Cue the theme!
...
Sir Topham Hatt sighed for a moment, then poured himself another cup of tea. He plucked up enough courage to try yet another of Lady Hatt's home made buns, dipped it in the tea in the hope that it would maybe take the taste of cement off it and began chewing on it thoughtfully.
Things had gotten weird on his Island lately, he noted to himself. There had been all that business regarding Edward's past, a rather odd thing that he had wished his father had informed him about before passing on. But then the senior Hatt had never been one for his sons. Lowham always seemed to be a little starved of attention, he noted. Perhaps that's why he ended up starting that balloon animal emporium. He didn't hate his father, on the contrary, he had many fond memories of spending time with him on the railway. But love him, as you were supposed to do? No. No, Charles Hatt was far too aloof in some ways to love. Always had far too many secrets close to his chest.
Edward himself seemed to be heartily embarrassed about all the attention, and seemed mortified that Hatt had sent him to a therapist. He had practically begged the other engines not to treat him any differently, and had been very quick to get back to the status quo. Hatt understood this.
He didn't understand, however, the sudden popularity in which Thomas's campaign had picked up in the new year. With the passing of 1994 and the beginning of 1995, people seemed to be flocking back on the bandwagon. Current approval ratings seemed to suggest that Thomas and Bedella were racing neck and neck, with Drumpf a ways behind them.
This really was a decent bun, by Alice's standards. This one was actually average! Average was something that Sir Topham Hatt loved.
His butler walked in, stiffly, and placed a selection of papers on the desk. "New corrsespondence, sir, from a variety of sources."
"Ah, yes, thank you, Digby, that'll be all. Tell Lady Hatt that these are delicious, if you please!"
As the butler departed, Hatt sifted through the papers. He tossed aside the bills to be dealt with later, then sorted what remained into a neat pile. Taking hold of a letter-opener. Slicing them open, he looked over them quickly.
First, there was a brief invoice from the yard manager listing concerns that the trucks were starting to get even more troublesome than usual, thanks in no small part to a strange private wagon that was whipping up discord on a scale not seen since the death of the heads of family in the barbershop incident. Hatt made a mental note to ask Edward, Duck and the Scots to look into it.
Secondly, there was a rather pointed reminder by the manager at Crewe that Rheneas was ready to come home, wanted to come home, and had been ready to come home for about three weeks. Hatt cursed. If he just sent Edward off to get him and get the engines to all stand around awkwardly doing nothing, it'd make up for the fact that he had completely forgot that Rheneas even existed.
There was a brief note that said that Allcroft and company were looking to start filming the main engines again, moving away from the little railway, which Hatt thought was wise enough.
Finally, there was a rather important looking letter that was from-
His eyes widened.
His jaw dropped.
"HOLY-" He read the entire letter again, his mouth unable to work properly. His mind was not much better. Finally, it clicked in his head, and drawing a deep breath, Hatt let out the most triumphant bellow he ever had in his life, flinging his arms open.
In the process, he flung the letter opener from his hand. The handle bounced off of the wall, swung back blade first and stabbed him in the leg.
It took a great deal of time for Hatt to stop punching everything that came his way so that the ambulance could finally take him to hospital. But even so, he was so high on the news he had received that it almost didn't hurt.
Almost.
...
Duncan would not stop grumbling-
I shall pause for you, right here and right now, and let you recover. Perhaps you have fainted in your living room, or reading it on your phone, or wherever you are in the world reading this story right now, out of sheer shock regarding this simple fact. I know, I know. I too was shocked to find out in this very script that Duncan, well known for his generosity of spirit and his kind, humble words, would be grumbling. It is okay. The world shall keep on turning. Sit down, take a deep breath, eat something. And continue.
He wasn't picky about what he grumbled about. He grumbled about not getting polished enough, he grumbled that he was overworked, he grumbled that he had to deal with Duke on the occasions where everyone else managed to get out of the sheds quicker than he did, and most of all, he complained about how the Poddington Peas had been screwed over.
Oh, and something about passengers as well.
