AU Tumblr: @the-cerene-railway-au
Crossposted: Ao3 | cerenemuxse
Since his arrival, James has been facing an internal battle between being like everyone else versus being unique. While he’s not sure where he wants to be, he’s certainly sure of two things. His eyes are those of freaks, and when he started to work in the yards, something didn't feel right. Why was he assigned to do shunting first before pulling goods trains? Was there something that they weren't telling him? If so, what else were they hiding?
~
It's been a week since Glynn disappeared, along with the numbers across James' face. No official word had been made about the coffee pot. The other engines quickly found out about the old red coffeepot's sudden disappearance the day it happened. The realization hit them hard, whether they showed it or not.
Yet Sir Topham Hatt II didn't say anything. None of the other engines asked. James was afraid to ask. Afraid to hear the possibility that Glynn was scrapped.
His red paintwork was dull and there were many chips missings and scratches on it, recalled James. Those must've been signs that he was going to be scrapped.
"James!"
It was a nice color he had. I've never seen a red engine before! Well, not as red as Glynn. Those other red engines were much duller-
"James!" hollered Clarabel once again.
James snapped out of his thoughts. "Huh?"
"The station!" exclaimed Annie.
"Stop!" the sister auburn coaches exclaimed.
James looked ahead and gasped. He snapped his brakes on and screeched to a stop. Annie and Clarabel bumped into each other harshly, buffers banging into one another and against James when he stopped at the station. He overshot the platform by a few centimeters, but that was the least of his worries.
Complaints were muttered and exclaimed as the passengers got off the train.
"What is this nonsense?" exclaimed a small woman. James winced. She was so small yet extremely frightening.
"That other engine was much more responsible!" yelled a tall woman. "Bring that one back!"
James down at his buffer beams, holding back any noise. But he can't be.
"This is such a simple job," said a gentleman sternly. "Does this thing not pay attention?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," replied the small woman. "Look at its eyes."
James froze. His eyes went wide open. He quickly looked away, trying to hide them.
"With eyes like that, it's probably blind," muttered the small woman bluntly. She gave James a quick look down before leaving.
Annie and Clarabel were cross. Sure James should've been paying attention but that was uncalled for. The small woman had crossed the line.
"Don't listen to them, James," said Annie in a comforting tone as passengers left and boarded.
"It was an accident," reassured Clarabel. "You're getting better at it! Right, Annie?"
"He is, Clarabel!" replied Annie.
But they didn't get a response.
"James?" they asked worriedly.
"Hm?" James replied. "Oh, sorry. You were saying?"
"Did you not hear what we said?" asked Clarabel.
"Is something the matter?" asked Annie.
"No! Nothing's wrong!" he exclaimed a bit too quickly.
The sister auburn coaches hummed, unconvinced.
"Alright then," said Annie.
"Let's continue now!" said Clarabel enthusiastically.
Right as Clarabel finished, the guard blew his whistle and James was off, down the Ffarquhar Branch Line. The branch that once belonged to Glynn.
James had been ecstatic when he was first told he would work on the line. It was only for trial but it was still something to be excited about. He was able to pull passenger trains, something so unheard of for a goods engine.
Now, he wasn't so sure. He was still trying to time his stops correctly, almost getting them right quickly. James would either overshoot or undershoot the station. Thankfully, the station masters had been kind and understanding.
He wished the passengers were as well.
"The passengers," he mumbled.
"What about the passengers?" piped up his driver, Fred Quill, nonchalantly.
"Nothing, Mr. Quill!" exclaimed James. "I didn't say anything!"
Fred hummed. "If you say so, chap," he said, patting James' cab. "If you want to talk, just let us know."
James didn't reply.
…
"What's gotten into you, chap?" asked Fred. "You've been quieter than usual."
James and his crew had arrived at Tidmouth Yards just a few minutes ago for a rest. The morning rush hour was over, much to their relief. Fred had climbed out of James' cab with George and walked to James' front buffer beam to confront the engine. They were concerned for their engine.
"Than usual?" asked James. He became tense, feeling the metal pipes heat up but stiffen. His boiler felt dry as the moisture vaporized quickly. "I-I just don't know Annie and Clarabel that well, that's all."
"You can't hide it, James," said Fred. "Is this about what they said?"
James' frame was slightly shaking. He popped his smokebox door open and away from his crew. "About what?"
"You know what I'm referring to."
George approached James and patted the engine's black running board, slightly flinching at its searing hot heat from the sun. It was only the near end of spring. "Don't mind those passengers, James. They'll say anything to get under your skin." He paused looking at James quizzically. "Well, paint but you get the idea."
"I know, I know," mumbled James with a pout. "But what if that lady was right? What if there is something wrong with my eyesight? What if-?"
Fred rushed forward, climbed onto their engine's running board from the steps on James' left side, between the first and second set of driving wheels, and carefully walked towards James' smokebox. He petted James' smokebox. "Easy there, chap. There's nothing wrong with you."
"How do you know?" he exclaimed. His voice croaked and broke. He was ready to burst right then and there.
But then a high-pitched whistle rang nearby. It startled James, making him nearly shake off his driver. Fred held onto James' handrails for dear life.
"Oh, hey, it's Edward!" exclaimed George. He pointed in the direction of where the whistle and sounds of steam being chuffed were coming from. "Why don't you hang out with him?"
James suddenly puffed up. "I'm not a child! I'm an engine!"
"There he is," joked his driver. "But no, seriously, go talk to him. You know him the most, don't you?"
"I do," replied James. He hummed. "I haven't been able to talk to him in a while either."
"It's settled, then." Fred patted James' smokebox before carefully trudging off the black medium-sized tender engine. "We'll be on our break. See you later!"
"See you later!" exclaimed James as his crew walked away and towards the workroom. Right as they left, Edward was there, in front of him on the next track over.
"Hello, James!" greeted Edward. "How ur ye doin?"
James' mood dropped. "Decent," he muttered and looked down at his running board.
Edward peered at the black medium-sized tender engine. "Whit's the matter?" he asked. "Did somethin' happen?"
James gave a long hum in response. He wanted to tell Edward but he wasn't sure. Can I really trust him? he thought. I know him the most though. He looked up to meet Edward's concerned face and straight into his eyes.
Maybe I can trust him.
"James?" asked the blue medium-sized tender engine. James had stayed quiet and was only looking around. It concerned him even more.
With a heavy sigh, James began. "I've been having trouble stopping at stations properly. I keep overshooting or undershooting them."
Edward only hummed. A sign telling James to continue.
Thankfully, James picked up on it. "The passengers have been complaining about it which I don't blame them but…" He took a deep breath to calm down and soothe the tension in his pipes. "One of them said something," he continued, only for his voice to croak and crack. Not again. His frame felt tense so suddenly as his eyes burned from the boiling water and hot steam.
The other engine was about to interfere when James spoke up, with a bit of sniffling here and there.
"Something about my eyes," said James. But then he froze, staring at his black running board in a confused realization. "None of you have said anything about them."
"Whit dae ye mean?" asked Edward.
