Chapter Text
The next morning Stanford couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes with the fatigue that dragged at his lids and made his head feel like a lead weight, but he felt Fiddleford stirring next to him. He squirmed a bit, almost impatiently letting Stanford know he’d been awake for a while and was ready for him to get up, but Stanford turned over, wrapping his arms tight around Fiddleford. A smile spread across Fiddleford’s face as he snuggled in close.
“Well good morning, handsome. So ya are awake.”
Stanford barely managed to mumble out a response.
“No more squirming. Go back to sleep.”
Fiddleford chuckled, shoving Stanford off of him before pulling the covers off him.
“I’ve been awake f’r an hour, Shug. I ain’t goin’ back t’ sleep now.”
Stanford groaned dramatically as he was pushed onto his back.
“So… cold…”
Stanford grabbed at his chest with one hand and reached out to Fiddleford with the other, purposely leaving his hand inches away from him before he opened one eye to see Fiddleford’s reaction.
“Oh come on now, Shug.”
He rolled his eyes and snuggled close to him again, pulling the covers back over them.
“I’ll give ya five minutes, but I’m not lettin’ ya sleep all day. We’re gonna get ya back on somethin’ resemblin’ a healthy sleep schedule.”
Stanford rolled back over and kissed across Fiddleford’s cheeks and nose, his eyes still weighed closed with sleep.
“But it’s warm. Can’t we just stay here forever?”
Stanford wrapped his arms around Fiddleford again, intertwining their legs and pulling him as close as he could. Fiddleford melted into the feeling, but stuck to his guns..
“Unfortunately, we can’t, Darlin’. We’ve got more t’ figure out today than ever.”
Stanford rolled over to his back, pulling Fiddleford on top of him, still pressing him close.
“Or… and here me out… I make my own little space just for me inside your skin, like a burrow in your chest cavity and then I won’t ever have to leave.”
Fiddleford’s smile quickly turned to a disturbed expression.
“I get what you’re sayin’, Stanford, an’ it’s mighty sweet, but you’re kind o’ startin’ scare me.”
Stanford fluttered his eyes open, his face turning to a wide frown and pout.
“It’s supposed to be flattering. You don’t want me in your skin?”
Fiddleford laughed and shoved off him.
“I think I’m fine with ya against my skin instead.”
Stanford’s pout worsened.
“You could be in mine instead.”
He stated it like an offer as if that were somehow a better compromise. Fiddleford just laughed.
“Ain’t no one livin’ in no one else’s skin.”
Stanford closed his eyes again and threw his head back in defeat, this voice thick with dramatics.
“Why must you torture me so?”
Fiddleford shoved him again with a smirk, hard enough this time to almost push him out of bed.
“Knock it off now an’ just get up. I know you’re awake now.”
Stanford put his hand out between them to keep him from shoving him right out of bed.
“Okay, okay. I’m getting up.”
Stanford reluctantly swung his feet out of bed and shuffled his way to get dressed and ready for the morning. Fiddleford did the same, but with a bit more spring in his step. He really was a morning person when he wasn’t staying up working in the small hours of the night.
Finally they both made their way upstairs and started a pot of coffee, waking Stan with the sound as they passed through the new living room. His eyes were rolling back as he tried to wake himself, but he quickly fell back asleep. The two laughed quietly to each other about it.
“Wasn’t he asleep when ya came down stairs? How could he still be that tired?”
Stanford hopped up on the counter as he waited for the coffee to brew.
“He used to be such a heavy sleeper. I can only imagine all the light sleep he’s gotten over the years has to catch up with him at some point, that or the new couch is just a bit too comfy for someone who used to sleep in cheap hotel rooms and car seats. But on another note, do you think we could invent a coffee maker that works at least ten times faster than the industry standard? I’d imagine it would affect the strength or flavor, but twenty minutes just for coffee is ridiculous when you’re trying to start your morning and get things done.”
Fiddleford preheated the oven and started making biscuits as he entertained the idea.
“We could always give it a try. If an interdimensional portal is possible, I reckon makin’ a more efficient coffee maker is pretty feasible in comparison.”
Finally Emma-May came out of her room, stretching and rubbing one eye as she walked through the living room.
“Time t’ get up, big guy.”
She leaned over the couch and slapped her hand against Stan’s chest, startling him awake with a snort as his snore cut off abruptly. She giggled at the sound and took a second to stare at him as he collected himself, brushing his hair out of his face with a swipe of his hand from his bangs to the back of his head.
“What did ya do that for?”
He looked up sleepily at her, sitting up and resting his head on the back of the couch. She chuckled and scrunched her nose with a smirk.
“Ya can’t sleep all day, Babe.”
Stan got a mischievous smirk.
“I think I can sleep as long as I want.”
She matched his snarky glint.
“So what are ya gonna do ‘bout it?”
Stan suddenly sat up and reached over the couch, grabbing Emma by the waist and lifting her onto the couch. She let out a happy wail as she was placed on his stomach before she laid over him, laughing as Stan kissed across her face.
Stanford looked sympathetically at Fiddleford whose expression was unreadable as he focused on stirring the gravy he had cooking on the stove.
