#their vibes in EtBE are just so immaculate 😭

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Hey! Sorry I know you're really busy, so you don't have to respond it's fine. I hope your day's going alright! :3

I was just wondering if you had any fanfics that feature Charlie and Sidney? Or could recommend any?

I believe I've read one from you before? I have no idea what it was called though, oops. But I remember it being really good! I think it featured bo-co?

Man, was I that shirty to that one anon? Sorry. You guys aren't bothering me. It was one specific person spamming my box. I love my asks!

I can't think of anyone but me who has written extensively about Charlie and Sidney. (Except... coincidentally... ToonGuy. He started coming up with a whole lil' background thing for them in 'Abridged', interspersed throughout S4-S5-TATMR. It is very different from my interpretation, ofc.) Unfortunately I'm not aware of anything else I could recommend.

Most likely you're thinking of my WIP Ex-Condor Through the Time Machine.

I have also posted a couple vignettes involving one or both of them on this blog. Here's one, two, three. There are also some things in that directory that include a young Sand as fireman, as he is due to appear in QLIR.

Speaking of 'things I am writing at the speed of molasses in winter'... I am willing to give up another little crew #2 vignette.

It's meant to be most of a chapter for a fic very similar to Ex-Condor (a 'not-quite-so-normal-day-in-the-life' multichapter thing, but from Edward's PoV and on the eve of nationalisation). Howeeeeeverrrrrr, given that my plan was to start posting and finishing it after finishing Ex-Condor... well, this otherwise isn't going to see the light of day any time soon so, if you're interested:

(Note: It uses material from the end of the Charlie Sand post, specifically about how Sid didn't know Charlie was married for like their first year or two working together. Also be warned it includes some Edward-angst. If that's a problem. Which I know damn well for most of you it isn't.)

November 1947

“Here.” There was a crinkly sound, as Sand produced some sort of folded paper from his breast pocket. “For Stationmaster. And see how our orders have changed. Write it all down and have him double-check—I don’t want any confusion.” 

“I won’t, then. That’s your job. I’ll get the engine watered.” 

“Uh, Sid…” The driver’s voice was deceptively mild. “I’ll give the orders, thanks, on my own footplate. Hop.” 

“Yeh great coward! You can’t face Dream Girl, can you?” 

“Who?” 

“Pitiful.” The fireman would be pulling a face. He had some of the very funniest. “The fair Anita!” 

“Anita?—Oh, she’s the one who handles tickets. That right?”

“Don’t play coy! Nothing ventured, nothing gained. C’mon, driver—” A bit of a tussle ensued, as Heaver began to fuss over straightening Sand’s collar, and brushing off some coal dust. “A year of this is enough! Run a hand through yer hair, set yer cap, and go over at a proper strut. She won’t wait forever!” 

“Nor will I, for that matter! Get on with you.” 

“I warn you,” said Heaver. Both men were starting to laugh, but he was the one further gone. He usually was. “If you send me, I may just snag her up, myself!” 

“If you think I won’t shove you out this cab backwards, yeh whelp, you’d better have another think—”

After a moment’s more tussling, the fireman indeed scrambled, rather unsure of foot, off the running board. “You’d try the patience of a saint, Charles,” he griped… before then setting off at an unhurried but lively skip. 

Nothing ever really shook Sid Heaver’s easy temper. 

“Pot, kettle,” muttered the driver. 

Edward was amused. “When are you going to tell him?” 

Sand laughed. “Didn’t I leave that to you? I’m still waiting!” 

“No, I can’t. I’ve told you. It’s too ridiculous.” 

“How could this comedy of errors get any more ridiculous? But I hope so. I want to see the look on his face, when he learns.” 

“Then you’d better tell him!” 

“You’re far too nice to that idiot.” 

Sand was good-natured about it, and only chuckled when Edward retorted: “Oh, you like him too, really! Anyway, it’s not that. It will be fun—but it oughtn’t be me. I don’t know, just seems a bit improper.” 

The driver laughed harder than ever. “What! What’s improper? I’ve made an honest woman of her now, before God and everyone!” 