"The color! How mismatched they are!" James suddenly exclaimed, catching the attention of the yardmen in the area. "They're so… weird! Don't they bother you?"
The blue medium-sized tender engine was stunned. He was speechless at the sudden burst of his friend.
"Well?" James exclaimed again, raising his voice in desperation. "They're horrible, aren't they? I probably overshot those platforms because of poor eyesight!"
"Poor eyesicht?" Edward hummed before flipping his smokebox door open to his right. He squinted, spotting a labeled truck far away. "Ye see thon truck over there? The brown ane wit’ white letterin' near thon building?"
Though he was confused, and slightly offended by the sudden shift of the conversation, James flipped his smokebox door open to his left and quickly found the truck.
"Whit does it say?" asked Edward once James saw what he was looking at.
"South Sodor Grain Mill," James read at his normal pace. He looked quizzically at his friend as he closed his smokebox door. "Why did you want me to read it?"
"I cannae read thon," Edward said bluntly. He shut his smokebox door. "Yer eyesicht is perfectly fine," he noted with a small warm smile.
"But my eyes-!"
"There's nothin' wrong wit’ yer eyes," Edward interrupted.
Confused, James shook. "But they're ugly! It makes me a freak-!"
"I think they're very pretty," said Edward rather bluntly, still smiling.
James froze.
A compliment…?
That was new.
"R-Really?" stammered James as his face burned.
"Mhm," hummed Edward. "Ane is rich brown and the other is lush green. Like a tree! Ye remember the woods we first passit by oan the day ye got here?"
He definitely remembered them. To Edward's credit, the plants in those woods were pretty lush and rich. He hadn't seen an area so green before. A very quiet place with peaceful scenery, in his own opinion.
But are his eyes really as pretty as the woods?
"Ye should be proud o' ‘em," continued Edward. "I have never seen an engine wit’ heterochromatic eyes before. I've seen very few people wit’ ‘em but never an engine. Until ye, that is." Soft laughter took over Edward's voice.
Hold on. "People have eyes like mine?"
"Aye, some people dae, but it's very rare. I've only seen…" Edward hummed, thinking. "Two or three people wit’ ‘em, and they dinnae come here often."
"So it's… unique?"
"Mhm," he hummed again. Seemed like something Edward did often. "It's okay tae be the same like everyane else, and it's okay tae be different frae everyane else."
The phrase struck him. "Is it?"
"Of course!" Edward replied. "Gordon and Henry ur prototypes o' the same class but they're quite different frae ane another. Henry wis basit oan rejectit plans thon were stolen from Sir Gresley, and Gordon wis basit oan the final plans o' the same man, built under his supervision, o' course."
The black medium-sized tender was shocked. He gasped and exclaimed, "Like those big Pacifics in the LNER?"
"Aye! And then there's Emily. She comes frae the Great Northern Railway, and she's the only engine wit' two drivers oan this railway."
"I've heard of the preserved…" He knew the wheel configuration had a name but he didn't know what the name was.
Thankfully, Edward caught on. "GNR Stirling Single."
"Right. Thanks. I've only heard of her, but I didn't know another one had survived." James squinted his eyes as he looked down at his running board. "Emily doesn't look like that preserved engine, though."
"Thon's because she's an A3 Stirling Single, no' an A1 Stirling Single. She wis part o' the eighteen-ninety-four series, built in eighteen-ninety-five." Edward hummed. "I think March wis her build month. No' too sure, though."
"Sh!" Edward shushed James hastily. "Dinnae let her hear ye say thon. She'll tell ye thon her sister is much older."
"And when was she built?"
"Eighteen-seventy."
"That class has seen some things…" was all James could say. Eighteen-seventy? he thought. That engine is half a century old at this point!
The blue medium-sized tender engine chuckled. "They certainly have. No', where wis I?" He hummed for a bit, his lips pursed thoughtfully. "Richt! There's Emily, and then there's Glynn. He's an ane o' a kind design and the only ane left frae one o' the North Westerns predecessors." Edward glanced at James. "I have a feelin' he's told ye whit railway he came frae, richt?"
James didn't reply. His face of curiosity was shadowed by one of sorrow and bitterness.
"James?"
The engine in question was pondering at the mention of Glynn. Maybe Edward knows what happened to the coffee pot, he figured.
"James?" asked Edward again, concerned.
"Edward," began James in a bland tone. Or what would've been if his voice wasn't naturally brash. His heterochromatic eyes looked up at Edward. "What happened to Glynn?"
"Glynn?" replied Edward, noting the confusion in James' eyes.
"Yes, him."
"I…" Edward frowned, and his gray face crumpled. "I dinnae ken whit happenit tae him."
"You don't?"
"Naw, I'm…" Edward suddenly cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I wish I ken. If I did, I wid tell ye."
"Has the Fat Director even said anything?"
"Nawthin."
"...Do you think he's hiding something?"
"Pardon?"
"You think the Fat Director's hiding something?"
"Ah, I dinnae ken."
"But he's the director! He has to know what happened to Glynn!" James grew restless.
"Well-"
"Get a move on, Edward!" someone suddenly hollered.
Both engines flung their smokebox doors open to see Henry.
"You're blocking my way! I need to get to that goods train over there."
"Sorry, Henry!" Edward replied hastily. With a swift jerk of his smokebox door, he closed it and quickly moved forward. "Talk tae ye later, James!" he said hastily as he rushed away with a double whistle.
Henry huffed, shot a glare at James, and went on his way.
The black medium-sized tender engine watched the grand green tender engine, still wary of him. Once Henry was gone, James was left by himself to ponder on Glynn's whereabouts once again.
…
"Do you think he's hiding something?"
James felt his driver shuffle his feet on the wooden flooring of his cab. "What?"
"Do you think the Fat Director is hiding something?"
His pistons were pumping loudly, spewing out clouds of steam. Yet, the black medium-sized tender engine managed to catch his driver's hums.
"Maybe," he finally replied after some time.
"Maybe?"
"Maybe, because I don't know what you mean. Why are you asking this?"
"Glynn. Do you think he's hiding Glynn?"
"It's…" Fred paused for a few seconds. "...entirely possible, chap."
"But why?"
"He might be hiding Glynn from the board."
"O-Oh." His fire felt like it had gone out for a split second. "You think…?"
"Well, Glynn could have very well been… scrapped, James."
The silence joined the conversation, uninvited. It was so quiet that the sound of the couplings clanking against one another as he cruised down the Main Line was louder than his pistons.
"...How much is the Fat Director hiding?" asked James bitterly.
"I don't know, James," replied Fred. "I really don't know."
"Does the Fat Director think I'm not capable l?" he asked, raising his voice.
"What are you on about-?"
"How come I was put to work in the yards first when I arrived?"
The silence interfered.
Fred stood still for a moment before shifting around and bringing his attention back to James' gauges. His engine had a point.
"Maybe…" He tried to muster up a logical response. "Maybe it's how they run things here. Edward's a four-leader, four-driver tender engine. Those specific engines were the most powerful express passenger engines for a while until bigger and better engines came along. Now look at him. He's a station pilot."
