#i forgot to mention but while Henry was still at V'town Gordon decided that the credit for Henry's metamorphosis mostly belonged to him!

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

📂✨

-context for this ask: this was an ask game from ages ago where i said that each folder would be specifically for headcanons about a Character A/Character B dynamic. askers could choose their pairing or else, as dear Cat did, let me pick-

-aaand they may regret it, because i decided that i was gonna seize the moment to write a whole lot about the ups and downs of

✨ Henry and Gordon... Part I ✨

-and i mean a WHOLE lot coz i found i had so much to relate so for now we'll only go up to. like. 1945??-

1923-4:

Henry is already in the tunnel when Gordon arrives, and he remains there for most of the year. Indeed, Gordon was acquired, of course, to help fill in the services that Henry... obviously... was not going to be handling. To be more specific, Hatt reached out to Gresley to try to get information on Henry's origins. Surprisingly ("hey man i got swindled when i tried to buy one of your engines from a shady source, lol wild right"), they hit it off—possibly because they're both at least a little insane—and as a matter of both pride and pity Gresley gave Hatt the chance to re-home his testbed Pacific.

Gordon has conflicted feelings about—well, about everything. At this time, Sodor represents exile. But the engine in the tunnel is definitely not the least of his confusion.

At first he takes the story of Henry’s defiance and punishment at face value, and he’s low on empathy for anyone when he first arrives, so he just snorts at such a fool.

However, Gordon quickly becomes disappointed in many aspects of his new railway. The notion of an engine who had the guts to defy the Fat Director to his face has… appeal.

Gordon secretly becomes more and more intrigued by the engine in the tunnel, at the exact same pace as he finds that he cannot confide to anyone else on Sodor: They are either beneath him, misunderstand him, beneath him and misunderstand him, or (he realizes, more quickly than Henry did) they’re 98462 and 87546, who might be appropriate companions for an engine of his station, except… they. are. vulgar.

Feeling deeply isolated under his haughty and grumpy exterior, Gordon also tries not to let on that he’s at least curious about the Pacific who was here even before him, and who—say what you will!—certainly showed some true gumption.

He doesn’t let on… until he suggests that Henry should be given a try with the train he failed with. It’s probably the first thing he’s ever done in his life where the motive isn’t Me! Me! Meee! It’s born out of mere curiosity, but at least it’s curiosity about someone else. It’s not exactly self-sacrificial, but it’s neutral.

After Henry is let out of the tunnel, they hit it off quickly and become a tight duo—two lonely, friendless Pacifics on a quite dysfunctional railway, both proud and dumb and more than a little confused, prototypes who aren’t wanted anywhere else and who aren’t yet sure they’re on safe footing here either, gossiping viciously with their heads together comparing notes as they try to make sense of their world and protect themselves.

While they both begin this post-tunnel era on good terms with Edward, they just have so much more in common with each other than with him; they have feeeeeelings, you see, feeeeeelings that no one understaaands, least of all that goody two-brakes. They also retreat a little from him, as well as from everyone, and that’s because ’62 and ’46 were actually on Sodor for quite a while after these events. During this period the rift between them and Edward (and also Thomas, though to be honest everyone involved underestimated Thomas, which annoyed him greatly) grew ever more heated. Heated mostly because Edward started growing some frames and holding his ground bit by bit, which then provoked them, which then—yeah, it was a vicious cycle.

Basically, it became a bit of a symbolic battle between the old local guard (the Edward and Thomas side) and the newer, stronger transplants (’86 and ’62). Gordon and Henry mostly stayed out of it. The thing is, they were by far the youngest engines on the railway, they were both still children really, and for all their bravado they were, deep down in their fireboxes, extremely wary of the Fat Director (have I mentioned lately that FC1 was a bastard? a scary bastard? do we recall that he bricked up Henry as public installation art to make an example of to promote fleet discipline for almost a year?) and yet on some level understanding that, misfits as they are, they do not have any options besides the Fat Director.

