s mouth - BoCo couldn’t see it, but it almost scorched Ben's eyebrows off.

“SCATTER!”

“AAAAAAHHHH!” 

The sound of frantic steam engines vanished into the distance, and BoCo sighed in relief. 

For a moment, all was still. 

For a moment -

“What in the world was that?!” 

BoCo cracked open an eye to see Henry, sitting at the signals with a load of hoppers. He had seen everything, and wasn’t sure if he was seeing things or not. 

“Indigestion.” Was all BoCo said before going back to sleep. 

----------------------------------------------------------------

Wendell, Dragons, and Bears, Oh My!

Despite what many engines may claim, Pip, Emma, Bear, and BoCo were not the only diesels on the North Western Railway. There is also Wendell. 

Wendell is the works diesel for Crovan’s Gate works. He is a Blue and Yellow Class 47, and spends most of his days rescuing broken down engines and returning empty stock from the works to the yards where they’re needed. Because he normally meets engines while they are broken down, he is regarded well by all the engines on the Island - even James, who normally views Diesel traction with suspicion. 

Just like the other diesels on the Island, Wendell dislikes cold starts, but has much less experience with them than the others do, as he has a nice warm shed at the works that he lives in year-round! 

Bear and BoCo aren’t jealous, but Pip and Emma are! No matter how much they enjoy cold-starting, they still don’t enjoy being left outside in the frigid air. 

One morning in April 2001, Wendell was dispatched to Tidmouth - Henry had failed, and an engine was needed to take his morning trains. 

Wendell had agreed - in no small part because he didn’t know that Henry’s ‘morning’ included the Flying Kipper, which left Tidmouth at 3:15 in the ‘morning’!

To make things worse, there was an unseasonable cold snap, with temperatures dropping below freezing overnight. 

Wendell missed his shed as he shivered in the yard at Tidmouth. His engine was cold, and the fuel that his driver had pumped in wasn’t any warmer. 

His starter motor tried and tried to make him start, and when it eventually happened, he was enveloped in a cloud of soot and clag as his engine fired on maybe three of its twelve cylinders. 

“Yuck!” He moaned as the cloud thickened. “I can’t see anything! And my motor mounts hurt!”

 “Breathe through your exhaust!” Came a cry through the haze. 

“What?” 

“Breathe in through your exhaust manifold! It should help!” The mystery voice said again. 

“Okay!” It wasn’t like he would lose anything by trying, so Wendell tried, and eventually managed to take a deep breath in through his exhaust stacks. 

Unfortunately, this meant that he inhaled a lot a clag and fuel vapor, which caused him to start coughing and hacking until - 

“Yipe!” A jet of fire shot out of his mouth!

A cheer broke out from beyond the haze as his engine started to fire on more cylinders. In a few minutes, Wendell was much warmer, and his engine was firing on all cylinders as the haze began to clear, revealing Bear and Pip. 

“Isn’t that better?” The HST called to him. 

“Yes, but - what?” Wendell tripped over his words. “How does that happen?”

“We’re not sure,” Said Bear, as flames danced around the inside of his mouth. “but it works wonders on cold nights like this.” 

“Ooookaaay.” Said the Works Diesel slowly. “So, I can just do that now?” 

“Pretty much!” Pip said cheerfully. 

Wendell, feeling like he had just been initiated into a cult, said his goodbyes as his crew stumbled up to him, coffee thermoses firmly in their grasp. 

This island is insane. He thought to himself. But I live here. So I must be insane too. 

As he was driven towards the docks, he breathed in through his vents again, and felt a pleasant warmth fill his mouth. 

He smiled to himself. Maybe being a bit crazy isn't so bad.

--------------------------------

Fire Breathing Dragons

While Pip and Emma live on the Island of Sodor, their duties require them to travel from Tidmouth to London and back on a daily basis. Ordinarily there is no issue with this, but every now and again, they will be forced to stay the night in London. 

One night in the summer of 2002, planned track work meant that their return service couldn’t be run, and the sisters found themselves in a very shabby looking depot outside of Euston station. 

God, this place has gone downhill since BR. Pip thought to her sister. 

Too right. I think the shunter said that this was going to be torn down after they replace us with Pendolinos. Emma replied, referring to their class as a whole. It was an open secret that the Intercity 125 sets were going to be replaced with new tilting trains on the West Coast Main Line - soon the Dragon Sisters would be the only HST on the line. 