"I know that!" exclaimed James. "Most of the express passenger engines on the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway were engines like him!"
"Alright, alright!" Fred chuckled. "But you get what I'm saying?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Don't think too much about it, chap," he soothed, patting James' cab. "Maybe it's not what you think it is."
James hummed a pout, which only received a light chuckle from his driver.
"But is it?"
…
"It could be."
"Really?"
Purple eyes looked over at him. "I asked him earlier but he didn't say anything. He just left," replied Emily.
A couple of days had passed since the conversation with his crew. The question had racked around his matte black smokebox, pestering him on a day-to-day basis, and went as far as going into the night within his dreams. His dreams were unwelcoming recently, leaving an odd aura within him every time he woke up.
James' lips creased in a straight frown. "Could Glynn have been scrapped?"
"I hope not," she remarked harshly towards the question itself. "Right now is the worst time to have engines being disposed of, and I doubt the Fat Director would allow it to happen. He's been fighting with the board about Glynn's disposition since he became the director."
"Which was…?"
"Nineteen-twenty-three. He's twenty-two years old if you're curious."
The black medium-sized tender engine was gobsmacked. "Twenty-two?" He glanced around before whispering, "No wonder he looks young and old at the same time."
"You saw those gray hairs, didn't you?" Emily chuckled playfully, but James picked up a tone of sadness. "It's what being the director of a railway does to you. Especially when it's so sudden." Before James could say anything, she continued, "The previous director, Sir Louis Topham Hatt the First, Sir Bertram's father, was voted off and Sir Bertram was voted in. He was already working as Glynn's fireman before becoming part of the management team the year before."
"So it didn't get passed down to him?"
"Oh no, not in this family. They pride themselves in earning from hard work."
James paused. His eyes wandered around in thought. Finally, he asked, "How do you know all of this?"
"The Fat Director tended to confide with us engines way before he started working here. He would usually talk to me because I'm, well, the oldest." She paused and peered at James, eyeing him suspiciously. "Unless you're hiding something."
"I'm way younger than you," he replied.
"Really?" She eyed him suspiciously again. Before she could say anything else, James continued.
"October of Nineteen-twelve," he bluntly replied.
"Ah, a Nineteen-tens engine! Not older than me but certainly not younger than the big guys. I thought you'd be around their age by a year or two. Gordon's the youngest of-" Emily paused. Her face went blank with eyes wide open.
"What is it?" asked James, beginning to panic.
Her cheeks burned. "...I went off the rails, didn't I? Oh my…" she muttered, feeling embarrassed. "Where was I?"
"How the Fat Director confided in you."
"Right!" Her expression lightened up. "He used to confide in me but that changed when he began to work here. I don't know what made it happen, but he started to confide in Edward more often. I'm assuming it's because he knows him more. He still confides in me every so often. Just not as much as he does with Edward."
James pondered for a moment. "Do you think Edward knows where Glynn is?" he asked, purposely avoiding the mention that he had asked Edward.
"I've already asked. He has no idea about his whereabouts."
"Oh." He looked away with a solemn frown. Where could he have gone?
"We can only hope that he's just in the works and not withdrawn." Her expression changed to a cheeky one. "You might as well get ready to give back those coaches, James."
"Huh!" James huffed, playing right along. "He'll have to beat me to them!"
Emily let out a laugh. "Go easy on him."
Both engines burst out laughing before Emily bid her temporary farewells and both engines went back to work.
…
James knew that Emily was joking around but her words stayed ingrained in his mind. With every day that passed to the near end of May, he grew anxious and tensions began to rise. Just the other day, he heard what he assumed were Gordon and Edward getting into an argument. Thankfully, Emily intervened, though in a not-so-nice manner. She'd threatened both engines to throw them under the truck and even send a truck at one of them if it continued. It was enough to keep them at bay.
Or at least he thought.
The black medium-sized tender engine was going about his late morning business, having come back from pulling a goods train to Vicarstown. He was idling for a few minutes when he heard a loud ruckus on the other side of Tidmouth Yard. The sounds of buffers bashing against something. The Troublesome Trucks are probably giving Edward a hard time, he thought, so he went to investigate. Maybe I can help.
But when he arrived in the area, he began to wish he hadn't checked.
A scream tore from Gordon's smokebox. "Watch it, little Edward!"
Edward was noticeably irritated. James had never seen him like that before. It frightened him, and he wanted to leave.
"My apologies, but I am watching," Edward retorted slowly, throwing emphasis on his wording. "I cannae see ye behind this line o' trucks, Gordon."
It seemed like they hadn't noticed him. Maybe if he reversed very slowly-
"Oh, what absolute nonsense! We know you can't bloody see anything, Edward."
"Knock it aff wit' the language. I'm no' blind." Edward huffed. "Whit ur ye doin' in this part o' the yard, anyways? The Express coaches aren't here."
"I came looking for my goods train. It's not there."
"Which ane? Ye mean thon stone train frae the Ffarquhar Quarry?"
"Yes, that one," Gordon replied sternly. "Where is it?"
"I dinnae ken. Go ask James. He wis the ane who brought it here, and I told him where tae put it."
"And where did you tell him to put it?"
"Near the big station."
"It's not there."
"Did ye check?"
Gordon froze before he fumed furiously and wheeshed at Edward, startling the blue medium-sized tender engine. James was still there, shocked as Edward's face scrunched up in anger and annoyance.
The grand blue tender engine hated what Edward was implying. "Are you implying that I didn't check? Like a fool?"
"Naw, I'm simply askin'." He dropped his voice to a whisper, muttering something as he continued working.
As Edward pulled the trucks out of Gordon's way, Gordon moved forward and blocked the points. "What did you say?"
"..."
"I heard you-"
"I wid'nae be surprisit if ye were a fool!" Edward hollered, spewing each word with anger. "Listen, please git oot o' my way sae I can go lookin' for it, or ye're goin' tae run late."
Gordon wheeshed again. "I don't take orders from museum displays."
"And I dinnae take orders from a git."
"...What?"
"I'm no' repeatin' maself, or are ye sae much o' a fool?"
The grand blue tender engine fumed, wheeshing heavily.
As James continued to watch, he heard a whistling sound, as if something was about to pop open.
As if a safety valve was about to burst.
He froze when he realized what was about to happen.
And it did.
The black medium-sized tender engine just didn't expect to see Edward be the one who reacted. The blue medium-sized tender engine violently sent the line of trucks flying towards Gordon, nearly knocking the larger blue engine off the rails. The trucks closer to Gordon derailed, and their contents flew out, crates crashing onto the ground.
Thankfully and surprisingly, no one was hurt, but everyone present was shocked.
Gordon was startled and wore a face of fear that glared at the shocked blue medium-sized tender engine. The latter could only stare with shock at the trucks, having realized what he had done. While both engines were in shock, their crews managed to get a hold of themselves. Edward's crew had failed to pull the brakes on time and were busy checking the engine's steam pressure, while Gordon's crew had climbed off to inspect what damage had been done to the engine's running board and frame.
