"I dunna know anything about where Flying Scotsman could be," Douglas told Gordon. "Green Imposter was fine when we shunted him back to the sheds."
Gordon ignored the imposter comment.
"We think that his owner may have threatened him with scrapping, hence why his crew have hidden him somewhere," Gordon said and Douglas looked alarmed.
"Well then, I hope that yer don't find him until that nasty man is gone!" Douglas retorted. "Threatening an engine with scrapping, the nerve!"
Gordon agreed with him.
"We're trying to locate him and from what I've heard a few of the restorers and members of the Museum are pushing to have the Director fired from his job."
"Good! Imagine havin' so much knowledge on the history of railways and not realising that scrappin' the worst threat one could say to an engine!" Douglas snapped.
Douglas looked at Gordon hopefully.
"I might think your brother is an imposter but he seems a good type Gordon," Douglas smiled at him. "He was nice to us when we confronted him about not being a true Scot."
"Of course he would, why wouldn't he?"
"You know how mainland engines are like ay?" Douglas rolled his eyes. "Always looking down on us engines because we're not from England."
Gordon sighed knowing all too well how he'd been received on his run with Tornado.
It didn't matter that he was an original Gresley, the mainland engines had been nothing but rude to him.
Tornado had adamantly defended him though, putting the other engines in their place.
For all her talk of being shy and a bit of a push over, Tornado seemed to have picked up a few things from his brother. She was a lot more quick witted and snarkier than Scotsman's passive aggressive approach but she definitely wasn't a pushover when it came to defending others.
Gordon gazed at Douglas with a pensive look.
"Oh don't look at me like that," Douglas said annoyed. "Your brother has a better chance than any other engine of being saved from scrap, you know that."
"I know. That isn't going to stop me worrying though," Gordon gave a heavy sigh.
"'Flying Scotsman threatened to be scrapped. Crew and Volunteers in uproar at threats against a national treasure,' Well, now we know where some of the restorers went, they went straight back to the mainland and contacted the media," Sir Topham Hatt read as the Director paced in his office. "You know there's a reason I don't threaten my engines with scrapping sir. Rather than making them obedient it tends to make them do dangerous and erratic things."
"That has nothing to do with anything," the Director snapped angrily.
"Cain. You just told me that the Flying Scotsman has been acting out and becoming more disobedient for the past decade," Topham Hatt argued back. "His previous owners had trouble with his tricks before but never to this extent. You've been threatening him haven't you?"
"It never used to bother the engine, not until," he suddenly paused his pacing.
"Until?"
"Until Pegler passed away," Sir Topham Hatt frowned. "Since then, Scotsman has been nothing but a hassle to deal with."
"The Flying Scotsman's personal friend and only confident." Topham Hatt mused. "As I understand it he did not take threats against the Scotsman lightly even if they were made in jest. Did you ever think there was a reason for that?"
The Director was silent.
"Have you considered that the Scotsman was acting out because he was scared or no longer knew how to handle your 'harmless threats?" The Fat Controller asked.
"There would be an upheaval if the Flying Scotsman was scrapped, you know that," the Director poorly defended himself and Topham Hatt simply shook his head. "He belongs to the public."
"The Flying Scotsman probably doesn't think so, not with how many close calls he's had," Sir Topham Hatt crossed his arms and glared at the Director. "And now he'll probably be used as a hostage to have you fired by the board at the museum. My crews are fiercely loyal to the engines but this? This is a crew who's willing to get their boss fired to save their engine. Are you starting to realise how serious this is?"
"Ridiculous," the Director scoffed and Topham Hatt glared at him. "All this nonsense over a disobedient and money draining engine."
Topham Hatt resisted the urge to have the man thrown out of his office at the words.
"I believe your time on Sodor is coming to a close I think," he said standing up from his desk and motioning to the door. "I would wish you luck in the next few weeks but I don't think you deserve it."
The Director simply glared at Topham Hatt and stormed out of the office without a further word.
"Make sure he leaves please," he called to his assistants just outside the door.
"I'm going back to my own line tomorrow," Tornado said sadly to Thomas and Gordon a few weeks after the Museum Director had been 'nicely' asked to leave the Island of Sodor. "Spencer's done nothing but complain about my line and the Duke and Duchess need him back."
"We'll miss you miss Tornado," Annie said sadly.
"Yes you've been quite wonderful," Clarabel agreed and Tornado smiled at them.
"Thank-you girls!" Tornado said with a sad smile.
"I'll miss you too," Thomas said with a sad smile. "I hope we can meet you again some day."
"I'm sure you will Thomas," Tornado smiled at him.
"Who will be taking over Scotsman's line?" Gordon asked and Tornado grinned at him.
"You will silly," she said teasingly then stopped. "Did your controller not tell you?"
"I- no," Gordon was confused. But it made sense, he had been brought on to cover Tornado a few times in the past week.
"I'd much rather Scott come back when I left but, well," Tornado trailed off.
It had been two months and the Flying Scotsman still had not reappeared, his crew hadn't resurfaced and the heads of the Railway Museum were more interested in fighting among themselves and investigating their current director to try and find the famous engine.
