#i just got Stanley and boy howdy boy Howdy he’s gonna make me cry

[impossible-rat-babies]

started playing spiritfarer again and I’m just ;—; I’m doing so good ;—;

[ramblesanddragons]

When Someone Has Your Back

(I thought I posted this last night but apparently not.)

Here’s my entry for @forduary based on Week 2: Trust/Paranoia.

Summary: Life on the sea has done wonders for Stan and Ford Pines but a stop in New Orleans brings an unwanted, surprising, and dangerous guest.

Word Count: 4417

Warnings: There is fighting in this (this was good practice for me since I've never written a fight scene before) but no mentions of blood. I did not want this to be considered graphic. 

Ao3 Link for those who prefer!

“Ford for Pete’s sake I can handle myself. You want to do your nerd thing and I want to go hang out at a bar. It’s okay,” Stan said slightly exasperated.

Close to a year at sea had done wonders for the old Pines twins. Stan hadn’t felt so at peace for a long time. Sure, that fact that some of his rougher memories had been AWOL for most of the year helped but being with Ford at sea, doing what they always dreamed of doing? Well it was a dream. Even dreams have rough patches though.

Ever since Stan had been erased to defeat some sort of dream demon his brother had been perhaps a little too protective of him. It was an improvement from the sad sap that Ford had become after the erasing. That had really pissed Stan off as more memories of who his brother was came back. He wanted to sail with his brother not this sad, sullen nerd that was holding his tongue so much that Stan was sure it had bled a few times. Stan put his foot down before they sailed out.  

“Ford if you don’t stop being so down and start being yourself, I’m not going out with you. I’ll probably throw you overboard within a week.”

That had worked more or less. For the first time in years they talked their problems out. It was a good start and within a day Ford had been back to bantering with Stan like they had never been apart. Of course, that hadn’t stopped the other issue Stan was having. Ford had become incredibly protective of him. Sure, that had been a thing in a way when they were young. Stan handled the bullies and Ford covered for him with the one he couldn’t deal with, their dad. He would stick up for Stan and help him when homework got too hard. Once he had even stayed up all night to talk Stan through his whining when Carla McCorkle had broken up with him.

Now it was different. More...intense. Stan knew it was a strange mix of Ford’s caring for him, wanting to make up for his so-called sacrifice, and his paranoia. Boy howdy was Ford paranoid. Not that Stan blamed him. Whenever the subject of his time traveling the multiverse was brought up his brother would only speak of the good but there had been bad as well. Stan hadn’t told Ford but the memory of the quick change in the fearimaid had come back a few months ago. Stan remembered the scars that told a horrific story across his brother’s body.  

So, Ford had every right to be paranoid and Stan would let him have that. He could understand this at least. He let his brother be the odd boy guard he really didn’t need and went along with whatever protective measure his brother saw fit to take. He would deal with his brother being uptight in crowed places and seeing danger everywhere. He was there with his favorite tea when the nightmares would wake him in a fit of crying. Just like Ford was there for him when nightmares wrecked his own sleep.  

But Stan was also a grown 58-year-old man and had most of his memories back and he just wanted to go get a damn drink.  

“The tour is fascinating though. I thought it would be a good place to start for ghost hunting,” Ford reply looking like a slightly hurt puppy.

“We can go ghost hunting later. I promise but it’s hot as hell here and I don’t feel like going.”

“Then I’ll go get a drink with you.”

“Ford. I know you feel like you need to like watch over me or somethin’ but I promise you, I will be okay. Okay? Look if we don’t do some things apart, you’re gonna get sick of me.”

“Stan, I have told you over and over again I will never, ever, get sick of you.” Ford said standing to grip Stan on the shoulders.

“Yes, and I believe that now...mostly,” Stan ignored the frustrated look in his brother’s eyes, “But everyone needs space now and again. I’ve been to New Orleans before I know where I’m going. While we’re here I can show you all the good places to eat. Look how about I go get a drink, you go look at tombstones or whatever and we’ll meet back here to find a place to eat. We got these cell phones for a reason you know.”

The kids had insisted that they get phones if they were going travel like they were. McGucket had even decked them out so they would work wherever. Ford and Stan, with lots of help from the kids, had even figured out texting.  His twin sighed and let go of his shoulders.

“Very well. But keep that ringer of yours on okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

So, they parted ways. Ford seemed hesitant to keep walking down his street but eventually kept walking. Stan found the place he was looking for and took a seat. Jazz wasn’t his favorite thing in the world but nothing beat a good live band and a fruity drink that he wouldn’t be caught dead drinking any other time. The afternoon passed in piece and as the sun started to get lower in the sky Stan made his way back to the boat. It was a good afternoon and Stan had even scored a date for tomorrow, which meant some working around his brother but the boat had separate rooms for them for a reason. All and all a good time. He walked lazily back to where the boat was docked when the sound of a dinosaur roar made him jump. Mabel thought it was a good text tone for his brother and, while she wasn’t wrong, it still made him jump from time to time.  

