Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Island of Sodor was a large island home to several ranches and farms that, in comparison to their neighbours, were rather small. But they were well established. From the small Culdee Fell regenerative farm nestled up in the mountains, to the large and sprawling North Western Ranch that owned land across the Island, Sudrians took great pride in their locally-owned businesses.

And for good reason. The Island of Sodor was home to people that believed in the ancient art of hands-on farming. While their competitors developed machinery and techniques that would make anyone’s head spin, for the Sudrians it just meant an increase in demand just meant a chance to hire a couple more ranch hands looking for a job.

It was on Sodor where young adults in their prime rode across green fields, calling to each other and laughing as they drove cattle to pasture, or gave the many tourists rides through lush scenery, or worked fields of golden wheat on the daily. Visitors to the quaint island would often stop during a tour to watch as head stablehand Percy Small brushed down horses in the stables, or as longtime resident Edward Azure ran a horse through its paces in a training session. Gordon Gresley, son of the famed SIr Nigel Gresley and just as eager to please a crowd as his showman father, ran a horse-drawn wagon service that brought people anywhere they needed to go on the Island,

His route often connected with a guided hiking route run by the Sams and their lodge at Skarloey Lake. It was an old lodge, having stood there long before even the NWR had its start, and the Sams were proud of it and its significant historical value. It was around the fireplace in the evenings when old-timers Skarloey and Rheneas would tell tales of their younger days, and it was here that one could find bellhops Peter Sam and his brother “Sir” Handel whispering about a life long gone.

Not far away, the cheeky ranch hand Thomas Tanker took to leading horseback rides up to the caves behind the NWR’s main buildings. Thomas would often pass his good friend Toby, who, with his girlfriend Henrietta and Henrietta’s sister Victoria, did a great deal of heavy lifting bringing stone down from a quarry near the caves.

Gordon’s cousin, Henry Fitzstainer, and the prideful cityboy-turned-ranchhand James Redford brought that stone as well as goods such as milk and fish to various docks and stations all over the place. Meanwhile, on most days Montague “Duck” Western would be found cooking up a storm in the NRW’s kitchen, and telling off anyone who messed with his work.

Especially Bill and Ben, who worked under the local clay mining business packaging and delivering clay and often used their trips as an excuse to find new ways to bother Duck. Or sneak a few treats from his heavily-guarded kitchen when his back was turned, to Duck’s constant chagrin.

Over the years, the island had grown busier and busier. New resources were found, new ventures opened up, and new people came to the Island to live and work. Eventually there came a time where many of the ranch hands under the NWR found themselves exhausted.

“As soon as we put down one load, we’re off to fetch another!” Henry complained one evening as he and several others sat in the main residential building’s common area.

“I can barely find enough wagons for everyone that wants to take the Express,” Gordon agreed. “I think one of the axles on my biggest one is ready to come loose, too.”

James let out a heavy sigh. “There’s no time to properly gel my hair into place in the mornings anymore…”

“You could try waking up earlier,” Toby suggested, not looking up from a book he was reading in the corner.

“And sacrifice my beauty sleep? Heavens, no!”

“The poor horses barely get a break, my poor Annie and Clarabel are being run ragged,” Thomas added, ignoring Jame’s whining.

Duck snorted, pausing in his planning of the next day’s meals to join the conversation. “You know, on my old ranch-”

“That pile of dust bunnies?” Gordon snorted.

Duck’s pencil clattered to the floor as he turned to fully glare at an unimpressed Gordon. “Dust bunny-? Why, I’ll tell you-”

“How about I tell you?”

All motion stopped, leaving Duck halfway to his feet, as the ranch’s owner, Sir Topham Hatt, strode into the room.

“Sir?” Henry asked. “Is there…something wrong? We didn’t do anything, did we?”

“No, you’ve all been very useful, and I know you’ve all been overworked,” Sir Topham Hatt replied with a smile. “Which is why I’ve come to tell you all that I’ve hired another ranch hand, from a ranch up north. They’ve gone modern there, and he’s been looking for a job. He’ll be arriving tomorrow,so I’d like you boys to show him a proper welcome and show him the ropes.”

“Hoorah! Oh, thank you, Sir!” Percy cheered, the poor boy thoroughly sick of doing little but gathering up chicken poop and hauling hay endlessly for the entire week.

Henry, James, and Gordon were ecstatic, two of the three having missed giving tours to visitors as of late and the other looked forward to having more time fro his Express. Edward and Duck both simply hoped for a level-headed new hire and not another James. Or heavens forbid, another Toby- one enabler was enough as it were.

“Very well, I’ll leave you all to it then. Do get some sleep tonight, and something to eat as well- Lady Hatt informs me that you all could use some self-care,” Sir Topham Hatt said as he left.

A chorus of “yes, SIr!”s followed by the sounds of excited chattering filled the air, fading into background noise as the ranch owner made his way back to his office.

Tomorrow would be a good day. He could feel it in his bones.

~

His bones were wrong.

“Sir, the new ranch hands have arrived. The Scottish ones from Caledonia.”

Sir Charles Topham Hatt looked up from the stack of paperwork in front of him. “You mean ranch hand? There’s only one, is there not?”

The assistant frowned. “Only one? Then why are there two of them outside?”

“Two? Whatever do you mean?”

“They say their paperwork is all mixed up- neither is completely sure which was to be sent here, and so they’re both here.”

The ageing man sighed and rubbed his forehead, before standing up and grabbing his top hat from a hook on the wall. “Lead me to them, I expect there’s some tomfoolery at play here.”

“Of course sir, right this way.”

~

“Hullo, sir,”

Sir Topham Hatt felt his emerging headache suddenly grow much more severe at the identical voices chiming in sync.

“Twins. I should have known,” the man groaned. “Alright, which of you has the ID #57646?”

“We dinnae, Sirr.” The voices chorused. “We had no IDs when we got here- they maun hae slyly slippit out of our wallets, Sirr.”

“I’m sure they did- accidentally on purpose.” the man muttered.

“Sirr! Ye wadnae believe we did somethin’ like that, surely?!”

Sir Topham Hatt gave them a serious look. They gave him equally serious ones back, and the man had to turn away for a moment before speaking again.

“Well, surely the owner of the Caledonia ranch knows which of you was to be sent here?”

“Oh, he won’t know. We got a new one that changed everything- that’s why we dinnae our ID numbers, he changed those too.”

Sir Topham Hatt prayed to the heavens for more patience.

“What are your names?”

“Donald!”

“And Douggie, Sir!”

“Fine, then until we get this sorted you will just have to both stay here. Assistant, get them sorted properly and prepare an extra bed. Give Donald ID #9 and Douglas ID #10, but don’t give them ID cards just yet.”

“Yes, Sir,” The assistant agreed, and led the boys off.

“And get me another espresso while you’re at it!”

“Yes, Sir, of course, Sir.”

~

The boys settled in well and quickly, proved themselves to be extremely useful. While they were both skilled horsemen, they didn’t mind dirtier work, and had no qualms about shovelling chicken poop or tidying stalls. Percy, who had been short on stablehands as of late, was extremely grateful for their assistance.

They were efficient too. They often worked as a pair, and longtime workers like Thomas and Gordon lamented that the duo made them look slow with how quickly they got things done.

That didn’t mean it was all smooth sailing, however.

First there was the fact that no one seemed to be able to tell the two apart. The only one who seemed to be able to do so was Sir Topham Hatt himself.

The twins didn't find this until about a week into their new life. Douglas, in an effort to be of use, offered to collect the eggs from the henhouse so Duck could finish making lunch faster. Duck agreed, and soon Douglas had been off with baskets in hand.

The hen houses were large things, and it took quite a while to get through them, though Douglas only needed to collect eggs from one of the houses per Duck’s request. Duck’s assistants would take care of the rest.

Douglas entered the building, rolling up his sleeves and quickly got to work.He wrinkled his nose as he entered, the stench of chicken poop still in the air as Donald was still cleaning the place out, and only halfway done.

The eggs, once collected, would go to an area just outside where Thomas would pick them up on the way to meet visitors. They would then be taken up into the hills, where Thomas would hand them off to someone from the Skarloey Lodge. There were always a couple of baskets filled with white and brown eggs, and one special basket of blue eggs that needed to be separated from the rest.

Unfortunately, Douglas was too distracted by thoughts of Sir Topham Hatt and potentially having to leave the NWR to remember this last bit of information.

The Scot finished collecting the eggs, but didn’t separate the blue eggs into a separate basket. When Thomas arrived, he was very displeased, and said as much in a loud voice to a passing Henry.

“My special eggs! They’ve gone missing, and I don’t have time to go looking for more!”

“Your eggs? Oh, they’re there, Thomas- they’ve been mixed into the other baskets!”

“What- How?! Everyone knows about how picky Rusty is about his eggs! Who was collecting them today, I want a word with them!”

Douglas, who’d gone over to talk with Douglas for a minute, went pale the moment he heard Thomas’ complaints ringing out.

“Oh no, Donnie- I must’ve been so distracted I forgot!” Douglas whispered in a panic. “What’s a body to do?”

“I know- switch jobs with me. I’ve got t’ bring cattle to the far pasture next- ye go an’ do that, and I’ll keep on shovelling manure. We’ll say one of the stablehands did it- there’s enough o’ them that no one will notice or know. Now hurry!”

Douglas agreed, and just as he left on Donald’s horse, Sir Topham Hatt arrived, with an angry Thomas in tow.

“Were you the one that mixed my eggs up?” Thomas demanded once he caught sight of Donald.

Donald feigned surprise. “Me? Och, no. I’ve been sweeping manure for the last hour. Ye must be mistaken.”

“Then why was your brother running off just now?” Thomas asked, before Sir Topham Hatt could utter a word.

Donald shrugged. “I dinnae. Probably saw the Sir coming, and didnae want to be scolded for lateness. Donnie hates not being on schedule.”

SIr Topham Hatt hummed, his shoulders shaking slightly as he turned away to think for a moment. Thomas paced circles.Donald tapped his foot in nervous anticipation. Then the ranch owner turned back around to address Thomas.

“If I understand things correctly, it seems Douglas was not behind your mixed-up eggs. Duck informed me that he would be sending someone to fetch your eggs for you, so it was likely one of his assistants- I’ll have a word with him about the matter. For now, you’ll just have to sort the eggs yourself. Have Percy or one of the other stablehands help you .”

Thomas begrudgingly left, grumbling as he went. And then the ranch owner spun around to gaze sternly at Douglas.

“Alright Donald, why are you masquerading as Douglas?”

“How-?” Donald sputtered.

“I have my ways. Now, why didn't Douglas fess up, and why are you covering for him?”

Donald gulped. “I- well, Sir, Dougie’e been plenty occupied with things on the mind, an’ he didnae want you thinkin’ he couldnae handle a simple job.”

Sir Topham Hatt just sighed.

“Douglas won't be back for a while, and I don't have all day to wait for him. So I'll let you two off for now. But Next time, just admit the mistake. Understood?”

“Yes, Sirr.” Donald nodded thankfully, and quickly got back to his work as Sir Tooham Hatt strode away, his shoulders shaking every so often as he pressed his lips very firmly together.

So that was that.

The twins spoke about the day’s events as they were in their room alone that evening.

“I heard the Sirr on the phone earlier,” Donald murmured. “He says our names a few times. It didnae sound guid.”

“What is we tae do?” Douglas asked just as quietly- next door was Duck, and the cook was a very light sleeper. “We can’t gae back- I can’t gae back, the evidence-”

“I won’t let thon happen. We came all the way here for this, I’m no leavin’ ye behind,” Donald promised fiercely.

“Ye should have. I'm juist bringin’ ye doun wi’ me.” Douglas sighed. “Ye heard the SIrr- ‘tis better to ‘fess up. They’ll find oot soon, what they say I did.”

“Na. We stay together, an’ I’m under contract. Gin they want tae keep me, they have tae keep ye too.”

“But then what tae do? He only wants one o’ us.”

The twins fell silent, thinking. Then Donald spoke up.

“Och. Each maun be aye guid as ither. Syne he’ll hae ta keep us baith.” he said with as much confidence as he could muster.

Douglas agreed- it was a good plan, and it was the best shot they had.

Except for one thing.

There was what was known on the ranch as breakers. Due to the many hills and heavy goods, brake were required to be installed in carts and wagons on the ranch, with someone to work said brakes. The NWR had people hired specifically to do this important job, as the brakes were essential to stopping a cart from sliding down a hill and causing harm to the animal pulling it or to the humans nearby.

It didn’t mean the ranch hands had to like their brakers, though. Many of them tended to be on the ruder side, and often liked to play tricks on the ranch hands.

One of these naughteir brakers was a fellow named Sid, who would put on a show of being a model worker up until he was out of earshot of Sir Topham Hatt or his assistants. Once in the clear, he would make all number of rude comments and hold up the ranch’s workers. And for some reason unbeknownst to anyone, he frequently targeted Douglas.. The twins seemed to know why, but neither said anything about it, instead choosing to mutter angrily to each other in their native tongue in low voices. Poor Douglas often found himself working overtime, trying to stay on schedule and keep pace with the others while the braker practically ran him ragged with all number of ridiculous requests.

The twins called him “Ol’ Spitey” behind his back.

“Pick me five wildflowers, and then I’ll raise the brakes,” he would say as Douglas tried to deliver fish from the harbour. Or “rub your tummy and scratch your head while doing a jig” on the way to pick up hay for the stables. Under threat of something the others couldn't fathom, Douglas would almost always do as asked, even when it made him exceedingly late. When questioned, he shrugged and went right back to work.

It was rather strange to the other ranch hands, who’d witnessed both Donald and Douglas put the other brakers in their place with a few sharp words. But it seemed Sid had a hold over Douglas that the ranch hand just couldn’t shake.

The others felt sorry for the new ranch hand.

“He’s done nothing wrong!” Henry exclaimed as they sat in the common area one evening about a week in. Douglas had long since retired to bed, looking exhausted. “Poor Douglas will be run to the ground at this rate within the month!”

“It's always that silly Sid’s fault, always taking him from his work,” Gordon agreed. “He’s made us fall behind too- he ‘accidently’ knocked some good crates over and left me to pick up the mess today! I was almost late with the Express!”

“He’s not nice at all, I miss the days of Charlie and Sidney.” Edward lamented. “They were always so polite and even brought treats for everyone on some Sunday afternoons. Even let me work with them in the office when I broke my leg and couldn't do my usual work for some time.” Thoams nodded in agreement, remembering the beginnings of the ranch well. “Bob is wonderful, but I do miss having Gilbert around.”

“We should tell Sir Topham Hatt,” Percy said. “He’d be able to do something about it.”

“It'd be no good, he’s got the man fooled,” Henry grumbled. “Besides, it’s Douglas that that Spiteey’s after, the rest of us are side quests for him.”

“Then what can we do?” Thomas asked.

No one had a good answer.

Outside, Donald was having similar thoughts as he walked the ranch grounds. The sky above was filled with stars, silently twinkling high up in the sky.

He gazed up at them, in quiet admiration.

“If it isn’t everyone’s favourite runaway. Where’s your precious little brother, hiding in his closet? Just like he always does?”

He stopped gazing at the sky in quiet admiration, suddenly feeling very irritated.

“Shove off, Phillips,” Donald growled. “Haven’t ye bothered the both o’ us enough?”

The braker only laughed.

“You know, there’s a lot more I could be doing to ruin you,” he said as he circled slowly around the ranch hand. “I haven’t told the Big Man that we've met before, you know. He trusts me quite a lot now, I have been wondering what he’d do if he found out what you two did back at the ol’ Cally-”

“We did nothing, and you know it. That fire wasn’t our fault!”

“So you say, but no one truly believes that, haven’t you heard?”

Donald glared as the braker drew to a stop in front of him. “Why ye little- If I’d been Douglas, I’d ha’ left ye behind, that’s what I be wanton’!’

“But you aren’t,” the braker grinned sinisterly. “And you can’t even if you wanted to. I’m essential. You’re not. You’re easily replaceable, by the oodles of other ranch hands looking for work, and ones who didn’t start trouble like that brother of yours-”

“Yer a muckle nuisance, you know that?” Donald hissed as his anger boiled over. “Ye’re nothin’ but a screechin’ an’ a noise when a’s said and done! Spite Douggie, wad ye? Take that!”

Sid yelped as Donald suddenly slammed him hard against the rough wall of the barn.

“Ye stop makin’ Dougie’s life hell, or I’ll happily give ye somethin’ a lot worse than a few bruises. Ye hear me?”

The braker gulped. He’d seen Donald angry before, but never at him. He'd laughed when the ranch hand had gone after the others for messing with him or Douglas, but now the braker understood why they had cowered before the twins.

An angry Donald was a very scary Donald.

Donald left him, after a few more choice words, and for the next week, the braker was the picture of exemplary behaviour. It was like he turned over a new leaf, if the new leaf involved walking on eggshells around the twins and looking terrified whenever Donald came up to him.

He also chose to wear long sleeves for a few days, despite the warm weather.

Douglas was surprised but didn't mind too much. Neither Donald nor the braker had said anything, but Douglas could piece together what happened easily enough- this wasn't the first time Donald had stood between him and a less than friendly adversary. He was relieved to finally stop doing silly things, and for a while everything went to order. But there was still a small dark cloud hanging over their heads- Sir Topham Hatt’s plans to keep one and send away the other.

But the days turned into weeks, with little news. Though slight suspicion arose after Sir Topham Hatt was heard talking to someone over the phone in his office about Douglas, and the next day Donald had to be taken to Crovan’s Gate Hospital after falling off a ladder and injuring himself.

