Before I get this chapter started: I know I've said this verbatim so many times now, but thank you so much to everyone who's so much as looked at this story so far. It's been really hard for me lately in keeping up with this story, so it means just so much to see all of you guys still there supporting me even through these rough patches. Once again, I have to let you guys know how much I love you for that :3

And now, on with the show!

DISCLAIMER: I do have a very long list of accomplishments (wow, egocentric much?), but, sadly, owning Thomas and Friends and/or the Railway Series is not on it.

When I think about what happened next, I am always reminded of when Thomas had accidentally crashed into a stationmaster's house. He hadn't been too damaged, but that had been the least of the young engine's worries. At the time, Thomas had never been more mortified in his life. I can still remember how red his face had become when Percy, Toby, Donald and Douglas laughed at him and at the bushes and plaster that decorated his front, as well as how pale he'd grown when Sir Topham Hatt told him that another qualified, more revolutionary diesel engine would take his place on his branchline while he was being repaired. Thomas had been taken to the Steamworks in disgrace, believing that he would never recover from the shame his accident had caused him.

Of course, as you can probably tell, dear listeners, that belief did not last for very long. And, much like with Victor and his accident, Thomas possibly never would have recovered from his embarrassment if it weren't for the humans who'd treated him.

The engineers had chatted away with him while they repaired him, asking him questions and making jokes and making sure that he was feeling alright every day. They had laughed and joked about Thomas's accident, but not like the other engines had before; rather than tease Thomas for his blunder, the engineers had reassured him about it, telling their own tales of making silly mistakes in their lives. One engineer related how he'd once dropped a box of tools on his foot because he hadn't been carrying it properly, while another explained that just a week ago tried to boil tea in a saucepan rather than a pot to test his theory that it was possible to do it that way.

At first Thomas had been resistant, reluctant to relive his own mortification. But, eventually, he smiled more and laughed along with the engineers. On his last day there, as the engineers finished and polished his final repairs, he was making his own jokes about how silly he'd must've looked with a windowpane hanging from his smokebox. When he returned to the sheds that day, he didn't even mind it when Percy and Toby teased him yet again. The engineers had made sure that, even though it still embarrassed him, he could look back on the accident without wishing he could find a tunnel to hide in.

I remember that every time because, on the morning when Thomas was supposed to begin his training with Don, the interactions between Thomas and the engineers was totally different.

Thomas was awake long before the morning engineers arrived for work. He finally heard them from the other room after waiting a few hours - which felt like, to Thomas, an eternity - the sounds of their footsteps mingling with the chatter and greetings and steps of the night engineers as they left for the day. He kept his eye on the door; then, after he waited a couple more minutes, the door rattled open, and a small group of engineers entered.

They gave him his final safety check. They put him on the lift. Finally, they lifted Thomas into the air and into the other room and carefully placed him onto the flatbed that Paxton the Young Diesel was pulling.

And all throughout this process, everyone involved was totally silent.

The engineers made no conversation with Thomas, and seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him. During his safety check they spoke in hushed monosyllabic sentences; when they fitted him to the lift they didn't even speak to each other, only making hand gestures and signaling what had to be done next.

If someone were to watch such a scene and still remain unconvinced that the humans were acting as such because of their late experiences with Thomas, then they definitely would be when they also notice how the engineers were doing their best to avoid touching Thomas; even during his safety check, as they climbed into his cab and checked his firebox and gauges, they did not stay in there any longer than they had to, scuttling out like they were rabbits with a wolf standing right next to them.

Thomas noticed this about them as well. From what had occurred the previous day I expected at least a twinge of relief from Thomas that they were being careful not to trigger and unwanted memories or anxieties again, but when I took a look at his feelings I saw a blend of emotions that seriously concerned me. Anger, frustration, fear, sadness, ruefulness, flashes of hatred. Yes, my dear listeners, you heard me correctly - Thomas truly felt like he hated the engineers, at least a tad. Why he hated them, his reasons were numerous, diverse, and contradictory. He hated them for avoiding touching him, he hated them for not communicating with him, for taking care of him and speaking to him in the fashion they had been the entire time he'd been in the Steamworks. Perhaps even more bizarre, however, was that my child didn't completely hate them for these things. In fact, part of him actually loved the engineers for them. He loved them for being careful with him, for respecting his past wishes and leaving him be at the same time that he hated them for it.

He went back and forth with himself as he watched them work around him; love or hate, love or hate, love or hate...

The lift maneuvered Thomas into the other room and onto the flatbed I mentioned before. Once the workers made sure that he was secured onto it, they signaled to Paxton's driver, and with that, the little diesel honked his horn and pulled out of the Steamworks.

Thomas blinked a few times and winced silently as the early morning sunlight hit his face for the first time in over half a month's time. He looked around, at the tracks and sheds and signal boxes. He listened to the familiar sounds of a bustling railway, to the wind that sailed past him and grazed over his skin and scars.

But apart from his wincing and blinking, Thomas had no strong reactions to being outside again. His face didn't even twitch when a few engines inevitably passed by, either gasping or whistling or honking or calling an excited hello. He looked down, at the chains holding him to the wooden flatbed, and ruminated more on how he felt about the engineers.

More specifically, how he thought he was supposed to feel about them.

"Victor said that they were just trying to help... but... everything they did only made me feel worse... they couldn't see that nothing they were doing was working.

"But... at the same time... they were still trying to help, weren't they? Isn't that better than not caring at all? And they actually listened to me this morning. They were being so gentle, and they weren't pestering me or asking me if I was 'alright' when I clearly wasn't. They... they were listening.

"But the way they wouldn't even look at me... are they scared of me now? Can't they see that I'M scared myself? I'M scared half to scrap every day because of what happened to me! THEY don't know what it's really like to be scared out of your mind!

"...I was acting really rude though... I just kept yelling at them... only when they were trying to help...

He went back and forth like this, just as he had done before. He couldn't decide which argument was absolutely correct; was he right for yelling at the engineers for ignoring his wishes and showing no sign that they understood his plight? Or was he wrong for such actions? Should he have kept his mouth shut the whole time and just agreed with them when they told him everything would be alright? Even when he felt the opposite was true instead? Should he have tried harder to make the engineers to understand him, without letting his emotions take hold of him? Was that even possible? What should he have done? Should he have done nothing at all?

All of these questions - and so many more - were making his smokebox ache, but he couldn't take his mind off of them. He continued thinking about them the entire journey.

Soon, though, his mind drifted, applying those questions instead to Rosie. Then to Annie and Clarabel. All great friends to him, knowing him far better than any of the engineers did.

He was so focused on his thoughts, in fact, that he didn't notice how uncharacteristically quiet Paxton was as he pulled him along.

Paxton made two stops before their final destination, one at a coal hopper, and the second at a water tower. Paxton's driver filled Thomas's bunker with coal and his boiler with water as quickly as he could, then they were off again. Thomas found himself feeling oddly nostalgic at the feeling of having fuel again; it reminded him of work and his friends and how happy he'd been before he'd gone to the mainland.

It also reminded him of Bob and William, which, once he realized it, made his nostalgia dissipate, replaced with a hollowness that he'd felt all too much as of late.

Paxton took Thomas along the more rural routes, until they came to a siding with an old wooden shed at its end. Thomas hadn't really been expecting a certain place, but he still felt a twinge of disappointment when he finally glanced up and saw the dingy little area; and he didn't even know what part of Sodor he was on anymore, he'd been so distracted by his thoughts. Then he realized he was on one of the lines attached to Edward's branchline, a line so rural that most trains didn't pass through here until the early afternoon.

As Paxton came to a stop just before crossing with the siding, Thomas took a look inside the shed, and who he saw did not help lift his mood at all; a silhouette of a tall, thin man wearing a railway driver's uniform, his mop of hair sticking out from under his cap, his head down and his glasses on his face as he studied a small, unknown item in his hand. Don. The new driver.

I felt Thomas's heart jerk.

This is it, he thought. This is the part where I start getting better.

Don lifted his head when he heard Paxton's driver leap out of his engine's cab. He stepped out of the shed and, when his gaze found Thomas perched on the flatbed, his eyes lit up and his mustache twitched upwards in a grin.