“Eurrgh,” Oiled a voice from a few lines away. “Must we stay here tonight?”

Pip was blocked by a rake of coaches, but Emma could see that there was another HST set a few roads away. The power car looked disgusted to have to be in this shed. 

“Yes Chauncey,” Came the voice of the other power car on the set. “We have to stay here tonight. I’m not any more pleased about it than you.”

“I know, 092, I know,” Chauncey said resignedly. “At least it could be worse.”

“How can it be worse?”

“Well, that other HST set could be awake - then we’d have to talk to them!”

“Oh heavens! I hadn’t even thought of that!”

Well they seem nice. Pip sarcastically thought to Emma - clearly Chauncey and 092 didn’t share the same mental link that they did, and assumed that the sisters were asleep. 

Yeah - like Gordon when he gets boiler sludge. Emma replied. She vaguely remembered working with 092 back in the BR days, and didn’t have fond memories. 

-

Several hours passed. Pip and Emma were idly discussing the newest gossip that they’d heard, a few trains rumbled past on the WCML, and Chauncey and 092 made inane conversion around which railroad in the country was worse than the others. 

Emma was on the edge of drifting off to sleep when 092 spoke up.

“Oh! That’s right! What about the No-Where Railway? That place must be a pit!”

He didn’t. Emma thought.

“You mean that one off of Furness? The retirement home for antiquated heaps?”

He did. Her sister replied.

“Excuse me!” Pip spoke out loud for the first time that night. “But are you, by chance, talking about the North Western Railway?”

“Oh goodness!” Chauncey said in fright. “I’m sorry! Did we wake you?”

“No,” Said Emma. “What were you saying about the NWR?”

“The No-Where Railway? There isn’t much to say about it really,” 092 said blithely. “It’s a hole in the countryside that you shovel old metal into - I’d be ruder, but I don’t think that they ever got the notice that BR dissolved, so I can’t blame them.”

“92?” Said Chauncey, who had suddenly noticed the lettering on Emma’s side - and the expression on her face. “Perhaps you should stop talking now.”

“Why? It isn’t like they’re from that island - they don’t look like they came out of a black and white film.” 092 said, unaware of who he was speaking to. 

“Actually,” ground out Emma. “We are from that Island.”

“Oh. well how unfortunate for you,” 092 sniffed. “Tell me, do they still believe that Beeching is alive there?”

--

The late night trains at Euston Station practically jumped off of their rails at the barrage of sounds that echoed throughout the station yard. It sounded like the Tyrannosaurus from Jurassic Park was yelling at someone, and punctuating their conversation with massive fireballs. 

Fire crews from Railtrack and the borough of Camden responded, but found no traces of any fire - or a Tyrannosaur. 

#fanfic #ttte #ttte fanfic #sodor #sodor shenangians #shenanigans #ttte pip #ttte emma #ttte pip&emma #ttte bear #ttte boco #ttte wendell #long #ttte ben #ttte bill #ttte bill and ben #headcanon #extremely specific headcanon #train headcanon #fic

[joezworld]

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Next from the mind of Joe - a Sudrian tale about The Most Wonderful Time of The Year, Past and Present.

Ghosts of the Past 

Wendell the works diesel was a very happy engine most of the time, but around Christmas, he always seemed... well, quite unhappy, for lack of a better term. 

Because he lived in the Crovan’s Gate Works, which shut down for the last two weeks of December except in emergencies, most engines never saw this side of the otherwise cheerful blue diesel, and those that did assumed that it was due to him being shut up in the works over the holidays, away from his friends. 

December 24, 2019

Gordon sighed as the workmen rolled the door shut behind them. Of all the days to fail! He thought to himself with irritation. Christmas Eve! Damn that replacement fireman and his improper training! I shall miss Christmas and New Year’s!

A quiet snore behind him brought him out of his ruminations. Wendell was fast asleep behind him, lifted into the air on jackstands in one of the maintenance bays, with one of his traction motors in pieces around him. 

Gordon was surprised. Wendell had the same excitable temperament as Thomas and James, and Gordon would have assumed that the works diesel would be up until the crack of dawn, waiting for Father Christmas. To see him asleep before eight at night was out of character, to say the least. 