“I’m disappointed, Donald,” SIr Topham Hatt told him as the ranch hand was loaded into the ambulance. “I’d expected better from you- you’ve been very good about avoiding spills and not being- er, clumsy- up until now. I’d planned to send Douglas away and let you stay, but I suppose that’ll have to wait now. I’m sure you don’t mind, though, do you?”

“I’m sorry, Sirr,” Donald only replied, but did not elaborate further as the doors closed.

“James is not going to be happy about this,” The man sighed as he walked towards the stables to give out the new orders.

He was right. James wasn’t happy at all, having to give up his position as a trail guide to a delighted Bloomer, an old-timer that had long since retired but liked taking people on tours enough to step in when needed.

“It’s undignified!” James complained to Gordon, Henry, and Douglas. “I’m the best-looking on this ranch! I know all the routes! I shouldn’t have to sweep up manure, or lug around crates of goods. That’s what Donald and Douglas are here for.” He glanced over at Douglas. “No offence. You’re decent, I s’pose, but all the same-”

“None taken,” Douglas said, having gotten somewhat used to Jame’s dramaticness by now. “Anyways, it's quite peculiar- one wad think that Donnie had his accident on purpose…”

“You don’t say, “ Henry smirked. “I certainly don’t blame him.”

“Neither do I,” Gordon agreed.

Douglas glanced at James. “Anyways- I heard tell about a ranch hand an’ some honey bottles. ‘Twas quite the tale.” he chuckled.

Gordon and Henry snickered as well. James turned bright red.

“Shut up!” he said. “It’s not funny.”

“James! Weel, weel, weel- it wasna ye, was it now?” Douglas gasped in mock surprise, feigning ignorance. “Ye dinnae say!”

James stewed as he stormed away to finish his work.

He was still cross the next morning, and picked at his breakfast, before trudging off to take crates of goods from the dairy to the docks.

That particular day, James had to work with Sid, which did not help his mood in the slightest. Especially as since Donald’s accident, the man had grown more bold knowing Douglas wouldn’t do anything, and neither would the others.

“Stop holding back!” James told him as they pushed crates of milk out of the dairy. Sid took no notice, and James simmered as they finished piling the crates into the cart and started off.

The path to the docks wasn’t at all flat, crossing over several small hills

and valleys and turning in places. For the most part it was smooth sailing, but there was one hill in particular that bested even the strongest of horses on occasion- Gordon’s Hill.

It was named for the fact that for the longest time, it would take Gordon, his horse, and a third person to get anything of large enough size over the hill. Eventually trees had been planted to block the strong winds that always seemed to blow in over the top, and Gordon finally figured out how to cross the obstacle, but it still proved a challenge.to many of the ranch hands. Unfortunately it was in such a place where other routes would take much more time and cause a great increase in distance, so it was unavoidable.

A small stable was located at the bottom of the hill on the steeper side, where someone would usually be stationed to assist anyone who needed a boost up the hill. Edward was there most days, training horses or mending tools. Aptly, the stables were nicknamed “Edward’s Station” for how often he was there.

This particular day, Douglas was assisting him as a new group of horses had been recently brought to the ranch. When he saw a struggling James and a grinning Sid coming with the goods, he stopped to tie his current horse to a post.

“Need some help?” He called, already pulling on gloves.

“Yes, please- Sid’s being a pain,” James groaned. SId sniggered. “He keeps putting those stupid brakes in the cart on, and pulling all sorts of tricks! My horse is worn out! ANd I had to walk in my new boots!”

Douglas shook his head and came forward as James stopped his horse.

“We’ll have to leave her- she’ll injure herself if I try to make her pull this thing up the hill.” James said. “Do you have any others at the stables?”

“None, we’ll just have to push it ourselves.” Douglas replied grimly. James muttered under his breath as he and Douglas led their respective horses to a nearby field. Douglas then went behind the cart, ready to push. James took the front, taking hold at the front, while Sid stayed on the cart, a hand on the brake “as directed by the manual, haven’t you two read it?”

And neither ranch hand could argue with that.

The job of pushing the carts wasn’t impossible- the milk was heavy, but not exceedingly so. All that was needed was a good start, and for the brakes to be applied a little less then normal.

Sid, of course, did no such thing. The ranch hands were able to get a good start, but one couldn’t fight brakes on a hill very well.

“Come on! Come on!” James panted, straining against the weight.

“Get moving, get movin’” Douglas groaned as he pushed.

Sid grinned and did nothing to help, intentionally letting the brakes slip more than they needed to a few times.

“I can’t do it!” James called back. “I can’t- Douglas-”

“Lae it tae me! Lae it tae me!” Douglas shouted back. “Lift thae damn brakes, Sid! Lae it tae me, James!”

Sid didn’t lift the brakes. But James let Douglas take more of the strain, and they slowly gained ground, winning out against the cart brakes. But the cart was old, and about halfway up, there was a creaking sound.

Sid heard the noise, his eyes widening in realisation. “Wait, stop, stop, hold on-”

Neither James nor Douglas paid any mind, thinking he was pulling another trick. Sid began to panic, and let the brakes fall all the way.

The cart creaked louder with the strain.

Douglas pushed, James pulled, and Sid hal-fell, half-jumped out of the cart between the force and the panic as the cart finally fell apart. The milk spilled everywhere and Douglas fell into the mess.

“Argh!” James yelped as he stumbled forward with the sudden lack of weight. “What the-”

Sid moaned in pain, having rolled down the hill. From where James was, he could see the braker groaning in a heap, his leg looking twisted at a concerning angle. Douglas was picking himself off the ground, splattered with the remains of the goods but otherwise seemingly alright.

“A bad day made worse,” James groaned. “Hatt’s going to hate this.”

Douglas wordlessly picked his way back to the stables to call for cleanup assistance.

By the time Edward came with a handful of Percy’s stablehands, Douglas had managed to find a clean shirt and James had begrudgingly given Sid first-aid while they waited for a medical team to arrive. The stablehands quickly got to work, and Sir Topham Hatt, who’d come with Edward as soon as he’d heard the news, got right down to questioning Douglas and James.

“What happened here?”

“I wis bankin’ for James, an’ the cart broke.” Douglas replied.

“Ah, Douglas. I should’ve known.” Sir Topham Hatt sighed. “Don’t know your own strength, do you now?”

“But Sir,” James put in, “Douglas was perfectly fine! He was doing exactly what he was supposed to- Sid’s the one who was holding us back. Kept dropping the brakes when he wasn’t supposed to. Laughed at our misery too.”

“I saw them too,” Edward added. “James was exhausted, but Douglas worked hard enough for three.” He gave the younger ranch hand a look. “You might want to take an early evening, and check you haven’t gotten any splinters.” Douglas nodded.

“Two would have been enough,” Sir Topham Hatt said thoughtfully, watching the cart’s pieces be moved away. They were old- some of the wood was in poor condition, and it was a wonder the cart had made it to Gordon’s Hill at all. “Douglas, I want to be fair- I really do- and I admire your determination, but I just don’t know….”

Douglas, James, and Edward watched as Sir Topham Hatt walked away, deep in thought, before turning to the mess on the ground and going to help clean up.

That night in their room, the twins worried about their status. Donald rested in bed, propped up against cushions with his injured leg in front of him, while Douglas sat next to him, their shoulders touching.

Douglas had just finished telling Donald about the day's events.

“We’ve been here for nearly a month. An’ we’ve heard nothing from the Sirr,” Douglas said. He was fidgeting with a piece of rope as he spoke, twisting it into knots and then untying them. “He’ll send uz awa’ for shair. I know he will. We’ve tried, but we’ve haed too many problems- Sid, the eggs, yer accident, the cart….”

Donald had been trying to stay positive, but even he was having difficulty in this regard.

“Perhaps Sid wis richt. We are replaceable- there's plenty o’ other ranch hands lookin’ for work. Especially on Sodor.”

“He said what?” Douglas sat up, looking shocked. “Whan? whan? Where’s thon screechin’ mosquito, I want a word wi’ him!”

Doald leaned forward, pushing his twin back down. “Woah, relax, Douggie. It wis juist Sid talkin’ oot o’ his ass. An’ anyways he's long gone now- we wonae be seein him back here for a long while, if ever.”

Douglas sighed in defeat, and let Donald push him back.-

“We’ve nowhere else to go if we can't stay.” he muttered. “I'd hate tae go, but....”

“I’m thinkin’ ye’re richt there, Douggie,” Donald agreed. “The luck’s aye been agin uz. A ranch hand juist doesnae know whit tae dae now, ‘cept keep doin’ ‘is work and hope.”

And that’s how things stayed. There weren’t any more significant accidents after that, and the twins stayed on the ranch, continuing to do their work in their general efficient manner. The other members of the ranch appreciated their efforts greatly, and even Duck, who was known for his high standards, thought they were the best things to come to the island in all his time there. Granted he’d only been at the North Western for a little while longer than the twins, but seeing as Thomas had been one of the first and was still considered to be a bit of a crackhead, time didn’t always mean seniority.

Another few weeks passed, and soon storms passed over Sodor, dumping piles of white snow everywhere. Most of the ranch’s residents hated the snow, but Donald and Douglas, who’d grown up in Scotland, were used to it and volunteered to help clear the various trails and paths. With a set of good shovels and flasks of hot cocoa at their sides, they made quick work of the obstruction.

One of those white and wintery days, the twins were clearing a trail when they came across an especially large deposit of snow, down a rather large dip in the trail.

“This one's a big one, Donnie!" Douglas called.

“Charge it!” was Donnie’s reply..

The twins went in, sticking their shovels in the white powder and heaving. They were halfway through when they heard a weak noise.

“Shh, wait, Douggie- whit's thon noise?” Donald asked. Douggie paused, and then he saw the glove sticking out. A pair of large green leather gloves that could only belong to one person.

“Losh sakes, Donald, it’s Henry!” Douglas gasped. “Dinnae worry, Henry, we’ll hae ye oot!”

The twins dug at the snow fiercely, until finally they found Henry, leaned against a large boulder, shivering violently but miraculously alive. He was in charge of a midnight goods delivery, and had been on his way back to Tidmouth Hall after his job had been finished. As the twins later found out, he’d twisted his ankle in the dark, making it to the boulder before being unable to go further. He’d spent the entire morning in a snowdrift, digging out a hole and hoping for rescue. It was only thanks to Donald and Douglas clearing the paths that he was found, otherwise something much worse could have happened. He would recover though, and the twins were hailed as heroes, to their insistence that they were simply doing their job.

Sir Topham Hatt had been away on business for a good week, and was due to return not long after the incident. This made the twins rather glum despite the holidays coming soon, not wanting to leave after all the friendships they’d made- and for other reasons, of course.

“He’ll send us back for shair,” they told the others as they and the other ranch hands ate dinner one evening.

“A lot of nonsense about ladders and falling off them,” Gordon grumbled. “Too unreliable some of those are, if you ask me.”

“And Sid,” James added through a mouthful of spaghetti. “Good riddance to him!”

“Close your mouth, James,” Duck scolded. “But I agree- you two are lovely to have here, and without you, Henry would be in much worse shape- or even dead. He’s the only one who really takes that trail, it could’ve been hours more before we found him.” Henry, his foot propped up on a second char, nodded in agreement.

“It isn’t fair,”he stated, and the others agreed.

Edward hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could send to Hatt a deputation?”

“A what?” Percy asked.

“A deputation. When employees tell the boss they’ve got something to say about something.”

“A depotstation! Of course!” Percy cried out, before pausing. “Uh, did you say-”

“-tell Sir Topham Hatt?” Thomas finished.

“That’s what it means in our case, yes,” Toby replied. He then proceeded to slurp his spaghetti, making Duck cry out in indignation again at the older ranch hand’s behaviour.

“Who would do it?” James asked. “You, Edward, or Toby perhaps? It can’t be the twins.”

“Oh no,” Edward shook his head. “I just give the orders Hatt gives me. I’m not really anything else besides a good herdsman.”

“And there you go, under-crediting yourself again,” Toby retorted through another mouthful of spaghetti. “And most certainly not me- I like the twins, yes, but I’m almost never around- Hatt wouldn’t take me very seriously, since I barely work with them.”

“I propose,” Gordon said over the sound of Duck’s moanings about table manners, “that we send Percy. Hatt is generally receptive to his ideas, and thee twins often work with him. it would work in our favour.”

“Me?” Percy squeaked.

The others chorused an agreement.

“It’s easy, Percy,” Henry told him. “You just have to tell Hatt that we want the twins to stay.”

Edward, seeing Percy’s terrified look, reassured him that he could give Percy tips. It didn’t lessen the stablehand’s fears by much.

“It’s settled then,” Duck stated. “Percy will give the deportation- disposition-”

“Deputation,”
“Yes, that, thank you Edward.”

Percy wished it wasn’t settled at all.

~

“Hello, Percy. How can I help you today?”

Percy gulped nervously., his eyes darting around Sir Topham Hatt’s office. “I- uh-”

The man waited patiently. “Take your time, Percy. What seems to be the matter?”

“They’ve- the others, they’ve made me a dispo- a dappo- a-”

“A deputation?”

“Yes, Sir,” Percy breathed out breathlessly.

Sir Topham Hatt raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Percy nodded, pausing to compose himself before letting everything out in a rush.

“It’s Donald and Douglas, Sir. They say, Sir, that they can’t be sent away- they’ve got nowhere to go, their old ranch won’t take them back. They left everything to come here, Sir, and they’ve been amazing- always helping out wherever needed and even saving Henry, Sir. Please, Sir, don’t send them away Sir. They’re nice ranch hands, SIr.”

Percy let out a great sigh of relief when all was said. The ranch owner smiled reassuringly.

“Thank you, Percy.” Sir Topham Hatt told him. “I appreciate your efforts, but I already have things sorted. I will speak to you all tonight at dinner. Inform the others, and then you may continue on with your work.”

Percy agreed and hurried off to do as told, worrying about what would be said that evening.

~

“Hello, all of you. It’s good to be back. As I understand, you all sent a deputation by ways of Percy earlier today,” Sir Topham Hatt said to the ranch hands. “I understand your feelings, but I do not appreciate meddling by my employees.”

The ranch hands gave each other worried looks. In the centre of the group, the twins were grasping hands tightly.

“However,” he continued, “I have heard about your great work these past few days, Donald and Douglas. And your rescuing of Henry. Now, tell me- what colour would you like your official identification badges in? Most of the others have blue or green, and James has red, though we can do a different colour if you wish.”

“Blue is fine, Sirr,” the twins replied. “But does this mean…?”

“Yes. Both of you will be staying on the North Western Ranch. Welcome-”

The rest of his words were drowned out by the excited cheering of the ranch’s workers, the twins hugging each other tightly in relief.

“But wait,” the ranch owner interrupted. “The twins will stay- on one condition.”

“Yes, Sirr?” They asked.

“I’ll be requiring you both to wear these name tags,” Sir Topham Hatt held up nametags with the twins’ names on it. “We won’t be having any more ‘mistakes’.”

The ranch hands all laughed as the twins grinned and pinned the nametags to their shirts.

Chapter Text

”We need more money. We can’t go on like this.”

“Well, what should we do? You’re working, I’m working, the kids are working, and yet we can still barely make the bills.”

“That’s what you get for wanting to install that new stove! I told you we didn’t have the money for it, but you insisted—”

“Well, you wanted to buy another car!”

“You let John go to that fancy college instead of the more practical one nearby!”

“It’s a good school for medical students. Besides, you told Jane she could go to art school, and Jack’s going for an athletics degree! An athletics degree! What’s he going to do with that?”

“I don’t know, but he enjoys it. And he’s bloody good, too!”

“Whatever. It’s lucky that James doesn’t want to go anywhere.”

“That boy? What even were his grades? I’ve certainly never seen any awards. Not like Jim or Jean.”

“No special skills in anything, either. At least Jack’s won a few trophies. A waste of time sending James anywhere, I say. The only place he’s going is the hair salon down the road.”

“You’re not wrong there…but what of his job?”

“What was it again? Ah right- dude ranching, wasn’t it? As if that’ll get him anywhere.”

“Well…”
“Well, what?”

“I saw an ad in the paper. It’s a ranch, out on Sodor. You know, that strange island folks like vacationing at. The pay seems quite good, perhaps we could send him there?”

“Let me see it?”

The sounds of a newspaper rustling drifted up the stairwell, obscuring the voices. The teen leaned forward, trying to hear what was being said.

“—perhaps—promising—”

“—next week, I’ll send word at once—”

“—good riddance—”

He slipped away, quietly crawling back into bed to await deliverance of his future.

~

The doors of the train shut behind him as he stepped onto the platform, his suitcase at his side.

The station was empty, at least on the inside. It seemed it didn’t see much traffic at this time of year.

Looking down, he felt his mouth go dry at the sight of the paper in his hand, a copy of a form his parents had filled out for him. No matter how many times he looked at it, it still didn’t quite feel…

Real?

No, that wasn’t the word.

Perhaps it was the feeling—or lack of it—he got from looking at something most others would be excited about. A job opportunity almost too good to be true, yet he, with his little experience, had been given the chance.

But he felt nothing at the idea.

His name was at the top, along with his year of birth and other personal information. James Harwick Redford, age twenty-three, graduated high school with average grades, worked part-time on a ranch before applying to the North Western.

Three of those facts were true. He wasn’t sure if helping the neighbours—who owned a small stable near his childhood home—counted as ‘ranch experience’. But maybe it did, since he would be expected to work with both animals and people, and he did know how to do that. Sort of. He much preferred working with people’s bad fashion choices, than with the people themselves.

He did know he wasn’t twenty-three, though.

He still didn’t know why this place had accepted his application over anyone else. Maybe they were just desperate? After all, this position was long-term, in a somewhat isolated place where he was fairly certain there were no reliable communication services—or really anything. He’d checked a map, and there seemed to be only a few small towns and farming villages scattered around—no big, fancy movie theatres, no shopping centres filled with dozens of stores with the latest fashions and styles.