"Oh, that's wonderful," he called as he approached. He put what he'd had in his hand back into his pocket, but not quick enough to keep Thomas from seeing it; it had to be snapped shut, and Thomas caught its golden surface glinting in the sunlight. A pocket watch. He'd been looking at the time as he'd waited for Thomas to arrive.

Thomas wondered for how long he'd been staring at that watch before now. Five minutes? Ten? Twenty?

Thomas never thought that he could become annoyed with someone this quickly after meeting them.

Don addressed Paxton's driver, "Thank you so much for bringing him here, Mister..."

Paxton's driver chuckled and tipped his cap. "Robert Brown," he said. His voice had a slight rasp just as Don's did, except Thomas felt far more comfortable listening to him speak instead. "It's great to meet you, Mr. Jackson. I hope you're enjoying Sodor so far."

Don rumbled a laugh. "Just Don is fine, thank you. And thank you, I'm enjoying it very much. It's just as quaint as I'd imagined. My wife had always told me how wonderful it would be to live here, I'm very pleased that that turned out true."

"Really?" said Robert, sounding genuinely interested, "That's great. Does your wife still enjoy it as much as before you moved here?"

But Don was walking away before Robert could even finish his last sentence.

"Now then," he said briskly, "Let's get this done then, shall we?"

Thomas had been looking away from this interaction, staring at the grass beside the track as he ruminated further on his situation. But when he felt the left side of his flatbed give slightly, he snapped back to attention.

He looked to see Don climbing up onto the flatbed, and when he realized where the man was headed, what he was planning to do, he stiffened, his eyes growing wide.

"Oh no."

This time, if machines had physical hearts, Thomas's would've been pounding out of his frame right then.

Don paid Thomas's reaction no mind, never even glancing at the engine's face to see it. He walked up to Thomas's cab, placed his hands on his buffer beam, and heaved himself into the cab.

Thomas felt as if his boiler was tying itself into knots. He felt like Don's hands were laced with poison, burning his frame and controls. He wanted to scream. He wanted to knock Don out of his cab and test yet again if he could go on without a driver, just so that he'd never feel a human's touch again, never again be reminded of the scars that one of the cruelest humans he'd ever known had given him. He didn't want to be reminded of the numerous reasons why a human's touch now felt so foreign.

I almost thought he would do that, actually; after seeing how much pain the thoughts brought him, I wouldn't have been surprised.

Then, of course, how shocking it was that he didn't, and instead worked to keep himself from doing so.

He tried everything he could to divert his attention away from Don and his thoughts. He looked straight ahead, keeping his jaws shut tight to prevent even the tiniest whine from escaping him.

He still looked angry, however; yes, still because of Don and the situation, but also because of something I had seen only twice before in my young child, but even then they were never nearly as intense as now.

I listened closely to Thomas's thoughts, heard everything that he was telling himself.

Never should a mother have to hear such thoughts coming from her child, such startling, horrid thoughts.

"Just shut up! This is ridiculous! What's the matter with you? You can't go the rest of your life without a driver! You can't live without humans at all! WHY are you still so scared of them!? What happened at the Steelworks was a long time ago, you should have forgotten about it all by now! You do WANT to be useful, don't you!? Then stop complaining and get to work!"

You listeners understand how startling it has been seeing all the changes in my child, but this change certainly startled me the most. To hear such thoughts coming from him...

I truly wish I really was as all-knowing as I am thought to be. I truly do. If I was, I would have ended all of this suffering the instant I saw it on the horizon.

While Don familiarized himself with Thomas's controls, Robert went around to the back of the flatbed and lowered the ramp attached to it. When Don finally reached out and pointed his thumb upwards, Robert nodded and told him that he was all set to go.

Thomas's anxiety came flooding back as his firebox flared to life for the first time in weeks. He suddenly felt out of control, like an invisible hand was moving him to a place he'd never been before and had no idea what to expect from; it did not help that there was an unfamiliar driver in his cab, a man who he'd only met yesterday and already wasn't too fond of him. Despite this however, he still bit his tongue to keep from voicing his panic. His determination to become a normal, useful engine again seemed to almost be punishing him for even the notion that he was nervous.

Still tense, Thomas waited. Then his axels creaked, his frame shuddered as his wheels began to turn.

The fact that he was moving backwards with no vision to see where he was headed did not assuage his fear at all.

It was over in seconds, far quicker than it felt in Thomas's mind; he rolled backwards, down the ramp, until he was off the flatbed and on the siding's tracks. He stopped with a wheesh of steam that actually made Robert start a tad.

"Hmm..." Thomas heard Don muttering to himself, "...Never seen a firebox spark quite like that before. And that steam... hm. Seems a little too forceful. Oh well, no matter. Probably just from lack of use. I can work on that as we go on."

"You can work on that?" Thomas thought with a stab of bitterness, "YOU can work on that?"

Despite his anxious state, he couldn't help reflecting on how glad he was that he didn't have a new fireman as well as a new driver today; he didn't know what he would do if had two of Don in his cab talking about him like that.

Don then leaned out of Thomas's cab and waved to Robert. "Anyway, thank you ever so much for your help, Robert," he said, smiling, "You seem like a nice chap, hope we can stop by a pub sometime?"

Robert chuckled and tipped his cap yet again. "Sure, sure. We'll see. You two take care now. Good luck, Thomas!" He then walked back to his own engine, patting his side as he jumped into his cab.

"Come on then, Paxton," he told the little diesel, "The quarry's waiting for us."

"Oh! Uh..." Paxton stammered, having been lost in his own thoughts the entire time he'd been here, "Y-Yes, Robert. Let's go."

Then Paxton surprised me, truly surprised me; even though he hadn't said anything to his friend the entire journey here, as he began to move onto the main line, he actually smiled and called behind him, "Bye, Thomas. Hope you feel better!"

Thomas didn't reply. He barely even heard Paxton. He was far too busy thinking about Don.

Speaking of which, when Paxton and his flatbed were finally out of view, the man himself cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Now, then, it's about time we got to work. I'll be both your driver and fireman, for now. Until Sir Topham Hatt hires a new fireman to work with me. He said that it would be easier if you practiced with only me first, less stressful. And we need to begin with short-distance tracks as well; I understand that you have worked on this railway for years now, but you've never done it with only one eye, so that's what we'll be working on today. There's another siding up ahead to the left, where your blind spot is, just a few yards away, so we'll just practice going past that for now. And I need to report everything back to Sir Topham so he can document the progress, but I don't think you'll be much trouble. We need to work quickly, and diligently. Do you understand?"

Thomas hesitated. He thought about refusing - "He's speaking to me as if I'm a CHILD" - but before he could do so he blurted, "Yes sir. I understand sir."

Don grunted "Good," and with that, went back into Thomas's cab and scooped some extra coal into the little engine's firebox.

I'd noticed ever since I first saw Don that he seemed to have a very casual air about him. His conversations with Thomas so far lacked any empathy or compassion, though he hadn't sounded mean either; he just seemed both indifferent and determined at the same time, he wasn't worried about Thomas or his job, but he still acted professional and wanted to do the job well. There truly isn't a better word to describe him: he was very casual, very laid-back.

It occurred to me that he probably believed that Thomas felt the same way, that he would cooperate with his new driver immediately and give him no trouble at all. He hadn't noticed any of Thomas's signs of distress, or, if he had, he didn't seem to believe that it would be a problem.

So I can only imagine the surprise it gave him when it turned out that this job would not be as smooth as he'd wanted.

Thomas moved just a few feet out of the siding when things began to turn awry. Don kept a hand on the wall inside the cab, steadying himself while Thomas chugged along at a steady pace, and kept his eyes on the tracks ahead through one of Thomas's windows when his attention turned yet again to Thomas's firebox. He looked down, at the sparks emanating from the flames, and he frowned. It was the second time that day that he had seen such a sight.

Don shrugged and turned his attention back to the window, but a sharp hiss and a clatter on the floor made him look again. Then, for the first time since talking to Robert a little bit ago, his casual demeanor shifted, except this time he gasped and jumped at what he saw.

A hot coal was lying in the middle of the cab floor, having leaped out of Thomas's firebox, tiny wisps of flame still surrounding it.

