Oh you guys are awesome! Thank you for the kind words, I will respond as best I can in a moment, but first, a quick few notes. Firstly, this chapter was a blast to write. This has always been one of my favorite episodes from Season 5, and this might actually be one of my favorites so far. Second of all, usually, I would write what shows I've used at the bottom, but because the actual story section of this takes up very little of the content of the chapter, I'll just list it here. And for the record, I've actually had these characters in mind for the specific roles here planned bac since Edward, Trevor and the Really Useful Party. You can go back and check, I actually included these characters there. Fact, it was the fact that there was little to no fuss about my referencing them that lead me to embark on this crazy journey. Anyway, here we go.

Alias the Jester from the show of the same name. Basically, his deal is that he's from the far off future and gets trapped in the Middle Ages, along with the wizard Meredith who is also included here for fun.

Catweazle from the show of the same name, who is not a cartoon character, but was included solely because I needed a reason for why it is they create a steam train of all things. He's a reverse Alias, he's from Middle Ages, and gets shot forth into the future and back again twice. That and because it's a good show.

Willo the Wisp, again, the show name, who is basically...well, clue's in the name. He was actually played by Kenneth Williams in the original version, and it's really offbeat humor is actually one of the inspirations for this series. Go watch it some time, it's short, but fun.

Noggin the Nog from the show of the same name. He's a viking king leading his tribe of Nogs around and doing good stuff. I included him because I frigging love Smallfilms and all the wonderful work they do, plus it gives me a nice army of cannon fodder for the Malevolence. Next time we'll see more of the actual battle.

Also, yes, as if it isn't already clear by now, I am a huge nerd for old British shows. Wait til you see what I've got planned for the Clangers and Button Moon! (I'm joking. Or am I? Have to wait and see!)

And now, onto reviews. My thanks to the very kind words of MK Inst, who makes a fair point about changing the name of this fanfic. XD. To TrainManiac and Aaroncottrell97, I'm glad you liked the references, and the intention was to make you feel nostalgic for all these great shows we used to have. And to Game Watch and Reality Rejection Service, I am very glad I entertained you with the whole karma deal. Writing the lorries was great fun, despite their somewhat limited characters, and I hope I continue to write as well as I have thus far!

CUE THE THEME.

The dragon was the size of the Empire State Building, and was about as wide as a bendy bus. Possibly wider and taller, Carlin didn't really stop to measure him. The scales were black as the blackest night you can ever think of, his underbelly was the color of the deepest purple. It had the biggest eyes you'd ever seen, like headlamps that had been enlarged by some machine, with a snout that curled in a horrific grin, like that of a skull. It's teeth were about the size of rather large haystacks, and were as sharp as a Welsh mother's tongue (which was very sharp indeed). The claws were like very wide rapiers, that swished and slashed with such speed and force one would think they were no more than cocktail sticks. And the wings were massive, leathery, bat-like things that, when sufficiently beat hard enough, could create a hurricane the likes of which the world had never seen.

Needless to say, Carlin's mind immediately shut down as he tried to process all of this. Perhaps this was not helped by the company in which he kept.

To his left, Mr Benn. And also, a rather ramshackle looking wizard whom Carlin immediately identified as Catweazle, from the old show of the same name back in the Sixties. Besides him was a rather ordinary looking reverend, for the time being, who looked just as nervous as Carlin felt and also just as baffled, so baffled that his hair appeared to have molted off and revolted in protest of being here.

Behind him, stood an army of Vikings, all dressed in similar garb, whom Carlin could tell even while his eyes were fixated directly upon the dragon were the Nogs, lead by their leader, a man dressed in a red sort of sack, with green stockings, brown ramshackle shoes and a golden helmet rammed upon his head, who could only be Noggin the bloody Nog.