“I know I told Stanley he could stay, but that was before… all of this… Are you going to be okay with him staying here even if he brings her around?”
Fiddleford looked up from the stove and turned to face Stanford, reaching up to him on the counter and guiding his face down close to his by his cheek.
“Stanford, I’m happy we’re here together more than anythin’. Your brother is just as important t’ ya as Tater is t’ me. I’d never want ya t’ give that up because o’ somethin’ I did, ‘specially after ya just got ‘im back. An’ if you’re referrin’ more t’ Em, y’ain’t got nothin’ t’ worry ‘bout. I’ll always care ‘bout her, but anything we had before has long fizzled out now. I’m happy she’s found someone t’ make her smile like she used t’ years ago. She deserves that much, an’ honestly I’m pretty glad it’s someone in town so Tater doesn’t have t’ go between states ‘r choose between us. So, no, ain’t uncomfortable. Let ‘em have their fun. I’m sure you’re happy f’r your brother too even if it’s just a tad awkward. I’d imagine it’s pr’tty similar.”
Stanford gave him a quick kiss on the bridge of his nose before Fiddleford turned back to the food. The sunlight from the kitchen window shined perfectly on Fiddleford’s face, practically making his blue eyes glow and his golden blonde hair sparkle.
Fiddleford looked back up at Stanford and noticed him staring.
“Y’alright, Shug?”
Stanford shook himself.
“Sorry to stare. I was just thinking about how gorgeous you look this morning.”
Fiddleford’s face turned bright pink.
“What makes ya just say things like that outta nowhere? Ya really do think in strange ways, don’t ya?
Stanford blushed and looked away.
“You’re a bit distracting, honestly. Usually my mind runs in immediately connected thoughts, but you have a tendency to override that.”
Fiddleford stood on his tiptoes and guided Stanford back close to him with his hands around his neck, kissing him on the bridge of his nose before he finally turned to pour four cups of coffee as Stanford hopped off the counter.
“Ya sure know how t’ flatter a man.
Fiddleford turned to hand a cup to Stanford, pausing from his return to the oven to let Stanford brush his palm against his cheek on his way to the dining table where he set his cup before grabbing the other two cups still sitting by the pot and bringing them to the living room where Stan and Emma were still giggling and wrestling. Stanford rolled his eyes, but kept his smile.
“Alright, enough of that. Come get your coffee.”
Stan gave her one last kiss on the top of her head and rubbed her back as he sat up and took a cup from Stanford.
“Thanks, Sixer.”
Emma-May finally sat up, leaning against the opposite end of the couch, looking away as she took a cup from his hand.
“Thanks, Ford.”
Stanford screwed his face up a bit in an accusatory glance.
“Oh, no nerd? No geek? No dweeb? What’s the catch?”
She rolled her eyes and shot him an annoyed glance.
“It don’t mean nothin’ so don’t go readin’ into it! … But I did wanna apologize f’r bein’ so harsh t’ ya f’r no reason. But t’ be fair, I was right an’ ya were sleepin’ with my husband an’ I have every right t’ be mad an’ hate ya! … but I don’t. ‘Specially if your brother says you’re important to ‘im. So… sorry.”
Stanford couldn’t help but chuckle at her ramblings until he realized he had things to apologize for too.
“I’m sorry too. For… well you know, but also for kind of hating you too, even if you were incredibly rude to me… anyway… apologies.”
She huffed a laugh to herself before she raised her coffee to him and turned back to Stan while she sipped on it.
Ford rolled his eyes again and returned to the kitchen to sit and drink his coffee as Fiddleford finished making breakfast.
Finally Tate came down the stairs rubbing his eyes.
“Mornin’, Ma. Mornin’, Mr.Stan.”
Emma-May’s face suddenly dropped in concern.
“Oh, my poor Cricket, ya look exhausted. Didn’t ya sleep alright?”
Tate seemed a bit grumpy, his face scrunched a bit and his shoulders slouching.
“That bed isn’t very comfy. Why can’t I sleep in the real bed?”
Emma-May averted her eyes.
“That’s… complicated, Sweetheart, but the movers should be here sometime today an’ you’ll have your old bed t’ sleep in at the new house. Then we can start unpackin’ an’ ya can decide what ya want t’ bring over here too.”
Tate didn’t exactly seem satisfied with the answer, but it was enough to get him to stop asking questions as he left for the kitchen and sat down at the table across from Stanford. Stanford beamed at seeing him out in the open instead of cowering behind someone.
“Good morning, Tate! How are you this morning?”
Tate suddenly shrunk away a bit, letting his bangs fall further in his face. Stanford once again tried not to be offended, but he did bury his face in his coffee to hide a bit.
“Mornin’, Tater Tot! How are ya?”
Tate turned around in his chair to face his father.
“I’m tired. I wanna sleep in a real bed!”
Fiddleford laughed.
“Well you’re in luck ‘cause Stanford went out last night an’ bought ya one.”
He whipped around to face Stanford.
“Really!? Thanks, Mr.Ford!”
Stanford smiled a bit behind his coffee mug before he lowered it.
“It was nothing, really. I just thought you should have your own space. I promise I’ll clean out that attic soon too so you can decorate it the way you like and have more room for your own things.”