I need to get her to tell me how to change it.  

Stanley. I will be back at the boat in 10 minutes time.

Ok Ford. ‘Bout to walk on.  

…

Please remember to turn off the alarm!

Stan rolled his eyes. Ford had installed some sort of proximity alarm and he had to turn it on and off as he came and went but it eased his brother’s mind so whatever.  

Stan had only managed to take a single step on the deck of the ship when a cold feeling went up his spine. Someone was watching him. Before he could react, there was the thundering footsteps behind him and the feeling of something blunt on the back of his head. He fell onto his knees and yelled out in pain. Looking through blurred vision he turned to face his attacker. Stan almost screamed again. A dark green creature was glowering down at him. It vaguely reminded him of a snake if a snake had grown arms and legs and had been on a steady steroid regiment. This had to be an alien of some sort, right? Despite what Ford thought Stan did pay attention to his nerdy rants. This didn’t match any of those cryptids he was looking for around here unless a snake man was an option, he wasn’t aware of. Well it was Louisiana.  

“Stanford Pines,” it hissed, “it had been too long.”

An alien that’s looking for my brother. Wonderful.  

He will be fine. Everything will be fine.  

What if he had a memory lapse?  

He hasn’t had one in 6 months. If he does, he keeps his facilities on him enough to ask for help. Your number is his emergency contact.  

What if he gets hurt?  

He’s right he’s an old man who can care for himself!  

This internal argument had been on repeat in Ford’s head for about two blocks now. He forced his feet forward anyway. He did it for Stan’s sake. He needed space and Ford needed space even if he would never voice that to his twin. Stan was right, not about Ford getting sick of him no. Ford was determined to use his last 30 years or so to make up for lost time. Traveling with his brother brought about a pure joy that he didn’t think was possible for him to feel again and he would never want it to end. But they were still very different people and being stuck on a small boat for months, even with separate rooms, had frayed a few nerves. Yes, this was healthy and needed.

But Ford’s damn brain would not shut up.  

By the time Ford reached the tour Stan had already been mentally kidnapped by swamp creatures 3 times. Maybe just texting his brother would help, or would that annoy Stan too much? Ford had been trying very hard to be considerate of Stan’s feeling since he had spent so much time frankly not doing just that. Part of his worry was that Stan would maybe get tired of him and want to stop, go back to Gravity Falls with the treasures they found and get Ford to leave him alone. The old scientist knew he was hard to deal with at times but Stan seemed to take most of it stride. What was worrying was his twin brother seemed to really understand what he was going through. Why would Stan know about the need to watch his back almost constantly? Why did he insist on having his own pistol under his bed and brass knuckles on him at all times? Both of them hadn’t been very forthcoming with bits and pieces of their past but at least Stan had an excuse up until now. He claimed he had most of his memories back so he was just choosing not to share at this point.

“Sir?” Ford jumped and his hand flew to his concealed weapon before he focused on the young man that looked wide eyed and concerned.  

“Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you it’s just the tour is about to start are you joining us?” In his thoughts Ford had paused to think and the tour group had started moving without him.

“Ah sorry just didn’t see you there. Yes, I’m coming.” Ford said awkwardly shoving his hands behind his back. The young man gave him a thumbs up and started the tour with an explanation of the above ground graves they were walking by. The guys’ voice reminded him of Fiddleford a bit but there was a difference in the drawl, it lacked that mountain twang. He found himself thinking that he should give his old friend a call tonight after dinner. Ford followed at the back, away from the crowd. It was an ideal position; he could watch the people in the front and look out for things behind him. The crowd was bothering him no matter how hard he tried to shake it.  

That was another reason he had wanted his brother along for this. Ford had gotten used to Stan’s presence in his life. Knowing he wasn’t alone all the time anymore had been a Godsend for his mental health if he was being honest. Paranoia is easier to deal with when you know someone has your back. Standford Pines could trust his twin brother and it made a world of difference.  

The tour was informative and it led to a good place to start for some ghost hunting. The watch Ford had modified had picked up on several ectoplasmic disturbances and he was pleased with the adventure he had planned out with Stan. Ford finally allowed himself to text his brother. He had managed to only text him two times before now in an attempt to show some restraint with his worries. Hopefully Stan would turn off the alarm as it made a very annoying buzzing noise come from his watch. The alarm annoyed Stan, especially when he had a guy or girl over and he had to fiddle with it before getting to whatever business they were doing for the night, but he never told Ford to get rid of it.  

There was a sigh as the alarm went off and Ford put it to snooze. A minute later it went off again and it sent a worried ringing up the old man’s arm. Ford texted Stan.