And to his right, stood three other figures. One was an old man, who appeared to be the arch-typical version of Merlin, save for the fact that he clearly had no idea what he was doing. Guiding him was a smaller man who resembled a rather stereotypical jester, well, until the moment where he changed halfway through into a futuristic space man outfit with a ray gun. Alias the Jester was very recognizable. And the third fellow was a ghost who looked like Kenneth Williams. Willo the Wisp.

And at this point, it all became too much for Carlin, who fainted.

...

One day-

Okay, I'm actually going to stop right here and admit something. The following statement may shock you. It may stun you. It may shake the very foundations of what you know and love. But it must be said.

One day, Gordon was grumpy.

I shall give you all a moment to catch your breath, make sure that everyone around you is still alive, and then continue despite this shocking revelation.

You good? Okay then!

This was making James cross. "James? Cross?" I hear you ask. "Surely you are not referring to that lovable rapscallion whom always has a smile on his face!?"

"OH SHUT UP!" shouted James to the omnipotent narrator, who flipped the red engine off and went about doing his usual work. James glared at Gordon, who had not stopped muttering and growling under his breath. Everyone has a threshold that they will eventually cross when it comes to certain things, and the large amount of complaining that Gordon had done over the fourteen years James had been living with the big engine had finally just broken through James's threshold for putting up with it. "Why are you complaining all the time?!"

"Why Mr Pot, what did you call Mr Kettle!?" gasped Henry in mock astonishment.

"Shut up, Henry, or I'll lock you in the tunnel again!"

"Because I'm a big blue engine, and I know everything!" Now, none of the other engines was entirely sure what being big and blue had to do with knowing everything that had ever happened ever, but Gordon didn't let their ire stop him. "I should be allowed to complain whenever I want! You're just a silly little red engine with ideas above his station!"

"Gordon, you frequently complain whenever you want. Whether we like it or not." muttered Toby, who was a bit sleepy.

"I can't see any! Any what?!"

"Oh, dear, are we going to get another Percy zinger?" muttered Thomas to Toby. The two sniggered, for Percy had begun to feel the affect of many of the crashes he was involved with. This meant that he often became a little too literal at times.

"Any what?!"

"Ideas above the station! We're not even at a station, and even if we were, the sky is empty!"

"Like your head!" crowed James, pleased that for once he had found a comeback line that was actually somewhat decent. It got a few chuckles, mostly out of the engines who were pitying him. Gordon was still his usual cheerful self, however.

"ONE DAY! One day I shall show you what a big engine can really do!"

"So what can a big engine really do?" asked Percy, the very picture of innocence.

"Not speak to silly little green bugging tank engines like you, for a start!"

"Bit strong, isn't it, Gordon?"

"And at least, I have a personality, Toby!" And with that rather stinging little remark, Gordon puffed away, leaving the sheds to return to relative peace and quiet once again.

...

"I have a personality, right, Edward?"

"Of course you do, Toby." Edward finished ordering the next lot of trucks for Henry's slow goods. "You're brimming with personality!"

"Am I, though? I mean, I know Gordon usually talks a lot of balls, but even so...even a broken clock with no understanding of the word 'time' is right every so often." Toby moodily made sure that Henrietta was ready to go. "I mean, when they write songs about the central group who gets to do all the fun stuff, what are they going to write about me? That I'm square?"

"Oh come on, you have way more to you than that."

"Oh really? Yeah, you're right, I'm the straight man, aren't I? And the nice one."

"See!"

"Yeah, but you've already covered those bases, haven't you? I'm not exactly covering new ground, am I?"

"How long has he been like this, Henrietta?"

"Hard to tell, pet." Henrietta would have shrugged, would she have a face. "I mean, he gets maudlin like this every so often. Next thing you know he'll be writing poetry, painting himself black and calling himself Doomzdaye or some other fancy stuff like that."

"I just...I don't know, does it ever get to you? When you think about what your role is in the narrative of life?" Toby paused, and shook himself. "Dear god, I sound like a right loonie, don't I?"

