Yeah, here is my ttte oc named Evan and he’s a br class 4 diesel.
Facts about him:
- He’s shy, often quiet, sarcastic, but secretly empathetic and helpful
- becomes hot-headed or bitter when someone bothers him
- Neutral towards steam engines and diesels
- Gets grumpy and lashes out when tired or stressed.
- Becomes nice when someone treats him well
- sometimes suffers from a lack of sleep
- has some trust issues
Btw, you can make fanarts and your own human versions of him (NO NFSW ART ALLOWED!)
The Weight of Gallantry (A T&F Fan Story)
Summary:
Rheneas has never forgotten the day his valve gear jammed and nearly let the railway down. Since then, he has pushed himself to the brink, determined never to fail again—even if it means burning himself out. Skarloey sees the toll it’s taking, but reaching through his brother’s guilt won’t be easy. A story of old wounds, stubborn hearts, and the family bond that can lighten even the heaviest load.
Wrote this based on me headcanoning Rheneas experiencing burn-outs & stress ever since the events of "Gallant Old Engine". My first attempt at fanfiction.
With my credit, you may feel free to adapt this story if you like :3
Sprites: Cj-The-Creator, Princess-Muffins
Chapter 1 – Shadows of the Past
The sun had long dipped below the mountains, leaving the narrow-gauge line cloaked in deep indigo shadow. A cool hush settled over the valley, broken only by the distant murmur of the river and the occasional rustle of leaves in the evening wind. Skarloey rolled slowly into the sheds, tired from the day’s work, his wheels clicking gently over the rails.
He had been looking forward to the quiet of home, perhaps even a moment of stillness before sleep. But instead of peace, the night greeted him with a harsh clatter echoing across the yard.
Rheneas was there. His buffers pressed tight against a rake of empty trucks, his wheels spun with urgent effort. The clang of couplings and the groan of metal filled the air as he shunted with a restless determination, each move sharper than the last.
Just then, Skarloey pulled up, his brows furrowed. “Rheneas?” he called softly. “It’s late. What are you still doing out here?”
“I’ve work to finish,” Rheneas replied without looking up, his tone clipped. He gave a hard push and the trucks rolled into place with a jolt. “If I leave it until morning, the men won’t have what they need. I won’t risk delays. Not again.”
Skarloey moved a little closer, concern heavy in his voice. “You’ve already done more than enough today. You’re running yourself ragged.”
“I can still manage,” Rheneas snapped, his eyes flashing with a sharpness that wasn’t spite but strain.
His steam hissed angrily through his valves. “I have to manage. You remember what happened—if I hadn’t—” His voice broke suddenly, and he tried to cover it with a cough of steam.
Skarloey knew what he meant, of course. He always knew. That day long ago when Rheneas’s valve gear had jammed, leaving passengers stranded on the mountainside, was carved into his brother’s memory as if the rails themselves bore the scar.
Though everyone else remembered how bravely Rheneas had endured until help arrived—how his courage had saved the railway from collapse—Rheneas only remembered the failure.
“You didn’t let the railway down,” Skarloey said firmly, though with gentleness too. “Not then. Not ever. That day proved your strength, not your weakness. Everyone knows it.”
But Rheneas shook his funnel hard, almost angrily. “That’s easy for you to say. You weren’t the one stuck there, useless. You didn’t feel the weight of all those eyes on you, trusting you—and then watch that trust slip away because your body failed you. I won’t let it happen again. I can’t.”
Skarloey fell silent for a moment, his boiler aching at the rawness of the words. He had watched this guilt gnaw at Rheneas for years, quiet but relentless. And now it was wearing him down as surely as any steep hill or heavy load.
“You’re not just a machine meant to carry burdens,” Skarloey said at last, his voice quiet but steady. “You’re my brother. My family. You don’t have to hold everything alone.”
Rheneas’s eyes glistened with weary fire. “And if I lean too hard on you? What then? What if I break again? What if I fail you?”
“You won’t,” Skarloey replied without hesitation. He moved closer still, pressing buffer to buffer in a firm, grounding touch. “Because if you stumble, I’ll be there to hold you. We’ll carry it together. That’s what family is for.”
The words seemed to hang in the air, fragile as mist. For a long moment, Rheneas said nothing. Only the soft hiss of his cooling boiler broke the silence.