So mostly they just… wait and see. Oh, they have a big laugh whenever one or the other side suffers a setback… this period is probably where they really learned how to point and laugh at everyone else in such crushing unison… but they are 100% loyal only to each other. Secretly they spend a good deal of time trying to figure out which side will win, which side will get further. Gordon thinks it’s going to be ’62 and ’46: he doesn’t like them, but to his mind they obviously hold all the cards, it’s only proper they prevail. Henry’s not so sure. He can’t get over the signs that Edward—and, later, Thomas—seem to be in higher and higher favor, at least among the staff, increasingly so with FC1.

Henry is extra sensitive to those exact sorts of things—with his always-fickle steaming completely knackered since his tunnel confinement, with the knowledge that the board of directors are ready to write him off and that ’62 and ’46 stabbed him in the back when he first arrived, he is keenly aware of how insecure his position is. (That awareness does nothing to help his steaming problems. Quite the opposite.) However, I would never describe the Henry of this era as the softer, gentler counterpart to Gordon’s jerkassery. Not at all! Simultaneously proud while also nervey and self-conscious, Henry is often more peevish than Gordon during this time; Gordon at least has a strong front. Comfortable at least that he has Henry’s respect and submission, and confident in his abilities and performance, Gordon has the spoons to spare so that he can, when he chooses, be hearty or benevolent. Henry just doesn’t have that kind of bandwidth yet, and is often quite sour/petty.

1925-7:

James, who had arrived only to immediately wreck with a dramatic show of sparks, comes back from the Works completely rebuilt and repainted. During his overhaul Gordon and Henry had encountered big changes: the sheds at Vicarstown were (temporarily) emptied, with headquarters and the main line fleet moving to Tidmouth, where… no station pilot 😮

Gordon and Henry quite enjoyed having a go at this newcomer and his plethora of entertaining mistakes… and meanwhile when alone observing and analysing between themselves whether James would “take with” the old guard or the new guard. Thomas and Edward had both gotten off to a good start with James, but ’62 and ’46 tried to flatter the newcomer using the same routine with which they had blandished Henry on his arrival, and Henry looked on with disgust. I regret to say he never really even considered warning James. At that point, his entire world was just Gordon. Their lockstep alliance meant that almost no one else mattered to him.

Imagine Henry’s shock when the answer to the almost year-long question of whose follower James would become turned out to be… Gordon!

Honestly, this rocked Henry’s world and there was a good deal of simmering rivalry/jealousy between James and Henry after Gordon seemed to bestow on James a sort of honorary equality.

Also honestly? Gordon loved watching them compete for him. Alpha dog was in his element.

This now meant that there were three factions on the fleet: ’62’s, Edward’s, and now Gordon’s.

Also, the latter two factions were, for the moment, on pretty good terms with each other. ’62 was starting to think that becoming Top Engine In the Shed was way more trouble than it was worth… but then he got a bit of a break.

1928:

The pilot-less situation at Tidmouth dragged on. It really was untenable. The every-engine-for-himself scramble for their coaches and (some of) the trucks caused loads of confusion, delay, and drama. Stock was stolen and hidden; other engines’ jobs were sabotaged. The disunity of the fleet made what would already have been a tough situation way worse, because ’62 and Gordon alike were wily about exploiting it.

But, after three years, Gordon had had his fill of it. He’s always preferred a peaceful life. There was a workers’ strike earlier in the year, and Gordon, in his pretend-to-be-too-bored-to-notice way, absorbed a lot of new ideas and concepts as he watched and listened. He began recruiting the others.

Even his own faction was rather tricky to get on board. It cannot be emphasized enough how terrifying the idea of going up against FC1 was. But over time Henry and James became receptive. About a year had been spent just daydreaming aloud with each other, in private, but of course this spurred them on.

It helped that ’62 and ’46, who like all the other engines were approached privately with overtures of alliance, put on a good show and agreed that it was SHAMEFUL to treat TENDER ENGINES like this!! Down the bourgeoisie, and all that sort of rubbish!!!