"He wasn't well, he was having night terrors and he was getting better only because he had company. I can't believe this. What if he's alone? It's been two months, why isn't anyone doing anything?!" He snapped angrily, hot tears welling up in his eyes.
He blinked them away before looking at Tornado who was just as upset.
"I'm sorry for being indignant, I'm just frustrated," Gordon apologised. "I wish you all the best on your return home, Tornado."
"Thank-you Gordon," Tornado smiled sweetly at him. "I'll ask my own team to try and see if they can do something about it. I share a lot of restorers and crew with my brother, I'm sure they'll try something. A lot of the shunters and station pilots are saying that the Steam Locomotives are starting to get concerned, after all the Flying Scotsman was someone they saw as their ambassador. With him gone they're getting restless and starting to fight one another for 'top dog' as it were."
"Politics," Gordon spat angrily and Tornado laughed.
"I don't get it either, but if something isn't done soon then we'll be seeing a lot of engines trying to prove who's got the shiniest dome or whatever."
"Make sure you stay out of it little sister, it's good for nothing," Gordon told her and Tornado blushed brightly. "What?"
"You called me little sister," she said turning even redder. "You've never done that before."
"You are my little sister," Gordon declared and Tornado became shy. "Why wouldn't I?"
"It's just nice to hear you say it finally Big Brother," Tornado said her cheeks burning redder than James' paint.
Gordon smiled at her brightly, feeling warm and happy for the first time in weeks.
"Well then, I guess this is good-bye for now Thomas and Gordon," Tornado said as the guard prepared for departure.
"I'll miss you, little Tornado," Gordon said fondly.
"We'll all miss you Tornado," Thomas said with a sad smile. "Come back and visit us won't you?"
"I'll do my best and try," she promised.
With a loud and long whistle she slowly pulled out of the station and the two blue engines watched her go.
He screamed in pain as he felt his wheels melting.
The diesels had shunted him back against his will towards the molten metal. He had struggled fiercely, it had taken almost five of the nasty oily little boxes to push him back.
His wheels no longer turned and his coupling rods began to bend and melt as he felt himself list to the side, sinking heavily onto his side, his weight pushing him over and forcing his firebox down onto the molten ground.
He heard the diesels laughing as he screamed in pain.
"NO PLEASE NO!" He begged as he felt his very being liquified.
The feeling of a hand on his buffer brought him back to his dark, cold, empty existence.
He was confused and in shock, his wheels and entire being shaking from the nightmare.
He couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand this terrible cycle of constantly waking to darkness for Gresley knew how long, only to fall back to sleep to experience traumatising nightmares that preyed on him like some weak pathetic thing.
He began crying as he usually did after another nightmare as it was the only thing he could do anymore.
He felt like he was going insane. The nightmares were getting unbearable. If there was a hell then this was surely it.
He didn't know how long he had been in this stupid hole in the ground but he knew that it felt like an eternity.
He whimpered like a child, something which he had once found undignified but right now it was the only thing that reminded him he was alive.
He felt a hand on his buffer again and suddenly froze, his crying stopping almost immediately.
It was pitch black.
No one knew he was here except Vincent and Oscar and they would have announced themselves to him. He couldn't turn on his lamps, he couldn't do anything.
He felt his fear and distress being replaced with panic.
He kept as silent and as still as he could.
Maybe it was some kind of animal that had found its way into his hiding place.
Maybe, he realised, it was his mind playing tricks on him after this cycle of horror he was experiencing had finally broken his mind.
He relaxed and gave a soft exhale realising how sad it must be.
The world's most famous steam engine, trapped and abandoned in some hole in the ground, sensing ghosts and losing his mind.
He suddenly felt a hand on his smoke box and he felt warmth radiate from the place it had been.
'It's okay.' he heard a voice in his mind and he felt an odd calm overcome him. 'I won't let those dreams hurt you any more.'
He felt his anxiety ease and his panic melt away suddenly.
That voice…
It sounded like;
'Si- sir?' the Flying Scotsman stammered, his voice frail after lack of use. 'Sir is that… but, but you're gone."
'I am always with you, my old friend."
The Flying Scotsman felt himself falling back to sleep, confused and shaken but finding himself too tired to even question how he was hearing the words of a dead man.
He struggled against the drowsiness, it felt unnatural, it felt twisted, something about it felt wrong.
It felt similar to the coma he had fallen into after his accident only this time, it felt inviting and warm.
It felt like a trap but he wanted to believe it.
"You're lost for now but that's okay. Rest now, find your way later."
He wanted to believe he was hearing the voice of the man who dedicated so much to him.
He wanted to believe that the ashes that had gone through his fire had somehow allowed him to commune with the soul of his one true friend.
Maybe it was his mind, creating some sort of apparition to protect him from the nightmares.
As he grew more and more drowsy, he struggled less and less against it.
For once in a very long time, the Flying Scotsman fell into a heavy dreamless sleep and he felt himself wonder if he would ever wake up.
