#this would occur at some point between Cloud's Hunger of the Pine and You & Me

[raitrolling]

Tea For Two

[Easy reading version on Toyhou.se]

Viltau had been busy. Not any busier than he normally would while in the process of preparing for the next big event he was hosting, but it was a different kind of busy. Plotting, scheming, trying to get all the facts together and making sure he understood what role each piece was playing in the game of finding the culprit. She had been identified as Gliese Benral thanks to the combined efforts of Jikiro and Ullane (and Jamie via proxy, who curiously had relayed Jikiro’s information to Viltau, instead of the tealblood telling him outright), and they had a lead in the form of a mutual relation between herself and a friend of both Ullane’s and Gerrel’s. Gerrel had also been helpful to brainstorm plans with, and had connections to people in places Viltau was lacking in. 

The final piece in play was of course, the troll whose dead lusus started it all. The true victim of this story, as Viltau would loath to give any credit to that annoying creature the yellowblood called a father. He had to keep Eichio in the dark for as long as possible, as if he found out prematurely the reaction would be far less cathartic. Viltau wanted nothing less than a perfect result for his plots, and for that he needed Gliese to confess to her crimes right in front of his employee. But he could not neglect Eichio, in fact to avoid any suspicion he needed to do the opposite.

This did not bother him one bit. He considered himself a good host first and a mastermind second, after all.

Eichio had also been busy. With everything that has happened, he wanted nothing more than to be constantly occupied with something to do. If he was useful to others, he could push his thoughts about failing his lusus aside. He had stuck mostly to remaining at Mister Espino’s hive, with the exception of a short outing to visit Ullane to help her with a medical experiment. But seeing her had unfortunately made him feel worse. She wanted him to play some music for her as part of the experiment, but his heart just wasn’t into it. He felt awful for failing her, no matter how much she reassured him that it was okay to have ‘off’ nights, but he couldn’t convince her to let him try again either. He left her clinic upset and disappointed, both at her for not letting him finish the job for her and at himself for feeling that way, even if he never told her out loud.

He couldn’t go home and face his lusus, and he didn’t want to see his friends at the moment either. He was trying to avoid Gerrel when he could as well, at risk of losing his temper at his co-worker yet again. Right now, he only felt comfortable around his boss.

Said boss had just knocked on the open door to the laundry, where Eichio was currently sorting some freshly-dried clothes. The yellowblood looked up at the sound, attention pulled away from finding the pairs for each sock.

“Eichio, would you care to join me for lunch?” Viltau asked, and held up a plate of sandwiches cut into quarters for emphasis.

“Oh, okay, sure. Is it okay if I leave these where they are?” He smiles tiredly in response.

“That is fine.”

Eichio dutifully followed the indigoblood back upstairs to the main dining room, and waited for Mister Espino to set the sandwiches on the table before he took a seat. The table was fit to seat twenty people, but despite the amount of space available Eichio always took the seat to the left of Viltau whenever they ate together. Which was an event that became more common recently, given his boss’ insistence on making sure his guest ate at least three meals every night. 

It was probably the most Eichio had eaten in recent memory. He was prone to skipping meals whenever he had more important things to attend to, or if he’d made too many mistakes in one night that he felt like he didn’t deserve dinner. All behaviour that was encouraged by his lusus. 

“The first four are chicken caesar; then a classic BLT; then a simple tuna and cucumber; then finally a turkey, brie, and cranberry.” Viltau gestured to each set of four sandwiches as he listed the ingredients. “Please, do help yourself.”

He takes one of each and sets them on his own plate. Eichio follows suit, out of politeness to not ignore any of the dishes his boss had carefully prepared for lunch. There was no reason for him to have prepared so many different sandwiches, but the yellowblood also knows Viltau would have done it solely because of his own indecisiveness regarding what he wanted to eat. What most people would call a ‘waste of food’, Viltau would see as a fun culinary experience.

And if there was anything left over, he would offer it to his employees to take home for later. Just like what Gerrel offered to do that time. 

“Thank you,” Eichio says, and takes the pitcher of ice water off the table to pour both of them a drink. Then he finally sits down.

The two ate in relative silence, one not having any conversation they were willing to impart on the other, and the other simply having nothing to say at all aside from giving their compliments to the chef. The food was nice as always, the bread baked to perfection and careful attention given to how much butter should be spread to enhance the flavours of the fillings without overpowering them. The bacon is crispy and the other meats not overly chewy, the greens are crisp and fresh, the cheeses artisanal, and the condiments made from scratch. If he had time to make things himself and he was confident they would be just as good if not better than store-bought, Viltau saw no reason to not make his own.

