"You're more money than you're worth at this point, Scotsman. Maybe I should have you scrapped."
"Don't even threaten that!" Vincent yelled at the director. "You know how the Scotsman takes such threats."
"I'm tired of having to deal with this disobedient and troublesome engine! If he won't do what I ask of him then he may as well be scrap!"
"Alan Pegler would be ashamed of you!"
"Alan Pegler is no longer here!"
The Flying Scotsman awoke to an incredibly agonising feeling of heat inside his boiler. It was abnormally hot, his smokebox felt choked up with a nasty and poisonous soot which made him feel woozy and ill. He felt like he could barely breathe.
He opened his eyes and found that his vision wasn't back, everything was a smear of blues and greys.
He struggled to take in his surroundings although he knew he was still in Tidmouth sheds and that it was the middle of the night.
Either side of him, Gordon and James slept, their presence keeping him company and normally it helped him sleep and stave off the night terrors.
Tonight however was a different story.
Nothing had helped, the nightmares had come back even worse than ever not helped by the maddening pain he was feeling.
No amount of reassurance from Gordon had made them go away and he constantly felt dread.
The director had threatened to scrap him.
He felt sick with anxiety, he felt more scared than he had ever felt in his life. His crew had defended him, the little engine at the steamworks had been absolutely appalled but the Scotsman only saw his current owner, glaring at him, threatening to have him scrapped.
Here he was on Sodor, the safe haven for all Steam Locomotives, no one was ever at risk of scrapping and yet, the Flying Scotsman had never been so terrified of scrapping than he was now.
He hadn't told Gordon or anyone of what had happened. That would only cause more trouble than it was worth.
He flinched as he heard the doors to his berth open but immediately he felt someone's hand on his buffer.
"Sssh it's okay," they whispered to him. "It's us, Vincent and Oscar."
The Flying Scotsman relaxed, his driver and fireman had proven themselves fiercely loyal to him despite only working with him for just over a year. Even when he didn't listen to them and disregarded them, they still showed him an undying loyalty.
"Do you think you'll be able to run even without your eyesight?" Oscar asked and Flying Scotsman was unsure.
"Someone will have to be my eyes," he whispered. "It's too dark."
"That's okay, I'll be your eyes, old friend," Vincent reassured him.
The Scotsman felt Vincent hesitate as he felt his smokebox.
"You're still warm," he noted, confused. He ran to check the firebox and found it bone cold and completely cleaned out. It hadn't been lit in at least the past 15 hours confusing the two men.
"How is that possible?" Oscar asked and Vincent shrugged.
The Scotsman had no answers but it confused him as well. He had had no fire for almost the past day and yet he had awoken feverish, abnormally warm and in pain. And yet, he'd physically been warm when he should have been cold to the touch.
He could not answer the men's questions. He was just as confused as they were.
"Where are we going?" He asked the men as they began to start his firebox.
"We're going to the place we found the other morning. It'll keep you safe until our work is done," Vincent assured the engine.
"Sir, where is the Flying Scotsman?" Gordon asked as the Fat Controller greeted them for the morning. "He wasn't here when any of us woke up this morning."
"He wasn't here when I returned from pulling the Flying Kipper either," Henry cut in. "But he was here last night when everyone went to sleep."
The Fat Controller stared at the empty berth confused.
"I don't actually know," he said truthfully. "He's still supposed to be here, I'll check with his owner."
James was worried, he and the Flying Scotsman had made peace with one another but he still couldn't help but feel guilty.
"Maybe he went back to the mainland overnight?" Percy suggested and Gordon frowned.
"I don't know," Gordon looked concerned. "He would have said something. He would have boasted about going back to the mainland."
"He doesn't seem the type to leave without saying anything," Edward said quietly. "He has no qualms in waking people up for something."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the sheds.
"He was strangely quiet last night," Gordon mused. "I thought it was because he overworked himself trying to trick James. But now I'm not so sure. Something seemed off."
Roughly 10 minutes later, Flying Scotsman's owner had shown up, half dressed and in a state between anger and shock.
"Where is the Flying Scotsman!?" He demanded angrily and the engines looked at each other.
"We don't know sir," Thomas spoke up. "He was here last night when all of us went to sleep but he was gone by the time the Flying Kipper and the Mail Train finished for the night."
"Well he can't have just disappeared!" The Director shouted.
"We thought you had taken him back to the mainland sir," Edward cut in.
"Well I didn't," the Director snapped back before turning to the Fat Controller. "You've lost me my engine sir!"
