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Chapter Text

For the first time in a long while, Stanford finally felt like things were going his way. His confidence was sky high. After years of working himself to exhaustion in college and years of studying in Gravity Falls with no major breakthroughs on his grand theory, he had finally turned things around when he met Bill. Though he felt his loneliness drift away having a friend to guide him, Bill made his visits pretty infrequent. With a taste of connection and companionship, Stanford was practically starved for more, and it didn’t take him long to concoct a reason to invite his dear friend and old college roommate Fiddleford to work on Bill’s project with him. Since then, Stanford felt like he was on top of the world. He was destined for greatness and with his loneliness conquered, nothing could stop his momentum, at least that’s what he thought.

Early one morning, Stanford came down the stairs to start a pot of coffee, but Fiddleford was already downstairs making himself breakfast. He knew by now that Stanford preferred nutrient shakes over solid food to avoid having to track his food intake for optimal performance, but Fiddleford did start him a pot of coffee so it was hot and fresh. Stanford poured his first cup, likely the first of many for the day.

“Mornin’, Stanford. Y’ sleep alright?” Fiddleford tossed his words behind him as he flipped a flapjack in a cast iron skillet.

“Well enough. And you?” Stanford still felt half asleep as he tried to make friendly conversation.

“Fine, but there was that scratchin’ on the wall again last night that I reckon it would’ve driven me plum crazy if I hadn’t thrown a shoe against the wall t’ scare it off. I don’t rightly know what kinda critter it was, but I’m startin’ t’ think whatever they are, they’re multiplyin’.”

Stanford shrugged. “Has anything else been out of the ordinary? Lots of creatures have claws, so pinpointing the species based on that is sort of moot.”

Fiddleford tapped his foot as he thought. “Well, I ‘spose there’s been some sort o’ blackish ooze by the wall outside. I assumed it was dry blood before, but with how quickly that scratchin’ has grown out o’ control, I’m startin’ to wonder if it’s more than mice or squirrels, and may be a bit more on the paranormal side.”

Stanford laughed. The energy seemed to flood back into him at the mention of his favorite subject. “Now that’s what I like to hear! We should take the day off from working on the portal and see if we can hunt it down. We’ve been working hard. I think we deserve a good distraction. What do you say? Do you want to help me catch our creature?”

Fiddleford couldn’t say no to those eyes. The way the bridge of his nose wrinkled, and his bushy eyebrows furrowed with determination over his passionate eyes and overconfident smile. He loved seeing Stanford so amped about a project. As much as he talked about the portal being his Magnum Opus, Fiddleford knew that field work was Stanford’s true passion. If it weren’t for the promise of greatness, Stanford would never choose mechanics and engineering over hands-on documentation, discovery, and study. Fiddleford, on the other hand, actually enjoyed working on the portal, especially when Stanford was around. He was always happy to work on mechanics, but working with Stanford made it so much more interesting with their contrasting little quirks, games, and habits. Though he didn’t care much for the fieldwork, he didn’t mind it so much when Stanford was with him.

“Fiddleford?” Stanford half ducked down to put his face in Fiddleford’s view as he stared toward the floor. “Is everything alright? We don’t have to go if you’re not feeling well.”

Fiddleford snapped back to the moment.

“Huh? No, I’m fine. It sounds like fun. Count me in.”

Stanford grinned from ear to ear before taking another sip of coffee.

Fiddleford turned back to the stove and finished stacking the last flapjack on his plate before turning the burner off and bringing his plate and cup of coffee to the table.

Stanford looked at the light-colored liquid in Fiddleford’s cup and cringed.

“I’ll never understand how you can drink all that sugar and milk. I’m all for sweets, but in coffee? The caffeine boost is good enough on its own, and why bore the flavor down with something that has a bigger crash?”

Fiddleford looked at Stanford, with one brow raised in doubt.

“I reckon it’s ‘cause coffee is bitter, and I like the taste o’ sugar an’ milk like millions of other humans in this world. Ain’t my fault your taste buds are broke. Y’ain’t even tasted real food in forever. Y’ really think y’ can be the judge o’ flavor?”

Stanford sat up straighter in his seat in defiance. “I’ll have you know, I’ve eaten regular food for the majority of my life and I can safely say that coffee tastes just as good without all the added inferior pick-me-ups.”

Fiddleford sighed light-heartedly. They’d had this conversation over a hundred times before, and he would be happy if they had it a million more. Months ago when he was living in California with his wife and young son, he was happy. He loved his boy and loved his wife, but he would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t think about Stanford more than his wife would appreciate. More recently they had gone through a rough patch, which only made Fiddleford daydream about what-ifs even more often. When he finally heard Stanford’s voice on the other end of the phone asking him to join him in Oregon, it didn’t take a second thought for him to load his car and make the drive up. Since then, he felt like a piece of him that was missing for years had finally been returned, but that wonderful feeling turned to anguish each time he remembered that his family was waiting for him to come home and Stanford wasn’t his at all. He was just a friend.

Stanford stood from the table to pour his second cup of coffee and drink his premixed shake.

“Looks like you’re running behind. You’d better eat fast if you don’t want to get left behind.”

Stanford smirked, beaming with pride at his efficiency.

Fiddleford wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. He unconsciously bit his lip, letting his mind wander to exactly how he would.

Stanford tilted his head in confusion at the expression.

“Fiddleford? Are you sure you’re okay?”

Fiddleford shook himself, frustrated at his repeated distractions.

“Sorry. I’m just still wakin’ up. I’m fine.”

Stanford shrugged.

“If you say so.”

Stanford finished the last sip of his shake before flashing another smirk.

“I’ll pack. You finish your food or we’ll never get out of here.”

Stanford stood from his place at the table, rinsing his mug and the shake jar before setting them in the sink and leaving the room to gather the essentials for their field packs.

Fiddleford felt a wave of relief pass over him as Stanford left the room. He knew it was contradictory for him to come all this way to be around Stanford and still somewhat avoid him. He had his bold moments, but most days he just felt torn in two, second guessing himself at every turn, and more often than not, he felt the dizzying moments of his presence to be just as painful as the crushing moments of his absence that actually gave him room to breathe.

He shoveled his food into his mouth and guzzled his coffee before meeting back up with Stanford by the front door.

“Ready to go?” Stanford held Fiddleford’s pack in the air, the enthusiasm pulsing through him was made incredibly obvious as he rocked between the base of his feet and his toes.

Fiddleford nodded and walked over to grab the pack, but before he could reach him, Stanford tossed it to him. The pack landed square against his chest, knocking the wind out of him, and almost knocking him to the ground.

Stanford laughed, giving him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’ll throw softer next time.”

But he didn’t really seem that sorry. In fact, he seemed proud every time he got a chance to show off his new muscles. Fiddleford remembered when Stanford was just a broad-shouldered weakling in college. Neither of them were great at athletics, though Fiddleford had modest muscles from his work on the farm. But after ten years of studying at a desk and working on computers from his home office, Fiddleford’s muscles had all but disappeared. Stanford on the other hand had spent the last six years since college running through the woods, focusing on nutrition, and building his muscle and stamina. All his dubious habits aside, Stanford was the healthiest he’d ever been. Accepting that had been difficult for Fiddleford, not only because he realized how much he’d let himself go since his farm days, but also because it made Stanford a hell of a lot more attractive no matter what he was doing and now Fiddleford felt he was in a league of his own.

Fiddleford managed to catch his breath before Stanford darted out the front door in a full sprint. He sighed deeply as he resigned to racing after him.

They only had to run the perimeter of the lab for a few minutes before Stanford found the black ooze Fiddleford mentioned, but Fiddleford was already winded again.

“Aha! The black ooze!” Stanford was radiating with energy as he leaned down to inspect it, putting a finger directly in the ooze.

Fiddleford recoiled at the sight.

Stanford spread the substance between his fingers and sniffed it.

“It’s certainly not blood. Perhaps it’s a form of sludge.”

Fiddleford was just hoping Stanford wasn’t going to lick the strange goo, and to his relief, Stanford wiped his hand off in the grass and stood up.

“There’s a trail heading this way. Keep your eyes peeled for shadowy figures.” Stanford took off into the woods, following the trail of ooze.

Fiddleford raced off after him again. As he ran, he caught the sleeve and bottom hem of his coat on a low hanging branch and a bush.

Stanford managed to dodge each one with ease before he suddenly stopped, causing Fiddleford to run straight into his back. The fall didn’t phase Stanford as he stood firmly with his boots in the dirt, speaking with a hushed voice.

“Look! We may have found our culprit already.”

Stanford pointed to a creature that resembled a racoon, but it was dripping with black ooze. He grabbed some crumbs out of the pocket of his pack he kept as bait and tossed them out between him and the creature. In no time, the creature spotted the crumbs and scurried up to them, scooping each crumb up into its mouth as it got close.

“Ready?” Stanford whispered, turning back to Fiddleford who was watching the creature from over Stanford’s shoulder. Stanford had that signature over confident grin as he prepared to leap at the creature like an animal watching its prey. “Now!”

Stanford jumped out of the brush at the creature, grabbing it firmly on both sides, but the creature turned to a puddle of black mud in his hands, dripping to the ground and reforming as several smaller versions of the same creature. Stanford’s eyes glittered as he turned to Fiddleford in silent awe.

Fiddleford slung his pack to the ground and pulled out a specimen jar with holes in the top, unscrewing the lid.

Stanford continued to pick up the small drops of ooze and examine how they stretched, dripped, and reformed before Fiddleford slammed the jar down over one of the larger creatures, splitting it into smaller creatures that filled the jar as they reformed.

Before they knew it, Fiddleford was carrying the creatures back to the lab while Stanford sketched them in one of his journals.

“Great work today, Fiddleford! Now we have a new specimen and you can sleep soundly knowing our culprits have been detained!”

“Aw, shucks. It was nothin’. I’m just glad I could help out.”

The two shared a smile that Fiddleford wished could last forever, but they had already reached the front door to the lab.

Stanford held his arms out for the large jar.

“I’ll take those downstairs. You go and get yourself some lunch.”

Fiddleford passed the jar over and headed to the kitchen. He hadn’t even realized he was hungry until Stanford mentioned it.

Stanford brought the jar downstairs and set up in his study to finish his entry on the creatures and to further examine them when he suddenly felt a presence in his mind. His focus turned to delight at the surprise.

“Bill! I’m so glad you’re here, my muse! Look what Fiddleford and I caught today! It looks like some sort of sludge racoon! It’s incredible!”

Bill was just an illusion to Stanford. For most, Bill could only communicate with them in their dreams, but since their deal that Bill had free-reign of Stanford’s mind, he’d pay visits and project himself directly through Stanford’s sensory receptors.

Bill floated in front of him with a bored, half-lidded expression.

“Riiiight… So, tell me again why you weren’t working on our project.”

Bill knew exactly why. He could see him galavanting the forest through the eyes of the trees after all, but Stanford needed to know Bill disapproved of his deviation from the plan.

“Oh, my apologies, my muse. Fiddleford hasn’t been sleeping well, and without sleep, we can’t work very efficiently. So, we decided to go after what was keeping him awake. It’s only a minor setback and I’m sure we can make it up by doing double the work with a fully rested team tomorrow.”

Stanford brandished a guilty half-smile, praying his muse would forgive his folly.

Bill rolled his eye. “You know I can’t stay mad at you, Sixer. Unless you screw up like that again. Then I’d have to punish you.”

Stanford’s face turned pink. He’d known Bill for years and yet still wasn’t sure how to take his comments. Bill had a way of speaking with double meanings and the near constant sarcasm in his voice just made it more difficult for Stanford to understand what he truly meant. It didn’t help that Bill liked to tease him. Stanford was left wondering if Bill’s double meaning was intended or it was his own hopeful, wandering imagination.

He admired Bill with every ounce of his being from the moment they first met. He showed Stanford everything from hidden secrets of the galaxy to colors no other human could see. They shared a bond no one else in the world could share, and soon enough, Stanford started to fall for him which only made it harder for him when Bill disappeared for long stretches of time.

Bill looked at him with confusion. “Why is your body changing color? I didn’t think you meat sacks could do that.”

Stanford’s face blushed harder. “Uh. Well, sometimes when blood flow increases, it causes the skin to flush with the color of our blood.”

Bill’s confusion stayed. “Why? I don’t need blood to change color.”

“Well, I suppose we don’t exactly know why, but when humans experience certain situations, blood flow is increased. It’s an involuntary reaction and usually occurs if someone is too warm or too cold, or if they experience a lot of intense emotion.

“So which is it for you?” Bill egged him on, making a face that Stanford couldn’t help but feel was intentionally sultry.

“Excuse me?” Stanford was caught off guard and his face turned bright red.

“You’re changing color, so tell me why. Your brain is going crazy in here. You’re not trying to keep secrets from me, are ya, Fordsy? I can dig in and find out myself, but I don’t think you’re gonna like that, so why don’t you just tell me?”

Stanford hesitated, but he knew he couldn’t hide it from him. “Surprise I suppose, a bit of embarrassment, and… some other emotions.”

Bill seemed a bit surprised at the answer. “Oh, so you can mix and match! But I still need to know those other emotions, Sixer. How about this? I’ll sweeten the pot just for you. You let me examine you while you tell me all about it and I’ll let you examine me like you’ve been begging for all these years. Deal?”

Stanford recognized the gesture as Bill held out his hand, but to Stanford’s surprise, there was a lack of blue flames engulfing his hand. Stanford assumed he was just being playful.

“Deal.”

“Great! Now take that shirt off and gimme the full tour!” Bill clasped his hands together and batted his lashes with an expectant stare.

Stanford’s face was beet red as sweat started to pour. He chuckled nervously. “You’re quite forward today, my muse.”

Stanford slipped his coat off, setting it down on the back of his chair. Bill’s stare was unmoving, watching each of his movements diligently, only making Stanford more nervous. He felt as if he were supposed to be putting on some kind of show. He paid special attention to not look sloppy. He started to loosen his tie, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at Bill in the process. Finally he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, hanging it on top of the coat.

“Woah! The rest of you is red too! Now you can tell me what you were hiding while I watch you change color again!”

Bill was right. Stanford blushed more, especially as Bill floated close to examine every inch of his exposed skin.

Stanford tried to rationalize the situation before answering. He told himself that he’d known Bill for years now and even the questions that seemed a bit odd to Stanford had all been in the interest of learning more about humans. There was even a chance that Bill may not understand why it was embarrassing for him at all. Why shouldn’t he tell him the complete truth even if human social constructs told him otherwise?

“Well, like I said, surprise and embarrassment, but also… affection,-”

Bill floated close to Stanford’s face, leaning on Stanford’s shoulder as he tossed a snarky look toward Stanford.

“As in?”

Stanford stepped away, leaving Bill floating inches away.

“Well of course fondness and adoration. I’ve always expressed that to you, my muse.”

Bill rushed close to Stanford again, running a finger down his bare chest.

“But you never changed color like this before. So that couldn’t be the cause now could it? Keep going, Fordsy.”

Stanford swallowed hard in an attempt to rid his throat of the quickly forming lump. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“Right. Of course. I suppose there are additional feelings of nervousness and apprehension. Talking about these things so openly and forthcoming isn’t particularly common amongst humans after all.”

Bill didn’t budge as he continued his expectant look.

“Right, right. Apologies. Obviously you can see right through my attempts to drag this out. I’m sure you’re aware by now that I hold additional feelings of attraction and infatuation.”

Bill lifted his lid with sudden interest, looking up at Stanford as he spoke. Stanford felt his breath hitch at the look as he found himself unable to focus on anything other than the warmth coming from Bill as he floated so close to him and his bare skin. He also found it increasingly more difficult to hide the physical side effects of his feelings, giving him more reason to just tell Bill the truth before he found out on his own.

“And… uh, desire… and arousal.”

Bill stopped in his tracks, his expression unreadable.

“Oh… Oh! I see~” Bill’s expression quickly became devious as he saw a whole new world of leverage to use.

“It was only a matter of time before your inferior flesh became attached to me. It’s too bad that such things are so distracting, but I trust that you won’t let your little physical problem get in the way, eh Fordsy?”

Stanford shrunk into himself, slouching, and bringing his feet together. He wanted to tuck his hands behind his back in embarrassment and guilt, but instead he settled on leaving them in front of himself to hide the bulge he was sporting.

“Of course not, my muse. My apologies if I made you uncomfortable. I meant no disrespect.”

Bill relished Stanford’s discomfort and the chance to play with him. If he wasn’t so determined to keep up his superior act for Stanford, he’d be a laughing mess.

Bill tossed his hand to the side. “It was inevitable. You may be special, but you humans admire, and you fall. They see something stronger, smarter, better, and they need to be a part of it. I won’t punish you for your human weakness.”

Stanford’s chest ached. He felt so small. He just knew he was disappointing his muse and it was wrecking him. He felt crushed by the sadness accompanied by knowing his muse didn’t feel the same, but his devotion remained strong. He wouldn’t waver over something so trivial. How could he have truly expected him to feel the same anyway? Bill was a god, and he was nothing but loyal, though a part of him through it all was still curious.

“My muse? If you don’t mind me asking, does your species experience those feelings?” His voice was quiet and defeated, but he tried to keep his speech polite.

Bill shrugged dramatically.

“Sorry, Sixer, but you already know I’m the only one left alive, so I guess I can’t really answer that.”

“Right. Apologies.” Stanford frowned.

“Don’t be so down, Sixer! If you’re all emotional about this, you’ll never get the work done. Hmm… How do humans get over emotions? Or would it be easier just to humor you?” Bill floated around Stanford in circles, forcing Stanford to continuously turn to see him.

“No! There’s no need for you to pretend for my sake. I’m sure it’ll go away on its own.”

Stanford attempted a forced smile after he’d spoken louder than he expected.

“No dice, Sixer. Your brain is fryin’ itself with that negativity, and I need you at peak performance. So it’s date time, Fordsy!”

Bill snapped his fingers and Stanford could feel his body fall asleep as he woke up in a dreamscape restaurant. He could feel his face burn with embarrassment. Though he knew it was fake, his heart still beat fast.

“We really don’t have to do this, Bill. I promise I’ll be okay.”

“Ah-ah. What was that now?”

Bill looked at him with suspicion written all over him.

“Apologies. We really don’t have to do this, my muse. It’s really not necessary. I’ll be alright, I promise.”

Stanford had faced many creatures in his time studying Gravity Falls, and he overcame any fears long ago, teaching himself how to command his body instead of the other way around. But of all the things that could have sent overwhelming fear through his system, it was sitting here now, completely exposed, facing Bill and his unrequited feelings.

Bill snapped his fingers again and he suddenly had a tiny little suit on in addition to his usual hat and bow tie, and Stanford suddenly had a suit on too.

“No goin’ back now, Fordsy. Don’t forget that I can read your mind as clearly as any textbook. I know what you want, and if it keeps you happy, healthy, and productive, then it’s an investment worth making.”

Stanford squirmed a bit at the thought. Bill was describing it like he was taking a dog on a walk, but he wasn’t going to deny that he was tempted to wag his tail and be led on his leash.

Stanford gave an apprehensive look, but he obeyed and sat down at the table surrounded by floating candles.

The instant Bill floated over his seat, food appeared on their plates. Though Stanford was expecting something exotic, his plate became a bowl filled to the top with jelly beans.

Stanford laughed and smiled wide.

“You remembered my favorite food? I’ll admit, it's an unusual dinner date food by human standards, but I’m flattered you thought so much about it.”

“Of course, Sixer! All the misshapen ones! Just like you!”

Stanford laughed bashfully. When most people spoke about his hands or pointed out how different he was, he tended to get defensive, but when Bill mentioned them it was as if he was praising him for being special – for being his.

Stanford could feel his stress melt away as he gazed into Bill’s eye, but soon his attention was drawn to the meal on Bill’s plate. There was an indiscernible pile of what Stanford assumed was some kind of discolored meat in front of him.

“Mind if I slip into something more comfortable?” Bill raised and dropped his brow suggestively.

Stanford started to sweat again, but he smiled dismissively.

Bill mimed pulling a zipper down himself from his apex straight down the middle, revealing a horrifying mass of red flesh, teeth, and an eye. He picked up the unknown food from his plate and tossed it into the air, catching it in his monstrous mouth and swallowing wetly after rounds and rounds of gruesome crunching. Once he was done, he zipped back up to his normal triangular appearance.

Stanford stared at him with wide eyes in complete silence, his mouth hanging open. He was completely enraptured.

Bill looked at Stanford expectantly, but when he didn’t budge, he looked around in confusion before his expression changed to concern.

“I kinda thought your big brain could handle a bit more than that, Fordsy. I didn’t break ya’ did I?”

Stanford’s face was beet red and he was sweating profusely.

“Does that color mean something different?” Bill asked genuinely, leaning an elbow on the table as he gave a teasing glance.

“No. Just a… different mix.” Stanford crossed his legs and started to squirm. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the idea that this was unreciprocated and just an act for him. Watching Bill had already made things worse and he shuddered to think about the awkwardness of any situation that carried beyond this ‘date’ just to ease his physical reactions.

“Woah! It looks like fireworks up in your noggin, Sixer. I’m guessing this little plan is working?”

Stanford rattled off his words.

“This was a bad idea! You should let me get back. Now.”

Bill smirked with his eye, surprised at his forwardness. It wasn’t often Stanford would get up the courage to command him.

“Not yet, Fordsy. I need you all better first and I know exactly what you want.” Bill floated across the table, getting close to Stanford. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you go as soon as I’m through with you.”

Stanford’s breath wavered in anticipation. He knew Bill had been around humans for millions of years, but he didn’t have a clue what he actually knew about them or how far he would try to take this.

Then suddenly, as Stanford’s nerves changed his expression from nervous to apprehensive, Bill felt something in himself. Just a twinge of a feeling. He couldn’t let Stanford back out of this. He felt disgusted for a moment, but the longer he looked at Stanford and his change in emotions back to his usual nervous devotion, the more he could feel the hole in his chest grow as if he needed that devotion or he’d never feel okay again. He was flustered for a moment before he snapped himself back into his usual performance. He slapped a sultry look on his face.

Bill practically flung himself across the table as h’s eye turned to a pair of lips, pressing them violently against Stanford’s, sending Stanford’s chair careening backward toward the ground before he gasped awake in his study.

Chapter Text

Stanford was shaking profusely. His mind was a whirlwind as he processed what happened and where he was after his consciousness was crammed back into his body. But before he could get his bearings, Fiddleford entered.

“Hey Stanford, I was thinking, an’ if these creatures can change their states o’ matter at will, d’ ya think they would be classified as a non-Newtonian creature or something completely-”

Stanford whipped around in his office chair at the sound of Fiddleford’s voice, watching in confusion as Fiddleford’s face turned bright red before he covered his eyes.

“I am so sorry, Stanford. I didn’t mean t’- I’ll just go.”

Fiddleford swiveled on his heels, his hand still blocking his view as he shut the door behind him.

Stanford’s confusion was knocked from him as he realized that he still had his shirt off from before and the bulge in his pants and corresponding wet splotch was obscenely obvious because of it. His face burned hot again as shame washed over him. He groaned in agony before slamming his head against his desk. The radiating pain swiftly took care of his physical problem, but he was still faced with the problems of facing Bill again, having a very awkward impending conversation with Fiddleford, and now, a dealing with a gushing head wound that he would have to consult with Fiddleford about, which would only increase the awkwardness of the impending conversation.

Stanford took a deep breath to try and straighten out his thoughts before resigning to facing the awkward first in the hopes of solving two problems at once.

As he met up with Fiddleford who was sitting and staring at the wall in silence in the kitchen, Stanford laid out medical supplies on the table.

When Fiddleford saw the head wound gushing with blood, he physically recoiled, his face looking disturbed.

“Forgive me if this is too personal, but is there a reason y’ did that t’ yourself while y’ were…”

“It’s not what it looked like. It was just warm in my study, so I took my shirt off before I fell asleep at my desk. So when I woke up, you know… It doesn’t matter. The point is it was a misunderstanding and I slipped on my coat when I stood up and hit my head. I’m embarrassed enough by the situation, so can you just help me so I don’t bleed out before I die of embarrassment?”

Fiddleford tried to hold it in, but ended up slapping his knee and howling in laughter.

Stanford lowered his head in shame. At least it was better than him laughing at the real reason.

When Fiddleford’s laughter finally died down, he wiped a tear from behind his glasses and put a hand on Stanford’s shoulder.

“Come on, Stanford, don’t be upset. It’s funny. Y’ take y’rself too seriously. Sometimes y’ just gotta laugh it off.”

Stanford didn’t reply. He just looked away and tried to make himself small.

Fiddleford’s expression dropped as guilt tugged at his chest. He stood from his chair and started fixing Stanford up while he spoke, disinfecting the wound before patching it.

“Stanford, you know you’re an amazin’ person. Y’ don’t need me t’ tell y’ that. I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re incredible, always doin’ things that no one else could even dream of. I can assure you, when I laugh, it ain’t meant t’ be at ya. ‘Cause if’n ya laughed too, then I’d be laughin’ with ya.

Stanford’s face blushed pink at the praise. He was hardly used to other humans saying such nice things to him, and after years of being alone, he certainly wasn’t used to being in close proximity to anyone anymore. In the months that Fiddleford had spent in the lab with him, there weren’t many times they had to be that close. Even in the bunker where there was only space for one bed, Stanford ended up spending his nights working to avoid the awkward situation. Though he dreaded asking for help and being so close, Stanford knew his wounds always healed better if just let Fiddleford take care of them instead of navigating them through a mirror without his glasses on. Now, feeling Fiddleford’s warm breath against his forehead as he worked and his firm hand steadying him by his shoulder, Stanford was once again racked with thoughts he’d tried to push away.

When they were in college, Stanford really hadn’t put much thought into romance at all. All his prospects in school were dramatically shot down so he assumed it was a simple fact that he would be alone. But one night his senior year when Fiddleford finally convinced him to tear himself away from his studies and his inhibitions slipped away with his buzz, he let himself wonder if Fiddleford could be more than a friend. He threw the thought away as quickly as it came though. Fiddleford already had a girlfriend of nearly four years, and he was relieved he decided not to say anything about the thought when he noticed Emma-May refusing a beer before they celebrated the rest of the evening, leaving Stanford to drunkenly try to return to his work.

He scolded himself silently for thinking about it. In fact, when he’d met Bill, he thought he’d finally put his curiosity to rest as he found himself falling for him, but in moments where they were close like this, he found himself wondering what could have happened if he’d just considered it all a little sooner.

“Y’ got a fever, Hon? Y’r forehead’s gettin’ all warm.”

Fiddleford rested his hands on Stanford’s shoulders before gently placing his lips against Stanford’s forehead. Stanford grabbed his chair with one hand, bracing behind him as he leaned back away from Fiddleford, pushing him away with his other hand to Fiddleford’s shoulder with wide, shocked eyes.

Fiddleford panicked as the realization set in of what he did.

“Stanford, I’m so sorry. I’m just used t’ tellin’ if Tater’s got a fever like that. I wasn’t thinkin’.”

The two stared at each other for a moment with wild eyes before Stanford abruptly stood and walked away as quickly as his legs would carry him.

Fiddleford wanted to run after him, but he steeled himself to stay put. He was being honest when he said it was an accident, but he couldn’t help but wonder if his subconscious made him slip up. Worse than anything, he was terrified that if he didn’t give Stanford space that he’d send him packing back home and never speak to him again. Just the thought of it sent a deep ache through him. He sat back down at the table and buried his head in his hands until he heard Stanford speak up from the other room loud enough for him to hear.

“Take the rest of the night off. I have something to attend to. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Fiddleford’s heart dropped into his stomach. Stanford didn’t exactly sound pleased. It wasn’t even late yet and Stanford never missed an opportunity to work before. Now he’d have to spend his evening alone, though he tried to look on the bright side and hoped Stanford really did have other plans so he could at least somewhat enjoy the opportunity to work on his computer.

Stanford made a beeline for his room downstairs, and the moment the door closed behind him, he could feel the panic rising in him. He was doing the exact thing his muse told him not to. He was letting his human emotions and urges get in the way of his work. He knew he couldn’t keep secrets from his muse. He had windows into his world all over his lab and complete access to his mind. But Bill had to understand, he wasn’t just a regular human with regular emotions. Bill told him all the time that he was special. He wouldn’t have all these emotions if they weren’t worth something. Bill treated their date like a chore, nothing but a necessity. Why couldn’t Stanford do the same and treat it like an experiment? He documented his life anyway, why not document this too. If neither of them were interested, he wouldn’t be hurting anyone by embracing it instead of running away if not just to see what happens. Maybe his work performance would actually improve from it.

Stanford could finally feel his breath slow. Now that he’d categorized it all in his mind and set it aside, he felt like he could finally rest, and whether Bill was faking or not, he couldn’t wait to see him again. He walked to the connected room where he kept all of Bill’s memorabilia from tapestries to crystals, rugs, and candles – anything he could add Bill’s likeness to.

He sat on the floor and smiled, focusing on calling Bill in his mind.

“Hel~lo, Fordsy!”

Stanford opened his eyes, filled with adoration at the sound of his voice.

“Greetings, my muse. It’s wonderful seeing you again so soon.”

Bill lifted his brow in amusement.

“Well, it seems like our little wellness check got you back to your normal color. Are we focused on the project again too?”

Stanford smiled a thoughtless smile as he met Bill’s gaze.

“We’ll be back to it in the morning, but I thought, while you’re still here, maybe we could spend the evening together? It’s been a while since you last visited, and if I’m being honest, I’ve quite missed your company.”

Bill was once again surprised at Stanford's forwardness. Stanford praised Bill often, but something about him admitting that he enjoyed his company and not just what he had to offer struck him hard. He fought against it and tried to get back to his usual light banter with an awkward laugh.

“Sure, what’s a game of chess between an all-knowing being and his loyal devotee?”

Stanford smiled patiently, lowering his eyelids in a soft look. “I was actually thinking, maybe I could do that examination you promised me?”

Bill rolled his eye, feigning annoyance, when in reality, he’d forgotten all about it and was again surprised by the suggestion. He was quickly growing uncomfortable with how unpredictable Stanford had been lately and planned to dig into his thoughts again later as a precaution.

“I suppose for my special follower I could spend a night being the center of attention.”

“Fantastic! Let’s get started! How about you let me sketch you first and then you can turn a few times.”

Bill tried to stay still as Stanford started sketching and asking questions.

“So, are your sides actually equal or do they vary a bit?”

Bill’s body turned pink, a shade he’d never seen on himself. It reminded him of Stanford’s color earlier in the day. The thought seemed to only make his color glow brighter. Stanford’s eyes lit up at the new sight.

“You turned pink! How fascinating! How does that happen?”

For once Bill wasn’t sure what to say. He was great at hiding his true intentions under layers of lies and deception, but now all his cards were showing and he had to find a way out of it.

“Just felt like a change.” He lied confidently. “But ya’ can’t just ask a guy about the length of his sides without at least having dinner first.” Bill joked.

Stanford gave him a cocky smirk and moved in close.

“But we have been to dinner, my muse, and I must say, pink is quite flattering on you.”

Bill backed away, unsure of why he felt his heart racing at the look on Stanford’s face or why he felt he couldn’t breathe.

“Of course, but like I said, that was just a wellness check for you.”

Bill doubled down, unsure if he was really reminding Stanford or if he was reminding himself.

Bill’s comment felt like a stab in the heart to Stanford. He already knew their date wasn’t real, but the reminders only made it worse. But for the sake of continuing his research, he shook himself and put on his best show of confidence.

“You know those numbers don’t matter to me, My Muse. It’s just for documentation purposes.” He moved close again. “You’ve read my mind. You know I love your sides no matter what.”

Bill was growing impatient. He knew it was imperative to keep on good terms for the sake of his plan, but now he was torn between wanting to show his tongue down Stanford’s throat and wanting to choke him to death to get him to stop talking. He found himself starting to float toward Stanford. Bill’s expression suddenly turned angry despite his pink shade and Stanford stepped back, suddenly worried that he’d pushed Bill too far, but Bill’s voice was calm as he spoke.

“Of course. For research purposes…”

Bill cleared his throat before putting back on his act, spreading his arms out dramatically.

“Alright, come and take a look, Fordsy. Don’t be shy now. I won’t bite.”

Stanford beamed at the opportunity, bringing a tailor’s measuring tape from his coat pocket close to Bill on each side, occasionally brushing his hand against him, sending chills through them both.

“All done. Don’t worry, I won’t share the numbers. On a different note, I also noticed that you can change your form, most noticeably when you transform your eye to a mouth. If you don’t mind me asking, could I possibly see your teeth?”

Finally something Bill didn’t mind or find embarrassing. He put his fingers at the corners of his eye and stretched as it changed to a mouth, showing off his razor sharp teeth.

Stanford was thrilled. He felt a rush of excitement and intrigue to finally see Bill’s stranger side up close and personal. He practically put his head right in his mouth, poking and propping at his teeth. After finishing up his observations, Stanford started to sketch as he spoke.

“Wow! You really are incredible, My Muse. If I’m being honest, I was quite taken with your form from earlier at dinner. I wouldn’t mind getting the chance to analyze it someday.”

Bill felt the pang inside him worsen. He couldn’t wrap his head around why this was suddenly bothering him. He teased humans all throughout history and lots of humans were mesmerized by him. Stanford himself said these types of things all the time, but something was different now. He knew he wanted Stanford to need him, but it wasn’t until now that he realized that he needed Stanford to need him.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’...” Bill started, nonchalantly glancing away. “I’ve given you a lot since we first met, and I think that before I can give you any more, I really need to know that you’re devoted to this.”

Stanford’s face dropped, his mind swirling with how he could have overlooked that he had taken so much with so little to return. His face showed his new found determination and how he chided himself for the overstep.

“I completely agree, My Muse. My apologies for having so little of value to give in return, but I’ll do anything to show you I’m committed.”

Bill pulled a paper out of thin air with a mess of symbols. “I need you to get this. You humans have a way of altering your appearance permanently. Put this on your neck for me and I’ll know you’re serious about this.

Stanford took the paper and examined it, copying it down into his journal as Bill explained.

“This is Euclidean, my native language, for ‘Wise One’. Once you have it, it will symbolize that you, and you alone are the holder of my wisdom.”

Stanford looked up at Bill with starry eyes. “I will do what I must, My Muse. It’s nothing compared to what you’ve done for me.”

Bill smirked at his victory.

“Good boy.” Bill said sternly, reaching out a hand to stroke Stanford’s chin, forcing his head up to look at him.

Stanford practically melted. All he wanted was to be special to Bill. Even if they couldn’t be together, he told himself he would be happy if he was half as special to Bill as Bill was to him.

“Thank you, My Muse.”

Stanford spent the rest of the evening writing down Bill’s wisdom in one of his journals, taking in anything and everything Bill would give him. He was particularly interested in Bill’s native language. In fact, it didn’t take him long to learn to write full sentences in the language before he connected the dots.

“Pardon my forwardness, My Muse, but I’ve been reviewing all that you’ve taught me tonight, and I noticed that this paper you gave me doesn’t line up with the other phrases you’ve taught me.”

“Oh? Doesn’t it?” Bill looked on with fake innocence.

Stanford’s face turned pink as he continued, trying to sound as if he could be wrong though he knew he was right.

“I’m unsure of your native customs, but from what I’m reading here, it seems like the direct translation would be ‘If Lost Return To Bill’.”

Bill didn’t hesitate with his answer, conjuring a lie as easily as he always did. “It’s a common Euclidean name. Traditional. After a great historic Euclidean whose wisdom was passed down through generations. His followers were labeled with the saying until it was synonymous with ‘Wise One’.”

Stanford felt lighter than air.

“That’s wonderful. A permanent label for the one who follows the great Euclidean Bill. If I’m lost, you’ll be my guiding light.”

Stanford looked like he could tear up as his body welled with emotion.

Bill desperately wanted to change the subject as he stared into Stanford’s adoring eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s a great fit. Now why is your brain going all crazy again? I thought we fixed this.”

Stanford took a deep breath before he spoke, considering if he should run from the thought, but he couldn’t stop what he had to say. Bill would find out eventually anyway.

“Bill… I know you don’t feel the same and you may never feel the same, but I have to say this. I am in love with you, My Muse. I’ve given you my mind, I’ve given you my devotion, and now I give you my heart. It’s yours to do with as you please. It’s the least I can do after what you’ve done for me. I can’t change this, but if there’s anything more I can do to be of use to you, I will give what I can.”

Bill was stunned by the sudden confession. He didn’t think Stanford would ever have the courage to admit something like that after he turned him down before. His heart skipped a beat at the words, but his mind took over as he saw the gain that could come from this.

“Of course you feel that way, Sixer. Like I said before, it’s only natural. But if you’re looking for more ways to give. I can name at least one off the top of my head.”

It still hurt Stanford to know Bill didn’t feel the same, but he smiled nonetheless, knowing there was some way he could repay him.

“Anything, My Muse. Just name it, and it’s yours.”

Bill smirked, drawing close again, relishing the sheepish, loving look Stanford gave him in return. At that look, he reminded himself that all of this was so he could liberate, not so he would be bound by himself. He let his tongue swipe across his eye as he thought of everything he could have.

“Give me your body.”

Stanford’s face turned beet red. He hadn’t expected that Bill would want anything like that from him after turning him down, but for all he knew, maybe Euclideans didn’t have romantic needs but still had physical needs, or maybe Bill just wanted a release from someone he trusted. Stanford awkwardly laughed off his nerves.

“I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting that. Are you sure this-”

Bill grabbed at Stanford’s chin again, looking down at him half-lidded.

“You’re not questioning me, are you, Fordsy?”

Stanford was utterly smitten, and Bill’s assurance only made him feel more sure.

“Of course not, My Muse. I did tell you I’m yours after all.

“Great! All you have to do is shake my hand.” Bill backed away and put out his hand as it caught aflame.

Stanford chuckled again, his face still burning hot as he reached out.

“Seems a little formal given the circumstances, but what do I know?”

Despite the flames, Stanford felt the same cooling sensation pass over him that he felt the first time he made a deal with Bill. It relaxed him as it washed over his burning face. When he let go, Stanford felt his nerves creep up on him again. His breath shuddered as he started undoing his tie. His mind circled as he wondered how this could even work with Bill not having a physical form. Maybe he needed to be asleep first? He shook himself. He knew he was overthinking it. He was sure Bill would show him what to do like he always did.

Bill laughed hysterically, making Stanford shrink away, assuming he’d messed up already.

“What do you think you’re doing? Your turn for the exam is over, Fordsy.”

Stanford blinked a few times. “Uh, maybe it’s different for your species, but uh, as far as I’m aware, humans have to get undressed for that.”

Bill brandished another devilish look. “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Sixer.”

Stanford suddenly felt weightless as he watched Bill shove his soul out of his body. He gasped, clinging to his throat as he felt the breath forced from his lungs. He shook with fear and panic as he awaited asphyxiation, but it never came.

“Calm down, Sixer. Your soul doesn’t need to breathe.”

Stanford heard Bill’s voice, but his head reeled with confusion as he saw himself in third person, and worse when he discovered Bill’s voice was coming from his body.

“Looks like there was a bit of a misunderstanding, IQ. I’ll help move this project along with the use of your body, and maybe I can even use it for a little fun.”

Bill grinned an inhumanly wide smile with Stanford’s lips.

Stanford forced himself to smile back with an awkward toothy expression. If he was honest with himself, he was terribly uncomfortable. He trusted Bill with every fiber of his being moments ago, but being tricked, even so slightly put a bit of a sour taste in his mouth. But the fear slowly passed as he grew used to navigating his new form as a loose soul, and his affection returned as he watched Bill struggle to properly pilot his body.

Bill squinted as he tried to take a step and fell hard on the ground. Stanford cringed as he heard a crackle that sounded concerningly like bone, but Bill quickly rebounded, popping back up off the floor as if nothing happened.

“Woah! We’ve got a problem! I think I broke your eyes, Sixer!” Bill laughed wildly with excitement.

Stanford’s usual adoration for Bill quickly turned to amusement and endearment as he watched him struggle. “You left my glasses on the floor. I need them to see.”

“So that’s why you put those panes of glass in front of you.” Bill picked up the glasses from the ground and plopped them back on Stanford’s face.

Stanford suddenly found himself enjoying the situation as his mind lit up with questions.

“Did your species not have a way to repair compromised vision? Did you have a cure instead? Oh! Or was there some way to prevent optical deformities all together in your dimension?”

Stanford floated close with a glow of excitement, but Stanford’s body seemed to cram in on itself.

“Is something wrong, My Muse?” For once Stanford was concerned for Bill. He couldn’t recall ever seeing him genuinely upset.

Bill quickly bounced back, putting on his usual charisma-filled look.

“Ya’ know that’s what I like about you, Sixer. You’re always staying curious, but you know what you humans say about curious furry earth creatures!”

Stanford shied away at the comment.

“My apologies, My Muse. I didn’t mean to overstep. I just love hearing about you and where you come from. You know all about me, and despite everything, I still feel like I have so much to learn about you.”

Bill’s expression quickly changed to anger.

“Sounds like we’re getting a bit greedy, IQ. I’ve given you plenty of knowledge for what little you’ve done for me. Do you really think you should be pushing your luck?”

Stanford began to panic, not out of fear of Bill, despite his expression that would terrify the every-man, but out of fear that Bill may decide to leave for good if he’s angered. Stanford sunk down to show he meant no harm.

“I’m sorry, My Muse. I wasn’t thinking. I only meant that it’s an honor to know what knowledge you’ve already blessed me with. Please, My Muse, forgive my foolishness.”

Bill took a heavy, angry breath before letting a smile creep back onto Stanford’s body.

“You know I could never stay mad at you. Just remember where you’d be without me.”

“Yes, My Muse.” Stanford answered obediently, staring at Bill with starry, love-stricken eyes.

“Good. But I have to ask. I’ve piloted lots of people, but I’ve never been in someone’s body that acted up this much. What gives with this thing getting in the way?”

Bill grabbed at Stanford’s pants to show him what he meant before he flinched at the feeling.

“Woah! What is this thing doing?”

Stanford was mortified. He hid his face with his hands. He could have died from the embarrassment and shame if he had a functioning body.