"You spend time in the quarry, and considering that both me and BoCo have been busy setting up things for him leaving, you've spent more time with Bill and Ben than we have. Trust me, you're entitled to the occasional nervous breakdown. And hey, think yourself lucky, you're not on a political campaign from hell this time."

"God, do you remember when Thomas becoming a mayor was actually a thing we actually considered letting happen?!" Toby laughed. "By god, I'm all right with being the straight man all things considered."

"That's the spirit."

While the two engines bickered back and forth in a friendly way., Gordon was sulking on the siding, preparing his next rant about whatever it was he had planned. The Fat Controller came to see him, and stood upon yet another barrel of Best Quality Diesel Oil. Which seemed to be invading the entire Island considering how it kept seeming to teleport all around said Island.

"Gordon, you'll be making a single stop today, so hopefully even you won't have anything to whinge about! It's with an empty express to test out our newest station at Kirk Ronan. And afterwards, you can make up time however you want." Hatt yawned. He had had little sleep that day. Gordon's complaining carried across the Tidmouth area and into his own house. Alice had been very annoyed at this, and for good reason.

"Why can't Henry do it?!" moaned Gordon the Ungrateful Engine "He loves idling in stations, especially ones that were made on the sly so that you could squeeze money from the pockets of the public!"

Hatt rolled his eyes, and resisted the urge to sock Gordon in the face. "You will do as you are told! For once, without anything going wrong, I hope!"

Gordon snarled, and started off with a very aggressive jerk forward.

"There'll be trouble." remarked Edward to Toby.

"There always is."

...

Gordon, shock of all shocks, was still unhappy. He made it known. Vocally. As he rushed through Wellsworth, he shuddered at the feeling in his boiler. "Ah! Sickness! I don't feel well, and I can't get up to speed! Death has finally claimed me!"

"It's time for a visit to the works! Looks like your pipes are clogged. Pity it's not your mouth!" smirked his fireman, immensely proud of his own joke. The driver, not for the first time, considered throwing himself out of the cab.

At last, they approached the new station, and Gordon was actually temporarily impressed. Kirk Ronan wasn't the size of Knapford, but it was bigger than Tidmouth, and while not totally complete at the time, did have railings put into place to stop unfortunate accidents from happening. Admittedly, these railings were up front, where the accidents were less likely to happen, but it's the thought that counts.

Gordon's mood, however, didn't last. In front of him was a blank wall and huge buffers.

"DISGRACEFUL!" declared Gordon, frightening several small children. "Look at this blankness! No style! No class! No bloody panoramic view! It's so boring, and important engines like myself and...like myself should have the best bloody panoramic view there is! I want to see people and people shall want to see me!"

"I'm not sure about that." muttered the driver, who was gazing at some of the passengers, who looked a little peeved off at having this great blue berk come in and insult their lovely station. Not helping a minute later was Gordon's aggressive wheeshing aloud. The fireman prepared the newly put in place riot shields just in case.

Eventually, it was time to leave, and when the guard blew his whistle, Gordon could barely hold back a gleeful cheer.

"Right then, old boy, that's us out of here! You've got a nice long run for you to cut loose, so enjoy yourself! If you still can that is. As long as your pipes will let you!" said the driver, who not for the first time, admired his nice new mustache in the mirror that he kept in the cab just for such an occasion.

"Ha! My pipes know better than to fail me!" declared Gordon, giving karma a nice big blue target to aim her next arrow at.

And off he went, through the countryside at tremendous speed. But still the big blue fool wasn't satisfied. "COME ON! COME ON! I CAN GO FASTER THAN THIS IN MY SLEEP!"

"Oh shut up, oh shut up." grumbled the coaches.

"SICK!? ME!? NEVER?!"

And right on cue, there was a loud hiss and steam promptly escaped through one of the valve's, straight into the eyes of the fireman. The driver slammed on the brake, and made a rough sort of gesture to the signalman, who diverted them onto a set of points. Gordon felt feeble, and soon, he came to a complete stop, his wheels having made a horrible squealing sound as he knocked against the buffers. "What happened?!" he wailed. His driver and his very shaken up fireman examined the damage.