At this, Don looked truly perturbed for once since I'd first seen him. His brow furrowed, and his mustache quivered as he let out a huff. He grabbed the coal shovel leaning against the wall and used it to flick the coal back into the firebox, and then he yanked down on Thomas's brake lever.

"Oi! Thomas!"

"What- !?" Thomas cried out. He hadn't been expecting his brakes to go off right now, it startled him so much that three more hot coals jumped onto his cab floor. He heard Don exclaiming, and his boiler felt as if he had an entire school of fish swimming around in it.

Once Thomas came to a halt, Don leaped out of his cab and marched up to the engine's front, his arms folded and his face reminding me of a couple other disgruntled workers I'd seen on railways other than Sodor.

"Oi," Don snapped again, looking up at Thomas's face, "what's going on here, eh?"

Thomas swallowed hard, his good eye looking Don up and down. "Um... wh-what do you mean, sir?"

"What's going on with your firebox, eh?" Don gestured towards Thomas's cab as he spoke. "It's going absolutely bonkers in there! Don't tell me Sir Topham forgot to tell me that you have a faulty firebox too!"

The surprise that Don's abrupt actions had invoked in him drained from Thomas's face right then. He furrowed his own brows. "...My firebox isn't faulty, sir, not at a- "

"Then why is it spitting coals at me, sparking at me, for God's sake!?" Now Don sounded well and truly angry. He pointed an accusing finger at Thomas. "You'd better stop that or you won't be seeing me again anytime soon!"

Thomas was thinking "What a blessing" at the second half of Don's final sentence, but his boiler jolted when he realized what he'd said before that. He shot Don an incredulous look. "Beg your pardon?" he stumbled.

Don rolled his eyes like he couldn't believe Thomas had asked him that. He then shut his eyes and put a hand to his chest, taking in a deep breath and letting it out in a quick sigh. "Alright, look," he said in a slightly calmer voice, though from his choice of words it was obvious he was still frustrated, "if you want to keep misbehaving like this, that's fine. But just know that it means that you won't have a driver to help you become useful again. You machines all do want to be use- ?"

"What?" Thomas interrupted, flabbergasted, "Of course I want to be useful again!"

"Then why in God's name are you throwing coals at- ?"

"I'm not doing that!" Thomas snapped, "I have no control over what my firebox does! I- !"

"Well, whatever's making it do that, could you please just try to control it? You can't tell me you engines have no control over your bodies whatsoever!"

Thomas narrowed his eyes, clenching his teeth. He stared down at Don for a long time. He realized that this man simply wasn't going to listen to him, and he muttered, "...Fine... sir..."

Don nodded. "Good. Right then," he grunted, walked back to Thomas's cab, "Now, let's do this a little more smoothly, shall we?"

Thomas didn't respond. He looked straight ahead, at the horizon in the distance, that grumpy expression on his face unwavering.

Perhaps it was just the stress of observing these recent events making my imagination run wild, but I swear for a split second I saw a spark of flame flash in Thomas's blind eye.

They continued on. Thomas moved at a steady pace, keeping his eye on the tracks and on his destination. Even though what he'd said wasn't false - those flung coals were involuntary, a side effect of his mounting anxiety in that moment - he tried his best to calm down enough to prevent it from happening again. But quite contrary to what he wanted, I sensed his anxiety growing even stronger when he tried this, even more so because he was also trying to focus on just far too many things - where he was going, the coal in his firebox staying put, steadying himself so that his now-off-balance depth perception wouldn't make him panic - my poor child was stressing himself out so much.

From sheer force of luck, because it certainly wasn't from Thomas's efforts actually working, the rest of the journey passed without any more problems. Thomas's firebox had still sparked, and some coals were tossed about more forcefully in there, but none had leaped at Don's feet. Thomas stopped at the siding and released the large breath he'd been holding, a blast of steam streaming out from behind his wheels.

Don poked his head out of Thomas's cab once he'd halted. "Hmm," he said, producing his pocket watch again, "...took a tad longer than I'd wanted, but good on ya for stopping your firebox's nonsense. Right then, let's head back now."

Thomas said nothing, because what could he really say to a man who rarely asked what he thought or felt?

Heading back to the shed was just as, if not slightly more, stressful for Thomas as traveling to that siding had been. I understood perfectly why without even needing to check his thoughts; moving backwards was always a tad more difficult for machines than moving forwards, that much should be obvious, but of course it would be even more difficult with one of your five senses permanently damaged and a man that you don't even like at your controls.

Thomas tried telling himself that it would be over soon, tried retreating into a small daydream to distract from the discomfort; but alas, when his mind began to wander to the memories that he'd rather forget, he ceased his attempts at distraction.

He rolled back into the siding and the shed just as the first train that day thundered down the line.

Don hopped out of Thomas's cab then, told him he'd be back the next day, they'll work even harder tomorrow, he should take care now.

And then he left, shutting the shed doors behind him before Thomas could say anything else, leaving the little engine in a cloak of darkness.

Thomas sat there for the rest of the day. He heard the birds chirping outside, heard the wind whistling through the small cracks in the shed's wooden foundation. He listened for the trains that would rumble past; steam whistles peeped, diesel horns blasted, wooden boxes rattled, passengers chattered and tittered. He wondered who any of the engines were. Were those his friends out there? Was it Edward? Or Percy? Emily? Henry? Rosie? James? Or even Gordon, of all engines? Was it any of them going by, never giving that siding or that dingy old shed a second thought, rushing past it completely oblivious that one of their good friends was locked in there in the dark with no one to talk to?

At some points Thomas squinted at the gap between the shed doors, which provided him with some semblance of light, trying to snatch a glimpse of any of the engines' identities. Each attempt only made his smokebox ache from the concentration.

Eventually, around mid-afternoon, Thomas closed his eyes as if he was sleeping. He might've been able to trick someone into believing he really was sleeping, had his brow not been furrowed and his jaw not been clenched. Then he clenched his jaw even tighter, squeezing his eyes shut tighter and twisting his face into a grimace that, when I saw it, my mouth opened in a gasp and an icy chill snaked through my frame.

I had seen that face on him before. It was an expression full of struggle and pain and hurt, an expression he'd worn often during his captivity at the Steelworks, when his grueling days finally came to a close and the workers left him in the shed they'd chosen for him, away from the main building, in the shadows of the trees that loomed behind the fences that surrounded the area.

What happened next reminded me of those moments as well, except this time I felt like I was watching a perfect recreation of what would occur during those evenings.

Thomas's frame began to tremble. His lips parted to reveal just how hard he was clenching his teeth, his every breath and ragged.

His throat tightened; he could feel the tears building behind his good eye.

"N-No... S-Stop... S-S-Stop it..." he mumbled through his teeth, his voice strained, "J-Just... J-J-Just stop it...! S-S...S-Stop crying... Just s-stop crying, you silly engine...! J-Just... No... N-No, stop... stop crying..."

For me, this is definitely one of the most heartbreaking moments in this story, when I realized how consistently Thomas kept redirecting his anger.

At first he would be angry at the Steelworks manager, the engines and workers there who were responsible for his current state. But then he would forget about them and become furious with the Steamworks engineers, with Victor, Sir Topham Hatt, everyone on the island; he would quietly curse them and resent them for their reactions to his turmoil, believing that they were treating it all the wrong way even though he himself had no idea how to properly do so. As he'd sat in the shed Thomas redirected his anger at Don after that; he couldn't even think of the man without feeling disgusted.

He went back and forth on who he was upset at the most, who he should really blame for all the pain he was going through.

But then his boiler churned and his heart hardened when he thought about it further, thought about how there was one other person he could blame for this:

Himself.

I'm afraid I'm not jesting, my dear listeners; as Thomas listened to the other engines doing their jobs while he was all alone in his dingy little shed, he was snapping at himself for daring to feel upset about it. He felt that he didn't deserve any tears, he didn't deserve the comfort that he craved. He felt foolish, stupid, dumb, like he was the reason for the entire world's problems. He thought back to before all of this, when everything was good and right and perfect, and determined that if he'd just done something different, then he could avoided this pain he was causing himself and his friends.

He thought that, if he hadn't taken James's goods train for the mainland to prove he was worthy enough to be Sir Topham's favorite, then all of this wouldn't have happened.