When at last he spoke, his voice trembled. “I don’t know how to stop… pushing so hard.”
“You don’t need to know tonight,” Skarloey soothed. “Just start by resting.”
And for once, Rheneas didn’t argue. He let the trucks sit forgotten in the yard, his weary eyes softening as he finally turned toward the sheds. Together, the two engines rolled side by side into the quiet. The night air felt lighter now—not because the burden was gone, but because it was no longer carried alone.
Chapter 2 – Strain on the Line
The morning light crept down the mountainside, golden and warm, but the narrow-gauge yard was already alive with the clank and hiss of engines hard at work.
Rheneas was first to steam, eager to be away before the others stirred. His boiler thrummed with restless energy as he backed onto his first train of the day—a mixed load that was larger than usual.
“You’re keen this morning,” remarked Rusty as he trundled by with a short rake of wagons.
“No time to waste,” Rheneas replied briskly, tugging at his couplings. “The line’s busy, and everything has to run smoothly. The passengers expect it.”
Rusty hesitated, glancing at the heavy train Rheneas was hitched to. “That looks a bit much for you alone, doesn’t it? Want me to give you a hand?”
“I can manage,” Rheneas said quickly, sharper than he meant to. His eyes flicked toward the signal, eager to be off. “I don’t need help.”
Rusty opened his mouth to protest, but the guard’s whistle blew, and Rheneas surged forward before another word could be said.
The day wore on, and the pressure mounted. Rheneas flew up and down the line, never resting for more than a few minutes at a time. He took loads larger than usual, shunted faster than was wise, and snapped when things didn’t go perfectly to plan.
“Careful with those trucks, Rheneas!” Peter Sam warned as his elder shoved a set of slate wagons roughly into a siding. “You’ll have them off the rails if you rush like that.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Rheneas shot back, though his voice carried more strain than confidence.
His pistons pounded harder than usual, his boiler hissing impatiently. “The work has to be done. It won’t do itself.”
Peter Sam frowned. He’d never seen Rheneas so tense before.
By afternoon, even Sir Handel noticed. “You look dreadful,” he muttered as the two passed at the junction. “Your paint’s dull and your wheels are screeching. You should take a breather.”
“I’ll rest when the work is done,” Rheneas replied, his tone so sharp that Sir Handel bristled in return. But when he glanced back, he caught a flicker in Rheneas’s eyes—something not angry, but… desperate.
It wasn’t until later, on the long grade up to the quarry, that the strain truly showed. Rheneas’s train was heavier than usual—too heavy—and the steep incline made every wheel turn a battle. His boiler throbbed, his breath came in furious puffs, and still he pushed onward, teeth gritted in determination.
Halfway up, his wheels slipped. For a terrible moment the whole train lurched backwards, groaning against the weight of gravity.
“No… not again!” Rheneas gasped, forcing his wheels to bite the rail once more. His cylinders strained so hard they trembled. He pushed and pushed until sparks leapt from his tires.
At last, another set of chuffs joined his own. Skarloey appeared behind him, buffers pressing firmly against the guard’s van.
“Hold steady, brother!” Skarloey called, his tone strong but kind. “I’ve got you!”
Together they climbed, the strain shared between them until at last the summit was reached. The train rolled safely into the quarry siding, but Rheneas’s face was pale and tight. He turned quickly away from Skarloey, trying to hide the quiver in his eyes.
“I could have managed,” he muttered.
Skarloey looked at him with a mixture of worry and sorrow. “You don’t always have to.”
But Rheneas did not answer. He only shunted the wagons with brisk efficiency, as though burying the moment beneath motion and steam.
And Skarloey, though silent, felt the unease settle heavy in his firebox.
Chapter 3 – The Breaking Point
The weather turned colder as the week wore on. Clouds hung low over the mountains, and mist curled between the trees like restless smoke. Work was heavy, as it always was before winter. Stone had to be moved, timber hauled, supplies carried for the villages up the valley.
Rheneas was in the thick of it, as Skarloey knew he would be.
From dawn until dusk, he worked without pause. He was first to leave the sheds and last to return, his wheels never idle.
When trucks complained, he silenced them with a sharp tug. When the workmen urged him to slow, he pretended not to hear. His face was set in grim determination, as though the weight of the whole railway rested on his buffers alone.