 As Eichio nibbled his way through his tuna and cucumber sandwich, his thoughts drifted away from the quality of the meal, and back towards what - or who - he was abandoning in favour of enjoying a nice lunch with his boss.

He can’t stay here forever. He has to go back and confront his lusus at some point, and the longer he puts it off, the angrier his custodian will become. His lusus can hunt for itself, sure, and it knows which windows in the hive it’s able to slide open so it can go out looking for food. It’s perfectly capable of looking after itself, but it still expects Eichio to be there. He dreads the rant he’ll have to hear about leaving his dad to starve while he gallivanted off with that annoying soft employer of his. A good boss wouldn’t be cooking for his employees and letting them take time off work, they know how to keep their workers in their place. 

He can’t keep taking advantage of his boss’ kindness like this. He can’t keep avoiding his responsibilities like this. His lusus doesn’t need him, but he needs to be there for it. He needs to just suck it up and accept the well-deserved anger that will be launched towards him, just like he used to.

“Mister Espino,” Eichio puts down the sandwich in his hands. “I think I should go home soon.”

He glances over at his boss, who for a split second seems surprised by his words. 

“Hm, I see. And why do you think that?”

The indigoblood looks over at Eichio, his voice calm as always while his eyes reflect a glint of curiosity. It can be difficult to tell exactly what he’s thinking at times, but the neurons are definitely firing off right now. 

“Oh, well…” The pressure of having his boss stare at him erodes Eichio’s confidence, and he ends up staring down at his half-eaten sandwich on the plate. “It’s been nice living here, and you’ve been really kind, really! But… I think if I stay much longer my lusus might be angry that I’ve taken so long to come home.” 

“He’ll be angry regardless, no?” 

A quick and very deliberate response from Viltau stops Eichio in his tracks. He is right, his lusus is always angry… He doesn’t wait for a response from the yellowblood, and continues.

“Of course, it is very understandable to be concerned. No doubt this is the longest you have been away from your custodian, no?”

Eichio nods, guilt present in his eyes. That look does not deter the other troll.

“In that case, would it not be best to wait a little longer? With how volatile he can be, perhaps it may be best to ensure as much time has passed for his emotions to settle. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. For all we know, he may come to discover how much your absence pains him, and he might learn to be just a little kinder!”

For as assured as Viltau’s words may be, Eichio is not sure if he’s convinced. That sounds so… Easy. All he needed to do was just leave for a period of time, and his problems would be solved on their own? Not to mention, he doesn’t think he could ever picture his lusus being kind, as upsetting as that train of thought is. But, when he looks over at Viltau, he doesn’t see a liar. He sees someone who knows how to say the exact words people want to hear, someone who exudes confidence, and someone Eichio can trust. The indigoblood, in turn, only smiles. He knows when he’s struck gold. 

“Or, perhaps it may be better to think of it this way: By not returning hive so quickly, you are, in a way, standing up for yourself, don’t you think? This can be your way of proving that you are independent and capable of doing things on your own, and that you are not willing to bow to demands that are legitimately unreasonable. It’s always a good thing to set boundaries and then enforce them, no?”

In their initial discussions about Eichio’s lusus, Gerrel had mentioned thinking it would be best if Eichio could learn to stand up against the creature. And if Gerrel had told this to Viltau, then he almost certainly would have had this discussion with Eichio.

There is a look of recognition on the yellowblood’s face upon hearing that argument, but he fails to miss Viltau’s gaze taking on a hint of slyness before the indigo breaks eye contact to take a sip of his drink. Another calculated move on his part.

“Oh, is it?” Eichio tilts his head slightly, considering the proposition. Is this what Gerrel meant when he said that his lusus only has as much power as he gives it? Thinking about it, there was no way his lusus could have stopped him from simply never going home. It has no power over Eichio here, and it knows it. The ball is in Eichio’s court now, he could go home now and return to be constantly under the wing of the parrot-chameleon hybrid, or he could keep doing what he’s doing now. Neither option feels particularly good to him, but if he had to choose…

Mister Espino has always been the better role model. Eichio’s tired smile seems a little brighter upon coming to that conclusion.

“Okay, maybe I’ll stay a little longer. Is that okay? I can do whatever you need to make up for me imposing on you for so long.” He sounds a little less troubled now, more reassured that he might be making the better decision.