“I’m so sorry, my muse. It- It was a misunderstanding and I- When humans- Agh!”

The realization suddenly struck Bill as he laughed hysterically.

“You humans never stop surprising me. I’ll end my test drive for now, but don’t be surprised if I come knockin’ to use this thing again.”

Stanford wanted to respond, but before he could speak, he was back in his own body, and Bill had disappeared. He didn’t have a clue what time it was. It felt like only minutes went by, but from the crust building in the corner of his eyes and a feeling of being refreshed, he wondered if he had fallen asleep at some point. He told himself it didn’t matter as he got up off the floor. He desperately wanted a cup of coffee, but the tent still pitched in his pants distracted him. Stanford mumbled to himself.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He knew he was supposed to be working early today at Bill’s request, but he couldn’t bring himself to enter the communal living space in this state. Instead, he locked himself in his bathroom and took a cold shower. He needed one anyway, but by the time he had finished cleaning up and getting dressed, he was wincing with pain in his right eye, his vision blurring even with his glasses on.

“Damn allergies,” he mumbled to himself as he headed to the kitchen. Though he was grateful Bill decided to stick around a while longer than he usually did, he felt the ache of devastation well in his chest as he dwelled on Bill and how he didn’t feel the same.

“Mornin’, sleepy head.” Fiddleford was already awake and making breakfast like usual. “Boy howdy, you look like you’ve had a rough night, Shug.”

Stanford shuffled over to the table, propping his head up, his elbow on the table and his hand covering his right eye.

“Not exactly what I was hoping it would be, but I’ll live.” Stanford pouted.

“Y’ really ought t’ start gettin’ some better sleep, y’ know. If ya keep up like this, I reckon you’re gonna start hallucinatin’.”

Stanford wasn’t paying any attention to Fiddleford’s reprimand. He could only focus on how exhausted he felt and how his head pounded and burned around his eye.

“Stanford? Stanford, are ya even listenin’ t’ me? … Course he ain’t. When’s he ever listened t’ anyone a day in ‘is life?”

Fiddleford spoke up as he sat a cup of coffee in front of Stanford.

“Look, Stanford, I know we just had a break yesterday, but whaddya say to havin’ a bit o’ fun after we finish work tonight? Seein’ y’all stressed an’ tired an’ pent up, your li’ble t’ drive me crazy.”

Fiddleford gave Stanford a cheery smile, hoping to distract him from whatever happened last night and hopefully to keep his mind off their awkward moment the evening before too.

Stanford looked at him appreciatively, taking the mug from him, but he was apprehensive.

“I don’t know, Fiddleford. I don’t think we should be taking this much time away from work.”

Fiddleford shooed the air. “It won’t be that long. We can spare an hour ‘r two. Isn’t it worth it t’ keep morale up?”

Stanford sighed heavily. He wanted to keep Bill happy, but the break they took the day before felt all too short after last night’s exhausting encounter, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss Fiddleford’s company.

“The offer is enticing, really, but do we really need to worry about morale? I don’t exactly need to be bristling with excitement to work.”

Fiddleford stood up as straight as he could and put his hand against his hip, shifting his weight to one leg as a scowl crossed his face.

“Stanford, your happiness matters. Ya deserve breaks. You and I both know ya don’t take many of ‘em. Just try t’ relax tonight. I think I might know just the thing too.”

He winked and turned back to the stove, scooping the egg off the pan with a spatula and laying it on his plate before turning back to stir the pot of grits he had on another burner.

Stanford mulled it over for a moment, wondering if it could be worth it. He considered the reprimand Bill might give him, but even Bill said if it kept him happy then it was worth investing in. Even if he was upset with him, at least it might get his attention.

“Okay. Let’s do it. Having a little fun never hurt anyone, right?” Stanford stood up with new-found excitement, but quickly pressed his hand over his eye again as another stab of pain radiated behind it.

Fiddleford giggled. “Now that’s the spirit.” He shut the burners off and filled a bowl with grits before bringing his food to the table just in time for Stanford to grab one of his shakes and run off downstairs with a new spring in his step.

“I’ll see you downstairs!” He yelled over his shoulder, almost running into the elevator door.
Fiddleford giggled again, leaning his chin on his palms as he propped his elbows on the table, sighing deeply as a smile overtook him. He knew he’d be caught red handed if anyone saw him fawning like that, but he often found himself losing his typical inhibitions in that cabin with no one else watching.

Chapter Text

The day’s work passed by quickly as they told jokes, reminisced about their time in college, and discussed questions about the universe that had yet to be solved. Before they knew it, the sun had already fallen over the horizon and the chill of the autumn night had already settled in. The two took the elevator upstairs, laughing at some nonchalant conversation before Stanford’s face dropped at the sight of the dim light of the moon coming in through the window.

“I hadn’t realized it was dark already. I’m sorry, Fiddleford. I guess we’ll have to postpone your plans.”

Fiddleford smiled wide. “Nonsense. It’ll be a bit chilly, but it’s more fun at night anyways.”

Stanford smiled again but with a suspicious glint in his eye. He couldn’t fathom what Fiddleford had planned, but he was certainly intrigued.

“C’mon now. Let’s get a hustle on.” In a twist on their usual formation, Fiddleford grabbed Stanford’s arm as they headed out the door and led him into the woods. Their breath fogged in the chill of the air as they hurried through the brush.

“And we’re here!” Fiddleford let go of Stanford’s arm as they arrived at the lake, throwing his hands up in excitement.

Stanford tilted his head in confusion. “The lake? Are we night fishing?”

Fiddleford giggled. “No, silly, we’re swimmin’!”

Stanford was shocked, suddenly regretting his decision to accept before he knew what Fiddleford was planning. He usually loved to swim, but not so unprepared in the dark and in the cold. It wasn’t even summer.

“Fiddleford, it’s freezing out. Besides, we didn’t even bring trunks.”

At first, Fiddleford seemed disappointed at Stanford’s blatant attempt to shut the whole night down, but then he grew a mischievous grin.

“Sounds like someone’s chicken,” he lowered his lids, daring Stanford to defy him again.

Stanford looked offended, bringing his hand to his chest in defense. Fiddleford usually tried not to poke fun at Stanford knowing how sensitive he could be, but he knew the only way he was winning this was to challenge him to something. For someone who cowered in front of every creature they came across, Stanford felt it awfully bold of Fiddleford to accuse him of being scared.

“Me?! Chicken!? Have you suddenly forgotten all the creatures we’ve faced where you’ve cowered, screamed, or run away while I’ve faced them head on?!”

“I don’t remember anythin’ of the sort.” Fiddleford continued his sassy tone, egging him on.

“Fine! I’ll prove it! I’m certainly not afraid of a little cold water.” Stanford suddenly had a competitive glint in his eye, all the apprehension evaporating into thin air, that was, until Fiddleford returned the stare and quickly pulled his shirt off over his head.

Stanford’s face tinged pink. He couldn't remember Fiddleford ever being this confident before, let alone just casually taking clothes off in front of him, but the hint of blush gave Fiddleford even more confidence as he continued to tease Stanford, hoping he wouldn’t back out at the last minute.

Fiddleford smirked. “Your face is gettin’ a bit red there, Shug. Ya sure this ain’t too much f’r ya?”

Stanford shook the second bout of apprehension away, throwing his coat off behind him and pulling his shirt over his head, revealing a much more muscular form than Fiddleford remembered from college, usually obscured by Stanford’s long coat.

Fiddleford’s face turned bright red, his nerves suddenly undoing the confidence he’d built up, forcing him to turn away and look through his peripheral vision. His sheepishness was short lived however, sending a new bout of confidence over him when he noticed Stanford waiting apprehensively for his next move. He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, leaving him feeling quite exposed, but he wasn’t about to let it show.

Stanford followed suit and prepared to dive in before Fiddleford pulled down his boxers and jumped into the freezing water.

Stanford was shocked and flustered, yelling after Fiddleford as he collected their clothes into piles close to the water.

“Are you crazy!? We could get in trouble! This is indecent exposure!”

Fiddleford smiled as he felt adrenaline rush through him.

“Oh come on, Stanford! Y’ain’t never been skinny dippin’ before?”

Stanford was even more flustered, his face growing hotter and redder by the second. Was Fiddleford teasing him? He could hardly comprehend what had come over Fiddleford when he felt something surge through him that he couldn’t place. He made up his mind that he wasn’t going to let Fiddleford embarrass him. He took a deep breath, whipped his boxers off, and leaped into the water, causing a splash that soaked Fiddleford.

When Stanford resurfaced, they both laughed uncontrollably before taking off swimming. Suddenly neither of them could remember why they’d been nervous. They hooped and hollered, throwing caution to the wind, dismissing the possibility of being found.

Fiddleford dared to splash Stanford, practically choking him with lake water. He almost panicked before Stanford coughed up the water and splashed him back.

Fiddleford splashed again, thinking that would be the end of things, but next thing he knew, Stanford was hurtling toward him, shoving him under the water for a minute.

Fiddleford was shocked, trying not to gasp and breathe in the water surrounding him before he quickly resurfaced, shoving Stanford back, but he wasn’t strong enough to push him under the water. Fiddleford tried again to push him down, practically growling with exertion, but without luck.

“Just go down ya lug!” Fiddleford joked, pressing down hard on Stanford’s shoulders.

Stanford was surprised by the comment, but laughed. “Lug? Just because I’m stronger than you, doesn’t make me a lug.”

The comment spurred all out wrestling as Stanford started to fight back.

“No fair! We're in different weight classes now!” Fiddleford complained.

Stanford smirked, pinning Fiddleford in a headlock. “Then you shouldn’t have started a fight you couldn’t win!”

Stanford’s smirk soon faded to a soft smile as he watched Fiddleford scrabble against his arm. He loosened his grip, letting Fiddleford escape.

“Ha! See, I don’t need t’ be big t’ win!”

Fiddleford’s competitive streak led him to try tackling Stanford again as he threw himself against Stanford’s midsection, but Stanford didn’t budge, he just watched Fiddleford, feeling his heart start to beat quicker and his breath slow as he stood still.

“Come on! Just fall, ya bastard!” Fiddleford joked, still trying to push him down, but once again, Stanford stood still and silent.

Then Fiddleford finally gave up and stood up straight. “It ain’t fun if ya don’t try,” Fiddleford smiled hopefully at Stanford, wondering if he’d done something wrong, but then he noticed Stanford was staring straight into his eyes. His heart started to pound and his knees grew weak. Fiddleford slipped, but Stanford gently wrapped his arms around Fiddleford as he caught him, propping him back up.

Their faces were bright red as they stared for what felt like an infinite unbreakable moment, each wondering who would make the fateful move to break their trance when suddenly a light shined directly at them, practically blinding them.

They blinked for a moment, shielding their eyes with their hands as they saw an officer on a boat approaching. They shared one last panicked look before making a break for the shore, scooping their clothes off the ground, and darting through the woods toward the lab. As they ran, Fiddleford started to laugh before hollering in excitement. Stanford looked over at him in panic, but as the adrenaline kicked through him, he found himself laughing too.

As they approached the lab, the signs of anyone tailing them were long gone. They quickly rushed through the door and collapsed on the other side of it as they slammed it shut.

“Fiddleford, that was great! I haven’t had that much fun in years!”

Fiddleford smirked. “Ya mean since college? I wonder why that could be.”

Stanford’s smile turned a bit guilty. “I suppose I have to give you credit. How did you even come up with these things anyway?”

The two finally stood up and put their clothes back on.

“Everyone used t’ go skinny dippin’ back home. After ya work so long in the heat, it doesn’t much matter what you’re wearin’, ya just hop in. You’ve always sort o’ had a stick up your ass, but y’ weren’t even this uptight in college, so I figured gettin’ ya to loosen up would do ya some good. An’ ain’t no way better t’ loosen up than t’ have nothin’ left t’ hide behind.”

Stanford finished slipping his coat back on. “Well despite you calling me uptight and telling me I have a stick up my ass, I appreciate it. I know I can be high strung, especially when it comes to work, but I really did have a good time.”

Fiddleford’s eyes filled with hope. “Well, whaddya think ‘bout doin’ this sort o’ thing more often? We’re not in that much of a hurry t’ finish this project, are we? We could just take evenings off an’ spend some more time livin’ life.”

Stanford’s expression turned apprehensive again, but he mulled it over with his hand resting on his chin. He imagined how nice it would be to spend time on something different each night. Though he always loved science and research, the thought of just relaxing with his old friend sounded quite appealing, especially after tonight. Plus, Bill hadn’t seemed to notice he was out for the night yet. He wondered if he would prefer for Bill to notice, or to get away scott-free, but either way, it sounded like he was making that investment in his happiness that Bill spoke about before.

“That sounds like a great idea, Fiddleford, but for now, let’s get some rest. I’m exhausted after all of that.” Stanford laughed, leaving for his room.

“G’d night!” Fiddleford called after him before heading to his room.

As Fiddleford laid on his bed, he felt a wave of warm giddiness wash over him. He wanted to kick his feet in excitement, but instead he just ran his hands through his hair before resting them on his neck. He sighed a warm, slow, sigh, his mind swimming with moments from the evening. He rolled over, letting his mind wonder what might have happened if they hadn’t been spotted, but then something caught his eye.

His stomach dropped and his smile disappeared instantly as he caught a glimpse of the photo of his wife and son sitting on his bedside table. Guilt gnawed at his stomach. He rolled over again onto his back and slapped his hands over his eyes, pressing his nails into his forehead.

Fiddleford had always prided himself on his loyalty. He’d always wanted to earn enough money to return to his extended family in Tennessee and help them out of their poor living situation where he grew up. He’d always been a loyal son, a loyal friend, a loyal father, and a loyal husband, but each time he got close with Stanford, he wondered if he was strong enough to keep himself loyal or if he’d ever been loyal in the first place.

He felt his heart ripping in two as he held back tears threatening to well in his eyes. His mind whirled with anxiety. His chest ached and everything in him was screaming that he was in danger, that he needed to run. He started to panic and he felt his stomach churn, cringing as he felt the contents of his stomach threatening to climb up his throat. He quickly reached for the memory gun laying on his bedside table, the subject already loaded before closing his eyes and firing into his left temple.

When he opened his eyes, he was confused, taking a few moments to solidify his base memories of who he was and where he was. He felt the tension in his body melt away. He knew he had been in a panic before, but he was suddenly unable to recall why. He relaxed, breathing a long sigh. His eyes met the photo on his bedside table again, and he felt the warm comfort calm his mind. He lifted the photo and kissed his wife and son before holding the photo close to his chest. He knew it was late, but he felt a longing for the comforts of home that nagged at his heart, so he picked up the phone and called, but when there was no answer. He resigned to trying to sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of returning to the family he loved so much.

Back in Stanford’s room, he couldn’t help but be excited awaiting Bill’s return. His visits were rare, but Stanford desperately wished he would return soon. He could feel his heart bleed in Bill’s absence. After the last few days, he was even more confused about how to feel, but he was certain Bill would reassure him.

“Please, My Muse. Return to me soon. You don’t know how I suffer without you.”

He hoped saying it aloud would somehow change the situation, but the air in the room was still, and there was no sign of Bill. His mind sunk into longing for Bill’s return and his feelings. He wanted nothing more than to return to their brief kiss, even if it wasn’t real. He rolled to his back on the couch he called his bed and groaned in agony, wishing he could rid himself of his feelings all together.

Then he remembered his night with Fiddleford and how much fun he had. A smile crept to his face as warmth spread through him. He covered his face with his palm as he thought of how warm he was despite the chilling wind and water. His mind wandered back to the feeling of Fiddleford’s lips against his forehead. His heart started to pound until he felt he could have a heart attack. He started to wonder what would have happened at the lake if they hadn’t been caught, remembering the feeling of Fiddleford in his arms as he pictured their red faces, lips parted to prepare for a kiss.

Then guilt weighed on his chest as he shook the image from his mind. Fiddleford was married and he’d already promised himself to Bill. His eye started to twitch with stress. Bill didn’t even like him. Why should he feel bad about developing feelings for someone else? And Fiddleford sure wasn’t backing out of the situation. He recalled telling himself the other night that he wasn’t going to deny himself anymore, and he steeled himself, reminding himself that he intended to do just that. Stanford wriggled into the blanket he threw over himself, letting out a long, frustrated sigh as he tried to get comfortable and coax himself into sleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Stanford found himself restlessly awake far earlier than he wished to be, but he wasn’t going to miss such a rare chance to beat Fiddleford to the kitchen.

When Fiddleford finally awoke and headed to the kitchen, he was startled, not only at how early Stanford was awake, but also at the sight of him making breakfast. His expression changed to suspicion as he spoke.

“Ah, Good morning, Fiddleford! Did you sleep well?”

“Mornin’... I slept fine. You’re sure up early, an’ you’re makin’ real food.”

Stanford beamed. “Well, it’s not for me. I just wanted to thank you for last night.”

Fiddleford was confused for a moment. He couldn’t remember anything happening last night, but as he pushed himself, he did vaguely remember going to the lake and discussing spending their evenings off from work.

“Aw, shucks. Y’ didn’t have to do nothin’ special for me.”

Fiddleford watched as Stanford rolled up his sleeves, revealing his muscular forearms. His face tinged pink as Stanford plated the meal and placed it in front of him, but his face quickly dropped at the sight.

“Stanford, what on God’s green earth is that?”

Fiddleford backed away a bit at the dubious food.
Stanford blushed with embarrassment, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, I’ve never been much of a cook so I was just going to make a pork roll sandwich, but the store didn’t have pork roll the last time I went, so I just got something that looked similar.”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow.

“What in the hell is ‘pork roll’? Ya really have no idea what kinda meat this is?”

Stanford bit his cheek and shrunk away, a flash of annoyance resting in his eyes.

“Well you don’t have to be so condescending. For someone who drank radioactive milk, I really wasn’t expecting you to be so picky.”

Fiddleford stifled a laugh.

“Are you poutin’ ‘cause I don’t want your breakfast? Why don’t you just eat it and actually have semi-real food f’r once if ya can even call it that?”

Fiddleford was just trying to tease him, but Stanford clearly wasn’t taking it well.
He huffed and tossed the food in the trash.

“Fine, I get it. I’m shit at cooking. Make your own damn breakfast if mine was so inedible.”

He filled a cup of coffee for himself and sat down across from Fiddleford.

Fiddleford rolled his eyes and settled on cereal before sitting back down. They sat in silence for a moment before Fiddleford spoke up again.

“I’m surprised you’re still sittin’ in here. You’re usually in a big hurry t’ get t’ work in the mornin’.”

Stanford was still upset, but he tried to hide his annoyance as he spoke.

“I just thought since I got up early, I’d try to spend the morning doing something other than working.”

Fiddleford laughed again between bites.

“Well ya don’t gotta wait on me none. I’m pro’lly just gonna sit here an’ eat like I usually do.”

Stanford was growing more annoyed by the second, but he tried to brush it off as him not being forward enough.

“I suppose I meant I thought I’d try to spend the morning socializing... With you. Because you said you wanted to spend more time together yesterday?”

Fiddleford looked skeptical as if he didn't believe he would be the one to suggest something like that.

“Well you don’t gotta do that. I think I’ll be fine eatin’ breakfast alone.”

Stanford finally let his frustration show as he laced his brows together.

“Fine. I wouldn’t want to waste your precious breakfast time with my presence. I’ll just get back to work.”

He dumped the rest of his coffee down the sink and did his best to appear angered as he headed to the elevator, but Fiddleford caught a glimpse of him dropping his expression to a pained frown.

Fiddleford felt a stab of guilt in his gut. He was relieved he didn’t have to eat whatever mystery meat was served to him, but Stanford usually took his playful mocking on the chin. He hadn’t realized spending a few minutes in the morning mattered so much to Stanford. His chest ached as he thought about Stanford going to such trouble to wake up early and make something for him, even if it was made out of a mystery prepackaged meat.

Normally he would just apologize and move on, but this felt different. He felt a flutter of nervousness in his stomach as he thought of telling Stanford how much he appreciated the gesture or explained he really did want to spend a few extra moments with him. He shook himself, clearing his mind before going to clean his dishes.

Moments later, Fiddleford finally made his way downstairs to the portal room where Stanford was already hard at work.

Fiddleford smiled an awkward half-smile.

“Hey Stanford, I know we talked ‘bout taking evenin’s off yesterday, so I was wonderin’ if ya had somethin’ particular in mind f’r tonight?”

Stanford didn’t budge, keeping his nose buried in calculations as he spoke frankly.

“Can’t. I’m busy tonight.”

Fiddleford pouted between a grimace and a frown.

“Are ya mad at me ‘cause o’ this mornin’? I’m real sorry, Stanford. I didn’t mean t’ hurt your feelin’s. I ‘ppreciate ya thinkin’ o’ me and tryin’ t’ do somethin’ nice.”

Stanford stopped what he was doing to listen for a moment before returning to his work, still keeping hunched over his desk.

“I just have plans.”

The rest of the work day went poorly compared to the day before. It was quiet and there was tension in the air thick with a mixture of repressed emotions. They’d never had such a silent work day and it put them both into unease. Stanford was still sour about that morning. Despite it being one small interaction, he was convinced he completely miscalculated their relationship. It was as if all the signs he’d seen the night before had vanished and they were back to just being friends, if even that. He made up his mind to instead please Bill and spend the evening getting the tattoo Bill requested, at least then he could explain away the time wasted.

He imagined what Bill might say upon the sight of it and he melted in silence as the warmth spread through him. Fiddleford still wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. Yesterday Stanford seemed so excited about their evening plans, but now he couldn’t tell if he was still upset over the morning even after his apology or if he was focused on whatever plans he’d created between then and now. By the end of the day, Fiddleford had accepted that Stanford was just a mystery in himself that no one could solve, but he couldn’t help but feel a pit in his stomach watching him leave for the night without so much as a word.

Fiddleford spent the evening on the phone with his wife and son before working on his pet project. He was starting to grow worried about Stanford when he turned in for the night and he hadn’t heard hide nor hair of him, but he didn’t think it was his place to tell Stanford how late he could stay out.

It was late in the night when Fiddleford blinked his eyes open to the sound of Stanford’s car finally pulling back into the driveway, but he was quickly knocked out of his sleepy daze when he heard the door slam. He practically jumped out of his skin at the loud bang before scrambling out of bed. He was going to check on him, but he stopped at the door as he heard Stanford rambling to himself.

“That’ll show him I mean it. I’m through being overlooked. He said it himself, I deserve to be happy too. I won’t be put on the backburner any longer. I’m important damnit and someone’s going to realize it! Everything was easier when I wasn’t strapped down with all of this, but problems are meant to be solved, and by God, I’m going to crack this one wide open!”

Fiddleford couldn’t place if Stanford was just sleep deprived or drunk, but he wasn’t about to interrupt when he sounded that upset. He just hoped Stanford wasn’t referring to him as he curled back up in bed to sleep.

Stanford finally stumbled back to his room, flopping down face-first onto his couch before whining aloud.

“Bill, please come back! I know it’s only been a day…”

The sound of Bill’s voice suddenly rang in his head.

“Quite needy today, aren’t we?”

He appeared before Stanford in a flash, and he could feel the sudden elation bubbling through him as he shot up from his place on his couch.

“Bill! You’re here! I’m sorry I called you so soon after your last visit, but I was just so excited to show you!”

Stanford scrambled to pull his shirt off over his head, revealing the new tattoo wrapped in a circle around his collar bone.

Bill’s expression revealed how impressed he was, but he grew curious as he saw Stanford wobble a bit in place.

“You said you’re not much of a drinker, Sixer.” Bill had a sly look at the comment.

Stanford smiled brightly, clearly inebriated as his words rambled on without considering any consequence.

“Oh, I’m not, but after I got this, I thought about how much fun we had that night, so I just had a few drinks, and I still couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I thought my happiness matters too, like you said, I deserve it, and I deserve to be important, and I’m tired of being overlooked and having these feelings I can’t get rid of.”

A scowl started to grow on Stanford’s face as he balled his fists up. His chest burned as he looked into Bill’s eye.

Bill was caught off guard by this new determination. He felt something shift inside him and his expression dropped. Something in him felt like it was pulling toward Stanford, and as he looked Stanford up and down, his inhibitions fell. He couldn’t think of a single quip, and his heart raced as he locked his eye on Stanford. Something about this confidence, the gall he had to stand up to him, and his determination to take what he wanted almost flustered him.

Stanford smirked as he watched Bill turn pink. He finally understood what it meant. He reached his hands out in front of him, a gesture they both understood to be an invitation for Bill to float down into his arms, and against Bill’s better judgment, he did exactly that.

Stanford’s face turned pink, but his usual shyness was cut by the buzz.

“Care for another wellness check?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before gently running his hand up and down one of Bill’s sides.

Bill flinched. He ran his plan through his head, telling himself he wasn’t meant to get attached to the fodder he’d chosen, but despite his efforts, he felt his breath quicken and his body flush hot. He was torn between running away and giving in.

“Woah there, Tiger. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Bill was practically trembling as he struggled to grasp the feelings running through him.

Stanford huffed out a small laugh.

“Are you afraid, My Muse?” He smirked. He knew he had the upper hand now. He could see it plain as day that Bill was finally noticing him.

“Of course not! I strike fear into the hearts of others, not the other way around!” Bill was clearly agitated and he allowed himself to grow and tower above Stanford with a sinister look.

Stanford’s face grew red, and though he didn’t mean to say it out loud, he muttered under his breath as he shook.

“God that’s hot.”

Bill laughed, wondering how he hadn’t noticed Stanford was that much of a freak, and that only made it worse. Bill’s body matched the pinkish-red of Stanford’s face as he shrunk back down to size before he thought how all of this could be to his advantage. He didn’t just have to use him to take over the world. Stanford was different from other humans. He was a freak to his world just like him and all his cronies were to theirs. He could use him and they could rule together. He felt the adrenaline pulse through him as he got close to Stanford.

“So what are ya gonna do about it?” He taunted, licking his eye with his tongue.

Stanford shuttered with excitement, overjoyed that Bill had finally taken interest in him. He pulled Bill to his chest, pressing his lips gently against Bill’s eye, hoping it would transform as it had before to create lips. As he felt Bill start to kiss back, his heart pounded and his breath heaved. He parted his lips and pressed his tongue against Bill’s lips, forcing his way in to shove his tongue down what he assumed was in place of Bill’s throat. He ran his hands from Bill’s sides to beneath him, unsure of what he was even looking for before Bill pulled away with an intense look.

“That’s enough for you today. We’ll see what happens if you keep me happy, Fordsy. Maybe your next wellness check will be even more fun for you.”

Bill pushed him back onto his couch before disappearing.

Stanford gripped the blanket beneath him. Shit. He couldn’t take this. He’d planned to make things easier, but it only made things worse. Now he was alone, and he was squirming uncomfortably on his couch when the embarrassment of the situation washed over him. He scrunched his face up in discomfort, wincing at the throbbing between his legs. He hadn’t meant to let himself get so carried away in expectation, but now he was paying the price.

His buzz wore off and he started to notice the soreness of his collarbone at the fresh tattoo. He couldn’t help but wonder why he kept trying. It seemed every time he made an effort with Bill he ended up hurt. Even now when he showed some interest, he called it a wellness check again.

Then his mind drifted back to Fiddleford. Why him? Why now? And why couldn’t he just make up his mind and stick with one? He shut his eyes hard, hoping to distract from his thoughts, but it just made him feel like he was going crazy, like he wasn’t himself at all. After what seemed like eternity of battling his thoughts, he couldn’t stand the nearly painful pressure in his pants.

With a frustrated sigh, he removed his belt and unbuttoned his pants, reaching his hand beneath his waistband to stroke himself. He tried to keep quiet in case Fiddleford was up late in their development room working on his computer, but he couldn’t help but groan at the feeling of his hand tightening around himself. He huffed for air as he furiously stroked himself. He forced himself to slow, knowing he was getting nowhere with his original attempt. He focused on clearing his mind, finally able to relax enough to make the experience somewhat pleasurable despite his worry that his pleasured grunting would grow too loud. He let out one last pitiful groan as he finally released, but he was far from satisfied despite his shaking hands and heaving breath. His worries quickly returned to him and he chided himself for soiling perfectly good clothing.

He stood and cleaned up, changing clothes, and laying back down on his couch. The leather of it felt unusually cold that night, only making his thoughts of shared warmth all the more difficult for him. He finally told himself that it wasn’t likely he’d end up with either of them and he should drop the fantasies all together, and with that, he managed to put them aside and finally slip into sleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning, neither Fiddleford nor Stanford looked well rested. They had bags under their eyes and they moved sluggishly, but after Stanford got his coffee, he went to sit in the parlor.

Fiddleford eyed him suspiciously. He hardly ever used that room, especially not in the morning when he knew there was work to be done downstairs.

“Stanford, is everythin’ alright? You’ve been actin’ a might strange lately.”

Stanford sighed deeply into his coffee.

“I’m sorry if I don’t seem myself. I’ve had a lot on my mind. I know we haven’t gotten much work done this week, but… I think I could use another break.”

Fiddleford smiled. Maybe Stanford felt bad about ditching him yesterday after all.

“Sure, Stanford. What did ya have in mind?”

Fiddleford sat down next to him in a nearby chair and put a hand on Stanford’s shoulder. He knew something was wrong, but he wasn’t sure what or how else to help.

“I’m actually not sure. I haven’t done much for myself in a long time. I don’t even know if I remember how to have fun outside of digging through textbooks and field research.”

Fiddleford felt pity pull at his heartstrings. He knew Stanford had been cut off for years, but he didn’t realize how much of an effect it really had on him until now. He always seemed so self-confident that he’d never considered Stanford might just not know how to relax anymore.

“What about campin’? We’ve been a few times f’r research an’ what not, but what if we just spent the weekend gettin’ lost somewhere? That’s kinda like an adventure, right?”

Fiddelford tried his best to look cheerful, but he was growing more worried about Stanford by the minute. Stanford used to always brandish his confident smile. His spirit seemed impossible to crush even in the most bleak of times, and yet here he was sitting around with a hopelessness that chilled Fiddleford.

Stanford smiled gently, looking up from his coffee.

“That sounds quite nice, actually. It has been quite some time since we’ve been on a camping trip, and it’s always nice to discover new species on our trips.”

Fiddleford felt his face grow warm at Stanford’s hopeful smile. Though just a remnant of his usual brightness, Fiddleford knew it was a step in the right direction. But even that remnant seemed to warm him from head to toe. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. He wondered why he was just now noticing how pretty Stanford’s dark brown curls were when they fell a bit in his face or how sweet he looked when he was asking for help in his own roundabout way or how soft and small he looked when he was upset or vulnerable, even with his new muscly figure.

Stanford took a deep breath before chugging his coffee and setting it on the table.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get going!”

Stanford’s usual excited vigor seemed to flow back through him although his voice still sounded somewhat halfhearted.

Fiddleford chuckled. He hadn’t realized before how cute it was when Stanford got excited about something.

They both moved out from their places in their chairs, packing their bags, and running out the door. It all came so easily. They didn’t have a destination. They just picked a direction and started hiking. Stanford stopped and documented creatures he saw, taking time to ramble about other creatures he’d come across in his years alone. Fiddleford listened intently with a gleam in his eye, taking in every second.

When they finally got tired, they set up camp. Stanford watched as Fiddleford cooked beans over the fire and told stories of his life on the farm and listened as he played his banjo until the night grew cold and they retreated to their tent, but neither of them could sleep. The day had been a complete success and they were both giddy with excitement, not yet ready to turn in for the night.

For once, Stanford had forgotten all about Bill as he was held hostage by Fiddleford’s singing voice. The same feeling from the lake returned to him as he stared into Fiddleford’s sparkling blue eyes. He told himself it was pointless to look at him that way. He was off limits, oblivious to his feels, and clearly didn’t feel the same way, and yet he couldn’t stop his heart from beating faster and his face relieving just how enraptured he was.

“Stanford? Is everythin’ alright?”

Fiddleford turned to him after he set his banjo down while Stanford smiled helplessly.

“I’m doing great.” Stanford laid down and looked starry eyed up at Fiddleford.

Fiddleford laughed. “What’s gettin’ into ya lately anyway? One minute you're all poutin’ an’ the next you’re lookin’ like ya don’t have a care in the world.”

Stanford let out a short laugh before turning to his back to look out the clear top of the tent at the stars.

“What can I say? I’ve become a slave to my emotions. It feels like when I was younger and couldn’t control it all. That was just one of many reasons I was picked on back then, but it didn’t take long for me to learn how to push it all down. For whatever reason my emotions seem to be taking hold again. I used to be so good at putting it all away for the sake of work, but now I live at the beck and call of any emotion that overcomes me.”

Fiddleford couldn’t help but laugh, putting his hand over his mouth to try and stop it, but to no avail.

Stanford frowned.

“Don’t laugh. I’m being emotionally vulnerable here!” He threw his arms up in disbelief.

Fiddleford’s laugh dulled before he cleared a tear from his eye.

“I’m sorry, Stanford, but sometimes I swear you think the sun rises just so ya can crow at it. Even a little bit of emotional inconsistency is like the sky’s fallin’. Now I don’t know what emotions you’re referrin’ to in particular, but trust me when I say that the average population faces the same emotions you do. Ya don’t have t’ be in control all the time. At this rate you’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm before you’re thirty.”

Stanford sighed hard and fast.

“I know I need to relax some. This is just new for me. I wish I could just zap it all away so I can focus on what really matters!”

Fiddleford took a moment. Something about Stanford’s words resonated with him somehow, but he wasn’t sure why. He shook himself back.

“I think everyone feels that way sometimes, but the way ya feel is just as important as what ya do on a day t’ day. Maybe it’s time ya paid real attention to ‘em.”

Stanford looked up and locked eyes with Fiddleford as he finished speaking, wondering if he should tell Fiddleford exactly what was going on with him. Maybe he could just take a chance with him. After today went so well, maybe it wasn’t as crazy as he thought it was.

Fiddleford felt his heart melt at the sight of Stanford’s eyes practically pleading for help, and then he remembered. The memories crashed over him like a wave threatening to drown him. Every emotion came bubbling back up to the surface and gripped him in a sudden choke hold.

He was in love. He had been, over and over again. He remembered all the times he’d held the memory gun to his head and erased those feelings and yet, he fell for Stanford again and again. His heart ached, and as he thought of every time he’d looked into those bright brown eyes and fallen for him, he wanted to cry.

Why did he have to look at him like that? He knew Stanford would never feel the same, and still, he was married. He couldn’t possibly risk losing their friendship for something more. He couldn’t risk losing Stanford all together. Fiddleford froze as he saw Stanford’s eyes were welling from his indecision before he spoke up.

“Fiddleford, I need to tell you something, and I need you to promise that you won’t leave when I tell you because no matter how this turns out, I still need your help on the portal.”

Fiddleford was caught off guard. He wasn’t sure what to say, and he was terrified of what Stanford could have to say. He reluctantly agreed.

“Alright. What is it?”

Stanford took a deep breath and stared at the ground.

“I… have feelings for you… And I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. If you need to tell Em-”

Fiddleford’s chest swelled with glee, and he quickly got down to the floor of the tent to interrupt Stanford before he could say too much, pressing his lips against his hard and putting his hands on either side of his face, pulling him in close.

Their faces both turned burned red hot before Stanford finally shut his shocked eyes and pressed into the embrace, putting his hands on Fiddleford’s upper back.

They backed away for a moment to catch their breath, staring into each other’s fearful eyes for a moment before colliding again.

Fiddleford pressed him hard into the floor of the tent with his kiss, moving his hands into Stanford’s soft hair. Despite Stanford’s past efforts, he still wasn’t very experienced with kissing. He thought his heart might actually beat out of his chest as he felt Fiddleford’s tongue against his lip. He barely parted his lips before he felt Fiddleford’s tongue slip into his mouth and expertly explore it. Stanford tried to keep himself collected while he navigated what to do next, but he knew he was horribly underskilled in comparison.

They pulled away for another moment when they realized they’d landed in quite the uncomfortable position. Fiddleford tried to adjust himself, but he was practically sitting on Stanford at this point, and every move they made just rubbed him against Stanford’s groin, causing them both to burn hot.

Stanford started to breathe heavily as Fiddleford tried to move, only making the situation worse for him. Stanford leaned up and pulled Fiddleford back into the kiss, hoping he would stop squirming, but he was clearly still uncomfortable as he continued to move around. Stanford pulled him in tighter, hoping to get the point across, but it didn’t stop him.

Stanford finally pulled away, his whole body red hot as he looked away uncomfortably.

“Fiddleford, please stop squirming.”

Fiddleford could hear the desperation in his breathy voice as he realized what was happening.

He laughed for a moment before going back in for another kiss, but this time, it was Stanford who was squirming, trying to keep Fiddleford from having to feel his growing member, but Fiddleford picked himself up off Stanford for a moment before sitting back down, moving his crotch against Stanford’s.

Stanford flinched at the shock, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. What was more shocking was Fiddleford slowly rubbing himself against him before he laid himself down across Stanford, shoving his tongue down Stanford’s throat as Stanford clung to his shirt.

They broke apart for another moment and stared into each other’s eyes, their chests heaving. With a breathless nod from each of them, they scrambled to unhook their belts and strip down to nothing with feverish intent.

As they revealed their bare selves, they both paused, their nerves starting to get in the way as they started to sweat.

“Stanford, wait. I think I should tell ya I ain’t ever been with a man before.”

Stanford spoke hurriedly, trying to reassure him.

“Me neither. We’ll figure it out.” Stanford leaned up to lock lips with Fiddleford again, but he pulled away.

“I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but have you ever…” Fiddleford looked away. What a time to be asking these questions. “Have you done this before at all?”

Stanford looked to the side, still breathing heavily beneath Fiddleford.

“Um… no. But that doesn’t-”

Fiddelford suddenly seemed panicked.

“Oh Lord. Stanford, I can’t do this. I can’t be your first.”

Stanford’s eyes darted around Fiddleford’s face, searching for an explanation. His chest ached. How could he have screwed up already?

“Does that really matter? I’m sure I won’t be perfect, but can it really be that hard if-”

Fiddleford sat up a bit, cutting Stanford’s rambling off.

“I don’t know what I’m doin’. It ain’t exactly the same process. I can’t just take that from ya.”

Stanford was growing disgruntled.

“Fiddleford, you’re not taking anything. It’s fine if you’ve changed your mind and you don’t want to do this, but I’m telling you I’m fine with this… I want this.”

Fiddleford looked him over, analyzing his face for any sense of apprehension, but he found none. Stanford just waited patiently for Fiddleford to decide.

Fiddleford took a deep breath to settle his nerves and took one look back into Stanford’s eyes as he remembered why they were here in the first place. He leaned back in for another kiss, before quickly deepening it, pressing Stanford into the ground. Stanford grabbed for Fiddleford’s shirt again, but his nails met bare skin. He ran his fingers across Fiddleford’s back, careful to avoid his nails. The feeling sent a chill through Fiddleford that seemed to run straight between his legs as he started to grind against Stanford. As they broke apart to catch their breath, Stanford sat up and put his hands on Fiddleford’s shoulders, looking into his eyes again.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Fiddleford smiled and nodded.

“I’ve wanted this f’r longer than ya’d think.”

The two spent an awkward moment of hesitation as they tried to figure out who should do what. Stanford finally broke the silence.

“I’m assuming you’d be most comfortable… leading?”

Fiddleford sighed with relief.

“I didn’t wanna say anythin’, but yeah…”

Stanford laughed through his nose, trying to shake his nerves.

“I guess I uh… just…”

Stanford’s face burned hot as he turned around and started to bend over, but Fiddleford grabbed his shoulder to turn him back around.

“I, uh… I think I’d rather see your face if that’s alright.”

Stanford sheepishly smiled, turning back to Fiddleford.

“I wasn’t aware that was an option.”

Fiddleford couldn’t help but laugh as his nerves took hold.

“I think it is. I guess we’re ‘bout t’ find out.”

Fiddleford breathlessly wrapped his arms around Stanford, kissing him slowly as he gently guided him down to his back. Fiddleford pulled away from their kiss agonizingly slowly, leaving a spit trail between them as Fiddleford climbed off him and moved to his knees.

“I think ya gotta lift your legs outta the way, Hon.”

Stanford followed Fiddleford’s guidance as he gently grabbed his ankles and lifted his legs toward his chest. Finally Fiddleford pulled Stanford closer, putting his hands on Stanford’s thighs and lining himself up. He looked down at Stanford’s red hot face and couldn’t believe how gorgeous all of him was. It seemed like a dream too perfect to be true despite their clunky start.

“Alright. Ya comfortable? Ya better let me know if somethin’ hurts, alright? Let me know when you’re ready.”

Stanford looked up at Fiddleford helplessly. More than anything, he was still terrified he’d mess it up and this would all be over in an instant. But despite his worries, Fiddleford’s smooth voice and gentle touch made him feel safe despite being more exposed than he’d ever been in his life.

“Yes. I’m ready.”

Fiddleford ran his hands down Stanford’s thighs as he met with Stanford’s entrance. Stanford’s breath caught in his chest at the feeling and braced against the tent floor in anticipation. Fiddleford tried slowly pushing in, but he was met with a wince from Stanford.

“Ow! Stop!”

Stanford threw his eyes shut and grabbed tight onto Fiddleford’s hand, his nerves now overtaking him. Fiddleford instantly pulled away, embarrassed that this wasn’t easier.

“Sorry, sorry. I should o’ known better. Are ya alright?”

Stanford kept his nervous expression, his eyes still shut, but he nodded as he spoke.

“I’m okay. Just… is it supposed to hurt like that?”

Fiddleford gently rubbed circles into Stanford’s thighs.

“I don’t think so. I’m pr’tty sure I’ve got some oil in m’ bag that might help, but only if’n ya wanna try again.”

“That might help, but… and I don’t mean this in a bad way, but… you might be too big to fit…”

Fiddleford laughed harder than he anticipated.

“I’m flattered, but that can’t possibly be the case. I might be able t’ stretch ya out a bit though.”

Fiddleford leaned to the side to grab his bag, rifling through it until he found the oil.

“D’ ya wanna try again ‘r have ya had too much?”