By mid-morning, even Rusty grew uneasy. “He’s pushing too hard,” the little diesel whispered to Skarloey as they passed each other at the junction. “I can hear it in his engine. He’s worn thin.”
“I know,” Skarloey sighed, his eyes following his old friend’s retreating form. “But he won’t listen to me. Not yet.”
It was late in the day when the inevitable happened. Rheneas was hauling a long line of timber trucks down from the forest. The grade was steep, and his axles groaned with every turn. His boiler hissed angrily, steam venting in harsh bursts.
“Steady, Rheneas!” called the guard from the van. “Don’t rush her—”
“I can manage!” Rheneas snapped, though his voice cracked with strain. He rounded the bend, forcing his wheels to keep up the pace.
And then it came: a harsh, grinding shriek from deep within his motion. He jolted, gasped, and nearly came to a halt.
“My bearings!” Rheneas wheezed, his voice trembling with pain. “They’re—”
The trucks shuddered, and for a moment it seemed the whole train would lurch to a stop halfway down the grade. But the guard braked carefully, easing the pressure, and Rheneas limped onward, every turn of his wheels sheer agony.
By the time he rolled into the yard, smoke curled from his overheated parts. The workmen swarmed him at once, shouting in alarm.
“You can’t go on like this, Rheneas,” one said firmly. “You’ll do real damage if you don’t rest.”
“Just fix me quickly,” Rheneas insisted, his voice harsh with desperation. “I’ll be ready again by tomorrow.”
The foreman shook his head. “Not a chance. You’re going into the shed for repairs, whether you like it or not.”
Rheneas’ face darkened. “No! The work will fall behind—passengers will be delayed—everyone will suffer because of me!”
Skarloey, who had just arrived with a passenger train, rolled closer, his eyes wide with both fear and frustration. “Rheneas, listen to yourself! You’re tearing yourself apart, and for what? One more train? One more load?”
“I have to,” Rheneas snapped, his voice rising. “If I stop—if I fail—it’ll all come back. The looks. The disappointment. The shame. I won’t live through that again!”
“Rheneas…” Skarloey’s voice trembled with hurt. “Don’t you see? You’re not failing the railway—you’re failing yourself. You’re going to destroy everything if you keep this up.”
But Rheneas bristled, his eyes burning. “Better me than the railway. Better me than you.”
And with that, he turned his face away, steam hissing in angry bursts. The workmen moved him into the sheds despite his protests, their voices fading into the misty evening.
Skarloey lingered outside, his heart heavy. He had never seen his old friend so brittle, so raw. He wanted to comfort him, to ease the burden—but for the first time, Rheneas had pushed him away.
The cold night closed in, and Skarloey whispered to the shadows:
“I can’t let him carry this weight alone… even if he won’t let me.”
Chapter 4 – Brothers in Steam
The storm rolled in at dusk. Rain lashed against the shed roof, and wind howled through the valley, rattling doors and windows. The engines lay in uneasy silence. Rusty and Peter Sam had long since fallen asleep, but Skarloey remained awake, his gaze fixed on the far corner of the shed where Rheneas stood.
The older engine’s face was turned away, but Skarloey could see the faint tremble in his frame, the hiss of restless steam escaping in uneven bursts. Rheneas hadn’t spoken since being forced in for repairs.
At last, Skarloey moved closer, his buffers scraping gently against the rails. “Rheneas,” he said quietly, careful not to wake the others. “You don’t have to fight me. Talk to me.”
For a long time, Rheneas said nothing. Then, in a low, ragged voice, he whispered, “Do you ever think about it? About the day you nearly gave out?”
Skarloey’s eyes softened. He remembered all too well: the long, heavy train, his boiler straining, the moment he feared he would never make it home again. The day he had been called Old Faithful.
“I do,” Skarloey admitted gently. “But I don’t dwell on it. The passengers were kind. They let me rest after that.”
Rheneas gave a bitter laugh—quiet, sharp. “That’s just it. They let you stop. You chose when you’d had enough. They praised you for it.” His voice cracked as the words spilled faster. “But me? When my valve gear jammed, I had no choice. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t help. I watched the passengers—my passengers—stuck there on the mountainside because of me. And the whole railway nearly collapsed.”