Please turn off the alarm.

Another minute passed. The alarm buzzed some more.

Stan?

A knot began to form in Ford’s stomach. He gave up texting and called.

“Hey uh this is Stan Pines. Leave some info unless you’re the IRS.” Straight to voicemail. Stan had promised to answer it and keep it on him. Something was wrong. Ford immediately began to run the remaining distance between himself and the boat. 5 minutes of straight running was making his lungs burn but he didn’t care, he had to find his brother. The docks were empty as he finally caught sight of the Stan of War.  

Not good no one around to see if he got dragged off dammit Stanley you had better be okay!  

The running stopped as his trained eye spotted something shine on the deck. It was Stan’s phone. He had made it to the deck of the ship at least.  

Focus. Look for clues and calm down. You’re no good like this. What’s your big brain good for if you can’t find and follow clues? Use your logic. Okay he made it to deck that’s for certain maybe...is that...my voice?  

Ford’s head snapped to the cabin. Muffled voices were coming from behind the door. With more stealth than an owl hunting in the moonlight Ford made his way to the door. Inside it was indeed his voice coming through the wall as well as another that sounded so familiar, his mind raced to place it. It had to be one of the bounty hunters that had been after him in the multiverse he knew that but which one? The unknown hunter and his brother were in the middle of a conversation.

Good Stan keep it talking I need to think of a plan!  

“And what about those extra digits?” The unknown voice questioned.

“Had them cut off. They were a very identifiable mark. You’re not the only person after me after all. Perhaps it would be best to not to deal with me so hastily. Don’t want to have any other bounty hunters jealous of you, do you?” Stan said imitating Ford’s voice.

“Your time here has made you forget. The multiverse fears me. No one would dare challenge me. Prepare yourself, your head is now mine.”

“Very well. If last wishes are something you care about just leave this dimension when you are done.” Stan again said in his impression of Ford.

The impression was flawless, just like it had been in the fearimaid. Ford finally put two and two together. A cold feeling enveloped his body as thoughts of a memory gun in his hand and his brother at his mercy swam to the top of his consciousness. This was worse.  

Oh, sweet Moses.  

He’s pretending to be me again.  

He’s about the take the fall for me again.  

Stan’s about to get his head chopped off by a blood thirsty inter-dimensional bounty hunter to protect me.  

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO, NO!  

In a rare moment all logic left the mind of Stanford Pines.

“GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!” Ford screamed bursting through the cabin door and tackling the killer into the other side of the cabin, causing it to drop the razor-sharp blade it was holding. Ford began to punch it in the face with all of his might.  

“Oh, hey Ford there you are.” Stan quipped in his normal voice. Ford could barely hear him over the roaring of blood in his ears.  

The hunter was thrown off by the sudden appearance of another Stanford Pines and Ford wasn’t going to waste the opening. He tugged at the hitman’s blaster, wresting it free from its holster. The hunter gave him a powerful kick to the chest that sent Ford halfway across the cabin.

“Hey Ford I know you’re a little busy but if you get something sharp my way, I can cut myself out!” Stan shouted.  

“Shut UP! I don’t know what sort of magic this is but I’ll kill you both for good measure!” The creature hissed and lunged for the gun. Ford’s chest was aching but he didn’t pay it any attention as he pulled his own gun.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” Ford roared and fired. The shot hit square in the chest but the monster’s hide was too thick. With a cold jolt in his being Ford now fully recognized the bounty hunter. They had clashed more than a few times over the years and every time Ford barely managed to escape with his life. The last time had been 6 years ago. That encounter ended with Ford jumping into a rushing river as a last stitch effort of escape.  Its species was tough and blaster fire barely did a thing to them. The scientist in him often wondered if more traditional firearms would work better but the pistol was under Stan’s cot, there was no way to get to it. Ford kept firing desperately.

A part of Ford was sure he wasn’t going to survive this encounter with the hunter and it didn’t matter to him if he did in the long run, as long as he brought the monster down with him. He would not let him hurt his brother. If he died and the hunter was still alive Stanley would have to face it alone. So, Ford couldn’t die just yet and if he did, he’d just have to get back up again until Stanley was safe. The hunter picked up its own blaster and aimed for Ford’s head when Stan crashed into the creature chair and all. The blaster went sliding again across the cabin.

“Hey dumb-ass you kind of suck at this if you can’t tell two targets apart!” Stan heckled the thing from his now prone position. The creature hissed again and lunged at Stan’s neck but Ford was faster. He took the thing by its neck and slammed it into the floor and struggled to put his own gun to the creature's head.