Stanford nerves had clearly gotten to him, but he was painfully hard now and didn’t want to ruin his chance to make this work.

“Let’s try again.”

Fiddleford nodded, covering his hand in oil and running the other hand down Stanford’s thigh to prepare him. Stanford squirmed with discomfort at the feeling of Fiddleford’s finger pressing into him, but as Fiddleford moved around and stretched him, it sent chills up his spine. A second finger pushed in, hitching Stanford’s breath.

“Y’aright, Shug?”

Stanford squirmed.

“Uh, well, it certainly feels weird, but I’m okay.”

Fiddleford pressed in a third before Stanford started to wonder how many were possibly supposed to fit. He felt a burning at his rim and the feeling of the increasing mass pressing further into him was beyond strange. Just when he thought Fiddleford was finished, he pressed in another. Stanford hissed at the burn, unsure if he wanted to pull away or rock them further in.

“Is it supposed to burn like that?”

Fiddleford stopped and pulled his hands away.

“I, uh, I don’t know. D’ ya want me t’ stop?”

Stanford was still painfully erect and breathing heavy.

“No. Please keep going.”

Fiddleford nodded again, finally applying oil to himself and rubbing more onto Stanford’s rim.

“Are ya ready?”

“Mhm.”

Stanford steeled himself, bracing against the tent floor again in anticipation.

“Relax. I really don’t think it’ll hurt this time, but if ya relax it’ll make more room.

Stanford focused on breathing, placing one hand gently over Fiddleford’s.

He tried again to slowly push in, coaxing a moan out of them both.

Fiddleford pushed in further bit by bit, waiting for Stanford to relax each time before going deeper. Stanford kept thinking that had to be as far as it went, but each time he kept going further, leaving Stanford to wonder if he’d reach his throat until finally Fiddleford settled completely into him.

“Y’okay, Shug?” Fiddleford managed to huff out between heavy shaking breaths.

“Mhm” was all he could bring himself to say as he focused on the intoxicating sensation.

Stanford gripped the floor of the tent, bracing himself against the floor with flexed shoulder blades and an arched back, puffing his chest out, making his quivering breath stand out even more.

Fiddleford pulled out until just his head was still inside him before he started a slow thrusting pace.

Stanford gripped the floor more, trying not to rip the thin fabric with his nails as he moaned.

Fiddleford sped up his pace, but soon he started to shake, realizing quickly that this wasn’t going to last as long as he anticipated. He searched Stanford’s expression to see if he could find a way to help him along, but he had his eyes closed now, his head thrown back and his jaw hanging open a bit.

Fiddleford adjusted his angle a bit and Stanford jolted and gasped at the feeling.

Fiddleford started to pull out in a panic, worried he’d hurt him somehow before Stanford spoke up.

“Please do that again.”

Fiddleford followed his orders and tried to replicate it, sending an intense wave of chills and moaning through Stanford. Now he recognized what he’d found and sped his pace back up.

Stanford arched further in response, rocking his own hips to help Fiddleford reach the same spot. Their breath huffed shallower and Fiddleford started to lose his rhythm as he shook.

“Oh, Stanford. I don’t think I can-”

“Please don’t stop now. Please.”

Stanford was helpless as he begged. Fiddleford desperately tried to think of how to help him along when he knew he was running out of time.

Finally, he settled on moving his hand from Stanford’s thigh that he hadn’t realized he was digging into with his nails, and stroking him with it instead. Stanford nearly screamed in response.

“Ah-AH! Oh, Fiddleford!”

He felt like he could hardly breathe as Fiddleford continued his thrusts, but Fiddleford started to huff hard.

“Stanford, I- I can’t” A shiver ran down his spine as he tried to control himself.

“Please. Just a little more, please. Oh God, I need you.” Stanford moaned.

Fiddleford struggled, but he managed to thrust a few more times as Stanford shouted.

“AH-! Fiddleford! Oh God, Fiddleford! Fuck, I’m so close.” He barely spit the words out before Fiddleford spewed, filling Stanford with heat and sending Stanford over the edge into his own release that shot all the way to his chest.

Fiddleford pulled himself out before collapsing on top of Stanford. The two laid practically glued together with sweat and semen until they both caught their breath.

When Fiddleford finally rolled off Stanford, he reached over to this backpack for some towels and handed one to Stanford so they could clean off before putting their pants back on.

When they dressed, Stanford grabbed his canteen and took a big swig of water before handing it over to Fiddleford. They both laid down next to each other, but neither was sure where to go next. They weren’t sure what they were at this point, but soon Stanford found himself inching closer to Fiddleford until he noticed Fiddleford was practically petrified.

“Fiddleford? Are you okay?” Stanford felt a twinge of guilt pull at his gut that he hadn’t noticed sooner.

Fiddleford shook his head rapidly, but he didn’t say anything.

Stanford met Fiddleford with sympathetic eyes before going to wrap his arms around him, but Fiddleford rolled away, putting his back to Stanford.

Stanford frowned, off put by Fiddleford’s reaction, but he was determined to help.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” He started to reach out a hand, but decided against it.

Fiddleford didn’t budge, but he did mumble quietly.

“I thought knowin’ you felt the same would fix everythin’.”

Stanford didn’t understand. He hadn’t noticed Fiddleford having any troubles before now.

“I just need some time. Good night, Stanford.”

Fiddleford finally got up from his place on the floor and moved his sleeping bag across the tent, practically against one wall before climbing in and shutting his eyes.

Stanford was heartbroken. He didn’t know what he could have possibly done wrong. Was it something he said? Or something he did? Fiddleford hadn’t exactly said how he felt before when he confessed. Maybe he just wanted physical intimacy and nothing more? Stanford’s heart ached as he stared, waiting for Fiddleford to turn around or say anything, but the only sound he heard from Fiddleford for the rest of the night was light snoring.

Chapter Text

The next morning was strange for both of them. They didn’t speak much, and Fiddleford was unusually distant. As they walked, Stanford stopped to record new species in his journal, but Fiddleford didn’t even stop with him. Stanford certainly didn’t ramble on about any of his favorite discoveries, let alone mention them, and when they reached another stopping point, a bit earlier than the day before, there was no music, just silence around a fire until Stanford braved the silence.

“Fiddleford, did I-”

Stanford shut him down as quickly as he started.

“I really don’t wanna talk ‘bout it.”

Stanford felt his chest tighten and his stomach felt queasy. He felt foolish for letting himself fall so completely. He could feel his heart breaking and his self confidence plummeting now that the only person he’d ever been so vulnerable with wouldn’t even look him in the eye. He wanted to scream at him, but he didn’t have the courage to do anything but hide. It was growing cold out and Stanford went to turn in, but Fiddleford didn’t move from his place near the fire.

As Stanford walked toward the tent, he just kept walking right past it into the forest. If Fiddleford wasn’t going to give him the time of day, then he didn’t want to think about that soiled old tent now, let alone sleep in it.

Before he knew it, he found himself in the birch field he first met Bill in, though the few remaining leaves were now shades of yellow and orange compared to the green of summer when they met. He found his mind wandering as he wondered what Bill might be up to despite just seeing him a few days ago. He thought back to Bill’s warnings about Fiddleford when he first invited him to town and suddenly he wished he’d listened more closely and wanted more than anything to seek the comfort of his muse.

Then suddenly, the world around him turned gray, as he felt his body fall asleep standing up and Bill appeared before him. His arms were out wide as he smiled wide with his eye.

“Long time, no see, Sixer!”

Stanford was shocked by his early return and unusually eager attitude, but he was utterly releived to see him.

“Hello, My Muse. It’s great to see you again so soon.”

Bill grew suspicious of Stanford's lack of his usual enthusiasm.

“Well, how’s progress been?” Bill floated close to Stanford, running one finger down Stanford’s jaw line.

Stanford looked away as his face turned pink.

“My sincerest apologies, My Muse. I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Fiddleford and I went camping to raise morale. So, we haven’t made much progress.”

Bill wanted to be mad, but he knew he wasn’t back so early to micromanage. Still, he knew something was off. His eyebrow became sharp as he tried to look intimidating while he rifled through Stanford’s thoughts. Luckily for Stanford, he’d already put his thoughts of last night away, but as the stray thoughts of Fiddleford started to pile up, Bill felt what could only be jealousy build up inside him.

“Why are you spending so much time with that loser anyway? He can’t possibly understand you. I’ve told you before I don’t think you should trust him. He’s probably just trying to get insider information and sell you out.”

Stanford sighed, his shoulders plummeting with his self esteem. Not only was he too much of a freak to be understood by the wider world, but now he may have lost his only friend in the universe because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. On top of it all, now he wondered if Fiddleford really did just plan to use him.

“Right as usual, My Muse. I really thought Fiddleford understood me because he didn’t treat me differently, but I guess he was just nice enough to not say it to my face all these years. You’d never do that to me, would you, My Muse? You’re always there for me, and yet I seek solace elsewhere, each time wondering why I’m so foolish to overlook the kindness you bestow upon me.”

Bill had preached the tale a million times, but this time hearing Stanford attest to the experience, Bill could almost feel his heart chain itself to Stanford’s.

“You know, Fordsy, I’ve been telling you that for years, but you’re only just now starting to get it. You know I don’t just make this stuff up. I have first hand experience.”

Stanford’s eyes grew wide as he hung on every word that Bill blessed him with.

“I know it’s shocking, but I don’t run a band of freaks for no reason. I was special too, but when you live in a world of people different from you, they see special as wrong. That is, until you show them all what you can really do.”

Stanford stared at him in awe, as if he saw him in a completely different light, and he was somehow even greater than Stanford knew he was before.

“So you really do understand… I can’t believe I never realized. My Muse, I’m terribly sorry I disregarded our project for this meaningless escapade. I’m completely to blame, and I-”

“Oh, Fordsy. You know I can’t stay mad at you. Now that you’ve learned your lesson, maybe you’ll finally understand that I’m more than just a god.”

Bill’s expression was devilish and more excited than he planned.

“You’re too kind to me, My Muse. But really, are you sure there’s nothing I can do to make it up to you?”

Bill floated close and gently ran his hand down Stanford’s cheek, turning his head for him as he floated higher.

“There is one thing, but it’s less of a punishment than it is a reward for learning your lesson. One of these days when I arrive in your world and everyone sees just exactly how great we are, I want us to rule your world together.”

“But, My Muse, I don’t deserve such a reward. I’m certain your graciousness to put up with my… physical condition is reward enough, albeit still quite undeserved.”

Bill moved his hand down to Stanford’s chin and grabbed hard, yanking him closer to him, catching Stanford off guard at the sudden severity.

“Oh, Sixer, for being so smart, you really are oblivious.”

Bill yanked Stanford closer, transforming his eye and pulling Stanford’s lips against his. Stanford’s eyes went wide, but he quickly gave in and returned the gesture until Bill suddenly backed away.

Bill lifted his hands in the air, removing Stanford’s shirt and pants instantly as bright blue chains appeared out of seemingly nowhere.

Stanford’s face turned bright red as he watched Bill toss aside his bowtie. Never in his life would he have dreamed he’d be propositioned twice in two days by two different people. He wasn’t sure whether this was because of some kind of karma or if it was his work-in-progress grand theory of weirdness at work, but either way, he was far from prepared.

“Bill, I-”

He was quickly interrupted as a chain clamped around his neck just above his tattoo, choking him as it pulled him into the air. He gasped for air as he tried to pull himself up and rid his airway of the pressure away.

“Bill!” He squeaked out as he panicked, hoping he wouldn’t choke to death, but soon Bill clamped two more chains around his ankles, pulling his lower half up so he was dangling horizontally in the air, taking the weight off neck and letting him gasp.

Once he caught his breath and the fear subsided, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with elation. He only hoped that this wasn’t another wellness visit. His apprehension left him. If Fiddleford was going to throw him out like garbage, then he’d do the same, but he didn’t want to give Bill any false pretenses.

“My Muse, I must confess that I-”

Bill silenced him as he floated above him and pressed a finger to his lips. He knew Stanford would ramble on about his missed work days forever if he didn’t shut him up now.

“I already know you’ve been misbehaving. That’s why I get to have fun with you, Fordsy.”

Bill grabbed the chain around Stanford’s neck and yanked it hard to pull Stanford’s lips into his. He quickly slithered his thick lizard-like tongue down Stanford’s throat, practically choking him.
Stanford was already throbbing with excitement as he violently pressed into the kiss, using his free hands to pull Bill as close as he could despite the slight burn he felt from Bill's force.

Bill approximated a smirk as he created extra arms and elongated them, wrapping them tight around Stanford’s limbs, digging into his skin, and pressing tight around his groin.

Stanford started to breathe heavily as he felt Bill’s hands wander all over his body, and his face turned bright red as he felt his hands wander beneath his boxers.

Bill squeezed tight, causing Stanford to yelp in pain before he loosened his grip and started to stroke him almost painfully slow.

Stanford shuddered with pleasure, running his hands around Bill’s body, searching for anything that might serve as genitals or erogenous zones. Bill continued to let his wants surround him as one one of Stanford’s hands wandered beneath him and found what felt like a fold of some kind. He massaged it with his fingers until he felt it start to soften and move.

“Is this what you want, My Muse?”

Bill’s voice thrummed at the feeling.

“Mmm, not so oblivious now are we?”

With Bill focusing so intently on every sensitive part of him, he knew he wouldn’t last long, but he was determined not to disappoint. He grabbed Bill with both hands and brought him up to his mouth, running his tongue across the fold. He felt Bill shudder as it opened up.

“Woah! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Bill yelled, pressing up close to Stanford’s mouth.
Stanford recoiled at the forcefulness, but quickly loosened up again. He tried to slip his tongue into the opening, but it was only a moment before a tentacle-like appendage forced its way into his mouth.

Stanford’s face burned hot at the feeling of the slick object in his mouth as he started to suck. The tentacle slid further down his throat, nearly gagging him, but he kept at it, rubbing his tongue up and down it as he listened to Bill moan loudly. He felt his throat burn as it grew.

Stanford winced as he felt several of Bill’s arms stroke him, and another reach around the other side of him and push inside of him. He moaned through his full mouth and reached around Bill to find another fold, pressing his fingers in.

“Oh, fuck, yes! More, Fordsy, more!”

The tentacle stretched further until Stanford couldn’t breathe. He started to pull away to gasp for air, but Bill pressed closer, using an extra arm to shove Stanford’s hand in further as he moaned louder.

Stanford could feel his lungs begging for air, but as Bill pressed in further and stroked his feverishly, he couldn’t take it anymore and released without being able to give a warning. It only took another moment, just as Stanford thought he would blackout from asphyxiation, for Bill to finally let out one last moan.

Stanford felt the tentacle bulge, ejecting one large clump before retracting all together.

Stanford quickly spit it out and gasped for air as Bill snuggled up close to him.

“Oh, Fordsy, you really know how to make a god feel special.”

Once Stanford caught his breath, he finally spoke.

“Can you put me down now?” Stanford had a humorous smirk as he spoke.

“If you insist,” Bill joked, snapping his fingers for the chains to disappear, dropping Stanford to the ground, nearly knocking the wind out of him again before Bill snuggled between Stanford’s right side and his arm.

There was a moment of silence and Stanford wasn’t quite sure what to say from there. He felt lighter than air and wanted nothing more than to show how he felt to Bill. He looked away sheepishly as he spoke.

“I’ve never seen anyone with your biology before. It was quite fascinating.”

Bill lifted his brow at the statement.

“Fascinating? Real romantic, Sixer.”

Stanford tensed. “I mean it in the most flattering sense. The retraction within the exoskeleton, the easily cleaned spermatophore. It was really intriguing. How many humans can say they’ve experienced something like that? I mean-”

Bill gave him a disappointed look. “You’re ruining it, Sixer.”

“Sorry! Sorry. It really was meant as a compliment.”

The silence returned and Stanford’s face grew red again as he was unsure of what to say, but when he snuggled closer, Bill shut his eye and nuzzled against him..

“So, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but was this just another wellness check or is this something else?”

Bill looked surprised, so much so that he floated up to be in front of Stanford’s face as he sat up.

“Oh course it’s not a wellness check. I thought we settled this last time. I was just playing along when I said that last time. You pledged yourself to me and it was final.”

Stanford wanted to be relieved, but as his heart slowed, he couldn’t stop the thoughts of Fiddleford from returning.

“You’re lookin’ awful guilty there, Sixer. Do I need to search that memory of yours or are ya gonna come clean?”

“My Muse, really it’s nothing to be upset about. I just didn’t realize it was all so final. You didn’t seem interested before, so…”

Bill’s whole body turned red.

“So you’re tellin’ me you found someone else? Who else?!”

Stanford recoiled at the sudden volume. He actually felt a little scared as Bill started to grow, towering over him.

“It’s not like that, Bill-”

I’m the only one who can appreciate you! No one else could possibly like a freak like you!”

Stanford’s face dropped instantly at the word ‘freak’. Bill quickly tried to control the damage.

“Fordsy, Sixer, you know we’re both special. No one here could possibly understand that. You’re mine now, Sixer. That collar around your neck says so, and I don’t share.”

Stanford was still caught off guard by Bill’s poor choice of words, but he couldn’t stay mad. He slowly approached Bill and pulled him down close before gently kissing him for a prolonged moment. When he backed away, he was left with a smile.

“I’ll see you when you get back, My Muse.”

Bill smirked. “See ya soon, Fordsy.”

When Bill disappeared, the color returned to the world around Stanford and he shivered from the sudden cold that overwhelmed his body.

He hurriedly tried to stand to make his way back to the tent, but his legs were numb. In the distance he could hear Fiddleford calling for him and the light from a flashlight blinked into his eyes for a moment.

“Stanford! I’m sorry! Please come back! Stanford!” His voice cracked as if he’d been in tears and his voice sounded like his throat was sore from yelling.

Stanford wanted to yell back, but his throat burned from the cold wind that had apparently been whipping at him for quite some time. He wondered how long he was really out for and if he should consider himself lucky he hadn’t already frozen to death over dream sex.

He tried again to get up, but his numb legs couldn’t take his weight. He readjusted so he could sit with his legs in front of him and try to warm them with his hands, but he could barely feel those either.

He could hear Fiddleford’s footsteps as they got closer, but he was still a ways away. Too far to see him. He heard Fiddleford’s sobs dissipating as he walked further away.

“Stanford! Oh please, God, tell me he’s okay.”

Stanford searched around him for something to throw when he finally found a smallish rock behind him that he hoped would be big enough to make enough sound. He reached for it and threw it in the general direction of Fiddleford’s voice.

The light flashed in his direction and grew closer, but it soon stopped and fell to the ground.

Stanford’s heart dropped into his stomach as he heard Fiddleford scream. He finally forced himself to stand, his legs just warmed up enough to function again as he stumbled toward the light.

Stanford heard Fiddleford’s voice again, but he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or more panicked.

“Oh my God! What have I done?!”

Fiddleford’s voice shook with distress that Stanford had never heard from him before. His shrill scream sent ice through Stanford’s veins.

“Jesus Christ! Stanford!”

There was a loud splash. Stanford felt his gut twist at the thought of Fiddleford drowning in the freezing water after searching for him for hours in the cold already.

He sprinted as hard as his frozen legs would carry him until he reached a river where he saw Fiddleford swimming frantically through it. Stanford readied himself to dive in after him, but Fiddleford spotted him first, his voice trembling as he tried to yell over the rushing river.

“Stanford? Stanford! Oh thank you, Lord! You’re alive!”

Fiddleford swam directly to him and climbed out of the river soaked to the bone and shivering. He was holding Stanford’s spare pair of glasses that had apparently fallen out of his pocket on his way to the birch forest.

“What in God’s name were ya thinkin’! I’ve been out here freezin’ tryin’ t’ find ya. I thought you were dead!”

Fiddleford grabbed Stanford by the hand to lead him back to the tent, but he flinched at how cold it was.

“You’ve really been out here this whole time, haven’t ya?”

Stanford tried to speak, but his voice was gone. Fiddleford seemed to understand, but he couldn’t help his shaking, both from his nerves and from the cold as he grabbed Stanford’s hand again. “Come on. Let’s get ya warm.”

When they arrived at the tent, Fiddleford dried off and changed into an extra change of clothes, and luckily, he brought enough socks to share an extra pair with Stanford to hopefully warm him quick enough that he didn’t lose any phalanges. He set Stanford up in a sleeping bag and wrapped him in every emergency blanket he brought with him, but being in the water had clearly affected Fiddleford as much as the prolonged cold did Stanford, to the point where Stanford wondered if they both might freeze to death in their sleep.

Stanford slipped out of the pile of blankets and pulled his jacket and shirt off.

Fiddleford looked angry and disturbed by the suggestion.

“What in God’s name do ya think your doin’, Stanford?!”

Stanford instantly grew frustrated by the miscommunication, but they both were well aware by now he couldn’t speak at the moment. Instead he just shot Fiddleford a stern look before trying to remove Fiddleford’s clothes too.

Fiddleford pushed him away and stepped back.

“Stanford! We’re both practically frozen t’ death an’ in a panic. I’m not gonna-“

Stanford let his anger show clearly and decided it was best to not give him the choice anymore. He fought off Fiddleford as he tried to push him back again and removed his clothes before he removed his own pants.

“Are you crazy?! Stanford, get off o’ me!”

Stanford was sick of Fiddleford assuming the worst at this point, but he would rather Fiddleford hate him than freeze to death. He pulled his sleeping bag up to them along with the blankets piled on top of them.

Fiddleford’s face quickly turned red with embarrassment as he caught sight of it and the realization set in.

“Oh. I’m so sorry, Stanford. I don’t know why I just assumed…”

Stanford didn’t even seem like he was listening as he slipped the bag around them, practically having to lay Fiddleford on top of him for them both to fit.

An awkward silence fell over the tent. Fiddleford wasn’t sure what to say, let alone where to put his hands to make this less awkward. Stanford was still busy pouting over how Fiddleford had treated him the night before and was trying his best to be emotionally distant as he was crammed up against him.

Finally Fiddleford’s jaw clenched in anger, and his shoulders tensed with worry.

“Stanford, I’m sorry I was cold t’ ya today. I was havin’ a hard time ‘cause I knew I shouldn’t’ve done what I did, not while I’m still with Em, but I didn’t even think ‘bout how I was hurtin’ you, an’ that was wrong too. I like ya, Stanford. I have f’r a real long time. I was so scared when I couldn’t find ya, an’ when I thought I found ya in the river, I- I felt like my life was over. I’ve still got some issues to work on, but if you’re willin’ t’ give me another chance, I reckon we can figure out the rest as we go. Can ya ever forgive me?”

Stanford’s heart felt like it was tearing in two. His chest ached and his stomach churned, but everything in him was screaming at him to say yes. He recalled how his stomach flipped in panic when he heard Fiddleford jump in the river, terrified he wouldn’t make it back out. Even now as they were pressed close to each other, his thoughts of Bill had been washed away all too quickly as he wanted nothing more than to feel someone’s touch in reality and more than anything did he want that someone to be Fiddleford now that he knew he wasn’t just being used.

He still couldn’t speak to give Fiddleford a real reply, but he stared longingly into Fiddleford’s icy blue eyes for a moment before snuggling as close to Fiddleford as he could, relishing the warmth it brought to his frozen limbs and taking in every second of Fiddleford’s touch as he caressed Stanford’s cheek. He felt some shame wash over him as he leaned into it. He felt like a lost dog begging for someone to pet him, but he knew if that were true, he’d have bitten the hand of anyone who wasn’t Fiddleford. Soon enough, Stanford could feel the same thrumming in his chest as he had before. He knew his heart was caught between them both.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I put ya through this. I only hope ya can trust me again someday.”

Fiddleford finally snuggled in close and shut his eyes as they both slowed their breathing and tried to get some rest.

Chapter Text

The next morning the two hiked back to the lab. Stanford’s throat was feeling a bit better despite the cold leaving his voice hoarse and raspy, but both Stanford and Fiddleford were wracked with guilt from their choices.

Regardless, the day went on without a hitch. They enjoyed each other’s company, returning to their usual rituals, but now with a stray glance here and there. When they returned, night had already begun to fall. Though they would usually go their separate ways to their bedrooms, Fiddleford shuffled his feet a bit before turning to talk with Stanford.

“So, I know we still don’t really know what this is, but uh, what would ya think about, I don’t know…”

Stanford laughed. “Sleeping in the same room?”

Fiddleford smiled with relief that Stanford was thinking the same thing. “Sorry. I’m just so nervous. I’ve never dated someone I’ve known f’r so long. ‘R, I mean had this sort o’ situation with, but then again, I s’pose I ain’t ever-”

Stanford interrupted his forced correction.

“Me neither.”

Fiddleford giggled a bit. “I didn’t think you’d dated before at all from what ya said the other night.”

Stanford crossed his arms in defense. “For your information, I’ve dated several people before! You don’t have to sleep with everyone you date.”

Fiddleford giggled again. “I know. I’m just teasin’ ya. Let’s just go lay down. It’s been a long couple o’ days an’ a real bed sounds mighty fine ‘bout now.”

Stanford brushed off the comment, as he looked away with unease. “So, your room then, huh?”

Fiddleford suddenly had the realization that both him and Stanford would have to stare at pictures of his wife and child all night if that were the case. Not to mention he knew he’d forgotten to put away the memory gun on his bedside table. His voice shook a bit as he spoke, trying to cover up the suggestion without spurring further questions.

“How ‘bout yours?”

Stanford smiled awkwardly.

“You know I sleep on a couch, right? You’re still welcome, but it won’t be a bed like you hoped for.”

Fiddleford’s face betrayed his bewilderment.

“Ya’ve been sleepin’ on a couch f’r the last six years?!”

Stanford’s face burned with embarrassment.

“Actually your bed used to be mine until you showed up. I called before I had another bed purchased and, well, I never used it much anyway between long work hours and falling asleep at my desk. I figured the couch would be good enough, and I didn’t see a point in getting another bed after that.”

Fiddleford looked at him with a mix of pity and appreciation in his eyes.

“Ya didn’t have t’ do that f’r me. I’m fine sleepin’ on the couch, but ya should definitely get a real bed f’r yourself.”

“Fine. If you insist, I will start looking at options for a new bed. Happy?”

Fiddleford had his doubts with Stanford’s way of phrasing, but he was too tired to keep nagging.

“Sure. Now let’s get some sleep.”

They made their way down the stairs in awkward silence, trying not to stand too close or too far apart. Stanford felt horribly self conscious that this was the first time Fiddleford was actually visiting his room.

Fiddleford couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the place. Books were scattered everywhere, including his journals. Clothes of varying degrees of cleanliness were strewn around the room. Various trinkets and artifacts he’d collected over the years were haphazardly placed around in a way that made it hard to tell if they were decorative or just yet to be moved into an archive.

“Apologies for the mess. As you can likely imagine, I don’t often have others down here.”

“Ya mean ever?”

Fiddleford laughed again, but Stanford suddenly faced a wall of guilt as he realized he couldn’t explain that Bill sometimes visited him there. Fiddleford frowned at Stanford’s worried face.

“Sorry. I was only kiddin’. It really don’t bother me none.”

“It’s fine. Make yourself comfortable… or as comfortable as you can I suppose.”

The awkward atmosphere hung over them as they laid down and struggled to get comfortable in the small space.

Fiddleford put one leg over Stanford, hoping that minimizing his space would make it easier to get comfortable, but the lab was already warm, and being pressed up against Stanford was making Fiddleford sweat, not to mention a bit bothered as his crotch rubbed up against Stanford’s thigh.

“Kinda warm in here, huh?” Fiddleford’s face was red as he removed his shirt.

He was expecting Stanford to agree, but he almost looked like he was shivering.

“Are you cold?” Fiddleford was shocked.

“Uh, yeah… Sorry, I’m used to using all those extra blankets.” He nodded in the direction of a chest full of flannel blankets and quilts.

Fiddleford blinked in astonishment.

“How on earth did you survive out there for that long?”

Stanford laughed.

“I can survive the cold, I just prefer to be warm.”

The two laid in silence for a moment, each of them taking turns squirming, trying to find a comfortable place.

Fiddleford was sweating profusely from Stanford’s warmth and felt like he couldn’t escape the uncomfortable feeling of Stanford’s clothes and the sheets sticking to him, but he held his tongue as he tried to maneuver away a bit, nearly pushing Stanford off the edge.

Stanford was still shivering, and desperately wanted to close the gap between them. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he also desperately wanted the same attentive touch as the night before, but he didn’t say a word either. He just crossed his arms around himself hoping to satiate both needs enough for him to sleep.

They laid for another awkward moment before something caught Fiddleford’s attention. He was staring at a small tapestry on the wall close to the ceiling.

“Where’d ya get that?”

Fiddleford desperately wanted to end the awkward silence.

Stanford lifted his head to see a small tapestry of Bill, luckily not facing the couch.

“It’s just an artifact. Something from a cave system I found a while back.”

Stanford was starting to sweat, and Fiddleford smirked.

“Looks like ya didn’t need those blankets after all… but isn’t that strange that you would find textiles in an old cave? An’ what an odd design… Kinda creepy, huh? Sorta feels like it’s starin’…”

Stanford awkwardly forced a laugh.

“Yeah, strange. That’s what this town is all about, right?”

Fiddleford turned to face Stanford and tried to analyze his face, unintentionally brushing his crotch against Stanford’s arm before he jolted back.

“I’m sorry if this is awkward. I didn’t realize this was gonna be so weird. I figured sleepin’ in the same bed again would be easy, but…”

Fiddleford trailed off as he saw another of the same tapestry on the other side of the wall.

“Is that another one?”

Stanford took a deep breath and rolled over, sitting up as he pulled Fiddleford beneath him. He straddled him and pressed his lips hard against Fiddleford’s.

Fiddleford’s eyes were wide with shock for a moment before he leaned, but he quickly backed away as another tapestry caught his eye.

“How many o’ those things ya got? They’re all over the place an’ they’re creepin’ me out.”

Fiddleford leaned to the side to see another tapestry and recoiled at the sight.

Stanford started to panic and violently pressed his lips against his again. Fiddleford tried to back away for a moment to assess the situation, but he quickly gave in as he felt Stanford’s hand caress above his belt. He reached for Stanford’s belt, practically ripping it off him before unzipping his pants.

Stanford finally got Fiddleford’s belt off and quickly pulled his pants off before removing his own. Fiddleford started to unbutton Stanford’s shirt, but he quickly pulled back and got to his knees, pushing Fiddleford up against the armrest. Fiddleford’s face turned bright red and he suddenly looked apprehensive.

Stanford paused.

“Is everything okay?”

Fiddleford took a couple of breaths.

“Yeah. This went just a might quick, but I’m alright. An’ I ain’t exactly used t’ bein’ on the other end o’ things.”

He smiled slightly, but Stanford was skeptical.

“Are you sure? I’m sorry I rushed it. Let’s just go back to trying to sleep.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I just needed a minute. I’m alright, promise.”

Fiddleford smiled. He loved how sweet Stanford could be even when he was getting a bit overzealous. It helped to put his guilty thoughts at ease.

Stanford sat up and backed away from him.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable. We-”

Fiddleford leaned up and grabbed the collar of Stanford’s shirt, pulling him into a deep kiss.

Their hearts were pounding as they locked eyes and Fiddleford laid back against the arm rest.

“Now fuck me like ya mean it, city boy.”

Fiddleford had a new smirk with his confidence boost.

Stanford’s face flushed red at the command, suddenly flustering him.

“O- Okay.”

Stanford flipped Fiddleford over, eager to please, both of them forgetting about the tapestries completely. He pulled out the bottle of lotion he kept under the couch and lathered his fingers.

“Is this okay?”

Fiddleford was already breathing hot and heavy with anticipation.

“Stanford, if ya don’t start puttin’ somethin’ somewhere, I’m gonna have t’ do this myself.”

Stanford nodded, placing one hand on Fiddleford’s hip as he pressed a finger in. Fiddleford shivered at the feeling.

“Hooh, you weren’t kiddin’ when ya said that was strange.”

Stanford pulled away.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Fiddleford was starting to get frustrated with his incessance. It was sweet, but it certainly wasn’t helping with the guilt that kept resurfacing. He didn’t want an out. He didn’t want a choice.

“Shug, I’ll tell ya when I want ya t’ stop. Now just get t’ the point already.”

Stanford was hesitant, but if that’s what Fiddleford wanted, he didn’t want to disappoint.

“If you say so.”

Stanford applied more lotion and pressed back in with two fingers, getting a moan in response. He stretched him until he could fit another, getting a shaky breath that seemed a bit pained. He was about to try to fit a fourth when Fiddleford winced and jerked a bit. With that, Stanford almost squeaked out his response.

“I know you said not to ask, but I think my hands are quite a bit bigger than yours. Do you… I mean… if you want things to fit I think you’re going to have to relax more.”

Fiddleford was again a bit annoyed at the interruption, but he knew Stanford was right. He was pent up with guilt and anticipation. He took a deep breath and tried to just focus on Stanford and the feeling of him now rubbing his back with his free hand. Finally, he could feel some tension leave as he recalled little moments of sharing coffee, laughing over breakfast at the diner, or even him absentmindedly cuddling against him as they shared a cot in the bunker. He was quickly drawn out of his reminiscing as Stanford fit a fourth finger in, causing a burn he wasn’t expecting to like so much that sent him thrusting his hips into the arm of the couch before settling back on Stanford’s hand. Stanford carefully spoke again.

“Do you want to try the fifth?”

Stanford’s face burned red at his own question. He hated even mentioning his hands most of the time, let alone in this context.

“Please.”

Stanford smiled at how much Fiddleford was enjoying himself.

“Then you’re really going to have to relax more.”

Fiddleford took a few more deep breaths and let his mind wander to more memories before his shoulders finally sunk. Then he suddenly tensed all at once as Stanford slipped the last finger, sending a jolt through him as Stanford finally reached his sweet spot.

“Hah- H-oh my lord. S’ that’s what that’s like.”

Stanford continued to curl and pump his fingers, sending waves of pleasure through Fiddleford, causing him to thrust against the arm rest again to get some sort of friction against his front half. Stanford pulled his hand out and lathered himself, placing both hands on Fiddleford’s hips to warn him before he finally pressed in with a moan that showed just how much anticipation he’d built up watching him.

Stanford was already breathing heavily with the sensation and he was trying hard to hold himself back and wait for Fiddleford to relax before pushing in more, but he was growing antsy as his body screamed for more stimulation.

“Relax. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Fiddleford could hear the near pain in Stanford’s voice as he choked back his breaths and tried to keep still even with his constant squirming.

Fiddleford took a few more breaths, trying to focus on releasing tension now that his mind was drawing a blank. The moment he managed to let some tension fall, Stanford pushed in further, nearly violently, sending echoing moans from them both. Fiddleford was thrusting against the couch again, only causing more difficulty for Stanford as he moved away from him.

Stanford finally wrapped his hand around Fiddleford and started slowly stroking him.

“Please hold still or at least work with me here.”

Fiddleford tried to listen, still thrusting a bit into Stanford’s hand as he stroked, but not nearly as much as before, finally giving Stanford the chance to start thrusting himself, sending a series of moans from them both when Fiddleford could feel himself start to lose it.

“Stanford… I can’t-”

Stanford moved his hand away from Fiddleford and focused more on his thrusts.

“I’m trying Fiddleford, but you won’t sit still and I just got-”

Fiddleford realized that he honestly hadn’t been paying attention to Stanford’s whining until now, and though he felt he’d burst any second now, he leaned forward against the couch arm to give Stanford better leverage. The change finally eked out a few hitches in Stanford’s breath.

“I’m sorry. Just a little bit longer, please.”

Stanford adjusted himself moving from resting on his feet to fully sitting up on his knees and using his full weight against Fiddleford, making it even harder for Fiddleford to control himself as he felt the thrum against his sweet spot.

“Stanford, I really don’t think I can wait-”

Stanford started to whimper as he desperately thrust himself closer to the edge.

“Please, Fiddleford, please, just a little longer. Please-”

Fiddleford practically screamed as he thrusted again against the couch, finishing in a violent burst. Stanford was still gasping for breath, desperately trying to get the friction he needed as Fiddleford came down from his high and started to squirm uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry, I can finish on my own if you're uncomfortable…”

Guilt rose back up in Fiddleford’s throat. Not only was he cheating on his wife, but now he was just taking for the sake of taking instead of helping him. Fiddleford finally started pushing his hips back to give Stanford more friction, sending his eyes rolling back as he hunched over Fiddleford.

“Just do what ya gotta do, Shug.”

It was almost as if Stanford were waiting for him to give him the go ahead before he frantically grabbed Fiddleford’s hips and grinded into them. Fiddleford was growing more uncomfortable by the second and starting to get overstimulated as Stanford sputtered some semblance of words.

“I’m so close. Where do you-”

Fiddleford rocked his hips back before Stanford could finish his question. He let out one last howling moan before he released and collapsed against Fiddleford with shaking spasms. Fiddleford cringed at the feeling of the hot liquid spilling through him. He didn’t want to upset Stanford again, but he suddenly felt soiled and trapped, wanting to throw Stanford off of him so he could hide from himself.

“I’m sorry. That couldn’t have been comfortable for you, and I’m sorry I grabbed you like that.”

As any remaining bliss waned from Fiddleford and his mind fully cleared, intense guilt overcame him and threatened to suffocate him as his chest squeezed and ached. He could hardly focus on what Stanford was saying.

Stanford finally noticed Fiddleford’s terrible expression when he leaned to the side to give Fiddlefore an apologetic look as worry and guilt overtook him. He pulled out and shuffled back to sit a few inches away as Fiddleford moved away from the couch arm.

“I’m so sorry, Fiddleford. I’ll never do that again, I promise. I’ll just be safe next time and finish on my own. I really didn’t mean to upset you. What can I do? Do you want to hug or cuddle or do you want me to leave?”

Stanford’s mind spun as his tongue rattled endlessly. Fiddleford finally snapped out of his spiral to hear Stanford’s words.

“You’re fine, Shug. It wasn’t you. I was focused on me an’ I didn’t help ya at all. Ya woulda been fine if I wasn’t so selfish. Ya don’t gotta do nothin’ else f’r me.”

As numb as Fiddleford seemed about the situation, Stanford was the dejected one. He knew Fiddleford cared about him if yesterday was anything to show for it, but getting the cold shoulder every time they slept together was bringing up his deep seeded insecurity.

“Fiddleford… Am I… bad at this?”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow in bewilderment at the question.

“Whaddya mean, Shug?”

Stanford looked away with a frown.

“Uh… well, you just seem like you haven’t… uh… I don’t mean it as a criticism, I just… you seem upset every time we… is it me? Is there something I can do to get better or something that you prefer? Am I doing something wrong?”

Fiddleford’s guilt only worsened. He knew this was his problem and yet he was making Stanford feel worse about himself.

“I’m sorry, Shug. It’s not you, I promise. I’ve just got my own junk I’m goin’ through.”

Stanford didn’t seem to believe him, especially not as Fiddleford grabbed a handful of tissues from the side table and unceremoniously cleaned up before scooching back to the arm and circling up to sleep. Stanford could feel tears threatening to spill over and anger well in his chest. He felt fooled again by Fiddleford’s sweet words, and not only had he unknowingly cheated on Bill once, but he did intentionally a second time. Stanford choked back a sob, trying not to let Fiddleford know he was upset, but he soon sat up and turned to face him.

“Stanford? Are you cryin’, Shug?”

He didn’t get a chance to respond before Fiddleford sat up and wrapped his arms around Stanford.

“Stanford, I’m sorry I hurt ya again. You were great, Shug. I had a good time. I promise I’ve just got my own things goin’ on.”

All of Stanford’s swirling thoughts of self hatred and anger seemed to disappear as he felt Fiddleford’s arms around him. He almost threw himself at Fiddleford as he returned the gesture. Fiddleford felt warmth fill his chest and a soft smile broke across his face as he started to rub circles in Stanford’s back. Stanford sighed a deep, shaky breath as he relaxed, only making Fiddleford smile more.

“Ya really do make me forget ‘bout everything else in the world.”

Stanford’s face burned red again at the compliment and his quiet laugh cracked through his fading tears.

“And you somehow seem to have me wrapped around your finger.”

For once Stanford actually looked like he could fall asleep at a decent time of night so Fiddleford laid down, pulling Stanford with him, and grabbed the blanket from the backrest before throwing it over them.

“I really should stay up a bit longer…”

Stanford’s eyes were already closing and Fiddleford wasn’t about to let him get up now. He just kept rubbing circles in his back as he watched Stanford drift to sleep. He hardly ever got to see Stanford sleep, but when he did, he loved just how peaceful and calm he was compared to his usual energy. Once Fiddleford could hear Stanford’s soft snores, he was lulled to sleep by Stanford’s arms gently dangling around his sides.

Chapter Text

The next morning Stanford awoke with a stretch, only remembering Fiddleford was next to him as he felt his head nuzzle into his chest.

Stanford breathed deep, taking in the smell of Fiddleford’s woody, leathery cologne.

Fiddleford giggled. Stanford hadn’t realized he was awake already and his face flushed pink at being caught.

“Are you smellin’ me?”

Stanford suddenly tensed.

“Not purposefully.”

Fiddleford giggled again before giving Stanford a gentle kiss and taking a deep breath.

“Pine. Very fitting. Good thing ya actually showered recently.”

Stanford shoved him and laughed before returning the peck and kissing down his neck.
Fiddleford rolled his tongue in a growl and casually started unbuttoning Stanford’s shirt he never managed to remove the night before. Stanford kept kissing Fiddleford’s neck and wandered to his chest before he heard Fiddleford speak up.

“Woah! I didn’t realize you had any tattoos.”

Fiddleford smirked and rubbed his hand across it, causing Stanford to wince.

“When did you get this? It’s still sore? Is that where you were the other night?”

Stanford had a guilty expression.

“Uh… yeah. I’m sorry about that by the way. I’ll admit I was a bit dramatic.”

Fiddleford laughed. He wanted to tease him, but he held his tongue.

“I’ve never seen those symbols before. Does it mean somethin’?”

Stanford looked away, blushing bright pink as he spoke, gazing lovingly at one of the many tapestries on his wall.

“It’s a very old language. I believe it translates to ‘Wise One’.”