Tate finally smiled before his father laid plates down in front of them.
“Glad you’re excited, kiddo. Now eat up. You’ve gotta lot o’ work t’ do unpackin’ today.”
“Yes, Pa.”
The other two migrated from the living room to the dining room to eat when Stan spoke up.
“I didn’t know that people actually ate biscuits and gravy. I thought that was just something that people ate on tv.”
Fiddleford and Emma-May giggled quietly before Emma-May spoke.
“You city boys just keep surprisin’ me.”
Stanford sat up straight in defense.
“For your information, I’ve had biscuits and gravy many times before.”
Fiddleford laughed again, louder this time.
“Ya wouldn’t even try it the first time I made it!”
Stanford bunched his cheeks up a bit in a pout.
“I’ve eaten them plenty of times since then.”
Fiddleford tried to stifle his chuckle before patting him on the back.
“I know, Shug. I’m just teasin’ ya.”
Surprisingly enough for everyone at the table, it was Tate who spoke up next.
“Are ya comin’ t’ help us unpack, Mr. Stan?”
Stan scratched the back of his neck.
“Sorry, kid, but not today. I promised Sixer I’d help ‘im out.”
Tate slouched at the news, his grumpiness from lack of sleep showing again before Fiddleford stepped in to try to cheer him up.
“It’ll be alright, Tater Tot, I’ll be helpin’ ya unpack today.”
But the grumpiness had already set in and he didn’t even seem to care.
The rest of the morning was spent quietly before Fiddleford, Emma, and Tate drove to the new house to meet up with the movers while the twins went to work selling the old furniture.
Stanley insisted he should be in charge, but Stanford wouldn’t allow it, that was, until the day quickly drew to a close and they had no luck selling. Finally he let Stan do things his way, leading to them being sold within the hour, though Stanford couldn’t shake his worry that he may be sued over any false promises his brother could have made while he had his back turned.
Meanwhile, the other three were busy sorting through boxes.
“D’ ya remember this old thing, Tater? Ya used t’ love this ol’ toy fishin’ pole so much ya wouldn’t even let it go t’ fall asleep.”
Tate was sitting in a beanbag in his new empty room, bored already by having to sort through his things.
“I’ve got a real fishin’ pole now, Pa.”
Before Fiddleford had a chance to reply, Emma called Tate into the other room, asking him to try on clothes to make sure they fit before they put them back away. Fiddleford followed and watched Emma as she unpacked the kitchen, putting cookware and mugs away, only stopping every once and a while to set something aside on the counter. He knew it was going to happen sooner or later, but he really didn’t expect to feel so emotional over it all. Tate was only six and already he’d put him through so much. He seemed a bit distant now, and Fiddleford knew that all he could do was hope that Tate would come to forgive him with time, and more than anything, hope that he wouldn’t hold it against Stanford much longer. And even though he was ready for him and Emma-May’s relationship to come to an end, the sight of his things being placed to the side left him conflicted about breaking apart his family.
He hadn’t been able to help much, and he honestly felt like he was just making it harder for Tate to get settled. He resigned to looking through boxes he knew most of his things would be in, ensuring nothing of Tate’s or Emma-Mays was mixed in before creating a pile by the door. By the end of the evening, he’d already run out of boxes. With Tate still going through most of his things, making piles of toys to keep or get rid of, and making piles of what stuff he wanted put up in each house, and Emma-May still having a mountain of boxes to sort through, Fiddleford decided to settle on the couch and wait until one of them asked him for more help. Soon enough, Fiddleford could feel himself falling asleep on the couch, but he welcomed it contently. After all, falling asleep meant he didn’t have to think about how much all these changes frightened him.
Fiddleford opened his eyes to be face to face once again with Bill, stumbling backwards until he fell to the ground in a seemingly infinite space with phantom images strewn about of the broken portal, his California home in wreckage, the tree above the bunker, and tapestries, some with Bill and others with eyes crossed out in red.
“Did ya think I’d be gone forever, Specs?”
Fiddleford wanted to stand up tall and show he wasn’t afraid, but his frayed nerves got the best of him and he cowered to the floor in a trembling mess.
“That’s right. Shiver with your tail between your legs! I don’t have a clue what he sees in someone as weak and cowardly as you. You can’t even stand up!”
Fiddelford’s voice trembled as he tried to stand, but his shaking legs betrayed him, sending him back down to the floor.
“S-Stanford needs- needs me j-just as much as I need him.”
Bill shot him a skeptical look.
“Yeah, I don’t think so buddy. From what I’ve seen, you cower at everything he likes and you’ve only made his life worse. I’ve never seen him such a wreck! Once he realizes just how much of a burden you and that kid of yours are, he’s gonna drop you for bigger and better things, namely me!”
Fiddleford flinched away at the explosive emphasis at the end of his speech, but he took a deep breath, mustering as much courage as he could to speak against him.
“What makes you think he’d want anythin’ t’ do with you after what ya did t’ him? Ya can’t read his mind no more, an’ I know first hand that he hates everythin’ about you.”
Bill raised his brow in intrigue, floating closer, causing Fiddleford to reel back.