Although, the express engine thought as he settled in for the night, he might be onto something. 

The works were warm - almost toasty when compared to the biting December winds outside, and the excess holiday traffic had meant that all the engines on the Island were feeling exhausted by the 25th. 

Furthermore, with no other engines to keep him awake by asking inane questions about ‘what Father Christmas might bring’, Gordon might actually wake up decently rested on Christmas morning, and wouldn’t that be a miracle?

Electing to follow Wendell’s lead, Gordon shut his eyes, and quickly fell asleep. 

-

Have yourself, a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light. From now on, all our troubles will be out of sight...

Gordon stumbled back to wakefulness to the sounds of singing. As he blinked the sleep from his eyes, he looked around the works in confusion. 

It was still dark outside, and a digital time clock by the break room showed 23:38 on its face. He hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours. 

Searching for the source of the singing, his eyes eventually landed on Wendell, who was slowly singing an old carol to himself. 

“It’s a bit early for singing, isn’t it?” He called across the room jovially - there was no need to be rude so close to Christmas. “We’ve still got half an hour!” 

Wendell started, clearly unaware that Gordon was awake. “What?” 

“It’s a bit early to be singing, Christmas isn’t for a half hour!” 

“Oh.” The diesel said morosely. “I suppose it is.” 

That was not the reaction Gordon expected.   “You suppose it is? Wendell, it’s Christmas Eve - a time for good cheer and goodwill among us all! How can you be so glum?”

“I don’t like Christmas.” The class 47 said simply. 

“What?” Gordon said with faux outrage. "What did the holiday ever do to you? Did you get coal in your stocking?”

“I have bad memories of Christmases past, okay?” Wendell snapped, sucking the levity out of the room.  

Gordon’s face fell. “My apologies.” He’d thought that the diesel was being difficult, not having an actual emotional event. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No,” Wendell looked pained. “But staying silent hasn’t helped either.”

Without waiting for Gordon to respond, he began his story:

December 24, 1981.

They retired the Deltics at the end of ‘81. All through December and November, they’d run them ‘til they failed, then sent them off to Doncaster to be cut up. I think the ones that survived were retired in January or something - I wasn’t around to find out. 

I was waiting, at York, I think it was? - No, it was actually Doncaster, I remember now. 

Anyways, I was waiting - I’d brought in a fast goods up to this yard from London, and I was going to take a rake of old coaches that were being transferred to a new Depot to the west.

The coaches were coming in on the night express, and it was getting later and later and still the train didn’t come. The men were readying me to go out and rescue the train when it finally limped into sight. It was a Deltic, being towed along by a Class 37. The poor thing had failed halfway out of London, and they’d just hauled it along with the train, because they sent the 55s to Doncaster anyway when the end came. 

And they just dumped the train there on a bay platform - backed the consist in so the 37 could be taken off, and then just left it there. 

“That’s terrible,” Gordon said. “To be left like that. Especially on Christmas Eve.”

Oh yes. And it managed to get worse: it was so late by the time that they got in that my crew had gone home! So I was just left there on a siding until boxing day, right across from the Deltic - who had blocked in my coaches too! 

And,

and,

And she doesn’t say a word for almost the entire day after her crew left her. She said goodbye to them, wished them a Merry Christmas - which I am still shocked by to this day - that she was able to do that without crying, and then said nothing all night or the next day - Christmas day. 

Wendell paused to collect himself. Gordon noticed, but didn’t say anything about the tears beading up in the diesel engine’s eyes.

She was totally silent, until maybe a bit after eleven that night? Probably right about what time it is now, actually. And, there was a family, who was walking home from some party - and they had a radio on as they were walking by the station, and all you could hear in the bleak, snow-covered station was the Sinatra version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. 

And then, the Deltic - who hasn’t said a word to me all day, just slowly opens her eyes and says “I love that song”, and then just closes her eyes again. 

*sniff*

The next day, my driver had me pull the Deltic to the out of use line before we took the coaches. 

I pushed her in between three rows of her sisters and brothers, all covered with snow and ready to be cut up, and then backed away. Just before I’m out of sight, she opens her eyes, and starts singing that damn song to me. 

it

It

*sniff*

It echoed through the yard, and I could hear it until we left. I think a few of the other Deltics started too. 