Just a lot of empty land for farming.

Hopefully the mail service was reliable enough that he could still order his preferred brand of shampoo.

His parents had seemed pretty happy about that. His siblings hadn’t really cared . Actually, James was pretty sure his family just wanted him to get a well-paying job so they could use the money, and a remote place like Sodor was just a convenient option. It wasn’t like he’d be able to keep very much of his paycheck, and there probably wasn’t much he could even spend it on, with what he would be keeping.

He glanced up at the train station’s clock. He couldn’t stall any longer—he was due to meet the owner of the ranch outside.

He put the form back into his bag before attempting to smooth down his hair, trying to check his reflection in the nearest window. Then he headed outside into the warm sunshine of Sodor, looking around until he saw the rosy-cheeked young man with a top hat waving at him.

He took a deep breath, and stepped forward into his new life.

~

“Welcome to the North Western Ranch. I’m Charles Topham Hatt, my father is Sir Topham Hatt and the one in charge. I’m the foreman here, so if you’ve got anything to say, you come to me and I'll try to sort things out. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Thank you, sir,” the young man said quietly. “My name is James Redford.”

“A fine name for a fine young man. Come, I’ll show you to Tidmouth Hall. You can meet the others there,” Charles said cheerfully, and guided James up the road.

As they walked, Charles looked him over. The boy—he was definitely in his teens; no matter what his application form said, Charles refused to believe it—in front of him was a few inches shorter than Henry or Gordon, though taller than Edward. His dark hair was draped over his forehead in messy bangs, a style Charles was pretty sure had recently gotten popular in the larger cities. He was wearing a black jacket over black jeans and a grey shirt, everything looking a bit worn and baggy on a slender frame that didn't quite seem to fit. He wasn't as thin as Henry had been when he’d first come, looking sturdy enough to at least handle most of the work, but Charles made a note to tell Thomas to slip some snacks into the new ranch hand's saddlebags.

Glancing down, he made a second note to get James some proper boots while he was at it.

The ranch was rather new in terms of age, having only been open for a handful of years. It was enough, though, that business was growing, and as Charles led the new ranch hand towards their destination, he could see workers constructing new buildings and clearing new paths all around him. He had to admit that, while his father was a bit inept when it came to certain things, being more of the type to stay in his office all day, he did at least know how to get things moving.

Speaking of moving…Charles made a second note to himself to see if one of the others might be able to take James into Vicarstown sometime. There was no way there was enough spare clothing inside that tiny suitcase of his.

He glanced back at the teen behind him a few times, meaning to make small talk, but thought better of it after seeing James’ spaced-out look. It seemed he was the quiet type, and after his experience with Henry preferring his peace and quiet to aimless small talk, Charles was less apt to try chatting up the new kid on the ranch.

Besides, Thomas would chat him up plenty. The young man always did, filling up the space with words. No doubt James would be more comfortable with someone who didn’t have direct control over his paychecks, too.

After several minutes of silence, the silhouette of Tidmouth Hall appeared in the distance, and Charles let out a quiet breath of relief.

“This is Tidmouth,” Charles said as they approached the building. “This is where those who work on the ranch long-term stay. I've asked Thomas to set up a room for you—there, that's him now.”

“Hello!” Thomas called as he all but slid down the stairs. “Are you James?”

The new ranch hand nodded, and Thomas’s face lit up. “Oh, wonderful! I’m Thomas. I'm officially the cook here, though I sometimes help with stable hand things. Oh, hello, Mr. Hatt.”

“Hello, Thomas, and I keep telling you, call me Charles,” Charles chuckled.

“No can do—you’ll be my boss soon enough, and then it’ll be awkward,” Thomas grinned. “Come on in—there’s coffee in the pot, and I just finished making your bed, James.”

“I’ll take you up on the coffee, but then I’ll be off. Someone’s got to be the braker on Gordon’s wagon, and it’s certainly not going to be Henry,” Charles said as he and James followed the excited cook inside. “Will you two be alright?”

Thomas waved him off. “Don’t worry, go and brake for Gordon. I’ve got it handled. Here’s your coffee—don’t worry ,there’s no salt in it this time,” he said with a wink. Charles took the cup gratefully, sipping cautiously at it just in case.

“That’s much appreciated. I’ll be off, then—send word if you need me. James, I do apologise, but my father wanted you to run a delivery to the dairy later this afternoon so Edward can fix one of his carts. Have Thomas show you what to do and where to go. I do hope you’ll forgive the fact we’re already putting you to work—we’ve been quite a bit busy lately, with all the new construction,” Charles said over his cup of coffee. James nodded in understanding, and then Thomas dragged him off down Tidmouth’s singular hallway, excitedly chattering the new ranch hand’s ear off.

Charles shook his head and chuckled again as he finished his coffee, leaving his cup in the kitchen before leaving the building.

James would be fine. Thomas was a good lad, and if anything happened, Edward would be able to assist.

~

James was tense as he drove the cart towards the dairy, helpfully led by a map Thomas had drawn out for him and the marks of a well-travelled path. Behind him were boxes of goods, all ready to be-well, whatever one did with boxes of things meant to be used at a dairy building. He didn’t know what was in there, but he’d been told to be careful with them.

It was probably milk or something, if he had to guess.

The horse in front of him was less than eager to have a new driver, however. He’d forgotten her name, but he was ready to call her Bucky, with how much the cart was jostling from her antics.

James gritted his teeth and pushed on, one hand on the reins and one hand on the brake beside him. It was rather unfortunate he couldn’t have had someone else to hold the brakes for him, especially on the hills—he understood now why Charles Topham Hatt was playing braker for Gordon, whoever he was.

It didn’t help that he hadn't had any time to read the manual he’d been given, having needed to leave immediately to do the job and all. At least Thomas had had the decency to explain the basics, but James had the feeling there were a few missing details in the instructions.

“Please calm down,” James pleaded with the horse as she tossed her head again. “I can’t afford to mess this up. This soon, anyways.”

The horse didn’t listen, and trotted on briskly, definitely at a pace James hadn’t intended. He could’ve sworn that the mare laughed at him as he tried to slow her down, nearly falling off the cart’s seat as they hit a large bump in the ground.

“Careful!” James groaned, his attempts to rein her in seemingly doing nothing.. “Just—a little slower? Please?”

But the mare wasn’t having it, and James soon found himself going faster and faster, up hills and down the other side, around bends, all at a speed James didn’t even realise horses could pull carts at, until they finally hit a rut in the ground and James went flying.

He hit the ground with a solid thud, after bouncing and rolling on the hard-packed dirt several times, and felt pain radiate all over his body.

Heyelled out as the horse stepped over him and the cart’s wheels dug into his legs. He screwed his eyes shut, breathing heavily and wincing as his nerves set themselves on fire.

“O—oh….” he groaned, not even wanting to try an attempt at getting up. The horse and cart were probably long gone, but he didn’t care.

So much for his first day going at least smoothly.

~

At some point he passed out, and that was how he was found by Thomas some time later, after his horse arrived at the dairy unattended.

~

He awoke to find himself lying in a hospital bed, a heavy feeling in all four limbs and his eyes trying to close themselves as he struggled out of his sleep. He had a mild headache, but the longer his mind was active, the less prominent it seemed to get.

That was generally a good thing, from his own experience.

He attempted to move his arm, and was greeted by a less-than-pleasant feeling of pain. Cracking open his eyes carefully, he moved his head until he could see what exactly was going on.

An IV. That…made sense. James elected not to move that arm any more—he wasn’t a fan of needles he hadn’t manoeuvred into position himself.

He let his eyes drift over the room around him. The beeping of machines filled the air, a steady rhythm in his ears. The lights were thankfully darkened—past experience had also taught him that bright lights after just waking up were never a good combination—and he could see the vague silhouette of someone sitting in a nearby chair via light from the doorway.

“I see you’re awake, James,” a voice said, coming from the direction of the figure. James could only muster small squeak in response, but the person seemed to take that as confirmation and went on. “That was a nasty crash you had there.”

James squinted and blinked until his vision cleared, enough to see Charles Topham Hatt watching him with interest. He smiled when he saw James awake.

“Ah, so you are awake. Good. I’ve already spoken to my father, and he’s agreed to give you a second chance, seeing as you not being warned about Tempest and her penchant of playing nasty tricks on her drivers wasn’t your fault. Thomas told me everything—he’s been awarded a promotion, so I do hope you know how to cook since you may have to share some duties with him now. My father’s decision, not mine, mind you.”

“...thank you, sir.” James rasped out.

“Don’t thank me. Like I said—it wasn’t my call. But nonetheless—he asked for me to leave you this red coat,” Charles said, bringing out a brand-new windbreaker from under his arm and setting it on the bed, in reach of the ailed ranch hand. “I have no idea why. Nonetheless—wear the coat with pride, and do your jobs well.”

James could only nod in surprise, slowly reaching out his hand to touch the fabric. Charles looked pleased.

“Now—I’ll go inform the nurses you have awoken, and after they check you over, I believe you have some visitors.”

James opened his mouth to ask after the visitors—surely it wasn’t anyone in his family—but his dry throat prevented any more sound from emerging. By then, however, the foreman had left, and a nurse was hurrying in to look him over.

But true to word, he did indeed have visitors after the nurse was finished with her work. Two of them, in fact—Thomas, and a slightly older man James didn’t recognize. Probably another ranch hand, if he had to guess.

James was very surprised.

“I didn’t expect anyone to come,” he commented, before asking shyly, “...Do either of you have a mirror?”

“Hello to you too,” Thomas snorted. “So, lost your brakes, eh?”

The other ranch hand elbowed him.

“What?”

“Don’t be rude,” the older man sighed. He turned to James, a small smile on his face. “Hello there, I’m Edward. Sorry that this was your first experience on Sodor—I promise it’s not normally quite like this, taking things places on your first day.” He walked over to a nearby cabinet, opening it to pull out a small hand mirror. “Here, will this do?”

James had been propped up so he was sitting upright, and leaned forward as much as he dared to look into the glass. He made a face at the sight—bandages everywhere, dark bruises scattered all over.

“Ugh. Disgusting. And I just had my hair done before coming here, too,” James grumbled.

“Someone’s got their priorities straight,” Thomas commented.

Edward chuckled and put the mirror away, giving Thomas a look over his shoulder as he did so. “Well, I’m sure we can find something once you're out of this place. How are you feeling?”

James considered it. “...Terrible.”

“It can’t be all bad. I mean, you got the red coat,” Thomas noted. “I guess you were right, Edward.”

“Right about what?” James asked in surprise.

Thomas and Edward exchanged a look. Then Edward stepped back to shut the door more firmly, and Thomas settled on the edge of James’ bed, after a quick check outside the window.

“You’ve probably noticed—you haven’t met Sir Topham Hatt himself, have you?” Thomas asked. James shook his head. “I thought that perhaps he’s a bit busy…it’s only been a day, after all.”

“It’s been a bit more than that,” Thomas muttered from the corner. Edward, again, ignored the other’s comment, instead looking directly at James.

“Good. I’d keep it that way, if I were you,” Edward told him. He sounded bitter as he spoke, his arms crossed and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Charles Topham Hatt is fine, I like him. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty with the rest of us. But his father…he plays favourites. He’ll deny it, but…”

The older ranch hand glanced at the closed door again, as if the ranch’s owner would suddenly slam it open.

Thomas picked up where Edward left off. “He’s taken a liking to me. I don’t really know why, but he has. I convinced him to get you that coat, a bit of a second chance. And since you didn’t seem to have one, even though it’s a bit cold out. The whole situation really wasn’t your fault at all, and you shouldn’t be terminated for something out of your control. I insisted, and got him to leave you alone—even pay for your hospital bill, since it was technically the fault of the ranch.”

“But nonetheless, it’d be best to stay on his good side,” Edward added, lowering his voice as he did so. “Charles does what he can, but neither he—nor either of us—will be able to save you if he finds fault with you. Even Henry, who’s under a solid contract, almost got the axe before. Just—be careful, will you? We’ll show you how things work around here, but you’ll have to do the rest on your own.”

James swallowed thickly. He wasn’t feeling very confident after what he’d just been told. But he tried to put on a brave face.

“I’m sure it’ll be perfectly fine,” he said loudly, the words ringing out and sounding very fake. “I’ll do my best, anyhow.”

Thomas noticed.

“It’s fine to be nervous. We all are, a lot of the time. Just know that we’ve got your back. All of us do,” he told him, before pausing. “Well, maybe not Henry. Unless you bribe him. He likes those mint chocolates they sell at the cafe in town.”

Edward narrowed his eyes. “Thomas, how did you know that? You didn’t—”

“Do you really think I’d stoop to such a level?” Thomas questioned. Edward raised an eyebrow. “Okay, fine. But it was for a good cause!”

James chuckled. Thomas grinned at Edward. “See, he gets it!”

“Sure he does, as sure as knowing how to work a brake lever.”

James’ smile slowly slipped off, and he took a breath, figuring now was as good a time as any.

"I...I don't really know how to do ranch work—or use those brakes properly," he admitted softly. "I…I worked at a stable, not really a ranch. They—well, I—my parents, they...”

Edward and Thomas waited. James breathed deeply.

"They—they filled out my papers. For me. I—I've never done anything of this scale. They didn’t need brake levers, or brakers, heck they barely even used horses or oxen to pull things. I’m not even twenty-three, I’m barely nineteen…I should've—I should've said something. Before—before all of this. I—I'm very sorry. I—I won't be—I won't be upset if you told Sir Topham Hatt, I really shouldn’t be here—”

Edward stopped him there, settling his hand over James' uninjured shoulder. "James, listen to me. We've all had silly mishaps here—we were all young and inexperienced once. This isn't entirely your fault. We should have made sure you knew what you were doing, made sure you didn't take the wrong horse or the wrong cart. They're a lot of should-haves. But what matters is that you—we—we all learn from our mistakes."

"And we saw your resume," Thomas added. "Well, sort of. We know what's on it. It was a bit obvious it was forged—Sir Topham Hatt and Mr. Hatt aren't idiots. They know all the ranches in at least a hundred miles' radius. If you'd really come from the Linear ranch, you'd have had to have met Gordon. And he had no idea who you were."

“Charles also figured you weren’t exactly the age on your papers,” Edward added.

James stared at them. “...It was…that obvious, huh?”

Thomas and Edward exchanged looks.

“Well…if you hadn’t taken Tempest of all horses, you probably could have gotten away with it,” Thomas offered. “And if you tried not slouching, too. I mean, old Neil looks like he’s barely a day into college, but he’s much older than I am—I think you could pull it off…”

“Thomas.”

“What? I’m telling the truth! He did bloody well getting as far as he did with that horse!”

“He’s not wrong there. You did do rather well, staying on all the way to that field,” Edward agreed. “Thomas spent all of yesterday going back and forth to pick things up—it was quite the distance. Even Gordon commented on how impressive it was, in his own way.”

“...Which was..?” James asked curiously.

“Saying nothing besides a ‘humph’,” Thomas snickered. “He had nothing to say, and that was quite a surprise.”

James filed that bit of information away for later. It seemed Gordon was…a personality.

“Interesting,” he settled on.

Thomas nodded, and was about to say something, before a knock came at the door, and the nurse poked her head back in. “Visiting hours are ending in a few minutes,” she told them.

“We’ll be out of your hair soon,” Edward reassured her with a smile. The nurse nodded and left, the two ranch hands turning back to James, who was still watching from his hospital bed.

“One of us will be back tomorrow,” Edward told him. “Most likely with whatever Thomas cooks up for lunch. Is there anything you’d like whoever comes to bring? Books, or perhaps a newspaper?”

James considered. On one hand, he didn’t want to bother them. But on the other hand…

“We won’t be bothered by a request. Someone’s already supposed to come, to check up on you—the rest of us worked it out already,” Thomas added.

Alright, then.

“Maybe one of those magazines, if you have them?” James asked. “Like those Life magazines, or something along those lines?”

“We’ve got plenty of those thanks to Gordon. We can most definitely bring you a few,” Edward agreed. “Well, we’d best be going before the nurse kicks us out. Rest well, James.”

“Try to get some sleep if you can. It’ll make the time pass faster,” Thomas advised.

James nodded, and watched them as they left with a wave, a thoughtful look falling over his face as they did so.

He reached over and picked up the jacket.

The people at this ranch were a bit strange.They seemed willing to talk to him, to even stand up for him. They’d even got him a new jacket—Thomas hadn’t been entirely wrong when he’d said that James had needed one.

That jacket was probably one of the newest things he’d gotten in a while that was from someone else.

He ran his fingers over the material. Comfortable, classy, and a nice colour.

.

The feeling of nothing was slowly starting to subside.

He wasn’t opposed to it.

Chapter Text

"You have to project confidence. Animals can sense if you're nervous. Some of the nicer ones, like Annie and Clarabel, will still behave themselves, but a few horses and some of the oxen on this ranch will take it as a chance to cause trouble," Edward advised. "The brakers and stable hands, too—the ranch tends to employ local students or temporary hires to do those jobs. They’re usually not long term, and a lot of them goof off the moment they get a chance."

James glanced over his shoulder at where two stable hands were whispering to each other further down the stables. He swallowed thickly. "I—right."

"Don't worry,” Edward chuckled. "They're harmless, if you're polite with them. You just have to stand firm when they try to pull something. Take Gordon, he's got a bit of an ego but they rarely pull silly tricks now that they've learned he doesn't take nonsense."

“If you say so,” James said, and got to work, Edward just behind.