If he just hadn't done that, then everything would still be alright. He would still be working with Annie and Clarabel on his branchline. His friends would still surround him. He would still be happy. Nightmares wouldn't plague him every night. Horrid memories wouldn't attack him when he would try to push them away. His eye wouldn't be damaged and his face wouldn't be scarred. Sir Topham Hatt would still talk to him.

Bob and William would still be around.

I wanted to snap him out of this. I wanted to comfort him and show him what I already knew, that he shouldn't ever blame himself for what had happened, that no one could have predicted that his one decision would lead to his and his past crew's fates.

My temptation was so strong that, when he finally drifted to sleep that evening, I was one wheel-turn away from rushing into his dreamscape and embracing him as if he'd been built just yesterday.

I stopped myself before I could. I knew how he'd react if he saw me again; as much as it pained me, if I appeared to him then I would have only made him feel worse. He didn't need to see me, not after the last time.

I knew exactly what it felt like to believe that you're the cause of everyone's problems.

~x~

Thomas did sleep that night, but he was restless and tense. He couldn't recall any of his dreams when he woke, thank goodness, but he felt as if he'd barely slept at all. He was still yawning when Don arrived, though the man said nothing about it. He simply gave the little engine a quick hello, and then climbed into his cab and instructed him on what to do.

The next couple of days followed the same routine as that first day; Thomas woke up, Don arrived and lit his firebox, they rode along the rails for the bulk of the morning, and then Don left him in the shed with the doors shut and Thomas listened to the outside noise until evening, when he'd shut his eyes and wait for some semblance of sleep to come to him.

Although the days were relatively peaceful, they were certainly not even close to good. Every day Thomas rode a little further down the line successfully, but Don kept noticing small flaws and scolded him for them, always reminding him that he would report it to Sir Topham Hatt later. Thomas always acknowledged Don's complaints, promising to do his best next time. As he promised this I always heard him snapping mental curses at himself for not working hard enough at this. But Thomas had been working hard, he had been doing his best the whole time, I had seen all of it. He was doing the best he could for the state he was in; his fatigue hindered his ability to focus, his anxiety made it even harder to connect with Don's driving and keep steady on the rails. Had Don been more knowledgeable on how machines work he might've noticed this, but of course he never did. He just carried on doing his job as he seemed to believe.

Some of you might be wondering about something I said earlier, about how Thomas had felt powerful after shouting his point of view at Rosie and his coaches, how he'd wanted to feel that way for the rest of his life. What happened to that, Lady? some of you must be asking. If Thomas really wanted to be in control again, then why isn't he snapping back at Don when he's made it clear that he hates the man and would stay in that shed for the rest of time if it meant he never had to see his face again?

I understand your questions, dear listeners; I wondered the same thing until I looked closer. I saw how much he wanted to go back to how it was before; he wanted to go back to work and forget as much of this horrible experience as he could. He wanted to at least feel normal. He realized that working with Don was how he would get to that point, and so despite his strong dislike he held his tongue and refused to complain.

But these conditions he set for himself only worsened his mood even more. As the saying goes, an unhappy engine can't be really useful, and this certainly proved it.

And my child really should have realized that he couldn't stay complacent forever. He hadn't with Rosie, he hadn't with Annie and Clarabel, and he definitely didn't with the engineers at the Steamworks.

It was all too certain to happen again.

~x~

On the fifth morning of his training, Thomas slept in a little longer than usual. He still didn't wake up feeling very restful, but he stayed asleep for another hour nonetheless, one hour later than when Don usually arrived.

He finally snapped awake when the shed doors swung open with a loud creak.

As you have heard before, Thomas already wasn't pleased to see the man again. But right then, when Thomas saw his face, a pang of fear twinged in his boiler.

Because Don did not look happy. Not at all. He walked past Thomas as if he didn't exist, scowling at the ground and grumbling to himself with his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Um..." Thomas piped up as Don climbed into his cab, "...what's the matter, sir? Did something happe- ?"

"The damn traffic, that's what happened!" Don growled, making Thomas start, "Blindin', some- some people, I swear! Why can't they just pay attention to the bloody road!? Then they wouldn't have any accidents and make it harder for the rest of us to live!"

A chill went through Thomas's frame upon hearing this. "...An accident, sir?"

Don scoffed as he shoved coal from Thomas's bunker into his firebox. "The bloody twit wasn't looking at the road at all! He wouldn't have spun out if he'd just paid attention like a normal person! I just can't believe how stupid some people are!" He hawked and spat out the doorway of Thomas's cab. "Ugh... he deserved that accident, if you ask me..."

A loud gasp burst from Thomas's throat; he never thought to resist or stifle it, he was that shocked by Don's words.

"Uh- Uh- " It took a moment before Thomas found his voice again. "...H-He... h-how could he possibly deserve it, sir?" he asked, incredulous, "He only made a mistake, a-a-and... th-that's not something that- !"

"Any mistakes you make are your own fault," Don hissed, "You should be logical, think before you do anything, that way you don't become an idiot." He groaned under his breath, shaking his head as he checked Thomas's gauges.

"...at least he won't be causing any more damage anymore, not for a long time..."

Don muttered this just loud enough that, regardless if he intended so, Thomas heard every ounce of venom dripping from his voice.

Thomas gaped, his mind racing with a million thoughts. Then, his entire face shifted. His brow furrowed and his eyes were set ablaze; inside of him, a hurricane raged.

"Sir." The word came out like a stab. "Nobody deserves an accident. Not even someone who- "

"But enough chattering," Don interrupted, yanking hard on the string to Thomas's whistle, "we have work to do, remember?"

"No, sir!" Thomas snapped, "You can't seriously think that -!"

"I said, enough!" Don snapped back, "Now, let's go."

With that, without waiting for Thomas to respond, Don drove Thomas out of the shed.

It isn't that Thomas wanted to respond, though. What Don had said rendered him speechless. He took great big breaths, ground his teeth together to keep himself from screaming. Although Thomas is not at all a violent engine, even he knew that, he could not help thinking about how he wanted nothing more than to toss the man clear from his cab.

He remembered what Don had told him before, that it was Sir Topham Hatt's idea to hire him as his new driver - the controller who'd taken care of Thomas for almost his entire life, who took great care of all of his engines like they were his own children, who was always just and fair and kind whenever they made a mistake or had an accident - he thought that this man would be a good driver for him.

Sir Topham Hatt would never even think to lay a single finger on Thomas; anyone who spent five minutes with the man understood that. But despite that, when he thought about how he'd seemed to believe giving him a driver like this was a good idea, in that moment Thomas felt like Sir Topham had whipped his face himself.

"Alrighty then," Don barked once Thomas reached the piece of track that met the main line, "Let's get this done. And..." His voice sharpened. "I can't believe I have to say this to you, but- you really need to get your act together! I expect you to actually try to make this painless, alright?"

Thomas blinked. "Pardon?"

Don let out a rough sigh. "It's been five days and you're still stubborn as a donkey! Your rides aren't comfortable, your controls are far hotter than they ought to be, your firebox still looks like the fires of hell... You do know that I'm telling Sir Topham Hatt all about this, don't you?"

"I already told you sir, that's not my fault!" Thomas cried, his voice cracking a tad from his desperation for the man to just listen to him for once, "That's never been my fault! I'm just a bit nervo- !"

"You need to be ready for work again by the end of the month, do you know that!?" Don retorted, "If you can't control it, then find a way to, because I am not losing this job just because you can't be arsed to cooperate!"

It took everything in Thomas to keep from screaming. "...Sir, it's not that simple," he said through clenched teeth, "I... Sir Topham must've told you... I- just a few weeks ago, I was- "

Don pushed my poor child onto the main line before he could finish speaking.

And just like that, Thomas's anger dissipated, replaced with cold, choking dread.

Thomas stared wide-eyed at the tracks as he rolled over them, felt his mouth going dry. His breathing came in shallow heaves. He felt as though an invisible hand was shoving him forwards, into a dark forest where the fog left everything within up to cruel imagination.

And, as you'd expect, Thomas's imagination was unrelenting in it's cruelty in that moment.