Hmmm, yeah. When the time came to hold the line, there were ’62 and ’46, wide-eyed and innocent, having never heard the likes of this appalling insubordination…

Obviously the old guard didn’t participate in the strike either, and the Gordon faction took this bitterly because they were supposed to be on good terms with Edward, Thomas, etc. In their defense, however, the old guard never said they would support such action; they had been quite clear they wouldn’t. The ’62 faction, however, had pledged to fight alongside, and now here they were, eagerly “doing their bit” to “uphold management and good order” with a sugary and self-satisfied earnestness that even FC1 found kind of nauseating. The old guard, however, took ’62 and ‘46 at their word… or, at least, they didn’t openly question them. They didn’t exactly buddy up to the Blue Bastards and their hangers-on, but the relationship between them and the Big Three was strained severely due to the former’s “betrayal” and the latter’s “attacks.”

This gave the once-endangered ’62 and ‘46 a new lease on their Sodor lives. They were on tenuously civil terms with the “golden children.” And, when the Depression hit and it was time to downsize, it wasn’t easy for FC1 to explain to the board why engines who had helped keep the trains running during the strike should be sold on post haste, rather than the ones who had blown up the timetables and engaged in rebellion. Thus, they would remain and plague the railway for an average of eight more years.

*looks about at all our canon friends with hands on hips*

Good job, lads!

However, from Gordon’s and Henry’s perspective it had all been well worth it. For one thing, they had gotten a station pilot. Gordon had shown that his faction was not just “the neutral party,” but a force to be reckoned with. And there was now a tight bond forged between the three, ending the tensions between Henry and James for a couple of years.

Most of all, though, Henry, who had really struggled during the three years where he was pushed to shunt instead of rest in between trains that already taxed him so heavily, would never forget that strike. How bold and magnificent Gordon had been. How much he felt protected and allied and safe and strong when FC1 showed up to the sheds, already furious (it was a much fiercer confrontation than portrayed in the kids’ book!) and fuming that the useless old swindle had better not be up to another one of his bloody tricks, and Henry didn’t have to face him alone, how Gordon had said, so calmly and yet so firmly, “Henry’s not going.” It was a truly healing experience for him. (It was probably the seed that later sprung into Henry’s general belief in engine solidarity.)

He may have even beheld Gordon with rose-colored glasses because of this…

… for a while.

1929-1933:

The period between the strike and the Flying Kipper crash had been relatively undramatic. It was marked mostly by increasing “hard times.”

The factionalism of the ‘20s was soon left there. The N.W.R. was hit the least hard of all the railways on Sodor, but services contracted. There were rumors that Percy would be sold, but that never came to pass. Instead ’62 was gotten rid of early on in 1932, immediately after Christmas. The remaining engines (’46 aside) grew tighter, banding together against fears of a future that could be bleak for everyone.

Everyone did some quiet growing up in this era. Gordon and Henry, products of the Roaring Twenties, had never known what an economic downturn was, nor had ever contemplated that Hatt’s managerial and miserly strictness was due to anything but caprice. Now they sometimes had genuine fears for their railway and for the towns they served. James had more experience with the thing, but then again before coming to Sodor he had been more of a nihilist. Only on the N.W.R. had he ever been happy, he hated the thought of it “going bust,” and he wasn’t going to let it happen without a fight! “A fight” meaning James worked exceptionally hard during this period, and asked for very little—except for that lazywheels Henry to step it up, too!

Ah, poor Henry. His steaming troubles had only grown worse every passing year, till by the early ‘30s the only thing anyone could rely on him for was to require bailing out of his jobs. Henry felt keenly what the chronically disabled often face: Many others were tired of sympathizing with him and supporting him, so therefore they just assumed Henry was “getting on all right” even though he was still struggling as much as ever, and just as tired of it.