"Something's broken inside you, Gordon-"

"Ain't that the bloody truth!"

"-I mean, now you'll really have to go to the works whether you want to or not!" The fireman wiped his brow. "And my nice, crease-free uniform as well! Ruined!" He wept for the loss of his wife's hard work, while the driver headed off in search of a phone.

"We'll need to get someone to collect the coaches." the driver muttered.

"Well, just so long as it isn't-"

...

It was.

"Take a look who's coming, down the track, make way for James, hooray for James!" sang the lesser spotted red arse as he drew level with Gordon, who was trying to be invisible and failing quite impressively. James's smirk was filled with such smugness that if converted to electricity, it would power the National Grid for twenty years. "Well well well well well well well well well well well well-"

James would have quite gladly gone on saying 'well' for the next three years had not his driver the sense to smack him on the boiler and finally get the broken record to start playing again "-well! So, you know everything, do you? You tosser, you're so puffed up in the boiler! Serves you right!"

Gordon communicated his distaste for James in a rather verbose manner.

He did, however, get a rather nice letter from one of his cousin's, a Miss Dominion of Canada, in which she begged that on no account was he to do anything stupid, silly, moronic or crap.

In retrospect, that was like waving a red flag to a bull.

...

Now, most engines after such an event would maybe slide back into things with perhaps a bit of calm and decorum, feeling their way back into the swing of things before returning to their normal routine.

Gordon did no such thing. The second he returned, he trapped Thomas, Percy, Henry, James and Duck in their sheds, stole the turntable and got onto his favorite subject, as he was feeling much better. His favorite subject was, of course, himself.

"LET US OUT!" wailed Percy.

"YOU CAN'T KEEP US HERE FOREVER!" snarled Henry.

"I am the finest engine on the Island of Sodor, as has been proven as a scientific fact by several universities! And I am probably the finest engine in the entire world as well! The only reason I have not been given such a honor and knighted by her Majesty the Queen herself is because Flying Scotsman won't shut up! I do hate those kinds of people, the ones who can't shut up going on about how great they are!"

"Must be nice and warm in that glass house of yours."

"WHAT WAS THAT, THOMAS?!"

"I said nothing."

"That's what I thought. Now, I'm off to open a station! Ta-ta!" And Gordon raced away.

The turntable swung around until both ends of the track on it rested in a horizontal direction, away from the engines. They were, in effect, trapped.

James took a deep breath, and shouted. "FU-"

...

"Come on Gordon, you're giving me a ride to Kirk Ronan! Let's open us a station!" Hatt clutched three bottles of champers in his hand as he wobbled like a jelly upon Gordon. As the big engine pulled away, he felt as though happy days were ahead.

Oh, how wrong he was.

For then, as always it is, there was trouble.

As Gordon sped through the towns and countryside on his way to Kirk Ronan with dangerously happy bravado, the driver decided, for the hell of it, to try the brakes, just to make sure they could check their speed as they entered the busy station.

He found that he could not. "Er..."

"Problem, lad?" asked Hatt, who had started to make short work of the first bottle of champagne. The driver grinned maniacally and waved off the concerns discreetly, at which point the fireman tried in vain to also apply the brakes. Something had jammed, and even the driver's attempts to reduce steam failed to stop Gordon, who was going far too fast.

"Er...problem. We may or may not have no way of stopping Gordon." The driver looked around. "Er, is there a way to-"

"Oh you're just not tugging hard enough!" Hatt walked over, grabbed the brake lever and yanked it hard. He stared in dull surprise as it came off in his hands, dull surprise which turned to panic as they entered Kirk Ronan at a great speed. "OHGODWHATAREWEGOINGDOTO?!"