Despite how futile this tactic was, Thomas let his mind spin with the thought "Calmdowncalmdowncalmdown..."

"Uh-Uh-Uh, S-Sir? Don?" Thomas's panic made his voice shake, "I- I really don't think I should- "

But he stopped. He heard muttering coming from his cab, and realized that Don was still more concerned with expressing his anger than listening to his engine's concerns.

"Unbelievable... such disrespect..." Don was hissing, pronouncing every word as if ensuring that Thomas could still hear him, "...I just can't understand why Sir Topham would keep you for so long... Can't believe he thinks you're a 'good engine', pah! If only he could see all the trouble you're causing me..."

Thomas tried to keep his attention on the tracks, took in huge gulps of air in a feeble attempt to calm his lurching boiler.

"Just don't listen to him," Thomas tried to reassure himself, "He's probably just still angry about the traffic this morning... He doesn't really think all of that... he's just upset, let him be upset..."

"You machines think you own the world," Don continued his tirade, "you don't get how much we sacrifice for your ungrateful hides!"

"It's okay, just calm down, it'll be all over soon..."

"We take such good care of you, but you never take the time to return the favor! You're too self-absorbed to behave well for the ones who decide when you're not needed anymore!"

"Getting upset will only make him worse, just hold yourself together..."

"Your Sir Topham Hatt is far too soft on you all. He lets you think you can do whatever you want, do brainless and horrid things with no concern for consequences! He doesn't even punish you, does he? He ought to wake up and keep you in line like he's supposed to!"

"You Sudrian engines have it EASY. You haven't one CLUE what real pain feels like!"

"What?" Thomas asked aloud, staring out at the distance as if he'd been snapped out of a trance.

That's not what I think it is, he thought with a trembling heart, just ignore it, it's nothing...

"Do you honestly believe that you're anywhere close to a human's equal? You're delusional, tank engine. You're a machine, a product of human engineering, built to make people's lives easier."

Oh no.

Anxiety flooded Thomas's boiler.

It's happening.

He kept hearing them: voices from the dark pits of his memory, reverberating alongside Don's complaining like an echo.

Just keep it together, everything's fine, you're safe now-

"Your controller has been lying to you. You're not someone to worry about, you're not someone to take care of. You're not someone at all. You have no rights to say so."

"You wouldn't know what to do with yourselves if we weren't here, would you? You depend on us so much, but so many of you can't even see it! Blindin'..."

"We built you, for us and only us. You're NOTHING without us. You're lucky if anyone uses you at all."

"If you really cared about being put to work, you'd stop being so difficult."

"Give up that stupid, disgusting fantasy! It's not real! THIS is real! They don't care about you! They only care about using you until you're a heap of scrap and rust!"

Just focus on the tracks, you're fine, come on Thomas, it's nothing, just stop it, just stop thinking about-

"If you don't stop this nonsense, do you know what will happen? You won't work here or anywhere ever again, that's what!"

"Real humans don't care about machines... we're their slaves, built to cater to their every whim, and if we can't do it, there's no stopping them from torturing us for it!"

He heard the shouts. He heard the curses. He felt the scorching heat of molten slag.

Just keep it together-

"I can't put it any other way, tank engine."

"You think you know fear, little tank engine!? Or pain!? I'll show you fear! I'll show you what it's REALLY like to be a machine!"

He felt the sting of the whip in his face. He felt his left eye sear with agony.

"If you don't do as you're told, you'll be scrapped."

Hold it in-

"You'll be done, finished. You'll never have the chance to work ever again."

He listened to his own deafening screams.

Stop it-

"Nothing but a heap of metal to build stronger, even better engines with."

Stop-

"This is just the way things are. We can't do anything about it."

Make it stop-

"Do you understand me, now?"

"We do NOT tolerate disobedient engines here..."

Make it STOP-

"I said, do you understand?"

"You deserve something far, FAR worse..."

Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeit-

"For God's sake, tank engine! Just answer me- !"

"NO!"

Thomas finally let out the scream he'd been holding in, the boiler-wrenching scream of an engine who felt he was being attacked by dozens of merciless creatures. He screeched to a halt so hard that sparks flew from his wheels, so hard that, within his cab, Don lurched forwards and let out a shout and a curse as he grabbed the door to keep himself upright.

Thomas panted heavily, his eyes wide open and his cheeks a harsh red. Streams of steam surrounded his wheels like a storm cloud.

A moment passed before Don opened the cab door and hopped out. He stomped towards Thomas's front, leaping away and swearing when he tried to walk through Thomas's steam; it was hotter and more powerful than he'd seen from the little engine thus far.

"Alright, that really is it, tank engine!" Don bellowed as he stood in front of Thomas, "You almost threw me onto the tracks, you did! What the dickens are you thinki- !?"

"I BLOODY HATE YOU!"

Don flinched at this, and so did I. Yet again I felt like I was looking at a totally different engine; my sweet little Thomas had never used such language before, and I wanted to believe that he never would.

But there it was. It happened.

"You just can't leave me alone, CAN YOU!?" Thomas shrieked, his voice breaking like a tree branch. His bottom lip trembled, but his eyes glowed with wild embers. "NONE of you can! Is that really all I am to you!? Is that really what you humans all think!? That I'm just a tool!? Just some piece of scrap metal that you can TREAD ALL OVER!?"

Don stared as if the little engine had just called him something quite vulgar. But he seemed to recover quickly, much quicker than I would have expected him to; he stood straighter, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow at Thomas like he was about to scold a screaming spoiled child, rather than a young engine terrified out of his wits.

"I'm only telling you the truth! You're my engine, mine! You belong to the railway! You are a tool for us! You help us to live! That's why you have to- !"

"You don't care about me!" Thomas spat back, interrupting Don, "You never did! You don't care what's happened to me! You don't care that I'm unhappy! That I'm terrified of you! Just- WHY!? WHY can't you see!? WHY can't you see me!? I have a voice! I have a face! I scream when you frighten me, I cry when you berate me! I'm a machine but I'm still alive! I'm alive just like you! I'M JUST LIKE YOU BUT NONE OF YOU WANT TO SEE THAT!"

"Don't you dare scream at me!" Don barked, his voice rising to match Thomas's, "I see that you're alive! But I also see that you're not working hard enough- !"

"I AM WORKING HARD!" Thomas wheeshed hard, sending another blast of burning steam in Don's direction, making the man flinch and leap backwards again. "I'm working harder than I ever have in my entire life! But it's not enough for you, is it!? It's never enough! So you shout at me, curse at me, you- you beat me, you torture me, and nothing can stop you!"

"What the bloody hell are you goin on about now!?" Now Don was shouting as well, far louder and far harsher than he'd done while scolding Thomas on their very first day of training. "I haven't beat you at all! I've been trying to help you! You- !"

"Trying to help me!?" Thomas demanded, his voice dripping with venom, "You mean trying to help yourself!?"

"What on Earth do you want me to say to that!? 'No'!? Of course I'm trying to help myself! This is my job, and I want to keep it! And I'm not letting some stupid, stubborn- bastard little engine ruin that for me!"

"Have you ever thought about why I'm so stubborn!? Why I'm so angry!? Why I'm so afraid to- !?"

"You've got a big mouth for such a little twit..." Don hissed. He pointed an accusatory finger at Thomas. "You know why I'm here! It's not my job to cuddle you and make you happy- that's no one's job at all! It never has been! My job is to drive you, not to babysit you!"

"It's not babysitti- !"

"That's why I'm here! Nothing else! Your controller never hired me to take care of y- !"

"I ALREADY KNOW HOW MUCH YOU DON'T CARE!" Thomas's voice grew shriller, breaking in two yet again. "You don't care about me, you don't care how I'm feeling, you don't care that you're hurting me- You don't care about anything! You never cared about- !"

"DON'T- !" Now, it appeared as if something snapped inside of Don. In an instant he changed; he looked like he was trying to mimic Thomas.

"Don't- Don't you dare- !" Don's face turned red as a beet, twisted and twitching as his disbelieving anger took hold of him. "...Don't you DARE say I don't care about anything! What do you know about caring, tank engine!? You don't- "

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!"

Don had seemed fully prepared to continue his tirade, but when this came out of Thomas's mouth...