“Let’s see if you can shrug off point blank ARGGGGG!” Sharp claws ripped into Ford’s shoulder and peeled him off. The hunter sprung to its feet and gave Ford a kick, and then another. Somewhere in the chaos Ford’s gun flew from his hands and landed under a desk. There was a crack of something in his chest and face but Ford didn’t care. On the third kick he grabbed the boot of the killer and tossed it off balance enough to give Ford time to stand.

Get it away from Stan! Get it away! Repeated in his head.

Taking out his knife Ford slashed at it wildly. Each step towards it brought claws closer to his face but he didn’t care. Seeing an opening Ford got in close and with all of his might he shoved the hunter through the door of the cabin earning him a clawing to the chest in the process.  

Ford had exactly one idea but he needed to reach the stern of the ship. He managed to make it half way there when the killer caught up to him, using its claws to try and bring Ford down again. He stumbled but stayed uptight turning to face his attacker. It had managed to pull another blade and swung, missing Ford by a hair. He took the chance to kick it back away from him but it had less of an impact that he hoped. Sharp black claws ripped into his sweater and it held the blade at Ford’s throat.

“30 years of chasing you and this is how it ends? How pathetic!” It rose its arm to swing when another pair of arms appeared underneath the creature’s elbows. Stan had gotten free and with all his might pulled it away from Ford. Stan threw it into the wall of the cabin and started to go at it with his knuckles covered in brass.

“30 years huh? Well you’re never fucking with my brother EVER AGAIN!” Stan thundered.

Ford saw his chance. Pushing back the sickness in his stomach at the thought of pointing another gun at Stan he reached the harpoon at the stern. “STAN MOVE!”  

His brother didn’t even need to look back to tell what he was doing, with a leap the way was clear and Ford fired, hitting his mark. There was a loud crack as the harpoon broke the cabin wall. Then silence.  

Ford collapsed onto the deck of the boat.

“S-Stanley,” he croaked, “are you okay?”

Stanley stood and ran over to him wincing at the sight of the damage. To Ford’s relief his brother only seemed to have a minor injury or two.

“AM I OKAY!? Ford, we need to get you to a hospital!” Stanley began to try and lift Ford who responded with a hiss.

“No, no we can’t leave that here like that. What if someone comes by.”  

“Ford it’s 5:30 on a Friday night no one’s gonna see this.”  

Ford began to try and stand on his own. “Really Stan I’ve had worse. I’ll sail us out to open water, deal with him, and then maybe rest.” Try and he might his ribs wouldn’t let him stand.  

“FORD SIT THE FUCK DOWN!!!” Stanley screamed. Ford finally obeyed and gave his brother an owlish look in surprise.

“You’re worried that much about people finding it? Fine I’ll sail us out a bit, deal with it then I’m getting your ass to a hospital.” Stan stood and within a moment or two had the boat pulling out of the dock. Ford was quiet for a moment, observing his brother and making sure no underlying injuries were causing problems. Five full minutes of silence passed before Stan spoke again.

“He was looking for you. I guess I don’t blame ya for being so paranoid,” he muttered.

“Yes. Stan...Stan I’m so sorry.” With the adrenaline wearing off all Ford could feel was the pain and the fear. Fear that his brother almost died again.

“I-I should have warned you this could happen...I know I haven’t been very forthcoming about my time away but I’ll tell you now and, and...” Tears were building in Ford’s eyes. Stan turned from the wheel for a moment to look at him.

“Ford you don’t have to tell me anything okay? And stop apologizing.”

“YOU ALMOST DIED BECAUSE OF ME!” Ford’s voice cracked with the stress. Stan flipped on the auto pilot Ford had built and sat next to his now sobbing brother.  

“Ford...”

“Stan, I heard you. You were pretending to be me again. Why? You were going to let him kill you t-to protect me? Why?”

Stan opened his mouth.

“And don’t you dare say better you than me!”

Stan coughed to perhaps give himself a moment to course correct and spoke. “Meh I was okay...”

“Okay? How...how are you so calm with this...how did you know t-that?” Ford was sure he had taken too hard of a hit there was no way Stan was okay with this.

“If ya let me finish Ford. I was saying I knew I was going to be okay because I know you’ve got my back.”

Stan, to Ford’s utter shock, was smiling.  

“You know the more I remember about my past the happier I am to be here. I mean that in all senses of that statement too. Like to be alive. People have tried to kill me before too and I was all alone then. Just like you were. And it’s awful.” Ford wanted to hug his brother and simultaneously find whoever had dared to go after him. That’s why he understood so well.  

“But I think I’ve finally managed to hang on to the idea that you’ve got my back and I’ve got yours. Hell, even if you woke up hating me again tomorrow, I’d still have your back.”

“ I never hated you and I never will,” Ford whispered quietly.  

“Meh I think it might have been touch and go there a minute.”

“...I will always be there for you Stan and not because of what you did either, I know you think that’s the only reason I’m here sometimes no matter how hard you hide it. I will always be there for you because you are my brother.”