~

He would remember those early days on the NWR years later, when it was his turn to show a new ranch hand the ropes. Barry Riddles was young, younger than James had been, and just as inexperienced. He was easily excitable—but just as easily made nervous.

He reminded James of himself, though his story was more akin to that of Henry. But it was James who the inexperienced ranch hand would come to with questions and concerns.

Edward had taught James well. He in turn taught those same lessons to Barry, putting aside his facade of a smug and egoistic heartthrob to reveal the careful and logical side of himself. It was only fair that he passed on the kindness and grace shown to him, all those years before.

Even if it meant ignoring Thomas’ teasing. At least he’d be able to tease him back, when the longtime rancher found himself with his own mentee.

~

James was shadowing Edward, the more experienced man guiding him through a visitor tour. This particular tour was different from Gordon’s in that it was geared towards tourists, and only tourists—locals didn’t take it, as the wagons would stop several times at scenic locations for the visitors to admire the view. James was to drive the wagon, while Edward braked and did the tour guide reel.

“Normally Henry or I do these particular trips,” Edward told him as they waited for the guests to settle into the wagon, “but Henry’s feeling ill again, and I have my own things to be taking care of now. It’s likely that you’ll be asked to run this when Henry can’t, so it’s best you get to know the route.”

James nodded in agreement, and watched as people climbed into the wagon. A few of them said hello to him, and James was quite happy about that.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed who he presumed was Sir Topham Hatt, Charles just behind as usual, looking on.

He quickly turned away, choosing not to think about having his every move being watched. Thankfully, the wagon was filling up, leaving little room for excess passengers.

“Is that everyone? Right—let’s be off, then!” Edward called. James started the cart forward, and then heard a loud yell. Glancing back, he saw Sir Topham Hatt looking furious, his once-pristine suit having several new mud splatters over the front. The wagon had hit a puddle, and the ranch owner had been right in the impact zone.

James turned forward, and spurred the horses on just a little faster.

Edward talked on with the visitors, and James tried to focus, both on driving and on listening to what Edward was saying. The paths he was to take were well-worn, and the further they got from the station, the more James relaxed.

He almost didn’t want to stop when they reached the first lookout, and Edward had one hand on the brake lever and one tapping James’ shoulder before James actually stopped the wagon.

He gave a somewhat awkward apologetic smile to the passengers as they disembarked for photos.

Eventually, they made it to the Skarloey Lodge connection point, where they found Thomas coming down the hill, on his way back from delivering goods to the lodge.

"Hullo Edward, hullo James!" Thomas called. "How are things getting along?"

"Very well!" James grinned. "This is much nicer than chasing after runaway carts!"

"That's good to hear. You'll have to tell me all about it this evening. I've got to get going, got some tourists to pick up and they won’t tour themselves! Good luck!" The ravenette called as he headed off with his horses in tow.

“James, you're great and all, but could you keep it down please? We can hear you through the walls,” Thomas yawned.

James cursed internally as he turned the dial on the old radio sitting on his desk. Of course he was being a bother. Of course they could hear him.

“Sorry about that. I didn't realise I was that loud,” he replied. He waited for the response—an angry snap, a humph of annoyance. It didn't come.

“Don't worry about it,” Thomas replied easily. “We’ve all been there. Waiting for a verdict from the big man does that to you, gets you worked up.”

“...You know?”

“Of course. Between Edward and I, there’s not very many secrets we haven’t heard.” He paused. “Well, mostly Edward. But I see plenty of stuff hanging around here all day long.”

Honestly, James really should’ve seen this coming, seeing as they apparently knew about his less-than-legit resume. Thomas must have read his mind.

“You’re not the only one with questionable experience points on their paperwork. I’m technically not even supposed to be here, and Henry…well, you’ve seen him. I’m pretty sure Gordon hadn’t even seen a horse before he came here. Edward’s the only one out of all of us that actually really knew what he was doing from the start.” Thomas chuckled. “Point is—if Hatt gives you smack for screwing something up, there’s not a lot you could do that hasn’t already happened on this ranch.”

Somehow, that improved James’ mood significantly.

~

The cityboy continued on with his work over the next week, often finding himself rather bored. There wasn’t very much to do, when all one did all day was sit and watch sheep grazing.

“It’s so dull,” he lamented to Thomas when the latter came to bring him a packed lunch. “The sheep behave themselves and don’t run off, the tourist wagons don’t stop here so I never have to deal with idiots trying to pet the livestock, and I haven’t had any wolves or bears or whatever predators there are on this island come after the sheep!”

“Maybe you could try learning to play the lyre?” Thomas suggested. “Like in the olden days.”

James gave him an unimpressed look.

“...And where exactly would I even find something like that?” he drawled.

“You have a point. Well, I’m sure you’ll be released from your exile soon—I heard there’s a student from Vicarstown’s college who’s looking into the job.” Thomas told him. “And no way is that kid getting anywhere near the stables, if I have any say about it. I don’t trust philosophy students, they get into their heads far too much.” Never mind the fact that Thomas himself was probably the age of the average college student. “I’d much rather have you behind the reins—you might carry a hand mirror everywhere, but at least you know how to tie a slipknot.”

James brightened significantly at that, ignoring the jab at his cosmetic routine. “Oh, that sounds wonderful. Thank you, Thomas!”

“No problem. Enjoy your sandwich!” Thomas called as he headed back towards Tidmouth Hall.

James grinned to himself as he opened the sack, pulling out the sandwich and biting into it.

A bitter taste flooded his senses. His smile instantly faded, and he nearly choked at the taste in his mouth.

.

“Thomas! Get back here and explain why there are pickles in my sandwich!”