...I do not blame Don for how he reacted. I reacted the exact same way.

"STOP IT! STOP IT!" Thomas screamed again, sounding just like - there truly is no other way to describe it, he sounded like he was being murdered. Don immediately stopped talking, his eyes widening and a sharp gasp escaping him as he flinched a wheel-turn's length away. He snapped his arms to his chest, his hands forming tight fists, as if he expected the little engine to rush and attack him.

But he couldn't see that Thomas would never truly hurt him, he wouldn't ever hurt anyone, even in this state; but I certainly understand, from the point of view of a human with very limited experience with machines, such a thought is not invalid.

As I watched the scene unfold, I too felt scared; scared for both Don and poor Thomas. My dear child squeezed his eyes shut, his entire frame shaking now as he screamed and sobbed and whimpered, "I'M THOMAS- MY NAME IS THOMAS! STOP IT... STOP IT! I'M NOT YOUR ENGINE! LEAVE ME ALONE! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE! JUST STAY AWAY!"

Seeing my poor boy so upset, so distraught and so overwhelmed with terror sent a chill through my frame, made my firebox freeze up, and speared through my heart all at once. I always curse myself for my powerlessness, always pine for fate to be merciful and let me help my children in their moments of strife, especially when such moments leave them as broken as Thomas was right then; it only makes me all the more devastated when I realize for the millionth time that I am truly useless to the machines and the humans that I love so dearly.

Thankfully, Thomas's panic only lasted a few seconds. But that did not mean that things would be alright.

A single voice rang out in the area, silencing Thomas and making both him and Don snap to attention. Don whipped around to where it had come from, and his mouth dropped open at who he saw, just as Thomas did.

The owner of the voice said it again, loud and clear in the sudden silence:

"...Thomas?"

It was Sir Topham Hatt. He was staring wide-eyed at the scene in front of him, his eyes glancing from Thomas to Don and back again, looking as if he was making sure that his eyes weren't playing a trick on him. He was leaning out of the cab of, of all engines, Percy. His face was deathly pale, and just like Sir Topham, he stared with eyes as big as tea saucers and his mouth hanging in a gape like he thought he was dreaming. Unlike Sir Topham, however, he only had his attention on Thomas - and, the longer he stared, the more his eyes turned glassy and the more his bottom lip quivered.

I looked into the little engine's mind, and saw that he thought he was looking at a complete stranger.

The silence hung in the air like fog as Sir Topham hopped out of Percy's cab, his two assistants, Evan and Gerald, following close behind. As he approached closer Don began to tense and stutter apologies, but then he stopped when his new boss walked right past him. Sir Topham never even gave him a glance, as if he didn't exist at all.

Don looked rather offended at this, but then his offense turned to confusion. He watched the railway controller, his employer, his new boss, approached the little engine who'd just been screaming at him.

Thomas didn't react as Sir Topham moved closer to him. He looked as if his panic had drained his energy, with his brow creased with stress and his right cheek slick with tears, but he still kept his attention trained on his controller, his widened good eye looking him up and down.

"Thomas..." Sir Topham's gentle voice reflected the emotion his facial expression; he stared up at his engine with a knitted brow, worry shining in his eyes. He began to raise his right arm as he approached, his fingers extended.

"Thomas," he said, "...what on Earth happened?"

Thomas blinked, his eyes now fixated on Sir Topham's outstretched arm. Sir Topham was still bombarding him with questions - "Are you alright? Did something frighten you? Are you hurt? What made you scream like that?" - but Thomas wasn't listening anymore. He watched him walk closer, watched him reach out further with every step he took, but then he realized that he was reaching out to touch his buffer beam and then he remembered that this was the man who had decided that Don would be a good driver for him.

"Thomas," Sir Topham was saying. A small smile was forming on his lips. "It's alright now. What happened, my boy? You can tell me- "

"YOU."

Sir Topham stumbled backwards as if he'd been punched, his smile disappearing. His arm snapped protectively to his chest. His face turned as pale as Percy's and his mouth dropped open as a sharp gasp escaped him. The worry in his eyes disappeared, replaced with disbelief and undeniable fear.

Everyone in the area - Percy, and all the humans who accompanied him - reacted just as Sir Topham did. If you were to ask me, I would say that they all looked frightened for their very lives.

Thomas was staring at his controller with a steel-piercing glare. He was panting again, but this time it was from the strain his fury was causing him. His teeth were bared, making him look like - dare I say it - a provoked animal.

Infernos swirled in both of his eyes.

"You..." Thomas growled again. Then, in a furious roar: "...WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?"

"I- I- Thomas, I- ?" Sir Topham's voice boomed as usual, but I still detected his slight stutter. He'd never witnessed anything like this from Thomas, but I reckon he'd never seen such behavior in any machine until now. "I- What are you- ?"

"You're supposed to protect me!" Thomas wailed, making Sir Topham flinch again, "How could you do this to me!? I've worked so hard- I've worked so hard for you my whole life! Just- WHY!? Why would you give me him!? Do you hate me too!?"

"Wh- Whoa now, Thomas," Sir Topham tried again. He held his hands out as if to protect himself from his engine. "What do you mean? Who are you talking abo- ?"

"You knew! You knew he was horrible, but you still made him my driver!" Thomas's voice broke on the final word in that sentence. He choked on an involuntary sob, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath in a hopeless effort to hold it in.

"...Did you always hate me...?" he cried, in a far smaller voice than before, "D-Do you hate me so much that you'd let him drive me...? A-After everything I've done... Y-Y-You're just going to let him hurt me...!?"

Comprehension finally dawned on Sir Topham's face - and with it came the same guilt that I had seen on him the day he'd formed his deal with the machine psychologist.

"That... That's- Thomas, that's not true!" Sir Topham said, "What on Earth gave you the idea- ? Thomas, I don't hate you at all! I've never hated you! I only hired - ?"

"Then why do you want to get rid of me?"

Thomas's cold question hit them all like a gust of freezing wind; Sir Topham quickly shut his mouth, freezing to the spot, just as everyone behind him did the same.

Thomas had his eyes open again; the flames had returned to them. Thomas glared daggers at his controller, the rough breaths in his throat sounding like a low growl.

"You're going to get rid of me... I-I'm not useful... He keeps telling you I'm not useful, even though I did my best! But if I'm not better right away, then- then- "

"Thomas- "

"Then you're done with me!" Thomas spat, "You'll just- send me away, throw me out like a piece of rubbish! Is that all I am to you now!? Just a piece of rubbish!?"

"No! Now you're just being ridiculous!" Sir Topham snapped back, his voice rising to match Thomas's, "If I really hated you, then why would I- ?"

"Then why is he my driver!?" Thomas snarled, his glare flitting towards Don briefly before returning to his controller, "Why do you keep letting him yell at me!? Frighten me!? Hurt me!? Why do you keep hurting me!?"

"Alright, that's- !"

"You know I'm not alright! I'll never be alright ever again because of him! Why would you let him near me when you knew he would just keep hurting me like the Steelworks manager did!?"

"Sir." Topham's assistants rushed up behind him, a steely expression on Evan's face while Gerald only looked nervous.

"Sir," Evan said again. He reached out and grabbed Sir Topham's arm. "We need to get out of here, he's not- "

"No!" Sir Topham smacked Evan's hand away the instant his assistant's fingers grazed his sleeve. He never took his eyes off of the little blue tank engine right in front of him. "Thomas, you've got the wrong idea! I only hired Don because- !"

"I'll be scrapped if I'm sent away!" Thomas's voice rose into a scream, "You don't love me- you'd never love a damaged engine!"

"You're not damaged, you just need some extra help to- !"

"After everything I've done for you- !"

"Thomas, just listen to yourse- !"

"-you're just going to let them scrap me!?"

"Is this really what Bob and William would've wanted you to- !?"

"BOB AND WILLIAM ARE DEAD!"

Once again, Thomas's cry stunned Sir Topham and his colleagues into shocked silence. For the first time since he'd arrived in the area Sir Topham actually looked afraid of his little engine. I cannot deny that I felt the same way; Thomas had screamed that grim truth just as he'd screamed at Don to leave him alone, a scream that curdles the blood of organic creatures and turns the oil within machines' inner workings to ice.