“Is that what you think? So then why do you think he asks for all the things we’ve already done? How do you think he knows what he likes? I didn’t tamper much with his mind while I was in it, but I bet you didn’t know that I rewired his mind to taste a bit of me everytime he kisses someone. Now I can’t even undo it if I tried all because you nearly killed him. So now every time he’s with you, he tastes me and his mind will picture me, miss me, wish you were me. So how’s it feel to be on the other side of a breaking relationship, Specs? ‘Cause you’re not getting a ‘happily ever after’ out of this one.”
Fiddleford’s face filled with horror at the notion of such a thing, sending his stomach into a twist that threatened to spill everything out of it when the world went black.
Fiddleford’s eyes flew open as he gasped for air, sitting up violently from the couch he was laying on. He felt his stomach churn before he threw his hand over his mouth and raced to the bathroom.
Emma-May must have heard the commotion as Fiddleford’s stomach emptied itself.
“Fidd? Are ya sick, Hon?”
Fiddleford finally caught his breath between heaves.
“I… I need t’ talk t’ Stanford.”
She tilted her head to the side in confusion.
“What? Ya pregnant with ‘is baby ‘r somethin’?”
Fiddleford turned back to her with his eyebrows laced in anger.
“This ain’t funny, Em. I really need t’ talk to ‘im.”
“What about? What’s goin’ on?”
Fiddleford was sweating profusely. If he wasn’t distraught enough already, he certainly wasn’t fond of the idea of discussing the topic with her.
“Uh, it’s personal…”
Emma-May displayed her sass clearly on her raised brow and hand on her hips.
“Oh, I see. Only been married f’r six years an’ now it’s too personal t’ tell me. What could ya possibly have t’ talk to ‘im ‘bout after a dream that made ya throw up? Ya have a wet dream that was a bit too hot t’ handle?”
Fiddleford’s face burned red, but he did his best to make his anger known through the embarrassment.
“It ain’t nothin’ like that, Em, but it ain’t got nothin’ t’ do with you either.”
She rolled her eyes and left the room to grab his portable phone he left on the couch, bringing it back to him a minute later.
“You two are so dramatic. I can’t believe you’re sick over that geek.”
She handed him the phone and went back to unpacking. Fiddleford quickly dialed the number for the house, but it was Stan who answered the phone.
“Yeah?”
“Stan! I need t’ talk t’ Stanford. Can ya get ‘im, please?”
“Yeah sure. Hey, Sixer! Your boyfriend’s on the phone!”
Fiddleford could barely make out Stanford’s voice in the background.
“Just a moment! I’m working on my grant proposal! I’ll be over in a few minutes! Isn’t he coming home soon? Is everything alright?”
“I’m not repeating all of that! Just come talk to him!”
“Stanley, I told you I’m in the middle of something!”
Stan sighed and put the phone back up to his mouth.
“Yeah, it sounds like he’s gonna have to call you back later.”
Fiddleford couldn’t believe that he was caught between their sibling bickering now of all times.
“Fine. I’ll just talk to ‘im when I get back.”
“Suit yourself.”
Stan hung up, leaving Fiddleford with a dial tone and a sick stomach, but nothing else to heave. He managed to pull himself up off the bathroom floor before he shakily made his way through the living room, shouting to Emma-May on his way toward the door.
“I’m headin’ back, Em. I ain’t feelin’ so good an’ Stanford ain’t pickin’ up.”
Tate ran up to his father and grasped his pant leg.
“‘S everythin’ alright, Pa?”
Fiddleford tried to keep himself together as he spoke.
“I just ain’t feelin’ great, Cricket. I’ll see ya after while. I’m just goin’ back t’ the cabin.”
He didn’t wait for a response from either of them before he headed for the door, leaving a sour taste in both of their mouths as it conjured memories from just months ago.
When Fiddleford arrived at the cabin, Stanford had his typewriter out on the new living room table, papers strewn about every which way. He could hear Stan upstairs, likely just throwing things into boxes before moving them downstairs later.
As Fiddleford shut the door behind him, Stanford looked up from his work, a calm smile growing on his face as they met eyes.
“Welcome home, Dear.”
The greeting sent a shiver down Fiddleford’s spine. He wanted to enjoy it, soak it all in and really believe it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Bill placed in his chest of doubt. If Stanford was always thinking of Bill. How could he possibly believe that statement was really for him?
“Shug, we gotta talk…”
Stanford’s heart dropped. He didn’t know much about relationships, but even he knew that meant something was wrong, and he was terrified he’d made another mistake, one that may not be so forgivable. He simply nodded and turned to face the opposite end of the couch where he left room for Fiddleford to sit.
“Shug… I don’t even know where to start. I- do you still think about Bill when I’m around?”
Stanford squirmed a bit at the question. It certainly wasn’t what he was expecting, but before he could speak, Fiddleford continued.
“Is he why you wanted t’ do all those things before? The chains an’ chokin’ an’ what not? Do you still, uh… taste him when you’re with me?”
Stanford’s eyes went wide and darted across him.
“How… I thought he couldn’t…”
Stanford jumped up from his place on the couch and walked backward to a drawer at the end of the room, pulling out a flashlight and shining it directly into Fiddleford’s eyes.