"I'm ashamed of you Duncan!" Skarloey said, aware that saying so was about as effective to Duncan's conscience as trying to engage a angry bull in a theological debate. "I only thank the lord that Rheneas is coming home soon, because he'll be able to pick up your slack. Maybe he'll get some sense into that thick old head of yours before it's too late! By god, when we were your age, you had to watch your mouth where you went, or you'd get turned into a boiler soon as you closed your mouth! Bring back capital punishment!"
"Wut has Rheneas to do with me?" said Duncan, his voice more Scottish than usual. So Scottish, in fact, that it was a surprise that he didn't just reveal that his chassis was covered in a tartan kilt and that his whistles were actually very small bagpipes.
"Rheneas saved our railway! ...Well, sort of. He liked to brag about it before he lost his personality in that terrible accident. Oh wait, that was his driver, Rheneas had already lost his personality by then." He shook his head sadly. "Buffers crossed, he's fixed by now."
"Please tell us!" said Peter Sam, who was bored and easily distracted.
"Well-" said Skarloey "-it was before you came. We'd managed to buy up some of the old line that you used."
This was handy, as the historical recreation would be much harder if they hadn't done so. Cue the sepia-toned flashback.
"Things were pretty bad considering. I mean, the roof was leaky and clearly hadn't been fixed since the last inhabitants of the shed had lived there, for whatever reason, and there was this smell of grease and oil that indicated that someone had been rather violently ill there, and of course, that generator kept swearing at us, left right and center. Probably annoyed because Rheneas had stolen one of his faces in the middle of the night. We had no other engines, for some reason or another, and so me and Rheneas had to keep the trains running or our poorly constructed line would be closed down.
"How awful!" cut in Peter Sam, before suddenly realizing something. "So if you were there, how come you didn't find Duke in his shed in the corner, right next to you?"
"I TRIED HARD!" Skarloey spoke loudly, trying to drown out Peter Sam's questions. "But my old wheels ached. Rheneas understood, even though half the time he spoke in cliches and the other half he sounded like a fax machine reciting off an area code. Boring as paper, he was."
...
A FEW MONTHS PREVIOUSLY.
"Ooooh heck! My wheels!" Skarloey wailed. "They don't half hurt, me old mucker!"
"That is okay Skarloey!" Rheneas smiled a bland smile, the kind of smile that would have been defined nowadays as 'blander than bread' and looked around for a fitter. "Do not worry yourself! It is my turn now, and do not fuss! I shall do the work for you!"
"Ye gods, you have got it bad. Talk to manager about getting you back a personality! You're flatter than his missus on a Tuesday!"
Rheneas was often short of steam, and many of the passengers were creeped out by how Stepfordian he seemed to be at some points, smiling no matter what. He always insisted that they struggle to the next station. "I must not stop between stations, or that would make my passengers ever so upset and our railway may even close down, oh gee darn golly gosh heck what-a-to-do!"
...
"Pshaw!" Duncan snorted. His stopping on the viaduct was still something he gave not a single care about! "Ye just made that up, didn't ye?!"
Skarloey had, in truth, done as Duncan had said, but at the same time, knowing Rheneas as he did, it wouldn't have surprised him if that was something that he had, indeed, said in passing conversation. "Passengers get cross, you see boyo, when you stop at the wrong places. When they're cross, they complain to the manager, or controller, or director and so on. And when they complain, the ones in charge get cross. And when that happens, by heck, you should watch out. Rheneas stopped in a wrong place once, not that he could help it, the poor twit. This is what happened."
"Why are you speaking like that?"
"So the cameras can get it! Everything all right there, Angelis, boyo!?"
"Radical, mate!"
...
THE PAST.
One day, Rheneas set off with a loaded train across the Hawin Doorey causeway near the castle (which was only slightly less crumbled and rundown than per-usual) with a grim expression on his face. Someone had defaced the manager's side with a piece of graffiti that read 'Fat Ass Parked Here'. Skarloey had found it funny, but Rheneas's Lack of Personality Disorder meant that humor was an alien concept to him as of the present. The wind was wild, and the rails were wet and slippery. Trying to get a grip on them was like trying to grab a fish. Luckily, he was only going home, so it wasn't too far.
At last, as he crossed off the long stretch of rail and rounded a corner, his driver breathed a sigh of relief. Considering that there were even passengers in the guard's van for some reason, he had a fear that the extra weight would cause the rails to sink down into the lake. They crossed the little bridge that ran over the river, and still nothing happened.