“That is perfectly fine, Eichio. Take as much time as you need, I do understand the unusual circumstances for your imposition. And, there is no need to work any harder than you already do. I require no payment of your time or literal funding.”

Was that, for a brief moment, a look of relief?

“Thank you, Mister Espino.” Content and feeling a bit more perked up than he did before, Eichio picks up his sandwich again and resumes eating his lunch. 

Viltau also went back to the sandwiches that had been left neglected on his plate. Manipulating Eichio was far too easy that it provided no entertainment to him whatsoever, he’s far too trusting of the indigoblood and inclined to agree with everything he says. But there was still a chance this newfound knowledge that he is capable of making his own decisions will cause all of Viltau’s plans to be for naught. No matter what, Eichio cannot return to his hive until Gliese has been caught, it’s simply far too risky. He doesn’t want to play the role of the bad boss and trap Eichio within his hive with no desire to escape, doing anything that even remotely resembles the tactics of his lusus could jeopardise their working relationship. That was what concerned the indigoblood above all else, he could not lose his best employee.

It was a good thing, then, that he was raised to be so obedient. 

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Rewind Chapter 11 - Epilogue

“Will I remember any of this?”

Ford paused, hands stilling on his workbench as he considered the question. “…I don’t know.”

Stan swung his legs idly from where he was perched on another table in Ford’s lab, watching the nerd fiddle with his vials. One of them had a glimmering rainbow liquid in it that kinda looked like unicorn blood. “You said when I was an adult we were fighting. Do you think we’re just gonna keep fighting?”

“We’ll always be fighting a little bit.” Ford hedged.

“No, I mean real fighting. Not just arguments and stuff.”

“Then… no, not if I have any say in it.”

:readmore:

“Good.” Stan folded his arms. “Adult me kinda sounds like a jerk, so you gotta tell him I said to be nice. And you’ve been kind of a jerk too, so you also have to be nice.”

“I doubt a grown-up you will follow the instructions of a baby.”

“Hey! I’m not a baby!” Stan found a crumpled piece of paper nearby and lobbed it at Ford’s head. He missed, but it was the thought that counted. Ford let out a huff.

“Don’t throw things when I’m working with chemicals, Stanley. Unless you want me to spill it on myself and also turn into a baby. Then who would cure you?”

“Not a baby!”

Stan didn’t throw anything else, though. Only because there was nothing nearby to throw.

“I honestly don’t know how much you’ll remember.” Ford admitted after a while, twirling a test tube to mix its contents. It looked pretty boring for what was basically a magic potion, just clear and grey. It wasn’t even bubbling. “You might completely forget everything that happened when you were de-aged. In which case, I don’t know how I’ll explain everything.”

“Just start with the story of how I defeated an evil dream demon. It’s the coolest part.”

“It’s the most exciting part of the story,” Ford allowed, “But not the best place to start.”

“It’s the hook! That’s the best part of a story, you know.”

Ford lifted the boring test tube up to inspect it in the light. When Stan looked closer, it didn’t seem as clear – as he watched it was slowly getting cloudier, more silver than grey. He vaguely remembered something about that from science class – did that mean there was a chemical reaction? Or a physical reaction? He could never remember the difference between them.

Ford stared pensively at the vial, and after a few moments Stan cleared his throat. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” Ford started to turn to him and then hesitated again. “You just have to drink this to go back to your real age. I… hm. Are you ready? Do you want to have something to eat first? Or maybe go to bed and have it in the morning?”

Stan blinked. “It’s gonna make me older again, right? Why wait?”

“Well, I don’t know.” When Stan made grabby hands Ford relented and handed over the vial. It was cold to the touch, like it had just come from the fridge. Stan stared at the thick, silvery liquid and wondered what it would taste like. “When you touched water from the spring of youth you passed out for several hours. The same thing could happen now, so we should move you somewhere comfortable before you drink-”

Stan tipped the vial and swallowed its contents in one big gulp. Ford shrieked.

“Stanley! Why would you do that?”

It tasted kinda like dirty, metallic oranges and Stan screwed up his face. “Ew! Couldn’t you at least make it taste nice?”

Ford retorted something, but the sounds were a bit wobbly in his ears. Stan blinked hard to try and make his vision make sense. It was just a little bit off, fuzzy in the corners of his vision.