“Thanks. You know I should probably tell you the people who might have me on their kill list...I just need to remember their names first.” Stan rubbed his sore head.

“Don’t freak out things just get a little jumbled after crazy stuff like that.” He pointed to the hunter.

“I’m not,” he was, “but just so you know if anyone so much as touches you wrong, I’m going to kill them.”

“Yeah I got that point. Guess this isn’t going to exactly ease those nerves of yours huh?”

“I’m sorry I’m so...”

“Ford if you apologize one more damn time, I’m gonna...I don’t know...toss one of your nerd books overboard with that guy.”

Ford closed his mouth.  

“I can handle you dealing with whatever your time is space sideburns land did to you in your own way. I just hope I can get you to relax and enjoy life a little more ya know?”

“I am. With you around watching my back I have been able to relax a bit. Thank you, Stanley, for understanding.”  

20 minutes was all Stan was willing to spend on the job. Stan patched Ford up as much as he could in the meantime. He also started to do the math on the repairs then decided to say fuck it to that for the night. Before disposing of whatever this guy was, Stan pocketed some of his fancier looking stuff to Ford’s amusement.

“What Fiddlenerd might like to look this over.” Was Stan’s only argument.

Once docked he called an ambulance (“This crazy huge dog came out of nowhere and attacked us!”) and they were on the way.

“Once you’re healed up Ford, I’m going to show you the time of your life and some of the best damn food in the world.”

Ford smiled, “Looking forward to it.”

[ceslatoil]

Fiddauthor 6

“Don’t cry, I hate it when you cry.”

Stan had been sick with the flu all week, which, aside from the fever and throwing up every hour or so, was actually the best. He didn’t have to help dad in the pawn shop, nor do any chores; all he needed to do was sit back, drink juice, and read as many violent horror comics as he could.

The only downside was that Ford had to stay away. Ma had loudly reminded them of the time they’d both gotten the chicken pox simultaneously when they were three, and she stated “one sick kid is already bad enough, two is too much!”

So, while Stan sat at home and recovered, Ford was forced to play outside by himself. This wasn’t so bad early in the morning, when he could slip out onto the beach and examine the tidepools or, as he was doing that particular morning, build sand castles, but on summer days like this the beach always seemed to belong to Crampelter and his gang of dim witted cronies. It wouldn’t be long before they showed their ugly faces, and turned their even uglier attentions to Ford, “the six fingered freak!”

Ford wasn’t exactly a push over, but he was eleven and didn’t like physical conflict, no matter how many stupid boxing classes Dad forced him to take. Fighting had always been Stan’s forte. Crampelter was thirteen, obnoxious, and could hit like a wrecking ball. Whenever he made his way to Ford, the boy knew that it was smarter to run instead of fight, perhaps into the nearest library where the smell of literacy and learning would ward off Crampelter.

This is why Ford tensed when a strange boy he’d never seen before began to walk towards him on the beach that morning.

“Howdy,” the boy greeted Ford cheerfully. He had a long nose, a mop of shaggy golden blond hair that fell over his wide, blue eyes.

“… Hi.”

“That’s a great sandcastle,” said the boy with an earnest, charming smile.

“Um, thank you,” said Ford, who couldn’t help but smile back. “It’s supposed to be Neuschwanstein Castle.”

“Newt-Swan what now?”

“Neuschwanstein Castle,” Ford continued, unable to stop himself from explaining about one of his many interests, “it’s a fancy castle in Germany that was commissioned by King Ludwig II of Barvaria. He wasn’t a very good king, but he designed really beautiful castles all over Germany.”

“That’s so neat,” squeaked the boy, who knelt down for a better look at Ford’s handy work. “You know,” said the boy, who began puffing out his chest proudly, “I once built a castle myself.”

Ford raised an eyebrow skeptically at the new boy.

“Oh really,” said Ford.

“Really,” the boy nodded his head enthusiastically, “well, it was only a model, but I got to make a real working drawbridge and everything! I love building things; castles, airplanes, cars, even robots!”

“Wow! I thought I was the only kid who liked robots,” said Ford with growing excitement.

“Folks who don’t like robots are not to be trusted,” said the boy wisely.

“… you know, there’s a model shop on the boardwalk,” Ford grinned at his new friend, “did you want to check it out with me?”

“Do you really mean it?” The boy was grinning ear to ear. “Nobody ever invited me to go anywhere with em before, not counting my aunt and uncle inviting me along on vacation here that is!”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, um–”

“Fiddleford!”

Ford began to chuckle, which made the new boy blush.

“I– I know, it’s a goofy name–”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ford assured him. “My name’s actually Stanford! We’re both Fords!”

This made Fiddleford smile once again, which was something Stanford would grow to love seeing for most of his life.