“Oh, but all that sort of thing. Engines aren’t really supposed to comment on that—humans’ personal lives.” 

“Ah yes, we wouldn’t want engines to mention the scandal of holy wedlock!” Sand pounded the outer cab with his fist as he dismounted. “You can’t really think so. Leave that Victorian rubbish in the last century, where it belongs!” 

“Well, then.” Edward reddened, but conceded the point. It was a rule that didn’t really make much sense anymore to him, either. If it ever had. “In that case, I suppose I’m free to ask. Don’t people normally wear rings when they are married? I suppose the whole point is to avoid this sort of misunderstanding.” 

“I think the point is mostly that women like shiny things, and jewellers like to make money. But Anita wants to work, until we have children, and they won’t keep her on if they know she’s married.” 

“Wait. Whyever not?” 

“Honestly, there’s no good answer to that. Women have to deal with all sorts of extra rubbish. Like this world isn’t hard enough!” The driver descended into muttered cursing, as he wrestled with the water pipe. 

But soon it was connected, and Edward hissed comfortably as he drank, while he reflected vaguely of how little he knew, about women’s lives. They had been brought in to do all sorts of different railway work during both wars, and they hadn’t seemed all that different than the men—only inexperienced. It was rather strange, the way humans did these things… 

Sand re-oiled all axles, disconnected the water hose, and then came round, leaning on the engine’s front buffers, and looking up at him significantly, much more serious than before. 

“Will you answer me something honestly, Edward?” 

The engine was a little surprised, especially upon realizing that Sand had sent the fireman in on purpose, so that they could talk. 

But the answer came readily. Mr. Sand may have only been his driver a year now, but they had known each other for ages. “Of course, sir. What’s the matter?” 

“That’s what I want to know. You get awfully nervous, even now, when you think Hacker’s about.” 

“Oh.” Edward hissed steam again, this time in embarrassment. “I know you think it’s silly.” 

“No,” said Sand, calmly and steadily. “I don’t, that. But it is unlike you. Makes me wonder just how badly he treated you.” 

Edward wanted very much to not have to look at him. But Charlie, even as a teenager, had always been pretty canny, and it was probably no coincidence, that he had now positioned himself right where Edward should have normally looked to avoid anyone’s eye. And it was too rude, to look over a driver’s head while speaking to him. 

At least, it had been considered rude was Edward had been young. 

And, if that was another rule that had changed, he hadn’t noticed. 

“I asked you to be honest,” Sand reminded him. “I wouldn’t do that, and then turn around and raise a big fuss. Not without your say-so. But I do believe I ought to know.” 

“You never seemed to like him very much,” Edward began, slowly. This was a good deal more improper than talking about the crews’ matrimonial states. 

“Imagine that.” 

“Oh, you think he’s worse than he was. To be sure, I like you much better, but…” Edward sighed. Mr. Sand was right: he didn’t like to think about these things—and generally he succeeded in avoiding it. “I don’t think he treated me badly. I reckon he’s a pretty normal, ordinary sort of driver, and I’ve gotten rather used to being a bit coddled here, you know.” 

“Coddled!” Sand spluttered in amazement. “Is that what he said?”

“I'm not sure that he ever used that exact word. But he certainly thought I required far too much fuss in order to do my work, and, well—well, I don’t think he’s altogether wrong.”

Sand kept a handle on his self-control, and stopped himself from a rant, only with visible effort. “And why do you think so?” 

It was difficult to force himself to say, and, rude or not, he couldn’t look at Sand while he did so. “He often complained to the others that Mr. MacNeil had spoiled me. And it’s not only him that thought so, was it? Everyone used to say that. He and I were great friends, and had worked together for so long. I reckon it would have been hard for me to adjust to anyone else. I can’t blame Hacker for that…”

“Good Lord. I can!” 

“Well, you’re a little like Mr. MacNeil was. You’re pretty partial to me.” 