That's when they became aware of James' presence. Quickly, Gordon's crew signaled James' crew to just leave before either of the engines noticed but it was too late.
Two other whistles were heard. Emily and Henry frantically approached the scene, coming from the direction James was in. It caught Edward and Gordon's attention. Once their eyes landed on the black medium-sized tender engine, they realized James watched the whole thing, having frightened him.
Emily dragged James away as quickly and carefully as she could, startling the engine, as Henry pulled Gordon away and Edward pulled the trucks back on the rails. Once James was uncoupled from Emily after being moved far away from the accident, he rushed away and went back to work.
…
Later that evening, James moved into the center berth of Knapford Sheds. Edward and Emily took the first two berths to the left and were in the very back of the shed while Henry and Gordon took the last two berths and right outside, leaving James with some decent space from the two blue engines. Henry was scolding Gordon but it was nothing compared to the earful Emily was giving Edward. Not even Sir Topham Hatt II's scolding could compete with it.
"What were you thinking?" James heard Emily huff hastily. "You frightened the poor thing."
"I ken whit I did wis wrong, okay?" He heard Edward reply. "How's Gordon?"
"He's fine." The bluntness was heavy.
Edward stayed silent.
"If you're hiding something, you know you can tell me." Emily's tone changed to a comforting one. "This isn't like you. What happened?"
"I jist miss Glynn. Thon's all."
Emily hummed. James couldn't see her but he had a strong feeling she was giving Edward a suspicious look. "Okay. Good night then."
"Guid nicht."
And then he heard nothing from the two. The quiet never came as he could only hear what Gordon and Henry were saying.
And that's with him being the closest to them. He was right behind the doors of his berth.
"He's so obsessed over Glynn," he heard Gordon say.
"Don't act like you're not either. You're not yourself either," he heard Henry reply.
Guess they overheard.
"Be glad Emily didn't come right for you."
"Well, she didn't need to. I don't need to be told what to do."
"Gordon, we are big metal machines that were made to do as we are told."
"You know what I meant-"
"Yes. Yes, I know." Henry huffed. "I don't like Edward either but he had a point. You should've gotten out of his way he told you."
"You're such a hypocrite, Henry," Gordon sneered.
"Fine, sod off then. I'm only trying to help." With that, Henry released his brakes and backed into his berth. James quickly squeezed his eyes shut. His relationship with Henry was rocky ever since the grand green tender engine lashed out on him. It wasn't his fault the Fat Director chose to buy him over fixing Henry.
Unfortunately, Henry noticed James being right behind the door.
"So, you were eavesdropping."
"Uh-"
"Huh, I thought you didn't like drama," Henry interrupted. "But then again, you did go and let your curiosity get the best of you earlier."
"I was worried," James replied defensively and hastily. "I heard something really loud so I went to check if something was wrong."
"Well, you got your answer so why didn't you leave?"
"I got scared."
"Figures." Henry stayed quiet for a few seconds before asking. "How did it happen?"
"The argument?"
"Yeah. What else could I be talking about?"
"I don't know."
"That was a rhetorical question."
"Oh. Gordon went to ask Edward where the trucks I left for him were because he couldn't find them. He said they weren't there."
"So it's your fault the argument broke out!"
"No, it's not!" James whispered harshly. "I left them where I was told to leave them, and Gordon said that he looked there but he couldn't find them."
"How do I know that you didn't just forget?"
"I didn't!" he exclaimed, unaware of Gordon backing into the shed, Edward waking up from the noise, and Emily shifting in her sleep.
"I know your memory is bad but I didn't think it'd be this bad. The Fat Director made the right call in making you work in the yards first before pulling actual goods trains."
James froze. "What?"
"Don't tell me you didn't know. You had to have known, right?"
The black medium-sized tender engine stared back at him. The look was ominous, and it bothered Henry.
"Right?"
"No. I didn't," James replied. "Who told you? I was never told about this?"
"You mean Edward never told you?"
There it was, and speaking of the devil.
"Whit's goin' oan?" Edward asked, slowly approaching the front of the shed and yawning. "Is everythin' alricht?"
"Is everything alright?" James mocked, swiftly flinging his smokebox door open. "Of course, everything is alright! Why didn't you tell me?"
"Whit-?"
"Why didn't you tell me the reason why the Fat Director put me to work in the yards first before actually doing my jobs?"
"I-"
"You didn't tell him?" scolded Emily, who was awakened by Edward seconds priors. "Edward!"
"It wis an order frae the Fat Director."
"But you went ahead and told everyone else but me!" exclaimed James. "You know, the engine it was about!"
"James-"
"Is that what you meant by ‘naive’? Is that what you meant?"
"No! I didnae-!"
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"I didnae want tae upset ye!"
"So you went behind my back and told everyone like it was some sort of-" His safety valve felt like it was going to burst. "-gossip?" he shrieked. Emily, Henry, and Gordon were startled by the fuming engine. They started going to the back of the shed.
"That's no' whit I wantit tae happen!"
"You lied to me!"
"I-I didnae! I jist didnae tell ye!" To James, it just sounded like Edward was coming up with excuses. The desperate tone was giving it away. "T-There's a difference!"
"I don't want to hear your excuse!"
"James, please-!"
With a loud BAM! BAM! BAM!, one of the yardmen banged on the open wooden doors of Gordon's berth. "What is going on? Do I really need to call in the director?"
All the engines swiftly looked at the yardman with panic.
After a while of a silent response, the yardman sighed. "All of you better get to sleep. This is your only warning."
Quickly, both Edward and James backed toward the end of their berths while the others shut their eyes. Once they did, the yardman was satisfied and shut all the doors to the sheds. The yardman hadn't felt it but the hot air within the sheds was overwhelming and uncomfortable. It would remain so for the rest of the evening.
So much for a good rest.
…
The following day wasn't any better for James. It wasn't any better for anyone.
Unfortunately for Edward and James, Sir Topham Hatt II found out about the argument as the yardman reported it once his shift ended the following morning. Edward was already placed on restricted shunting duty in Tidmouth Yards, so placing James with the blue engine would only allow the chance for a fight to break out. Instead, he sent James to work in Vicarstown for the week and gave temporary berth assignments to the engines.
In the evening, all the engines had gathered in Tidmouth Yards as asked by Sir Topham Hatt II. He was furious with his engine's recent behavior, though he had a sneaking suspicion about what was causing it, and it could very well be his fault.
"I am extremely disappointed with everyone's behavior lately. Picking fights like children in a schoolyard," the Fat Director scolded. His voice boomed around the yard to which the engines flinched at. "What has gotten into all of you?"
No one responded.
"Well?"
James spoke up. "...What happened to Glynn, sir?"
The Fat Director and the other engines looked at James. "Pardon?"
"Sir, w-with all due respect, we haven't seen Glynn in days," replied James, frightened. "What happened to him?"
"Is this why everyone has been acting out recently?"
Four "Yes, sir"s and an "Aye, sir" was the answer he got.
With a sigh, the Fat Director came forward. "I'm sorry to have not told any of you sooner but Glynn has been withdrawn from service."
