I have a fic/au idea that I don’t have the spoons to write in full prose right now, but I’d like to put it out there.
So. Henry arrives on Sodor and an outraged Fat Director demands to know who built him. Henry tries to answer all his questions, but he soon realizes he doesn’t know much about his builders either.
He first came to in a damp shed with boarded-up windows. He never made out any faces, only ever hearing low voices around him. This was done to keep him from identifying anyone involved.
Once this is clear to Henry, it eats away at him. All the other engines on the NWR know their builders, their inherited legacies, and their engine families (siblings, cousins, etc.). Even worse, he’s not the engine the Fat Director wanted. He can’t help any of this.
…but he can figure out who his builders are. And maybe being able to answer those questions would make the Fat Director a little less angry with him. Maybe he could find out what family he might have out there. Maybe he could get an explanation from them.
So Henry asks engines coming in from the Mainland for info, with Edward and Thomas also asking around for him. The crew assigned to Henry sees how much this matters to him, and, growing fond of him, write letters to the place Henry was built.
They don’t make much progress, however, until Gordon arrives.
Gordon and Henry both feel very shaken when they see each other. Their designs are so close that it can’t be coincidental.
Their investigation is impeded somewhat by Gordon not wanting to associate with Henry. For him, it’s uncomfortable to acknowledge an engine so similar to him and yet so wrong. He looks at Henry and sees what could’ve been his fate, as an experimental prototype. And that doesn’t even go into the blow to his Gresley lineage and prestige as which he perceives Henry.
But then it only makes sense, a bitter Henry argues, for Gordon to disprove the idea that Henry’s a real Gresley engine. And so Gordon relents (with some sternness from Edward and some scowling from Thomas as well).
Gordon then admits when they question him that some plans went missing from Doncaster. It was before his time, but he overheard some people still speculating about who could’ve done it.
He says nobody saw the plans as a great loss — that they were rejected for having too small of a firebox for a locomotive of that size.
But as Henry and his crew begin looking into who stole those plans, suspecting a rival of Gresley, things go wrong with his trains. Things like loosened couplings, damaged track that was fine an hour ago, and trucks catching fire.
It’s all sabotage. Henry has become a liability to his builders by trying to expose them. And seeing as they already got the money from his sale, they have no further need of him.
Henry is horrified, make no mistake, but he’s also angry. He’s done with this nonsense. He wants to see his builders face-to-face, to draw them out, to get some kind of explanation from them.
And so he makes the impulsive decision to stop in a tunnel.
He’s miffed that the Fat Director matches his expectations and bricks him up, but not surprised. He does his best to explain himself to his crew once the hullabaloo dies down. But as he lays out his idea, his confidence wavers.
He’s not sure if he can face the people who built and then abandoned him. He’s not sure if he’ll come away from this safely. And even if does, he’s not sure he hasn’t burned every bridge on this railway and any hope of a future here. Can he trust anyone here?
He doesn’t tell them this, though. It’s too late to go back. He can only see this through.
That night, some strangers approach Henry’s tunnel. They’re his builders. They’re here to dispose of him. He finally sees their faces, even if he can’t put names to all of them.
The way they talk to him confirms that they never cared about him. He was always a means to an end. He was always one of a kind, the product of a jealous grudge against another engineer.
And yet it doesn’t hurt the way Henry thought it would. He sees them and feels no connection, no obligation to them. He realizes they’re not and never were his family — that he never had to please or live up to them.
So when they give him one last chance to shut his mouth, to keep quiet about who they are, he laughs in their faces.
He takes great satisfaction in telling them they can’t command any kind of loyalty from him. He knows he could never trust them and he’s fine with that, because he feels nothing for any of them now. He doesn’t need them.
The only thing that scares him is the thought that he won’t get away from this. As the builders advance on him, he thinks that he’s grown fond of Sodor and this ridiculous railway. He wants to roll his eyes at Thomas’ quips, to watch the sunrise with Edward. He might even want to bicker with Gordon. He wants a future here.
And then his crew leaps out of hiding, getting into a scuffle with the builders.
It’s long enough for Thomas to come barreling down the line, followed by Edward and Gordon. They bring the police, having been informed of the “stake-out” plan… and the Fat Director steps off Thomas’ footplate, too.
The builders are summarily subdued and arrested, and all the engines and crews ask Henry is he’s alright. (Well, Gordon does so in a very roundabout, emotionally constipated way, but he still asks.) Henry is overwhelmed. He was right to trust them, it seems. He could more than trust them.
Henry and the Fat Director then hash things out. It’s a tense and messy conversation, especially because Henry is still reeling from the events of the night so far. But the Fat Director says that, regardless of his own opinions, it’s clear the rest of his engines and workmen would riot if he turned Henry away now. And he can’t afford that.
“You are needed here,” he says. It’s not quite an apology, but it’s close — an undoing of the bricks between them. “You are useful.”
Henry doesn’t say thank you, because this is the bare minimum. “Yes, sir,” he says, trying very hard not to cry anyway.
And so Henry is let out of the tunnel and remains on the NWR. It’s not perfect — far from it, sometimes — but it’s home. It gets better over the years. Decades pass before the Thin Clergyman starts asking around for the story of Henry’s tunnel.
By now, not many people know about what really happened. The knowledge of Henry’s leading designer would’ve torpedoed a workshop’s reputation, one which turned out to be uninvolved in what one of its designers did in his free time. Many people would’ve lost their jobs and locomotives would’ve lost the ability to find homes. So in the end, the scandal was hushed up and the builders were charged on the more minor offenses they committed.
For that reason, Henry and the others quickly rule out telling the truth. Nor does Henry want to revisit that time in his life. He doesn’t want to be associated with his builders in any way.
Thomas’ cheeky suggestion about him not wanting the rain to spoil his paint isn’t very flattering, but the others’ suggestions are even worse. (Edward’s idea of Henry being in the tunnel for a heroic reason is outvoted, though Henry appreciates it.) He also has to admit the Fat Director doesn’t look much better in that version of events — he looks arguably worse than Henry.
Is it petty? Yes. Does Henry go along with it anyway? Yes.
The Fat Director, now the first Fat Controller, accepts this without comment. He’s learned and grown quite a bit since the early days of his railway. He’s not the same man who bricked up Henry; he doesn’t think it’s worth getting so worked up over a small dig at him. (And while he’d never admit it, he thinks it’s a way to somewhat atone for his part in it all.)
But even if the Fat Controller did get upset, Henry wouldn’t be afraid in the slightest. He knows the engines here have his back. He knows he’ll always have his family.
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