They had beautiful singing voices.  

-

2019

“It wasn’t your fault, Wendell.” Gordon wished that he could offer more comfort than that. 

“I know.” Wendell said after a moment. “That’s not why I hate this time of year.”

Gordon raised an eyebrow. “Then what is?”

“It’s that I could have done more.” Wendell said, tears streaming silently down his face. “We - we were running late as it is - my engine was cold and wouldn’t turn over. My second man and the signalman just wanted me to take the Deltic with me so I wouldn’t miss my path - and then stick her on the back of the next goods train to Doncaster when I got to wherever I was going.”

He paused, his voice thick with guilt. “But, I had just spent two days next to this - this- this living corpse, and I didn’t want to be that close to her for that long. And I didn’t know any better - I was fourteen years old at that point - BR could do no wrong in my eyes, and if they wanted me to shunt that engine to the out of use lines, then shunt her I would. So when my driver said that my second man was daft, and the signalman was dafter - I - i - I didn’t argue.” 

“Wendell -” Gordon began. 

“I’m not finished.” The diesel cut him off. “Don’t offer me sympathy just yet.”

He continued. “And I didn’t want her with me, because I didn’t know where I was going! It was some obscure coach depot that I’d never heard of before - what kind of a name is Tidmouth, anyways?.” 

The penny dropped in Gordon’s mind. “You didn’t come to Sodor in January of ‘82, did you?” 

“December 31, 1981.” Wendell said sadly. “I came here on an empty stock move and got asked to stay forever, because The Fat Controller thought I looked like a useful engine. Imagine what he would have done if I’d dragged a wounded Deltic along with me?”

He would have kept the both of you and told BR to go hang. Gordon didn’t need to vocalize that thought - he could see in Wendell’s eyes that he was thinking the same thing. 

There was a small *chime* from the digital clock on the wall - it’s red numerals now read 00:00. 

“Would you look at that,” Said Wendell bitterly. “Happy Christmas, Gordon. Did you ask Father Christmas for anything?”

“Not this year, no.”

“Maybe it’s for the best - he never gives me anything either.”

“What do you ask for?”

“The chance to do it all over again. To agree with my second man and the signalman.”

“Wendell, as crass as this may sound, but perhaps you need to move-”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” Wendell looked pained. “For most of the year, my troubles are miles away, and my heart is light.

But for right now Gordon, please don’t ask me to have myself a merry little Christmas night.” With that, the Works Diesel closed his eyes and fell asleep. 

Gordon - more than a little stunned by the night’s developments, took quite a bit longer to fall asleep - the digits on the clock reading 02:10 before he began to nod off. 

His last thoughts before he finally went to sleep were directed at Father Christmas: 

I don’t know if you’re real, and I don’t know if you can do what the children claim that you can - but please help Wendell.

-------

December 26, 1981

55 010 was barely conscious. There didn’t seem much point to it now - she’d meet her end whether she was awake or asleep, wouldn’t she? 

The 47 had shoved her into the sidings between Ballymoss and Highlander, but they were long gone mentally. A few of her family had been able to join in the singing, but most were nothing more than cold, dead metal. 

She supposed that she might have had a name once, but she'd forgotten it - BR had taken away everything else, so it was only fair that she got to take something as well. 

The yard was silent for a few hours, until an engine approached from the end of the line. It looked like the same 47.

--

Wendell was having the dream again. He was back in the dead lines at Doncaster, rolling among the silent locomotives like a spectre. He knew where he would eventually end up, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it - right in front of 55 010. 

If he was lucky, she wouldn’t start singing again. 

If he wasn’t, well, Gordon had already seen him cry once tonight. 

He rolled over the points at the end of the siding, his wheels screeching against the old rails as he trundled down the long line of dead Deltics - somehow there had been two long rows with an empty line in the middle - perfect for a long and heart-wrenching approach to a diesel that he’d condemned to death.

The engine’s eyes opened slightly as he drew near. 

“Weren’t you just here?” She said dreamily.

“Probably.” He whispered - she’d never spoken to him before. 

“Why have you come back?” Her voice drove into him like a cutter’s torch. That she didn’t even seem accusatory made it all the worse. 

“Because I’m sorry.” He said, voice barely audible. 

“Whatever for?” 