Thomas snickered as he hurried away. It was just too easy to prank the taller ranch hands in this place…

~~~

A week later, James was delighted to find that he had been called to take a delivery from the ranch to the small village of Killdane.

“No more herding!” he said cheerfully to Edward, who was hitching up the horses for his visitor wagon. “If I do the job well, do you think I might be able to join you on more guest tours?”

“I would hope so,” Thomas replied as he secured the last strap. “While herding is technically one of the duties listed in your contract, it’s certainly not something we’re in great need of. Plenty of folks we can get for that. It’d be much more productive to have you running wagons. Right, you’re all set, and no tricks this time, cross my heart and hope to die, hope that Edward never bakes another pie.”

James nodded his thanks, and started off.

For once, the young man’s mind focused solely on the task at hand. He couldn’t afford to waste this chance to prove himself and show he could do what the other guys did, city slicker or not. The oxen seemed to sense James’ determination, and kept tugging at the reins.

“Oh, come off it,” he muttered as the oxen tugged. “You’d think you lot never got broken at all…”

The oxen snorted and tried to slow down. James cracked his whip, and they picked up again.

He couldn’t afford to go back to watching sheep all day. He’d die of boredom before getting another chance. He had to get the oxen to cooperate, and he most certainly couldn’t afford to crash.

Not again. He was already in enough trouble as it was.

The oxen pushed down hills and held back on slopes. Dust flew into the air as they kicked, and James sneezed more than one time. Thankfully, oxen didn’t buck, but James was sure that they would if they could.

And then they passed a signpost, the one for Killdane.

His eyes widened at the sight. One more mile, and it would be over.

Of course, the oxen took the momentary distraction to set off at a furious pace, and James cursed as he held on for dear life, praying Thomas had tied everything down with no room to spare.

They raced down the road, wheels bumping and oxen snorting and James swearing every swear he knew. His hair was a mess and he’d surely need at least three baths to wash off the dust, but there was no time to think about that. Not now, right now he had to get the goods to the destination and then—

Killdane. Just ahead, he could see the outline of Edward’s familiar horse and wagon against the setting sun.

“Almost…” he muttered, lips pressed tight in nervousness. He tried to take a few deep breaths, to calm his nerves. The oxen kept their unsteady pace. “Steady…almost…”

And then they were there. They’d finally made it to his destination, and James practically collapsed on the ground the moment Edward took the reins.

“I never want to do that again,” he groaned. “Never let me near another ox after a month of sheep duty.”

Edward looked down at the dishevelled ranch hand with mild amusement. “Funny. I thought you said you couldn't wait to take the delivery.”

“Those blasted oxen are little devils. What'd you give them, ideas?”

“I should hope not,” a voice said, and James looked up to see Sir Topham Hatt himself, closely followed by Charles Topham Hatt. “Well done, James. I see Thomas was right—you do deserve that coat of yours. You've handled the most troublesome oxen on this ranch very well, especially for the first time.”

James gaped at him. “The most—oh my stars, are you telling me that not all oxen act like—like—”

“They're being remote controlled by an evil toddler? Yes,” Edward affirmed.

Several emotions flashed across James’ face, and he let his head drop with a groan.

Edward patted his back reassuringly.

“Never mind, now. You've done well, and I shall see to it that my assistants print you a proper badge,” Sir Topham Hatt told him. “Seeing as your old one is rather torn up and dirtied. Mind you don't ruin the new one though—I won't be printing you a new one if you manage to destroy that one too, understood?”

“Yes, sir!” James said eagerly, raising his head with a grin. Sir Topham Hatt hmph’d and strode away.

“Congratulations, James,” Charles Topham Hatt said cheerily as soon as his father was gone. “Though…you might want to clean up a bit before doing anything else. You’re uh, a bit of a mess…”

James frowned, getting to his feet to look into the nearest reflective surface—the small mirror just inside the Killdane stables.

“Is it my hair? Do I have any mud stains on my clothes?” he gasped dramatically. “Manure on my face? Please no, I just moisturised this morning! Surely it was only dust and dirt—”

Edward cleared his throat, trying not to snicker. “Well…I mean, you did just dramatically throw yourself on the ground just now…”

James inhaled sharply as he peered at himself. “Oh my, I must go wash at once! Take my things to the side, will you Edward? Thanks, gotta go!”

James sped off to the nearest bathroom, and Edward chuckled as he unhitched James’ oxen from their load.

“I think this is all working out just fine,” he said to Charles Topham Hatt with a grin. “I really do.”

~

Three Years Later

"Look at who's coming down the path! Make way for James, hooray for James! Shiny wagon paint and a great black mare! Make way for James, hooray for James!" James sang loudly as he passed by, his favourite mare and a cart of assorted goods following behind. His braker tried to put on the brakes in a desperate attempt to stop the ranch hand’s singing, but James paid him no mind, and kept on with his cheery tune.

"I can't decide if this is an improvement on his personality or not," Thomas muttered to Gordon, them and the other ranchers watching from where they were packing more goods into carts.

"It's called character development, I think," Gordon replied. Thomas batted at him with a grumble, and Gordon sniggered.

"Admit it, it's nice to know he's comfortable enough with us to let loose a bit," Edward smiled as he hitched his oxen to his own cart.

"That's the understatement of the century...but I suppose you aren't entirely wrong," Henry agreed, as the four ranch hands watched James disappear over the ridge of the hill beyond, still singing his song loudly and cheerfully, a wide grin on his face.

He was finally home.

Chapter Text

The North Western Ranch was shrouded in the darkness of the night. Every so often, an owl would hoot in the distance the crickets occasionally letting out chirps, sometimes a bush would rustle. But for the most part, it was silent. Only the lights of the buildings’ outdoor lighting broke through the darkness, no moon in the sky that particular night.

That, and a single window in Tidmouth Hall. A window belonging to a young ranch hand named Gordon Gresley.

He knew that he would regret staying up so late when he had to get up early the next morning. The Express didn’t wait for anyone, after all. But that was a problem for tomorrow Gordon. Because Gordon had found something much more appealing then a full night of sleep.

The question was whether or not he was ready to face the truth that would, with luck, be uncovered by what he was doing. And there was no way he would be able to sleep without finding out if his suspicions were correct. If the rumours he’d overheard were true Because if they were….

Well, he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he found what he was looking for. If he found it, that is.

There was an old ledger on the desk in front of him. The ranch hand carefully turned the well-worn pages, eyes scanning them in search of what he was sure must be there somewhere. The seemingly-endless lines of records ran on and on, names and numbers merging and unmerging in the ranch hand’s tired vision.

Still, he pressed on.

The ledger dated from the beginnings of the ranch to the year before Gordon had been employed, a period of time that wasn’t long at all, barely more than a year or so. But in those early days, there were many who came and left. There was so much going on under the unifying goal of making the Ranch become prosperous, that Gordon was fairly certain that someone could write a full textbook on the WAR's first months of operations, and still not get every single detail. Even he could hardly remember half the things that happened, and he’d been there fo most of it.

Luckily, he wasn’t trying to do that. He wasn’t crazy. Not in that direction, anyways- that was more along the lines of something Edward might do, given the right circumstances. Or maybe that one guy living out in the middle of nowhere, Glynn. The man did love telling his stories…

He shook himself out of the thought and returned to his work.

Alright, so his own self-assigned task wasn’t any less crazy. Actually, it might border on “stalking”, if phrased teh wrong way. But he chose not to think about that. Looking for family shouldn’t count towards accidentally becoming a creep.

“You have enough loose pages and red ink to make it really hard to believe you,”

Gordon jumped, nearly fearing the page in his hand out of the ledger in his surprise.

“Toby?! What-?”

The brunette smirked from where he was leaning against the wall, having come into Gordon’s room without notice.

“I wanted to get something to drink. Saw your light on and got curious. Of course, I knocked, but you didn’t hear. So, need help to hide a body or are you trying to overthrow the local government?” The older man asked. “Because that new Vicarstown mayor definitely shouldn’t have been elected to office.:”

Gordon stared at him, mouth agape. “...what.”

“What?”

Toby seemed serious enough, but he usually did, even when joking. He was one of those people that made it hard to tell the difference, and usually that was on purpose.

“...you know, I don’t even want to know why that was your first thought,” Gordon sighed. Toby only grinned, and Gordon decided not to question the guy’s motives. Toby, who was an older ranch hand who had come to the North Western a few months after Percy’s arrival, was still an enigma in Gordon’s eyes. And frankly, the Express driver had no intention of opening that can of worms. He’d let Thomas do that.

Toby certainly didn’t bother answering any unasked questions, switching back to the topic of the elephant in the room. “So, what are you doing with those old records?”

“Looking for something.” Gordon replied.

Toby hummed, his eyes glancing at the papers surrounding Gordon. “You won’t find anything about Henry’s origins in there.”

Gordon narrowed his eyes. “Wha- How did you know?”

“I have my ways.” Toby replied casually. “So, do you want my help finding actual information?”

Gordon opened his mouth to say no. But then he stopped and considered.

Toby was an enigma.

But he was also smart.

He knew things. Things that most people didn’t know, things most people shouldn’t know. Heck, he was known as the ranch hand that had “forgotten more about ranching than others would ever know”. And that extended to most things.

And he was offering his help. Granted, he was a bit of a trickster. But he was reliable when he needed to be, and he’d get the job done.

And he’d keep the secret, if Gordon’s suspicions were true.

“...Fine.”

Chapter Text

Toby somehow convinced Gordon to go to bed, promising to bring his own finds that evening. Gordon obeyed, under threat of having the entire ranch learn about his secret subscription to a particular tabloid. He wasn’t embarrassed about it, per say, but he had his pride and James wasn’t known for keeping quiet on the chance he heard something like that. He’d never live it down.

And Gorodn didn’t feel like entertaining that guy’s inner thoughts at the present time, with the amount of work on his hands. He already had to suffer with Thomas.

The next day, he went about his work with thoughts of what exactly Toby would find running through his mind. He mused about it as he drove up and down the main roads, shuttling people to and from Tidmouth. He wondered as he brushed his horses down between runs.

He glanced a little longer than necessary at Henry during dinner. The other man didn’t seem to notice, too busy being his usual grumpy self as Thomas played his role of class annoyance and Edward half-heartedly tried to stop the chaos. James was occupied with talking at Percy about something in a recent news article, while Percy enjoyed his dinner and nodded vigorously at James in hopes the ranch hand would eventually remember to eat his own food before it got cold.

No one took any notice of Gordon’s observation. Except maybe for Toby, but he didn’t count since he already knew. He was busy chatting with his girlfriend anyways.

Sio Gordon was in the clear, and he took the opportunity gladly.

There really wasn’t a lot to say about the matter.

Henry was not a showman in the least, preferring solitude and the company of a tree. He had a thin frame that sometimes made Gordon wonder if a strong-enough wind could blow him over, though he’d been working there long enough that Gordon knew such a thing was highly unlikely to happen. A pair of thin glasses was perched on the end of his nose out of Henry’s laziness to deal with his contacts that particular day, and his dark hair had been freshly dyed a mossy brown. It had been allowed to grow out in an attempt not to resemble Gordon’s hairstyle too much.

That was what had started it all.

It had been just after Henry had returned from Crewe Hospital, claiming the name “Fitzstainer” in lieu of his given name, “Atlantic”. Gordon figured that his time at Crewe was when Henry’s personality had–well, there really wasn’t another good alternative for the term “character development”.

Everyone agreed it was definitely thanks to the doctor that Henry had become quite close to during the many years they’d spent searching for a cure together., a man who was old friends with Sir Topham Hatt. It was thanks to him that Henry had his job, and it was also thanks to him that Henry was back to nearly perfect health.

Henry had returned with less of a frown, a newfound enjoyment of nature, and a shorter haircut, having had to cut his long hair for his surgery. He looked like a whole new person now that he looked less like a ghost and more like a person, albeit one that hadn’t been in the sun much. But that would soon fix itself.

But what had been the most changed aspect of Henry’s new look was that without the sunken cheeks, the pale skin, or the bird’s nest of hair, he resembled Gordon. He could have passed from one of Gordon’s many siblings, if he’d wanted to. His hair was only a few shades lighter, he had the same green eyes, and he had what was known as the “Gresley Nose”. He was only a couple of inches shorter as well.

Gordon was very unnerved by this. James had found it hilarious.

“Oh, great Stepehn’s Rockets!” He’d laughed after noticing the similarities. “Great gosh, you should– oh my goodness, the two of you! I didn’t know you were twins! Hahahaha-”

Gordon had slapped him upside the head, and Henry had scowled at the laughing ranch hand.

“We are not related, don’t be silly,” Henry had huffed, with arms crowded. “Say that again, and I’ll have you–”

He’d been drowned out by Thomas joining in the jesting.

But that wasn’t the last time the likeness would be commented on.

“Oh! Are you one of Gordon’s siblings?” A tourist asked when Henry took a tour group one morning, to Henry’s chagrin.

“Hullo, Gordon!” A local greeted as they boarded the Express, and Henry huffed out that he wasn’t Gordon.

Gordon wasn’t exempt from the mistaken identities either.

“Hey Henry! What time is your wagon leaving?” A braker called across a field.

Gordon ignored him. The braker came closer and yelled again, and Gordon looked up and snapped at him that he had the wrong ranch hand, to the poor braker’s frantic apologies.

The other ranch hands weren’t much better. Percy constantly mixed the two up, and more then once sent them off with the wrong goods. Thomas kept forgetting who wanted cucumbers on their sandwich and who didn’t when he handed out the sack lunches. Edward learned to take a moment and double-check the identity of the person before him before speaking.

Even Charles Topham Hatt had a bit of difficulty.

“Gordon–er, sorry, Henry–oh goodness, wait a moment–”

SIr Topham Hatt didn’t have nearly as many problems, but thai was attested to the man never leaving his office in the first place.

Henry finally gave up, and decided that though he’d initially tried to imitate Edward's neat hairstyle, it wasn’t worth the trouble. The next time he and James both had the day off, he made James take him into Vicarstown to get his hair done. He’d returned with his current hair colour. Gordon kept his shorter, and Henry let his grow long, and finally, after several weeks, some blatant distinction was made between them.

Still, Gordon couldn’t help but wonder.

That had led to him looking at old records well into the night. That had led to Toby agreeing to assist him in his efforts.

Gordon took a bite of the macaroni Percy had made for dinner.

Toby wouldn’t disappoint. He never did.

.

“There you go.” Toby said, placing the folder in front of Gordon.

They were in Toby’s room, or at least, where he stayed when he and his girlfriend were working near Tidmouth. Normally they stayed in a cabin near the trail up to Skarloey Lake, or at the lodge up there, but that week they were needed to help with some students who were studying agriculture who’d booked time at the ranch.

Gordon was thankful Toby was around, but that quickly changed to concern when he saw the contents of the folder.

“These are medical records. Toby, what–”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It’s Toby, l don’t worry about it!” Henrietta chirped from across the room, where she sat in an armchair writing a letter to her sister in London. “I watched. It was obtained legally.”

“You two are…Nevermind,” Gordon sighed, and gingerly picked up the papers in the folder. There were a couple of notes from Henry’s latest hospital visits, a copy of his employment contract at the Ranch (both of which Gordon was definitely sure he wasn’t supposed to see), an adoption certificate, and a birth certificate, among a few other things.

The birth certificate, however, was the one he focussed on.And he immediately saw that his suspicions were correct.

“Henry G. Robber. Born to Mara Robber and Sir Nigel Gresley,” He whispered. “He actually put his name on the papers…”

Toby offered the adoption certificate.

“Adoption certificate of Henry G. Robber, now Henry G. Atlantic. Dated five years later–Toby, these could get me in serious trouble if I was found handling these–”

“Don’t. Worry,” Toby insisted. “This is what you were looking for, right?”

Gordon frowned. “I–well, yes, but–Toby, this is illegal! And I should know. Father made us study local laws when I was young. It–it isn’t proper to be looking at someone’s personal information like this.”

Henrietta tutted from her armchair. “We got the necessary permissions, dear. You won’t get in trouble, and I’ll return them when you’re done. No harm, no problems.”

If Gordon hadn’t been convinced before, he was now certain that Toby and Henrietta were members of the Mafia.

Though if anything, it was Henry that Gordon knew would be one to fear if he ever found out Gordon sk kuch as laid his eyes on these documents. The guy probably knew a good place to hide a body, too. Toby just liked to psychologically torture people for fun, but he probably wouldn’t actually commit murder.

Potentially..

“So? Do you have the answers you were seeking?” Toby asked. He was relaxed, leaning against the wall, without seeming a care for the fact he was potentially committing crimes. Gordon could just see it now–the newspapers with headlines like “Heir Gone Rogue: Sir Gresley’s Oldest Son Arrested for Privacy Intrusion”. Or perhaps, “Prodigal Son Turns Criminal”.