The engines gasped in shock and, some, in horror, despite knowing that this was the possibility of Glynn's fate.
"So he's been scrapped?" asked Emily softly.
"I…," he paused. "I'm afraid so." But then his voice became stern. "I know that all of you miss Glynn and will continue to do so but the way everyone has been acting is unacceptable. Engines who act out lead to a financial struggle for the railway. And without a financially successful railway, we can't continue to operate this place. This includes every single one of you. Does everyone understand?"
"Yes, sir" and "Aye, sir" were uttered again.
"Good. Good night, everyone"
"Good night, sir!" the engines exclaimed without the usual enthusiasm and unity. Whistles were blown at different times and the sounds rang throughout the yards before they left for Knapford Sheds at their own pace.
James was the last to leave, not wanting to be near the others for as long as he could. How could they hide things from me? he thought.
Out of everyone he'd expected to lie to him, James didn’t think that Edward would be the one to do so. Edward was nice and welcoming to him from the moment he arrived, despite the problems that had happened. The Fat Director had said that Edward was reliable and one of the most hardworking engines on the railway.
And that was the problem.
He had taken the Fat Director’s word for it and trusted Edward so quickly when right behind his tender, Edward had been hiding the Fat Director's doubts about him and told the others instead.
So much for trusting him.
Frustrated, he let his mind wander for a bit to something, anything other than what happened recently. No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn't as his mind landed on one engine.
Glynn.
The red coffee pot had been very welcoming when James arrived at the sheds for the first time. He checked in on him when he noticed something was wrong. Sure he hadn't known Glynn for long but it was upsetting that a new friend of his was now long gone.
Friends.
I miss my friends, he thought as he trod down the tracks and into Knapford Yards.
James dearly missed 10138, 17646, and 17647. He missed his sister, 12555. He missed them all. Hell, he even missed 10138's rather annoying twin sisters, 10141 and 10142. He wanted that last part to be a lie, but he couldn't because it was true.
But did he really want to go back? After that fight with his oldest sibling? The one who had screamed at him for defending himself just that one time? The one who had been the biggest pain in the chassis since his trials after his rebuilds?
No, he didn't. Especially since every other one of his siblings did the same damn thing to him, every single day. Their words haunted his mind every single day. Fifty-Five was the only one who stood by him, and with Fifty-Five was he consistently paired up with, much to his relief.
Fifty-Five had reassured him that there would be a day when he would deliver a goods train to Barrow-in-Furness, just like some of the other North Western engines have.
James could hardly wait for that day to come. To stroll into Barrow-in-Furness and meet with one of his friends, away from the tension happening on the Island of Sodor.
When James settled down in the center berth of the shed, he chuckled to himself. His crew, having decided earlier not to bother the engine and let him be, became concerned by the sound so George promptly asked him, "What's so funny?"
"You remember how I said I would never, ever set foot into Barrow-in-Furness because I want to?"
"I do," George replied. "Very much so. Why?"
"How ironic," he softly sneered, unintentionally giving his crew attitude. "Right now, I want to be there more than ever."
~
Hey. :3 Have +6k more words of Jimmy in his early days on the North Western Railway.
Thanks Jay for beta-reading it for me once again! :D
"I really wished you guys hadn't said anything," scolded James once they were far away.
"But it's true!" they exclaimed in unison.
"You could've at least helped him get to the Mainland!" reprimanded the first coach. "Now you left him stranded at Maron!"
"The Main Line isn't that difficult to travel! It's fairly easy."
"To you, it is!" said the second coach.
"That engine is a foreigner," followed up the third coach. "They don't know this railway as well as you do, James."
"Why are you guys so obsessed with that engine?" exclaimed James.
"And why were you so rude to him?" piped up the fourth coach.
"Because-!" James panicked, knowing that "because he's red" wouldn't fly by that easily. "Because what does he have that makes him qualified for the Great Race? He doesn't look fast or strong. The four-leader-four-drivers aren't as great as they once were, you know!"
The brake coach hummed. "Well, he did have a nice shade of red. Much nicer than yours, really."
James' eyebrows furrowed and his face scrunched. "Excuse me?"
"You do have a bright color," said the fourth coach. "Too bright of a color."
"But he's still red!"
"Well if it bothers you so much, then how about you and get yourself repainted with a few decorations?" joked the brake coach.
And James had an idea.
He stopped suddenly, making the Honeypot coaches bump into one another before reversing down the line, back to Maron.
Megatron was part of the conversation at one point in development but discarded later on. I wanted him to transform into a laser blaster, like the good old Meg’s. #megatron #transformers #decepticon #characterdesign #design #animation #robots
https://www.instagram.com/p/Bsv8R8nBWe7/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1vkv5v3476rf4
heyy everyonem its your fav guy posting abt gay trains and being trans AHA
i recently talked to my dad about being trans on my birhtday - and it DIDNT go well :))))) he wants me to be comepletely independent and he doesn't want "another man living in the house with him"
Hi, my name is Virgil - I'm raising funds so I can comfortably … Virgil Melgram needs your support for a vunerable trans man moving out of h
all my shit is currently in bags right now, i'm having another talk with my dad rn but i'll be moving out - please help, share and donate, etc
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also its pride month so you should donate so you aren't transphobic/j
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
AU Tumblr: @the-cerene-railway-au
Crossposted: Ao3 | cerenemuxse
After James is hauled to the Steamworks by Edward, the once bright red medium-sized tender engine begins to worry about his paintwork. But should that really be the biggest of his concerns?
~
The way to Crovan's Gate Steamworks took a while. The silence was tense, even with the occasional humming from the engine hauling him. Said engine tried speaking to James earlier, but the latter stayed quiet. He was deep in his own thoughts for what seemed like the first time in his life.
James didn't like it one bit.
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.
.
A bright red medium-sized tender engine screeched to a halt at Kildane Station. "Here's James!"
"Jimmy, don't do that!" scolded Emily as she arrived at the station with the Emerald. "You're going to seriously damage your brakes!"
"Oh, relax, Emi," huffed James. "I haven't had any problems with them ever since my wooden brakes were replaced. I'll be fine!"
"They were wooden, James! You're wearing this pair much too fast. Keep doing that if you want to have another crash!" the green medium-sized tender engine huffed. Her crew patted her cab to soothe her anger and worries.
"It won't happen to a splendid red engine like me."
"Mhm…" she hummed, unconvinced. She suddenly perked up. "Now that you mentioned red, did you hear about Rosie?"
"Rosie? What does she have to do with red?"
"You haven't seen her? She was repainted red recently!"
"Repainted red? What red?"
Emily didn't respond as her guard blew their whistle. She began to leave.
"Like red red? James red? Splendid red? Are you teasing?" he exclaimed hysterically.
But Emily left without a response.
"Emi? Emi? Emily!"
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.
.
"Och, slow down, James! Ye're goin way too fast!" exclaimed Edward in a stern tone as James quickly approached him.