“For putting you here.” He didn’t stop rolling until his buffers were fractions of an inch away from hers. 

“You didn’t do that. I failed. I know why I’m here.”

“But I did. I could have taken you - taken you away from here. To Sodor. They would have saved you.” He was openly sobbing now.

The Deltic had opened her eyes fully, and was looking at him not with anger, hatred, or even pity, but instead downright bafflement. “What do you mean ‘would have’? I’m not going anywhere.”

Wendell tried to explain - to tell her that she was a figment of his imagination, that she should hate him, or be angry, or something...Anything...

But instead he broke down crying, his sobs echoing across the works yard. 

-

010 stared at the 47 in total confusion. Nothing about the last few minutes made any sense, least of all the grief(?)-stricken engine in front of her. 

At a total loss for what to do, she remembered something that Alycidon would do when someone in the shed needed to be calmed down. 

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Alycidon might have used Vera Lynn, but had always stressed that the emotion of the song was more important than the lyrics. 010 sang the song low and slow like a lullaby - cribbed from seeing hundreds of mothers calming their babies on station platforms. Each verse took much longer than normal, but it was very soothing. 

Let your heart be light

The 47 began mumbling the lyrics of the songs through his tears

From now on, all our troubles will be out of sight

Neither engine noticed the sparkling white mist pooling around their wheels

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

The 47 stopped openly weeping, but kept singing with his eyes shut.

Make the yule-tide gay

The sparkling mist was now encircling both engines completely. 

From now on, our troubles will be miles away...

The mist covered both engines entirely. As the word ‘away’ faded in the wind, the mist dissipated. Neither engine remained. 

Silence fell over Doncaster once more. 

-----

December 25, 2019

Here were are as in olden days

Gordon awoke to more singing. He mentally groaned and cracked an eye open, assuming that Wendell would once again need a friendly ear in the middle of the night. 

Happy golden days of yore

Sunlight was streaming in through the windows. Perhaps Wendell had managed to sleep through the night. 

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Gordon’s other eye slammed open as he realized that the singer was female. 

“Gather near to us onc-What on earth?!” The singer abruptly stopped singing. 

Gordon looked around wildly for the source of the voice, his eyes practically spinning around in their sockets before landing on -

on-

on- a Deltic. 

A Deltic who had been singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. 

“Excuse me,” he said in what he hoped was a calm tone. “But who are you?”

The Deltic opened her mouth to speak, and was cut off by Wendell, who had opened both of his eyes, realized that he was back in the works, discovered who was in the works with him, and began screaming so loudly that he fell off of the jack stands and crashed to the floor. 

The resulting clamour brought the Works’ security officer, who saw the engine that hadn’t been there last night, and called The Fat Controller. 

--

Stephen Hatt was experiencing many different emotions, most of them at the same time. 

The baffling appearance of previously-scrapped Deltic in his works - in factory fresh condition no less! - with no sign of how she got there, was not how he wanted to spend Christmas morning. 

Even more baffling was the story that Wendell, Gordon and the Deltic told him - none of which made any sense whatsoever. 

“Maybe it’s a Christmas Miracle?” His wife suggested over the phone. 

“Yes, and maybe I’m secretly the Easter Bunny.” He said back to her. “I’m not looking forward to finding out who this engine belongs to.”

“You can do that after Christmas dinner, dear.” Helen said in a tone that meant there would be repercussions if he wasn’t home ASAP. 

Hanging up the phone, he took another look towards the Deltic. Something was wrapped around its buffer...

Upon closer inspection, it was revealed to be an elegant piece of red silk, tied into a bow, and a note. 

The note was done on heavy, cream coloured paper, and the text seemed to have been done with an old fashioned dip pen. 

Dear Wendell,

I apologize for the late delivery of your present, but I hope you understand that some presents require more work than others. Hopefully this will ease your slumber. 

Santa Claus. 

Stephen goggled at the note for a moment, before reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone so he could take a picture. His fingers didn’t close around his phone, instead grasping a small round object. 

Pulling it out of his pocket, he was shocked to see that he was holding a small, but beautifully decorated Easter Egg. 

#long #sodor #story #fic #fanfic #ttte #ttte headcanon #this is totally headcanon #sodor headcanon #ttte gordon #ttte wendell #ttte fat controller #merry christmas #christmas special #deltic #oc: daphne