Thomas reacted to his own words as if he'd been slapped. His face crumpled, and as his gaze drifted to his buffer beam a new wave of tears filled his good eye.

"They're dead... Th-They're dead..." Thomas repeated, another involuntary sob escaping him. He didn't continue speaking like I expected him to - he simply sat there, quietly weeping, his anger at Don and Sir Topham forgotten and replaced with the all-too fresh grief for his previous crew. He'd been working ever so hard to forget about what had befallen them. He'd tried all he could to keep the horrid memory from entering his mind again. But now that he'd verbalized it, heard it clearly in his own voice, that fact - that Bob and William, the driver and fireman who'd known Thomas the longest, who'd taken care of him ever since he'd been built, were dead - it struck him just as hard and as painfully as the whip that the Steelworks manager had lashed him with.

The ensuing silence, broken in spurts by Thomas's hiccuping sobs, stretched a tad longer than I'd expected. I observed the humans as they watched him, noticed the worry and pity on Evan and Gerald's faces, the guilt on Sir Topham's, and the stunned confusion on Don's. I wondered who would act next. I wondered if the gears were turning in any of their minds, working to figure out how they could fix this.

I do not know if that was the case for Don, Evan, or Gerald, but I can certainly propose that Sir Topham had been thinking so.

After listening to a quarter of a minute of my child's crying, I saw Sir Topham furrow his brow. He set his jaw and straightened his hat. Anyone unfamiliar with the man's personality might misinterpret this as preparation for one of his scoldings, but one look at the determination in his eyes would amend that in an instant.

Evan noticed and muttered "Sir, don't," but Sir Topham didn't acknowledge him. I doubt he even heard the chap, with how focused he was on his objective.

He outstretched his arm again and began walking towards Thomas before anyone could protest further.

He was just one wheel-turn away from Thomas's buffers when the little engine suddenly looked up. Thomas had heard his controller's shoes crunching the stones between the tracks, had realized with a jolt that someone was coming. He pulled free from his grief and fell back into reality and he saw Sir Topham's hand and he saw how close he was to him and right then I realized with a sinking boiler that things were about to get much, much worse.

"Thomas, it's alri- "

Sir Topham barely had time to jump away when Thomas jolted forwards, his buffer beam striking his controller in the chest and knocking him to the ground.

"STAY AWAY FROM ME!" Thomas screeched, his voice so raw that it sounded as if his anger hadn't disappeared at all.

Evan and Gerald and Don all let out simultaneous gasps, Gerald's hand flying over his mouth. Don stood in place, paralyzed, a deer caught in an engine's headlamp, which Evan and Gerald rushed to their boss's aid.

"Sir, I told you! We need to get out of here! He's not right!"

Sir Topham seemed to be deaf to Evan's warnings once again. While his assistant helped lift him to his feet again he just stared at Thomas in horror, his jaw working like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the proper words.

A small "Thomas..." was the only thing he could muster.

Once Sir Topham was standing again, Evan shot a glare back at Thomas. "Alright, that really is it, Thomas!" he snapped, then, addressing Sir Topham again, "Sir, this is serious! We have to report- !"

"No!" Sir Topham's frustration returned, making him shove his assistant's hands off of him once more. "We can't! I'm not giving up on him! Thomas, please- !"

"You're a monster!" Thomas interrupted with a snarl. Clouds of hot steam roiled between his wheels. His good eye was red - from his tears or from his fury, not even I could be sure. "You... You're disgusting! You're all horrible monsters! No! Get away from me! Just GO AWAY! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST STAY AWAY!?"

The more Sir Topham pleaded with the emotional engine, the more anxious the humans that accompanied them appeared.

"Sir, this isn't a good idea, he could seriously hurt you!" This actually came from Peter, who, along with George, had been watching and listening to the current scene from the safety of their engine's cab.

"Yes, sir!" George agreed with a sharp nod, "Come back! We have to report this- !"

Sir Topham acted like the two hadn't said a thing. "Thomas, just listen to yourself! You're not- !"

"You just can't leave me alone, CAN YOU!? You have to keep coming back for MORE!"

"Sir! It won't work! Look at him, he's dangerous! He just tried to run you over- !"

"I'll believe he's dangerous when he kills me! Thomas- !"

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Sir- !"

"Would you shut up, Evan!? THOMAS- !"

"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU TO- !?"

But Thomas never finished that sentence. He was just forming the next syllable when all of a sudden his shaking halted and his frame froze up. Both of his eyes popped wide open, and he let out a strangled grunt, the kind of noise a human would make if a ball struck them in their back.

Sir Topham and Evan watched Thomas still, their jaws slightly slack and their own bodies frozen in place as the little engine's eyes darted between the two of them. They seemed to both be holding their breaths as they looked the little engine up and down; a mix of shock and confusion shone in both of their eyes.

Then Thomas's eyes glazed over, his gaze drifting so that it looked as if he was staring intently at the space between Evan and Sir Topham. His brow knitted, and with a soft moan he let his eyelids flutter closed.

Within the next few moments he was snoring as if he'd been asleep for hours.

Sir Topham stood straighter, peering at his little tank engine. "What the dickens...?" he muttered under his breath.

"Um..."

Sir Topham whipped his head towards the source of the voice so fast that I thought I heard his neck crick.

Gerald was standing by Thomas's left side, near his cab. He'd dashed there while Thomas had fought his controller, so quietly that even I didn't notice he'd moved until moments later. When Thomas's frame relaxed and his breathing deepened, Gerald let out a large sigh, mopping his brow with his cap. It wasn't until he'd begun scrambling away from Thomas and back to his boss that Sir Topham could've noticed the paper bag in Gerald's hands. Had he been able to look into the bag, Sir Topham would've seen that it was filled with small balls of white power, wrapped in a tight cellophane film. But he really didn't need to look inside to know that they were in there, just the words printed on the bag's side told Sir Topham everything about its' contents.

MACHINE SEDATIVES, it read.

I could tell that the gears were turning in Sir Topham's head, and that in a split second he understood everything that had just occurred - Gerald was carrying a bag of sedatives, the kind that were usually reserved for repair shops and similar places whenever humans needed to perform a very deep and possibly painful repair on a machine, just as they would do so for one of their own - they only worked when tossed into the machine's main power source, like a car's engine, where the cellophane would dissolve and the drug would take effect immediately - for a steam engine the little ball had to dissolve inside their firebox-

And there was Gerald, standing near Thomas's cab, at an angle that gave him clear view of the little tank engine's firebox.

Despite his efforts to conceal it, Gerald's forehead began to perspire yet again when he met Sir Topham's eyes; they appeared so cold and disbelieving that they must've cut through the poor young man enough to turn his blood icy.

He had seen his boss become cross before, certainly, but never as intensely and at him before now.

"Gerald." The name came like a stab out of Sir Topham's mouth. He started marching his way to his assistant. "Gerald."

"Now Sir, I know you're upset, but..." Gerald looked even more nervous the closer Sir Topham walked. He tried to shift the bag to one hand and hide it behind his back. "I- I just- "

"Have you gone mad!?" Sir Topham snapped before Gerald could finish. He snatched the bag from his assistant, his grip on it turning his knuckles white. "What were you thinking, Gerald!?"

"I was just trying to protect you, Sir!" Gerald protested, "I was just- !"

"Why do you even have these!?" Sir Topham demanded, shaking the bag roughly, "When did you get them!?"

"I grabbed them this morning, sir! I went to the Steamworks and asked for them just in case- !"

"In case what!? In case he attacked us!? Gerald, I swear- !?"

"But he did just attack you, Sir Topham."

Sir Topham turned around and Gerald looked up to see that Don was walking up to them. He glanced at Thomas's unconscious form and sneered.

"Pah. I knew he would be trouble, from the moment I saw him. I am terribly sorry you've been afflicted with him for so lo- "

"What did you do to him?"

Don reacted to the question the same way that Sir Topham reacted to Thomas's own question of why he wanted to get rid of him.

"Uh- " Don blinked twice before he continued speaking, "Sir, I don't- "

"What did you DO!?"

Don flinched hard, and so did Gerald and Evan and myself. Yes, Sir Topham did have a naturally booming voice, but right then he shouted so loud and rough I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd develop a sore throat later.