“…getting dizzy?” Ford’s voice swam through the air, thick and swampy, like Stan was breathing treacle. “…lie down…”

And then, quick as blinking, he was on the floor. That was rude, for the world to just flip over like that. Everything was clouds and Stan was very, very sleepy.

Something else was said, but he was too far away to hear it.

 _______________________________________________________________

When consciousness came – and it did come, as much as Stan wished he could sleep forever, dragging him up from the depths of hazy dreams he couldn’t remember – he knew exactly where he was.

There were soft sheets against his back, the faint whistle of wind through the pines outside, the taste of copper on his tongue. The spare bed felt smaller, now, and when his head shifted his stubbly cheek scratched against the pillow. It smelled faintly like dust.

“Stan? Are you waking up?”

Okay, that was Ford’s voice. But, there was still the possibility that this had all been a weird, vivid dream! That’s right, everything from the last couple days had been a dream. There were no gnomes, no dream demons, and in a moment Stan would open his eyes and be back inside the Stanleymobile.

He cracked his eyes open, blinking at the assault of light, and saw his brother’s face looking back at him.

…shit.

“Stan? Are you alright?” Ford was tapping his cheek, looking for a reaction. Stan grumbled and brushed him away.

“I’m fine. Hands off the merchandise.” His voice was rough with sleep, and Stan was almost surprised by how deep and gravelly it was compared to the childish squeaking he’d been doing lately.

Ford made a face, somewhere between worried and amused – an expression that Stan was familiar with from the last couple days. Dammit. He just had to remember all that. Ugh, and now Ford would want to talk and get all mushy.

“I’m fine.” Stan repeated, with nothing else to say. He got up on his elbows, and a quick glance around the room confirmed they were in the spare room he’d been sleeping in the last couple days. Still, he asked. “Where are we?”

“How much do you remember?” Ford asked urgently, making Stan blink. “Since you arrived here, I mean.”

“Uh… nothing.” He lied, like a liar. Ford’s face fell.

“…oh.”

Yeah, there was no way he could tell the truth here. He would die of embarrassment if he had to admit he remembered acting like a child and being all…sappy. Ford would look at him all weird and they would have to talk and that was just… ugh.

“Yep! I just remember getting here and then – poof! Nothing.” Stan went for a carefree laugh. “Man, did I get hit on the head with a coconut or something?”

Ford lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, looking crestfallen. “No, not quite. Do you – remember the argument we had?”

Nope, nope, feelings alert. Stan did not want to delve into that conversation.

“What argument? Probably about you being a nerd, huh? Jeez, am I hungry, you got any food in this joint?”

“Wha-”

Stan was already throwing the covers off (thank god he was wearing a nightrobe underneath, he didn’t think his pride could survive another hit). Ford spluttered as he got to his feet.

“Will you slow down?”

 ______________________________________________________________

After a couple tests which were obviously unnecessary (but Ford insist on anyway, the nerd) Stan was finally free to pull on some actual clothes and follow Ford to the kitchen. He hadn’t been lying earlier, hunger really was gnawing in his stomach, and he made a beeline for the fridge.

“-and so you were reverted back into a child,” Ford continued. The guy had absolutely no showmanship. Way to lose an audience, Stan muttered to himself as he grabbed the fridge door. He’d told him to start with the demon bit, but noooo. “That was a couple days ago. There have been some – well, it’s been eventful. I doubt you’ll believe me if I told you.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“By the way, my friend is on his way.” Ford added. Stan ducked down to inspect the fridge’s contents – at least it was better stocked than when he first arrived. He hummed in acknowledgement. “You – well, I suppose you won’t remember him. You’ll like him though. You did.”

“Is he a nerd liked you?”

Ford snorted.

Stan grabbed a box of leftover pasta and then went in search of a fork. “Well, let’s hope this Fiddleford guy can tell stories better than you, ya almost put me to sleep with the way you tell it.”

When he turned around, Ford was staring at him.

It took a moment for him to realize his mistake – by the time Stan opened his mouth to spew out some bullshit excuse, Ford was pointing an accusing finger at him.

“I didn’t tell you his name!”

“Yes you did!” Stan spluttered. “I mean, how else would I know his name unless you told me, huh? You ever think about that?”

Ford narrowed his eyes. “Stanley.”

“Stanford.” He parroted right back. The staring match continued for a few moments before Ford threw up his hands.

“Unbelievable! You’re such a liar.”

Stan took a large bite of pasta. Because he was hungry, not because he didn’t want to answer. Ford glared at him.