He quickly covered them out of instinct.
“What in God’s name are ya doin’, Stanford?!”
Fiddleford got up from the couch and walked toward him. Stanford put his hand out, his eyes wide with fear.
“Stay back and show me your eyes!”
Fiddleford had never been on the other end of Stanford’s aggression like this before and he wasn’t quite sure what to expect, especially now that he couldn’t see. He quickly opened his eyes for a moment, but he couldn’t force them to stay that way. Still, he caught a glimpse of Stanford’s new expression. The few times he’d seen Stanford’s anger, it already upset him, but to see his eyes laser focused on him and his lips drawn back in that aggressive snarl, even for a moment, sent a fearful shiver down his spine.
“Stanford, I can’t see with that damn light, just put it down an’ we can talk.”
Stanford crouched, the same crouch Fiddleford had seen him take when he was preparing for a fight, but he’d never seen it straight on before, let alone when he could only open his eyes for a split second each time against the bright light.
“That’s exactly what he would say! Now open your eyes or else!”
Fiddleford’s heart dropped in fear. He never imagined Stanford threatening him like that before, but it certainly didn’t sound like a bluff.
“Shug, you’re scarin’ me. I can’t open my eyes with that light shinin’. Can we just talk?”
“I’m never talking to you again! Now you let him go! I don’t know how you tricked him, but I’m not falling for anything you say!”
Fiddleford was confused for only a moment before a wave of realization passed over him.
“Shug, I ain’t Bill. Just put the light down f’r a minute so I can open my eyes an’ then ya can see.”
Stanford hesitated for a moment.
“I little light won’t kill you. That sounds like an excuse to get close to me. Well I’m not falling for it. Fiddleford, if you can hear me, I’m so sorry if I hurt you.”
The thought seemed to pain him for a moment before he launched himself at Fiddleford, bowling him over, smacking his head against the floor, and sending his glasses flying behind him. His breath was knocked from his chest as Stanford’s entire weight pressed him into the floor. He could have sworn his ribs were about to give way before Stanford pulled himself up and pressed Fiddleford’s arms into the floor with all his strength. Fiddleford tried to yell for him to stop, but his lost breath made it impossible as Stanford flipped him over and pulled his arms behind his back. Fiddleford felt like his arms would be pulled from their sockets or broken any moment if Stanford didn’t let up. Finally he managed to catch his breath as Stanford reached for a rope.
“Stanford! Stop! You’re gonna break my arm!”
He could feel Stanford start to shake as he practically cut the circulation off to Fiddleford’s hands with the rope tied around his wrists.
“You’re cruel, Cipher! Using his voice against me.”
Stanford stood and lifted Fiddleford by the collar of his shirt and jacket, practically throwing him into a chair, using all his weight to press Fiddleford’s collar bone into the back of the chair with one arm as he put the flashlight in his mouth and used his other hand to hold Fiddleford’s eyelids open, but he only saw the familiar blue staring helplessly back at him. Stanford’s heart dropped, the flashlight falling out of his mouth, crashing to the floor as he shook.
“Fiddleford… I’m… I’m so sorry. I…”
Stanford’s mind raced as he tried to reframe the whole incident in his head before collapsing over Fiddleford and wrapping his arms around him.
“Fiddleford, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I thought… Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
Fiddleford squirmed a bit, both from the discomfort of the restraint and out of fear.
“Uh, yeah, I ain’t really feelin’ the best, Sh- Stanford.”
Stanford frowned knowing full well he cut his pet name off to use his full name instead. Stanford was used to using everyone’s full names, but he knew Fiddleford well enough to know that he’d lost something more than just a few minutes with this mistake.
“I’m so sorry. I know that doesn’t even begin to make this okay, but- Oh, here, let me just untie you.”
Stanford leaned over him to untie the ropes around his wrists, but he felt a jab in his chest when Fiddleford flinched. Stanford backed away as soon as he could, sitting down on the floor hoping that would make him more comfortable. Fiddleford flexed his shoulders, feeling the ache of his likely pulled muscles and took a few deep breaths.
“Y’ almost tore m’ arms off. Hell, I thought my ribs were gonna break when ya threw me t’ the floor. I- I didn’t stand a chance…”
Stanford’s frown stayed, only his eyes showed a change as they seemed to well with regret.
“Fiddleford I really am sorry. You know I would never hurt you on purpose, right?”
Fiddleford’s eyes looked distant.
“Well ya sure did a minute ago…”
Stanford’s expression turned desperate.
.
“I wanted to protect you. Bill can do so much worse and I-”
Fiddleford interrupted him.
“Thought I was dumb enough t’ be tricked by ‘im even after I knew what he could do? Pummeled me even after I yelled at ya t’ stop?”
Stanford stood back up and walked closer.
“I thought he was tricking me by using your voice to let him go, and I would never think you were dumb, Fiddleford, you’re a genius, it’s just that Bill’s-”
Fiddleford stared at him, anger rising in his voice.
“Smarter? Listen here, Stanford, I knew that stuff ‘bout ya ‘cause Bill told me ‘bout it in a dream earlier today. An’ guessin’ by your reaction, he was right.”