When Sir Topham began to march towards him now, his brow furrowed and his cheeks flushed a harsh red, Don paled. He skittered backwards like a clumsy child, stumbling on the rocks between the rails, holding his hands out in front of him as if to protect himself from his boss.

"Alright, WHAT happened!?" Sir Topham demanded, "What did you say to him!? What were you doing to him- !?"

"Wait- HIM!?" Don ceased his skittering and stared at Sir Topham with an incredulous expression. He jabbed a finger in Thomas's direction. "You're worried about HIM!? What the bloody hell are you- !?"

"You told me you could do it! You told me you were great with engines!"

"I am, Sir! I- !"

"I told you what he's been through! I told you to be careful with him! Why on- !?"

"I know, sir! I know what engines are like! I've been studying them my whole life! I know how to drive them and- and take care of them! But that one just- !"

"He said you HURT him!" Sir Topham thundered, "When I told you to be gentle with him, you frightened him beyond reason! Why the hell would you- !?"

"I didn't put a bloody hand on 'im!" Don's voice matched Sir Topham's now, his British accent becoming more pronounced. "I was just doing my job! But that lazy arse- !"

"Do not talk about him like that!"

"He's a bloody machine! Why do you care so much about a piece of metal!? That's all he is- !"

"How dare you say- !"

"What about me, sir!? Does my life have less value than a brainless machine's to you!? I didn't hurt him, he wouldn't stop trying to hurt me! He nearly killed me before you came 'ere!"

"No he didn't! I could hear him screaming at you from half a mile away! He kept telling you to go away and leave you alone! You were- !"

"I only frightened him because he was being a stubborn little git! He was so disrespectful, always talking back- !"

"Thomas would never- !"

"And he hit you sir! He struck you! He's not only a bloody nightmare but a Goddamned bloody anima- !"

Then Don flinched again, jumping backwards a half-step with his hands out just like before, because right then Sir Topham let out a bark so sharp it cut through my frame and into my heart. Don's reaction to it told me that it did the same to him.

But instead of countering Don's statements again, Sir Topham sunk into a crouch, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth as he pressed his fingertips into his temples so hard that his fingernails left small crescent-moon indentations in his skin. I saw the muscles in his fingers twitching, the way they tended to whenever he tried his clench-and-unclench technique to calm his anger. A low growl came from his throat, slowly rising in volume until...

...his fingers found his beloved top hat.

He straightened-

-opened his smoldering eyes-

-pulled his hat high off of his head-

-and with a yell-

-threw it to the ground.

You are right to gasp, dear listeners, just as I did, and as they all did.

Neither Don, Evan, Gerald, nor Peter or George moved an inch, none of them said a word as they watched Sir Topham take large, rough gulps of air, his eyes still trained on his hat but glazed over with fury.

After what felt like an entire minute, that glaze finally faded.

Sir Topham's face softened, and he blinked a few times as if making sure that what he was seeing wasn't a mirage. Without moving his head he glanced at Don, and what he received from such a simple action was enough to make him snatch his hat from the ground and slap it to brush the dust off of it.

"Ahem..." Sir Topham cleared his throat as he placed his hat back onto his head. "I, um... I apologize for all of that, gentlemen," he said, but keeping his head lowered and his eyes on the ground, so to me it looked as if he was talking to no one in particular, rather than addressing everyone in earshot.

But it might've been a blessing in disguise for them however, being unable to see the utterly lost expression on Sir Topham's face - especially after everything they'd just witnessed.

"Well, um... Right then, we... we ought to get back to work then," Sir Topham continued, his voice so blank that he must've been forcing it to sound that way, "Come on Gerald, Evan. Let's head back to Knapford. And you- Don- you come too. I'd like to have a word with you in my office."

Don opened his mouth as if to protest, but Sir Topham walked past him before he'd even started to take a breath.

"Now then," he went on, finally lifting his head, "Thomas needs a push back into his shed. Percy, could you please- ?"

"Uh, sir, that's not- "

George truly did not have to interrupt Sir Topham to tell him that there was something wrong. He realized it before he'd finished his own sentence, comprehension dawning in his eyes immediately and a harsh wince escaping him.

Percy remained where he'd been ever since he arrived here, and his face hadn't changed much either, but that was exactly what made looking at him so worrying. His mouth was only slightly open while his eyes were rather wide, trained on something far in the distance that only he could see. The skin on his face had turned from grey to a white that reminded me of ghosts. He didn't react to any of the people or the conversations right in front of him, not even Peter, who was kneeling on his engine's buffer beam and waving his hand in front of his face. Percy didn't acknowledge him, did not even blink. His visage was totally frozen in the terror he'd felt when he first saw Thomas in that dreadful state.

Sir Topham took off his hat again, this time so he could run a hand over his head. "Erm... Right... I see..." he said, speaking at only half his normal volume when giving orders, "Then, Peter, George... Let's call the Search and Rescue Center and ask for Rocky. He'll help get Percy to the Steamworks. And then..." He sighed before continuing:

"...Then let's call an engine to help Thomas. They can take us back to Knapford afterwards."

This plan worked without any real bumps on the track - it's almost laughable, how ridiculous, ironic, and exceedingly cruel that fact is. While Peter stayed with Percy, George rushed to the nearest signalbox and phoned the Search and Rescue Center from there. They arrived at the scene in under twenty minutes, with Henry the Green Engine pulling Rocky the Big Crane and a flatbed behind him; Henry had just finished delivering one of his goods trains and he'd been traveling back to the goodsyard for his next one when he passed by the Search and Rescue Center and had to stop because the manager was shouting that he needed to take Rocky onto Edward's branchline immediately, there was an emergency.

When he'd taken up the job, somehow Henry knew that it had to do with Thomas.

Rocky lifted Percy onto the flatbed, and then Henry, without a moment's hesitation and before Sir Topham could say anything about it, he pushed Thomas onto the siding and into his dingy shed. There was a pause so that Don could still lock the doors afterwards, and then after that Henry offered to take Sir Topham and his colleagues back to Knapford himself; "My next train is in the goodsyard there," he'd reasoned.

Oh, my sweet Henry... my heart still twists with affection whenever I witness his kind and gentle nature come through in his actions.

They all climbed into Henry's cab as best as they could, shuffling about so that Henry's crew still had enough room to drive him as normal. Sir Topham kept his head down the entire trip, the brim of his hat concealing his clouded eyes.

When they left they took with them the sound they had provided. It was just a few hours still before other engines began pulling their afternoon trains through there, so until then the area was totally silent; you could've heard only one sound right then, but only if you pressed really close to that shed at the end of the siding, and listened for the deep breathing of an unconscious tank engine.

There is one more part to this section of the story that I wish to explain. It is simple, small enough to go unnoticed, but I cannot stop thinking about it.

What happened was that Don was the last to board Henry's cab. He'd walked at a snail's pace, hesitating a couple times to look back at Thomas's shed, and peering at Sir Topham as he lumbered behind him.

What struck me was that he didn't express any visible frustration or disgust at either of them anymore. He just looked confused, concerned even; he had the look of a man deep in thought, in questioning.

Despite his insensitive tongue and all of his horrid actions, this was not the first time I wondered just what his story was.

HOLY CRAP IT'S FINALLY DONE OH MY GOD YES VICTORY! :DDDD

Ahem... so, anyway...

How was that monster of a chapter, eh? I deeply, deeply apologize for my lateness on this one, but in my story outlines I knew that this chapter would be the toughest to write in this entire story, and it ended up being exactly that; I needed to tackle so much in this chapter, and it needed to be all one chapter instead of split into multiple because it wouldn't have had the same impact, and along with ALL THAT I was desperate to make sure that all the conflict didn't feel overwhelming to a reader and still felt relatively balanced and engaging... yeah, this one was hard. But I hope you all enjoyed it despite the wait! Thank you all for being so patient with this one, because I know I definitely wasn't XD

Anywho, please let me know what you thought! Is the story still engaging? Does everyone feel in-character still? Please let me know! I always want to know if you guys think I'm doing my job well :)

With all that said, thanks again for your patience! I love you all and hope to see you for the next one! Until then! :D

~Pixel