Now Henry actually had some true friends throughout this dark period, but he did grumble a lot that “no one” understood him, and by “no one” the truth was that he was really thinking about James and Gordon (plus some of the human crews, although he actually lucked into rostering with a superb duo after all the shuffling ‘round of both the workers’ and the engines’ strikes). Gordon’s increasing indifference hit him especially hard. It’s not that Gordon meant to be cruel, indeed Gordon said very little about the matter and never made the cracks about Henry’s slowness that James and Thomas did, nor even some of the completely misguided pep talks Edward and Percy sometimes sent Henry’s way. It’s just that Gordon stopped actively sympathising.

Henry had the bitter sense that Gordon had used Henry, offering him sympathy in return for Henry being his loyal follower during the ‘20s—but now that the social scene had settled, and a new station pilot procured, Gordon no longer had to pretend to care.

I don’t think any of it was nearly that calculated. Gordon simply fell into the very typical abled pitfall of “well, I’m tired of talking so much about this thing that cannot be changed, so I won’t,” while forgetting that Henry was just as tired of talking about it, but that Henry couldn’t just stop living this way. Which isn’t great, but Gordon’s sympathy had been sincere, and he didn’t stop feeling it. He had just run out of things to say and so he’d stopped asking or paying much attention. Gordon’s strength has never been emotional availability.

But Henry had once had as much of that from Gordon as Gordon ever had to give. As said, now he was bitter. He saw that Gordon and James were only getting closer and closer, and he felt left out and left behind, his hopes of one day having his mechanical problems cured diminishing year by year. He was not only bitter, but tired. It was a lot to carry, and it absolutely was not the sort of thing that Gordon was good at helping to carry.

1933-1935:

Once Henry was on Welsh coal, however (this was actually over two years before his wreck, and he in fact pulled dozens of successful flying kippers before his fateful night), the tables were turned! In short order, Henry no longer felt scared of anyone—no one on the rails, that is (he was still quite leery of the board of directors). As his confidence improved, so did most of his relationships, and indeed he started making new friends of little engines and machines he’d never before given the time of day to (he had adopted some ‘big engine’ rhetoric to justify that, but the truth had really been that in his early years he hadn’t the spoons to go out of his way to talk to anyone whom he could get away with ignoring). Post-Welsh coal and pre-Flying Kipper, Henry started to show signs of… extraversion. Popularity, even.

It was Gordon’s turn to feel forgotten and dismayed!

It did not help their growing rift in the '30s that Gordon himself, once so invincible, was having some of his own mechanical problems. They were much more minor than Henry's had been, of course, but then again Henry's now seemed a thing of the past, and Gordon's were only getting worse.

It had never been easy to be cover the express without Gordon—even '62 and '46, fellow prototypes, had had their issues that, while not leaving them as unreliable as Henry, did mean that they too could not be entrusted with express trains solo. Thus Gordon had been worked hard since his arrival to the N.W.R. Not only was a heavy overhaul more urgent with each passing season, but Gordon's third cylinder and corrugated valve gear had been the recurring nightmare of Crovan's Gate all along in any case. (The CME had actually once resigned, nearly on the point of a nervous breakdown. FC1 brought him back on board, knowing he couldn't get anyone better—and greenlighting an effort to start drawing ideas for a rebuild that would, above all, simplify Gordon's maintenance.)

Gordon did all he could to downplay the trouble his Gresley cylinders and valve gear gave... which, of course, had been easier to do before Henry's Welsh coal. Afterwards, everyone had more bandwidth to notice (and tease), so Gordon more often gave up his brave face and did a lot more complaining about how much he suffered for the sake of carrying this railway, and how disgracefully unappreciated he was!

Everyone was rather glad when 1935 drew to a close, for after the Christmas/New Year rush Gordon was finally to be sent to the Works for several months of intensive repairs. Henry, James, and even '46 were doing well enough that all the engines were confident they could get through the slow season comfortably enjoying a break from Gordon's bluster.

And that’s where they were that fateful early morning when snow forced down the signal at Killdane.