Stanford’s eyes darted about as he grasped for what to say, anything to say, settling on something not quite precise.
“He only told you that so you’d leave. Can’t you see he’s trying to tear us apart?”
Fiddleford finally stood, stepping up to Stanford.
“Well maybe it doesn’t matter what Bill’s tryin’ t’ do an’ what really matters is the fact that you’re still thinkin’ ‘bout someone else after all this!”
Panic started setting in and weighed on Stanford’s chest as he tried to push it down to have a strict conversation.
“Fiddleford, you saw what just happened. I don’t have feelings for Bill anymore. I’m terrified beyond comprehension that he’ll do something to hurt us.”
“Yeah well, that apparently don’t stop ya from thinkin’ ‘bout ‘im when we’re together and it didn’t stop ya from hurtin’ me yourself.”
Stanford swallowed back tears.
“I… I don’t know what you want me to say. All I can do is keep apologizing. I was wrong and I didn’t mean to hurt you, but what am I supposed to say about what he told you either? He rewired my brain to make me think of him! What do you want me to do about that? I love you, Fiddleford, everything about you. I can’t fix what Bill did to me. It was… shocking… the first few times, but I knew there was nothing I could do to change it so it just sort of became… a part of the experience?”
Fiddleford shuddered and shoved him away.
“Stanford, that’s disgusting! Don’t you realize just how fucked up that is?! We’re supposed to be done with all this shit! It’s just s’posed t’ be us! What kinda freak just accepts that?!”
Stanford couldn’t hold back his tears any longer as Fiddelford’s insult ricocheted in his chest as if he’d been shot, forcing all his bottled up emotions to the surface. When Fiddleford saw the change in his expression turn from pure anger to despair and self-hatred, his face contorting as messy tears poured through choked sobs, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d taken things too far using the one insult he knew had been used to taunt Stanford all his life, but he didn’t get the chance to try and back out of the statement before Stanford spat out a frantic and desperate response.
“I don’t know! I don’t know, Fiddleford! Of course I know how disgusting and fucked up it is! Why do you think I didn’t tell you?! I don’t want to be this way! I don’t want to think about him anymore! I can’t even live my life for a second without being reminded of the mistakes I made! It’s haunting and there’s nothing I can do to stop it! God, Fiddleford, I am terrified of losing you. Do you want me to tell you everything? Because I can’t! I can guarantee he’s made changes I don’t even know about! He changed my sight. I can see extra colors that other humans can’t see. My neural pathways are trained to seek out triangles and send a dopamine rush each time I identify one. He made me tattoo myself with a collar. He was going to brand me with an iron when he got here. He told me he was going to make sure I became aroused every time I smelled a campfire because he always made himself smell like one in the mindscape. I still have no idea if he even did that one. When I get too warm or too cold, my sensory receptors switch and I’m terrified I’m going to die of hypothermia or heat stroke someday. I taste metal when I’m angry. I can hardly see out of my right eye anymore. He was trying to slowly blind me. He wanted me to be more like him. I see snakes that aren’t really there when I’m just the right amount of calm and upset. I feel the sensations of him traipsing through my mind even when I know it’s impossible everytime I see something that even slightly resembles him. And he changed my favorite color to yellow even though it’s always been blue… And God do I miss loving blue.”
Fiddleford looked more disturbed with each item listed, especially as Stanford’s gaze fixed on his eyes as he spoke.
“But do you know what Bill didn’t change? This morning I thought to myself just how lucky I was to wake up next to you. And when I kissed you, I thought I was so lucky to still taste you beneath what has become the constant. When I saw you in the morning light I thought about how your blue eyes glow and how blue has always been my favorite. No matter what he’s done, I still get nervous when I’m around you. I sweat regardless of what temperature I feel. I think about how lucky I am that you always stand slightly to my left so I don’t need to see clearly out of my right eye, and when I’m paranoid about things that aren’t really there, then you’re there next to me to show me they aren’t real.”
Fiddleford’s face fell from anger to a guilty frown.
“Stanford, I-”
Stanford interrupted him, determined to finish his monologue.
“No, I- Fiddleford, I know it’s a lot and I know it’s gross and wrong and I’m gross and wrong, and I’m just left wondering if there’s really any me in here at all anymore, but I swear on my life that I would never hurt you on purpose, when I know it’s you. I understand if you’re afraid, but if you’re going to end things, just please do it now and save me some face. I don’t have great control over my emotions anymore after I relied on help for so long and I haven’t ugly cried in front of someone since freshman year of high school.”
If this was Stanford holding back his emotions, Fiddleford was almost scared to know what a full meltdown would look like. But as Stanford finished his long statement, he just stood, trembled, and tried to keep his sobs quiet as he waited for Fiddleford to speak, though he honestly wondered if Stanford might just run when he heard him start speaking. Fiddleford stood studying Stanford for a moment, but before Fiddleford could speak, Stan came down the stairs.
“Look, I’ve been trying to ignore you two in case you were doing something I’m not supposed to see, but there’s been a lot more angry yelling than I thought there’d be so I’m just warning you now that I’m coming down the stairs!”