James laughed proudly as he got closer. "I am the fastest red engine on Sodor, after all!" he exclaimed, rushing past the other engine. As he did, he barely caught on to what Edward said.
"Keep goin like thon, and ye're goin tae have another crash!"
.
.
.
"Rosie! Help!"
He passed by extremely fast and could barely hear her gasp and yell, "James!"
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.
.
"Molly, get out!" he exclaimed. "Get out of the shed!"
.
.
.
"James?"
He snapped back into reality and looked around. He was at the Steamworks, sitting in the middle track directed towards the turntable. He looked to his right to see the blue medium-sized tender engine being turned to the track next to him.
"I'll shunt ye ontae the turntable and intae an open space. Give me a minute," said Edward. He moved back, switched to the track James was on, and carefully shunted the flatbed James was on.
James stayed quiet as he was shunted. His frame creaked and groaned. He braced himself, ready to hear an angry tone of some sort.
But it never came.
"Are ye alricht?" began Edward, "Other than whit happenit, o course." He backed down, giving the red engine some space.
Well, once red engine.
James was covered in dust and his paint was scratched up, with large areas having been stripped off by the collision. Large dents were made in his boiler and firebox from the large chunks of brick and concrete collapsing in him. His funnel was crushed by the same debris. His entire buffer beam had fallen off at the site of the accident, Tidmouth Sheds, with his headlamp and left boiler handrail. His left cab handrail was barely hanging on. His pony truck was ready to break off with the amount of rubble that had gotten stuck in his chassis. His boiler dome was no longer shiny and a chunk of the brass covering was missing. His brass whistle and safety valve were completely destroyed. His running board was crushed inwards, damaging his sandboxes and splashers.
The only color on the engine was his heterochromatic eyes of rich brown and lush green.
He refused to look at Edward, who sat on the turntable. He's so mad, I just know it, he thought to himself. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"James?" he asked once again.
"I'm sorry for what I did. I really am," he muttered quickly. His fear slipped right through. "I should've listened. I should've-"
"Whoa, keep the heid!" interrupted Edward. "We ken ye are. Ye've… apologizit enough at Tidmouth."
"But is it going to fix the stunt I pulled?" yelled James, opening his eyes.
Edward didn't respond.
"Just as I thought."
"But did ye learn?"
James looked at him.
"Did ye learn? Did ye finally learn yer lesson?"
"Of course I did," James replied bitterly. "I'm not that moronic."
"Awbody said ye were," said Edward, with a hint of sternness in his tone. He then sighed. "I need tae leave. Dae ye want me tae brin everyane else?"
"I rather you not," he huffed out. His eyes began to burn so he squeezed them shut. "Just go away." His lips straightened tightly, strained into a thin line.
"Alricht," replied Edward as he was turned around. "Git better soon." With a single solemn whistle, he left.
Once James saw that he was gone, he let those tears of anger go. "I've really messed up, big time." He looked up at the ceiling, or rather the sunroof, of the Steamworks as his vision blurred from the tears trickling down his cheeks. The mixture of coal dust and water began to stain his chubby dusty cheeks, mixing with the dust. "I didn't listen to the two warnings I was given. Two bloody warnings! No, three!" His breath was becoming uneven. Had his fire been lit, his face would've burned and his boiler would've bubbled to a near breaking point. "And not only did I destroy the sheds, but I nearly got one of my friends hurt." James took a deep breath, attempting to recompose himself. "Some friend I am. I can kiss my red paintwork goodbye at this point."
"Ah. Hello to you, too, my friend."
James jerked and looked to his right. Victor was there as Kevin strolled right up to him.
"H-How long have you been there?" he sputtered out. Embarrassed, he tried not to sniffle and immediately looked away from Victor and Kevin.
"Not too long," replied Victor. "Now, what was that about your paint?"
"That I can kiss it goodbye, that's for sure," he huffed reluctantly with a sigh. "Many years ago, the Fat Controller threatened to paint me blue if I ever misbehaved."
"But you've done so multiple times," said Kevin. "Just last year, you were here after pulling that stunt with that heavy goods train!"
"Well, he's definitely not letting me get away with it this time. What I just did tops it all off."
Victor and Kevin could only keep quiet, quickly glancing at one another with a knowing frown.
"When is he passing by?"
"Tomorrow," replied Victor.
"Tomorrow? Why tomorrow? Why not today?"
"He's reassigning all the engines of Tidmouth Sheds to other places. It'll take months to rebuild the sheds."
"Rebuild?" Oh goodness, please don't tell me. Don't let it be, don't let it be! "What do you mean?"
"He was on the phone with one of the workmen when the rest of the sheds collapsed," Victor replied. "Even then, the sheds were going to need to be rebuilt."
""Even then?" Why?"
"When was Tidmouth Sheds built?"
"Uhm, nineteen-thirty-nine."
"Aie, aie, aie. I'm not surprised then."
"What happened?"
"They found a lot of safety violations before the rest of the sheds collapsed," said Kevin, rocking on his wheels. Just staring at him made James feel a bit dizzy. "And if there's one thing they've learned in the past few decades, is that old buildings failing to meet the safety requirements mean a lot of trouble."
"And it's going to take months?" James stared ahead. "Oh, I really messed up."
"Look on the bright side!" exclaimed Kevin. "At least they found this out before anything else happened! Those sheds would have collapsed in the middle of the night if this hadn't happened."
"So it's a good thing I crashed then?" snapped James.
Kevin was stunned.
"We'll leave you be, James," said Victor. He began to usher away the stunned yellow crane. "Get some rest in the meantime! We'll get to your repairs tomorrow morning once we figure out what needs fixing."
James didn't reply as he heard the two machines wander somewhere else. To where? He didn't know. He shut his eyes and eventually fell asleep.
.
.
.
When James opened his eyes, he was surprised to find himself going down the Main Line, towards Kildane Station. Jacqueline was there with the branch line coaches, instead of the usual flatbeds of aluminum.
Feeling cheeky, he exclaimed, "Here's James!" and came to a gentle stop.
The large green tank engine looked over and her mouth dropped open.
"Jackie?"
"Votre peinture! C'est bleu!"
"Peinture…?" He paused then gasped. "My paintwork?" he exclaimed.
"Oui! Paintwork, c'est bleu, papa!"
"Bleu?" he exclaimed. He looked around for a reflection, his eyes eventually landing on the glass windows of the station's office building. "Oh no…"
Instead of a bright shining red coat of paint, James had a cerulean blue coat of paint with red lining and boiler bands. The number 6 on his tender was yellow with red lining.
"What happened?" asked Jacqueline.
James would've chuckled at Jacqueline's attempts to speak English if it hadn't been so perfect. Her French accent wasn't bleeding through like it normally did. It was replaced by a thick English accent.
He shook the thought away. "I got what I deserved is what happened."
"Oh… Sir Topham Hatt veut qu'est ce tu tire l'Express."
"Pull the Express?"
"Oui!"
"Pourquoi?"
"Tout le monde est occupé."
"That explains why you're pulling the coaches…"
"Mhm!" Jaqueline's guard blew his whistle. "A plus tard, papa!"