“I should have known you’d try to wriggle your way out of this. ‘I don’t remember’ my ass. What, were you just going to leave and pretend none of this ever happened?”

Stan shoveled more pasta into his mouth.

“Don’t think you can avoid talking with me. We are having this conversation whether you like it or not.”

‘No, we’re really not’ is what Stan meant to say. Unfortunately, the moment he took a breath to speak he started choking. Ford scowled and thumped him on the back as he coughed, getting bits of pasta all over the kitchen floor.

“Unbelievable.” The nerd said again.

 Well, so much for that.

  _______________________________________________________________

Stan squirmed under his brother’s glare – the whole ‘pacing and towering over him while Stan sat on the couch like a scolded child’ schtick was uncannily similar to what their mother would do when they earned her ire.

“So.” Ford began. “You remember childhood.”

“Yep.” Stan grumbled.

“Your adult life?”

“Mm hm.”

“The last couple days here and everything that occurred while you were reverted?”

“Mm.”

Ford stopped his pacing to turn to him. “Then why on earth did you try to pretend you didn’t? We even made up!”

Stan buried his face in his hands to try and hide its burning. “I don’t know! I knew you’d try and get all…” He shuddered. “Mushy. Feeling-y.”

Stan could just feel the flat look his brother was giving him.

“Okay, fine, look. You forgave me for breaking your project, I forgave you for being a jerk. We’re good. Now, I’m just gonna head home-”

“You’re homeless.”

“You don’t know that!” Stan looked up from behind his hands to see Ford folding his arms. “I could have a, a house, a mansion even!”

“You have a mullet.”

…okay, Ford had him there. Stan scowled. “What’s the plan then, smart guy?”

Ford’s eyes gleamed, and he immediately regretted asking.

“I’m glad you asked, Stanley! I’ve had plenty of time to think over these last couple days. First of all, the Duskertons are looking for someone to help around their store, and no one in Gravity Falls cares much about credentials – I’m pretty sure the man who works at the post office is just a bunch of gnomes in a trench coat ­– so your lack if identification shouldn’t be a problem if you’re looking for a job. There’s also Boyish Dan, his family owns a logging company and I’m sure you could get a place there if you wanted. You’re welcome to stay in my house for as long as you need – I’m sure there are some places in town if you want to rent instead, though. If you choose to stay I might ask for your help in some of my research, since Fiddleford has decided to take a break from studying Gravity Falls, which I don’t blame him for.”

Stan blinked, but Ford wasn’t finished, ticking things off on his fingers as he went.

“I’ll also need to keep you under observation for a while to ensure that there are no side effects from the fountain of youth water, so I’ll ask you to stay around for at least a couple days. If you decide to leave Gravity Falls after that period, you’ll need to give me your phone number so we can keep contact. Oh, scratch that, I’ll make a new one – I’m sure I can work up a design that isn’t as flimsy as the current models going around.”

“Uh-”

Stan was saved from having to answer (answer? There wasn’t much of a question but Ford was looking at him expectantly and he didn’t know what he was supposed to say) by a light knock on the door. Ford perked up and rushed to answer it.

“Am I intruding?” Fiddleford’s hesitant voice rang out. Ford shook his head and stood aside to usher the smaller man inside.

“Not at all, come in. It’s good to see you.”

Fiddleford stopped in his tracks when he laid eyes on Stan on the couch.

Ugh, he was already getting a headache. Now came the judgement. Stan looked like a mess, he knew he did – unshaven, with bags under his bloodshot eyes and ragged hair and old scars crisscrossing his arms. Some small, childish part of him wanted to jump up and hug the guy. Gross. Instead he shoved down the nervousness, stood, and gave him a lazy two-fingered salute.

“…Stanley?” Fiddleford tilted his head, eyes scanning him. Stanley shrugged uncomfortably. It was weird, towering over the small guy like this.

“Hey.”

“Well, you grew up big. The spittin’ image of yer brother.” Fiddleford gave a little smile and stuck out his hand. “Pleasure meetin’ ya, officially this time.”

“Eh, you too.” Stan shook the offered hand. It was small, frail, but gripped his firmly.

“So are you stickin’ around?”

Stan hesitated. He glanced from Fiddleford’s earnest face, to his own rough hand, to Ford’s careful expression – the look of someone trying hard not to look like they were listening.

“…yeah. Yeah, I think I’m gonna stick around.”