The Fat Controller was flustered. "I have no idea where or what could have happened to your engine, I'll ask all the signalmen on duty and ask around but I assure you, no one on this railway had any plans to steal the Flying Scotsman to my knowledge."
He turned to his engines with a stern look. "Are you sure that none of you saw or heard anything last night?"
"No sir," the engines said in unison.
The Director didn't seem convinced but angrily stomped away. The engines all glanced at each other, incredibly worried.
"Missing? What do you mean he's missing!?" Tornado shouted when she heard the news. "How can a famous engine like him disappear into thin air?"
"We don't know," Thomas said hopelessly. "One minute he was there then nothing, poof gone!"
Tornado didn't know whether to feel angry, shocked, sad or just confused. She looked at Gordon who looked just as lost as her.
"So, no one knows anything about how he just vanished?" She asked him.
"Last I heard they tried to find his personal driver and fireman but no one's seen them either," Gordon said quietly. "No one knows anything and the people that probably do are nowhere to be found either."
Tornado was deeply concerned. This behaviour was very unlike the Flying Scotsman. He always told those close to him of anything he was doing, especially if it was to show off.
"He was at the Steamworks again last night," Thomas mused. "Donald and Douglas shunted him back to the sheds. Maybe he said something to Victor or the Twins?"
"Why was he at the Steamworks?"
"He was trying to trick James for teasing him but ended up over exerting himself," Gordon said with a roll of his eyes. "The usual."
"Of course he did," Tornado gave a heavy sigh.
"He did seem… off though, did you notice?" Thomas pressed Gordon and Gordon looked at him.
"Like he was too quiet? Like he wasn't pompous and boastful?" Gordon put forward. "I thought it was because of what happened with James but he and James were on good terms from what I recall."
"The only times he goes quiet like that are if someone threatens to have someone scraped," Tornado said quietly. "He was the same way after he found out Spencer tried to have me scrapped."
A chill went through the air at the sudden realisation.
"Did someone threaten him with being scrapped?" Tornado suddenly choked out terrified.
Gordon grew furious and Thomas just looked utterly distressed.
"The Director must have threatened him," he thundered angrily. "He must have fled when no one was looking."
"But his crew," Thomas pointed out but Tornado cut him off.
"Would do anything to save him," she said. "They are the most loyal steam engine crew I've ever met. The Flying Scotsman has an adoring crew and a huge group of restorers and fans. If the Director threatened to have the Scotsman scrapped there would be uproar."
"But where would they hide him?" Thomas asked. "A big express engine like him? Someone would have seen him last night. The signalmen and the other night trains."
"Not if word spread about what happened," Gordon said gruffly. "Things that happen on Sodor tend to travel fast in secret. A lot of people would be willing to protect Scotsman, they could have organised something very quickly if they needed to."
"We don't even know if that's what happened," Thomas interjected and Gordon shut his eyes wearily.
"We should investigate but keep the Fat Controller in the dark, we don't want him going off and telling the Director," Gordon said and the other two engines agreed.
The Flying Scotsman felt cold.
His firebox had gone out long ago and the throbbing pain inside it had worsened from his midnight trip to… wherever he currently was. He hadn't seen the place he and his crew had found that other morning but he knew it was underground.
It had been dark, his lamps had only made his vision spin and so he had relied completely on Vincent to guide him.
He'd gone underground at some point which had led him to an alcove that they had backed him into, cleaning out his firebox and draped huge sheets of tarpaulin and tied sandbags to keep them in place.
Vincent and Oscar had then said a tearful goodbye to him and hoped that they would be able to see him again one day. They would try to make things right at the museum and hopefully a new Director would quickly take over.
His crew saying goodbye had been the worst part. He couldn't even see their faces but knew they were crying.
It was clear that they didn't even know if they would see him ever again. That they had placed him here for an uncertain amount of time.
It dawned on him that he could rust away into nothing here. That he was being abandoned, just as he had in his nightmares. He felt panic rise as he realised that Gordon and Tornado would worry. That he never got to see them one last time.
He had begged them, to at least tell his siblings them that he hadn't been scraped. That he was in a safe place until he could be freed again. Oscar assured him that they would try but couldn't guarantee it before they had completely covered him in tarp and his world went completely dark and still.
He currently had no idea how much time had passed, but he knew that he'd been in a cycle of waking and sleeping for enough time to know that it was a long time.
His boiler and firebox had been cold for a long time and the throbbing pain from his accident still lingered. It came in waves and it usually came with nightmares.
The nightmares still frightened him, still exhausted him, but with no company he had no way to combat them. He could only allow them to replay as he sat alone in the dark, hidden and awaiting a rescue that may never come.
I wish you were here, old friend...