But against his better judgement, he looked down once more and flipped through a few more of the documents. The latest note from Henry’s longtime doctor, William Stainer. The arrest warrant for Henry’s mother, not long after when his fifth birthday would have been. A handwritten letter, addressed to “Birth Family”.

Wait.

Toby noticed Gordon’s pause and chuckled.

“Take it.” He said encouragingly.

Gordon pursed his lips. “I don’t–”

“You’re his biological relative, are you not?” Toby asked. “You most definitely have a right to see the contents.”

He sounded too confident.

“This is getting weird,” Gordon stated, putting the folder down on the table between them. “I don’t want to go behind his back like this. If he wanted a Gresley to read the letter, why did he not just send it himself? And me? I gave up my birthright as the heir years ago. I am a Gresley, yes, but this should go to my Father, or Scott, or to Fred. Not to me.”

“Well, you are the one he would know best, considering you’ve lived next door to each other for a good few years now,” Toby pointed out.

Henrietta joined them, her own letter sealed and ready to be posted.

“Don’t let the opportunity pass you by,” she said. “It’ll eat way at you, and especially when you’ve come this far, work so closely.”

Gordon frowned, shaking his head. He took a step back. “I can’t-”

Toby picked up the envelope and turned it over.

“It looks freshly sealed,” he commented. ”Perhaps he too was looking for something he was suspicious about?”

“It doesn’t look like there was room for an address on that thing anyways,” Henrietta added.

Gordon left Toby’s room that night with an unopened letter in his pocket and a newfound annoyance for Tobias Browntram and Henrietta Wisbech-Upwell. He made a note to buy some sweets for them both the next day, and oh they definitely knew what to do to get free things out of him, those two–

.

The moment he’d left, Toby had turned to the wardrobe.

“You can come out now,” he said.

Henry emerged, looking disgruntled.

“Your stuff smells really weird, did you know?” He complained. “What sort of cologne are you using?”

“It’s a new soap I got from Irene,” Henrietta replied. “Does wonders to keep away the moths.”

“Whatever, don’t care. So, he does have an ounce of self-preservation. Never would’ve imagined.”

“You were the one to suggest the idea,” Toby reminded him cheekily.

“Hmph.”

“He’ll read the letter,” Henrietta said. “He’s quite devoted to being aware of those in his family. He won’t pass this by.”

Henry snorted. “You think I don’t notice he keeps sending at least one letter a week and subscribes to tabloids? It’s not subtle. His room is full of family photos, it makes me sick.”

“Sure it does, and my name’s Reginald.” Toby said.

Henry huffed and stalked away, collecting the folder as he went.

Chapter Text

Three days.

Gordon was a weak man. It took exactly three days of that cursed letter sitting on his desk, taunting him, before he gave in.

It was indeed a new envelope, Toby and Henrietta had had a point. But when he opened the flap, two pieces of paper fell out and one had clearly been folded more recently than the other. Henry had apparently decided to redo his work. But for some reason, he’d kept both the old and new.

Gordon started with the older of the papers.

It had been folded several times to fit inside the envelope, and the writing had been done in pen, an unsteady hand spelling the letters on the page. A younger Henry then, if the date was anything to go by, and probably a much sicker one then the grump of a ranch hand Gordon was familiar with. Or at least, one with a very weak writing hand.

It was, as to be expected, addressed to Henry’s birth family. Teenage Henry had been quite aware of the fact he was not at all the biological son of George and Wilma Atlantic. He’d had become interested in seeing who his biological relatives were, with no knowledge of his father being Sir Nigel Gresley. He liked birds, and had taken to watching the horse trainers at a stable just down the road, though he wasn’t able to go very often due to school and hospital visits.

The letter as a whole was also a little disorganised, the writer having had much to say and little room to write it all in. There were even a couple of scribbled-out words, probably misspellings or derailed thoughts.

It was signed with his old name, Atlantic. Of course it would be, when Henry had only taken the name Fitzstainer recently.

Young Henry had expressed interest in meeting his biological family, but Gordon wasn’t about to take suggestions from a thirteen-year-old, much less who didn’t even know how to saddle a horse yet. So he turned to the second paper in the envelope.

This, Gordon recognized, was the writings of a Henry he knew. One that was so clearly done with the shenanigans he had to put up with, and made his points as clear and quick as he could, as if in fear he’d lose the reader’s attention. Once again he’d used a pen, but this time, the words were printed decisively across the page.

And it was also addressed directly to Gordon.

Oh yeah. Gordon was definitely going to need a talk with Toby after this. That smug wanker of a man, Gordon just knew, was snickering with Henrietta in their room down the hall, knowing exactly what they’d done.

And why the hell hadn’t Henry just talked to him straight? He was literally one room over! It wasn’t like half the people in this placed cared about privacy, barging in at all hours if your door wasn’t shut and bolted.

Well, he supposed that that was why Henry had sent the letter in the first place.This was a bit of a personal matter. Glancing it over once more, he set the letter down and sighed as he got up from his chair. He went to his closet, and took out a coat, before grabbing a small lantern from his dresser and heading out the door.

.

Gordon,

You’re not as sneaky as you think, you lumbering sausage. You had questions. I had them too, until Crewe. Don’t deny it. Meet me at the place we first met, eleven o’clock at night, three days from when you receive this. Or seven, if you somehow hold out that long.

You won’t.

Henry

.

The old ranch house was a small thing, two miles out from where Tidmouth Hall was. It was really a small farmhouse from a previous owner that had served as temporary housing while Tidmouth Hall was built.

Many memories were made in that house. Gordon had been very glad to leave them behind. It was still used, yes, but only when absolutely necessary. Few people ventured out that way, especially at night, so it was very private.

Henry had chosen a location where no one would overhear, unless they followed Gordon there.

A stray thought crossed Gordon’s mind: that perhaps Henry was about to reveal that he was Jack the RIpper and bury his body under the foundation, where no one would find it. It was quickly dismissed, and Gordon laughed at himself for even the mere thought that Henry, who couldn’t hurt even an ant, could do something like that. He’d been listening to far too many tall tales lately.

Even if this was almost exactly the scenario his father had warned him and his siblings against time and time again. Close friend lures you out to a place with no one around, then backstabs you for the fortunes you owned. Or didn’t own, in Gordon’s case, but to be fair he did poke through a lot of documents he definitely could get in huge trouble for touching–

“You came.”

Gordon startled, before realising he’d reached the farmhouse. Henry stood on the porch, hands in pockets, watching. His own lantern burned bright on the railing.

“O-Of course I did.” Gordon swallowed. “You sent me those cryptic notes, through Toby of all people mind you.”

“I wouldn’t have if the walls weren’t paper thin,” Henry replied. “You really should learn to think inside your head. I could hear you loud and clear. You’re lucky James loves his beauty sleep.”

“So why didn’t you just come in yourself? Why did you send Toby?”

Henry ignored the question, turning to face away from Gordon with his chin pointed. Gordon was fairly certain the other man was blushing, but decided not to point that out. This time.

ANother reason for Henry picking a dark, somewhat-abandoned farmhouse at night, he supposed. Anything could be passed off as a trick of the eye from the shadows dancing across both of their faces.

“Did you have another reason for calling me out here besides seeing if I got your mail?” Gordon asked instead. “I do appreciate that you were inclined to share your tragic backstory and all, but it’s also rather cold here and we’ll have to walk all the way back to the Hall.”

“And I’ve been here for longer, deal with it,” Henry told him, before sighing and facing Gordon, looking down at him from the porch steps. “Look, just–just, I need to know. Would anything have changed if I’d ever gotten around to sending that letter, the first one?”

“No,” Gordon stated with complete confidence, no hesitation.

Henry tilted his head in question, and Gordon continued.

“You know of the Gresleys. The most talented family in England, the stars of any show they waltz into.”

“Who doesn’t?” Henry snorted. “But I didn’t exactly know that at the time. You saw those silly ramblings.”

“I did, yes,” Gordon confirmed. “But still, nothing would have changed, besides perhaps an anonymous letter from Father if you were lucky.”

Henry hummed.

Gordon went on, carefully choosing his words as not to be misunderstood.

“We do not share a mother, I reckon that yours was the woman he was originally planning to marry before marrying mine,” he said. “I had heard about something of that sort, but only ever in passing. Anyways, I think you have it much better here–no familial pressures. You would not have done well trying to do somersaults through flaming hoops every other night.”

“Was that your act?” Henry asked with amusement lacing his voice.

“Heavens, no!” Gordon exclaimed. “I was the Strongman! Doing stunts with horses, lifting things high over my head, that sorts of thing. I wasn’t stupid.”

“Unbelievable.” Henry replied drily.

“Well, I did learn to ride horses from somewhere,” Gordon said.

The two fell silent, their eyes drifting upwards. The moon glowed faintly in the sky above, a thin crescent of silver in a sky filled with stars.

“You know,” Gordon finally said, Henry turning to look back at him. “You know what I think?”

“No. I can’t read minds.”

“Shush, you, it was a rhetorical question,” Gordon told him. “You want to know what I think? You made the right choice.”

“To..?”

“Not sending that letter. Waiting until now. We….we’re not the same people we were ten years ago. But I think…we’ve both found what we’re looking for. Futures that we can both build towards.” Gordon shrugged. “Together, if you that’s the answer you wish.”

Henry huffed out a chuckle.

“Sap,” he said, but even in the dim light Gordon could see his faint smile.

.

“I hate them. I hate them. I hate them so much, oh–”

Donald and Douglas, who’d been playing ches on the coffee tables in Tidmouth Hall’s lounge, both looked up as James stormed into the room and dramatically threw himself into an armchair.

“Gif it’s that Sid ye ‘re mad at, I’ll go an’ punch him fur ye,” Donaald offered.

“It’s no Sid this time,” James groaned. “It’s that blasted Henry and Gordon!”

“Teasin’ ye ‘boott them bees again?” Douglas asked with as innocent a face as he could manage. James glared at him.

“Drop that,” he grumbled. “I already told you. And it isn’t that either, I’d much prefer it.”

“Then what–”

“Hullo, all!” Gordon announced as he and Henry strolled into the lounge. They had both put on the NWR’s standard-issue winter coat and hat to protect against the winds blowing outside, and wore wide grins on their faces.

“We’d like to invite everyone to the grandest race on Sodor!” Henry proclaimed with an enthusiasm that unnerved even the normally-steadfast Donald and Douglas.

“Five o’clock, which is–” Gordon checked his watch, “--in about half an hour, starting out from Tidmouth all the way to Knapford and back.”

“We’ll finally see which Gresley is the better, and deserves to drive the Express,” Henry finished.

“We expect to see you there!” Gordon added, and then the two left, heading in Duck’s general direction.

James slouched into his armchair. “See? They’re even playing into the ‘Henry is Gordon’s long-lost brother’ joke now…”

Donald and Douglas exchanged looks, before setting aside their game. “Are ye comin’?” Donald asked James, who immediately sat up.

“Of course, it’s free entertainment. Why wouldn’t I?”

The trio headed out, and if they’d stayed just a minute longer, would have seen Henry and Gordon cheerfully bickering over who was the better horseman.

Chapter Text

“I’m not happy,” Gordon Gresley said grimly to his friends.

It was a lovely spring day on the North Western Ranch, on the Island of Sodor. The storms of winter that had brought seemingly endless amounts of snow and ice had finally ended, and now only a few small patches of the cold white were left. Donald and Douglas had been disappointed the winter weather hadn’t lasted longer, but had cheered up considerably now that they were off probation, so it evened out.

As to be expected with any sort of good weather, those on the island all found it a perfect time to sit around outside whenever they weren’t needed. Some, like Thomas and Percy, could often be found in the trees, while those that preferred their feet on the ground, like Edward or Skarloey, found places out on the lawns or on porches of buildings.

And a few simply settled for the front steps of Tidmouth Hall, the main residential building on the large ranch. The group, made up of longtime ranch hands Gordon Gresley, Montague “Duck” Western, Henry Fitzstanier, and James Redford, had been chatting away about various subjects up until Gordon’s sudden remark.

“You must have just eaten too much at lunch,” James replied. The only one not on the building steps, the redhead was instead leaning against the base of the railing in an attempt to show off his new spring jacket in the sunshine. “Was it two helpings or three that you had?”

“Hard work brings good appetite. You wouldn’t understand,” Gordon snapped. “And it wasn’t the food, I only had one small helping. I had plenty to eat when I went to town earlier.”

“Well, you still really shouldn’t have drank from that water fountain there,” Duck scolded. He took a swing from his water flask—which, unlike Gordon’s unfortunately bad drink earlier, did not contain gross, probably-untreated water—and leaned back against the rails. “You said it yourself. That thing was horrible!”

“That really isn’t it—” Gordon protested.

“It’s gotta be, you almost never suddenly look this sick,” Henry told him.”And I, of all people, should know when someone looks ill. Go have a nice sit on a toilet, you’ll feel much better after—”

Henry dodged as Gordon swatted at him, the brunette laughing.

“At least take something for your stomach,” Duck advised. “It would be of no good if you’re out of commission, with that big holiday weekend right around the corner.”

Gordon sniffed. “I will be fine.”

“It’s a wonder you’re alive, with that attitude,” James said drily.

“Speaking of getting sick, Henry, pray tell, how do you not get sick from the smell of fish?” Duck asked. “The smell of the coast is fine and all, but fish? In such quantities?”

“And at such hours you run the Flying Kipper at too?” James questioned.

Gordon grumbled under his breath in annoyance as the others continued to talk, the subject now turning to Henry and his strange love of what most considered one of the least desirable dailies. Yes, Gordon had been feeling off, but it wasn’t because of the bad water in some shady water fountain. He'd grown up in the city, and he had no doubt he could handle a bit of nasty water now and then.

What was on his mind was much more serious.

“I'm going back inside,” Gordon suddenly announced.

The other three paused, watching in surprise as Gordon stood up.

“But we’ve only just come out!” Henry exclaimed.

Gordon huffed down at the older boy sitting cross-legged on the steps. “I, unlike some people here, do enjoy nothaving Hatt come after them for not finishing their assigned duties. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to attend to.”

“Like what?” Duck asked.

“Keeping count of how many of your eggs sold at market, for starters,” Gordon told him. “And mind that you don’t distract me while I tally the numbers, or you might find yourself short a few dollars at week’s end.”

Duck rolled his eyes and said nothing. He knew that Gordon, though often irritated by the people around him, wouldn’t actually do such a thing—the last time had been before Duck had come to the ranch. And even then, Gordon had returned Thomas his paycheck after he was satisfied that the then-stablehand had learned his lesson about disturbing the taller man. No one said anything about the fact that Gordon was simply making excuses.

But when Gordon got decisive, it was often better to just let him be. It was more peaceful that way. The man had his pride, after all.

Gordon turned and went inside Tidmouth Hall with a final sniff, letting the door slam shut behind him with no effort to quiet the noise. He walked through the halls, stopping only to pick up his ledger at his room before continuing on to the garden just behind the building. It was a fairly recent addition, having been planted after Duck’s arrival, but the ranch’s cook and his assistants had done wonders with it and even now Gordon could see small flower buds poking out of brown soil.

It was a calming place, free of most distractions. A perfect place to think, get some fresh air, and attempt to get work done.

It was while he was seated on his favourite bench, trying to make sense of a page filled with numbers, that the ranch’s owner, Sir Charles Topham Hatt, came by.

“Cheer up, Gordon! It’s a lovely day outside!” he called as he caught sight of the young man at work.

Unfortunately, while some time alone with a task he moderately enjoyed in a favourite place usually gave Gordon peace of mind, it hadn’t done much for him that particular day—and he said as much to the man.

“I can’t, Sir,” he said miserably.

“Oh? And why is that?” the older man inquired.

Gordon took a deep breath, pausing in his work before speaking.

“I keep thinking about the dreadful state of the world, Sir.”

The owner raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

“Really, now?” he asked. “And what about that state in particular troubles you to the point Thomas asked after your brooding out here in the garden?”

“Oh,” Gordon looked surprised. “That’s…did you say Thomas?”

“I was just as surprised myself,”

“I…see. Well, I suppose…well, Sir, Is it true, what the folks in town say?” Gordon asked.

“What do they say?” Charles asked.

“I—I heard from some folks while in a shop whilst on the Mainland. They…they say that there was a ship lost at sea, with the—with much of the Gresley line—is it—?”

The man considered for a minute, before he sighed heavily, bowing his head slightly as he spoke. “Yes, Gordon, what you hear is true. Sir Nigel, most of your siblings, some of your cousins—all gone, save one of your brothers.”

Gordon’s face fell.

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this, Gordon,” Charles told him. “I believe they are having a service in honour of your father soon—I can arrange it so that you can attend, if you wish.”

“I…That would be appreciated. Thank you for confirming it for me, Sir,” Gordon said sadly as he stood and retreated to his room, head bowed.

.

Sir Topham Hat watched as Gordon left.

“It really is a pity, that poor boy,” he said to himself as he began to walk towards his office.”If only—“

He paused, as an idea struck him.

“Well, perhaps…I wonder…hmm, yes, I’ll send a message at once. That might just work! Oh, Charlie, you really are a genius sometimes.” He beamed at the thoughts in his head, trotting with excitement to his office with a plan in mind.