His face twisted with anguish, eyes shining with old pain. “I didn’t get to stop on my own terms, Skarloey. I was forced. And ever since then, I’ve lived with the thought that if it happens again, if I falter even once, everything will fall apart for good. That’s why I push myself. That’s why I can’t… let go.”
Skarloey’s boiler ached. He pressed closer until his buffers touched Rheneas’s, grounding him. “Oh, brother,” he murmured. “You think that makes you weak? It doesn’t. You didn’t fail the railway that day—you saved it. You endured until help came, when many engines would have given up in despair. That was no failure. That was courage.”
Rheneas shook his funnel, but his voice trembled. “Then why does it still feel like shame? Why do I see it every time I close my eyes?”
“Because you’ve been carrying it alone all these years,” Skarloey said softly. “You’ve turned it into a burden instead of a lesson. But you don’t have to carry it alone anymore. Not while I’m here.”
For a long moment, the storm filled the silence between them. Rain hammered the roof, thunder rumbled in the hills. And then, at last, Rheneas’s rigid frame sagged. His eyes closed, a faint tear of steam slipping down his cheek.
“I don’t know how to stop,” he whispered, broken. “I don’t know how to be anything but… too much.”
Skarloey leaned firmly against him, steady as a rock. “Then we’ll learn together. One day at a time. You don’t need to be perfect, Rheneas. You just need to be here.”
And for the first time in many years, Rheneas allowed himself to rest—not because the work was done, not because he had earned it, but because he was no longer bearing the weight alone.
Chapter 5 – A Lighter Load
Winter came to the mountains. Frost clung to the trees and the rails gleamed silver in the early morning light. Work on the railway never stopped, but the valley seemed quieter beneath its blanket of snow.
Rheneas still rose early each day, still met his trains with the same determined focus—but there was a difference now. When the work grew heavy, he no longer fought to bear it alone.
One morning, as he was preparing to take a mixed train up the line, Rusty rolled alongside. “That’s a fair bit of weight you’ve got there,” the little diesel observed cautiously. “Want me to give you a push up the first incline?”
Rheneas hesitated. The old voice in his mind whispered, You should manage this yourself. If you need help, you’re failing again.
But another voice, softer and steadier, reminded him of that stormy night in the shed, of Skarloey’s unwavering presence at his side. We’ll carry it together.
“Yes,” Rheneas said at last, surprising even himself. “Yes, Rusty, I’d appreciate that.”
Rusty’s face brightened, and together they set off up the line. For once, Rheneas felt no shame in sharing the strain.
Later that week, Rheneas and Sir Handel waited in the passing loop while Skarloey approached with a passenger train. The younger engine was grumbling.
“These trucks never stop misbehaving,” Sir Handel huffed. “I can’t get them to move properly.”
Rheneas opened his mouth to snap an old, sharp reply—but paused. He remembered how Skarloey had spoken to him: firm, but kind. Reaching out, not pushing away.
“Take it steady,” Rheneas said instead, his tone gentler than usual. “If you rush, they’ll only fight you more. It’s hard, I know, but patience will see you through.”
Sir Handel blinked in surprise, then smiled. “Thanks, Rheneas. I’ll try.”
Skarloey, watching from the other line, caught his brother’s eye and gave him a knowing smile. Rheneas looked away, but there was a faint warmth in his cheeks.
That evening, as the engines settled in the sheds, Rheneas sat quietly beside Skarloey. The younger engines dozed, their boilers cooling, and the valley outside lay still beneath the stars.
“You were right,” Rheneas murmured at last. “It isn’t easy. I still feel the weight pressing on me, every day. But… it doesn’t crush me like it used to. Not when I let someone else share it.”
Skarloey nudged his buffers against him, steady and reassuring. “That’s all any of us can do, Rheneas. None of us can carry the railway alone. But together? Together we’ll always keep it running.”
Rheneas closed his eyes, the tension in his frame easing at last. “I don’t know if I’ll ever stop worrying. But maybe I can learn to rest without feeling like I’ve let everyone down.”
“You already have,” Skarloey replied softly. “Every day you keep going, you’re proving it. Not to the railway. Not to the passengers. To yourself.”
For the first time in years, Rheneas believed him. And as the two old engines sat side by side in the quiet night, the burden that had weighed so long on Rheneas’s heart felt just a little lighter.