"A plus tard, Jackie!" replied James as he watched his daughter leave Kildane and head to Cronk-Abbey. He sighed, entering Kildane Yards, which was right next to the station and where Kildane Sheds was located.
Or at least that's what he saw before he found himself on the Main Line, passing Vicarstown with the Express. "What in the…?" he said, confused. He noticed he was going incredibly fast, faster than usual. "The coaches are easier to pull this time…" he muttered as he picked up speed. The lightness of the Express coaches made it easier for him as he crossed the viaduct above Vicarstown. He couldn't help but smile proudly. He passed by Molly, who was coming back from the Mainland.
"Oh, it feels wonderful to pull the Express!" he boasted.
"Stop showing off, James!" Molly scolded as she thundered by. "Or you're going to have another crash!" she hollered, her voice quickly fading away.
James brushed it off, but as he did, he felt uneasy. His boiler started to boil rapidly, with anxiety. Steam began to build up in his pipes. He began to worry just as he quickly approached the Vicarstown Drawbridge. He braked when he saw the toll down and the drawbridge going up. But he wasn't slowing down.
The horrible screeching from his brakes snapping hard onto his wheels returned. He winced at the sound, then gasped as he got closer and closer to the drawbridge, not slowing down.
"Wait, no! Stop! Stop!"
No matter how hard he braked, he couldn't stop. Soon, James broke through the toll and-
.
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James screamed as he woke up. He jerked around, becoming aware of where he was at.
He was at the Steamworks but in the air. He looked up to see he was on the lift. Looking around, inspecting his surroundings, he saw Harvey approaching him with the night shift workman, carrying sheets of metal.
"James, is everything alright?" asked Harvey, turning his crane arm away from his view.
James' mouth straightened tightly as he looked away. He stumbled with his words, making frustrated noises. "Everything's fine," he huffed, shutting his eyes once more.
Harvey hummed, concerned. However, he didn't want to prod so he left him alone, going back to work.
Once he was sure Harvey was gone, he opened his eyes, looking around. Just then, he heard Henry's whistle.
"The Flying Kipper," he whispered as he looked to his left. Sure enough, Henry passed by with the Flying Kipper, which James had still yet to grow fond of. He hummed, yawned, and dozed off.
.
.
.
"James? James, wake up!"
James groaned as he cracked open his eyes slowly. He winced as the bright light of the sun startled his vision. "Is it morning already?"
"It's been morning since you got here!" exclaimed the voice.
"Percy?" James asked.
"Yes?" replied Percy.
Once James' eyes adjusted to the change of lighting, he looked around to find Percy shunting a goods train. "Is this Tidmouth Yards?" he asked, recognizing the surrounding area.
"Um, yes," replied the small green saddle-tank engine. "Are you okay? You seem really out of it."
"Huh?" James shook his frame. "I'm fine!"
"Good because your goods train is ready to go!"
"What?"
"Your goods train to Vicarstown. Now hurry up, or you're going to be late!" huffed Percy impatiently before quickly rushing away.
James was left stunned as he moved to collect his goods train. As he did, he caught onto his reflection in one of the windows of a nearby building. He gasped. "Not again!"
Instead of red, he was apple green like Henry, Percy, Emily, and Jacqueline. In fact, like many of the NWR engines. But like Henry, Percy, and Jacqueline, all of his lining was red.
"That's just great," he laughed halfheartedly. "Not unique for my own paintwork anymore. Not like I was before, anyways." He wheeshed heavily as a yardman coupled him to the goods train.
But once again, he found himself already moving, passing by Wellsworth Station. And again, he felt different. The goods train felt lighter than usual, considering it was unusually much longer than what he normally took.
"Huh, everything feels much lighter…" he noted. He thought for a moment. "Those Express coaches felt lighter, and now the goods trains. Maybe it has to do with my paintwork! I was blue like Gordon, and he pulls the Afternoon Express. And now I'm green, like Henry! He's strong, and so are Emily and Jacqueline. Even little Percy is strong, at least on the Ffarquhar Branch Line," he whispered. "Strong and green, that's what I'll be!" he exclaimed with pride as his mood brightened up.
Approaching Gordon's Hill, he thundered up the hill with ease. On the way up, he saw Rosie. The opportunity to be a tease was too good to resist! "Hey, Rosie!" he called out to the struggling red tank engine. “You should be painted green like me! Then you wouldn't be struggling so much!"
Rosie huffed in annoyance as he kept going. "Oh, stop showing off, James or you're going to have another crash!"
James laughed with pride, ignoring the warning and the heavy feeling that loomed over him, as he reached the peak and passed through Maron. Once he did, he reached the east incline of Gordon's Hill and began going downhill. He didn't notice that the incline was abnormally steep, as he was too much in a good mood. "This is easy, easier than ever!" he exclaimed, the euphoria of his dream getting to him.
He had forgotten it was a dream, though.
Suddenly, James squinted when he noticed something ahead. He gasped, realizing what, or rather who it was. Braking harshly, he hollered, "Edward, watch out!"
He couldn't tell if the blue medium-sized tender engine had heard him. It wouldn't have mattered as James quickly got closer and closer to Edward's brake van, attached to the end of his goods train. James screamed in fear-
.
.
.
"No!"
Victor, Kevin, Stafford, and Harvey looked at James on the lift, who suddenly jerked awake. One of the workmen, who had been inspecting James, fell off the ladder. Thankfully, a few other workers caught him before he hit the ground.
"James!" exclaimed Victor, approaching the engine on the lift.
The damaged red medium-sized tender engine opened his eyes, wincing when the bright lights of the Steamworks hit him. "Not again," he muttered.
"James, what's wrong?"
"You woke up with a start!" exclaimed Stafford, as he shunted a few materials to the back of the Steamworks.
James fumbled his words. Not wanting to lose the last bit of pride he had, he huffed. "Nothing's wrong!" he replied, his voice cracking. "It's nothing!" He looked ahead at the dark evening sky. "It's nothing…"
The Steamworks engines weren't convinced but they didn't want to press on. So they continued their work as James dozed off to sleep once more. The light of the moon shined bright through the sunroof of the Steamworks.
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When James opened his eyes, he was greeted with the bright light of the sun once again and found himself at the Boxford Summerhouse. He winced as the bright light pierced his eyes, wheeshing heavily.
"James, that's no way to greet anyone!" scolded what sounded like a woman.
James recognized the voice, his eyes opening wide in shock. The Duchess of Boxford! he thought. "Ma'am, hello!" he replied as nonchalantly as possible and looked at the Duchess, who was accompanied by the Duke. "Good day to you, sir!"
The Duke of Boxford chuckled. "Good day to you as well, chap," he replied. "Thank you for filling in for Spencer while he's in for maintenance." He walked up to one of the red coaches that James realized he had been coupled up to.
"I must say," said the Duchess of Boxford. "You are looking quite smart with that silver paintwork," she commented as she got into the coach and her husband offered his hand.
As she climbed on, James gasped. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Silver? Silver?" He flipped his smokebox door open and spotted the glass window of the tiny house on the platform. "Like him?" he exclaimed in horror.