“If I remind you of MacNeil, I’ll take that as a compliment. He was one of the finest railwaymen I ever knew. He had twice my brains—and about fifty times Hacker’s. If he spent a good deal of extra time with you, it was for no other reason than he enjoyed it. He was married to the job, and would have been much lonelier without you—but he did not spoil you. I was there, Edward. I remember. You never needed much correcting, but he wasn’t one to hesitate, when you did. He had high standards.” Sand snorted. “Whereas Hacker has none. He’s simply lazy. Thinks he’d have an easy life of it, on a ‘proper’ railway, with new engines. I’d like to have met him on the the mainland! Those southern engines would have chewed him up and spat him out. And then, if there was anything left of him to sack, the S.R. would have done it, long ago!—But I’m not convincing you, am I.” 

“No, driver, I suppose not.” But Edward smiled faintly. He liked what Sand had said about MacNeil… who had died only a few years ago. MacNeil, who had chosen him as his own engine, when no one else had wanted him. “You’re very kind, and I’m grateful. But… well, it doesn’t bother me often—there’s no use in thinking of it—but whenever I see Mr. Hacker I am reminded of what he used to say, and I still think he was dead on about some of it. Even when I was quite new… I wasn’t much use in my early years, you know.” He saw Sand gazing, listening hard. Sand hadn’t known this. Hardly anyone did, these days. “I was a poor steamer. Too sensitive. My first railway gave me plenty of chances, but it was no good. I always thought it was Sodor that made the difference. The Fat Controller was in charge of the workshop during the first war, and he made a good many changes to me. But after all that trouble taken over me, I gave more poor performances not long after—once again, after I lost my regular crew, who had been so encouraging, and better to me than I deserved. I just don’t seem to have much to give, when I’m unrostered. Then I met Mr. MacNeil, and did all right for ages, and I am again, now that you’re with me. No surprise there—you’re both terribly clever about your business. I reckon Hacker’s right. I do seem to need rather a lot of fuss. It’s not really his place to question any more than it is mine—Controller can do as he sees fit—but it is embarrassing, when I see him, and remember that I’m still not really any more useful than I ever was, back on the mainland. And never will be, now I’m so old and worn. I’ve only been very lucky, in having more than my fair share of excellent drivers. Are—are you all right?” 

This last question was tacked on with real anxiety, for Sand had removed his cap, and was holding his head in his hands. 

“I’ll be fine,” said Sand, after a moment. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet. “It’s just that it’s a surprising lot of effort, stopping yourself from going off and committing murder…” 

“Oh, Mr. Sand…” 

“Shh. Let me get rid of his headache, would you?” 

Leaning on his elbows, Sand rubbed his temples hard for a few minutes. It was only when they heard Heaver whistling as he returned that he pushed himself back up, and glanced up at the engine. 

“I went on too long,” observed Edward, apologetic. 

“You told me what I wanted to know. And I’m sure it wasn’t easy.” 

“Do you still have that headache?” 

“No.” Sand smiled faintly. “We’re both more than ready to get to work, I’m sure. But I do wish you’d get it through your smokebox, my boy… if you are attracting loyal and clever crewmen again and again, it’s likely there’s something more than luck at play.” 

Heaver overheard the last bit, and proved a helpful translator. “That’s right! Some of us know a good thing when we see it.” 

“Like you?” retorted Sand. He had only begun to forgive Heaver’s work with Hacker. 

“And some of us simple sort of blokes need it pointed out to us,” Heaver admitted easily. “Say, Charlie. Turns out that ticket girl is a bit of an ice queen. I’m sure if you checked, you’d see I have frostbite on my arse! Still no excuse for your cowardice all these months, but…”  

Sand’s expression was indescribable. 

Edward had to laugh, seeing it, and felt spurred to finally put an end to things. “Fireman—”

But the driver held up a hand. It seemed he’d been seized by a new resolve, as well. “Oh, no. Whatever happened to engines being seen and not heard? Don’t you dare—he’s mine now.” 

Heaver blinked in confusion as driver and engine exchanged winks. 

“You’re both cracked,” he concluded, amiably.