Stan walked into the room to find them standing just a few feet apart, Stanford’s face soaked in tears, and Fiddleford staring blankly.
“Hey, what the fuck did ya do to my brother!?”
Stan stepped up to Fiddleford with his chest puffed out and arms ready to swing on him.
“Stanley, no!”
Stanford reached over and grabbed his brother’s arm before he had a chance to swing.
“It’s my fault. Please don’t hurt him.”
Stan still gave Fiddleford an angry side glance, but turned back to Stanford and put his hands on his shoulders.
“What happened? No protecting him. Give it to me straight.”
Stanford tried to sniff back his tears, but somehow Stan always seemed to make it harder to hold in his emotions, sending a wave of embarrassment over him as his voice cracked when he spoke.
“Bill told Fiddleford about how he changed my mind. I thought he’d tricked and hurt him pretty badly before I realized I was wrong. So I admitted everything I could remember Bill has done to me. That’s all. Fiddleford did nothing wrong. I’m just embarrassed and upset with myself.”
Stan looked back between the two suspiciously.
“So why are ya still standing here then?”
Another wave of tears welled in Stanford’s eyes as he couldn’t help but choke on his words.
“I… I think I was just getting dumped…”
Stan turned with pure anger on his face to Fiddleford.
“No, Stanley, please. It’s not his fault. Just leave him alone.”
Stanford frantically grasped at his brother’s arms trying to keep him away from Fiddleford before he finally gave up.
“Fine. I’ll give it up for now. But I’m only giving you a three second head start out the door before I come after you. I just spent all day selling furniture and packing stuff for your kid that’s not even gonna be here now. I think I have the right to swing a few times at ya.”
Stan snorted angrily before leaving for the kitchen to pull a beer out of the fridge, leaving the two standing awkwardly staring at each other before Stanford finally couldn't stand the agony anymore.
“Uh, I think this is when you’re supposed to tell me off and storm away.”
Fiddleford took a deep breath and looked over Stanford one more time.
“Stanford, I care about ya a lot.”
Stanford was torn between covering his face and hiding his hands as he waited for the dreaded words to pass over him. He ended up using one hand to cover his face with the other being tucked behind him.
Fiddleford felt sick as he scratched at his neck, his hand moving up slightly as he instinctively grabbed ahold and pulled a small tuft out. Stanford only stopped his sobbing as he let out a gasp, his face filling with dread, though his voice was still hoarse and cracking from the tears.
“Fiddleford, no! I thought your anxiety was getting better. When did you start doing that again?”
Stanford didn’t wait for permission to race over to him and look him over, only seeing the one chunk recently missing beyond the few spots on the side of his head that were still shorter than the rest of his hair he’d pulled out after the gremloblin attack that were steadily growing back.
“Have you been practicing the meditation I taught you? Or doing those breathing exercises?”
Stanford paused as the realization dawned on him, his self-hatred now threatening to swallow him whole.
“Oh… I’m causing it… I’m still hurting you even now… I’m so sorry, Fiddleford. I truly never meant to hurt you. Please, just end this now so you can forget all about me and live a better life with someone who won’t keep hurting you.”
Fiddleford stayed silent for a moment. He just looked at Stanford and felt the lightness in his chest that he always felt around Stanford. Even through his messy tears and red, tearstained expression of ugly emotion, he desperately wanted to climb into his arms like always. Even with the changes that were made to him, even with the secrets and the accidents and the mistakes, he wanted to scream for Stanford’s help as he suddenly felt like crying.
“Stanford, I don’t wanna break up with you. I’m sorry I reacted so badly t’ all o’ this. I’m sorry he did all that t’ ya, Shug. I’m sorry ya gotta think about it all the time. I’m sorry ya get so scared over it all. An’ when I think ‘bout it, I don’t rightly care what he’s done t’ ya. I know you’re still you in there, Shug, the same ol’ Stanford that I love so much.”
Stanford stepped back from him to look him in the eye, though a bit apprehensively. His expression turned as serious as he could muster through his spilling emotions, his face showing his surprise at Fiddleford’s sudden change of mind just as much as his still present self loathing.
“Are you sure about this? With this plate I can’t ever be fixed. Even without it, he’d never agree to change me back. And none of that changes what I did on my own.”
Fiddleford’s eyes grew watery.
“Oh, Shug. I’m just sorry we can’t fix it f’r your sake. You’re still the same sweet, smart, an’ caring man I fell f’r years ago.”
Fiddleford leaned in to give Stanford a soft, gentle kiss, but Stanford quickly pulled away, guilt tugging at his chest and churning his stomach as he couldn’t help but focus on the lingering taste of Bill on his lips.
Fiddleford clocked the look instantly, sadness weighing on his gut along with a twinge of apprehension and discomfort.
“Even if I still…”
Tears filled Stanford’s eyes again as hatred burned at his chest both for Bill and himself.
“If I still taste…”
Fiddleford fought back the bile of jealousy and sadness that rose in his throat as he thought of how much all of this was hurting Stanford, and his soft look returned.
“Yeah, Shug. Even with all that… you’ll just have t’ think about how much better I taste compared t’ him.”