Unfortunately, he was silver with white lining. Just. Like. Spencer. Oh, how much he despised that streamlined silver engine.
James fumed as he closed his smokebox door shut, heavily wheeshing once again. He muttered under his breath, "Him, him! Why him?" Seething through his teeth, steam seeping through them, he whistled twice and moved along.
But this time, the scene didn't change suddenly.
He should be happy, relieved even. But he was afraid and uneasy. The feeling crept through his boiler, and he felt tenser than ever.
Once he reached West Maron Hill Junction, he took the track going east on the Main Line. It was located quite awkwardly, so he was going uphill right as he took that track.
As he did, he heard the Duke speak up, "What's wrong, James? You don't seem like yourself today, chap."
James felt even tenser. "Why is that?" he asked back.
"You're not showing off, and you usually do," replied the Duke. "What's wrong?"
"Did you finally learn your lesson?" asked the Duchess.
James wanted to stop but he couldn't. He just kept going forward. He tried using his brakes but they wouldn't budge. It was like he had no control over himself anymore.
"Did you finally learn that if you keep showing off, you'll have another crash?" she asked again, in a mocking manner.
The words "Another crash" echoed from the Duchess of Boxford, repeatedly. Each time it was said, it drove James further into guilt and fear.
It didn't stop there.
"Keep doing that if you want to have another crash!" he heard someone else say from ahead. When he looked, he realized he was in a place he didn't recognize. The ground was flat and he was on the middle track of three lines. It looked like the rails kept going, but that wasn't what startled him.
Emily was on his right, heading towards him. She said again, "Another crash!" in the same tone she had used that morning as she stormed past.
"You should get your brakes checked or you'll have another crash!" was heard from his left. He looked to see Rosie rush by as well, extremely fast. He swore he felt his frame jostle about. "Another crash!" she exclaimed, repeating with Emily.
"Go, rusty iron! Crash!" was heard from his right again, but this time, it was Diesel. He mocked him as he thundered by. "Another crash!" he repeated. "Another crash!"
Soon, engines of the North Western Railway passed by him, hollering "Another crash!" right at him. The tones of disappointment and anger were there. The words "Another crash!" being repeated over and over again became a muddled mess. His mind became overwhelmed.
And when Molly had said the same thing, the fearful tone was obvious as it screamed and rang in his smokebox. He couldn't blame her. His carelessness would have harmed her as she had been sleeping in the sheds when it happened.
As each engine chuffed by, James' frame kept swaying left and right, the fear of being knocked off his wheels rising. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it to go away.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry," he said again, louder, as he shut his eyes, squeezing them tight. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" As he repeated the phrase over and over again, it got louder and louder. Soon, he was screaming, his eyes burning as dirty coal water tears brewed.
But then he heard another voice. One he hadn't heard in decades in his dreams.
"Go on, James. Go on."
That voice, he froze, immediately looking down when he snapped his eyes open. No, no, no, no, no!
"Go on, go on!" The voice said again. James' frame trembled.
You're supposed to be dead! You're supposed to be dead! I saw it, I saw it!
"Look up."
He fell for it, looking up at Jasmine, into her green eyes. She was going backward, right in front of him.
"Go on!" she exclaimed cheekily. "Crash!"
Her sweet laughter echoed all around him as he stayed frozen in place, staring off into space. He was no longer moving, not noticing the disappearance of the coaches behind him or of his surroundings.
Then everything went dark, the pitch blackness of his surroundings only lasting for a moment when a spotlight flashed on, pointing downwards at him. A glow came from below him, making James feel disoriented once he finally snapped out of his frozen state. A circle was what glowed below him, sifting through every single color. The glow lit up his surroundings very slightly but he could tell enough to know that he was in the Steamworks.
The ground shifted. The turntable, he realized. It began to turn slowly but it soon picked up speed, flashing rapidly as it cycled through many colors. His paintwork began changing colors.
He felt uneasy, and the boiling anxiety within him returned. His breaths became short and uneven.
"No, stop! Stop!" he exclaimed. The turntable spun faster and faster. "Make it stop! Someone-!"
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.
"-help!"
"James!"
The once-red engine opened his eyes and winced for what seemed like the infinite time he had done so. It was the morning and the sun had just started to rise, the light striking his vision.
"James," said a voice. It came nearby.
James looked to his right, squinting. Once his vision refocused, he gasped. "Sir! Good morning, sir!" He exclaimed, failing to hide his panic.
Sir Topham Hatt II shifted from where he stood, on one of the platforms within the works. He cleared his throat. "James, I think you and I both know what is to happen next, right?"
"Yes, sir," he replied solemnly.
"Good. Now, once your repairs are done, you will be helping out with rebuilding Tidmouth Sheds," he said sternly. "I don't want to hear a single complaint. Understood?"
"U-Understood, sir. Is that all?"
The Fat Controller sighed. "No, that is not all…"
…
In the middle of April, James was released from the Steamworks, his repairs having been completed, and given a new coat of paint. The moment he left the Steamworks, he headed to Tidmouth to begin his work.
On the way there, James wasn't focused. His mind kept wandering off to places he couldn't describe, leaving his crew, who hadn't suffered any serious injuries, to be in control. They had tried speaking to their engine back at Crovan's Gate, but James stayed relatively quiet.
When they approached Wellsworth, James was startled when he heard someone call out for him.
"James, it's ye!"
He slowly looked up to find Edward, who was smiling at him.
"It's guid tae see ye out o' the works," continued Edward. "How ur-?"
"Can I stay with you tonight?" said James, quickly. His face began to feel hot and cold.
Although a bit thrown off and worried, Edwsrd didn't push it. "O' course," he replied. "But dae ken thon Emily is stayin' here, too."
"...is she mad?"
The smaller blue tender engine hesitated. "...aye. Very much sae." There was a bit of silence. "Ur ye-?"
"Yes, I'm still staying. I'm gonna have to confront her anyways."
"James, ye ken why she gets like thon."
"I know!" he huffed harshly before biting back his tongue. "But I don’t want to lose her because I avoided her. You and Emily are all that I have left.”
“Whit ur ye talkin’ aboot?”
“I lost the branch line, Edward,” James quickly burst out. “And I’m not getting it back soon.”
“You whit?” His shocked face stared at James. “Och, James…”
“I have to go.”
“Naw, wait! James!”
James quickly left Wellsworth Station. “I’ll be back tonight!” The voice of his friend calling out for him quickly dwindled as he stormed down the line to Tidmouth.
He couldn't think straight. He was tired, exhausted from wheel to funnel. He hadn't been able to sleep, not after waking up from those nightmares. Not even chatting with the Steamworks' engines helped. He just couldn't. He was afraid. He was afraid of hearing any more disappointment, any more anger, any more of anything.
James wasn't a blue engine. He was an engine of many colors.
~
After much consideration, I have decided to upload this rewrite as part of my contribution to 5/5! It's just been sitting there and I'm a bit impatient xd
Thank you so much to my beta reader! Very much appreciated. <3