***************************************

The week Ford spent with Fiddleford was one of the happiest he’d been that entire summer. Every day, after saying goodbye to a still sick Stanley, Ford would meet Fiddleford on the boardwalk and they’d tear through Glass Shard Beach like a hurricane. They would spend hours either looking at all the interesting models at Hobby Hut, or perhaps getting comics from the dingy shop just across the street, or, on a particularly adventurous day, they’d head to the amusement park and ride some of the more dangerous rides together. Between those little adventures, the two would just enjoy each other’s company, just talking for hours about their interests and their own insecurities.

“Everyone at school calls me things like flutesnoot,” sighed Fiddleford miserably one afternoon. “Or noodle nose. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Well that’s stupid,” said Ford, angry at anybody who would dare make fun of such a kindhearted person. “I mean, your nose is cute, at least you don’t have these weird extra fingers like I do.”

“Wait,” said Fiddleford, blushing. “Did you just say I was cute?”

It was now Ford’s turn to blush.

“I– um, that is to say– I mean– HEY LOOK THE ICE CREAM SHOP IS OPEN,” Ford sputtered. Distracted by the promise of sugary treats, the boys linked arms and ran inside.

“One chocolate for me,” said Ford to the cashier, “and one butter pecan for him!”

He clapped Fidds on the shoulder, as if proudly showing off his friend to the entire shop.

“Coming up,” said the cashier with a wink as Ford handed her the money. “Why don’t you boys take a seat?”

Of course, just as the two had gotten comfortable in a booth, disaster struck when Crampelter had walked in with none other than Cindy Crenshaw.

“Oh no,” muttered Ford.

“Lemme guess– one of the bullies at your school,” whispered Fidds as he eyed up the massive Crampelter who demanded the cashier make him a vanilla malt milkshake.

“Two, actually,” sighed Ford miserably. Cindy Crenshaw wore an unpleasant little smirk as she stared at Ford from across the room. Ford explained that he had convinced himself that he was madly in love with Cindy back in February last year, but that had ended in catastrophe when he’d foolishly written her a valentine confessing his undying love. Not only had Cindy not been interested, but she had recited the poem Ford had clumsily written in front of the entire school over and over at lunchtime every day since:

I think you’re real neat,Your smile is so sweet,Your eyes are greener than bullfrogs!Everyone else is dumb just like bulldogs;I love you more than Tesla loved birds,But how can I tell you? There aren’t enough words!

Cindy had absentmindedly began lilting the first few lines of the hated poem as Crampelter paid for their ice cream.

“Ugh… Fidds, remind me to never write poems for mean girls ever again ever,” said Ford, who buried his head in his arms in shame.

“… Hey Ford, maybe once the ice cream’s ready, we take ours to go,” said Fidds, patting Ford’s arm sympathetically. “I don’t wanna eat sugary treats in a place where they serve jerks.”

“I’m fine with that,” Ford nodded.

“One Chocolate and one Butter Pecan ready for pick up,” called the cashier from the counter, holding two paper bowls of fresh ice cream in each hand.

“I’ll get em buddy,” Fiddleford smiled at Ford before bouncing off to grab their order. Ford, however, didn’t like the nasty look Cindy was giving Fiddleford as he approached the counter, and to his horror, she stuck out her foot and tripped Fidds. The boy went flying head first into the counter, which, Ford saw as Fidds tried to pull himself off the floor, left a goose egg sized bruise on his forehead.

“Oh no, my armoire,” cried Cindy, barely concealing her laughter. “He scuffed my shoes on purpose! Teach him a lesson!”

“Nobody messes with Cindy, you long nosed sissy,” Crampelter snarled as he grabbed Fidds by the shirt and began to shake him violently.

Ford didn’t quite remember what happened next, just that in a lightning flash, Ford had jumped up from their booth, his knuckles were sore, and Crampelter was on the floor with a bloody nose.

“That’s enough of that,” cried the cashier, who turned to Cindy and cried, “get your boyfriend outta my store Missy!”

“What? That’s not fair,” Cindy cried, pointing to Ford viciously. “He attacked us!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t think I didn’t see that little stunt you pulled on Pines’ buddy– haul your little behind outta here before I call your parents,” countered the cashier, who waved her arm theatrically at the door.

Sulking, Cindy helped Crampelter to his feet. She glared murderously at Ford, who cooly stated, “By the way Cindy? You meant amour. Armoire is a type of wardrobe. You sound like an idiot.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” said the cashier as Cindy and Crampelter left the store in a huff. “Go take your little friend to the back kid, get some ice for that bump.”

The two sat in the back, tears steady falling down Fidds face as he pressed an ice pack to his swollen forehead.

“No, don’t cry,“ whispered Ford, who began to pat Fidds gently on the back, “I hate it when you cry.”