Fiddleford laughed louder than he expected to, causing Stanford to jolt away in defense.

“Sorry, I just- ‘Wise One’? You really are full o’ yourself sometimes. Who else would get somethin’ so… What are ya lookin’ at? What is with those creepy things? I know they’re old and what not, but you should really take those freaky things down.”

Stanford almost seemed angered by the statement as he backed away more and put on a clear scowl.

“I thought it was cool… and those tapestries are depictions of a God. They’re incredibly important. I know you’re not as interested in the oddities of this town as I am, but I thought you’d at least appreciate the historic value of artifacts like this. I mean, things like this are the reason I invited you here in the first place.”

Fiddleford scowled at the sudden tone shift. He’d only meant to tease Stanford, but he was being downright rude to suggest anything further about him by such an offhandedly comment.

“I get that it’s history and this town is special and all o’ that, but that’s just some old piece of fabric. It’s just mythology. It’s not like you’re gonna offend him, and personally, I don’t care for the implication that ya wouldn’t want me ‘round if you’d moved to another town.”

Stanford was clearly growing agitated as he sat up and furrowed his brows.

“It’s not mythology. He’s a real god, and he’d be pissed if I took them down! And I didn’t say I didn’t want you around. I said that this town was why I reached out to you because that’s the truth.”

Fiddleford sat up and furrowed his brows in return.

“Stanford, I’ve seen plen’y o’ weird things ‘round here, but you’re not gonna convince me that some old artifacts means there’s a god that looks like a big ol’ triangle, and I don’t rightly care f’r your tone neither. If ya made the dang plans here, ya could o’ made those plans from anywhere in the world. Why are ya tryin’ t’ die on this hill?”

“And you’re not? Fiddleford, you just don’t understand. First of all, this is still my house and my room, so I should be able to keep whatever decor I choose, but secondly, this has been my life for years before you showed up. It’s important to me. I’m a scientist for Christ’s sake. I don’t just believe things without proof. I know what I’m talking about. I wouldn’t have made those plans if I was anywhere else, because he made those plans.”

Fiddleford slid out of bed and stood up, his face grave.

“Stanford, you’re treadin’ on thin ice. I need ya t’ think ‘bout what you’re sayin’ before ya say it ‘cause what you’re tellin’ me is ya lied when ya said you made those plans an’ when ya begged me t’ come work with ya. And you’re tellin’ me you’ve been talkin’ to some ancient god.”

Stanford clenched his jaw. He knew he was caught. He’d said too much, but he couldn’t back down now because he knew he was right.

“I don’t need to tread lightly. I knew you wouldn’t believe me. So yes, I lied. But I can’t just stand by and listen to you doubt all of this when I know it’s real.”

Fiddleford stared at Stanford for a moment with silent anger.

“Ya know what? I’m not mad ‘bout ya believin’ in this stuff. Ya can believe in whatever ya like, but I am mad that you’re lyin’ to me, either then or now, whichever, and I’m mad you’re talkin’ t’ me this way. And I’m even more mad that ya feel ya have t’ get this way just because ya think ya know somethin’ someone else doesn’t. So I’m gonna go downstairs and I’m gonna wait f’r an apology. I want this t’ work, Stanford, but I won’t be talked to that way. I’m already talked to that way back home. So ya can come get me when you’ve decided to have a civil conversation.”

Fiddleford grabbed his pants off the floor and calmly left Stanford alone.

Stanford slapped his hands over his eyes before growling in frustration.

“Woah there, Sixer. Get in a little disagreement with that buddy of yours?”

Stanford jumped at the sudden voice, grabbing his pants in a hurry and throwing them on.

“Bill! How long have you been there?” Stanford’s face desperately tried to hide his panic.

Bill snuggled up to Stanford’s shoulder.

“Just long enough to see him storm out of here. It’s for the best, Fordsy. He’s getting too close to you. You’re spoken for now and I don’t trust him. What if he tries something? I know he’s just desperate enough for it. You’re smart enough to get that portal running on your own. Why don’t you just tell him to leave? Maybe then I can just stay here all the time and I won’t have to wait until he leaves to show my face.”

Stanford smiled softly. It was almost humorous to think of Bill being jealous. To think, a god envying some hillbilly.

“You worry too much, My Muse. I’ll be fine. But since you’re here, why don’t we spend some time together. I don’t think I’ll be missed much here anyway.”

Stanford scowled in the direction of the door.

“I’m one step ahead of you, Fordsy!”

Bill snapped a chess board and two chairs into existence along with candles scattered around the room. Stanford laughed heartily.

“Sensual chess. You know me so well, My Muse.”

Stanford ran a finger down Bill’s front side before making his first move with a pawn.

Bill stared into Stanford’s eyes as he made his move. He tried to make it sultry, but it ended up coming off much creepier than intended, though Stanford didn’t really seem to mind. In fact, it made his heart race to know Bill was giving him so much thought and attention.

They continued to share glances as they moved their pieces, but as they progressed, Stanford started to lose focus on Bill and grow enthralled in the game.

“You’re doing a lot better than usual,” Stanford forced a laugh through his stress.

Bill smirked and growled his response.

“Just a bit feistier is all.”

Stanford wanted to enjoy the attention, but he was practically sweating as he analyzed the board and knew he was behind.

“You always get so serious about these games, Fordsy. You know you always win. I’d tell you to relax, but I think we both know that’s not gonna happen. Plus, I’d miss out on how cute you are when you focus like that.”

Stanford paid no mind to the praise for once as he took another move.

“Ha! I’ve got you now! Just ten more moves and you’ll be done for!”

He stood from his place at the board and pointed excitedly at Bill.

Bill felt his heart melt, and with just one look from Stanford’s determined eyes, Bill wanted to tell him everything.

“Do you know why I really chose you?”

Stanford’s smirk quickly faded with his confusion as he sat back down.

“You told me it was because I was special, that I was the only one who could complete this project.”

Bill softened his look.

“That’s right. You’re brilliant, but you’re different too, just like me.”

Stanford’s confusion lingered as he stared at Bill, wondering if he was just trying to get his attention after he focused so long on the game instead.

“Like how you’re brilliant, My Muse?”

Bill floated over to Stanford and put his small hands up to Stanford’s significantly larger ones.

“Like your hands, Sixer.”

Stanford shied away. He wanted to pull his hands away and tuck them behind his back, but he resisted.

“I know I told you I was special, but I guess I should tell you why… it’s my eye. I was the only one who could see into the third dimension. I knew of things they could never imagine with their flat brains. They called me crazy for seeing the stars that were just out of view for them. They tried to blind me.”

Stanford frowned and wrapped his hands around Bill’s.

“That must have been terribly hard for you. I always assumed you were praised and worshiped for your brilliance where you came from. I never imagined that they wouldn’t appreciate your gifts.”

Bill scoffed.

“Anyone would assume the same about you if they couldn’t see the context, but they’re fools. We’re advanced. If your universe was destroyed, I’d bet you’d be the sole survivor too.”

Stanford smiled wide.

“They are fools, because I think that eye of yours is gorgeous. You’re magnificent, Bill, and if they couldn’t see that then maybe they deserved what fate was brought to them.”

Bill froze for a moment, suddenly letting every long repressed emotion claw at his insides with guilt and sadness before Stanford pushed it all away with his justification.

Stanford wrapped his hands around Bill’s sides and pulled him close into a deep hug. Bill nestled into it for a moment, feeling the slow rise and fall of Stanford’s chest as he just existed. Bill finally regained his composure as he spoke.

“And that’s why you’re mine, Sixer. You deserve someone who understands you, who knows what it’s like to be better, who knows exactly what you’re thinking about, and who knows that you’d like to take another look beneath the exoskeleton.

Stanford’s face turned red, but he didn’t deny it. Bill had seen right through him again and he was more than embarrassed that he let his mind drift to such things when Bill was being so vulnerable with him. Bill, however, didn’t seem to mind at all.

Bill lunged forward, practically attacking Stanford’s face as he wrapped his arms around him and pressed his newly formed lips against Stanford’s, causing him to lose balance and backup until he bumped into something. He pulled away for a moment to look behind him, making sure whatever he landed on was suitable before smirking and leaning back.

Bill was shocked by the sudden fall, but quickly realized that Stanford had fallen back onto his couch.

Stanford raced to remove his clothes as he pulled away from Bill, laying bare before him awaiting Bill’s move with a sly smile.

Bill unzipped his exoskeleton, revealing the writhing mass of flesh, eyes, and teeth beneath.

Stanford felt himself grow at the sight, his whole body shivering with excitement as he stared at Bill’s form that he wondered if anyone else had ever been lucky enough to see.

Bill lunged at him again, surrounding him with his massive, barely solid form to the point where Stanford didn’t know up from down.

Bill pressed and stroked and pulsed and pumped, completely surrounding Stanford with sensations that he couldn’t place the origins of despite nearly yelling with moans from the stimulation. Almost instantly He could feel every orifice being filled with unknown parts of Bill’s body.

Stanford grasped and rubbed and thrust against anything he could find, unsure if it was doing anything for Bill until he heard garbled language he couldn’t understand. Soon Bill pumped harder, sending more of whatever surrounded Stanford through him and very quickly bringing them both to the edge.

“Oh, fuck! I can’t- I can’t keep-”

Bill continued his pace as Stanford felt teeth or claws or both scrape up against his skin.

“Oh, Bill! Fuck! Hah- It’s too much! I can’t!“

Stanford shook with pleasure as he released, and the mass surrounding him reseated back to fit within Bill’s exoskeleton, tossing a mound out of it before Bill zipped himself back up and collapsed beside Stanford.

“Woah…” Bill stared in disbelief, shaking as he caught his breath.

Stanford said nothing as he laid where Bill had left him on his couch, completely incapacitated and overstimulated in the aftermath.

Bill smiled with his eye and snuggled up between Stanford’s stomach and upper pelvis.

“Please… no more…” Stanford huffed out as he squirmed a bit.

Bill scooched up a bit, letting Stanford relax more. They laid together for what felt like forever. As they caught their breath, they clung to each other, spending wordless hours together as they just breathed. Finally, Stanford spoke up.

“I love you, My Muse. You’re incredible. You’re my everything. I only wish it could have lasted longer, but I guess that’s what you get when you jump in like that.”

Bill hesitated for a moment, never thinking he would say the words aloud.

“Love you.”

Stanford felt his whole body warm with the words as he held Bill close.

Bill gave him one last quick kiss before disappearing, leaving Stanford alone as he awoke.

Chapter Text

Despite spending most of his day in his dreams, Stanford got ready for an afternoon of work by showering and changing into fresh clothes.

As he headed up the stairs, he suddenly remembered why he hadn’t been interrupted by Fiddleford at all that day.

Guilt gnawed at him again. It dawned on him just how badly he handled the situation that morning, and for him to turn around and seek solace with someone else instead of facing his own overreaction made his stomach feel sick. He imagined himself with Fiddleford between the awkward disagreements they’d seemed to have all weekend and he knew he felt the same for him as he did for Bill moments ago.

He knew he would have to tell them. At least one of them, and it would end this whole charade. But the choice was tearing his insides apart. He stayed for a moment, thinking of what just happened, and what he could say, and who he should stay with. He finally took a deep breath and climbed up the steps. He practically pinned his hands to his back as he walked and prepared to face whatever lay awaiting him at the top.

As he walked up, he knew Fiddleford would be waiting at the sound of his footsteps, and sure enough, the moment he turned the corner he was face to face with him.

They stood in silence with unreadable expressions for a moment before Fiddleford spoke.

“Stanford… I’m sorry I overreacted. I think I was just lookin’ f’r a way to make myself feel better ‘bout all o’ this. I’ve been thinkin’ a lot and it’s just made me a bit unnerved is all. We were doin’ so well before I screwed it up again. Do ya still even wanna do this? I feel like I just keep startin’ problems an’ I don’t want ya t’ have t’ put up with that.

Stanford felt guilt tug at his stomach. How could this even be happening? It didn’t even feel real as he bounced between the two, trying to squeeze the other out of his mind as soon as he swapped partners out of any semblance of respect he had, but also not to be caught by Bill reading his thoughts.

The ache in Stanford’s chest was unbearable as he spoke.

“I’m sorry I got so upset too. I hope you can forgive me for the things I’ve done.”

Fiddleford was thrown a bit by how grave his statement sounded over a little disagreement, but then again, Stanford always did have a flair for dramatics.

Fiddleford came close and wrapped an arm around Stanford’s back and the other around his head, pulling him in for a gentle kiss.

Stanford practically melted at the sensation, wanting nothing more than to be in his favor again. He tilted his head and deepened their kiss before thoughts of Bill popped into his mind. Stanford jolted away, sending a wave of concern over Fiddleford.

“Fiddleford, I-”

Fiddleford interrupted him.

“Ya don’t gotta say nothin’ if ya don’t wanna. Us bein’ together has been great, but we keep ruinin’ things by overthinkin’ an’ talkin’ too much. I can’t stand fightin’ with ya. Before all this we had so much fun an’ I just want us t’ have both.”

Stanford gently put his hands on Fiddleford’s shoulders as he pushed Bill out of his thoughts.

“Then let’s do both. Let’s just take the evening off like we planned. We’re going to figure this out.”

Stanford gulped down his guilt at his words. He didn’t have it in him to break his heart when he was already so distraught.

Fiddleford smiled softly.

“Alright. What did you have in mind?”

Stanford shuffled his feet a bit, wracking his brain for ideas. Fiddleford had put up with his expedition before and had come up with the lake idea just for him, so what could they do now that was actually for Fiddleford?

Stanford smiled and stood up straight as the idea came to him.

“You used to like dancing back in college. Maybe we could…”

“That sounds wonderful!”

Fiddleford’s eyes practically sparkled with excitement as he gave Stanford another quick peck.

“I’ll meet ya out front.”

Fiddleford let his hands linger on Stanford as he walked away before finally letting go to head to his room.

The moment Stanford saw the door close, he began to panic. This was spinning further and further out of control, and with it, his nerves fried and his mind, his gut, and his heart ached as they tore. He felt sick, but he’d sunk so much into it that he knew action would sever his ties to either or both of them completely. He knew there was no turning back if he wanted to salvage any of it. The thought of losing either of them felt like a lethal stab to his lonely heart. He thought back to his years alone and wondered if he could even bear returning to those days. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself before putting the thoughts away and focusing on the night.

Later that evening, Stanford waited by the car for Fiddleford, his hands buried in his jacket pockets as he watched the fog of his breath rise in front of him.

Finally Fiddleford stepped out in his favorite green shirt and bell bottoms. Stanford had seen him in that outfit a million times before, but something about the cool fall air turning his cheeks rosy and the excitement in his step made Stanford feel like this was the first time he’d ever seen it, and he was stunning.

The two shared a silent smile as Fiddleford walked up to his old teal beetle. While Stanford was expecting him to walk right past him and get in, Fiddleford put a hand against Stanford’s shoulder and one against his waist, pushing him back until he was pinned up against the car.

Stanford’s face turned bright red and Fiddleford gazed into his eyes with a half-lidded stare.
Fiddleford gently pressed his lips against Stanford’s, breathing slowly as he pressed himself against Stanford, moving his hand from Stanford’s waist to grab his hand.

Stanford kissed back and grabbed Fiddleford’s hand in turn, running his fingers up and down Fiddleford’s arm. He ran his thumb absentmindedly over Fiddleford’s fingers for a moment until he flinched.

Stanford wasn’t sure what he’d done to cause the reaction, but quickly discovered a small groove in Fiddleford’s finger, leaving Stanford to wonder how long he’d gone without noticing Fiddleford wasn’t wearing his wedding band.

They stayed there for what felt like eternity, locked together with shut eyes and not a care in the world, until Fiddleford pulled away just far enough so Stanford could still feel his warm breath against him, his forehead still pressed against his and their eyes still shut. He practically whispered the words.

“I love you, Em.”

Their hearts sank and their eyes flew open in panic.

Stanford’s shoulders raised instinctually in panic as he tried to back away, but was trapped between Fiddleford and the car.

Fiddleford pulled his hands away and took a step back, keeping his hands in the air in hopes to signal to Stanford not to go.

Neither was sure what to do and they stood like deer in headlights.

Fiddleford started to stammer, hoping speaking wouldn’t be another mistake.

“S-Stanford, I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean-“

His eyes darted rapidly as he searched for the right words, but he continued without finding them.

“It’s just… it’s our anniversary, and I-“

Stanford’s eyes looked wild with panic and anger as he shook and spoke in disbelief.

“Why?! Why would you agree to go out on your wife’s anniversary?!”

Fiddleford covered his eyes with his hands in shame.

“I don’t know, Stanford. I’m doin’ somethin’ terrible here and it’s rippin’ me t’ shreds. I can’t justify it. There’s no good reason for me t’ not just make up my mind and stop all this, but I just can’t. I never thought I could be that type o’ person ‘til I was and now I know I was never good t’ begin with. This is wrong, but I just can’t help myself… you don’t deserve this either. All you’ve done is be loyal and kind to me while I’ve been tryin’ to fix myself. I don’t deserve a saint like you, Stanford.”

Stanford could feel the words crack at his facade. A saint. Yeah, right. Fiddleford had unwittingly thrown a stone at his glass house, and Stanford could feel it on the verge of shattering along with his nerves.

Fiddleford continued, unsure of what Stanford could even be thinking as he stood in a blank stare.

“I know ya knew what I was doin’ from the start, but that doesn’t excuse my actions, and I know that I don’t deserve t’ be standin’ here beggin’ f’r your forgiveness over an’ over again. I understand if-“

Fiddleford’s voice was cracking and tears started running down his face, but he quickly choked them back and wiped his face.

“I certainly don’t deserve t’ be cryin’ over this. I understand if you-“

Stanford shook violently. The guilt in his chest threatened to kill in one explosive burst. He couldn’t take it any longer. He couldn’t let Fiddleford spill his heart to him and not know he was just as in the wrong. He shut his eyes tight as he practically yelled over him.

“I’ve been seeing someone else!”

Fiddleford dropped his hands away from his face as he finally let his tears roll. He stood unmoving for a moment before he spoke.

“You’re kiddin’… you’ve got t’ be…”

Fiddleford shook and gulped through sporadic uncontrollable sobs.

The guilt threatened to rip Stanford’s guts completely out.

“I didn’t mean to let it get this out of control. It’s like you said, I didn’t think it was possible until I was in too deep and-“

Fiddleford clenched his jaw, his chest rising and falling with staggered breaths of rage.

“You knew I was with Em! You signed up f’r this mess, Stanford! I didn’t! I risked my family on you when you were just playin’ around? Who even is this other person?! I certainly ain’t seen nobody else ‘round here!”

Stanford gulped. He knew this could only end badly.

“His name is Bill.”

Fiddleford covered his face with his hands again as he listened. It tore at his heart like he was being eaten alive.

“And I don’t even know how to say this, but he’s the god… from the tapestries in my room…” he looked down at the ground in shame, bracing himself for whatever reaction could follow.

Fiddleford started to laugh, but his face still shone with rage.

“So y’r crazy. That’s what this all comes down to? You’re having’ crazy weird thoughts about a fuckin’ picture ya saw in a cave when ya were livin’ in crazy town on your own for six years!”

Stanford could feel his anger getting the best of him. He never took insults well, but he’d never been able to defend himself before. He grabbed Fiddleford’s shoulders hard.

“I’m telling you he’s real. I’m not crazy, but if he finds out about us-“

“Get your hands off me!” Fiddleford shoved him away violently, unintentionally scratching one of Stanford’s hands. He looked disgusted at him, sending what felt like a lightning strike of disgust and self hatred through Stanford.

“So you’ve been lyin’ t’ your imagination. Big deal. Do ya think this is funny, Stanford? ‘Cause it ain’t. I’m pourin’ my heart out here an’ you’re goin’ on ‘bout some fantasy!”

Stanford pulled his scratched hand to his chest and took a step back away from him, but as if on cue, the world around them turned gray.

Stanford cowered as he heard Bill’s voice while Fiddleford spun around in panic, trying to find where the voice was coming from before Bill appeared between them.

“How long did you think you could hide this from me, Sixer?”

Bill seemed eerily calm as he approached Stanford, but Stanford couldn’t keep his teeth from chattering in fear of what he’d done.

“I-I- Bill, I’m-“

Bill narrowed his eye.

“With a human. A mortal! I told you that you didn’t need him here! I should have known this is why you were so defensive! I gave you everything! I told you everything! I even left your mind alone when I thought we had an understanding! He has nothing on me! He’s just a human! Some hick who could never understand what you’ve been through! You’re supposed to be mine!”

Stanford’s fear dissipated as he noticed something on Bill’s hand as tears rolled from his eye.

Stanford’s eye twitched as he spoke through gritted teeth.

“Is that a ring?”

Bill grew in anger, his body glowing red as he rolled his eye.

“Of course you’re gonna turn this around on me. You’re the one wearing my collar, not the other way around. You said you were mine and you didn’t even have the decency to congratulate me on my engagement.”

Stanford’s heart shattered as he stared dumbfounded.

“If it makes you feel better, she doesn’t know about you either. She offered me this as a sign of her devotion. Quaint, really. Reminds me of another gesture that was made a while ago. You know, until the end of time?”

Stanford shook.

“So you don’t even care how much this hurts? You’ve been hiding this for fun?!”

Bill's whole body glowed brighter as he got within an inch of Stanford’s face.

“You’ve kept secrets too, Sixer. I didn’t pledge a thing to you! You think you’re better than me because you broke your promise?”

“At least I felt bad about it! I’ve been tearing myself apart! I loved you! Did you feel anything at all or were you just toying with me when you said it back?!”

Bill backed away a few inches.

“Of course. That’s why I’m making you one last deal to earn my favor again. He is out of the picture forever, and you stay with me for eternity, your betrayal completely forgiven.”

He put out one flaming hand, hoping Stanford wouldn’t see the desperation in his eye.

“And you stay with her too, right?”

Stanford looked away like a kicked puppy.

Bill turned red again.

“Why do you have to make this so hard, Sixer?! We’ll all take over the world together anyway when the portal is built! Who cares if I’ve got a few top worshippers?!”

Stanford’s face turned to horror as he repeated Bill’s words.

“We’ll all take over… You said it would just be you! And we would explore the multiverse, and we’d show everyone how great we can be!”

Bill was growing desperate as Stanford stood his ground.

“Look, I knew you wouldn’t be a fan of the taking over the world idea yet, so I lied. Big whoop, once we showed you how awful your world is, you would have come around to it anyway. Don’t you want to see the world burn? Don’t you want to see that family of yours punished for what they put you through? You’d never have to think of that hick ever again if he was crushed to death!”

Stanford was petrified. His legs shook, bordering on collapse as everything Stanford thought he knew came crashing down around him.

“You’re a monster… I trusted you.”

Bill grew as large as the lab behind him, glowing red with rage as he lifted Stanford into the air with the wave of his hand.
.
“Listen, Fordsy, I’m done playin’ nice guy! You’re going to build that portal and you’re going to be mine. I could rip you to shreds right now if I wanted to. I can change your thoughts, make you forget who you are, where you came from, or that you ever had feelings for that wretched hick! You’re going to regret this, Sixer! I will have you and I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way. If I have to haunt your mind for all eternity and break you down piece by piece, I won’t hesitate! Got it, Sixer?!”

Bill started to pull Stanford apart. He felt his bones on the verge of splintering, his muscles already beginning to tear, his joints being ripped from their sockets, his very matter being forced apart.

Stanford let out a blood-curdling yell of pain and agony before Bill dropped him. He landed on the ground with a sickening thud and a crunch that left him in a pitiful unmoving pile.

Fiddleford gasped and covered his mouth in horror. He wanted to run to him, but he was frozen in fear.

“This isn’t over, IQ. If you think that hurt? Just wait until I gain my physical form and you’ll really feel pain.”

Bill’s voice echoed as he disappeared and color returned to their world.

Fiddleford trembled as he ran over to Stanford and dropped to his knees next to him.

“Stanford! Where are you hurt? I- I heard a snap. Please tell me you’re alive.”

Stanford finally started to move, but only as he violently shook from pain and fear before he spoke in a strained voice.

“It’s not real. It was a dream. I’m fine. He just knows how to manipulate the mind into feeling pain from injuries that aren’t there.”

He winced as he tried to sit up, but he fell back down. His teeth nearly squeaked as he clenched them together.

Fiddleford was in a panic.

“Ya don’t look fine t’ me. What do we do? I don’t know if I can carry ya that far.”

Stanford couldn’t meet his eyes as he spoke. Every time he moved, he wanted to scream in agony as his mind tried to convince him every bone in his body was broken. He took in sharp breaths between his words as the pain seared through him.

“Just leave me here. I’ll move eventually. This is my problem to fix…”

Fiddleford just stared in pity at him. He looked so small crumpled up under that big coat of his. Even after all the heartbreak, he wanted nothing more than to scoop him up and nurse him back to health, to protect the soul he’d come to love. Despite it all, he knew Stanford would have done that for him if things were reversed.

“How am I even supposed to be mad at you? You’re dealin’ with crazy serial killer type shit while I’m just nursin’ a sore heart.”

Stanford shuddered, the wounds of his broken relationships still all too fresh on top of the physical pain.

“You should be mad. My side of this doesn’t matter and yet he’s probably going to hunt you down just the same. You didn’t ask for this. I was wrong. You should leave town. Pack your things and drive back to California before he has a chance to see where you’ve gone.”

Fiddleford inched closer to Stanford.

“I’m not goin’ nowhere. I’m still hurt ya didn’t tell me, but I certainly can’t blame ya f’r havin’ a torn heart. Ya can’t face him alone, and I don’t think I could live with myself if I knew somethin’ happened to ya because I didn’t stick around. Now let’s get you inside.”

Fiddleford reached down and tried to lift Stanford enough to carry him. Stanford was mortified at the situation, but he couldn’t stop from screaming in agony just from being touched as he felt every part of his body screeching that something was wrong and he was deathly injured. Tears poured involuntarily and Stanford wanted nothing more than for this to just end.

Fiddleford finally barely lifted him in the air and struggled to carry him even just a few feet from the driveway to the front door. His writhing wasn’t making things any easier and his now sore throated screams were unbearable to listen to. Fiddleford knew that technically Stanford wasn’t injured, but the thought of him being in this much pain made his stomach churn, especially when he knew it was his touch that was hurting him so badly. Tears started to graze his cheeks as he watched Stanford practically claw into his own head with his nails.

“Oh, Stanford.” He held back a sob as his voice cracked. “I’m so sorry you’re hurtin’ like this…”

Fiddleford used every bit of strength he had to climb down the stairs with him and lay him down on his couch. Stanford’s scream echoed through the room as he landed on the couch heavier than Fiddleford planned for him to. He was a complete wreck and soon his screams failed as his voice gave way, leaving him with nothing left but to whimper in agony as he tried not to move.

Fiddleford couldn’t stand to watch him anymore. He made his way around the room, tearing the tapestries off the wall and throwing them in a pile in the corner. He thought it might help, but he still found himself pacing watching Stanford’s silent screams when he finally remembered they kept an emergency opioid tablet in one of their more extreme field kits.

He ran back up the stairs and dug through their supplies until he found the little tablet packs, bringing one back down the stairs with him after retrieving a bottle of water.

When he returned, Stanford was staring at the stairs with pleading eyes that felt like they shot straight through Fiddleford. Fiddleford brought over the tablet and water before he tossed the pill in Stanford’s mouth and held the water bottle up for him to drink.

Fiddleford just sat on the floor and waited for the medicine to eventually kick in. Soon enough, Stanford had stopped his screaming and laid looking half-dead on the couch as if he were fighting off the sleep the medicine was bringing to him.

“Just sleep, Stanford. We’ll talk more in the morning’ if’n ya feel better by then.”

Fiddleford sighed before standing up to leave. He turned back once to see those pleading eyes again, begging him not to leave, when Fiddleford turned back around and marched up the steps, leaving Stanford alone in his room.

It was still somewhat early in the evening when Fiddleford laid down for the night. He was exhausted and his mind twisted with questions. He suddenly wondered why he was even here anymore. They clearly wouldn’t be finishing their project now, he was beyond angry at Stanford, and he was drowning in so much guilt he thought it would be easier to just run away completely. He glanced over at the memory gun on his table, but he shut his eyes tight and tried to push it out of his thoughts, setting the gun down in the table drawer. He tried to work on his laptop, but the phone kept ringing. He knew he’d regret it later, but he was in no mood to talk with Emma-May. In between rings, he pulled the phone off the hook so he wouldn’t have to listen to the ring anymore.

Chapter Text

Fiddleford had finally calmed himself down enough to sleep in the late hours of the night, but he wasn’t asleep for long as he heard a crash from somewhere in the house. He almost brushed it off and laid back down, but then there were a few more thuds before another crash. His chest tightened as he scurried out of bed and peaked out the door.

“Stanford? Is that you?”

There was no answer.

Fiddleford grabbed his banjo, holding it over his shoulder like a bat, and made his way out of his room toward the kitchen.

There was another loud slam that sent a shiver down his spine. Fiddleford peaked around the corner and saw Stanford surrounded by broken glass and utensils scattered around the room. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Stanford, why didn’t ya answer me when I-”

Suddenly Stanford’s expression turned to a snarl as he darted toward Fiddleford and swung a knife toward his head. Fiddleford screamed, ducking to dodge the swing.

“What the hell are ya doin’!?”

Fiddleford stumbled as he ducked, falling to his knees when Stanford swung at him again. He tried to hop up from the ground in another dodge, but he was a bit too slow, taking a blow to the cheek, sending blood pooling down his face. He instinctively pressed his palm to the cut, smearing the blood across his face, and coating his hand.

He turned to face Stanford again before he noticed something was wrong. The beady eyes, the wide, crazed smile, and the way he held his limbs. This was clearly not Stanford.

Fiddleford wound up and swung his banjo at Stanford’s head as he tried for another swing of the knife. The banjo hit straight on, knocking him to the floor. He was clearly dazed, but he was still swinging before Fiddleford slammed his foot down on Stanford’s wrist with a sickening crunch before ripping the knife from his grasp. Fiddleford stumbled away, hoping this was finally over, but Stanford stood and wrapped his hands tight around Fiddleford’s neck.

Fiddleford gasped for air, feeling the pressure of Stanford’s large hands crushing against his windpipe before he stabbed the knife into Stanford’s side.

Fiddleford watched as the yellow tone faded from Stanford’s eyes, replaced by his usual bold brown before he collapsed on the ground.

“Oh God! Stanford! Shit! What do I do?!”

Fiddleford bent down and tried to lift him, but he quickly realized he was far too out of shape to lift him again with his sore muscles shaking and collapsing at the attempt. He grabbed Stanford’s shoulders instead and managed to drag him.

“Stanford! I really need ya t’ wake up, Hon. Please wake up!”

Fiddleford continued to talk to him as he dragged him out the front door and tried to lift him into his car.

“Stanford! Please! Ya gotta wake up! You're too heavy! I can’t lift ya! We gotta get to a hospital!”

Fiddleford knew he was taking too long lifting him bit by bit to get him in the car. He looked back toward the lab as he desperately tried to think before he realized how much blood had trailed across the ground and how much blood he was covered in.

“Shit! Stanford, come on! Wake up! Please!”

Fiddleford ran to the other side of the car and climbed in, trying to lift Stanford into the car. Finally he managed to pull him in, running around the car and slamming doors shut before he started the car and practically floored it.

“Stanford! I really need ya t’ wake up, Shug, please!”

“F…Fidd…?”

Fiddleford felt a twinge of relief as he heard Stanford’s voice, but he kept flying down the road.

“Oh, Stanford. I’m so sorry. Just keep talkin’, will ya?”

Stanford’s eyes were barely open.

“Where… am I?”

Fiddleford wracked his brain for where he’d seen the hospital.

“Uh, you’re in my car, Shug.”

“Oka…so tired…”

Fiddleford could feel his mind blanking as he tried to keep the wheel steady, his eyes darting around the road as trees flew past.

“No. No no no no! Shug, stay with me. You’ve gotta stay awake. Talk t’ me! Uh, tell me about Jersey!”

“Am I dying?”

Fiddleford was practically laying on the steering wheel as if to will the car to drive faster.

“Don’t say that. Just tell me ‘bout Jersey, Hon.”

“Stanley…”

Fiddleford was growing frustrated. He knew he had to keep both of their minds straight if they were going to be okay.

“No, Shug, you’re Stanford. Now talk t’ me.”

Stanford seemed like he was getting angry despite his state.

“No. Tell Stanley… I’m sorry.”

“Shug, you’re talkin’ nonsense I don’t know who that is. We’re almost there, just hang on.”

“Call… Lee! Mom knows… Lee…”

Stanford’s eyes started to close again.

“Damnit, Stanford! Stay awake!”

Suddenly his eyes flew open, but they were the same sickening yellow from before. His new eyes darted around the car before spotting some rope next to Fiddleford's prototype cell phone. His eyes betrayed his shock at how slow he was moving from the knife wedged in his side, but he was able to reach down and grab the rope before swinging it around Fiddleford’s neck and pulling back with all his force.

Fiddleford gasped, desperately grasping at the rope, trying to pull it away from him, letting go of the wheel instinctually. Though he wasn’t strong enough to counter Stanford’s body weight, he soon felt the pressure lift as Stanford moved away from Fiddleford and threw his hands in front of his face.

Then the car suddenly jolted as it slammed directly into a tree.

Fiddleford felt the wind knock out of him as his chest slammed into the steering wheel, sending the horn to continuously droll over the sound of glass shattering as Stanford was launched out of the front windshield, his head directly slamming into the tree before he hit the ground.

The loud cacophony of sounds suddenly quieted to silence as Fiddleford regained his breath, but he could still hear the sounds echoing in his mind around the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears as he stared disbelieving at Stanford’s unmoving body covered in blood.

Fiddleford tried to scurry out of the car, but his heart sank when he couldn’t move his legs before he looked down and noticed he was only pinned. He managed to wriggle his legs out to the side before climbing out of the car and kneeling down over Stanford, shaking him desperately, but he didn’t move. His panic only grew as he racked his brain for what to do. He wanted nothing more than to shut his eyes and forget about all of it, but he knew Stanford was completely reliant on him now.

He lifted Stanford’s shoulder’s again, and flipped him over before dragging him back to the car and loading him in like before. He winced as he caught a glimpse of the knife that was pushed in further from his landing and he felt sick to his stomach seeing the amount of blood that now leaked from his head into his face and down his back. He knew the car wouldn’t start from the look of the mangled front end, but the hospital couldn’t be far now. He put the car in neutral and pushed it back onto the road before running around back and pushing the car with as much energy as he had left. It wasn’t long before they finally broke the tree line and spotted the hospital. Fiddleford mustered the last of his energy and adrenaline to push the car up to the lot and drag Stanford inside.

The next thing he knew, Fiddleford was left in the hospital waiting room, awaiting any news, still drenched in Stanford’s blood. His mind was reeling with the whole event as he tried to remember what Stanford told him in the car. He sighed a shaking breath before leaving the waiting room.

He headed outside to his car and picked up the cell phone he made himself, and one phone call with information later, and he was on the edge of his seat as the phone rang.

“Caryn Pines, Psychic. How can I help ya today?”

Fiddleford was a bit off put at first. Stanford told him his mother was a stay at home mom, but he certainly seemed like the type to be embarrassed by his family. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“Mrs. Pines. My name’s Fiddleford McGucket. I’m your son’s business partner. He’s in the hospital. I don’t know how he is yet but-”

He heard a gasp that bordered on a sob from the other end of the phone.

“My poor baby, what happened?!”

Fiddleford knew he couldn’t give her the whole story, but he didn’t know how much would be enough for her to not ask questions.

“Uh, he fell on a knife in the kitchen-“

“A knife?! What was he thinking? Is he gonna be alright?”

“Well, I don’t know. When I was takin’ ‘im in, a deer ran out in front of us an’-“

“Oh my God. My poor Stanford. I’ll get a flight right away. Thank you for calling.”

“Wait. Before ya go. He asked me t’ call someone named Lee, but I don’t know who that is ‘r have a phone number ‘r anythin’.”

The line went silent for a moment before she spoke up again.

“This is important, so I’ll give ya the number, but after ya call, forget ya ever heard it. Capisce?”

“Got it. Totally understand.”

Fiddleford swallowed the knot forming in his throat as he repeated the number in his head.

“Thank you, Mrs. Pines. Travel safely. I’ll see ya when ya get here.”

“Of course, and thank you for taking care of my boy. Now I’ve got a flight to catch.”

When the line closed, Fiddleford frantically dialed the number she told him.

After a few rings, the line picked up, but it was silent.

“H-Hello? Is this Lee?” Fiddleford could hardly breathe. He wasn’t sure what to expect from the hushed way she spoke about this, and from how vague Stanford had been.

“Who’s askin’?” A gruff voice came through the phone, only increasing Fiddleford’s anxiety.

“F-Fiddleford… McGucket.”

“I don’t know ya. Don’t call back.”

“Wait!” Fiddleford was relieved at the silence that followed instead of the tone of a dead line.

“I’m partners with Stanford. He asked me t’ call ya. He’s in the hospital.”

“What?! What happened!?”

Fiddleford was surprised at how panicked he sounded compared to his tough sounding portrayal moments ago.

“He was stabbed, an’ we were in an accident. I don’t know how he’s doin’ yet-”

“Where is he?” The voice sounded deadly serious.

“Uh… Gravity Falls, Oregon.”

“Oregon?! Son of a bitch. That’ll take forever. Shit. I’ll just have to punch it and piss in a bottle.”

Fiddleford was at a loss for words. He didn’t have a clue what was happening or if he should be disturbed by this man’s demeanor, but more than anything, he found himself upset that Stanford never mentioned someone he was so close to that he would drive across country to see him and suddenly he found himself filled with jealousy.

“D’ ya mind if I ask who ya are? Stanford only gave me your name, but-“

“Look, I gotta go, but I’ll be there!”

He suddenly hung up and Fiddleford was left in the silence of his wrecked car. He sighed deeply as he walked back inside. Now not only was he worried about whether Stanford was even alive, but he was also swarming with worry that Bill may not have been the only other person he was seeing. He walked up to the front desk trying not to think about it.

“Is there any word on how he’s doing?”

He’d already asked the question a million times, and he could tell the staff was growing tired of his fretting.

“Nothing yet, now please take a seat.”

Fiddleford sulked away, his head plopping into the palms of his hands with a groan, but within moments he heard footsteps approaching. He lifted his head, and was met by two police officers.

“Sir, would you be willing to answer a few questions?”

Shock filled Fiddleford’s eyes as he realized his clothes were still covered in Stanford’s blood.

“Uh… I guess so.”

The officers stood with a blank expression.

“Can you tell us what happened tonight between you and a ‘Stanford Pines’?”

Fiddleford’s mind raced to recall everything, but quickly realized that he wasn’t sure what had actually happened either. He knew Stanford would never try to hurt him, but then, why did he try to stab him and worse, why did he try to strangle him when he was trying to save his life? He decided to tell the same story as before.

“I was asleep. I woke up from some noise in the kitchen. Stanford must’ve fallen ‘r somethin’ cause when I got there he was on the ground covered ‘n blood with a knife in his side. I tried t’ lift ‘im t’ put ‘im in the car, but I’m not very strong so I dragged ‘im by his shoulders and finally got ‘im in the car, but he was already losin’ a lot o’ blood.”

His voice cracked against his will and tears started to flow down his face.

“I worried ‘bout not gettin’ here in time. I was probably drivin’ too fast when a deer ran out in front of us. I swerved an’ lost control. I managed to carry ‘im back to the car and push it here. Then they took ‘im away and I ain’t heard nothin’ yet. D’ ya know what’s happenin’ to ‘im? Is he gonna be alright?”

The officers shared an indiscernible look before turning back to Fiddleford.

“He’s stable. Though a stab wound in that location is highly unlikely to be an accident, your stories match up and neither of you seem to be acting irrational. Talk to the nurse over there and she’ll take you back.”

Fiddleford finally let his shoulders relax and his jaw clicked as he unclenched it for the first time that night. “Oh thank God. Thank you, officers.”

Fiddleford breathed a sigh of relief that the cops believed his story, and even more so that Stanford was thinking the same thing even on whatever anesthesia or pain killers they likely had him on, but his nerves started acting up again as the nurse walked him back to Stanford’s room. He still didn’t know why Stanford attacked him, and if he was honest with himself, he was a bit worried that he might try to do it again.

“He’s still a bit drowsy from the anesthesia, so don’t worry if he falls asleep.”

The nurse pointed him in the direction of Stanford’s door.

Fiddleford wasn’t sure how he should feel as he prepared to walk in. Before yesterday, he’d hardly ever seen Stanford so vulnerable, and the thought of him lying helplessly drugged up in a hospital bed made his stomach feel sick, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He took a deep breath and entered the room to see Stanford laying still facing the opposite wall. Fiddleford practically tiptoed, whispering to get his attention.

“Stanford?”

Fiddleford saw Stanford straighten up a bit as he turned to face him, sluggish and half-lidded with sleep. Fiddleford shuttered. He’d never seemed so small and weak. At least yesterday he was screaming. Now he was just… there.

“Fiddleford?”

The heart monitor Stanford was hooked up to beeped quicker as he spotted him. Fiddleford gingerly stepped closer to sit in the chair next to the bed.

“Are y’alright, Shug?” He started to reach for Stanford’s hand, but decided against it, putting his hand back in his lap as his knee bounced quickly with nerves.

“I think so? You’d think a knife would hurt really bad, but I can’t really feel anything.”

His voice wavered and his eyes rolled around loosely behind his half-lidded expression. His faint smile turned to a smirk within moments, but his drug-induced state was clearly still intact.

“I told the cops I fell so you wouldn’t get in trouble. I never thought you’d get that mad at me, but I get it. Still don’t know how I woke up upstairs though.”

Fiddleford drew back and whispered in a hiss.

“You attacked me. I told them you fell to keep you out o’ trouble.”

Stanford cackled, throwing his head back in laughter. Panic flooded Fiddleford’s face at Stanford’s sudden volume spike.

“Stanford, hush.” Fiddleford begged in a whisper.