He leaned back in for another kiss, gently slipping his tongue into Stanford’s mouth.
Stanford was apprehensive, but he didn’t pull away. He slowly blinked the last of his tears away as he shut his eyes, all his stress draining from him as he focused on Fiddleford’s taste above what now seemed to him as constant as the taste of his own mouth. As Fiddleford became more daring, he pulled Stanford in closer, practically shoving his tongue down Stanford’s throat. Stanford finally pressed in, letting his hands wander around the back of Fiddleford’s head while he gulped at Fiddleford’s tongue until he had no choice but to break away for air.
“Mm and you really are so much better.”
Fiddleford giggled as he leaned in to kiss across Stanford’s pink tear-stained cheeks. Stanford backed his head away a bit with a slight smile.
“I really am sorry I attacked you, and that I kept this from you.”
Fiddleford smiled at him.
“I know ya are, Shug. An’ I forgive ya. I know why ya kept it secret. I didn’t exactly prove ya wrong either, an’ I really am sorry I thought more about how I thought ‘bout m’self instead o’ thinkin’ ‘bout how this was hurtin’ you.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I think anyone would be upset. I don’t deserve someone like you. You just look past it all and forgive me every time.”
“That’s nonsense. Ya deserve the world. I only wish you could see yourself the way I do. Anyway, do I need t’ let ya get back t’ work?”
Stanford frowned awkwardly.
“I think I’m a bit too distracted now to be working on such a big project. I’ll probably finish packing up the attic and moving those boxes downstairs. If you still…”
“Yeah, Shug. I do. If you’ll have me.”
Stanford smiled softly and pressed his forehead against Fiddleford’s.
“I love you so much.”
“I love ya too, Shug. I’d help ya out up there, but I think I kinda scared Em an’ Tate there f’r a minute an’ I think I’ve got a bit more apologizin’ t’ do today. I also realized today that I had a lot more stuff than I thought an’ I’ve kinda gotta get that outta her house before she changes ‘er mind an’ smashes it all.”
Stanford stifled a chuckle.
“You know she wouldn’t do that, but I know you have responsibilities. Do what you have to do. I’ll see you tonight.”
Fiddleford gave him one last kiss on his nose before heading toward his car, but only moments later, Stanford heard yelling from outside. He bolted out the door toward the sound.
“Stanley, get off him! Everything’s fine!”
Stanford managed to pull his brother off Fiddleford before he could get a swing in and caught him up to speed as Fiddleford slipped away and drove off.
Fiddleford finally arrived back at Emma-May’s house and entered to find quite a bit of the house unpacked, Emma-May setting up decorations in the living room, and Tate reading a book about fishing on the couch.
“Hi y’all. Sorry I ran out so fast earlier, but I’m back.”
The two didn’t even acknowledge him. They just kept on with their activities.
“Everythin’ all right, Tater Tot? Anythin’ I can help with?”
Tate put a bookmark in his place and closed his book to talk.
“I finished everythin’, Pa. I went through it all an’ the stuff f’r your place is by the door, so I’m readin’ now.”
He immediately went back to reading, disregarding anything his father might have to say in response. Fiddleford smiled awkwardly.
“Alright, well, if ya think o’ somethin’, just let me know. How ‘bout you, Em? Any help?”
She finished hanging some curtains as she spoke.
“I think I’m good, Hon. I sorted all your stuff out an’ it should all be by the door, even Tater’s stuff. I’ve just got decoratin’ f’r the most part.”
Fiddleford couldn’t stop the uneasy feeling from creeping back up.
“Em, I’m sorry I wasn’t much help today.”
She shrugged, her face carefully neutral.
“Y’ain’t m’ husband no more, so I guess I could care less how helpful ya are. Trust me when I say this is weird f’r me too. I don’t think it’ll ever not be weird, but more than anythin’, I need ya t’ quit runnin’ out on us. We both remember when ya did it the first time. I’ve gotten past it, but even if he don’t show it, Tater’s still not over it, an’ he gets real upset when ya pull that shit. Honestly, I’m not too fond either of ya promisin’ somethin’ an’ throwin’ it out the window just ‘cause Ford is more important t’ ya. I ain’t your wife no more, but he’s still your son an’ he should be your first priority, not your little boyfriend. I was gonna have ‘im stay the night over here, but after today I don’t think he’ll sleep unless he’s with you… he hides it well durin’ the day, but you’re hurtin’ ‘im worse the more ya do this. Just take ‘im over there when ya head back an’ start keepin’ your word. If ya tell ‘im you’re gonna be there. Be there.”
The calm anger surrounding her lingered as Fiddleford’s shame seeped onto his face.
“I’ll do better. I promise.”
“F’r Tater’s sake, I hope ya mean it this time.”
Fiddleford slunk back to the door and loaded the boxes into his car, guilt sat squarely on his shoulders. When he came back in for the last one, he noticed the nervous look on Tate’s face.
“Are ya leavin’ again, Pa?”
Emma-May’s words weighed heavy on him as he met Tate’s terrified look.
“It’s alright, Cricket. You’re stayin’ with me tonight.”
The anxiety quickly flushed from his face as he dropped the book and ran to his father’s side.