~~~~

The next week, Gordon travelled alone from Sodor to London, meeting up with a few of his cousins who were also travelling to the event. As the eldest of the Gresley sons (Henry did not wish to have any participation in the matter, disregarding the fact Gordon was the only other person who knew of his lineage), he found himself part of the procession, walking directly behind the lines of caskets.

Large crowds had gathered alongside the road from the morgue to the church to the cemetery. The service had clearly been adapted from what Gordon was sure was his father’s original plans should anything happen to him, and he watched as the memorial unfolded with some level of amazement at the sheer amount of planning work involved. He was grateful that his brother North, who lived but an hour from the London estate, and his cousin Spencer, whom Gordon disliked immensely but held respect for his abilities to run large occasions smoothly, had both volunteered to do much of the task. As it was, he’d had plenty of trouble trying to write the life notes for the programs. What was he supposed to say about Windsor, or Columbo, or worst of all, little Jack whom he’d never even met? What did people even write about three-year-olds?

After the ceremonies ended, he visited briefly with some old acquaintances who’d come to pay their respects. He declined to speak with the press, only nodding curtly at reporters as he boarded a train back to Sodor a week later.

The only thing he kept from his trip was a small photograph of his family, taken just before the incident, given to him by his old friend Truro.

~~~~

“Yes, this is Alan Pegler—oh hello, Charlie, it’s been ages, how are you? …Oh, I see…Mhm, I see…—”

Scott Gresley watched with mild interest as the man he was now living with, Alan Pegler, spoke into the old rental house’s ageing telephone. While he doubted the conversation was of any actual interest, it wasn’t often that Pegler got calls from anyone who wasn’t someone from some media group or other. Or venue owners who wanted Scott to perform.

And it seemed to Scott that this was not a business call in the slightest. Besides, it was much more interesting than the grammar book in his hands.

“...Ah…well, give me a minute and I’ll get you a proper answer, but I do think we might be able to work something out,” Pegler said, before pressing a button on the receiver to mute his end of the call.

“Who was that?” Scott immediately asked, not even bothering to hide the fact he’d been listening in.

Pegler shook his head at him. “I told you not to eavesdrop on my conversations,” he scolded.

“Sorry, sir,” Scott apologised sheepishly.

Pegler reached over to pat the teen’s shoulder. “It’s alright, it does concern you, after all. Tell me, how would you like to see a brother of yours out on the Island of Sodor?”

“I—what?” Scott asked in confusion.

“A man named Sir Charles Topham Hatt called,” Pegler explained. “Your oldest brother, Gordon, works on his ranch. Apparently, he hasn’t quite been himself lately. Hatt requested that we come and visit for a couple of weeks, perhaps cheer him up a bit. See the sights while we’re at it. How does that sound?”

“...Oh...”

“We don’t have to go, of course, but—”

“No, no, I don’t mind. I’m just surprised, is all. I just…haven’t seen Gordon in a while,” Scott interrupted. “He left for Sodor back when he was in high school, and I was never the best at staying in touch. Spencer said he was still there, but that was last year. Mallard, too, he said he’d met one of Gordon’s friends at some exhibition…”

Pegler listened as Scott mused, nodding along. He’d heard about Scott’s cousins. Spencer and Mallard Gresley were from the part of the family most known for their habit of making the front page on the news—Spencer worked as a personal assistant to a highly prolific donor to the North Western ranch, and Mallard had gone straight to the Olympics, bringing home gold on his first try. Pegler had the misfortune of meeting Spencer on the many occasions he came to visit, his boss the Duke of Boxford being an old friend of Pegler, and he was glad to say that Scott has not inherited the same sense of entitlement as his cousin.

“If you're certain you'd like to visit Gordon, I can make arrangements for week’s end once I finish up a few things in the office,” Pegler suggested as Scott’s rambling drifted off. “We’ll have to dodge the media by going during the weekend crowd, but I think you’ll like Sodor. It's a very beautiful place. Plus,” he added with a small laugh, “you've still got your schoolwork to finish before anything.”

“Fine…I suppose…” Scott sighed, and Pegler smiled as the boy returned to his books.

—

There had always been a full house when Gordon was young. Gordon supposed that was a bonus, considering the family’s business of showmanship. Although he couldn’t say it was easy keeping track of everyone.

He himself had never really participated, having been unable to do so when he was younger. He hadn’t been like his siblings—he wasn’t as flexible, as fast. He could show off on a horse, yes, but he knew that after the “Shooting Star” act had been “retired”, there had been others who took his place. But at least his father had understood Gordon’s wishes and let him run off to Sodor to make his own fortune.

Although North, the next eldest in line, had been similar to Gordon, unlike his brother, he had yearned for a quiet life away from the spotlight. He, too, had gone off to make his own path in life, with some behind-the-scenes assistance from Gordon.

Frederick and Scott, however, had been more inclined to join the showbiz lifestyle. Gordon had sometimes gone to watch their shows in the past, when he had to make trips to London for some reason or other. Frederick had been in training to become the next Sir Nigel Gresley, while Scott had dubbed himself “The Flying Scotsman” and specialised in the art of high-flying stunts that drew gasps and shrieks from the audience. Gordon swore he lost hairs every time Scott barely made a landing, or came up with some new gravity-defying trick. Not that Frederick was much better, but at least he kept his feet on the ground when he worked with his animals…

And then there was Robert, who had been a little devil, always coming up with new ways to trick the eye and fool the senses. Twins Donnavan and Doncaster had been rather like the Scottish Twins, playing mind games with audiences as they waited to enter the theatres. And last he’d heard, middle siblings Lemberg and Polly had been doing their best to decimate the junior derbies. Gordon wondered what would happen to the family horses—he expected one of their many cousins would gain ownership over them. Perhaps Nigel Gresley, namesake of Gordon’s father, would become their new owners? He did seem the most likely to take up the mantle, and he was rather sensible compared to some of his other relatives…

And then, of course, was Hampton, or “Merry” as she was known, who Gordon was sure would have tied with Percy for “most accidents in a certain period of time”. Poor Merry had been the least fortunate of them all, being the one to consistently land herself in the hospital with some new injury or other—Gordon had been greatly relieved when she’d finally stepped back from her stunts and taken up a slightly less dangerous position than tightrope acrobatics—

And then there was Blair, who’d somehow managed to set her skirt, her hair, and a portion of the stage on fire during a show…

Gordon had written home often enough, but his life on Sodor was a busy one and he himself had rarely taken vacations, opting instead to spend his holidays at the ranch. He was fairly sure most hadn’t cared much for the strange sibling whose pastime involved walking around in the hot sun all day with dusty horses—perhaps Thistle, who had visited once or twice, might have. But he doubted even half the public who’d seen him walking in the procession had known about him, besides that he was yet another Gresley.

He kind of liked it that way. He had more privacy, and while he had his fans, they weren’t nearly as rambunctious as they could have been. Most were simply visitors to the island who’d attended shows where the “Shooting Star” had been a lead act.

But, nonetheless, he’d have traded his personal space if it meant his family hadn’t boarded that ship. And that, he supposed, was a fault of his—he might not have worn his heart on his sleeve, but he wore it underneath a coat, still there, grieving for what could've been.

Upon arriving back at the ranch, Gordon went straight to his room, without so much as a word to the others.

~~

Gordon’s sour mood stayed with him all week. It didn’t take long for the others to notice.

It got to the point where Edward made Gordon trade jobs with him, so those taking the Express wouldn’t immediately be greeted by someone who clearly didn’t want anything to do with their lively chatter. Edward’s horses weren’t as fast as Gordon’s, but they could get the job done, and that’s really all that mattered at the end of the day.

“Where’s Gordon?” the visitors asked as Edward helped them up into the Express’ wagon the first day or two. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. Just a bit occupied at the moment,” Edward replied vaguely, before asking them about how their days were going.

Most dropped the subject, but one of the Express’ regulars didn’t fall for it, and said as much.

“Are you absolutely sure he’s alright?” She asked Edward quietly as the other passengers disembarked. “I haven’t seen him around at all, and you know I see most of you on the daily.”

She was a lovely ageing lady that even Sodor’s resident grouch, Duncan, couldn’t be mean to. Her name was Mrs. Kyndley, and with her cottage near one of the main roads on the ranch, she was a familiar sight to see. Her husband worked in the office with Sir Topham Hatt, and they’d been around as far back as near anyone could remember.

Edward couldn’t bear to not tell her. But at the same time…

He glanced around. They were standing at the Vicarstown “station”, as the stops were called, and visitors from the nearby Visitor’s Center were milling around. He didn’t want rumours to spread, not when the tabloids were already going full-force.

‘Let’s just say that he’s going through things in his personal life,” he settled on. “Family matters.”

Realisation dawned on Mrs. Kyndley. “Oh, the poor thing,” she sighed. “Send him my well wishes, will you?”

“Of course, Ma’am,” Edward agreed.

~~

"Look, Gordon. It's been an entire week, I really do think you should go and—"

"Get my aches and pains checked out, yadda yadda yadda," Gordon grumbled. "Go hug a tree while I’m at it, I suppose. I am well aware of your concerns, Henry, but I'm telling you this isn't something that can be cured with some overly fancy medicine."

Even though he was buried under a pile of blankets, he could still hear Henry’s infuriating voice. He really regretted not getting the lock on his door fixed. Then again, he knew for a fact Henry had learned to pick locks whilst he’d been at Crewe Hospital for his surgeries, so it probably would have done nothing.

Or maybe Thomas, who held a spare key—a result of the paycheck incident (Gordon had one to Thomas’ room as well)—had done the honours. In which case, Gordon would need a word with a certain mischievous prankster.

Either way, it meant that Henry was in Gordon’s room, and unwavering in his mother hen-ing. He really was something else. But as much as Gordon appreciated his endeavours, he really just wanted to be left alone.

If Gordon had to guess, Henry was frowning in that stop-being-stubborn way by this point. "But surely—”

He didn’t care for that particular face.

"Drop it and leave me be. I don't want to hear it," the ranch hand snapped.

"C'mon, Gordon—"

"I said, leave me be! Now shoo!"

Henry yelped as Gordon suddenly rolled out from his blanket cocoon and shoved the brunet out into the hallway, slamming the door between them.

"Maybe it really is more than just some aches and pains from bad water in the city after all...—" Henry muttered to himself as he rubbed his sore backside ruefully.

“Henry? What on earth are you doing on the floor?”

Henry looked up to see Sir Topham Hat looking down at him with a mildly amused expression on his face. Behind him was another man whom Henry was certain he’d seen in a photo somewhere, along with a younger boy whom he guessed was probably in his late teens.

Oddly enough, Henry was fairly sure that they’d never met, yet he seemed vaguely familiar.

He shook the feeling away. He’d felt like that when Gordon had come to the ranch—he wouldn’t be surprised if this was yet another relative. The Gresley line was large and sprawling, and Henry, who’d only just figured out his heritage, wasn’t keen on trying to figure out that mess of a family tree.

“It’s nothing of importance, Sir,” Henry answered as he stood and brushed himself off.

Sir Topham Hatt raised an eyebrow, looking down at his ranch hand.

Henry squirmed for a minute under the man’s gaze.

“...I may or may not have picked Gordon’s lock again in an attempt to get him to do a bit of self-care…it was for good reason, he hasn’t eaten at all today, Sir!”

The corner of Sir Topham Hatt’s mouth twitched as Henry tried to defend himself, and he cleared his throat before speaking. “Yes, well, I've got some visitors for him, so perhaps that’ll bring his spirits back up, and you can stop giving the local locksmith business. Duncan’s getting too rich from the amount of times he’s come down to fix a lock, between you and Thomas.”

Henry eyed the pair behind the man, before deciding that he had much more important things to do than intrude on…whatever the man had planned. This was Charles Topham Hatt, it would probably work out.

“I’ll take my leave, then,” he said.”Good luck, I suppose.”

.

Sir Topham Hatt raised a hand in acknowledgement as Henry headed off down the hallway, before lowering it and turning to the guests.

“Henry’s a complicated boy, but he’s got a good heart. When it comes to the people he, in his words, ‘doesn’t entirely dislike’, at the least,” Sir Topham Hatt commented with a wry smile.

“Is he…?” Pegler asked. Hatt nodded, and Pegler gave a quiet “oh” in response. Scott just looked confused.

Hatt cleared his throat, before turning back to the door in front of them. “Well, this is it. Hopefully he isn’t in too much of a sour mood after Henry’s little act,” he sighed. “If he is, then I don’t know—”

“We can always come back later,” Pegler reassured him. “We’ve got a full two weeks here, after all.”

Sir Topham Hatt gave a small smile in slight relief, before turning to the door and knocking a couple of times. “We can at least try.”

Gordon’s loud grumbling answered him. “Shove off, Henry, and learn to take a hint already!”

“I’m not Henry.”

There was silence, and then the door cracked open. A pale face greeted the ranch owner, bags large and dark under tired eyes, ed from something that was probably not allergies, though Sir Topham Hatt was sure that the young man in front of him would claim otherwise.

HIs eyes were green, a colour they were only when he wasn’t wearing his blue-tinted contacts.

“Sir?” his raspy voice came out, much quieter than before. “What…?”

“I have a surprise for you,” the man replied, smiling with a twinkle in his eye.

Gordon narrowed his eyes. “...A surprise…?”

“Take a look. I think you’ll like it.”

Gordon opened the door slightly wider, poking his head around it just enough to see the two people behind his boss. One, he only vaguely recognized as an old friend of his father, but the other—

He could only stare in delighted surprise at the figure nervously watching him.

A pair of green eyes, much like his own, met his. A pair of green eyes in a face with dark hair and a large, slightly upturned nose, very similar to Gordon’s. Something he rarely saw, not counting when he looked in the mirror or glanced in Henry’s direction.

Until now.

“Scott…?” He breathed. “Is…is that really you…?”

“That’s the Flying Scottsman to you, Shooting Star,” the boy said cheekily, before yelping as Gordon suddenly crushed the younger boy in a firm embrace.

“It really is you! Oh, thank you Sir—er, Sirs!” Gordon laughed in delight.

Scott managed to free himself just enough for a slightly-muffled “yes, thank you” to be heard. The men in front of the brothers smiled.

“We’ll leave the two of you to it, then,” Sir Topham Hatt chuckled.”Please try not to suffocate your brother, Gordon.”

A sheepish Gordon immediately loosened his hold, though kept an arm around the younger boy's shoulders, to the amusement of both the ranch owner and Pegler.

~

“You’ve changed a lot,” Scott observed as the brothers sat on the end of Gordon’s bed, the ranch hand having wanted some privacy before the rest of the NWR heard the news and swarmed the two of them.

Gordon snickered. “Well, of course I did. Like the new haircut?”

Scott looked the older boy over. Gordon’s once-long hair had been cut significantly, and he had parted it to one side.

“It…doesn't look terrible?” Scott offered, still not quite used to the look. Gordon laughed.

“It isn’t a proper Doncaster’s Barber job, but it serves. Unfortunately, they don't have a branch here, but we have a place here that does quite alright, though James would claim otherwise,” he said. “Now tell me—where did you get those water flasks from? And two of them at that! They’re rather large, even by the standards we’ve got.”

“Pegler,” Scott replied. “You’re lucky your boss keeps the faucets in check, you wouldn’t believe how awful some of the water fountains off the island are if you’re not careful. Some of the places we’ve stayed in while Mr. Pegler’s off trying to sort things, they’re simply horrid. Better to have more water then none at all.”

“But surely every proper hotel—”

“Exactly. Father would be most disappointed. Mr. Pegler’s had quite a few words with the folks in charge.”

“As he should,” Gordon said approvingly. “Actually, I’m quite certain Henry will be jealous of those flasks of yours once he sees you walking about, though he’s never needed more than one!”

Henry was indeed jealous once he noticed, the green-eyed monster in him roaring fiercely. He was not a Gresley in name, but Henry Fitzstainer had inherited the Gresley pride, and seeing Scott stroll around with his two water flasks tied to his side made Henry wish his own were just as nice and shiny. Gordon eventually convinced Scott to leave one in the Hall, but Henry’s envy raged on.

Never mind the fact that, as a ranch hand, Henry worked in close proximity to dust, dirt, and mud. And that his own well-used flask was in perfectly good condition.

The other knew he’d get over it eventually—Henry’s jealous streaks never lasted, and they didn’t tend to become a huge fuss, like with James. But Duck, ever one for a good prank, couldn't resist the opportunity.

“Hey, Henry!” he called as Henry trudged by with loads of hay for the stables. ”I hear you want some water flasks? I’ve got some, just came in over the weekend.”

Henry perked up in interest. “You do?”

“Of course!” Duck grinned. “Six of them, to boot!”

“Why on earth do you, of all people, have six water flasks?”

“I mean, if you don’t want them…” Duck glanced over at Donald, who was standing conveniently next to him. “I’m sure others would like one. Perhaps James might, or—hey, Donald, would you like some flasks?”

“Och, o’ course!” Donald smirked. “I’d be honoured, can ye just imagin’ me gang doun the trail, wi’ some nice shiny flasks at ma side, wit’ all the tourists aboot nowadays--”

“Hold on, hold on, I never said no! I’ll take all six!” Henry interrupted.

Donald snickered behind his hand. Duck hummed approvingly, a smile playing on his lips.

“Alright, then. Meet me this evening at the back porch to Tidmouth,” Duck told him. “I'll have six lovely water flasks waiting then. I’ll even fill them right up for you.”

“Perfect! Oh, this will be grand!” Henry cheered. “Thank you, Duck! Oh, I can’t wait for everyone to see me—”

He hurried off with a wide grin, and Duck winked at Donald as he watched the ranch hand go. “Spread the word for me, will you?” he asked. “We must make sure everyone sees him. Tell the boys to bring that camera of theirs, too, I’m sure he’ll want photos to remember this moment by.”

“Of course,” Donald agreed, with a matching grin of his own.

.

Douglas watched from afar, and wondered if perhaps he should send a stablehand to buy some popcorn.

~

Henry grumbled dreadfully that evening as he trudged through Tidmouth’s halls.

“That silly Duck! Playing tricks on me, I should’ve known…”

Duck, true to his word, had given Henry six water flasks. What he hadn’t mentioned was that they were old and badly damaged, reeking of what Henry suspected was the watery remains of someone’s dinner, or perhaps a drink gone bad.

Or something else. He’d rather not know. Duck did have free access to the henhouse, after all.

The other ranch hands and even a few folks from the Skarloey Lodge had gathered in the common area to watch the spectacle as Henry tried (and failed) to sneak out the front door to the garbage without being noticed. Loud cheering and clapping filled the air as he slunk by.

“Looking fine, Henry!” Thomas called with a broad grin.

“So splendid, what a glorious sight,” Toby added.

Thomas and Percy were passing an old polaroid camera back and forth with great enthusiasm.

Scott was on the floor with Duncan, Handel, and Peter Sam from the Lodge, the teens laughing so hard they had tears coming out of their eyes. Gordon, Duck and James were cheerfully sharing popcorn as if this was one big show.

To add insult to injury, even Edward was there, watching with an amused smirk as the Scottish twins took turns wolf-whistling.

“If you drink from those things, don’t forget to have a nice sit on the loo after! Water’s been quite bad all around lately!” someone called out. Henry thought it sounded like Gordon, but he ignored it, fuming as he pulled the front door open.

“I’ll show them! Those—those—ugh!” he muttered as he stalked to the rubbish dump to dispose of the unwanted items. “And especially that Duck!”

.

But Henry’s plans for revenge had to be put on hold, as new ranch hands on trial were coming to the Island. They were from a ranch recently modernised, just across the bay, and Sir Topham Hatt had agreed to let them come as part of a deal. No one except perhaps Edward or Toby really understood the details, but it involved getting new equipment in exchange for Sudrian goods.

And of course, the Other Ranch’s ranch hands. Who, to the dismay of the NWR’s employed, were very much sympathetic to the modernization of farming life. Which was fine and all, but there wasn’t much point of it on Sodor, as far as most people were concerned.

Donald and Douglas refused point-blank to have anything to do with them. The others tried to give them a chance, knowing whatever deal Sir Topham Hatt had made would probably yield good results for the ranch. Key word: tried.

The two ranch hands sent were meant to stay at the North Western for a month. It took only three days for someone to snap, and that person was Duck.

It was while they and several of the NWR’s ranch hands were sitting in the common area after dinner one evening, that the two on trial began a conversation with one another.

“This ranch is simply too old-fashioned,” one of them, a tall ranch hand by the name of “Peak”, stated loudly. “It’s high time we enlightened ranchers taught this lot a thing or two about how to run a proper ranch.”

His companion, a young fellow who was called by his last name, “Hymek”, tried to shush the taller one. “Shhh, it’s their ranch. Stop being rude, we’re here on trial, remember?”

“Don’t care. Our boss said this place ruins our image. The boss is always right.”

“Of course we ruin your image!” Duck retorted, pausing in mending some torn aprons to interrupt the “conversation”. “We do more work then any of you lot ever do—we don’t just play a pretty face for the tourists, we do the real work of heavy-lifting and delivering goods. You lot have a machine break down while milking cows, and can’t even fix it half the time, while we get our deliveries to their destinations even if our horses are lame and we’ve got to pull the damn cart ourselves and break an arm trying!”

“Specific, much?” James muttered to Gordon.

“Ah, but you see, there is a difference between you and us,” Peak replied, a glint in his eye. “Hymek, care to tell them one of our most well-known mottos?”

“Reliable as the ground you walk on, sturdy as the stone beneath your feet,” Hymek said with a roll of his eyes. “The best of the best, the cream of the crop—”

“More hardworking than any silly traditionalist ranch hand will ever be!” Peak finished.

The ranch hands took immediate protest to this. And they did so rather loudly.

“Vulgar! Worse then Henry’s bathroom jokes,” Gordon roared.

“How dare you!” James all but screeched. “You don’t disrespect the Sir’s ranch like that and get away with it!”

Henry grumbled and muttered they should bring back certain humiliation tactics from the Middle Ages.

Duck stormed out in a huff, mending forgotten on the floor.

“How rude!” Peak commented to Hymek, who only shrugged.

“You were the one that made me say it. Not my monkeys, not my circus,” Hymek replied. Peak hmph’d and stalked out of the room in a huff.

The next day, Henry found himself limping back to Tidmouth Hall, having twisted his ankle the wrong way after stepping into a gopher hole. It hadn’t been far away, and it wasn’t bad enough that he couldn’t get by without more than a good sturdy stick, but it was still rather embarrassing. Him, Henry Fitzstainer, sent back to his room in disgrace while everyone else proved their worth!

“I hope no one sees me,” he grumbled. “Peak and Hymek will already be laughing this up, I needn’t have the others teasing me as well. Stupid potholes!”

“That makes two of us.”

Henry, who had been lost in his head, looked up to see a disgruntled Hymek poking at the brakes on his wagon.

“What happened to you?” Henry asked, forgetting momentarily about his busted ankle.

“Brakes locked up—I can either drive or hold on to them, not both,” Hymek sighed. “It’s the downside of wagons that only need one person to drive them. Don’t tell Peak, would you? I know we’re supposed to be on the same side, but he’s a right pain sometimes…”

“I can agree with you there,” Henry said “I suppose you’d like some help getting back?”

“If you could, that’d be much appreciated. I’ll hold the brakes, if you could drive?”

Henry sighed and climbed into the wagon’s front seat, doing his best to ignore the throbbing in his ankle. He’d need a good icing on that later.

“C’mmon, boy,” he muttered to the horse. “Get going.”

The horse obediently trotted forward, and Henry internally thanked whichever gods above him had decided to be agreeable for a minute. No doubt he’d get a scolding later for aggravating his ankle, not trusting himself not to fall without support on Hymek’s wagon’s narrow bench, but it couldn’t be helped—he’d just have to carry on and hope nothing else happened on the way.

.

Of course something happened on the way.

“Oh heavens, what’s he gone and done? Broken down too, I suppose?” Henry said in exasperation the moment he saw the stopped cart, filled with passengers. “I guess we have to stop and check on them, don’t we?”

“I’d really rather not,” Hymek told him. “He’s probably whining about needing a fix before he’ll go anywhere.”

“We can leave Peak, but we can’t leave the passengers stranded,” Henry stated, and drove up right alongside. “Oi, Bradford, what’re you doing with Peak, and what’s happening? Where’s Samson gone?”

The braker paused his growing argument with Peak to face Henry. “Oh good, someone with sense. Tell this idiot that he’s got to get his act together, we’re running late—and blocking half the road while we’re at it, too!”

For once, Henry was glad brakers existed. Next to Peak, they were practically angels.

“And where’s Samson? Doesn’t he usually come over with you?” Henry questioned.

“Down with the flu, so they sent me here and put Peak on the seat,” Bradford grumbled. “Now, are you lot going to move it or what? We got passengers here!”

“I told you! I need someone to come fix this for me! This is a mechanic’s job, not mine!”

“Alright, alright,” Henry rolled his eyes. Samson was a driver that worked just over the Vicarstown bridge in Barrow-in-Furness. It was planned that eventually he’d move to the ranch full-time, but until then, he was another link to the world beyond the island. Bradford was his usual assigned braker, and while he was often late to work, he’d managed to secure himself a spot with his usual drive for being able to tell off visitors who got a bit too zealous in their admiration while crossing the island’s bridges and valleys.

Henry really wanted to toss Peak off one of those bridges right now. Maybe that one low one would do: he wouldn’t die from the fall, but Henry would have ample time to run off to his favourite secluded spot of the island and not have to see the guy’s face for a while.

“Right,” Henry sighed. “Hymek, you got rope in the back there? We’ll lend a hand, but you'll need to do your part, Bradford. I doubt Peak’ll lend a hand.” He wasn’t wrong. Peak pouted while the three, along with a few more experienced passengers, got everything situated. Henry was glad there were a few locals on the cart, because dammit, he was going to need compensation in the form of his favourite mint chocolates after this. Preferably out of Peak’s paycheck.

They soon had the second cart tied behind, and Peak’s horses in front. Peak stubbornly sat in the back of Hymek’s cart, while Bradford reassured his cartful of people as he checked the knots one last time.

“Once we get moving, it should be smooth enough,” Henry told the braker. “Keep an eye on those brakes, and call if something’s slipping. Right—Peak, release your brakes!”

With Henry guiding the horses to pull, Peak pushing his wagon’s brakes up, and Bradford pushing from the back (his own brakes had had a stone shoved under the lever to keep them up), they somehow got the small caravan moving. It was not at all ideal, as Hymek’s wagon wasn’t meant to be connected to Peak’s cart in the slightest. Considering the loads, Henry was keenly aware the horses would need a good check over. They also had to go faster than normal to keep the wheels moving over the numerous hills, and by the end of it, even Hymek, who only needed to keep the brakes on his wagon up, was exhausted.

But they’d made it.

“We’re here,” Henry groaned in relief as they pulled into the yard.

“And only a half-hour behind, too!” Hymek said in delight. “Oh, thank you Henry—you’ve been quite helpful.”

“Yes, well, we can’t have so much delay just because some people can’t keep it together, can we?” Henry huffed. “Bradford, take care of the horses. I’m going to find someone to deal with this, and then get some ice for my ankle.”

Hymek made a noise of surprise. “Your ankle? Did you injure it?”

“Why do you think I passed by you in the first place?” Henry asked. He limped off, and Hymek stared after him in surprise, barely noticing the passengers from Peak’s cart disembarking.

“He was injured this whole time?” he whispered in disbelief. “And yet...”

“Yeah, the ranchers here are pretty stubborn,” Bradford chuckled, coming up to stand next to Hymek’s wagon. “Henry’s a trump most of the time, but he’s a tough one. Oh, here’s the Top Hat, and he doesn’t look pleased.”

By evening, everyone had heard all about Henry’s escapade, and the North Western Ranch’s workers were all talking with proud voices about how “old Henry bested two Mainlanders in a foot race while his leg was fractured in three different places”, thanks to a very confused Duck mishearing his assistants’ chattering. But the gossip soon turned to how Peak was dishonourably kicked off the Ranch, with Sir Topham Hatt sending a rather unflattering review of the worker the other ranch had sent.

They kept Hymek, though. Henry put in a good word for the man, and after some much-needed repairs were made to his wagon, he joined the ranch officially as Bo “Bear” Hymek, mainroad goods driver. His nickname came after an encounter he had the very next day with a bear while helping Toby up on Thomas’ Trail.

Donald and Douglas still kept their distance from the new arrival and the “overly complicated machines” he brought with him, but at last, the most pressing issue had been taken care of.

~~~

It seemed the arrival of Scott and his guardian had brought all sorts of adventure to the ranch. While Henry had been helping Peak and Hymek, Thomas had managed to get himself flung off a spooked horse into the window of one of the office workers’ houses, and Toby had decided it would be a fine idea to lose his way in the woods, coming home via a wobbly bridge that more resembled a tightrope then anything. The Skarloey Lodge had also welcomed back the old-timer Rheneas, who’d been away recovering from illness at the coast, to much fanfare. Partly in thanks to Skarloey, who, in the days leading to his old friend’s return, had told the younger members of the Lodge about his old friend’s great dedication to keep the place running over the years. Scott had dragged Gordon up to the Lodge to watch the festivities, and then convinced him to go along the trail Toby took to “see if the story was true”. Thomas, still recovering from his accident, spent the evening quizzing both Toby and Scott on their experiences with the bridge and came to the conclusion that neither was a reliable storyteller after Gordon showed him a photo he’d taken.

Even Edward had had excitement over the week—as if James had tapped into some sort of psychic power, the man had found himself struggling home after one of his wagon’s wheels came off during a midweek storm and his horse ran off. The ranch hand arrived at the dropoff point exhausted and soaked from the rain, but his goods had all been intact. Sir Topham Hatt had been very pleased with his efforts after this, and had insisted that Edward take the rest of the week off to rest and relax. As it turned out, that was a smart decision, because when the doctor checked him over, it was discovered he’d given himself a fracture on one arm where he’d initially fallen off his wagon. (The horse was found the next day, perfectly unharmed and cheerfully eating Duck’s lettuce.)

But nothing could top what happened to Douglas.

He had been assigned to take a delivery of Henry’s kippers to the Other Ranch. He wasn’t much a fan of being there, but it had to be done. And between him, Donald, and James, he was the least likely to fall asleep on the trip, since the delivery was expected at midnight. So naturally, the task fell to him.

He arrived right on time, and waited impatiently as the Other Ranch’s workers unloaded his wagon. It was a moonless night, and Douglas flinched every time one of the machines used on the Other Ranch made a sound. His horse sensed his anxiety, and Douglas patted her neck, in an attempt to calm both himself and his mare.

“We’re almost done, girl. Just ha’ tae turn around an’ head home,” he said as the last of the fish was unloaded. It was a strange route he had had to take to get here, a back route with barely enough room in the cutting for his wagon, let alone anyone else. But that was the way with the less-travelled back roads and canyons, he supposed. At any rate, since he’d come through a back road, it wasn’t long before the Other Ranch’s workers were moving away, and Douglas was left alone with his horse, for the most part.