“Oh, right!” Stanford started to whisper too. “Well that’s not how I remember it. I woke up to you grabbing the knife in my side before everything went black again. It’s fine if you want me dead. I still love you.”

Stanford smiled as wide as the meds would allow him before his head sank as if he were going to pass out before it quickly lifted back up again.

Fiddleford shook himself.

“You love me?”

His voice was laden with poison.

“After everythin’ ya put through, ya just casually say ya love me?!”

Stanford tilted his head to the side in genuine confusion, before making the matter-of-fact expression he always made when he started lecturing with closed eyes and a smirk with a signature finger pointed in the air, but a bit more loose this time. Normally Fiddleford found this quirk endearing. Now, he found it obnoxious as he wished he would just get to the point.

“Why wouldn’t I say it? It’s a fact. I’m completely in love with Fiddleford.”

It was clear he’d already forgotten who he was speaking to on the other side of his eyelids and Fiddleford wasn’t sure what to do besides let him finish.

“I’ll admit I was torn for a while, but when you’re stabbed by someone and still dream about spending the rest of your life with them while in surgery for the stab wound, it seems to solidify things. Since the project is done, I can’t very well publish anything. It’s far too dangerous, so instead I can live out my days researching for fun and being a trophy husband! I’ll learn how to cook and I’ll spend my mornings cleaning while he works on his inventions that everyone will love. It’ll take some getting used to knowing I’ll never have my name out there, but maybe I really can be happy just being a genius' husband. I’ll cook, clean, run errands, and I’ll do research so at the end of each night I can satisfy him properly.”

Fiddelford’s face turned bright red. He didn’t know if he should be furious or flattered, but most of all he was embarrassed.

“Stanford, please. You’re gettin’ ahead o’ yourself.” Fiddleford looked away from him as he spoke.

Stanford opened his eyes in surprise and embarrassment.

“Fiddleford! How long have you been standing there?”

Fiddleford groaned in frustration.

“Just get some sleep. Ya can’t be this drugged up when your folks get here.”

Stanford smiled slightly as he shut his eyes and nuzzled his head into his pillow.

“Ma’s coming? I haven’t seen her in…”

His breath slowed as his face relaxed, his neck finally going limp against his pillow as sleep overtook him.

Fiddleford breathed a heavy sigh, finally letting himself relax as he leaned back in his chair. He started to snore, his mouth hanging slightly open and his head lolling backward as he fell asleep from pure exhaustion.

Chapter Text

Fiddleford and Stanford both jumped awake to the sound of the door slamming open.

“Sixer! Are you okay?!”

Fiddleford recognized the gruff voice from the phone call, but as he turned around, he was utterly confused at the sight.

Stanford’s eyes grew wide with shock.

“Stanley?”

Stan ran up to his brother, tears welling in his eyes.

“Oh thank God. How did you get stabbed?! I mean, ya get stabbed once, ya get stabbed a million times, but you gettin’ stabbed? I thought for sure you’d be dead before I got here.”

Stanford’s face was instantly annoyed.

“Hello to you too, Stanley, and for the record, that certainly was not my first stab wound. It’s just the first stab wound I lost that much blood from.”

Fiddleford interrupted quietly.

“Uh, howdy. I’m Fiddleford. I believe we spoke on the phone.”

Stanford whipped his head toward Fiddleford.

“You called him?”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow at him.

“You asked me to. When ya were talkin’ t’ me in the car. Ya’ told me t’ call ‘Lee’ and that your ma would know how t’ get a hold of ‘im.”

Stanford pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses in frustration, letting out a forceful sigh.

Stan’s face quickly scrunched in anger.

“Oh, I see what this is. I drive all the way here from New Mexico, breaking several traffic laws to get here in time to see you before you die, and you don’t even want me here. Fine. I know how to take a hint, Sixer.”

Stanford’s face dropped as he watched Stan turn around to leave. Was he really going to turn him away after his subconscious clearly told him he missed him?

“Stanley, wait. I’m sorry. Thank you for coming to check on me…”

Stan stayed still for a moment before he quickly turned around with a wide grin, dropping his bag on the ground and running up to his brother to rub his knuckles into his head.

Stanford winced and threw his hands up trying to push him away to no avail before letting out a wail of pain, throwing one hand onto his head instinctually.

“Stanley, stop!”

Stanford tried to back away, but he was hit with a wave of pain from his side. He threw his other hand over his side before leaning back slowly and miserably in the hospital bed, huffing and shivering from the pain.

The others went silent, leaving only the sounds of the hospital machinery and Stanford’s heavy pained breathing.

Fiddleford and Stan shared a concerned and crestfallen look, but their silence was soon interrupted by the sound of the door opening gently.

Fiddleford and Stan turned around to see Mrs. Pines poking her head through the door.

“Stanford?” she spoke softly, opening the door further.

Stanford turned his head slightly, still huffing through the pain, but he managed to smile a bit.

“Mom!”

She pushed her way in and put her arms in the air as she made her way over to Stanford, putting her hands on his cheeks and kissing his forehead a few times before backing away and giving him a solemn stare.

“Look at ya. My poor baby, shakin’ and hurtin’ with that big nasty scar.”

She gently grabbed his chin and turned his head to each side so she could see the scar on the back of his head before giving him a pitiful look.

“I’ve been so worried about ya stayin’ out in the woods all by yourself. I just knew something terrible like this would happen.”

Stanford shuddered through the pain before answering his mother.

“I’m fine, Mom. They’re just going to watch me for a few days to make sure nothing gets infected and to make sure I don’t have any brain damage.”

She looked horrified at the statement.

“Brain Damage!? Oh! My poor baby!”

She reached out and kissed his forehead a few more times.

“I just hate seein’ my baby hurtin’ like this.”

Stan snickered.

“We sure he didn’t have any of that before?”

Caryn quickly whipped around to face Stan.

“And you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, my little Stanley. Come ‘ere!”

She put her arms out again and kissed Stan on the forehead a few times. He leaned away a bit, but he couldn’t help but smile at the attention.

“Good to see ya, Ma.”

She backed away, putting her hands firmly on his shoulders as she looked him over. Despite his beer gut and some muscle, Stan clearly had lost a lot of body fat. His clothes were stained and stunk like a number of unidentifiable scents, his hair grown into a clearly home cut mullet.

“Are ya feedin’ yourself, baby? Ya look frail. I’ll get ya both somethin’ to eat from the cafeteria. And when was the last time you cut your hair? It’s gettin’ so long. Here, I think I’ve got some scissors in my purse.”

Stan took another step back.

“Ma, please.”

She clicked her tongue and dropped her hands back down to her sides.

“Look at me fussin’ over you two. My boys are all grown up. Oh, and here come the waterworks. One more hug, one more hug.”

She hugged each of them again as she fanned her face, trying to hold back tears before turning to Fiddleford.

“Oh, and you must be Fiddleford. Thank you for callin’ me. You’re such a doll. As much as I worry about my little Stanford, it makes me feel so much better knowin’ he has someone else in that cabin to look after him. I only wish he’d told me you’d driven out there. He used to call and talk about you all day when he was in college. Imagine my relief when I heard he made a friend his first day, but he never calls anymore. I can’t know things if he doesn’t call.”

Fiddleford’s face grew pink, and so did Stanford’s.

“Mom, please! You make it sound as if I’m a child.”

“What? You’re too good for your mother now? Too grown up to give your mother a call every once in a while? Ah, you know I love you, baby, even if you should call more. Okay. I’m goin’ to get that food, but I’ll warn ya, your father will probably be over in a bit. He stopped in the smokin’ lounge.”

She turned and left before noticing how panicked Stan got.

“Well it was good seein’ ya, Sixer. Great to hear ya lived, but I’ve got places to be.”

He tried to run out the door, but Stanford spoke up first, pain clearly showing in his eyes as he tried not to make it too obvious he wanted him to stay.

“Stanley, wait. Dad’s probably not staying long. Why don’t you just wait him out?”

Stanley didn't look happy, but he reluctantly rolled his eyes, which Stanford knew was his silent agreement before he left the room.

Once the room was cleared out, Fiddleford spoke up again.

“Well, ya certainly have quite the eccentric family… Is it awkward f’r me to bring up our stuff while your folks are here?”

Stanford stared straight forward. “Yes, but when won’t it be awkward? Listen, Fiddleford, I’ve been thinking about what happened yesterday, and I’m fairly certain Bill possessed me and tried to kill you. I’m a fool, Fiddleford. I made a deal with him that let him into my mind no holds barred. Luckily with how weak my body is right now, I don’t think he’ll get to pull anything, but once I get back to the lab, I’m sure he’ll just try again. Fiddleford, I don’t think you should sta~ Hey, Dad!”

Stanford quickly plastered a pained smile on his face, but he couldn’t stop the shaking. Fiddleford turned around and was instantly intimidated by the stoic man in the doorway. But he guessed Mr. Pines couldn’t see him yet since he was behind the half-open privacy curtain.

“Stan.” Filbrick nodded toward Stanford.

Stanford scowled as his father looked away. He always hated how his father called both him and his brother ‘Stan’ as if they were the same person competing for the name. Even more frustratingly, he always suspected his brother enjoyed it. His father continued.

“How did this happen?” He didn’t even look his son in the eye.

Stanford looked away down to the floor, shame covering his face as if he were a child who got caught misbehaving. He quickly squirmed to tuck his hands uncomfortably behind his back. He mumbled his answer.

“I… fell.”

“Fell on a knife, eh? I’ve been on this earth for over 60 years and not once have I ever fallen on a knife. What kind of man falls on a knife and calls his mother to fly across country for him?”

Stanford winced, scrunching his face in shame.

“I’m sorry, but I technically I wasn’t the one who called-”

His father suddenly turned sharply toward him.

“Do you really think I care about technicalities? If you think we’re paying for this little incident, then you’re wrong. Do you think we’re made of money, Stan?”

Stanford cowered as his father raised his voice.

“Of course not. The grant will pay for it, I’m sure…”

“Well you’d better be sure. You’re always talking about this grant, and yet I don’t see you getting a real job with a real paycheck. What did you even go to that school for if you’re just using tax dollars the government takes from us to stay in some house in the woods? I should have known when you built that flimsy project back then that you wouldn’t do anything worthwhile.”

Fiddleford wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to defend Stanford, but he knew it wasn’t exactly his place to speak out and now he’d practically been hiding from him.

Stanford’s shaking grew more violent. He could barely squeak out a response.

“I’m sorry. I was in highschool…” He searched his mind for something to say, finally speaking up a bit. “I’ve got some groundbreaking research that if it was published, it would-”

His father gritted his teeth and spoke with a booming voice.

“All these ifs, and nothing to show for it. Next time, try not to injure yourself before you do anything important. And you’d better pray you didn’t get any brain damage because that’s the only thing you’ve got going for ya.”

Fiddleford noticed Stanford was breathing a lot shallower and turned to face the opposite direction as he desperately held back tears. Fiddleford finally had enough as he stood up and stepped out from behind the half-closed curtain with a stern expression, though internally he was beyond nervous.

“And who exactly are you, ya little snoop? You’ve just been listening this whole time?”

Fiddleford smiled, but his eyes stayed stern and half-lidded.

“‘Pologies, Mr. Pines. McGucket.” Fiddleford reached out to shake his hand, but Filbrick didn’t move. “Alrighty then. I’m Stanford’s business partner. He’s really quite humble, but I’ll have you know our work has been incredibly lucrative. Of course we’re not at liberty to discuss specifics, but I can tell ya that our occupation can be quite hazardous at times. That’s just the nature of cutting edge science. No pun intended.”

Filbrick clearly wasn’t pleased with the comment, but he didn’t seem prepared for a fight. He turned around and left the room with a growl in his throat.

The moment the door closed, Fiddleford let a forceful breath out as he felt sweat pour down his face.

“Has anyone ever told ya your pa is incredibly intimidating?”

Stanford didn’t move as he stifled a sob. His whole body grew red with shame and embarrassment as he curled up as much as his side would allow him to.

Fiddleford stared for a moment at the new scar on the back of Stanford’s head almost in disbelief that someone as headstrong as Stanford could even be this hurt. He kept expecting him to spring up from the bed any minute now and crash through the window to do a flip down to the ground level, but he stayed, and shook, and choked on his sobs.

“Ya know he’s wrong, don’t ya? Who is he to\’ talk to ya like that anyway? Doesn’t he just own a pawn shop? You’ve done work that no one else in the world has even dreamed of.”

Stanford shut his eyes tight and sniffed back tears, trying to clear his throat so he could speak without his voice breaking, but as he started to speak, he could already hear the waver in his voice threatening to creep out of his throat.

“I just wish he saw it that way. Stanley always thought he liked me best, but I know he never wanted either of us. Sherman was already halfway to being out of the house when we were born. Starting over with a new kid and worst of all, twins! Two mouths to feed! Still, he did pick on Stanley a bit more when we were young. At least I was a meal ticket in his eyes… but not anymore… even if I’m the world’s first man to discover interdimensional travel, it won’t be good enough for him if I’m not a billionaire funneling my earnings back into his pocket. I’m sure Mom told Sherman I was here too, but I knew he wouldn’t show. He’s too busy with his car dealership that pays for his big shot vacations that he invites Mom and Dad to. That’s what’s considered more worthy. A car dealership!”

Stanford couldn’t help but shake as he raised his voice, and though he wasn’t facing Fiddleford, he could tell Stanford was growing irate as his shoulders tensed and as his hands flew to his head.

“I discovered a bottomless pit, a shapeshifting alien, and multiple classifications of ghosts. I’ve met the mothman, explored a spaceship crash site, and dated both a siren and an all-knowing demon from a different dimension on top of creating an interdimensional portal capable of destroying our world, and I’m beaten by a car salesman!?”

Fiddleford straightened up in his seat, a little nervous with how angry he was getting.

“Stanford, just calm down. I know it’s-”

“Calm down!?”

He turned to face him completely.

“How am I supposed to calm down when everything is falling apart around me?! Everything I thought I knew up to now was a lie, I’ve wasted seven years of my life, maybe more if I can’t use my degrees for anything, I’ve put the world in danger, I almost died, my family still thinks I’m a screw up, I’ve lost everyone important to me, I have a demon possessing me and trying to kill people in my body, I’m so stressed my eye is starting to bleed and twitch, and I’m in so much pain…”

Stanford trailed off. His eyes were wild and unfocused as he looked off to the side and panted with quick, heavy breaths, his chest heaving and the heart monitor beeping out of control. He trembled, his gasps seeming more pained and panicked by the second.

Fiddleford was at a loss for what to do. He couldn’t imagine anything helping him, but the distress on his face being reminiscent of Bill’s crazed look did nothing to comfort him.

“Shug. You’re gettin’ too worked up. Ya gotta calm down.”

He put his hand up to reach for Stanford’s shoulder, but Stanford quickly turned away before vomiting violently.

Fiddleford instantly stood, trying to stay out of the way.

“Good Lord, Stanford! I’ll go get a nurse.”

Stanford leaned up just in time to see Fiddleford run out of the room. He wiped his mouth with his arm and sunk back down into the bed, his face riddled with shame. He felt so small as he shook, waiting around for someone to help him in such an empty room.

Fiddleford found a nurse who assured him she would take care of it, but no one else could come back in until they cleaned the mess. She warned him that he’d probably be a bit loopy with pain killers when they came back.

Fiddleford nodded, barely processing the information before he decided to find Stan, but it didn’t take long as he found him and his mother both sitting in the cafeteria with trays of food. Fiddleford certainly wasn’t hungry now, but he thought he could at least sit with them, but they both turned to him in confusion as he walked toward them.

“I thought you were stickin’ with Sixer.”

Fiddleford laughed nervously.

“Yeah, well, he got sick so they told me I’d have to\’ come back later.”

Their faces dropped to the same pitied look.

“My poor Stanford. Did you see how red his eye was? I’ve never seen something like that before. They’ve even got him in a wrist brace, and with that hospital gown on, he looks just like he did when he was younger. With his sad little face, just as upset as when those doctors did all that testing on him back then.”

Fiddleford tipped his head to the side.

“Testing?”

She sighed before folding her hands in front of her on the table.

“When he was born, the doctors wanted to look him over to make sure his hands and feet wouldn’t be a problem. They decided it was fine, but I had to take him in a lot more than I did the other boys to make sure everything was growing okay. At some point his doctor recommended some kind of case study, and then it was x-ray after x-ray, test after test. He was always so upset when he had to leave school early for it.

He used to cry when the doctors wouldn’t talk to him. They called him by a case number. I told ‘em a thousand times just to be nice to him, but they never listened. The only time he seemed to enjoy it was when he was older and the whole thing was over. The doctors told him he was a medical miracle, the first to have an extra finger and toe on both sides that worked completely. They told him it was like he was more evolved. Who says that sort o’ thing to a kid? I’ve always regretted agreeing to it, but they had money and we needed it, of course that was right around the time Shermie moved out so we didn’t need it as much as we thought, but Filbrick… Sorry! I’m ramblin’. Just seein’ him there all upset brings it all back. I’m sorry to talk and run, but I’m gonna try to talk to him for a bit before checking into the hotel.”

She got up from the table and put both of her hands on Fiddleford’s cheeks.

“Thank you again for callin’ me and rescuin’ my boy. I’m glad you’ve stuck around for this long. I know Stanford is a bit different and tends to scare people off. I’m just glad he’s got someone who’s lookin’ out for him when he gets in over his head. He’s always been smart, but his common sense has always worried me.”

She laughed lightheartedly.

“It was great to finally meet you in person. You’re a saint, Fiddleford.”

She pinched his cheeks and shook her hands to the sides gently with a smile before letting go and walking over to Stanely. She looked like she could cry.

“I sure do miss my Stanley.”

She held her arms out, wrapping them tight around him. Stan practically melted into her arms. She stayed for as long as Stan would let her before she finally stepped back.

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay Stanley? For me? You know I worry about you. I know you don’t always tell me when you’re in trouble, but I just want ya to be happy. I’m glad I got to see you, baby, and I’m glad you’ve got a sharp head on your shoulders. I love you so much, my little Stanley. Ya hear that? Your mother loves you.”

Stan just smiled back at her.

“Love ya too, Ma, but you’d better get up there before Pop drags ya outta here.”

She smiled back at him and cupped his cheek for a moment with her palm before turning away.

Fiddleford's polite smile dropped to a frown as she walked away.

Stan looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

“What’s the matter with you?”

Fiddleford looked away apprehensively before turning back to Stan.

“I’m just a bit worried ‘bout Stanford. He’s usually so confident, but after your pa visited, he got all in his head ‘bout things. He was panickin’ and just spiraled until he got sick. I just don’t know what t’ do f’r ‘im. I’ve never seen ‘im like this.”

Stan chuckled.

“I don’t know who you’ve been around, but the Sixer I know does that all the time. He’s always thinking too much and working himself up. He used to have panic attacks all the time and me or Ma would have to hold his chest real tight and grab his hand for him to calm down. I guess I figured he’d grow out of it.”

Stan’s gaze seemed distant like he was imagining some far off moment he just couldn’t reach before he snapped back to it.

“So Pop gave him a hard time, huh? I’d like to say I’m surprised, but even I couldn’t pull off a lie like that.”

Stan looked down with a grimace that made Fiddleford even more worried as he spoke up.

“He was pr’tty brutal. A lot’s happened in the last few days an’ I think that was just the last straw f’r ‘im.”

Stan looked back up at Fiddleford.

“So what really happened? I know Sixer’s never been great at sports, but he’s not exactly clumsy enough to just fall on a knife.”

“I don’t really think it’s my place to say, but if he tells ya and it sounds too crazy t’ be true, I promise he’s tellin’ the truth.”

Stan eyed him suspiciously.

“Well that’s not a concerning thing to say at all, but I really think it’d help if ya just told me what happened, and I’m definitely not just saying that because I’m nosy and don’t think he’ll sing.”

Fiddleford laughed.

“You two are so alike it’s uncanny.”

Stan looked at Fiddleford like he was stupid.

“No shit, Sherlock. We’re twins. Now ya gonna tell me what happened or not?”

Fiddleford was taken aback a bit. Clearly they weren’t that similar. He sighed and despite his better judgment and likely Stanford’s future scorn, he spilled.

“Your brother got involved with a demon from another dimension that he thought was a god. He gave him blueprints for a machine and called me t’ help him build it. I didn’t know ‘bout his…’help’. Also turns out his ‘help’ was a bit more of a… romantic partner.”

Stan’s jaw fell open for a minute before he shook himself.

“Sixer? Dated a demon? Are we talkin’ about the same guy? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure the Sixer I know has a negative body count.”

Fiddleford squirmed uncomfortably, his face turning red.

“Yeah. I’m sure… Anyway, Stanford and I sorta… had a fling, and when Bill, the demon, found out, we-”

“What?! You?!”

Stan was holding back laughter with a screwed up face.

Fiddleford crossed his arms and scowled.

“I don’t know why ya have t’ act surprised. I know I ain’t all that, but-”

“I mean Sixer! Since when was he such a stud?”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes and spoke under his breath.

“Since last week apparently… Anyway, we found out the machine wasn’t so innocent after all. We also had a fight ‘bout him not tellin’ me ‘bout Bill. So long story short, he can’t publish the research he’s been workin’ on f’r seven years, he’s pro’ly gonna lose his grant money, and he’s got lots o’ personal problems.”

Stan stared slack-jawed for a moment before speaking.

“Well damn. Honestly, that sounds about right though.”

Stan shrugged dramatically before sitting back in his chair.

“So what’s with the stabbing and the head wound then?”

Fiddleford’s face was filled with disbelief.

“Ya just, believe it? Just like that?”

Stan shrugged again.

“We fought the Jersey Devil as kids. He’s always been into monsters and shit. I didn’t think he was into monsters though if ya know what I mean. I don’t think anyone would be surprised he’s gay, especially not any of his school bullies. For a nerd genius, he’s pretty damn gullible, and in case ya hadn’t noticed, he gets attached real quick if someone’s nice to him.”

Fiddleford was taken aback.

“That just doesn't sound right. He’s always been-”

“Overconfident, stubborn, and real nice to ya? Maybe that’s because you’re nice to him… and he’s studying the shit he likes. Look, no offense, but he’s been my brother for longer than he’s been your… whatever you two are. And not to brag, but I’m pretty good at spotting a sucker when I see one. So if ya thought he wasn’t just a big crybaby, then I’m sorry to tell ya but you’ve been conned.”

Fiddleford gave him a reluctant look.

“I dunno… Maybe he’s changed since you were kids?”

Stan gave him the same look of superiority from before.

“Whatever you say, Kemosabe. Now how’d he really get hurt?”

Fiddleford was growing irritated, letting his eyes drop to half-lidded with a scowl.

“He tried to kill me in the middle of the night so I stabbed ‘im in self defense. I tried t’ drive him here, but he woke up and tried t’ strangle me. I lost control o’ the car, he hit his head on a tree, an’ I pushed the car here.”

“Alright, you got me, maybe he has changed considering I’ve seen him try to kill someone, but you drove him here and you’re sticking around to talk to his family and spend time with him after he tried to kill you? You must be down pretty bad to want to sleep with a murderous cheater. Did ya just get over a divorce or somethin? I see ya used to have a ring.”

Fiddleford quickly slapped his hand over his ring finger.

“First of all, it was Bill possessing ‘im that made ‘im do it, and second of all, I think this conversation is gettin’ a lil’ too personal, Lee.”

Stan threw his hands up with a look of disgust.

“Stan is fine.”

Fiddleford stood.

“Alright then, Stan. I’m gonna head back up t’ the room and check on Stanford.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be up in a minute.”

Stan patted his front pocket before he turned back to the cheap sandwich in front of him that Fiddleford assumed his mother had bought him. From the way he seemed to be guarding that pocket, Fiddleford also assumed his mother had slipped him some cash. It was clearly none of his business. He’d only just met Stan, but the way he just grinned and bore it reminded him a lot of Stanford and he couldn’t help but wonder just how much Stanford might still be keeping from him.

He turned and walked back toward the room, passing Stanford’s parents along the way and sharing one last wave with them as they presumably left for their hotel before he made it back into Stanford’s room.

“Stanford?”

He poked his head through the door and was relieved to see he wasn’t shaking anymore, but he knew he’d likely be freshly on painkillers.

“Fiddleford?”

“Hey, Shug. Ya feelin’ better?”

Stanford gazed at him with a relaxed smile.

“Better than ever!”

Fiddleford sighed. He was hoping to have a real conversation with him, but it was clear that wasn’t going to happen. He sat down in the chair next to the bed, resigning himself to wait until the drugs wore off a bit to ask him anything, but Stanford was clearly not satisfied with the silence.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Fiddleford.”

He reached his hand out to the edge of the bed, hoping through the brain fog and confusion and drug induced euphoria that Fiddleford would reach out too.

Fiddleford glanced down at Stanford’s hand, but he didn’t budge.

“Thanks…”

Stanford looked away a bit, his face turning pink and his heart monitor spiking.

“Fiddleford, I lo-”

Fiddleford groaned and interrupted him.

“Stanford, stop. Ya can’t just keep confessin’ t’ me when you’re drugged up. When ya could use your brain, I heard ya ‘bout t’ ask me to leave. I can’t just be dragged around by ya forever. You’re gonna have to make a decision on this just like I will.”

Stanford smiled wide.

“Great! Then the decision is made!”

“No! Stanford, I’m pretty sure they even write ‘do not make important decisions’ on the side of the damn bottle o’ them meds your on. I’m not lettin’ ya do nothin’ stupid when you’re not thinkin’ straight.”

Suddenly Stanford frowned and pouted.

“I’m not stupid.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes before shutting them tight in frustration.

“Stanford, I didn’t mean t’ hurt your feelin’s. It’s just so strange seein’ ya like this, an-”

Stanford interrupted him.

“You’re so sweet to me. I only wish I’d seen it before. You’re always there for me.”

Stanford sat up further in his bed and ran his fingers through the front of his hair, smiling gently.

Fiddleford’s face blushed pink.

“Dammit, Stanford, why d’ya keep doin’ this t’ me?”

Stanford tilted his head to the side.

“Did I do something?” He spoke with genuine confusion.

“You’re just always doin’ that charmin’ act where you run your hands through your hair, smilin’ at me with that look in your eye, an’ flexin’ your muscles when ya lift your arm.”

Stanford smiled wide.

“You think I’m charming?”

Fiddleford’s face turned even brighter red before he covered his face with his hands.

Stanford’s eyes widened in gentle surprise before he turned to his side and reached his hands out, grabbing Fiddleford’s hands and slowly pulling them away from his eyes.

“Are you upset?

Fiddleford’s face washed over with confusion.

“Of course I’m upset! I’m lettin’ ya get t’ me again with your worried face fussin’ over me when you’re the one who needs fussin’ over.”

Fiddleford made the mistake of looking away from their hands and up at Stanford’s face when he could feel his heart start pounding in the familiar way it always used to around Stanford.

Stanford didn’t seem to understand Fiddleford’s comment, but he was still determined to listen intently if Fiddleford continued.

Fiddleford felt himself melting as he had a thousand times before, staring into Stanford’s sympathetic eyes. Finally his commonsense gave way as he stood from his chair and leaned over Stanford’s bed to press his lips against his.

Stanford was surprised, but he had no apprehension thanks to the meds. He kissed back gently, running his hands up Fiddleford’s back before one wandered to the back of his head and through his hair. The rims of their glasses clacked together as Fiddleford adjusted, rubbing his hands on Stanford’s neck and shoulders.

Fiddleford could feel himself getting carried away as he thrust his tongue into Stanford’s mouth, and let his mind wander before moving his hands down Stanford’s back to his hips. They both breathed heavy as Fiddleford hopped up on Stanford’s hospital bed and straddled him, pressing back into a heavy kiss. His breath stuttered as he arched his back and grinded against Stanford.

Stanford could hardly handle it as Fiddleford kissed down Stanford’s neck and chest. His eyes practically rolled to the back of his head, already overcome with the sensation.

Fiddleford looked back up at Stanford again, meaning to double check that everything was okay, but as he saw Stanford’s expression, he quickly sat up.

“What am I doin’?! You’re hurt an’ high on painkillers. I can’t just-”

Stanford interrupted him and ran his hands down Fiddleford’s sides to his hips, gently pulling them closer to his.

“It’s fine. I want you to.”

Fiddleford shuddered with anticipation, but he slowly moved Stanford’s hands off of him.

“Stanford, I can’t. This ain’t-”

Suddenly the door opened and closed, and the two turned to face the door to see Stan throwing his hands in front of his face.

“Woah! You know these doors don’t have locks, right?”

Fiddleford’s face turned beet red as he slowly climbed down, but Stanford didn’t seem to have any qualms as a smile crossed his face.

“Hi Stanley!”

Stan made a face of disgust.

“Is he high or somethin’?”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, he is, but I just wanna clarify that nothin’ was gonna happen.”

Stan raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, huh. Sure… Anyway, how’s Sixer doing? Still feel all barfy from earlier?”

Stanford laughed heartily for a minute.

“Nah, I’m better now… I think. But I’m feelin’ great!”

“Oh I bet you are.” Stan mocked, but Stanford clearly didn’t get the hint as he smiled wide.

Stan turned to face Fiddleford.

“I kinda like him like this. He doesn’t act like he hates me and laughs at my jokes again. Can we just keep him on those for good?”

Fiddleford sighed.

“We’re not doin’ that, Stan.”

Stan huffed.

“Whatever, Buzzkill. Ya ever heard of a joke?”

Stan sat in the chair next to the bed and propped his feet up on the railing when Stanford spoke up.

“I missed you, Stanley.”

Stan’s smirk turned to a gentle smile as he dropped his feet to the floor.

“Ya mean it?”

Stanford kept his wide smile.

“Of course! I always wondered what you were up to. I know that argument all those years ago was dumb, but if that never happened I wouldn’t have met Fiddleford! I wish I’d reached out sooner, but I was afraid you hated me for not finding a way to stop Dad from… you know. Are you staying in town? My project is over now so I’d have lots of time for sailing!”

Stan started to tear up a bit as a smile overtook his face before Fiddleford interrupted.

“Stanford, ya’ can’t be makin’ promises like that when you’re not thinkin’ straight.”

Stan’s expression changed on a dime to rage as he turned to Fiddleford and stood from the chair.

“Hey, butt out, Hillbilly. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

As Stan stepped closer to him, puffing his chest out a bit in clear intimidation, Fiddleford stood to his full height, puffing out his chest a bit too. Though Fiddleford was a bit taller, his thin stature certainly wasn’t enough to intimidate Stan who had nearly as much muscle as his brother, a bit more weight behind him, and twice the intimidation.

“Stan, I really don’t wanna get in your business. I’ll stress this again, we’ve really only just met, but I’ll have ya know that before y’all got here, he was promisin’ t’ be a trophy husband after he got outta surgery, an’ once it wore off he was tellin’ me t’ leave town.”

Stan gave an angry smirk.

“Then it sounds like you should leave.”

Fiddleford scrunched his face in anger.

“He obviously doesn’t really want me t’ leave. He was just beggin me t’...”

He cut his words short as he realized who he was talking to before Stan spoke up again.

“It sounds like he’s changed his mind, and I’m not lettin’ anything get between us again, especially not some side piece!”

Fiddleford readied his fists to swing.

“I ain’t some side piece! An’ from what it sounds like to me, it’s just as much your fault that ya didn’t reach out as it is his, so where have you been f’r the last ten years besides feeling’ bad f’r yourself?”

He swung and Stan deftly ducked before swinging at Fiddleford’s gut, knocking him against the wall.

“Please, stop!” The voice was Stanford’s. “I don’t want either of you to leave, and I don’t want you to fight.”

Fiddleford picked himself up off the floor, his hand over his gut.

The two of them were still scowling at each other until they turned to Stanford and saw tears in his eyes and they were both hit with a wave of guilt.

“I’m sorry, Shug. I got a bit caught up. I wasn’t thinkin’.”

Stan crossed his arms and huffed.

“Ya don’t gotta cry about it.”

Stanford’s face pitifully scrunched up as tears flowed down his cheeks.

Fiddleford shot Stan a scowl before walking back up to Stanford’s bed and holding his hands.

“Shug, please don’t cry. We’re not fightin’ anymore, honest.”

Stanford sniffed, but the tears didn’t stop.

“I can’t stop. I hate this medicine. It makes me feel weird and I don’t remember anything after and it makes it hard to stop crying and I’m so tired all the time.”

Pity slashed over Fiddleford’s face.

“I’m sorry, Shug. Maybe ya should try to rest. We’ve probably been keepin’ you up, haven’t we?”

Stanford’s tears only worsened.

“You’re not going to leave while I’m sleeping, are you?”

“Of course not, Shug. I’m right here.”

Stan looked down at the ground in disappointment.

“Guess I’ll just come back later.”

Stanford darted upright.

“Wait. Please don’t leave.”

Fiddleford smirked.

“Looks like you’re gonna have t’ put up with me f’r now.”

Stan rolled his eyes and pulled a chair from the other side of the room up next to bed.

“Fine. I’m staying. Happy?”

Stanford smiled, his tears starting to dry up.

“I think I am.”

Stanford’s mind raced with drug-induced confusion and emotional overload. He was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. Each time he shut his eyes he snapped them back open in fear that the two sitting next to him would suddenly disappear, or worse, be found dead. His whining only got worse as the day went on from his exhaustion like a kid missing his nap. Finally, Fiddleford gave in and decided to just scooch his chair closer and set his arm up on the bed for Stanford to latch onto so every time he was restless he knew someone was still there, finally bringing him enough consistency to lull himself to sleep, leaving Fiddleford and Stan on their own after Fiddleford managed to reclaim his arm.

Chapter Text

At first they were silent, listening only to Stanford’s soft snores and the beeps of the heart monitor, but as the day dragged on, they quickly grew tired of the silence. Finally Fiddleford stood up, breaking the barrier that threatened to keep them still in their chairs outside of Stan’s constant fidgeting and Fiddleford’s bouncing knee. He reached over the bed rails and pulled Stanford’s glasses gently off his face, folding them and placing them on his bedside table. Fiddleford desperately wanted to wipe away the tears staining his face, but didn’t dare to wake him after how long it took him to fall asleep. Fiddleford stood staring at him for another moment with gentle eyes, for the first time truly considering if he would stay in Gravity Falls for good, but soon, Stan broke their silence as he quietly offered to relieve their boredom.

“Wanna play some cards?”

Fiddleford sighed, already turning his chair to face Stan’s.

“I ‘spose. Good thing ya thought t’ bring some.”

Stan chuckled in a hush.

“I’ve always got my own set o’ cards.”

Fiddleford’s face dropped in annoyance.

“So I ‘spose I won’t be winnin’ then.”

Stan waved the comment off.

“As long as we’re not bettin’, I’ll play fair.”

“Well that’s a concerning statement, but I reckon I’m bored enough to do just ‘bout anythin’ other than sittin’ here in silence.”

Stan pulled a small table over between them and expertly shuffled the cards before dealing.

“Look, I gotta ask. Do ya really like him? I know he’s not thinkin’ right, but he’s clearly gotten attached from you two just bein’ business partners. I know I saw that you used to wear a ring. Pretty serious mark, ya take it off a few days ago? You’re not just yankin’ him around are ya?”

Fiddleford picked up his hand and looked over the cards, careful to keep his face neutral as he spoke.

“I do like ‘im. I’m still a bit bitter over ‘im hidin’ his relationship with Bill, but knowin’ he couldn’t decide between me and what he thought was a god doesn’t make me feel as bad as thinkin’ ‘bout leavin’ an’ never comin’ back. I might always feel an attachment to Em, my wife, but I ain’t felt like this with no one. And I guess I forgot t’ mention that Stanford and I used t’ be roommates back in college. My first day was just awful. Everyone thought I was crazy and laughed at me f’r sayin’ the world is a hologram. I was ready t’ quit right then. My folks never understood why I wanted t’ go t’ college, but they were nice ‘bout it. No other McGucket needed no schoolin’ t’ live their life, but I wanted somethin’ more, y’ know? Anyway, I’m gettin’ off track. I was all embarrassed an’ cryin’ an’ ready t’ leave when your brother practically crashed through the door and told me he thought it was mathematically feasible and we weren’t gonna sleep a wink ‘til we proved them wrong. So we did, an’ right then an’ there I knew I finally found someone who understood me. I tossed some hints out there, but he always had his nose stuck in those dang books that I don’t even know if he noticed. We’ve been sharin’ beds half-naked for ten years and he ain’t ever made a move on me once. So back then I just assumed he didn’t like me an’ I moved on. I met Em. We got married, started a family, and that was fine until he called me t’ come down here earlier this year an’ I guess I got caught up again. Only difference bein’ he’s actually interested. Well, he’s a bit different after spendin’ years alone in those woods. He seems more cynical and way more uptight, but he’s still the same old Stanford u see all that. Oh and with a lot more muscle.”

Stan put on a similar careful neutral face.

“Okay, so ya like him, but you two still have a lot of problems, one being a wife you’re still married to apparently. Are ya really gonna stay? ‘Cause if ya do, even for a little while, he’s not gonna handle it well if ya change your mind down the road.”

Fiddleford sighed.

“That I still don’t know. It’s not just Em an’ Stanford. I got a son back in California. I told both of ‘em I’d only be gone f’r a few months. I didn’t realize all this was gonna happen. Can I really choose some sudden fling with a man who’s been alone and god knows deprived of human contact for six years over m’ family? I don’t even know if he really likes me. He was cheatin’ on me the whole time we were together an’ I don’t know, he could just desperate f’r connection. If I leave it all behind f’r this an’ he leaves me in a month, I ain’t gonna have nothin’ left. I know ya care ‘bout your brother, but this situation is just as difficult f’r me. I’m not just someone who showed up t’ take advantage of ‘im. But if things weren’t so complicated, I think I’d stay here in a heartbeat. I need t’ actually talk with ‘im, but I ain’t gonna get nowhere with ‘im on those meds. Hopefully when he wakes up they’ll wear off enough so we can actually talk without your pa interruptin’ us or him gettin’ so upset he vomits again. It’s just… complicated.”

Fiddleford reached into his pocket and pulled out a tin of tobacco, placing a pinch in his mouth before putting it back in his pocket.

Stan was growing antsy at the sight of it.

“Somethin’ the matter?”

“I’m just ready for a smoke, but I don’t like those lounges they’ve got now. Too many people.”

Fiddleford laughed.

“Ya can try a pinch if ya like, but I can’t guarantee ya won’t puke.”

“Thanks”

Stan made a face of pure disgust as he put a small pinch into his mouth, but he held it together and it soon took the edge off.

“Be honest with me, has Sixer ever mentioned me before?”

Fiddleford’s face filled with pity.

“I’m sorry, but no. T’ be fair, he never really talked ‘bout any o’ y’all much. I don’t know he had any brothers ‘til now. All he ever mentioned ‘bout his childhood was bein’ different an’ gettin’ bullied f’r it outside o’ the odd mention of your folks. Except when we were headed here an’ he suddenly told me t’ call ya and tell ya he was sorry.”

Stan went silent for a moment before speaking up again.

“Do ya think he really wants me around? You two have a lot goin’ on, and I really don’t want to just be in the way, especially if he’s gonna hate me even more for it.”

“Stan, in all honesty, Stanford ain’t the best at feelin’s. He holds onto shit f’r way too long, an’ blows up over it whenever he feels like it. So yeah, he’s probably still a bit mad at ya’. I think he’s mad at the world most o’ the time, but he probably blames himself just as much an’ turns it back around to be twice as angry at someone else. Those pills make ‘im loopy, but he’s said a lot o’ things I know he’s been thinkin’ ‘bout an’ his head would never let ‘im say. It doesn’t have t’ just be you ‘r me. I’ve got lots o’ family an’ I’ve always made time for everyone up ‘til now. I’m sure if ya stuck around, he’d come ‘round sooner ‘r later. After all, when he thought he was dyin’, you’re the one he asked f’r.”

Stan smiled slightly before placing his remaining cards on the table, and one in the throw away pile as a smirk grew on his face.

“Looks like I win, Hayseed.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes.

“I say ya cheated, but good game anyway.”

Stan stood as he spoke louder, keeping his smirk.

“You’re just angry ‘cause ya didn’t win and I did. So in your face! 32 card pickup, loser!”

Stan swiped the cards off the table toward Fiddleford while he laughed heartily.

Fiddleford reluctantly picked the cards up off the ground, but they soon both paused as they heard Stanford stirring.

He groaned, holding his head in one hand, and shooing with the other.

“Stanley, quiet down.”

Stan huffed and crossed his arms.

“Buzzkill already. Guess he’s comin’ down then.”

Stanford was already starting to shake and breathe heavily from the pain again. He shook himself as he tried to wake up.

“Oh, Stanley, you’re actually here. I think I was still half dreaming.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna go have a smoke outside now that you’re not gonna cry if I disappear.”

He turned to leave, but on his way out, he patted Fiddleford hard on the back, almost knocking him over.

Stanford groaned again, putting his hands over his eyes.

“This damn headache just won’t go away. I can’t tell if it's a side effect of the damn medicine they keep giving me or if it’s just the skull fracture.”

Fiddleford’s eyes flew open as he recoiled.

“Skull fracture? I didn’t know it was that bad!”

Stanford tilted his head in confusion, keeping one eye closed out of pain.

“Why did you think they stitched up the whole back of my head? They repaired the fracture at the top and put a plate over it to keep the new piece in place. They have to cut and pull the skin back from somewhere, and-”

Fiddleford put his hands up in disgust.

“I get the picture. I just feel sorry f’r ya is all.”

“Oh don’t say that. This is humiliating enough on its own. I don’t need you feeling sorry for me too. I got myself here, and now I have to live with that, flimsy hospital gown, jello meals, and bed pans in all.”

Fiddleford smiled a bit.

“It’s not that bad, Shug. There’s nothin’ wrong with needin’ a little help every now an’ again. Ya won’t die from bein’ a bit embarrassed.”

“Well I’m personally humiliated that the majority of my family has now seen me like this and my head and side both hurt like Hell. And don’t even get me started on how strange it is to not remember large swaths of time. When those meds wear off I’m just left wondering what my subconscious has been doing for however long I was on it. How long have I even been here? I don’t even know what day or time it is. Everything looks the same. Not to mention I’ve apparently been crying, which just leads me to believe that I have no emotional regulation on those pills, which is even more humiliating.”