Gordon, who by this point had worked out that there was a minor flaw in this plan, was racing towards the wall at record speed. Luckily, most of the passengers gathered had worked out that a speeding train rushing towards you is something to be avoided, so they jumped clear.

"How about we pray?" said the driver, completely deadpan in the face of death. Gordon let out a bellow and shut his eyes in terror.

...

This narrator wonders how many people remember the film Free Willy.

Aside from having a rather funny name which endless amounts of people have mocked since it came out, there is a scene where Willy, the titular whale, leaps over the young boy who has befriended said whale to freedom. It's a rather iconic moment, you can probably find a photo somewhere if you look hard enough.

So imagine that scenario, but replace a few key details. Firstly, the boy on the rocks are the people in the town of Kirk Ronan down below, who are in fact just going about their ordinary business and not really sure what to expect when the following happens. Secondly, replace the whale with the Fat Controller, a driver and a fireman clinging for dear life atop a riot shield.

And thirdly, and keyly, replace the idea that this is in anyway a triumphant scene with the image of these three men shooting through the cab of Gordon, across his boiler, out of the air (still clinging to the riot shield, by the way) and across several rooftops with such force that the amount of tiles dislodged goes into the hundreds, all the while trying to recite the Lord's Prayer as fast as can humanly be done.

It was quite a sight. Which is impressive given that they left a completely stunned blue engine behind, having somehow managed to get a banner wrapped around his front with great skill, and his front wheels hanging from his chassis like a condemned man from a noose bleating "HELP ME! PLEASE!"

Eventually, workmen arrived to try and fix the mess, and they even provided a handy scissor lift for the three men to visit Gordon. For the record, they had managed to reach the part about forgiving those who trespassed against them, which was handy because they had stopped their flying lesson by slamming into an unfortunate woman's bedroom mid coitus.

The Fat Controller had miraculously managed to escape with a black eye and several large bruises on his person which had come about mostly because his slightly larger physique had absorbed most of the blows. The fireman had his arm in a cast. He had broken it, not during the fall, but when the angry woman's husband/boyfriend/fling/boytoy had stamped down hard on it. The driver had escaped with little to no external injuries, and the only real problem was that he apparently seemed to have lost an appendix, or else it and one of his kidneys had swapped places.

"So, Gordon, I appreciate that you wanted a panoramic view, but this is the strangest way to go about this."

Gordon responded meekly with a "Yes, sir, sorry, sir." but was gratified immensely by the sight of the scissor lift breaking down, leaving the three humans stuck there for another hour until the firemen had finally managed to get them down, having sustained several injuries in their attempts to get off.

Funnily enough, getting off was the last thing on the poor woman's mind when she saw the hole in the roof.

Sometimes I am wasted here.

...

When Gordon was repaired and given a large bill for therapy, he took the Fat Controller to the second official opening for Kirk Ronan. Hatt even insisted that they give him his own coach so that if something did go wrong, he'd not be shot out of the cab like a cork out of a bottle.

This time, he arrived on schedule and with no problems, and all the people clapped and cheered. Mostly because they were glad that they hadn't needed to use the large rubber sheet just behind the buffers to send him hurtling back, just in case. And before the party got underway and everyone got very, very, very drunk, the Fat Controller spoke to him from a large window, shaped like Gordon's head, by which it was given the name of 'Gordon's View'.

"Your panoramic view is here to stay, because we really didn't have enough materials to cover the entire wall's rebuilding. I hope you will view it from the safety of your rails, because I do not want to have to go back to that crap hospital again!"

Gordon heartily agreed!

Unfortunately, Hatt and Gordon didn't have a choice in the matter, because it took them until they were halfway back to Knapford to realize that they had left all five engines trapped at Tidmouth for a good solid month since the of the accident. Upon release, Hatt was nearly run over and had to briefly have counselling, and Gordon was sent back to the works for the third time in less than two months because of the severe beating he had received. He wondered if this was a sign of God to start looking at an alternative career path.

There's probably a moral to this story, but sod me if I know it.