A pair of eyes reluctantly fluttered open to the frantic chorus of workmen shouting and rushing about.

"What now?" The little blue engine muttered, as he attempted to close his eyes again.

"Call the Thin Controller!" A voice shouted.

"What happened?"

"Accident at the incline!" A third voice rang out.

"Rusty's on his way!" A fourth man shouted.

"Do we need an ambulance?!"

Sir Handel felt uneasy, realising that sleep wasn't returning to him so easily.

"What's happened?" He asked a nearby workman.

"Some trucks smashed into Peter Sam," answered the workman, before resuming his hollering. Sir Handel felt his boiler run cold at the statement.

His brother... in an accident?

'Dear Lord, this is serious!' Sir Handel thought to himself, feeling sick at the thought of his surrogate brother being seriously hurt... or worse.

He'd never forgive himself now.

He tried to ask if he could assist in the rescue, but his attempts to speak were drowned out by the shouts of the men.

...

Over an hour later, Sir Handel was still in the sheds, still fretting.

What state would Peter Sam be in? How bad was the damage at the incline? Would Peter Sam speak to him again?

Was his brother even still alive?

Nearly in tears, Sir Handel rallied all he had to ask if he could help... when a familiar, feeble whistle echoed across the yard, followed by a gaunt shadow of a Kerr Stuart Tattoo.

Sir Handel swore quietly as Peter Sam limped in, tired and obviously battered.

"... I... I'm sorry about your accident, Peter Sam..." was all he could say, on seeing his brother's injuries (mangled buffers, his funnel knocked loose, dust everywhere...)

"Why... why didn't you warn me?" asked Peter Sam, through gritted teeth.

It was only then that Sir Handel realised his innocent baby brother had gotten drenched on top of the damages, and he felt like crying, he really did.

Peter Sam had been alone at the incline, and left as an innocent, unintended sacrificial lamb for the trucks as a result.

Sir Handel swore that once he got out of the shed, he'd make the trucks pay for what they'd done to Peter Sam.

Suddenly seeing the glare cross his surrogate sibling's face reminded him of an unanswered question.

He had no answer, nor an excuse, for his actions.

"I didn't think..." he said, quietly.

"You never do!" a stern voice boomed. It was the Thin Controller, who had been summoned to the yard to check on Peter Sam, as well as address the issue.

...

Sir Handel barely listened to the Thin Controller's severe lecture, instead plotting what he would next say to Gordon when they next crossed tracks (metaphorically speaking, of course).

At last, the Thin Controller left, still fuming, and Sir Handel turned to Peter Sam, now acutely aware of his brother's distress.

"Peter Sam, buddy..."

Peter Sam looked at him, tears of hurt in his eyes.

"... I'm sorry. I really am."

Peter Sam let out a pained sob. "I'm scared, Sir Handel..." he replied, breaking down in tears.

"Why? I'm sure you'll be repaired soon." The little blue engine said, confused.

"... you never heard, did you? The Thin Controller said he'll have to get a new engine now." Replied Peter Sam, through sobs.

"I'd fight him, buffer and sleeper, if he dares!" Sir Handel proclaimed boldly.

"Oi, oi!" said Peter Sam's driver. "Peter Sam, you're NOT being replaced, old chap," he said kindly, patting his engine's side, "you'll be mended, as Sir Handel said, but a new engine will be needed here to run the line in your absence."

"Speaking of," Sir Handel interjected. "where's that diesel?"

Peter Sam sighed, and explained that Rusty was busy at the incline clearing up the trucks and broken slate. Once he'd finished, his driver (who had been checking him over) said,

"Get some rest, old fellow. You've had a traumatic time, but we'll try again once you're mended, I promise."

Peter Sam gave a reluctant sigh of assent, and gingerly trundled into the shed, leaving a very guilty Sir Handel alone with his thoughts.