Fiddleford rested his hands on Stanford’s.

“You’ve been here f’r about a day. It’s ‘bout 4:30 in the afternoon, so they’ll probably bring ya more food soon, and it’s-”

Stanford quickly sat up, clearly causing pain to his side, but he was more concerned about the thought that just crossed his mind.

“Shit! It’s your birthday, isn’t it? Fiddleford, you need to go back to the lab. Emma-May will be pissed that you haven’t answered the phone. Did you call her at all yesterday either?”

Fiddleford looked guiltily at the floor.

“I don’t really wanna deal with that right now. Besides, this is more important. You’re hurt. I’m in the dog house either way, so I might as well put it off.”

“She’s going to figure out something is wrong. Don’t you think they’ll be worried about you?”

Fiddleford was growing frustrated.

“I just don’t think it matters right now.”

Stanford looked up at Fiddleford with pity.

“I’m sorry you had to spend your birthday here. You know I’m not great with gifts like you are, but if it’s any consolation, I did make you something. I don’t have it with me of course, but I didn’t forget before they put me on painkillers.”

Fiddleford smiled.

“Thanks, Shug… But I think we’ve got some more serious things t’ talk about…”

Stanford’s expression dropped. He knew this was coming, but he wanted to put it off, even just to have Fiddleford hold his hand for a moment longer, but Fiddleford spoke up again.

“When your pa showed up, you were tellin’ me t’ leave weren’t ya?”

He could feel Stanford’s hand start to shake worse.

“Fiddleford, I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. Bill will just keep using me to hurt you and I don’t want us to wait until the moment he wins and I wake up to discover your life was taken by my hands. I don’t think it’s safe for you here. I have a plan. My research is too dangerous, but if I know myself, I won’t be able to go through with burning it. Instead, I’d like you to take one of my journals and take it back to California with you. I’ll send another with Stanley, and the third I’ll hide where no one can find it. I’ll fake my death so no one comes looking for me, and I’ll lock myself in the bunker so Bill will never have a chance to get to the portal. I can’t risk hurting anyone else. I’ll either find a way to get him out of my head for good or I’ll die trying.”

Fiddleford looked horrified as he started to tremble.

“Stanford, I’m not lettin’ ya do that. You’ll die down there whether Bill gets to the shapeshifter or if he tortures ya f’r the rest o’ your life ‘til ya run outta food. There’s gotta be somethin’ else we can do.”

“It’s the only thing I can think of that I can accomplish by the time I get out of here. Once I get my strength back, I know Bill will be waiting to strike again. As it is, I’m terrified he’s going to take over while I’m here and I’m going to wake up to see you…”

He seemed to shake the thought away.

“Stanford, I can’t just leave ya like this. Even if ya did get yourself into a mess, it’s not your fault, it’s his. Ya don’t gotta do this alone.”

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. What matters is that you can’t stay. You shouldn’t even be here now. Go back to the lab, call your family, pack your things, take my journal, and drive back to California. You don’t deserve to be put in danger because of my mistakes.”

Fiddleford could feel his chest tighten at the words and tears start to fill his eyes.

“Ya can’t just tell me what t’ do like I don’t have a mind o’ my own. What if I don’t wanna go?”

Stanford’s face grew stern. It almost reminded Fiddleford of Filbrick and sent an eerie chill down his spine.

“Fiddleford, it’s too dangerous. This isn’t a discussion.”

Fiddleford grew red in the face.

“What even was this then if I’m just somethin’ ya can throw out without even askin’ me? Stanford, I’ve put up with a lot from you. You’ve been careless, you’ve pushed me t’ the side when I’ve tried to help you, you cheated on me the entire time we were together. I’ve been waitin’ ten years f’r you t’ feel the same about me, but I can’t keep waitin’ Stanford. If I’m gone, I’m gone f’r good.”

Stanford scrunched his face in offense.

“You think I’m doing this for me? Bill wanted you gone the moment you got here and I stood up for you. I didn’t want to get too close because I knew what was going to happen if I did. Oh, and let’s not pretend that you weren’t cheating too, or is it different just because you want to hold it over my head forever. And, maybe, the reason I didn’t realize you were hinting at me years ago was because you had a girlfriend who you married! God, I’m sick of trying to figure things out and getting stabbed in the back and blamed for everything! You think I’d lock myself in a bunker to die for my own entertainment?”

“I don’t even know if that’s what you’re really gonna do. How do I know you’re not just gonna go runnin’ back to ‘im and this is how ya get rid o’ me in your own fucked up way? Ya can’t ever do anythin’ just normal. What are ya sacrificin’ besides my choice in forcin’ me t’ leave?”

Stanford’s eye twitched as if he couldn’t believe what he was being asked.

“YOU, Fiddleford! Don’t you get it! This is fucking killing me! I’m giving you up so you can live. My life is over now. I didn’t do a single thing I set out to do and now I have to undo my bad decisions and I’m giving up the one good decision I did make.”

Suddenly a different voice sounded from the door.

“Yeesh, shoulda started chain smokin’ I guess.”

They both turned to face him with angry expressions.

Stan put his hands up in front of him.

“What did I do?”

“We’re having a private conversation, Stanley.”

Stan lifted an eyebrow.

“I could hear you two down the hall. I’m pretty sure this whole floor knows you two are boning.”

Their faces grew beet red as they tried to return to their conversation through gritted teeth to stay quiet.

“Stanford, I think we both know y’ain’t sacrificin’ me.”

“What do you want me to say then? I don’t understand why you’re not comprehending this. You don’t want to stay here, Fiddleford. What if he took over right now and tried to kill you?”

“Well that ain’t gonna happen.”

“And you know that because…?”

Stanford gave him a smarmy look.

“I just know!”

Fiddleford crossed his arms.

Suddenly Stanford shut his eyes, letting his neck so limp before he opened his eyes wide with a crazed smile. He grabbed an old fork off his bedside table. Before he could swipe toward him, Fiddleford cowered backward, suddenly shaking with fear. Then, Stanford’s face dropped back to annoyance before he plopped the fork with a pang back down on the table.

“See? You don’t know what you’re up against. You need to leave before you get killed. Why can’t you get that through your head? I’d rather die alone in that god forsaken place than know that it was me who killed you.”

Fiddleford’s chest pounded with fear.

“That was real shitty, Pines, bein’ all proud o’ yourself f’r scarin’ me. Well fine, if you want me t’ leave, I’m gone. Good luck without me.”

Stanford half expected Fiddleford to turn back around, but as he stepped out the door, he didn’t even pause to look back.

Stanford tried his best to hold back his tears through his forced scowl, but even with his brother in the room, he couldn’t help but let them roll down his face before he threw his arm up to hide himself.

Stan looked at his brother in confusion. Now wasn’t the time to worry if Stanford had changed while they were apart, but he couldn’t help but let the question cross his mind as he stepped closer to his brother’s bed.

“Hey, Sixer. It’s gonna be okay. Who needs him anyway, right?”

Stanford looked at him with pure rage, tears still streaming.

“It’s not ‘gonna be okay’! It’s over. I lost. I’m a dead man, Stanley, and I have nothing left.”

He threw his hands over his eyes as he leaned back faster than he planned, slamming his fresh stitches down as he wailed in pain before putting his hands on both sides of his head and digging his nails in as his breath kept getting faster and his heart monitor beeped out of control.

“Woah, Sixer, come on now. Whatever happened, we can figure this out.”

Stan’s memory was flooded with all the times his brother had panicked before and what his mother told him to do. He stepped closer and reached out for his hand, but Stanford darted as far away as he could in the small bed.

“Get away from me before I hurt you too!”

Stanford was expecting anger, but instead Stan’s face was filled with nothing but concern.

“Sixer, you’re not gonna hurt me.”

Stan didn’t give him time to pull away this time, instead he practically pounced, wrapping his arm around him and pulling him in tight, grabbing Stanford’s hand with his free hand.

“Just breathe, Sixer. Ya gotta calm down.”

Stanford shook uncontrollably, his breath shallow and erratic as he tried to get away, but Stan just held him tighter, accidentally pressing on the stitches on his side, causing him to cry out in pain before collapsing back in his bed.

Stan winced at Stanford’s outburst, but he didn’t let go. He adjusted his arms to be higher up, making sure he was plenty far from his wound.

“Sixer, breathe. You’re just freakin’ out.”

Finally Stanford drew in one shaky, elongated breath before he started to breathe slower. Stan finally felt Stanford’s muscles relax before he let go.

“Now tell me what’s goin’ on. Slowly.”

Stanford’s face turned pink with embarrassment.

“I would have been fine on my own by the way.”

Stan’s face dropped to annoyance.

“Whatever you say, Poindexter. Now talk.”

Stanford took another deep breath before speaking, looking away from his brother.

“I don’t know how much Fiddleford told you, but I’m in a lot of trouble, Stanley.”

He already felt another wave of tears start to well in his eyes as he mentioned Fiddleford’s name.

“There’s a demon with full access to my mind and body. He tried to use me to build an interdimensional portal that would let him take over the world and he used me to try to kill Fiddleford. He could come back at any time. It’s not safe for either of you. I need my research to be split up. I need you to take one of my journals and get as far away from here as you can.”

Stan wanted to be offended. He wanted to be hurt and angry, but after seeing what happened with him and Fiddleford, he put on his best poker face as he spoke.

“And what are you gonna do? That’s not going to stop him.”

Stanford shook worse, knowing his brother wouldn’t take it well.

“I’m locking myself away. I have a bunker with enough supplies for several years.”

Stanford’s neutral expression was broken with shock.

“Hey, you can’t-”

“Don’t try to talk me out of this! This is all I can do. I shouldn’t even be waiting, but I need to get better enough to walk so I can hide the last journal.”

Stan scanned Stanford’s face for any hint of apprehension, but he found none.

“Fine, but I’m stayin’ here until you’re better. If I’m never gonna see ya again, I’m at least gonna spend a few days with ya first.”

Stan gave him a half-smile to cover up his lie. He wasn’t about to lose his brother again that easily.

Stan only sat down for a moment before a nurse knocked and entered the room.

Stanford squirmed a bit, clearly already uncomfortable.

Stan excused himself, lifting his pack of cigarettes to show Stanford he’d be back while not interrupting his argument with the nurse about how he wasn’t a fall risk and could use the bathroom on his own.

Stan made his way out to the parking lot, and started to pull a cigarette from the pack in his jacket pocket until he saw Fiddleford still sitting in his busted up car. He put the cigarette back and walked over to the car where Fiddleford was on his prototype cell phone.

“Yes, Em. I’m real sorry. I just got caught up. … I know it’s important, Hon, I just worked real late an’ I didn’t wanna wake you two. … Look, I’ll call ya again tonight, alright? I’ll make it up t’ ya. … I know, Em. … No, I’ll be home f’r Thankgivin’ an’ Christmas. … I promise. … I love ya both. … bye.”

Fiddleford practically jumped out of his skin when he saw Stan beside his car before he stepped out.

“Good Lord, ya scared me half t’ death!”

“I don’t mean to tell you your business, but you should probably stop promising her things. But anyway, why are you still here?”

Fiddleford’s face dropped in annoyance.

“Yeah, thanks f’r the input. I’m still here ‘cause my fuckin’ car is destroyed for one thing, an’ I wasn’t exactly tellin’ the truth ‘bout leavin’ town. He ain’t gonna change his mind ‘til he knows there’s a better way an’ I ain’t just lettin’ ‘im die. Even if things don’t work out between us ‘r he wants t’ stay mad, he’s still been my best friend f’r ten years. I don’t wanna just forget ‘bout ‘im an’ pretend like he ain’t Schrodinger’s scientist in that god f’rsaken place. So I’m goin’ t’ the library.”

Stan rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Ooh, the library. Maybe you can read the demon to death! And what a Scrote Dinger?”

“Schrodinger, an’ no, asshole. I’m tryin’ t’ see if anyone’s ever dealt with Bill before. If I can get ‘im outta your brother's head, then we can figure everything else out later. I had a feelin’ you’d lie to ‘im an’ try t’ help too. So if ya wanna help, please just keep ‘im here. I need t’ buy time before he gets antsy and tries t’ find a way home- I mean- t’ the lab.”

Stan sighed.

“Fine, but call the room as soon as you figure anything out.”

“Alright. I also have a favor t’ ask… can I borrow your car?”

Stanford’s face filled with anger and shock.

“No way in hell! My car’s all I got!”

“Well if ya still want a brother, then ya should let me use it.”

Stan hesitated, but soon let out a deep sigh and handed Fiddleford the keys, his voice cracking dramatically as he spoke.

“Take care of her, will ya?”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Just get back in there and keep ‘im inside ‘til I find somethin’.”

Stan looked at him in protest.

“I didn’t even get to smoke yet!”

“Sorry ‘bout ya. Now take this an’ get in there.”

Fiddleford traded the keys for his tin of tobacco, plopping it in Stan’s hand.

Fiddleford looked at him expectantly before Stan nodded in the direction of his bright red vehicle. Fiddleford nodded back politely before hustling off toward Stan’s car.

Stan couldn’t watch as he got close, too afraid that this precious Stan Mobile would meet the same fate as Fiddleford’s old beetle.

He took a pinch of chew and stuffed it in his mouth. He wanted to gag at the taste, but he kept it together as it flushed over him, satisfying his itch. It wasn’t as good as the feeling of holding a cigarette, but it would do.

Stan went back inside, finding his way to Stanford’s room again, careful to make sure the nurse was finished before he walked back in. To Stan’s dismay, it was clear they gave him more medication. His voice was lined with annoyance, knowing his brother wouldn’t even notice now.

“Hey, Sixer…”

But to Stan’s surprise, Stanford wasn’t as smiley as he was before.

“Hi, Stanley.”

Stanford smiled slightly, his eyes clearly wandering with the familiar imprecision post-painkiller.

“Somethin’ the matter, Poindexter?”

Stan took his place in the chair next to Stanford’s bed, the other chair and table now moved back to their original locations by the nurse.

“Where’s Fiddleford?”

His eyes seemed starry beneath his half-lidded expression.

“He’s not here, remember? Ya had a fight.”

Stanford’s expression quickly changed to confusion and concern. His eyes wandered as if his mind was circling the thought, not quite able to make the connection between his question and Stan’s answer.

“I miss him.”

Stan chuckled. His brother hadn’t always been so uptight, but he had always kept things pretty close to his chest. Seeing him now so often letting his thoughts flow freely was a sight Stan thought he’d never see.

“I know ya do, Buddy.”

Stanford suddenly sat up, his eyes lighting up. Stan recognized the eager look as Stanford’s idea face, but much less precise, sending a bit of apprehension through him as he watched his brother cautiously.

“I should go find him! I’ll tell him I’m sorry and he might stay after all!”

Stanford tried to swing his feet off the edge of the bed, but Stan quickly put his arm out in front of him to keep him in place.

“Woah there, Sixer. You’re still hurt. You’re not going anywhere.”

Stanford’s face dropped to a pitiful frown.

“But Stanley, what if he’s already gone?”

Stan was already growing tired of the direction he knew this day was heading in.

“He probably is, so quit squirming and lay down.”

Stan expected him to just give up, but apparently the meds had made him pretty confident in his strength, pushing Stan’s arm to the side and hopping down to the floor, his legs nearly giving way with weakness, but he managed to hold himself up. Stanford’s head spun as he stood and took a step forward. Then he lost his footing, taking the machinery he was hooked up to with him as he dropped like a stone to the floor, nearly smashing his forehead against the ground, but Stan put out his arm to catch him.

Attendants raced into the room at the clatter and flatline sound as the machinery came unhooked with several grabbing Stanford out of Stan’s arm. He flailed and fought as they sat him back down on the bed. One nurse had a conversation with him about using restraints if he wouldn’t cooperate before he finally laid back down with a puffed out fussy face of annoyance. When the staff left the room, Stanford huffed in defiance.

“How am I supposed to make a grand gesture from bed? This is ridiculous. Stanley, tell those attendants that I’m a grown man and they can’t tell me what to do!”

Stan sighed before speaking in a disingenuous monotone voice.

“Hey, you can’t tell him what to do. Oh no, looks like they’re already gone, Sixer.”

Stanford squinted his eyes at Stan in an attempt to focus, but soon his toothy smile returned in proud satisfaction, apparently forgetting about his goal of tracking Fiddleford.

“Yeah, you tell ‘em, Stanley!”

Stan couldn’t help but smile at his brother’s praise even if he wasn’t really trying. It instantly reminded him of when they were a team years ago.

“Well that’s not all where that came from. Let’s give ‘em a real piece of our minds!”

Stan’s eyes sharpened with determination as his smile changed to a smirk.

Stanford mimicked his expression as he had when they were just troublesome kids.

Once again, Stanford tried to swing his feet onto the ground, this time, yanking the machinery out of himself before he jumped down. Stan raced toward the door, ready to harass the staff when he remembered why Stanford wasn’t supposed to be getting up in the first place. His eyes widened in panic as he turned to see Stanford dizzily stumbling before he tumbled forward, landing with the armrest of the chair by the bed in his side, jamming his injured wrist on the back of the chair and slamming his knees down into the floor.

Stan ran back over, picking his brother up off the floor.

“Sixer!? Shit. Are you okay?” his voice strained with worry as he silently cursed himself for getting carried away.

“I’m fine. I can’t feel a thing!” Stanford smiled wide, trying to get back up already.

Stan held his brother back, leading him to his bed, and fighting against him to get him to sit until he felt his hands grow wet. He pulled his hands away for a moment to see the side of Stanford’s hospital gown was covered in crimson along with Stan’s hands.

“Jesus Christ! Stanford, lay down already!”

Stan practically shoved him back in bed before carefully lifting the side of his brother’s gown to check the wound, already cringing before he even saw the broken stitches gushing blood.

Stanford finally laid back down in confusion.

“What about telling those people off? And why is everything going dark?”

Stan felt panic shoot through him.

“Forget that and just stay here. Don’t move. I’m gettin’ a nurse.”

Stanford’s confusion only worsened before his eyes started to roll back into his head.

Stan felt his stomach churn and threaten to revolt at the sight, and now smell, of spreading blood. He darted to the hall and yelled for anyone for just a moment before staff filled the room again. In almost an instant, Stan watched as his brother lost consciousness before being swiftly transferred to a gurney and wheeled away.

Stan felt guilt and worry bubble over him as he resigned to sitting in the chair next to the bed again until he realized that his brother’s blood was still on the arm. He jerked his hand away from the arm rest before hopping up from his spot and moving into the chair across the room, leaving him to stare at the door as he anxiously awaited his brother’s return. He took another pinch of Fiddleford’s dip as his mind ran in circles, repeating every mistake he’d ever made in his life. He was supposed to spend his brother’s last few days in civilization together, but instead he’d almost killed him. Anger bubbled through him. He didn’t know what to do with himself as he felt it rise to his throat. He shook for a moment, his breathing growing quick. As his mind looped with self hatred, he felt his mind start to kick the thoughts out as his blood boiled. Just before his mind could go completely blank with rage, he stood, swiveled, and punched a hole into the wall. He stood in place for a moment, shaking and breathing hard before the rage drained out of him. He sunk back into his seat in defeat, his head resting in his hands again as he waited.

Chapter Text

Stan jerked awake at the sound of the room phone ringing. He shook himself awake and ran over to the phone.

“Yeah,” Stan answered, breathing heavily with anticipation.

“Stan, I think I’ve found it. I’ll be back t’ tell Stanford that everything’s gonna be alright. How’s he doin’?”

Stan was relieved by Fiddleford’s good news, but he was caught off-guard by his question.

“Uh… well…”

Fiddleford’s voice dropped, practically dripping with hatred.

“Stan… What happened?”

Stan never imagined he could be intimidated by someone who was a third of his size, especially not over the phone, but he felt a stab of fear zap through him like lightning.

“He, uh…”

Before Stan could finish his statement, Stanford was rolled back into the room.

“He’s fine! Gotta go, Hayseed! See ya in 20!”

Stan practically slammed the phone down on the hook and turned to check on his brother, but he was kept away by staff as they set him back up in his room, this time using a soft restraining belt.

As the staff made their way out of the room, Stan inched closer to his brother. He’d never felt nervous around his brother before, but now that he was laying tied down, shaking, and only barely clinging to consciousness, he suddenly looked at him as if he were frail and breakable as he worried he might hurt him even worse if he touched him.

“Sixer? Are ya alright?”

Stan held his hand in the air over Stanford’s. He didn’t dare get any closer, but he secretly hoped his brother had forgiven him and would reach out to him.

Stanford barely had his eyes open as his vision floated about the room. He tried to speak, but he could only manage gibberish. His pointer finger twitched as if he were trying to move, but couldn’t muster the energy.

Even through the anesthesia, Stan could see that Stanford was uncomfortable with the restraint. He squirmed a bit with what little energy he had.

Stan’s chest tightened with guilt and pity as he pulled the now cleaned bedside chair up close so he could sit and rest his head on the bed, laying his hand nearby Stanford’s.

Stanford managed to move his hand a bit to place a few fingers on Stan’s hand before sleep overcame him. Stan sighed with relief. He wasn’t sure that was exactly a sign he forgave him, but at least he wasn’t dying.

Stan managed to wait semi-patiently between the dip and his desperate fidgeting with his jacket strings and zipper, but by the time that Fiddleford finally showed up, he felt like he was going stir crazy having to keep quiet so his brother could sleep.

When Fiddleford arrived, he opened the door quietly just in case, to the point that Stan almost didn’t hear him come in.

He turned to face him when he was already halfway through the room.

Fiddleford whispered as he spoke.

“What happened, Stan? Why were y’all nervous over the phone?”

Stan spoke in a hushed voice, but not quite a whisper. The sudden volume even surprised him.

“They put him on those meds again, but instead of getting all smiley like before, he tried to run after ya, but he took all that machine crap with him and the staff put him back, but he got up again and fell and broke his stitches open.”

Fiddleford’s face filled with horror.

“Why didn’t ya stop ‘im?”

Stan’s gaze drifted to the ground, his eyes filling with guilt.

“I got distracted.”

Fiddleford took a deep breath, trying to control what otherwise might turn to an outburst before he approached Stanford and watched him breathe slowly for a moment. He frowned, seeing just how uncomfortable he was with the restraints and he could see the pain on his face even with sleep tugging at the corners of his lips and eyes.

“How long’s he been asleep for?”

Stan shrugged.

“I dunno. Forever probably.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes, and decided that as much as Stanford probably needed the rest, he couldn’t wait to talk to him any longer. He gently wrapped his hand around Stanford’s causing his eyes to flutter open gently. Stanford was clearly groggy, but the effects of the anesthesia seemed to have worn off. Stanford reached for his glasses with an imprecise hand, placing them half-crooked on his face before his eyes focused. He could barely see from his brain lagging.

“Fiddleford? You came back?”

Fiddleford smiled gently, pulling Stanford’s hand close to his chest.

“Stanford, I didn’t mean what I said before, and I know ya didn’t either. You’re up against somethin’ bigger than both of us, but instead o’ just givin’ up, I decided t’ do what we do best: research!”

Stanford's eyes softened as he looked up at Fiddleford.

“Of course I didn’t mean it. I was just pushing you away, but it’s still too dangerous for you to be here.”

Fiddleford pulled Stanford’s hand up to his face and gave his fingers a quick kiss.

“That’s what I’m tryin’ t’ tell ya, Hon. That damn thing’s been a menace all through history, an’ turns out, ya can keep ‘im outta your head with metal like those tin foil hats people use in stories t’ keep people from readin’ their minds. But Stanford, what did those surgeons just put in your head?”

Stanford’s eyes darted around as he connected the dots before a wide smile crossed his face.

“Titanium! Fiddleford, you're a genius!”

He tried to sit up further to reach Fiddleford, but the restraint held him down, so he grabbed the collar of Fiddleford’s shirt and pulled him down towards his face, locking his lips against Fiddleford’s. Fiddleford melted into him, rubbing his hands on Stanford’s back and shoulders. He let his hands wander into Stanford’s hair, but Stanford pulled away as Fiddleford grazed the stitches on the back of his head.

Fiddleford pulled his hands away, holding them close to his chest.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean t’-”

Stanford laughed heartily, though Fiddleford could see now that he was shaking a bit with pain and likely had been since he woke up.

Stanford stared gently into Fiddleford’s eyes for a moment before speaking up.

“Thank you, Fiddleford, for not giving up on me. I really thought my life was over and-”

Fiddleford’s cell phone started to ring. They shared an awkward glance as Stanford shut his mouth, both of their faces turning pink.

Stanford chuckled and gestured down with his head to show he was fine with Fiddleford answering.

Fiddleford nodded before answering the phone and pacing the far side of the room.

“Howdy! … Dagnabbit! I’m sorry, Em. I- … I meant t’ call, honest. I just got caught up again.”

Suddenly his face grew bright red.

“Em! I’m not at the lab right now. I can’t just- … I had t’ step ou~”

Fiddleford squirmed before covering up the lower half of the phone and speaking to the room.

“I’m gonna need just a minute.”

He barely got the words out before he shut himself in the room’s bathroom.

Stanford’s face turned from awkward to uncomfortable in a hurry while Stan scrunched his nose in disgust.

“Good thing ya weren’t usin’ it anyway, right?” Stan laughed heartily, trying to lighten the mood.

Stanford turned away a bit.

“Yeah, silver linings and all that…”

Stan sighed.

“Do ya wanna talk about it or does sober you not like talking to me yet?”

Stanford hesitated, but after everything that happened, he decided he would talk.

“I don’t know why I thought when he came back that things were different. I’m…” Stanford paused, searching for words that could possibly convey what he was feeling. “I don’t know. I guess I’m confused? Moments ago I was going to spend my life alone in a bunker being tortured until I died, and then I suddenly felt like I had everything, but now… I knew what this was when I started out, but I didn’t think I’d have to, you know… think about her?”

Stan laughed.

“Welcome to the dating world, Sixer. It’s not exactly a fairytale. When I went back to Jersey for a bit, I went steady with Carla from highschool before she left me for some hippie. I married some chick in Vegas too, but she gave me a fake name and tried to steal my car.”

Stan sighed happily.

“But I’d probably do it all again if they asked me too. That’s what it’s all about, Sixer. It’s never gonna be easy. Just try to enjoy it.”

He patted his brother on the back rather roughly, sending a hollow thud through Stanford’s chest that left him out of breath for a moment and made Stan recoil.

“Thanks, Stanley.”

Stanford managed a smile for a moment before a rather loud moan came from the bathroom.

The two turned away from each other.

“Welp, I’m gonna have a smoke. Good luck with that, Sixer.”

Stan practically disappeared before Stanford rolled to his side, and used his pillow to cover his head and muffle the sound. He tried to sleep, but both the situation at hand and the restraint made it quite difficult.

It wasn’t long before Fiddleford emerged back into the main room, red and covered in sweat.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Ya sleepin’?”

He tried to sound nonchalant, but he quickly realized that Stanford was not asleep and clearly blocking out the sound before shame washed over him.

“I am so sorry, Stanford. I’m- I’m real embarrassed.”

Stanford sighed and moved the pillow back under his head.

“It’s fine. I just- let’s forget about it.”

Fiddleford smiled sweetly, but the flush left on his face made Stanford’s stomach flip with jealousy.

“Alright, then… I interrupted ya earlier. What were ya sayin’, Shu- Stanford?”

Stanford winced at his obvious coverup.

“It’s not important. You’re probably pretty bored here though. You can head back to the lab whenever you like, you know.”

He wanted to give Fiddleford an out, but he hoped he would stay anyway.

“I guess I can head back if you’re alright. I was real worried when your brother wouldn’t tell me what happened, but I’m glad everything’s alright. Gimme a call if ya need anythin’ alright? I guess it’s ‘bout time f’r me t’ go car shoppin’. I’ll see ya soon.”

Stanford’s face grew pink as Fiddleford stepped closer, but he was quickly disappointed when he only gave him a peck on the forehead.

Once Fiddleford left, Stanford laid down and tried his best to sleep for the rest of the week, though sleep didn’t come as his head spun with the rollercoaster of emotions he’d experienced.

Chapter Text

The rest of the evening went by quickly. The doctors started to cut back on Stanford’s pain medicine, so they removed the restraints and he was able to spend the rest of the evening playing cards and catching up on the last ten years with his brother until they both nodded off.

The day after started out similar. No word from Fiddleford, and nothing else to do but catch up and play cards. Stanford won every round until Stan started to cheat. It took a few rounds for Stanford to call him out on it, but soon his competitive side showed itself as he grew more upset at his losses. Before they knew it, the day had come and gone, and there was no word from Fiddleford. In the evening, Stanford sulked more, and Stan decided to take it easy and pause his antics to cheer him up, but Stanford was getting sloppy and clearly didn’t care about the game anymore. Still, with nothing else to do, they continued to play until they fell asleep with the cards in their hands.

With another day starting out the same, Stanford felt like he was growing stir crazy. It had been days since he’d heard from Fiddleford at all and though he appreciated his brother’s company now more than ever, there was little to do besides dredging up the past for the millionth time and playing every card game the two had ever learned in their nearly thirty years on earth. The pain from just existing was subsiding substantially, but Stanford clearly wasn’t well enough to move much without the possibility of breaking his stitches open again. After Stanford was forced to eat hospital jello for the second time that day, he was ready to do just about anything to relieve the monotony to the point that he was considering making a break for the door even if he burst his stitches and bled out in the hallway, but soon enough, a familiar voice came from the doorway and Stan excused himself to take his first smoke break of the day.

“Hey, Shug! How are ya?”

Fiddleford sounded more well rested than he had since arriving in town.

Stanford’s heart skipped as he saw Fiddleford walk past the privacy curtain. His chest tightened with conflict as his mind tried to decide if he was elated or enraged. He settled on trying to stay neutral for now until his mind could make sense of how he should feel.

“I’m managing. Hopefully they’ll let me get out of bed today and if I’m lucky, only a few more days before they let me out of here.”

“That’s great, Shug. I’m so glad you’re feelin’ better.”

Fiddleford approached the bed, kissing Stanford on the nose and cheeks a few times.

Stanford’s face burned pink. His head told him to lean away, but the rest of him won the battle as he leaned into the shower of affection.

“I missed you,” Stanford admitted, but he almost posed it as a question, probing for an answer of why he’d been so absent with not so much as a call as he gazed helplessly into Fiddleford’s eyes.

Fiddleford looked away for a moment as guilt rose in his chest, but he quickly turned back and locked lips with Stanford.

Stanford let out a muffled sound of surprise, but soon his inhibitions fell as he leaned in, running his hands through Fiddleford’s hair, nearly forgetting they hadn’t spoken in days. Fiddleford rubbed his hands across Stanford’s shoulders and after a moment, Stanford grew frustrated at how slowly this seemed to be moving. He told himself he wouldn’t get so invested this time when Fiddleford was clearly still distant, but Fiddleford saved him. He’d surely be dead in that bunker by now if it wasn’t for him, and he missed him terribly in those few days, thinking of him every spare moment he had, which was plenty with the relentless monotony. He told himself to back away and wait until he knew Fiddleford still felt anything for him beyond physical affection, but with Fiddleford’s soft honey locks in his hands and sweet southern lips against his, he knew he was already caught. He thrust his tongue into Fiddleford’s mouth and pulled him closer, causing Fiddleford to nearly fall over as he leaned over the tall bed. He pulled both arms away from Stanford’s shoulders to put them on either side of Stanford to balance himself. Fiddleford was about to pull away when Stanford moved his hands down to Fiddleford’s waist and whisked him up onto the bed with him.

Fiddleford pulled away, startled by the sudden movement.

“Woah! Shug, we can’t do this here. Ain’t ya still in-”

“A restraint? They removed it already.”

Stanford whisked the sheet off himself to show he was free with a cheeky smirk.

“Well ain’t ya hurt still?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not made of glass.”

Stanford put his hands on Fiddleford’s waist, about to pull him close when Fiddleford’s apprehensive look stopped him.

“Is something wrong?”

Fiddleford took a deep breath.

“Are ya sure I ain’t gonna hurt ya, Shug?”

Stanford frowned, letting Fiddleford go.

“I’m sure, but I get it. It’s not exactly the most attractive look to be stuck in bed all day.”

Fiddleford smiled gently as his apprehension melted away. He leaned over Stanford and kissed his face all over again.

“You know ya always look good. At least t’ me ya do. So, if ya think you’ll be alright an’ ya promise t’ tell me if I’m hurtin’ ya…”

Stanford’s frown turned back to a soft smile while his chest felt like it would explode with anticipation.

“I promise.”

Fiddleford put his hands on both sides of Stanford’s head to steady himself as he started to grind against him.

Stanford burned hot, desperately pulling Fiddleford closer by his hips as he lapped between Fiddleford’s ear and his neck, sending a shiver down Fiddleford’s spine.

Fiddleford pawed at his pants, pulling his belt apart before pulling them down along with his boxers. He flipped up Stanford’s hospital gown and picked up grinding against him again, trying not to look at the stitches on Stanford’s side that made him so nervous.

They both breathed heavily and moaned quietly at the sensation.

“Alright, can ya lift your legs, Shug?” Fiddleford huffed through hot breath.

Stanford tried his best to bend his legs, but it put too much pressure on his stitches, causing him to wince. He shook his head, but lifted one leg into the air on the opposite side of his stitches.

Fiddleford laughed awkwardly, grateful that Stanford was being honest with him. He took Stanford’s leg and lifted it over his shoulder. Stanford balanced with his other leg as Fiddleford slid closer. Fiddleford rubbed himself against Stanford a few more times as he grabbed the lotion sitting on the bedside table. Stanford huffed in anticipation as Fiddleford lathered his fingers, but Fiddleford stopped to stare at him for just a moment.

“Fiddleford. Please.”

The look of desperation in Stanford’s eyes was driving Fiddleford insane, but he started out slow to make sure that Stanford was comfortable.

Stanford gasped a bit as Fiddleford pushed the first few fingers in.

“Y’ alright, Shug?” Fiddleford didn’t dare move until Stanford said something.

Stanford nodded as he let out a whimper.

Fiddleford pressed in the others to slowly stretch him as Stanford let out a low drawn out moan. He started to pulse them in and out slowly, still nervous of doing too much at once in case it hurt.

Stanford shook as Fiddleford grazed his sweet spot, letting out hot, breathy gasps, but Fiddleford wasn’t sure how to take it.

“Still doin’ alright?”

Stanford nodded with his mouth hanging slack before he focused again.

“More. You can do more. Please.”

Fiddleford hesitated, but Stanford had been truthful so far, so he pulled his fingers away and coated himself with the lotion before lining up and pressing in.

Stanford let out a gasping moan, thrusting his hips to a better position that only slightly tugged at his stitching. Fiddleford hesitated another moment, but as Stanford’s breath quickened, he finally pressed in further until he pressed fully up against Stanford.

Stanford moaned louder as his toes curled and his fingers gripped the back of Fiddleford’s shirt.

“Everything alright?” Fiddleford checked again, hoping he was making a fuss out of enjoyment and not pain.

“Fuck, Fiddleford, come on!” Stanford begged, trying to ungulate his hips to get some sort of friction.

Fiddleford smirked at the desperation before finally beginning his thrusting. He grunted and groaned as Stanford’s head rolled back in a mess of moans.

“Please. More.” Stanford gasped.

Fiddleford obeyed, pumping faster.

Stanford squirmed more, changing the angle just enough for Fiddleford to shudder with the sensation. Stanford’s nails dug into Fiddleford’s back.

“Oh fuck- hah- Fiddleford. Don’t stop, please!”

Fiddleford continued, trying to thrust quicker, but he was losing his rhythm as he felt himself getting close.

“Stanford- hah- I’m gettin’ close, Shug.”

Stanford begged again.

“Just a- AH- a little more- hah- please.”

Fiddleford was desperate. He didn’t know how much longer he could wait. He reached down and stroked Stanford, sending a shudder down Stanford’s spine.

“Oh Fuck! Yes! Hah- AH- So close.”

Fiddleford thrust a few more times, shaking as he released, riding out his high with erratic pulses.

As he started to calm down, he realized that Stanford was on the edge before he rubbed him again and pulled out, finally giving him his release. He rubbed him through his high before he sat up and walked to the bathroom.

Stanford was immediately struck by the loss of Fiddleford’s heat against him. He knew they couldn’t stay that way with there being no locks, but he at least hoped to share one more moment together before Fiddleford left.

Fiddleford cleaned up his hands before bringing back paper towels for Stanford. Cold. Once the soiled rags were in the trash and Fiddleford put his clothes back on, he went to sit down in the chair next to the bed. Stanford tried to hide his disappointment, but the sudden absence sent a stab of loneliness and emptiness through him that he hadn’t come close to since his worst moments of solitude during his researching years.

“You can lay up here if you like. No one’s going to stop you.”

Fiddleford chuckled, he couldn’t remember a time when Stanford had pouted this much.

“Aren’t the nurses due t’ bring ya food soon? An’ your brother’ll be back soon too.”

Stanford couldn’t stop his frown. He ended up squirming more than he wanted to, but he also couldn’t help but wrap his arms around himself.

Fiddleford couldn’t stand seeing Stanford so upset, so despite any embarrassment it may cause, he pulled himself back up into the bed. The two barely fit on the thing, but after shuffling around to have Stanford laying on his good side, and wrapping their legs together, the two managed to make it work. They only stayed like that for a moment before Fiddleford spoke up, guilt written all over his face.

“Stanford… I’ve got some…news.”

Stanford was exhausted after the only exertion he’d had in days, but he blinked away the impending sleep and focused on Fiddleford’s words.

“It’s Em… she-”

Stanford frowned and pulled away from Fiddleford as far as he could without falling off the side. He couldn't bring himself to look him in the eye.

“Can we not talk about her when we’re together like this?”

Fiddleford seemed off put by the request. He wanted to respect Stanford’s wishes, but at the same time, he knew he needed to tell him.

“Sorry, Shug, but I really gotta get this off my chest. She and Tate are comin’ up here.”

Stanford looked horrified.

“Fiddleford, you can’t just spring that on me. It’s my house. You didn’t even ask me.” Stanford looked him up and down, scanning him indignantly.

“I’m real sorry, but I didn’t exactly get a choice. She just told me like she’d made up her mind an’ I couldn’t stop her. Tater’s got some time off school an’ Em had some vacation days so she wanted t’ come up here. She’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!”

Stanford trembled, his whole system rejecting the information.

“Fiddleford, forgive me if this sounds dramatic, but believe it or not, I don’t really want to see your family.”

Fiddleford’s face drooped sideways in conflict.

“I get that, but they’re important t’ me. Y’ likely won’t even have t’ see ‘em. They’ll probably be home before ya even get outta here. I’ll try t’ get away t’ come see ya.”

Stanford couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“No. This isn’t supposed to happen.”

Fiddleford looked confused as Stanford spoke up again.

“They’re not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to see them. You’re not supposed to ‘find time’ for this like you tried to ‘find time’ for her. This is all backwards. I mean, where were you the last few days when you had all the time in the world? You didn’t even call.”

Fiddleford frowned, sitting up from his spot next to him.

“I can’t rightly blame ya, Stanford, but this is part o’ my life. Ya dealt with it up t’ now. I’ve been busy cleanin’ f’r when they get here an’ tryin’ t’ get the most dangerous stuff put away.”

Stanford gritted his teeth and spoke under his breath.

“We weren’t together before now.”

Fiddleford got up and climbed back out of the bed.

“I’m sorry, Stanford, but there’s nothin’ I can do. They’ll be here in the mornin’ an’ I need t’ finish makin’ room in the attic an’ pickin’ up anythin’ cursed.”

Stanford was stunned, staring at Fiddleford with desperate eyes.

“You’re leaving again? Just like that? I haven’t seen you or heard from you in days and you just show up to sleep with me and leave again?”

Fiddleford looked away, guilt bubbling up in him again.

“Ya make it sound like I just came here f’r that when you insisted on it. Ya know I’d stay if I could, Stanford.”

Stanford curled his legs up a bit, as far as he could without hurting his stitches.

“That’s what you used to say to her…” he practically whispered.

Fiddleford sighed before he leaned over and gave Stanford a kiss on the bridge of his nose, cupping his face with his hands, and showering him with kisses beneath his eyes and and across his cheeks.

“Hon, I’m not tryin’ t’ ditch ya. If I wanted t’, I coulda just left town a few days ago, but I didn’t. I ain’t leavin’, Stanford. I’ll still be at the lab if ya need anythin’, alright?”

Stanford wanted nothing more than to snuggle into the affection, but this time his mind won, at least partially. He answered flatly and let his cheek rest in Fiddleford’s hand.

“Alright.”

Fiddleford smiled and gave him one last soft kiss on the lips.

“Bye, Shug. I’ll see ya soon.”

Fiddleford moved his hands away slowly, which only made Stanford want to reach out and pull him back even more, but before he knew it, Fiddleford was gone, and a nurse arrived to assist him in trying to walk.

Chapter Text

The next few days passed by slowly. Stan tried to keep him entertained with what little they had on hand, but with his thoughts consumed by his most recent encounter with Fiddleford and gnawing jealousy of Fiddleford being alone with his family in his house, Stanford wasn’t exactly focused on winning any more card games. Stan was starting to get worried as he watched Stanford’s spirits diminish each day, but there wasn’t much he could do for him, especially with Fiddleford staying absent. But finally Stanford was getting what he assumed to be his final examination before he went home, and after a long while of his doctor inspecting what he felt like every inch of him, he finally approved him to go home, giving him a long lecture on care instructions and medicine management before he finally told him he could sign out.

Stan wrapped his arms around his brother roughly, almost lifting him into the air.

“Free at last, eh Sixer?”

Stanford laughed wholeheartedly. He was more than ready to leave, but he couldn’t begin to imagine how much worse it would have been without Staney there.

When Stan finally set him down, they gathered all his things and headed to the front, checking out and loading into Stan’s old car.

“You still have the Stan Mobile, huh? I thought you’d have traded it by now.”

Stan laughed, nudging his brother in his good side.

“And get rid of our old ride? No way! We ruled the streets of Jersey in this thing. I can’t just get rid of it.”