"Oh, and I thought things were going to be bad today!" said his fireman. The driver looked at him, sighed and smacked him across the face. One did not say such things on the Island of Sodor! You sounded like you invited trouble if you did, and those invites were usually written in gold font and included a fancy layout. This wasn't a comfortable ride at all, and the driver just wanted to go home, curl up in front of the fire and go and hibernate for a good long while.
With every turn, the wheels kept slipping and sliding. Taking one turn forwards often meant sliding back three more, and as one of the wires on the track got caught up in his wheels, that too was rather painful. But Rheneas didn't complain. Mostly because he couldn't feel pain at this moment. The hill was the worst, it was just a steep climb, and would have been bad on a normal day, but as has been established, today was not a normal one.
He grew slower and slower, and even though he could feel no pain, even so, Rheneas had to gasp as the strain began to get worse and worse. But at last, with a forceful little twist to the side, his wheels gripped the rails tight and he quickly puffed up the rest of the hill.
"The worst is over, by golly gee thunder!" he thought aloud. The driver reached out, and slapped Rheneas's forehead with a newspaper. "Now we are away, and the worst is over, nothing can go wrong, no one can stop me, don't stop believing-"
And then something bad happened- And please, take your time to recover, because I'm aware having two shocks in one chapter is terrible for you, but please, the story must be told- to Rheneas as he finished that thought.
There was a sudden blaring noise, a sort of shrill whine as something scraped along...something, and Rheneas's face instinctively screwed up. Suddenly pain felt very, very real. "Oooh er!" he declared "I have cramp, by gee whizz golly gosh marshmallows!" And he came to a rough stop on the lonliest part of the mountains. The driver quickly began preparing himself in case he needed to start eating any of the other passengers. He had his eye on the fireman first, it was his fault for jinxing them.
They examined Rheneas carefully. The driver stood up, wiped his hands and addressed Rheneas "The valve gear's jammed, looks like you're going to need that overhaul after all, old boy. Maybe they can fix that little...problem, you have. But in the mean time, I'm going to really need you to be able to reach the next station. Do you think you can still get us there?"
"Of course! I must not stop, boy howdy! The passengers would be upset and that would never do, no-siree! By golly, I shall try!"
"I...Okay, then." As the driver got back on, he was heard muttering to the guard "We really must ask them to make sure that they get his head looked at. He's practically Vanilla Ice levels of bland at this point."
"No! Not Vanilla Ice!"
And so, Rheneas started off. He was lucky, going downhill is almost always better than heading up. But even so, with every little turn of his wheels, he felt the sharp and shooting pain dig into his body. The wind buffeted him, and several times he felt as though he was going to lose grip on the tracks completely. But gritting his teeth, Rheneas soldiered on. The sheep watched in amazement as the Gallant Old Engine (See what we did there) forced himself through the rain that was suddenly bucketing down from the dark grey overcast skies.
He rounded the bend at the bottom of the hill, wincing as he did so, feeling the sharpness once more. But still, he crawled along. "If I fail-" he thought "-I'll have let down the whole gosh darn railway and that would be a darn shame! The passengers will get cranky and the railway will close!"
And so, as the land leveled out, he forced himself onwards, even though every wheel turn felt impossible. As he reached Skarloey Lake, everything in front of him blurred into nothingness, and he knew he couldn't move any more, couldn't make another turn.
But move and turn he did.
Another turn..
And another.
And another.
And ano-You get the idea.
He crossed over the bridge that was soon to be named after him for quite a few reasons. And finally, tired but triumphant, he reached the station. It took his driver the full weight of his body to brake Rheneas to a halt, so determined was he.
"I'm here at last." he wheezed, and collapsed.
The passengers got out, and thanked him profusely for getting them home, and for not getting them a bit wet at all. "We'll tell all our friends what a fine railway this is, and about it's gallant old engine! Much better than that Skarloey twerp!"
His driver was delighted. "You are a gallant little engine, and no mistake. When you are rested, we shall start mending you so you can be ready for tomorrow!"
"Wa-hey." said Rheneas, as he passed out.
...