“S-sorry,” sniffled Fidds, who weakly attempted to smile for Ford again. “It’s just, you know, I’m leaving in a few days, and nobody back home ever stands up for me the way you did to that jerk and his crabby girlfriend. I’m gonna miss you a whole lot Stanford!”

“We don’t have to miss each other yet.” Ford’s voice began to crack, he felt like crying a little bit himself. “Once you’re calmed down, how about we design a robot that can punch out bullies for you when I’m not around.”

“Y'mean it?”

“Definitely.”

Fidds scooped Ford into a tight hug, and, though Ford would later see Fidds many more times in his life, in that moment, he hugged him as if they’d never see each other again if they broke apart.

[thelastspeecher]

Proper Introductions

Part 1

I said there would be more, and lo and behold, there is more.  This is the second part of my probable series of drabbles with the mashup Stanley McGucket/Mystery Dads AU (thought up by @agent-jaselin), which I’m gonna start tagging as “Teen Dad Stanley McGucket AU”.

Oh, and to accommodate the timeline better, ages have been slightly adjusted, and Lute and Angie are twins in this AU.  Also, Stan comes to the McGuckets’ when he’s about to turn 19, so Fiddleford has already met Ford at college.

I’m not cross-listing this to AO3 (at least, not at this point), because these are mainly just drabbles, and I don’t have a name for any of the things, or an outline.  I'm mostly just writing down ideas and thoughts.  Anyways, enjoy.

               Stan didn’t remember falling asleep, but he remembered waking up.  On his own. Without being prompted by a screaming infant.  He looked over at the crib, wondering why Molly hadn’t woken him up.  

               She was gone.

               “Shit!”  Stan catapulted off the bed and out of his room.  In his haste, he ran the wrong direction multiple times, but somehow managed to find his way to the kitchen.  

               “Howdy, Stanley, how’d ya sleep?” Mrs. McGucket asked him.  She was standing at the stove, cooking something.

               “I- it’s- fine, I guess, but where the hell is Molly?” Stan demanded.

               “Over here,” a voice said from behind him.  Stan spun around.  Angie was sitting on the couch in the living room, holding Molly.  

               “Why the fuck do you have her?”  Angie’s eyes widened.

               “That’s some awful strong language.  I was just tryin’ to help ya out.  I walked past yer room and heard her fussin’.  You were asleep, so I figured I’d take care of her.  That way ya wouldn’t have to wake up yet.”  Stan ran a hand through his hair.

               “You’re like thirteen.  What do you know about babies?”

               “I’m sixteen, thank ya very much.  And I’m from a big fam’ly.  I’ve been takin’ care of babies since I outgrew diapers.  Ma is right nearby, too, just in case.  But I didn’t need any help.”  She looked down at Molly.  “Did I?” she asked in a goofy baby voice.

               “What did you do with her?”

               “Fed her, changed her, sang to her some.”  Angie kissed Molly on the forehead, eliciting a small giggle from the infant.  “Didn’t use any swears, unlike her pa.”

               “All right, hand her over,” Stan instructed.  Angie patted a spot on the sofa next to her.  Stan begrudgingly took the seat she had indicated.  She handed Molly to Stan.  “Anyways, I’m not her pa.  I’m her dad.”

               “When I have kids, I’m goin’ to go by ma,” Angie said idly.  “It’s what everyone in my fam’ly does.”  Stan scoffed.

               “I don’t wanna do what my family did.  Especially not my pops.”

               “Why not?”

               “…Doesn’t matter,” Stan muttered.  Lute wandered into the living room.  

               “Howdy, Stanley.  Howdy, lil baby.”  Lute sat down on the other side of Stan and peered down at Molly.  “Aww, she’s sleepin’.  Hold on.  Is she a polydactyl?”

               “Yeah,” Angie said, before Stan could reply.

               “Wow.  She’s a special lil girl, ain’t she?”  

               “How did you know she’s a-” Stan started.  He paused.  “No, wait, you figured it out when you took her from the crib without permission.”

               “I didn’t think I needed permission,” Angie protested.  “That’s what we do here.  We help out.”

               “Yeah, well, I’m not from here, okay?”

               “Sorry,” Angie mumbled, casting her eyes downward.  An awkward silence fell.      

              “So, uh, which one of you is older?” Stan asked, trying to break the tense atmosphere.  

               “I am,” Lute said proudly.  

               “Yeah, by a whole minute!” Angie retorted.  

               “A minute?” Stan wondered out loud.

               “We were C-section babies,” Lute replied.  

               “Lute Everett!  That’s not information ya need to share!” Mrs. McGucket said, walking into the living room.

               “Sorry, Ma.”

               “But yes, Lute and Angie are the first McGucket twins.  We’re very proud of our lil miracles,” Mrs. McGucket continued. Stan’s heart sunk.