Stanford chuckled before slowly settling himself in the passenger seat.

“Thanks for staying with me, Stanley. I’m sorry if you gave up on something important just because of me. Are you planning on heading back to New Mexico after this?”

Stan looked down for a moment before turning back and starting the car.

“Nah, screw New Mexico. Nothing good there anyway. I’m thinking I might stick around for a while. I’ll probably find a motel in town and stay there for a bit.”

Stanford’s face lit up. He’d already grown used to having his brother around again, and all the anger he’d harbored since their separation seemed to have dissolved as he relied on his brother’s sole company for the week.

“There’s no need for that. I have plenty of room at the lab. You could have the whole upstairs if you’d like.”

Stan turned to him as he drove, ignoring that Stanford reached to steady the wheel as Stan looked away from the road.

“What about your boyfriend? Didn’t ya say his whole family was staying there?”

Stanford suddenly looked irritated, but clearly not at Stan.

“He’s clearly not my boyfriend if he couldn’t make time to see me more than once this week when he doesn’t have a job anymore, but also, it’s my house and if he can invite people without asking me, I can certainly invite whomever I’d like. Plus, they’re just visiting. You could actually stay if you’d like.”

Stan finally turned back to the road, taking the wheel back over.

“I won’t turn down a free place to crash. That hospital was a pretty good deal for me. Free place to sleep, and free food too.”

Stanford looked concerned.

“Free food?”

Stan laughed heartily.

“Yeah, I took half your food when ya weren’t looking.”

Stanford couldn’t help but feel like a week ago he would have chastised his brother for the exact same thing, but now he just laughed.

The two finally arrived at the lab, now with two new vehicles out front that Stanford could only presume was Fiddleford’s replacement beetle and his wife’s car.

“I’ve never seen so many cars in this driveway.”

Stanford chuckled, trying to stay light hearted through his nerves.

Stan followed his brother inside to see Fiddleford and his family sitting around the table.

Emma-May turned to the doorway in shock.

“There’s two o’ ya now?! Did ya use that dang copier ya were tellin’ me about on ‘im?”

Fiddleford slapped his knee and laughed heartily before he spoke up.

“Glad you’re back, Stanford. Em, Tater, this is Stanford’s twin brother, Stan.”

Stan screwed his face up a bit.

“Ya named your kid after a vegetable?”

Stanford laughed nervously.

“You’ll have to excuse him.”

Emma-May laughed.

“As if I’m not used to that Pines charm o’ sayin’ the worst thing at the worst time.”

Stanford screwed his face up too at the comment before Fiddleford tried to dissolve the tension.

“Alright, that’s enough o’ that. I was just ‘bout t’ get Tater Tot set up with the computer I put upstairs while Em takes a bit o’ time at the spa in town.”

Stanford put on a half-smile.

“Well, I think we’re going to try and get a place set up.”

Fiddleford tipped his head to the side.

“Set up f’r what?”

Stanford smiled wide.

“Stanley’s going to be staying here!”

Fiddleford’s face dropped.

“Can I talk with ya in the other room f’r a minute?”

Stanford immediately put up an attitude-filled expression, but he didn’t protest. The two walked into the next room while Emma-May made her way to the door.

“Y’ be good f’r your pa, alright Tater?”

“Yes, Ma.” He muttered sheepishly.

“Nice t’ meet your acquaintance, Stan. I just hope you’re less of a nuisance than your lousy brother.”

She walked out the door without waiting for a response and Stan was left with Tate, both silently fidgeting as Stanford and Fiddleford started to speak louder from the other room.

“Ya can’t just ask people t’ live here without asking me!”

“It’s my house, and you invited people to stay without asking me.”

“They’re just visitin’, Stanford! And ain’t this my house too? We’re supposed to make these decisions together.”

“I don’t recall you ever paying rent, and last time I checked partners don’t disappear for a week outside of springing decisions on each other they weren’t involved in, so in what way is this your house? And what do you suggest I was supposed to do, throw my twin brother out on the street? We haven’t seen each other in ten years. I just got him back.”

Fiddleford’s expression started offended, but as Stanford spoke he moved to guilt.

“Course not. I just wish you’d’ve run it by me first.”

Stanford was appalled as he held back rage.

“And when would I have done that? On one of the several days you didn’t show up or call?!”

Fiddleford’s expression dropped even more.

“I’m sorry I didn’t visit ya, an’ I’m not gonna ask ya t’ kick your brother out. It’s just hard t’ see ya both an’ think ‘bout ya at the same time. But we’re here now, an’ Em won’t be in town much longer. Then we can go back t’ livin’ like normal.”

Stanford felt his anger snuff out completely. He knew first hand what a toll it took to be split between two people, but he also knew the loneliness of having someone disappear on him for long swathes of time and the thought of going through that again sent a deep ache through his chest. He knew when Emma-May left, things might go back to normal for a while, but ultimately, Fiddleford would have to go home, especially if Emma-May found out their work was over.

“I know it’s difficult, and I’m sorry I got so upset. Just, not seeing you made me think… are we even still… whatever we are?”

Fiddleford’s expression drooped.

“Course, Shug. I don’t wanna lose ya over a misunderstandin’.”

Meanwhile, in the other room, Stan decided to try and distract from the conversation.

“So, kid, ya like computers, huh? I don’t know much about ‘em, but what do you like about ‘em?

Tate was quiet as he spoke.

“‘S’all right. I know Mr.Ford likes Pa.”

“What? I don’t know what you're talking about?” Stan’s voice was dramatic and dripping with faux shock.

“Y’ don’t gotta’ pretend. He says Pa’s name different. Kinda like how Ma does, but she calls ‘im somethin’ different..”

Stan knew it wasn’t exactly his place to step in here, but he couldn’t help but be worried about this kid getting caught in the middle of it all.

“Are you… okay with that?”

Tate looked like he was thinking for a moment as he stared off into the distance before turning back to Stan and replying.

“I think that’s why Ma doesn’t like Mr. Ford. I kinda wish Mr. Ford would just go away though, then Pa could come home.”

Stan’s heart sank. He knew what it was like to fall between the cracks, and he saw a bit of that in Tate too.

“How about ya show me that computer now?”

Tate smiled a bit and grabbed Stan’s hand leading him upstairs in a dash.

In the other room, the atmosphere lifted as Stanford and Fiddleford’s conversation took a more positive turn. Fiddleford was relieved that it seemed all had been forgiven, but he knew he’d have to work harder at balancing this if it was going to last. Stanford on the other hand felt like he was being driven mad with the lack of clarity in the situation. As much as he dreaded creating anymore awkwardness, he knew his mind needed to put this chaos into a neat labeled box for him to relax his mind. He tucked his hands behind his back less clinically than he usually tended to as he fidgeted and hid them bashfully.

“So, what does that make us?”

Fiddleford was caught off guard by the question and even more by how embarrassed Stanford seemed to be while asking. Fiddleford almost laughed at how sweet he seemed, but he held it back and instead softly rested his hands on Stanford’s shoulders.

“Well, whatddya wanna be, Shug? Boyfriends?”

Stanford’s face burned hot as he whipped his head around to avert his eyes. Fiddleford gave him a wide grin and placed his hands on either side of Stanford’s head. He turned him to gaze lovingly straight into his startled brown eyes.
“I’m gonna take that as a yes.”

Fiddleford leaned forward to kiss Stanford on the nose, only making his face burn hotter, but then their conversation dulled to a hush as they heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Emma-May’s car pulling out of the driveway before they shared a knowing look. Stanford spoke up.

“We can’t. We were arguing moments ago.”

“And we still ain’t, ya know, alone-alone.”

A moment of tense silence passed over them as they stared into each other’s eyes before Stanford spoke up again.

“Or we could just go downstairs.”

Stanford’s face burned at his own suggestion, averting his eyes in embarrassment before Fiddleford chimed in.

“Downstairs doesn’t sound bad at all.”

His voice sounded guilty, but giddy as he averted his eyes in turn, changing to a similar red shade.

They both laughed before turning back to each other, Stanford speaking up first.

“What are we even doing anyway? I don’t think this is normal.”

Fiddleford smiled wide.

“If it was normal it wouldn’t be you, Shug.”

Stanford knew he might normally be offended by such a statement, but coming from Fiddleford with his sunshine smile, he felt like no one could understand him better. He prepared to speak in return, but the feeling of Fiddleford’s lips pressing against him silenced his voice and his mind.
He felt Fiddleford’s hand run down his back and close to his hips before he pulled away for a moment.

“Downstairs, remember?”

Fiddleford sighed, and pulled Stanford closer, staring dreamily into his eyes.

“If ya insist.”

Stanford chuckled.

“Unless you want to get caught, and given the people left in the house-”

Fiddleford pulled Stanford in for another quick kiss to interrupt him.

“Enough talkin’.”

Fiddleford pressed up to Stanford, locking their lips together again as he moved backwards into the hall towards the stairs. Stanford reached his arm around Fiddleford’s back, catching him before he could fall, but Fiddleford kept walking back until they were downstairs outside of Ford’s bedroom. Fiddleford pulled him in by his shirt collar as he hit the door with his back, but Stanford pulled back again with a cheeky smile.

“Inside the room.”

Fiddleford pouted a bit at his reaction.

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

Stanford smirked at his words.

“Is that so?”

Then he reached past Fiddleford to the door knob, sending them both falling through the door, Stanford putting his hand on the back of Fiddleford’s head to keep him from hitting the ground while he landed on top of him, pressing in for a deep kiss before kicking the door shut behind him.

“You know, I never did get you that birthday gift I promised. I guess I’ll have to make it up to you.”

Fiddleford was flustered by the sudden charm as he was only able to cover his melting composure with the palm of his hand as Stanford ran his hands down from the back of Fiddleford’s head around his neck, down his chest, and along his sides to his hips, causing him to squirm with anticipation, his breath already becoming irregular.

“Oh, flustered already, are we?”

Stanford smirked as he unbuckled Fiddleford’s belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, before hooking his fingers into his waistband to remove his pants and boxers, leaving his lower half exposed.

Stanford leaned over Fiddleford one last time, kissing him gently along his cheeks as he lightly grinded against him. Then he pushed himself up, glancing downward and back up at Fiddleford with a sly look as he waited for permission.

Fiddleford nodded with a sheepish smile before Stanford lowered himself, letting his tongue roll across Fiddleford’s base, causing Fiddleford to moan as Stanford slowly worked his way back up to the tip.

Fiddleford was already throbbing with anticipation as Stanford pulled away, taking a moment to control his breath before taking Fiddleford’s tip into his mouth, swiping his tongue across his slit as Fiddleford moaned louder.

“Please, Stanford. Just get goin’ already.”

Stanford pulled away for a moment.

“Patience, now. We’ll get there.”

The command only made it all the more difficult to wait, but he tried to be patient.

Stanford returned his mouth to Fiddleford’s tip and swung his tongue beneath it as Fiddleford moaned more and started to twitch even though he tried to stay still.

“Please, Stanford.” His voice quivered as he begged and fought against the urge to move.

Stanford took more into his mouth, but he wasn’t expecting Fiddleford to buck his hips into him out of desperation, almost causing him to gag with the unexpected force, but he stifled it and managed to force himself to suck and swallow as Fiddleford continued to thrust and moan, throwing his head back and arching his back up off the ground.

“Oh, Stanford. Please, don’t stop.”

Fiddleford’s thrusts became erratic, and Stanford did his best not to choke as he tried to speed up, taking him in as far as he could.

Fiddleford’s moans grew louder and shorter as his breath quickened.

“St-Stanford -hah- I’m-”

Fiddleford meant to warn Stanford that he was close, but one last full thrust and maneuver of the tongue across his base, and Stanford’s throat was already filled. Stanford tried to swallow the acrid fluid, but with Fiddleford still in his mouth, more ended up spilling out as he quickly pulled away and gasped for air.

Fiddleford still shook a bit as he laid completely exhausted on the floor, his chest heaving as he tried to speak.

“Wow, even Em won’t do that.”

Stanford gagged violently at the mention of her name, threatening to send back up with little he’d managed to swallow.

Fiddleford struggled to sit up before rubbing Stanford’s back in circles.

“Y’all right, Hon?”

His concern finally showed in his voice.

Stanford shook as he felt his mouth water and the liquid in his stomach start to creep back up the base of his throat.

“I-” He cut off his words to heave and cover his mouth before settling again. “I asked you not to talk about her when-” he gagged again before picking himself up and slowly stepping to the bathroom.

Fiddleford suddenly felt guilt rise in his chest. He didn’t even realize what he’d said until Stanford pointed it out.

“I’m sorry, Shug. I guess I was just thinking of her f’r a second there after-.”

Stanford made one last sour face before he emptied his stomach, sending tremors through his body.

“Stanford! Are you alright?”

He shook his head, trying not to speak for fear that opening his mouth would make him sick again, but it was clear the shake would not be enough to satisfy him.

“I need you to stop talking about her.”

Fiddleford started to panic. He knew he needed to take Stanford’s mind off of it, but he couldn’t think of any way to fix it besides helping him out too. He made his way to where Stanford sat on the floor.

“I’m so sorry, Shug. How’s about I try t’ make it better?”

He tried running his hands along Stanford’s back and down to his waist band, but Stanford put his hand out firmly and sat back.

“I- I can’t do this, Fiddleford. Do you have any idea what this is doing to me? Why do you have to talk about her or think about her every time we’re together? Why can’t you just be here for just a few minutes?”

Fiddleford interrupted by placing his hands firmly on Stanford’s cheeks.

“I’m here f’r ya, Shug. It’s just us here. I ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout no one but you.”

Fiddleford pressed his lips against Stanford’s in a gentle kiss, holding his composure despite the salty and acidic taste left on his lips. It only took a moment for Stanford to kiss gently back as his mind calmed from his touch, but Fiddleford quickly pulled away with a screwed up face, causing Stanford to cover his face and laugh.

“Why would you kiss me after that?”

Fiddleford looked away in embarrassment as he wiped his lips off with the back of his hand.

“I thought it’d be romantic.”

Stanford giggled and finally stood before gathering supplies to clean the mess they’d made. When he returned, he’d rid the room of its acrid acidic smell, replacing it with something clean and woodsy, and soon enough Stanford was feeling better as his mind calmed with the repetitive task. Fiddleford moved to the couch and waited for Stanford to return. As Stanford sat back down next to him, he gave Fiddleford a half smile.

“You know you’re killing me, don’t you?”

Fiddleford’s expression dropped.

“Yeah, I reckon this ain’t very fair t’ ya. Do we need t’ talk about this some more?”

“Maybe later. For now I’ll just get back at you.”

Stanford smirked and went back in for another kiss, shoving his tongue down Fiddleford’s throat, spreading the acrid taste to a place he couldn’t reach otherwise.

Fiddleford shoved him away with both hands and gagged a bit.

“Uck, that’s awful.”

Stanford laughed and pretended to fight against the push as if he were going to kiss him again if it weren’t for Fiddleford’s outstretched arm.

“How do you think I feel? I had to swallow it!”

He teased before pushing aside Fiddleford’s arm and showering his neck and chest with kisses.

“Yeah, but ya threw up too.”

Fiddleford pushed him back, sprinkling kisses on Stanford’s neck, pulling the buttons of his shirt open so he could reach his chest. Stanford blushed at the feeling of his lips all over him.

“Oh, so you think you could handle it better than me, huh?”

Fiddleford was surprised Stanford seemed so rambunctious before he remembered that he hadn’t done a thing to relieve him. He glanced down and noticed that Stanford was still standing at attention, though he was clearly trying to distract from it.

Fiddleford smirked.

“I reckon I could.”

He ran his hand down Stanford’s chest and straight into his pants, wrapping his hand around his bulge.

Stanford sat up in shock, but the excitement in his eyes was undeniable.

“Really? You don’t have to. I was just joking around and I really did mean it to just be for you. I know you’re not… used to that.”

Fiddleford raised a brow.

“And you are?”

Stanford’s face turned red.

“Well I wouldn’t say I’m used to it, but it wasn’t my first time. It’s actually a lot easier with spermatophore though. It’s not as messy and the taper of the gonopod makes it easier to start with, but once you have something that long, then-”

Fiddleford screwed up his face.

“Stanford, if you’re talkin’ about that damn thing and whatever it had goin’ on, I swear t’ god.”

Stanford stopped talking, looking away awkwardly for just a moment before he spoke up again.

“I’m sorry. It was just… an original experience. I mean, I’ve certainly never seen an exceptional reproductive system like that before, and- I’m sorry, I’m making it worse. My point is you don’t have to.”

Fiddleford squirmed uncomfortably, turning a bit to his side to conceal his still-exposed lower half a bit from Stanford’s line of vision.

“I don’t rightly know how I’m supposed t’ take that. Was that supposed to be a slight on me f’r not havin’ whatever the hell a ‘gonopod’ is?”

Stanford’s eyes grew wide in surprise.

“No! Not at all. I meant exceptional as in an exception to the norm, not to praise it above human anatomy. You have great anatomy for a human!”

Stanford tried to smile, but he could see his rambling was just making things worse.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant you have great anatomy in general! Better than any gonopod, that’s for sure!”

Fiddleford pulled his boxers and pants up.

“Stanford, just quit talkin’.”

“I mean it though! It’s… long? That’s a complimentary term, right?”

Fiddleford groaned.

“Stanford, please just shut up before I change my mind.”

Fiddleford dug in his pocket for a tin of dip, taking a pinch and putting it in his mouth before kissing Stanford, trying to block the taste of semen and stomach acid with the familiar pungent taste of tobacco while getting him to shut his mouth.

Stanford’s face scrunched at the taste. He almost preferred the previous taste to the bitterness of tobacco that threatened to make him vomit again. Fiddleford wasted no time removing Stanford’s belt, pants, and boxers. Both of their faces flushed with nicotine before Fiddleford spat it out and moved downward.

Their previous conversation clearly hadn’t affected Stanford the same way it had Fiddleford as he continued to throb in anticipation.

Stanford was right when he suggested Fiddleford had never done this before, but he was determined to prove Stanford wrong anyway. As he wrapped his mouth around Stanford’s tip, he felt Stanford shudder, already throwing his head back as he swiped his tongue across his slit a few times.

He took more in, only getting about halfway before he felt like he could choke. He tried to swallow. He figured it would be just like any other mouth full, but the mass in his throat threatened to gag him as it stayed in place.

Stanford moaned at the sensation. His legs started to shake a bit, but he fought back his urge to further thrust into Fiddleford’s throat.

Fiddleford could feel Stanford becoming restless as he struggled to keep his hips still, but he was too busy worrying about his teeth getting in the way to even think about changing things up. He tried moving his tongue around the bottom of Stanford’s shaft which sent another shiver down Stanford’s spine.

Stanford shook more as he resisted, but it was clear they were both growing a bit uncomfortable. Fiddleford felt himself start to gag as he tried to swallow again. He quickly pulled away before he had the chance to accidentally bite down as a reflex. His throat was already sore and he was dreading going back in for a second try.

Stanford was clearly uncomfortably squirming as he waited for Fiddleford to return, but his patience was wearing thin.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. I can just -hah- take care of-”

Fiddleford steeled himself.

“No, I’m doin’ this. Just do whatever ya gotta. No holdin’ back.”

Stanford closed one eye in a wince, barely holding himself together as his throbbing became painful.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you. That kind of force when you’re new to it usually hurts… a lot, and last time you got upset when you told me to do anything.”

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”

Fiddleford went back down and started again, swiping his tongue over the tip, taking more in a bit at a time. He tried to swallow again, and fought off his gag reflex.

Stanford continued to squirm, still nervous to push him too far.

“Fiddelford, we can -hah- we can do this a different way. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Fiddleford ignored him and tried to take in more, but he couldn’t force himself. He reached up and grabbed Stanford’s hips, trying to push them forward to let him know it was okay.

The insistence was all Stanford needed to buck his hips, sending a loud moan through him. The force made Fiddleford’s throat burn and the feeling of him at the back of his throat was shockingly painful..

“Are you -hah- are you okay? I can stop if you-”

Stanford couldn’t finish his sentence before Fiddleford pulled more on his hips as he kept sucking. Stanford started thrusting, grunting and moaning as he gasped for air until he knew he was close. Stanford let out a few more moans, putting his hand on the back of Fiddleford’s head and gripping his hair as he finally released.

Fiddleford’s throat was already sore and the hot salty liquid forcing its way down didn’t help. He tried one last time to swallow, but it all spilled out as he gagged. He quickly pulled away and spit the mess out as he gasped for air.

Stanford was now laying flat against the couch cushions, gasping for air himself.

“Are you -huh- are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Stanford reached an arm out to Fiddleford, pulling him close when Fiddleford took it.

He coughed and spoke hoarsely as he turned to Stanford.

“I’ll be fine. I just wasn’t expectin’ that t’ be so…”

“Intrusive? I’m sorry, I tried to warn you. It gets easier, but you really didn’t have to. I wasn’t lying when I said it was supposed to be a gift. I figured it was one of those things that’s great for one person, and not so great for the other. I thought it would be… I don’t know. Special, I suppose. I hope I didn’t make you feel like you had to.”

Fiddleford chuckled and snuggled his head into Stanford’s neck.

“Course not. I’d never had it before an’ I figured you hadn’t either. I’d never tried it neither, an’ thought it’d be different. An’ boy was it different. Y’ didn’t make me do nothin’, Shug. I just learned it may not be my favorite thing.”

Stanford leaned his head against Fiddleford’s.

“Fair enough. I can make you some tea in a bit if you like. It might help with the soreness.”

Fiddleford screwed his face up.

“Ick, sorry, but I think I’m done with bitter f’r today. Unless we’re talkin’ real cold sweet tea, I think I’ll pass.”

Stanford laughed.

“Alright, how about cider then? It’s in season.”

Fiddleford softened his gaze and gave Stanford a few quick kisses on the neck.

“That sounds wonderful, Shug.”

The two laid there for a few moments longer before they heard footsteps above them.

Stanford rolled his eyes.

“I guess that’s our cue. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Fiddleford gave him one last nuzzle before he sat up.

“I’m fine, but are you alright? You’re the one who’s already injured, an’ you’re the one who got sick.”

Stanford chuckled, but struggled to sit up completely.

“I suppose you’re right, but I’ll be fine. Just help me up.”

Fiddleford stood, placing one hand on Stanford’s side to brace the wound and offering the other hand for Stanford to grab.

They locked hands and Fiddleford used all his weight to help Stanford up.

“Thanks. I’ll clean up here. You should probably get back up there.”

Fiddleford gave Stanford one last peck on the lips before heading to the bathroom to wash up and freshen his breath before heading upstairs.

Chapter Text

When Fiddleford made it upstairs, he was greeted by Stan and Tate sitting around the kitchen table with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches without crusts and glasses of milk. Stan was quietly listening as Tate rambled on about fishing.

Fiddleford was stunned into silence as he stood frozen at the end of the hall, but it didn’t take long for Tate to notice his father and stop his conversation short.

“There y’ are, Pa! Mr. Stan, can we make another sandwich?”

Fiddleford smiled wide at his son.

“That’s alright, Tater Tot. I’m not that hungry. Y’all finish your snack an’ then I’ll get t’ showin’ ya that computer.”

The two looked at him in confusion.

“We already played on the computer, Pa, but Mr. Stan and I were gonna make lures together!”

Fiddleford felt a pain in his chest as if his heart had been stabbed, but he feigned his smile for his son’s sake.

“Well that sounds like fun too, Half Pint.”

Tate smiled, relieving a bit of Fiddleford’s tension, but as Stan spoke up, Fiddleford could feel sweat start to bead on his forehead.

“Where’s Sixer, anyway? He said he was gonna bring my stuff in, but I can’t find anything.”

Fiddleford pulled on the collar of his shirt to relieve a bit of the heat rising in his chest.

“Uh, I think he’s downstairs.”

Stan quickly gave up on the conversation as he connected the dots on why they’d both been missing for so long between Fiddleford’s hoarse voice, the sweating, and both of them being downstairs together.

“Gotcha. Anyway, who needs him? I’m sure you know if there’s stuff around here we can use for those lures.”

Tate wolfed down his sandwich in his excitement, guzzling his glass of milk to wash it down.

“Yeah, Pa! Got any wood layin’ ‘round?”

“I’ve got some model buildin’ supplies in my office. I bet ya could find nice pieces of balsa in there.”

Tate’s eyes shined with excitement.

“C’mon, Mr. Stan!” He grabbed Stan’s hand and tried to pull him along.

Stan chuckled.

“How about you go ahead and try to find that wood and meet me back here. I’ve got a sandwich to finish.”

Tate nodded and rushed off, but as soon as he was out of earshot, Stan’s expression dropped.

“You two have gotta stop this. You’re hurting that kid more than you know. I know what it’s like to have a dad who doesn’t give a shit about you, and that kid doesn’t deserve that.”

Fiddleford felt the stab return in his chest and spread, radiating through him along with the sickness of guilt and the heat of anger and shame rising to his face.

“Stan, I understand where you’re comin’ from. I’ve met your pa. I get it, but ya don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout. This ain’t the same thing. I care ‘bout my son more than anythin’ in the world. Plen’y o’ kids grow up with their parents in different places and live just fine. I’ve only been gone from California f’r a few months anyway. Things’ll go back t’ normal eventually.”

Stan raised an eyebrow and clenched his teeth.

“And when’s that? When you decide to stay here for good and leave your kid in California? Or is it when you decide you need to go home and string my brother along while you never come back. What you’re doing is wrong. When it was just Sixer asking me about you two, I couldn’t care less if you wanted to torture each other, but there’s a kid involved here.”

Fiddleford took a deep breath to make sure he didn’t get too loud before he spoke again.

“Respectfully, Stan, this ain’t your business. I’m glad Tate’s gettin’ along with ya. I ain’t seen ‘im warm up t’ many people like that, but no matter how much your brother tells ya, this doesn’t involve ya. So I’d recommend keepin’ your mouth shut ‘n the future.”

The two stared at each other with clear hatred for a moment before they heard footsteps. Their faces instantly lifted as they turned towards the hall before they realized it was Stanford.

“Well you two look chipper. Where’s Tate? I didn’t walk past him on my way up, did I?”

They both breathed a sigh of relief that they hadn’t been caught in their conversation.

“He’s in my office. He’s lookin’ f’r wood t’ make lures.”

Stanford smiled.

“How fun! I’m sure he’ll love that. I guess I should finally get around to bringing Stanley’s things in, though I don’t think it’s going to take more than one trip. Unfortunately, Stanley, we actually only have one bedroom, and I’m assuming Tate’s sleeping on the air mattress in the space in the attic, so I’m afraid we’ll have to share the couch in my office for a few days until I can get a space cleared and a new mattress bought.”

Stan shrugged.

“Still better than sleeping in the car or some bug infested motel. It’s a lot colder here than New Mexico and the heat in my car’s busted.”

Stanford’s face dropped as he thought about what his brother endured all these years.

“We’ll get it sorted out soon.”

The sound of little footsteps filled the house as Tate came running back into the room and tugged on Stanford’s pant leg. He was surprised, but he turned around and crouched down to talk to Tate at his height. Despite it causing his side wound some pain, he put on a smile.

“Greetings, Tate. What can I do for you?”

Tate was clearly shocked to see that he’d found the wrong twin as he pulled his hands away and ran over to Stan, grabbing his pant leg instead, practically hiding behind him.

“Is something the matter, Tate? Did you need something?”

Tate didn’t answer, he just hid further behind Stan.

Stanford turned in confusion to Fiddleford, hoping for an answer, but Fiddleford just smiled and shrugged.

“It’s alright, Tater, ya don’t gotta be nervous around Stanford.”

Stan laughed heartily.

“Did you think he was me for a sec?”

Tate nodded and held on tight to his pant leg.

“Heh, that’s what I thought. He won’t bite, kid. Did you find that wood?”

Tate’s face lit up again as he showed Stan a few blocks of wood he found before setting them on the table.

Stanford’s face clearly showed his feelings of betrayal. Fiddleford tried to silently calm him, but he knew it wasn’t working when Stanford spoke up.

“You’re not afraid of me, right Tate? You’ve known me for a long time, a lot longer than you’ve known Stanley.”

Fiddleford put his hand on Stanford’s shoulder.

“He was just a baby the last time he saw ya in person. Don’t get yourself all worked up over nothin’, Shug.”

Stanford puffed out his chest a bit and put his hands out in front of him awkwardly.

“I’m not getting worked up, I just want Tate to know that I’m just as friendly and approachable as Stanley, and if anything, he should probably trust me more so.”

Tate hid back behind Stan again, barely peeking out from behind him to look at Stanford.

Fiddleford stepped in front of Stanford and spoke in a hushed voice.

“Shug, I think you’re scarin’ ‘im.”

Stanford threw his arms in the air in a dramatic shrug.

“Why would he be scared? I’m incredibly approachable and not scary at all. If he’s comfortable around Stanley, then he should be just as comfortable around me. I know! How about I show you where we keep the paints so you can decorate your lures?”

He kneeled down near Tate and held his hand out, but Tate cowered behind Stan before he spoke quietly.

“What’s wrong with his hands?”

The room went silent enough to hear a pin drop for just a moment.

Stanford pulled his hand away and tucked both of his hands behind his back with a look of serious hurt in his eyes.

Stan was at a loss for words for once, wracking his brain for something to say, when Fiddleford spoke up.

“Tater! That is not a kind question t’ ask!”

Stanford didn’t wait around to hear the rest of the conversation. He just turned and headed straight for the stairs.

Stan finally decided that he should let Fiddleford settle this on his own.

“Sorry, kid. I’ll be back.”

Stan got out of his seat and followed Stanford down stairs, catching only a moment of Fiddleford’s lecture on being polite and discussing differences.

Stan made his way to what he assumed was his brother’s room before knocking and getting no answer.

“If ya don’t answer the door I’m coming in anyway.”

After another moment of silence, Stan pushed the door in and found Stanford laying on the couch face down, despite deliberate instructions by his doctor not to, with his hands buried under his face.

“Gotta be honest, Sixer, I kinda thought you’d have grown out of being upset over kids being confused about your hands.”

Stanford didn’t move.

“Go away, Stanley.”

Stan scrunched his face in annoyance.

“Look, I’m sorry the kid likes me, but he’s just a kid. He doesn’t know any better.”

Stanford sat up into the corner of the couch and sat on his hands, his face drooping with shame.

“Stanley, am I bad with kids?”

Stan shrugged.

“Ya never really seemed to care about Shermie’s kid much. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around any other kids.”

Stanford could feel tears threatening to well up as his emotions bubbled up his throat.

“I know this is going to sound crazy, probably because it is, but I’ve been thinking… I know Fiddleford and I are… less than stable at the moment, but with our conversation earlier, I couldn’t help but imagine where things could go from here. I didn’t mind so much when he just seemed nervous, but he’s only known you for a few hours!

His shoulders slumped as he dejectedly looked up at his brother.

“And if his son hates me… I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’d make a terrible father and my work is extremely dangerous, as it is it took Fiddleford days to clean up everything he could have gotten into. And after Bill repressing any distressing emotions for me for years, I clearly have the emotional stability of a child all over again. I don’t think I can even trust my own judgement anymore after all these mistakes I’ve made. I just want him to like me. Then maybe all of this will have been worth it. Am I crazy for wanting that even if it might make things even more difficult in the long run?”

Finally he removed his hands from beneath him and threw them in the air.

“I don’t even know what I’m thinking! I know he can’t stay here, not once Emma-May finds out he doesn't have a job. He’s never even once brought up divorce. I mean, I’m the mistress in this damn situation.”

Stan couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Mistress?”

Stanford turned to his brother with anger.

“Yes, Stanley, how else would you describe it? I signed up for this, she didn’t, she’s his wife, and I’m nothing but the guy he shacked up with for a few months while he had no other human contact.”

Stan thought about it for a minute, but soon shrugged.

“Alright, mistress. Sure.”

Stanford’s face dropped again to the look of shame and sadness he held before.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I was just thinking about gradually spending some more time with him. I wasn’t going to do anything drastic, but once I saw the chance, I thought I had my in, and well… I just got overwhelmed when it all came crashing down and I was reminded of the fact that this isn’t my family and won’t ever be, and how Bill was probably right that I’m just an outcast and a freak in my own home world that no human could really love.”

A single tear fell down his cheek as he fought off the rest.

Stan frowned and pulled his brother in for a hug.

“Sixer, if I’ve learned anything about your life in the last week in that hospital, I’ve learned that that guy was a piece of shit and lied about everything. Even if it doesn’t work out with Hicks McGee, that doesn’t mean that demon was right. Just quit worrying so damn much. You’re hurting your own feelings over stuff that hasn’t even happened yet. Just try to chill and I’m sure you’ll find something in common with the kid. Just don’t think about the rest.”

Stanford was shocked at how quickly he felt his worries melt away at his brother’s words. He’d never been the most articulate, but sometimes putting words into something simple was exactly what his overthinking mind needed.

“Thanks, Stanley. You’d think after ten years I’d pick up something about understanding people, or how to act like a human, or even how to just not get upset at these things.”

Stan elbowed his brother in his good side.

“No one’s perfect, right? Not even you, Poindexter. That’s why we’re supposed to be a team.”

Stanford smiled a half smile.

“I suppose you’re right.”

A knock at the door ended their conversation before the door opened to reveal Fiddleford with Tate hiding behind his leg.

“Y’ alright, Shug?”

Stanford smiled sympathetically.

“I’m fine. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Fiddleford reached behind himself and lightly nudged Tate forward.

“And what do we have t’ say?”

Tate shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked one foot.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ford.”

Stanford stifled a chuckle.

“All is forgiven. If you’re still curious though, you’re welcome to take a closer look.”

Stanford was clearly nervous as he made the offer, but he was hoping what Stan said about his curiosity was true. All things considered, he’d certainly never want to stifle a curious mind.

Tate looked nervously up at Fiddleford who seemed surprised that Stanford would make such an offer, but he looked down at Tate and nodded.

“It’s alright. Ya can if ya want to.”

Tate nervously stepped away from his father and hopped up on the couch between the twins. Stanford splayed his hand out for Tate to see. Tate turned his head a few times as he inspected it before he grabbed it with both hands and turned it around, examining with wide eyes.

“Does it hurt?”

Stanford smiled gently.

“Only sometimes. It didn’t hurt at all when I was younger, but it does more often now. It’s usually pretty mild though.”

Tate looked up at him with a bit of concern.

“Why?”

“Great question. I’m sure you know a bit about bones and skeletons. What do you think happens when there’s extra?”

“They get all close together?”

Stanford smiled wider, almost proudly.

“Right you are. Over time that more complex anatomy has caused some problems, but luckily nothing severe.”

“Can ya type an’ fish an’ whittle?”

Stanford laughed.

“Yes, besides not fitting in store-bought gloves, they otherwise function as normal. Though not incredibly practical, the extra fingers actually come in handy for piano playing and doing tricks.”

“Wow! That’s pretty neat.”

Stanford felt like there was a light shining in his chest as Tate hopped off the couch and walked back over to his dad.

“Can Mr. Ford make lures with us, Pa?”

Fiddleford’s face broke out in a wide smile.

“Course he can. As long as he wants to. Whaddya say, Shug?”

Stanford stood from the couch.

“I’d love to.”

As Fiddleford and Tate made their way upstairs again, Stanford turned to look at his brother with an ecstatic look.

Stan wiped a tear away as he laughed hysterically at his brother’s expression.

“You really should see your face right now. I’m glad you’re excited, but seriously, ya look like you're gonna explode.”

Stanford lowered his brows in faux offense.

“Just come on already.”

Chapter Text

The four of them spent the afternoon on the porch, whittling lures and drinking hot cider and cold soda until Emma-May returned.

Once the car pulled up, Emma-May hopped out and walked up on the porch.

“Whittlin’, huh? And with all o’ y’all. How did that go? Stanford here cut his hand open yet? I’m surprised Tater’s not afraid o’ ya. He doesn’t warm up t’ folks easily.”

Stanford scowled at her, but didn’t say anything. It was Fiddleford who spoke up to break the silence.

“It went just fine, Em. No one got hurt. Tate’s turned out perfect as usual. His are even better than mine nowadays. An’ these two did pr’tty good for their first go at it, even if they won’t quit competin’ over whose is better.”

Emma-May took a quick look over both of them before picking up Stan’s.

“What’s there t’ argue ‘bout. This one is clearly better.”

She was obviously egging Stanford on, and this time he couldn’t help but speak up.

“How is that any better than this one?”

His voice was exasperated, though he tried to keep calm to not damage the little progress he’d made with Tate. She smirked at him.

“Well clearly this one was made with heart, which you don’t have, Shug.”

Stanford’s scowl started to look threatening as he hissed out his words under his breath through clenched teeth, hoping Tate wouldn’t overhear him.

“Like you would know anything about heart, you soulless witch, and don’t you dare call me that again.”

She smiled with the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him, which usually wasn’t the case as he normally tried to remain cordial with her. But now he was practically snarling in anger.

Stan wasn’t sure what to do here without causing a scene in front of the kid, but the situation soon dissolved as she started walking away, but not before Stan caught her shooting a glance his way that he couldn’t quite decipher. She put her hand on Tate’s shoulder and guided him up off the bench.

“It’s gettin’ cold, sweetheart. Y’all’d better head inside.”

Stanford and Fiddleford idled behind for a moment just out of earshot. Fiddleford grabbed Stanford’s hand as he started walking away.

“Cool it, Stanford. I know you an’ Em don’t see eye t’ eye, but you’re gonna scare Tater again.”

Stanford sighed, ready to apologize before Fiddleford adjusted his hand and Stanford felt the cold metal of Fiddleford’s wedding ring. He ripped his hand away, feeling as if the metal would seer straight through him.

“Maybe you should have that conversation with her then. I’ve remained quite civil with her despite her torment through the years. Actually, I can’t help but wonder if the reason your son doesn’t like me has something to do with the way she talks about me. Forgive me if I believe it’s unfair for you to scold me the one time I quietly retaliate.”

Stanford left no time for Fiddleford to argue back as he made his way inside, Fiddleford tailing close behind.

When they got inside, Emma-May was already making a few plates of pulled-pork sandwiches from the crock pot for her and Tate followed by Stan who was practically drooling at the thought of a home-cooked meal with an empty plate in hand.

“Ya want some, Sixer?” Stan hollered across to him.

Stanford’s temporary excitement from spending time with Tate was gone as a neutrally annoyed expression crossed his face.

“Can’t. Not if it’s Fiddleford’s cooking.”

Fiddleford’s offensive showed on his face instantly.

“An’ what’s so wrong with my cookin’ all o’ sudden, Mr. Porkroll?”

Stanford couldn’t help but chuckle knowing he cared so much about his opinion. Relishing the small rise he got out of him while he was still perturbed with him.

“I’m sure it’s great, but I can’t have anything spicy yet. Doctor’s orders. If I know anything about your cooking it’s that you put far too much hot sauce for what I’m used to. I’ll just have a nutrient shake.”

Fiddleford’s face turned pink from embarrassment over his reaction before he turned to join the line of everyone else to make a plate.

As it was there were only four places around the table anyway, so Stanford resigned to return to his study down the elevator. He hadn’t been back since his incident with Bill and he knew he would find a lot that he wasn’t proud of, but he couldn’t bring himself to just go to bed yet.

As he stepped off the elevator, and into the door of his study, he was met with many of his items of worship for Bill that instantly struck a chord in his chest.

His first instinct was to take it all and throw it away, rip the tapestries, burn the pages he wrote for him, and melt the statues. He reached for the first piece of cloth in his sight and prepared his shaking hands to rip it in half, but he couldn’t bring himself to destroy it. He set the cloth back down and stared for a moment at the image, finding himself falling into his old habit of emptying his mind as he stared. He’d almost forgotten how comforting it had become to him to be able to relax near instantaneously. Soon enough, he found himself sitting on his usual rug and emptying his mind until before he knew it, he was asleep.

As he opened his eyes, he recognized instantly that he was in a familiar dream, and moments later, a chill was sent down his spine as a familiar voice echoed through his mind to accompany it.

“Well, well, well, look who was thinking about me again.”

Stanford’s eyes were wide with fear as he turned to face Bill.

“You’re not supposed to be in my mind anymore! How-”

Bill floated close to Stanford, running a finger down his shoulder.

“Did you already forget that I could take over your dreams before we made our deal? Which by the way, I’ll mention that not keeping up your end of the deal is quite the betrayal to your promise to be together until the end of time.”

Stanford stepped back.

“You know that what you did was a thousand times worse than me cutting you off.”

Bill laughed maniacally.

“We both know you just got lucky. But I will haunt your dreams and those of everyone you care about until I get what I was promised.”

“Then you’ll die waiting!”

Bill raised his brow.

“Correction, Sixer. You’ll die waiting, and I have eternity to change your mind.”

Stanford’s fear dissipated and left his face sullen and thoughtful.

“We really could have been something. An unstoppable force that could have brought so much good to the multiverse. But you chose this instead.”

Bill leaned against Stanford, leaving his eye only inches from Stanford’s face, his voice still filled with the same snarkiness.

“So you’re telling me that if I gave all this up, you’d get rid of that metal plate and come running back?”

Stanford scoffed.

“It’s too late for that. This is permanent, and even if I could remove it… I could never trust you again. All you do is lie. If you told me you’d given it all up, I’d know it was a trick. This is over.”

Bill actually looked contemplative for a moment, all the layers that were for show fading away for even just a moment.

“But you miss me, don’t you?”

Stanford was surprised at the difference in his tone, but he wasn't sure what to make of it.

“Of course. You made yourself into what I wanted, an outcast who praised me senselessly. You literally read my mind to understand me better than any person could ever understand me. What wasn’t to like? But I never even knew what you were really like. I can only miss what wasn’t even real.”

Bill felt something tear within him. For a fleeting moment, he imagined what could have been if he had changed his mind, gave up on his band of misfits, and decided what was best for himself. It made him want to scream and tear apart anything good that Stanford had left. He turned bright red and shook with rage.

“You chose not to follow me. We could have had the world and you chose the possibility of some hillbilly over world domination.”

Stanford’s face grew exasperated with frustration.