1936-1937:

Not shown in "Gordon's Whistle" was the degree to which the engines had suffered grief and trauma during Henry's long absence at Crewe. James in particular, who had been drafted to help clear the carnage and retrieve what appeared to be left of Henry, was deeply troubled. In contrast to Edward (who was more professional about breakdown duty, and who had also put in most of the last decade keeping his damn mouth shut about his own grief), James described the aftermath of the Flying Kipper wreck in hush-voiced detail to all the rest of their circle... thus upsetting the hell out of Thomas and Percy, too. Many a night various engines whispered to each other the question of whether Henry would ever really return, or what state he would be in.

What was shown in "Gordon's Whistle": the degree to which Gordon never acknowledged the gravity of the matter. He boilerached endlessly about how his own overhaul had been delayed again, he grumbled in great self-pity about how he struggled bravely through the rest of the winter, he found endless ways to re-frame the events of the night to somehow make the wreck Henry's fault. (It was a great deal easier to cope with a "he got what he deserved, hope he learns his lesson" narrative than with "sometimes terrible things happen and you can't avoid them, dear god i hope i'm not next.") Normally James and Percy would have been on hand at Tidmouth to destroy him for this, but they were both uncharacteristically subdued during this period, and Thomas was just as uncertain as to what to think or do. So, apart from various times when Edward was drafted to (temporarily) tamp down this unbearable vitriol, Gordon got away with running his smokebox for months.

Henry's triumphant return wiped away a great deal of this troubled time for everyone. They had not only worried he might be broken beyond repair in body, but in mind; however, Henry was on cloud nine. For the first time in his life, he felt right: a sort of physical euphoria in his own form. As a bonus, his experience "abroad" gave him the usual benefits of travel. He'd finally gotten to see a very different railway, and had met more engines over the course of his months at Crewe than there were on the entire N.W.R. It was all very broadening. In every respect, the ugly duckling had turned into a confident, badass swan...

... aaaand it was amazing how quickly Gordon was able to crush him. If it hadn't been for the timing of that whistle malfunction, Henry might have never fully recovered from being yanked back down into the mud by his supposedly-closest-friend, his formerly-biggest-supporter, his foster-brother.

Luckily Sodor karma did decide to trim Gordon's wheels right away, and in addition Henry was soon assigned to split Gordon's workload so as to help nurse Gordon until his own overhaul...so Henry got a chance to recover his new perspective. When Gordon overcame the humiliation and again attempted to have a go at Henry, Henry was ready—and snapped back at once.

Over the course of the next months, they fussed, quarreled, gave each other the silent treatment, and then quarreled again—and Gordon was clearly getting the worst of it!—when, to an exasperated FC1's relief, Henry requested to be transferred to Vicarstown.

I've described the next few years elsewhere: exactly as in (the highly adapted, loosely inspired-by-reality) "Forever and Ever," Gordon was blindsided, professed utter confusion, was genuinely hurt, and nearly lost his damn mind. Just because he'd been trashing Henry's name and using him as a punching bag for five solid years didn't mean that they weren't best friends!

Literally everyone, including good ol' '46: Uhhh, actually mate, it kinda does?

Gordon: *mind. blown.*

Meanwhile, Henry thoroughly enjoyed living his own life, not in Gordon's shadow or answering to him for... well... anything. He took the westbound expresses during this time and made mates with the engines on the eastern end of the network (except '46, who soon after Henry's transfer found himself relegated to the status of Vicarstown spare engine—and Henry enjoyed rubbing salt in his wounds waaaaayy too much), got to continue to make frequent trips into L.M.S. territory, and just generally glowed with well-deserved pride and satisfaction. He had not only survived a bloody awful first fifteen years of life but had learned to thrive.

1938-1939:

To really pile on Gordon's burdens post-Flying Kipper (we must never forget he was the real victim there!), he still, even after waiting and working for yet another year, did not get the much anticipated heavy overhaul. Henry's rebuild had been a huge expense and, while it was an obvious success, there was a Great Depression on and the N.W.R.'s finances were bleak.

Then, come '38, there arrived... the dynanometer coach.