               Of course I get stuck with a pair of twins.  A pair of twins who, by the look of things, are just like Ford and I used to be.

                “It’s a good thing Angie ain’t a boy,” Lute said idly.

               “Why, ‘cause then bein’ overprotective wouldn’t be the same?” Angie asked.

               “No, ‘cause then we’d have to share a room.”  Mrs. McGucket took a seat in one of the armchairs.

               “In no world would the two of ya share a room.  I like the house still standin’,” Mrs. McGucket said.  She looked at Stan.  “We call ‘em the twister twins sometimes.  They’re always gettin’ up to mischief.”

               Sounds familiar.

               “Mrs. McGucket, your husband said something about how my job with you guys is gonna be farm work?”

               “Yessir.”

               “I’ve never been on a farm before,” Stan confessed.  Mrs. McGucket smiled.

               “I figured as such.  Don’t worry. We don’t expect ya to do any work ‘til Fiddleford gets here.  The twins can handle it just fine, and you’ve got a baby to worry ‘bout.”

               “And Fiddleford is…?”

               “Our older brother,” Lute supplied.  “He’s finishin’ up his second year of college right ‘bout now.”

               “When is he goin’ to be home?” Angie asked.

               “A week.  Pay attention, Banjolina,” Lute said snarkily.  Angie reached across Stan to shove Lute roughly.

               “Watch yourself, Lute.”

               “Oh, ya want to go?” Lute said with a gleam in his eye.

               “Ya know I do.”

               “Kids!” Mrs. McGucket intervened.  Angie and Lute stopped.  “No fightin’ or horseplay in the house, and especially not ‘round a baby!”  Angie and Lute looked down, abashed.

               “Sorry, Ma,” they said in sync.  

               “Don’t just apologize to me.  Apologize to Stanley and Molly.”  

               “Sorry Stanley, sorry Molly,” they said dutifully.

               “Uh…thanks,” Stan said hesitantly.  “And you can call me Stan, by the way.”

               “Sure thing, Stan,” Lute said.  Tires crunched on gravel outside.  A dog rocketed down the stairs and towards the door, barking loudly.

               “Who could that be?” Angie asked Lute.  Lute shrugged.  “Ma? Do you know?”

               “No, sweetheart, I don’t.  It’s too early fer yer pa to be back.”  The front door opened.

               “Howdy, Joel,” a southern voice said.  “Down, boy.  Geez, clearly Harper’s trainin’ didn’t stick.”  Angie and Lute looked at each other, excited.

               “Fiddleford?  Is that you?” Mrs. McGucket called.

               “Yes, Ma.”  A man walked into the living room, the dog at his heels.  Stan looked him up and down.

               Damn, why does everyone in this family look the same?  Angie and Lute jumped up and embraced their older brother.  He chuckled.

               “Hey there, twister twins.”  Fiddleford ruffled Angie’s hair in a friendly manner.  “Ya haven’t changed a bit, the both of ya.”  While the twins seemed to take after one of their parents, Fiddleford looked more like a proper blend of Mr. and Mrs. McGucket.  He was taller and more gangly than his siblings, with a thin, almost delicate frame.    

               Why is he wearing reading glasses? He’s not reading anything right now. The dog barked eagerly, waking up Molly, who began to cry.  Fiddleford frowned.  

               “What in tarnation?”  He looked over at the couch.  “Oh! Howdy there, stranger.”

               “This is Stan,” Mrs. McGucket said.  “He’s goin’ to be our farmhand fer a while.  Him and his daughter ‘ll live with us.”

               “Daughter?”

               “Yeah,” Stan said.  

               “Her name’s Molly, and she’s the cutest lil munchkin ever!” Angie enthused. “She’s a polydactyl.”  Fiddleford froze.  The blood drained from his face as he looked Stan up and down.

               “Ya don’t say…” he muttered.  He shook himself suddenly, and stuck out a hand.  “Pleased to meet’cha, Stanford.”

               What?

               “No, Fidds, Stan is short fer Stanley,” Lute said.  He rolled his eyes.  “Why do ya got to make everythin’ complicated?”  

               “Sorry, Stan, I was just assumin’,” Fiddleford said quietly, still holding out his hand.  Stan reluctantly shook it, his heart racing.

               “Lute, Angie, why don’t the two of ya help Fidds unload?” Mrs. McGucket suggested.  “You’ve got enough energy to power Gumption ten times over.”  The twins made a dash towards the front door, followed by Fiddleford, who moved at a more leisurely pace.  Mrs. McGucket stood up and went back into the kitchen, leaving Stan in the living room.  He could feel his heart continue to beat quickly.

               He called me Stanford after Angie mentioned Molly was a polydactyl.  He knows something.  The question is, what?