Thread by @ThomasHCrown

Thomas had spent too much of his life before Sodor under the dirt. Once he'd become coherent again, he'd sworn never to fall that way again.

He poured on the nitrous.

Alfie was dead from a freak accident that involved a tunnel and thirty tons of explosives collapsing on him during minor renovations months later.

Thomas had been on the other side of Sodor, with witnesses human and mechanical by the score.

More nitrous. Based on the screams from inside of Annie, at least one passenger had chewed through her wrist. Can't be late.

The railroad employees chained to his boiler and to Annie and Clarabel would likely face disciplinary action if they survived.

Well, perhaps not the operator. Hatt sometimes forgave the comatose.

Sometimes. Not after the Big, Big Bridge. But sometimes.

Thomas watched as Percy raced by, almost as fast as Thomas

not that fast
no one else could be that fast
must be a Very Useful Engine

muttering to himself about coal and the Mines.

In his moments between racing across the commuter rail and collapsing exhausted in the Sheds, Thomas liked to imagine that he and Percy could be friends.

Perhaps they could even briefly wave at each other as they went their separate ways.

Thomas could carry happy passengers during the day, returning to Tidmouth Sheds just as Percy left for the nightly mail runs.

Alone among the other engines on Sodor, Percy seemed not merely as terrified as Thomas, but genuinely kind as well.

"Good morning, Blue Train!"
"Sleep well, Green Train!"

"Good night, Green Train!"
"Sleep well, Blue Train!"

But, even Thomas knew this was merely an idle fantasy. Percy had lost the mail run some time ago.

Thomas finished his mad passenger dashes well before the sunset except in the darkest part of winter.

And no one, except perhaps James and Sir Topham Hatt slept well on the Island of Sodor.

Thomas was so used to navigating the outside world while navigating the dark twists of his own mind that he saw the break in the left rail easily.

He was slowly coming to the conclusion that Bill and Ben weren't real, but were rather demons his own mind had conjured to torment him.

Perhaps Sodor itself was a dark fantasy, and he was still somewhere beneath Manchester, flames licking at his wheels as madness ate him.

Left side hoisted by sheer force of will. Annie and Clarabel lifted just enough. The scream of some poor woman.

Perhaps all of this was Hell, and Bill and Ben minor demon functionaries assigned to break him before their next promotion.

Either way, not today.

He overheated his boiler to push past the oil slick just past the break as his wheels touched down again.

He skidded to a halt as he pulled into a station, sparks from his wheels igniting the kerosene-soaked straw between the tracks and platform.

Annie and Clarabel laughed as their doors opened on the damned souls trying to leap into the flames, bloodying themselves against the Lucite.

Bill and Ben were pikers next to Hatt.

"CAN'T BE LATE!" Thomas somehow wailed as a roar, pushing his boiler to full and screeching from the platform, doors closing after.

Minutes passed in a blur he couldn't have deciphered beyond losing a second or gaining it ahead of the Mines.

Suddenly, he was passing the reviewing stand, where a sodden Sir Robert was waving a flag he had made from his underwear right after the Mines.

Hatt had insisted that Robert use that flag at every single instance of the Trials.

He'd won! He was the Most Useful Engine, other than James of course, again. He was safe for almost another 6 months.

He started to slow, a change in velocity that those passengers with sufficient remaining sanity immediately recognized and greeted with a cheer.

"Mustn't be late, Thomas," Sir Topham Hatt bellowed through the bullhorn he always kept close by.

As if kicked by a particularly cruel and athletic giant, Thomas took off again without a thought.

"Wheeeeee!" cried Annie and Clarabel.

By contrast, the cries of his passengers were united not by sound, but by the sensation of eternally tormented souls realizing the damnation had only begun.

Thomas did not even slow enough to see if Hatt had deigned to smile.

He hated himself for how transparent he was. He hated himself for how weak and easily manipulated he was. He simply hated himself.

Tonight, he would take solace as he always did when at his lowest, by derailing himself and waiting for Harvey.

But for now, he was a Very Useful Engine, and he was still above the ground.