Everyone stared at Skarloey, who shrugged. "I may have embroided the language of Rheneas's speech a little. That was what it felt like to me, in all honesty." He smiled, fondly. "Yes, but for all his faults, ad there were many, not least how he was boring to be around, my brother was always ready for tomorrow. Always."
"Thank ye for telling us about it." said Duncan, in a humble tone of voice, which was so unlike Duncan that the other engines wondered briefly if the Stunt Double had painted himself yellow to try and trick them. "Ah was wrong, passengers are important after all."
"I bet you're excited to see him tomorrow!" Peter Sam whistled.
Skarloey thought for a moment, and a wide smile spread over his face. "You know what, boyo? I actually am!"
...
The next day, Rheneas came home.
It was a big event, and most of the bigger engines had been dragged to it. Some were happy to get out of the stress related problems that the campaign had caused, like Thomas, Percy and James. And others, like Henry, had faces like someone had kicked them in the balls, because Rheneas owed them money.
Edward backed up, pushing the flatbed that contained Rheneas on it back as close as he could to Skarloey. There was a bit of kerfuffle as they realized that getting a crane into this spot had been rendered impossible, so they sort of just shoved Rheneas off onto the tracks below, before the breakdown train operator remembred his job and lowered him down, and the engines let loose a chorus of whistles that echoed across the line.
And Skarloey looked at his oldest and dearest companion and smiled at the grin on Rheneas's face.
The latter spoke "You know, gee golly gosh gumpkins, it really does make a old engine feel like at last he has finally reached his dang home."
There was a pause.
Rheneas burst out laughing. "Holy shit dude! The look on your face! Never mind, Drunkloey! I'm here now, to take care of you!"
Skarloey looked to Edward, who gasped. "Oh yeah, I forgot, the manager at the Works told me that apparently, um, they were able to fix his personality...somewhat. He's going to go through cycles of different ones at various intervals, like daredevil, wise old sage, whiny kid, jealous brother...so, yeah, this isn't permanent."
"Thank god!" said Drunkloey-
"HEY! ENOUGH OF THAT, NARRATOR!"
...
"Well well well, Stepney. You ready to talk?"
"...Yes."
"Very good."
"If I had any earthly idea of what it was you wanted me to talk about, I'd do so. But you haven't given me that honor, so I can't." Stepney would have done the engine equivalent of a shrug, if the engine equivalent of shoulders hadn't begun to rust and atrophy. He hadn't slept in ages. "I mean, those hired gorilla you call engines roughed me up, then I wake up a year later to find that I haven't been touched? You are either the most unique torture technician, or the worst."
"Ah, that's what I like about you, Stepney. You've been here now for years, and your chums still haven't found you. You are alone, in a strange land, where my facades could kill you in a instant. And yet you remain calm. Cool. The guards tell me the only thing you've asked for are some bluebells. Not a way out. Not any help. Just bluebells. You've given up, haven't you?"
Stepney was quiet for a moment. "Have you ever been in a scrapyard, Mr Boomer? I mean, as a engine, mind you, not as a human. I have no doubt that as you are now, you have been in several. No, let me make this easier. Have you ever been held hostage? By people who mean you and your kind harm? You can deflect all you want, but I believe you haven't. I have. Once, before this. I had to cross through many, many scrapyards, see many of my friends die painful, slow deaths in the smelter's yard, lost my crew once in a while, and it was only during the end of all this, that I got help from the Bluebell Railway. They saved my life, but it took them years to do so. You don't frighten me, Mr Boomer. I am calm, cool and collected, and don't ask for much, because I know that for whatever reason, you haven't hurt me in years, and that you need me for something. Now I have no idea what that something is, but I'm going to use that to my advantage. I've been playing this came since I was first constructed. I'm fully prepared to wait another twenty or so years. It's all a matter of taking your chance."
Boomer's eyes twitched. "Keep a eye on him, boys. This one's feisty. Shouldn't take too long to break his spirits. We know everything."
As he headed off, and as the guards drifted off, Stepney smiled as his driver hurried from the canteen, where he had been hiding out as one of the staff members, wrapped in a rather fluffy pink scarf and carrying a mug of tea.
"Not everything." Stepney muttered rebelliously under his breath.