FC1 borrowed this from the LNER, ostensibly just to "see if we should invest in one of our own," but in reality the point was to compare the performances of Gordon, Henry, and James, especially on express services... and you had better believe they all figured this out straight away.

The ensuing drama rattled the rails and raised station and shed roofs... even before the results were found out.

"Henry II" and James beat out Gordon's performance in nearly every category that the dynanometer could measure.

The entire railway was just basically "! ! ! ! ! !" for a solid month.

Trucks made songs about it.

(So did Thomas.)

Henry, however, kept his distance, and did not boast about this. He felt sorry for Gordon—although he was smart enough to say nothing about that, either. Behind the scenes, he tried to get the others, especially James (who! was! ECSTATIC!) to cool off rubbing this in Gordon's smokebox ("he would do it to us??!?!?!!?!!!" "shuddup you circus engine, Gordon's been magnificent to you, show a little gratitude?" "... no")

I can't even tell you what Gordon thought. He was clearly in a state of shock, eventually ceding to a state of general droopy moping that was... eeriely Henry I-ish, as a matter of fact.

But he did not roar or rage. Well, at the trucks and at Thomas, sure. But not at James, and not at Henry, to whom he offered stuffy, stilted congratulations like the gentleman that he is.

James made him regret his good sportsmanship. But Henry and Gordon's mutual maturity about this event went a good way in repairing their relationship. They started to exchange smiles as they passed, and, more and more often, not merely civil but genuine conversation when they met up. All right, more often than not they complained about their orders or disparaged other engines, but, hey! That had always kind of been their thing! They were getting back into their groove, only on a healthier, more equal footing! This was good!

Gordon almost immediately cherished hopes that this meant Henry would "come to his senses and return home"... but Henry didn't play that way, and Gordon submitted to the dash of cold water his various confidantes threw on this idea... well, with shameless puppy-dog eyes... but otherwise with good grace.

He was soon busy with his own affairs, as it turned out that FC1, utterly unsurprised by the dynanometer findings, presented them to the Board as evidence that Gordon required a mainland rebuild of his own. There had been talk of this rebuild for years, and Gordon had always loathed the thought, but after the disgrace of the summer trial he had quite a different point of view, and for the most part was now eager for the improvements that an important and useful engine like him deserved! To the degree he was nervous, talking to Henry about Henry's experience at Crewe definitely helped to prepare him. So off Gordon was sent; they removed his third cylinder, redid his running board, blah blah blah, and by the end of spring '39 he was a magnificent Gresley/Stanier/Hatt hybrid the uniqueness of which he gloried... though he gloried even more when a good many of the principles of his improved design were promptly applied to the rest of his old class! Wartime prep favored simpler designs for quicker maintenance, and so Gordon was essentially the prototype for the "A3s" to the same degree he had been the prototype for them all as "A1s."

(This should bring us back to a previous point: Gordon's bitching after Henry's return about "a shape good enough for him is good enough for me"? Oh, it was stroppy and self-centered all right, but to give the full context here, please remember that Gordon is literally a prototype, and that Crovan's Gate's attempts to fix Henry had always centered around making him more Gordon-like. This is Gordon's identity, so a rejection of Gordon's shape hit him on a much deeper level than it would have most engines. But now, returned to his original role as Mechanical Marvel and Trailblazer, that old blow to Gordon's pride was set aright, and another shade from the "Whistle" blow-up was put to rest.)

1939-1945:

Gordon, like Henry, received a warm welcome when he returned from Crewe. To the degree the enthusiasm for "Gordon II" was tempered by the looming inevitability of total war and as well as lacking the whole near-death experience thing, Gordon had grace enough to not carp about this... much.

And, the moment war preparations got underway on Sodor, Henry immediately returned to Tidmouth.

Gordon saw him roll back into the yard, which was abuzz with soldiers, strange aircraft, and dangerous new shipments, and smiled.

Nothing needed to be said. They got to work side-by-side at once, and endured the next six years together. Like brothers.