It was while he was unhitching his horse, planning to turn the wagon around manually in the narrow yard, when he heard a “pssst”.

“Huh? Who's there?” Douglas spun around, eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The workers who’d taken his goods had gone inside the building already, and he gripped the reins of his horse tighter in nervousness. The only light came from the buildings some ways off and from the lanterns he had to illuminate the path ahead. He peered into the darkness, trying to find the source of the noise. Perhaps it was just the wind…?

“Psst! Over here!”

The noise came from an old shed nearby. That was a voice, not the wind. Douglas glanced around, then let go of the reins and stepped closer, his flashlight in hand.

“Hullo?”

“Are you one of Hatt’s ranch hands?”

“Aye, and proud of it.”

Then, from the shadows, a shape emerged.

Douglas watched with surprise as the form of a thin figure came into the light of his flashlight. His clothes were torn dreadfully, rips and stains and a great deal of mud covering most of him. He was wearing two mismatched shoes, one a boot and the other an old sneaker. James would have been horrified at the sight.

“My name’s Oliver. I’m a ranch hand—er, used to be,” he said in a hushed voice, coughing a bit in between. “My siblings and I were running to Sodor, but we ran into some problems and couldn’t get out of this place.”

Douglas raised his eyebrows. “What’re you running from?” he inquired.

“A lot of things. And people. Some folks really don’t like it when you’re a fan of what they call ‘the old-fashioned way’, it turns out. Might have made some folks mad.”

Douglas glanced back at his horse, the cart still empty and facing the wrong way. Then he looked back at Oliver, and his mind was made up.

“Are yeh a good worker?”

“Yes, I am indeed. So are my siblings. Won’t even ask for cash, just need a place to stay for more than two minutes.”

“Then it’s glad ah’ll be t’ help ye. But we muan wurrk fast—there’ll be a manager on th’ way if I dinnae leave soon. We canae let him catch ye, this isnae part o’ the NWR. Where yer siblings at?”

Oliver took a few steps back, quietly calling into the shed. “Isabel! Toad! Come quick, we have a way out!”

Two smaller figures emerged not a moment later. Both wore clothes as battered as Oliver’s. The girl was slender, one boot missing and her coat several sizes too large. The boy wore a cap Douglas recognized as one popular with brakers both on Sodor and the Mainland, and he had several bruises, if Douglas was seeing right. Both of his shoes were gone, not even socks to be found. The boy’s foot was tied in a rag, and Douglas had a feeling he knew what had stopped the group from the final push to Sodor.

He said nothing, only helping them up into his cart.

“No time to turn ‘round,” he told Oliver. “Juist get i’ the cart, we'll have tae run it backwards.” He thanked his lucky stars that he’d taken Edward’s suggestion and brought the cart with hitches on either side, all he had to do was reattach his horse.

Oliver joined his siblings, and Douglas quickly brought his horse around.

“Stay low,” he advised. “Right, come now!”

He stayed next to the mare, the seat taken up by the runaways, and they began to make their way.

They were almost out of the cutting when they heard yells coming from behind.

“Hey! That one’s got more than he came with! Stop him!”

“Stop him! Stop him!”

“Get back here!”

“Pay no mind,” Douglas told the trio, marching on with eyes fixated on the road ahead. “Ah’ll handle thaim gin they come.”

Oliver, Isabel, and Toad could only huddle together and hope Douglas knew what he was doing.

It wasn’t long before the foreman’s large lights were directed at them. Douglas stopped the cart, waiting expectantly.

“Aha! I knew you North Westers were a lot of sneaky thieves—one ranch hand coming, but leaving with three more in tow? Runaways, by the looks of them—Big Man Henry’ll be pleased to hear this!” the woman crowed.

“Actually,” Douglas put in, “these three ran from our ranch. Yere no the only ane wi’ runaways, ye know. Besides, ‘aven’t ye heard—‘Big Man Henry’s’ been workin wi’ ma boss tae track doun rogue ranch hands. I’d be happy tae introduce ye.”

“Really, now?” The foreman asked suspiciously. “Seems highly unbelievable.”

Oliver, Isabel, and Toad barely dared to breathe as Douglas and the foreman faced off. Douglas remained unfazed, however.

“Och, o’ course,” Douglas grinned. “But I've seen stranger. I’d b’ happy tae tell ye aw manner o’ tales—wad ye like tae hear thaim?”

“LIke what?”

“Ah’m from Scotland. I’ve got tales o’ ghosts i’ old abandonit buildings, mysterious noises i’ the mountains—ma personal favourite is the time ma brother an’ I saw the Loch Ness monster. Such a wild an’ beautiful thing, we nearly didn’t believe our een—”

As Douglas talked, Isabel was attempting to slip out of the cart. Douglas suddenly whirled around mid-sentence, catching the girl by surprise.

“An’ where didye be thinking ye were goin’?” he snapped, suddenly looking quite angry. Oliver and Toad drew in sharp intakes of breath, the foreman taking a step back. “Get back in the cart, an’ mind that ye be stayin’ there! Or ah’ll be the one ye’ll be wanin’ t’ run from!”

Isabel quickly scrambled back to her place, and Douglas raised an eyebrow at the foreman.

“If you’ll be excusin’ me, ah need to get back. The Sir will be pleased ah’ve got his runaways,” he said, before marching on. The foreman didn’t try to stop him, and soon they were out of the cutting and headed for Sodor.

“Ah hope ah didn’t frighten ye too badly,” Douglas apologised, once they were out of earshot of the foreman and her underlings. “But ah knew it’d get uz through—mah brother an’ I figured out what them higher-upz be wanton’ a long time back.”

“It’s quite alright, Mister Douglas,” Isabel replied. “I thought that might be the case.”

“Don’t you dare do that again,” Oliver told her. “You had us terrified, and that’s saying something when we’ve literally hid in a cave for days while search teams scoured the area!”

“A cave?” Douglas inquired, looking interested. “Really now?”

“Yep,” Oliver nodded. “We were exhausted, but they were on our heels, with hounds and all. We found a small cave, just big enough for us to get out of view. We covered the entrance with debris, to make it look like there wasn’t anything there, and only came out a few times for water. Luckily, they left right before we ran out of food, but it was terrifying.”

“Ah can only imagine,” Douglas responded. “How did you escape the hounds?”

“Rivers and creek beds, and going through the trees, once. That was horrid,” Oliver grimaced. “They catch onto strong scents, so one time, we got some oranges from a farmer’s orchards, broke them apart, and then led the trail off in some random direction. The searchers went off in one direction, and the three of us were able to restock our supplies in the town nearby. It was a day or so before they caught up again, but by that time we’d almost reached Barrow. We’d have made it, too, if the people on that ranch back there hadn’t gotten word about us escaping. You came just in time, we’d barely gotten into that shed, and that was with Toad risking himself to throw them off the trail.”

“Ah wonder why no ‘ne recognized you, then?” Douglas wondered as the lights of Vicarstown came into view.

“The sun hasn’t risen yet—it’s still quite dark,” Oliver pointed out. “And no one is going to care about a missing braker or a stablehand, but a ranch hand? Much more obvious.”

“Yer not wrong there,” Douglas agreed as they ran across the bridge, the cart still backwards. “Ah, look—th’ sun’s risin’ now.”

And indeed it was. As the hooves of Douglas’ horse touched Sodor’s safe soil, the sun rose over the horizon, painting a very scenic view between the ocean and the Vicarstown Bridge. Oliver, Isabel, and Toad gaped in awe at the long-awaited sight.

“Welcome to Sodor,” Douglas grinned, as he was finally able to see his passengers in the morning’s light.

“This is incredible, Mr. Douglas,” Toad breathed.

“It really is something else,” Douglas agreed. “I’ll bring you to our residence hall—we can set you three up there.”

“And you’re sure no one will mind?” Oliver asked. “The other ranch hands, or the ranch owner? They won’t send us back, will they?”

“O’ course not,” Douglas grinned, and with a wink added, “Ah was a runaway too, not long ago. Snuck here wi’ mah brother. Hatt’s a kind man—he wouldn’t turn a soul in need away, ah would be thinkin’. All that talk back there be a ruse and a half.”

He stopped the wagon briefly to let them take in the sunrise, before he headed straight for Tidmouth Hall. It was a quiet morning, with few people about, and no one seemed to take notice of Douglas’ extra passengers.

Except for Gordon, who opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it upon seeing the state of Oliver and his siblings. Instead, he simply bid them good morning before heading off to start the Express, his brother in tow.

“Don’t ye worry about him,” Douglas reassured his passengers. Gordon's been on the island fur years noo, he's seen enough tae ken when no tae go gabbin' wi other fowks' business."

“Is there anyone who would?” Oliver asked.

Douglas hummed in thought. "Perhaps Henry micht, but he's meant tae be takin' his load o' fish richt noo. But ye dinnae bother him, he dinnae bother you. Percy—oor heid stablehaund—micht as weel, but he cannae keep a secret at aw sae that's tae be expected. Ah—haud on, this is Gordon's Hill, it's a bit steep so mind ye dinnae fa' oot. This waggon's no built for passenger services."

The siblings held on as Douglas took the wagon over the hill, holding onto the side himself as he kept his mare from slipping. When they were over, Oliver brought up the question of the interesting name.

“Oh, that,” Douglas grinned. “Gordon’s yin o' oor ranch han's, tho' he normally warks as a tour guide 'o sorts. Runs waggins up an' doon the place fur fowks tae ride. Back when the hill was much harder tae get o'er, he wid aften hae troobles gettin' o'er—sae aften that even tho he can haundle it jist fine, a'body still cries that hing ‘Gordon’s Hill’.”

“And then there’s Henry’s Tunnel,” Douglas continued. "His horse hated the rain, and there was a guid week where Henry ‘pparently did nuthin' but lug hay tae the daft thing. 'Course, that doesnae happen anymore—they hae ways tae move animals aboot noo—but in thae early days it was quite the ordeal."

“Fascinating,” Oliver mused. “This place really does have quite a few stories in it.”

"It sure dis. If ye ever want a guid tale or twa, hae a gab wi Edward. He's been here fur ages, and he's seen everything tae."

“I might just have to do that,” Oliver agreed, just as Toad tugged at his sleeve to point at Tidmouth Hall’s appearance. “Oh, is that it?”

“Indeed. Home, sweet home,” Douglas smiled as he caught sight of the building.

He stopped the wagon near the entrance, unhitching his horse and tying her lead to a hitching post before rolling the wagon out of the way, with help from Oliver. Then he brought the trio inside.

The moment the door closed behind them, Duck appeared around the corner, his arms crossed.

“You’re late. I had to send Percy to get the eggs,” he complained. “Where on earth have you been?” Then he caught sight of Oliver, Isabel, and Toad. “Oh, that explains a lot.”

"Aye. Is that room next tae mine and Donnie’s still lying empty?" Douglas asked. "We need tae find them somewhere tae bide until we can sort things oot wi' Hatt."

“Yep, you’ll need extra beds, though. Use the futons in my closet, I don’t need them. There’s bedding in a box or shelf or something somewhere. Can you take your delivery to the docks, or should I call for Donald?”

"I can dae it. It winna be long at aw."

“Right, that’ll do.” He turned to the siblings. “My name’s Duck. I run the show in this building. Feel free to come looking for me if you need anything—I have the room on the other side of the twins’, and I’m usually in the kitchen. It’s just down the hall, it’s all marked. I’d avoid windows if I were you, the paparazzi’s been snooping about a fair bit with two Gresley brothers in the same place. It’s all ranch hands here, though, so your being here will be kept secret as long as you wish—or as long as the Fat Controller doesn't come around. Welcome to the ranch,” he finished with a smile.

“Oh—thank you,” Oliver said, Toad and Isabel echoing his thanks. Duck simply chuckled and waved them off, heading back to his work. The siblings followed Douglas through the halls, until they reached a series of three rooms in a row. Two had decorated nameplates, and the third was left bare. Donald opened one of the marked doors first, to get the things from Duck’s closet, before opening the door to the unmarked room and showing the siblings inside.

“It’s a bit empty,” Douglas apologised. “We’re supposed tae get mair permanent stays, but the Sirr hasn’t found onyone he particularly likes enough yet. He’s still chappin oot some o the bad crowd fae the last Sirr.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Oliver reassured him. “A whole room to ourselves is more than we’ve had in a very long time.”

.

Sir Topham Hatt found out about Douglas’ side quest the next day, and with the Scottish Twins to vouch for them, he indicted Oliver as ID #11. James, Donald, and Douglas were happy to have an extra set of hands with the sudden boom in tourists thanks to Scott and Pegler’s visit, and Bear was happy to have the attention taken off him as everyone swiftly forgot about his scare with a bear.

~

Gordon still had his duties to take care of during the week, which he gained back from the others as the paparazzi were slowly moved out of the more private parts of the ranch. While it was nice to have his Express back (and for it to be full of visitors), he did find it rather annoying that even the hired brakers had gained literal stars in their eyes all of a sudden. More than once, he found himself reaching over to grab the brake lever himself as the cart went down a steep hill, the braker completely distracted by the mere fact that Scott was sitting right behind them.

Luckily, he was able to convince Pegler and Hatt to let Scott brake for him. Scott, while he often drew crowds who wanted his photograph or for him to do a stunt, was more than able to assist Gordon in his work. Or at least, he wasn’t completely infatuated by his own existence, so he could actually follow basic instructions like “put down the lever”. Just because you were sitting next to a celebrity did not mean you could just abandon your work, how did half of these people not know this by now?

Of course Scott, like anyone given control of a lever, played a few tricks. But it wasn’t in malice or pure idiocracy. Gordon appreciated that. He made better conversation too, and kept the tourists entertained with stories about his adventures when Gordon had to turn his focus onto the road.

“It’s so refreshing,” Gordon told Thomas as they waited for Percy to finish up at a water fountain outside the main stables. “I swear I’ve never had smoother runs before.”

“You still have to deal with cameras in your face,” Thomas pointed out.

“I certainly wouldn’t mind that! Mind lending me your brother sometime, Gordon?” James asked as he stepped aside to let Thomas forward.

Gordon snorted. “Heavens, no. I don’t need him learning any ideas from you, he’s got plenty of ego on his own, the little show-off.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong. While waiting for Gordon, Scott was at that moment up in the rafters of the stables, dangling from them like a trapeze artist. Which technically he was, having been trained in gymnastics and acrobatics, but it still made Gordon nervous. Even if he admired his little brother’s feats.

“Talk about yourself, you’ve been taking the scenic route during your Express trips,” Thomas countered, as James sputtered that he “didn’t have an ego, what on earth are you talking about Gordon I am a perfectly normal and incredibly well-dressed human being”.

Gordon just rolled his eyes and took his turn to get a good drink of water before calling Scott down to prepare for their next trip.

-

The days flew by, and soon it was time for Scott and his guardian to return to the city for an upcoming event they were to appear at.

"I wish I could stay here with you," Scott whispered into the darkened room the night before he was to leave. The words hung in the air, heavy.

The moon hung in the sky outside Gordon’s window, full and bright. It was very unlike the time Gordon had met Henry at the old farmhouse. They’d been standing on the cold porch then, nothing but their lanterns and crickets for company in the crisp night air.

Scott and Gordon were sitting on the floor of Gordon’s room in Tidmouth Hall. Even though it was late and they had long turned off the lamps, it was far from quiet. Behind one wall, they could hear Henry’s pets making varying amounts of noise as he fed them, and on the other side James was singing loudly to himself as he polished his mirror, as he tended to do every so often.

Gordon thought that though both scenarios had been vastly different in setting, the atmosphere was still the same. Nostalgic, perhaps yearning. Reaching for something that could not be, walking the line between dreams and reality.

His arm tightened around the younger boy by his side. "...I do, too," he murmured back.

They knew it couldn't happen. Gordon was a busy ranch hand who worked full time on the ranch, while Scott was still in school and was training to take over the family estates when he came of age. It wouldn't work, at least not without a great deal of headache.

"You can still visit, you know. Anytime you've got a holiday, or if you and Pegler are in the area. Or if you need a break from the media and the idiots in suits that want the family assets. My door's always open," Gordon told him.

Scott smiled at that. "I'll take you up on that offer. How’s the winter season here?”

“Cold, miserable, and full of the twins singing Christmas carols at all hours. And that was before they were let off probation.”

“Sounds lovely,” Scott snickered, then yawned.

Gordon nudged him with his shoulder. “You should sleep. I doubt you'll get much on the train tomorrow,” he advised.

“I’d…rather not…”

“Scott…” But Gordon made no move to send the teen to bed, and Scott made no indications of even considering getting off the floor. Instead, he leaned even more against Gordon, playing with the edge of the rug beneath their feet. Gordon left his arm draped where it was, staring at the many show posters and cutouts from magazines decorating his walls. They weren’t very visible in the low light, but Gordon knew each of them by heart.

They stayed like that, for who knows how long, until James’ singing had long ended and the moon was high in the sky. Scott eventually dozed off, and Gordon ended up picking him up, deciding to just leave him in his own bed instead of trying to lug the tall boy across the room to the guest bed that’d been set up. He then got in on the other side, facing the windows whose curtains hadn’t been drawn and looking out at the sky.

He’d regret not closing them the next morning, but he fell asleep with Scott at his back, even breaths and a sense of familiarity lulling him into rest. The next day would be busy as they shooed away the paparazzi, Gordon and Scott taking their places on the Express cart with Pegler, Sir Topham Hatt, and his wife right behind them, saying final goodbyes, and watching Scott and Pegler board the ship to take them across the channel before returning to work. Gordon would have his hands full with running his services, brushing down horses, and the many other things he did as a major cog in the wheel that kept the ranch going.

But at that moment, Gordon was content.

~

It was good to be Gordon.