“I’m through reasoning with you, Cipher. This is done. I’ll mourn the loss of a kindred soulmate, but I know it isn’t you. I only wish I could foolishly delude myself to see him one more time.”

Stanford watched as Bill’s color faded back to yellow before he grabbed him, pulled him close, and gave him one last passionate kiss before his eyes flew open.

Chapter Text

“Stanford?”

Stanford sat up from the floor in a shot, completely confused in the whiplash of realizing he was awake.

Fiddleford was looking down at him with an upset and confused face.

“Stanford… were you… with Bill again?”

Stanford held his head in his hand, now with a terrible headache presumably from hitting his head at some point as he fell asleep and irritating his stitches. He could hardly speak from the pain and confusion.

“Fidd… Fiddlef… no, I-”

Fiddleford’s face only grew more upset.

“Don’t lie, Stanford. You were kissin’ somethin’ in your sleep sittin’ on a rug with his face on it in front of statues with his face on ‘em.”

Stanford reached up to grab Fiddleford’s pant leg in case he tried to walk away before Stanford could form coherent thoughts again.

“No. He… he can still haunt… haunt dreams.” He shook himself, and though the headache stayed, the confusion was starting to fade.

“So ya were just with him in a dream. That makes it better.”

Fiddleford’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Fiddleford, you’re not listening. It wasn’t on purpose. I told him that we’re done. He tried to kill you. That’s done forever, end of story. … I did kiss him once, but it wasn’t romantic, it was just a goodbye forever type of thing.”

Fiddleford's face sunk.

“I knew it. I knew it, Stanford. I knew this wasn’t gonna work!”

Stanford’s face flashed with anger.

“You knew it? Knew what? Nothing has changed. You were hoping this wasn’t going to work out?”

“Stanford, something’s gotta give here, an’ you bein’ with Bill when he wants us dead ain’t gonna work.”

Stanford stood up to be at eye level with Fiddleford.

“Fiddleford, you’re the one that’s making you anxious. Not me. The fact that you would even suggest that I’d do something to jeopardize this… Fiddleford, I wasn’t kidding when I said this is killing me. Bill is not who I thought he was. I couldn’t possibly be with someone I don’t even know. I love you, Fiddleford. I-”

Stanford stopped as what he said sunk in.

“I- I do. I love you, and this is killing me. My chest hurts just thinking about you and her being together. I want you to move here. For good. I want to get to know Tate better and spend time together, just us. But I know that’s a more difficult decision for you, and I’m trying to be patient and understanding because I’ve been there, but I’m not with anyone else anymore, and I want to stay because I care about you.”

Fiddleford looked down at the floor. He was still looking for a reason to be mad, but he knew he was just trying to cover for himself.

“I know y’ain’t, Shug. I gotta be honest, I think I’ve been lookin’ f’r somethin’ t’ make a decision f’r me. I even found m’self wishin’ I’d catch one o’ ya with someone else so I wouldn’t have t’ do this. I just ain’t cut out f’r breakin’ hearts, but I know this ain’t workin’. Just give me a bit more time. Please?”

Stanford wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or upset. He was growing exhausted of accusations, and of forgiving when it seemed like there was no end in sight. Most of all, he was deeply hurt that Fiddleford didn’t say he loved him back, but he knew he couldn’t expect that much with the way things were.

“Of course.”

Fiddleford tried to force a smile.

“Thank you. You’re better than I deserve.”

Fiddleford put his hands on Stanford’s shoulders and stared at his lips for a moment before Stanford got the hint and leaned in to kiss him. Fiddleford leaned in too, keeping it gentle. He moved his hands from Stanford’s shoulders up to the back of Stanford’s head before he pulled away in pain.

Fiddleford gasped at the realization.

“I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.”

Stanford put his hand out between them to keep Fiddleford from getting close again.

“It’s fine. I just- I think I hit my head when I fell asleep earlier. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Fiddleford scrunched his face up in sympathy. His gut wrenched as he recalled how many times he’d apologized, how many times he’d hurt Stanford, and how many times he asked him to bear through it for him. He could feel tears creeping up as the overwhelming thoughts took him over, but he pushed them down as far as he could. He didn’t have the right to cry.

“Oh, Shug.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Let’s just head upstairs. I’m sure it’s actually about time for everyone else to sleep.”

Fiddleford just nodded and followed Stanford silently as they made their way to the elevator and back upstairs.

As they turned the corner, Fiddleford was practically tackled by Tate.

“G’d night, Pa!”

Fiddleford smiled wide, grabbing the hat off Tate’s head and ruffling his hair.

“G’d night. Love ya, Tater Tot.”

“Love ya, Pa.”

Tate let go of his dad and turned to Stanford politely.

“G’d night, Mr. Ford!”

Stanford managed a smile. He wasn’t sure what to do. He was terrified of making a mistake, but he knew not saying anything was probably worse. So he settled on patting him on the back, trying his best to hide how nervous he was for such a simple interaction especially when he wasn’t sure it would even matter.

“Good night, Tate.”

Tate’s smile stayed as he ran up the stairs toward his temporary room.

“G’d night, Mr. Stan! G’d night, Ma!”

He was gone before they had the chance to answer him back.

Emma-May rolled her eyes.

“I’m the one who sticks ‘round and I get nothin’ from ‘im. The curse o’ bein’ a mother I guess. He’s always been close with Fidd. Him bein’ up here’s been hard on ‘im, but I didn’t expect ‘im t’ just throw me away when he saw ‘is pa again.”

She and Stan were sitting at the table still as Emma-May kept chatting.

“Ya wanna beer, Stan? I’m sure these two have got somethin’ lyin’ around.”

“Sure, but I wouldn’t count on that. I don’t think Sixer’s much of a drinker.”

She dug around in the fridge for a second before she found a few beers in the back of the fridge.

“Found some! Two left.”

“Ya sure we should take the last ones?”

Stan normally wouldn’t care, but he was trying hard not to overstep after he just got back on his brother’s good side.

Emma-May was already on her way back to the table.

“He’ll live. It’s Fidds’ brand.”

She slid the can over the table to Stan as Fiddleford and Stanford came around the corner.
Stan laughed, knowing full well they were caught red handed stealing their beer.

“Sorry, Fiddlesticks. Last two.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes.

“I don’t feel like drinkin’ much anyway.”

The two sat at the table for a moment in silence before Stan pulled out a deck of cards.

“Wanna play a round?”

Stanford rolled his eyes and groaned.

“We’ve been playing cards for a week, and you cheat. Thanks, but I’m out.”

Stan turned expectantly to Fiddleford.

“Sorry, it’s been a long week. If it’s alright with y’all I think I’ll do some work on my laptop.”

Stanford spoke up again now that he knew Fiddleford wouldn’t be busy.

“Oh, actually. I hate to ask, but if you’re not playing, could you help me clean this? It’s kind of difficult when you can’t see what you’re doing.”

Stanford put his hand over the wound on the back of his head, his face turning pink. He was honest when he said he hated to ask, but if he was going to ask for help from anyone, he’d rather it be Fiddleford, even after their disagreement.

“Sure, Shug.”

As they got up from the table again, Fiddleford noticed a glare from Stan, and Stanford noticed a similar glare from Emma-May. Each of them practically snarled in silence back at them before they disappeared into the bathroom connected to Fiddleford’s room.

Stan tipped the can of beer back, making a show of it before he slammed it down on the table.

“So, still up for a round?”

She shrugged in response.

“I s’pose. Fidd’s terrible at cards. It’ll be nice t’ have some real competition. Even if ya don’t play fair. ‘Specially since I don’t care f’r playin’ fair m’self.”

Stan made his signature toothy grin.

“A gal after my own heart, I see.”

She chuckled.

“Just deal the damn cards.”

Stan followed her orders, shuffling expertly before he dealt. As they took their first few turns, Emma struck up a conversation.

“I’ve know that little geek f’r ten years, so how come I never heard o’ you before?”

Stan revealed nothing through his trained game expression.

“I can’t read his mind, but if I had to guess I’d say he was still pissed at me and he doesn’t do personal stuff well.”

Emma-May shrugged.

“Makes sense, but why was he pissed at ya?”

Stan rolled his eyes, tired of dredging it up again.

“I kinda ruined his big project in highschool. He was gonna go to some highfalutin school because of it, so he had to go to some cheapo place instead.”

Emma-May couldn’t help but let the surprise show on her face.

“An’ he hated ya ‘cause of an accident? I’m assumin’ it was an accident what with how close y’all seem. An’ our school wasn’t that bad. He really cut ya out over somethin’ like that?”

Stan scowled, finally allowing himself to break the stony persona.

“It’s complicated. Pop had this whole thing about money and how him going to that school would make him rich- Long story short, they kicked me out, Sixer went to that school, and we both went after the money Pop always claimed we owed him. I only showed up because I heard he was in the hospital and I thought he’d be dead before I got to see him again. We talked a lot in the hospital and I think we both realized it was Pop that was keeping us fighting.”

Emma-May’s eyes grew sympathetic.

“That’s a real sweet story. Too bad it involves him. It almost makes me think he could be human.”

Stan’s eye was starting to twitch.

“Look, ya seem like a nice lady, but would ya lay off him already? He is my brother, ya know. Why are you pickin’ on him anyway?”

Emma-May chuckled again.

“I’m sorry. It’s just too easy. When we first met, he was just a sleep deprived teenager who always ignored me. I’d come over to their dorm and he’d act like I didn’t exist. He’d even talk t’ Fidd and just ignore that I was even there. He wasn’t outwardly rude outside o’ that, but then I started messin’ with ‘im t’ see if I could get any emotion out o’ that husk. It took a while, but it seemed anger was the only way t’ get ‘im t’ acknowledge I was around. Fidd’s always talked about how great he was, an’ I just hated it. How can someone who doesn’t do nothin’ but read all day be greatt?! I guess he’s different when I’m not around, but I’d never know. If he didn’t hate me then, I’m sure he does now.”

Stan laughed.

“He doesn’t do well with anything new, let alone people in general. It was always just us against the world until we left home. I was honestly surprised to hear he made a friend at all.”

“So you’re sayin’ I’m a jackass?”

They both laughed heartily, each thinking it must be the buzz, but they knew they hadn’t had nearly enough for that.

“Seriously though, I know this may sound a might crazy, but… I’ve always been a might jealous o’ your brother. Don’t get me wrong, not that I’d wanna be anythin’ like that little frea… Sorry. What I mean is, Fidd always talked ‘bout ‘im like he was the best thing in the world. He never talked ‘bout me like that. Fidd’s never said anythin’ ‘bout, y’know, swingin’ both ways, but I couldn’t help but worry ‘bout those two bein’ alone. I convinced m’self I was worried your brother would coerce ‘im ‘r somethin’. I know he wouldn’t do anythin’ that bad. As much as I make ‘im out t’ be a monster, I know he ain’t evil. But once he made that phone call an’ Fidds was packin’ only an hour later without so much as askin’ me first… I dunno. Crazy, ain’t it?”

Stan started to sweat.

“Uh… I dunno. I can’t say I blame you for caring about someone, but I’d say it’s not really fair to just blame him and not your husband. I mean, maybe you should just tell him you don’t like him saying that stuff. ‘Cause if something like that actually did happen… it takes two to tango, ya know?”

Emma made a sour face.

“Alright. It’s still m’ husband we’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

Stan’s exasperation showed as he shook his head at her.

“Ya think I like talking about my brother like that? You brought it up.”

“Alright, alright, forget I said anythin’.”

They made a few more moves in silence. Stan looked over his cards with one eyebrow raised unconsciously. He couldn’t help but admire her, sticking to her guns through it all. He was reminded of the last girl who had his heart before she walked out on his life for someone else. He knew she must be feeling that way even now before she knew how deep this really ran. He could feel himself start to hate Fiddleford even more for what he was doing to her. How could he really love her if he was willing to hurt her like that?

“What are ya staring at, city boy?”

Emma looked him up and down as she caught his eyes drifting across her.

“You’re not one o’ them guys who just stares at a gal’s tits instead o’ talkin’ to ‘er, are ya?”

Stan’s face turned bright red.

“Now where’d ya get an idea like that. I may not look it, but I’m a stand up guy when I’m not getting paid to be otherwise.”

Emma-May tossed her head back in laughter.

“Gee, you’re real gullible f’r a conman. You’re sweet, Stan. Kinda cute when you’re all flustered like that.”

Stan turned away in embarrassment, breaking his usual confident persona.

“Hey, now. You’re a married lady. I’m not about to hit on ya or anything.”

Emma-May smiled sweetly.

“Ya really are a nice guy, ain’t ya? Truth is, me an’ Fidd ain’t exactly been doin’ well. I don’t know how much longer we can do this f’r. It’s been awful lonely back in Cali. Fidd used t’ work from home, an’ then he just up an’ left. An’ with Tater goin’ t’ school, it’s just me ‘round the house. I thought ‘bout findin’ something full-time just t’ get outta the house more, but I know that ain’t the problem.”

“Why are ya tellin’ me all this? I barely know ya?”

Emma shrugged again.

“Ya just seem… trustworthy I guess despite your reputation. I dunno. You’re talkin’ to a crazy lady, remember?”

Stan found his mind short circuiting. He wasn’t used to being a thinker, but it almost startled him as everything was coming up blank. Shit. He recognized this from what he must have felt a thousand times before. He always portrayed himself as such a casa nova until he actually caught feelings and was left a blubbering mess. But this wasn’t just some chick he’d met at a bar, she was married. Stan’s thoughts were interrupted by Emma.

“Whaddya think ‘bout sendin’ your brother out in the cold t’ get us s’me more booze?”

Stan recognized it as another way to pick on Stanford, but he couldn’t deny that another drink might calm his nerves. He finally sighed.

“Sure. He can’t drink anything on those meds anyway, he might as well run errands if he’s got nothing else to do.”

Emma-May smiled wide.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout, Jersey boy. Hey Dork! Come back here!”

She raised her voice just loud enough for the two to hear from the bathroom, careful to not be heard upstairs by Tate. A shirtless Stanford came walking back into the room with an annoyed face. Neither of them had seen him like that in quite some time and hadn’t realized just how much muscle he’d obtained since moving to Oregon or just how many scars he’d developed. He seemed covered with them, but everyone’s attention gravitated instantly to the tattoo around his collar bone. Fiddleford followed close behind him with a gauze pad soaked in saline.

“Slow down now, Shug. I ain’t done yet.”

Fiddleford continued to dab at the wound on the back of his head gently, still causing him to wince a bit from the pain.

Emma spoke up first.

“Damn, boy. Where’d you get all them scars from? I always knew ya were a klutz, but that’s a lot even f’r you. And a tattoo? I never took ya f’r the type.”

Stanford rolled his eyes.

“I’ve never been a klutz, mind you. These are from creatures that I’d suspect would kill you in an instant if you were out here alone for that long. And the tattoo is none of your business.”

She clearly touched a nerve as he practically snarled at her.

Emma just scoffed in what sounded like disbelief, causing Stanford to bar his teeth at her.

“What are ya, a damn animal? Get that nasty look off your face. I don’t know how y’all can stand it up here without booze, but you're out. Won’t ya be a doll an’ get us some more?”

Fiddleford sighed.

“Darlin’, be nice to ‘im. Ya know that this neck o’ woods is more dangerous than most from what’s happened t’ me in just a few months.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. He’s the only one not doin’ anythin’ though, so you’re up, Dorkwad!”

Stanford took a deep breath.

“In a minute. If this isn’t cleaned- AGH!”

He jumped away from Fiddleford and whipped around.

“What the hell?!”

Fiddleford pulled his hands away.

“Sorry, Shug. The one on your side looks a little red. I hope it’s not infected.”

“That was just the saline? Shit. I hope I don’t have to go back there over an infection. They’ll keep me for at least two more days over something like that.”

Emma-May smirked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“And that would be just terrible.”

Stanford couldn’t help but let his anger show with a hiss in his voice.

“No one asked you. You know, why don’t you just try to kill me if you hate me so much?”

Fiddleford stood in front of him.

“That’s enough, Stanford. Y’know she’s just pullin’ your leg.”

Stanford’s eyes darted around Fiddleford and his face scrunched as he tried to spit out the words on his mind.

“That’s enough from her! I’m sick of this! I’m letting her stay in my house, and all she’s done is mock me!”

Emma-May put a hand over her mouth to hold back laughter.

“Wow, so he does have feelin’s, an’ last time I checked I was statin’ here ‘cause o’ Fidd, so I don’t reckon there’s much you can do ‘bout it. Now we’re ready f’r more beer, so go fetch!”

Stanford drew his lip back in a snarl, his eyes laser focused on her as he clenched his fists. He hadn’t been taunted much since he’d had the strength to do anything about it. Fiddleford knew as much too and was terrified Stanford would do something drastic.

“Stanford, look at me now, Shug. Don’t do nothin’ you’re gonna regret.”

Stanford’s rage only got worse. He moved Fiddleford to the side with ease, embarrassingly so for Fiddleford, before he approached the table. Now Stan was starting to get worried. He’d never seen brother this angry, at least not this threatening. He readied himself in case he had to step in.

Emma-May didn’t budge, she nonchalantly leaned back in her chair with her beer in her hand while Stanford continued his rant..

“Punch me!”

Finally Emma-May looked surprised.

“Ya really expect me t’ touch ya? You’re more of a creep than I thought.

“Enough with the jokes! Hit me! If you hate me so much, do something about it! Scratch me, kick me, whatever, just do something!

She was almost impressed by this level of emotion. Stanford had always been so reserved, and only recently showed his distaste for her at all. Even Fiddleford hadn’t seen him this angry before.

“Alright, I’ll bite.”

Fiddleford was struck with horror.

“Em, no! Someone’s gonna get hurt!”

Stanford held his arm out to keep Fiddleford back.

“Stay out of this, Fiddleford!”

Fiddleford shrunk away, unsure of what to do when Stan finally stepped between them.

“Sixer, just calm down. You know I’m all for a good fight, but this isn’t gonna go well.”

Stanford’s mind blanked with rage.

“Calm down!? I have every right to be furious!”

Stan’s face dropped in horror as he shrunk away slightly and froze with wide, scared eyes. He could have sworn for a moment that it wasn’t his brother standing in front of him, but his father yelling those exact same words.

Stanford wracked his brain to recognize the look before his anger dissipated, replaced by regret.

“Stanley. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

Stan shook himself and wrapped his arms around his chest, not looking his brother in the eye.

Emma-May looked at Stan with sympathetic eyes before she turned back in anger toward Stanford.

“I was right ‘bout you. Ya really are some kinda evil monster, ain’t ya?”

Stanford could feel his anger bubbling back up, but instead of letting her get to him again, he huffed, slipping his shirt back on over his head, and grabbing his coat off the rack by the door before leaving.

Fiddleford ran after him.

“Stanford, wait! You gotta put gauze on your…”

The door slammed in his face as Stanford left.

“Stitches…”

Fiddleford’s frustration shown clearly on his face as his brows furrowed.

“Em, why d’ya gotta start shit with ‘im everytime you’re around each other? Y’know he doesn’t take it well.”

She shrugged.

“It’s better than ‘im actin’ all high an’ mighty with his holier than thou attitude.”

Fiddleford threw his hands over his head.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you two. Ya just gotta get along a little while longer an’ you’ll be states away from each other again.”

“An’ where are you gonna be?”

Stan suddenly felt like he was intruding, but to leave the room he’d have to pass between them, so he just sat and pretended he wasn’t listening despite being so close it would be impossible not to hear.

Fiddleford’s face dropped.

“Ya know that ain’t fair, Em. A lot has happened this week. I can’t just leave.”

The two were getting closer together, and the tension grew.

“An’ why not? He’s an adult an’ now he’s gotta a brother t’ watch ‘im. Ya don’t have t’ protect him. You heard ‘im, he lived out here f’r this long alone.”

“Em, there’s more to it than that an’ you know it.”

“Like how y’ain’t got a job no more an’ you’re still refusin’ t’ come home? Did ya think I wasn’t gonna notice ya not gettin’ paychecks anymore? How are ya even payin’ t’ stay up here?”

Fiddleford was stunned. His eyes darted around as he tried to find any excuse, but he came up blank.

“We’ve gotta take care o’ more stuff around here even if we had t’ cancel the project.”

The room went quiet for a moment before Fiddleford reached out to hold her.

“Ya know I hate bein’ away from home, Darlin’. I miss our little family, but I gave my word when I came down here, an’ I gotta finish what I started. You understand, don’t ya?”

She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him.

“I know. I just… I know this probably sounds like I’m just actin’ crazy, but can ya just, not call ‘im Shug anymore? I know ya give everyone little names like that, but… Nevermind. I’m sorry.”

“No, no no no no no. Darlin’ it’s fine. If it makes ya uncomfortable, I’ll stop.”

Emma looked up at him with softened eyes.

“Thanks, Hon. I’ll try t’ be nicer to ‘im. I want ya t’ have friends, an’ I know it’s hard no matter where ya are… Hey! I know it’s sudden, but it’s just an idea, what would ya think of us movin’ up here?! I know Cali’s got better business f’r computers an’ all, but wouldn’t it be a lot easier?”

Fiddleford’s head spun with emotions.

“I think we’re gonna have t’ talk about that when we’re a bit more calm, Darlin’. Come on, it’s been a long day, why don’t ya get cleaned up and ready f’r bed? That’ll make ya feel better.”

Emma sighed at the change of subject.

“Fine, but I’m comin’ back f’r more cards an’ booze when I’m done.”

Fiddleford smiled at her with that soft look that always used to make her melt, but anymore it seemed to just hurt a little more each time he flashed it. She let go of him and finally turned back to Stan who seemed to be doing better.

“I’ll be back. Don’t put the cards up while I’m gone.”

Stan just nodded, the concern on his face showing predominantly, but before he knew it, the two had disappeared into Fiddleford’s bathroom.

At least an hour must have gone by as Stan sat shuffling the cards and rethinking the argument until his brother returned with his arms crossed tight around him as he shivered, a paper bag wedged between it all. He sat it down on the table with a loud thud.

“Cool it, Sixer. It’s just me.”

Stanford turned to him with anger still hanging in every inch of his expression.

“Stanley, I hate that woman. All she does is make my life miserable. Where did she go anyway? Do I need to worry about her attacking from the sky?”

Stanley couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I think you’re being a little dramatic. She’s takin’ a shower with Fiddlesticks.”

Stanford’s face dropped.

“You didn’t have to tell me specifics… I think I’ll just go to bed. I’d rather have nightmares than have to spend another second of my life on this day. You know where the room is. I’ll try to leave you a space on the couch, but if I hog it, just shove me over.”

Stanford didn’t give his brother a chance to reply, he just headed for the stairs with his head drooping like a kicked puppy.

Stan savored the moment of silence. He was glad to have his brother back, but he never expected that would come with so much drama and so many people, especially since Stanford only ever got along with him before. It was all a bit overwhelming, but he took one of the beers out of the bag and cracked it open, chugging it even though it was only a little cold from the weather outside. He put the rest in the fridge before sitting back down and lighting a cigarette, leaning back in his chair and letting the nicotine slowly calm his nerves.

Finally, Emma-May returned to the kitchen.

“Alright. Your brother back, Jersey Boy?”

Stan couldn’t force himself to stifle his smile. Something about that nickname just snuck right into him.

“Yeah, he went to bed though.”

She smiled wide, throwing her hands into the air.

“Even better! Beer me!”

Stan grabbed a cold beer from the fridge and slid it over the table to her seat before dealing again.

“So where’d your buddy go?”

She rolled her eyes.

“To find your brother. He can’t spend one minute with me without thinkin’ ‘bout ‘im. Said he had to cover up that wound o’ his, but I swear he had to’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout him the whole time.”
Her face looked disgusted. “So anyway, tell me more ‘bout you an’ how ya ended up here, Shug.”

He shrugged, figuring it couldn’t hurt anything. It wasn’t like she was going to run to the cops or anything. He picked up where he left off with him being kicked out of the house and explained it all, the scams, the changes in identity, the living in his car and skeevy motels, the nights in prison and deals with the cartel.

Emma-May just listened intently, and as he finished his story, she told a story of her own. She told him all about her country living childhood and how she ran underground gambling operations with her farm animals to earn money as a teen so she could afford college. She told him all about college, how she met Fiddleford and Stanford, how she stole food and clothes from parties she was invited to and how she lived out of her car unless she convinced the boys to let her stay the night in their dorm, and how even now, she ran her own side hustles for beer and cigarette money when she wasn’t wasting her degree on waiting tables part time. She finished her story just as she threw away her last card.

“I’m out… Tell me the truth though, did ya let me win?”

Stan rubbed the back of his neck.

“Not really. I just didn’t cheat.”

Emma-May laughed.

“Same thing in a room full o’ cheaters.”

Her eyes lingered a little too long on his lips, and his a little too long on hers. Now it really could be the booze, but they knew it wasn’t. Stan quickly tried to rationalize the situation, but he knew it was wrong, so he thought of what his brother might say. He was practically helping Stanford, wasn’t he? A happy ending for everyone. It was payback for her husband who neglected her and cheated on her. It was their out, everything solved. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt himself pulled to her.

“Could I?” She asked gently as she leaned over the table.

Stan didn’t answer, he just swooped her face into his hands, pulling her close and pressing his lips against hers, but it was her who slipped her tongue into his mouth. The two stayed together for just a moment longer before they pulled away starry eyed. Stan’s face was melting with adoration.

“What a gal you are.”

They were caught up. Unable to look away, that was, until Fiddleford came back up the stairs.

“Ya ready f’r bed, Hon?”

Suddenly the illusion was dissolved. They weren’t in a world of their own. They were in Stanford’s house, his brother downstairs, her husband waiting in the hall after she’d just kissed another man. They both shook themselves to refocus and let the veil fall completely. Emma-May looked down, guilt clouding her face.

“G’d night, Stan.”

His face dropped as the realization set in, his throat tight with emotion.

“Night.”

As she stood and met up with Fiddleford, he hooked his arm around her waist as they traveled down the hall to his room. Stan stood from his chair and soaked in another second of this now sacred room before he went downstairs and opened the door to his brother’s room.

Stanford clearly wasn’t asleep when Stan entered. He was tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable spot now that his wounds were irritated. Stan didn’t dare bother him. He knew his brother had the potential to kill a man when he was tired, but it was Stanford who spoke up instead.

“Hello, Stanley.” He almost sounded embarrassed, even through the gravel of his exhaustion-filled voice. He settled on his side, pulling his legs up as close to his chest as his wound would allow him and shuffled closer to the arm of the long couch, moving his pillow up onto the arm. He was practically sitting instead of laying now.

“Don’t. Lay down. You’re gonna hurt yourself more if ya do that.”

Stanford scowled. “I’m not a dog, Stanley. Don’t tell me what to do.”

Stan raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Ya literally got a collar tattoo.”

Stanford bared his teeth at his brother, not helping his case any with how feral his wild eyes looked along with a snarl.

“Shut up and don’t you dare say another word about that damn thing!”

Stan took a step back, his hands up in front of him.

“Woah. Settle down, Sixer.”

Stanford scrunched his nose, curling back his lip.

“Tell me what to do one more time, and your ass is sleeping in the kitchen!”

Stan raised his brows even more, stepping back further.

“Jesus, Sixer. What’s going on with you?”

Stanford caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror of his bathroom through the cracked door, realizing how crazed he looked, he took a deep breath, the tiredness overtaking him again.

“Sorry, Stanley. … I don’t know what got into me.”

Stan walked back over to the couch and pulled Stanford’s legs until he was laying down again, knocking his head against the cushion as Stan pulled him off the armrest before he curled up on the other end of the couch.

“So what’s the tattoo about? It’s gotta be bad if you're acting like that over it.”

Stanford curled his legs back in a bit, but not enough for Stan to fight him over it.

“I got it for Bill. I don’t like thinking about it. He lied about what it meant. It’s his language for ‘if lost, return to Bill’. It’s a damn collar. Like I was his pet he could command around and I’d sit and stay and roll over whenever he asked me to!”

He was shaking as he clawed around his collar bone under his shirt as if he were trying to rip off the ink that was punctured into his skin.

Stan grabbed his brother’s hands so he would stop scratching himself.

“Stop that! I’m sorry I made fun of ya and I’ll try not to tell ya what to do, but ya don’t need to be hurting yourself over that piece of shit. Now you should probably try to relax and get some sleep. You’ve always been high strung when you’re tired, but damn, I’d bet this is about the worst I’ve seen you.”

Stanford chided himself.

“How can you still know every little thing about me? It’s been ten years, and what? I haven’t changed at all since I was seventeen?”

Stan sighed.

“You’re thinking too much again. Why are you upset that I know you? We’re twins, spent most of our lives together, I just know how you get sometimes. You did the same for me when we were kids. What’s the big deal?”

Stanford’s breathing finally started to slow, his shaking from the scratching pain becoming seldom shivers of anxiety, and as he breathed more consistently, Stan gradually let him have his hands back, knowing he was finally done with the scratching. Stanford’s eyes started to blink more, signs of sleep spreading across his face.

“I’m just tired of feeling like a kid. I always cowered behind you back then. If it weren’t for you I know I’d have spent most of my life in the hospital and when you were gone, that’s exactly where I stuck myself. Now you’re here again and you’re still the one who’s taking care of me. It’s pathetic. I’m almost thirty and what do I have to show for it? Scars and shitty tattoos, a couch for a bed, and all the same problems as a teenage girl.”

Stan laughed, offending Stanford a bit at first until he realized he wasn’t laughing at him.

“At least ya haven’t been to jail yet, or been someone’s prison bitch, or lost every ounce of dignity just to get something to eat. I’m almost thirty and I’ve only got a couple incarcerations, dozens of warrants, a busted up car, and an institutionalization to show for it. That make ya feel better?”

Stanford frowned.

“No, but that’s what I mean. I’m still being selfish and thinking about my own pathetic life, and I haven’t asked you about how you’re doing at all, and you’re still trying to make me feel better!”

“I can’t just stop trying to help ya, Sixer. If ya feel bad for not talking to me, then talk to me.”

Stanford could hardly keep his eyes open at this point.

“Okay, have you had any teenage girl problems as of late? Or any scientific quandaries? I’m only good at one of those, mind you, but apparently I have experience in the other.”

Stan got quiet for a moment, which Stanford recognized as his old tell. He shook off the sleep threatening to pull him under as he sat up in a rush.

“Really?! What is it?”

His face lit up, and Stan couldn’t help but smirk a bit. They felt like they were just kids again talking about Stan’s crushes and Ford’s admiration for Nikola Tesla that Stan always saw through as his way of fitting in without telling him the whole truth about that admiration.

“Well tell me this wise guy, what do ya do when ya like someone, and their situation isn’t really working out, but ya already, like, ya know, made out?”

Stanford looked beyond confused.

“I don’t think my advice will be helpful here. I’m just lucky Fiddleford forgave me for dating Bill at the same time. I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong by seeing someone like that, but they’re going to be torn, and trust me, that hurts like a bitch when you have to see them together, but sometimes it hurts worse to know you’re not together, so… I don’t know. I’m pretty much in the same boat and I’m still dating him, so…”

“So you’re sayin’ I should bang her?”

Stanford couldn’t help but laugh.

“Who is this girl, anyway? I thought you said you didn’t have anything going on in New Mexico. Did you meet someone in town? That soon? Get outta here!”

Stanford kicked his brother lightly, causing Stan to kick his back before it escalated until they were full-on wrestling. They were hand in fist, trying to over power each other before Stan caught his brother in a headlock and shoved a fist into his gut. Stanford cried out in pain. Stan let go of him, concern written all over his face before Stanford sprung at him, putting Stan into a headlock instead.

“Hey! You cheated!”

“When has that ever stopped you? You always cheat!”

Finally Stan went limp.

“Alright, alright, ya got me. We’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Stanford grew a wide smirk, but not just from winning.

“Not until you tell me who that girl is. Come on! I probably know her. I’ve met almost everyone in town at least once after all these years.”

Stan pushed his brother away with a similar smirk.

“I dunno, Poindexter. What if you get mad ‘cause we like the same girl or something?”

Stanford raised an eyebrow.

“Stanley, I fear for your observation skills if you haven’t realized that I’m not even remotely interested in women.”

Stan scoffed.

“I know. I’m just goofing around.”

“Come on, Stanley, just tell me! I told you my embarrassing love life story!”

Stan looked away from his brother, staring down at the ground, his face turning red as he mumbled as incoherently as possibly.

“Emma…”

Stanford pouted.

“You know I couldn’t hear that, Stanley. Come on!”

Stan squirmed and spoke up a bit more.

“Em…”

Stanford was clearly growing impatient.

“Stanley, just tell me!”

“It’s Emma-May!”

Stan’s eyes were filled with apprehension as he watched his brother’s face for any hint of a reaction, but it almost seemed like Stanford couldn’t compute what Stan said.

“E-Emma-May? Like, his Emma-May?!” His eyes pointed upstairs to where Fiddleford’s room would be.

Stan sunk down in guilt.

“I know ya don’t like her, but there’s just something about her that… I dunno. I just haven’t felt like that in forever. It just kind of happened. We were playing cards and talking about life, and well…”

Stanford shook his head in horror.

“It’s not that I don’t like her, Stanley. It’s that she’s a heartless witch who’s clearly cheating on Fiddleford and seducing you for her own heartless intentions.”

Stan sighed.

“I knew you were gonna get mad. Look, she only picks on ya cause she’s jealous, you can’t really blame her, you did kinda steal her husband. And you cheated too. And he’s cheating right now! You can’t blame her for wanting someone who, you know, doesn’t cheat? At least not like that.”

Stanford started to grow angry again, his face showing every bit of it.

“Steal?! I didn’t steal him! He chose to be here and chose to stay after Bill, and he’s just having a hard time breaking things off. I can understand how he’d still be attached to mother of his child, but I’m sure things will-”

Stan stared at his brother, unusually serious.

“Do you really believe that? Y’know, maybe if you could see her as another flawed person just like the rest of us, then you wouldn’t have to be at each other’s necks all the time. You know what? Just forget I said anything. I’ll leave her alone. Now get some sleep.”

Stanford sighed, unable to argue that he was tired.

“Fine…”

He flipped the lamp off next to the couch and curled up, feeling just as bad as before.

Stan laid on the other end, curling back up again to let Stanford stretch out, but he knew a wedge had been driven between them again, and he couldn’t stand it.

“Hey, Poindexter?” His voice was quiet and innocent.

“Yeah?” Stanford answered, more sad than angry.

“Low six?” Stan leaned up a bit to face his brother and held a socked foot in the air.

Stanford stifled a chuckle and managed to smile a bit.

“Low six.” He lifted his foot up and smacked it against his brother’s before they both curled back up, facing opposite directions, Stanford burying his face in the back of the couch, while Stan stared at the door until his eyes couldn’t stay open any longer.

Chapter Text

Fiddleford’s eyes flew open in terror at the sight of Bill towering above him, no longer the yellow he recognized from the memorabilia, but instead a violent red.

“YOU!” Bill’s distorted voice rang out and echoed in the undefined space around them.

Fiddleford felt he would choke as the echoes closed in, as if the void around him would collapse, burying him alive. He tried to puff his chest out as he backed into an invisible corner, but he couldn’t stop from trembling.

“What are you doin’ here?”

He bared his teeth, but it clearly wasn’t phasing Bill.

“You think you’ve gotten away with it, don’t you, Specs? But he’s still mine and I’ll haunt your dreams for the rest of your life if you don’t stay away from him.”

Fiddleford knew it was a dream by now, but the looming threat of Bill’s crazed expression petrified him.

“Y’ain’t real, an’ I ain’t lettin’ ya run our lives. Ya can’t do nothin’ t’ me here.”

Bill’s usual yellow color returned, as his scowling eye turned to an expression that resembled a smirk.

“Oh, can’t I?!”

Bill lifted him into the air before throwing him into the distance of the void.

Fiddleford screamed, for a moment being unable to tell up from down until something resembling a floor came into view as he hurtled toward it. He braced his arms in front of his face, instinctually trying to protect his head, but as he crashed into the ground, knowing that he wouldn’t survive, he appeared into another empty void on his feet, hardly able to keep his balance as his mind tried to adjust to the change in gravity. He shook himself, finally able to tell what was in front of him when he knew his own nightmare had taken hold of him. It was Stanford. Blood oozed from his head, his side, and his wrist, pooling down his body, soaking into and staining his clothes as tears streamed down his face.

“Fiddleford, please! Help me!”

Fiddleford’s eyes grew wide with fear. He ran toward Stanford and wrapped his arms around him as he felt Stanford’s weight shift onto him.

He reached his hand up to the back of Stanford’s head, but when he pulled his hand back away, it was completely dry. As he backed away from Stanford, it was clear Bill had taken over his dream again as Stanford’s eyes burned yellow and his wife and son appeared behind him with the same crazed yellow eyes before Stanford’s mouth opened, but it was Bill’s shrill voice that emanated from his throat.

“I told you to leave him, Specs, before you get hurt.”

Fiddleford tensed up in repulsion as he tried to push away from him, but it was too late. Stanford’s arms already had his in a vice grip before he leaned into Fiddleford’s neck, sinking sharp, inhuman teeth into his neck and pulling back with a mouth full of blood and flesh that sent sickness through Fiddleford as he instinctively grabbed at the missing chunk. Then the yellow faded from his eyes and the gorey mass fell to the ground as Stanford returned to his normal appearance and fell to his knees before he reeled back in horror.

“What have I done!” Stanford’s voice broke as he yelled.

Fiddleford wasn’t sure who was controlling the dream now, but all he could do was shake and stare, waiting for something more to unfold before Stanford turned in fear at something Fiddleford couldn’t see before turning back to him and pleading.

“Fiddleford! He’ll kill us both, please, you have to do something before-”

Stanford choked on his words as he tensed as though something invisible had hit him. Crimson pooled at his chest as he coughed up a matching color, his eyes glazing over before he fell motionless to the ground.

Fiddleford shut his eyes tight at the sight. Then his eyes flew open as he shot up in bed with a scream.

“Honey, what’s wrong?!” Emma-May practically threw herself around him, trying to settle him, but he shoved her off him in his panic. His eyes darted around as he threw the covers off himself and darted out the door, leaving Emma-May dazed and confused in his bedroom.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Stanford fluttered his eyes open in the familiar mindscape he’d frequented with Bill, automatically altering him that Bill was prepared to mess with him again, but instead of appearing, it was only his laugh that darted about the space, taunting Stanford as it forced him to turn in circles to follow the sound.

“Show yourself!”

Bill’s voice quickly turned sultry.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you, Fordsy?”

Stanford’s face grew red at the comment.

“What do you want from me?! It’s too late! You’ve already lost!”

Bill laughed again.

“Not if I convince them otherwise. Give up on this animosity before you get them hurt, Sixer.”

Stanford smirked.

“They already know you’re not to be trusted. None of them would fall for your tricks.”

Bill finally appeared behind him.

“Even if it was all for you?”

Stanford couldn’t help but shudder as doubt passed over him like a tidal wave.

“Leave them out of this, Bill! Just leave us alone!”

Bill hovered over him, his expression becoming sinister.

“I’ve got you right where I want you, and your little commune you’re building there is gonna pay the price for your betrayal.”

Stanford stared in horror as Bill conjured images of Stan and Fiddleford with Bill’s signature bright yellow eyes glowing from their sockets, each of them looking crazed before they broke their bones with their bare hands with a sickening crunch that made Stanford double over as his stomach threatened to betray him. They slowly became covered in blood before they attacked each other, violently punching and slamming each other into the invisible walls and floor before they pulled out knives and slashed and stabbed one another, leaving the two motionless on the ground as the yellow faded from their eyes into a ghostly stare.

Stanford shook horribly, his knees giving out, sending him crumbling to the floor.

“It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.” Stanford muttered to himself, wrapping his arms around his chest and rubbing each of his arms with the opposite hands, trying to convince himself of his words.

The familiar blue flame of Bill’s surrounded him, swallowing him in the heat of it as his eyes flew open to the familiar view of his bedroom as an involuntary yelp escaped him.

Stan stirred and tried to blink himself awake.

“What’s happening? You okay, Sixer?”

As his eyes blinked off the sleep, he noticed the sweat beading off his brother’s face as he shook.

“Woah, Sixer. What’s wrong?”

Stanford couldn’t bring himself to answer, but he practically jumped out of his skin as the door to his room slammed open, revealing Fiddleford on the other side as he darted over to Stanford.

They both recognized the panic on each others’ faces before Fiddleford wrapped his arms around him and squeezed him tight, hoping the feeling would convince them both that they were in the real world again. It took Stanford another moment of grounding before he could move, finally slowly bringing his arms up to wrap them around Fiddleford.

Emma-May came stepping down the hall before peering in.

“Fidd, what in tarnation are ya doin’? Ya just walked away from me when I was talkin’ t’ ya.”

As she caught sight of them, and Fiddleford’s clear intentions to not let go, jealousy overtook her expression as she made her way into the room.

“Fidd! I’m talkin’ t’ you!”

The two were still shaking and clearly weren’t prepared to deal with this, but Emma-May was shaking now too with fury and sadness. Stan sat up from his spot on the couch and walked up to Emma-May, putting his hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

Fiddleford finally turned to face her, but didn’t move from Stanford’s arms, his eyes still wide with absolute shock. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t form the words.

She huffed and turned away, knowing full well he didn’t intend to explain this now. She wouldn’t press any further for now, but the anger and hurt in her eyes was clear.

Stan wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do at the moment, but he managed to catch her eye and gesture his head toward the stairs with a comforting and questioning look. Emma-May managed to let a slight half-smile sneak onto her face before she obliged and the two headed upstairs, but not before Stan had the chance to shoot a strict glare toward the two men, though they clearly weren't paying attention.

Fiddleford and Stanford stayed wordlessly entwined for what seemed like eternity before Fiddleford finally broke his horrified stare with a sniffle that led to trembling and tears and latching on desperately to Stanford’s shirt.

Stanford finally snapped out of his trance and wrapped his arms tighter around Fiddleford, leaning back onto the couch enough that Fiddleford knew he was trying to get him off the ground and onto the couch to be more comfortable. He obliged and let his weight fall against Stanford as he laid down, leaving them side by side, Fiddleford slightly on top of Stanford.

Finally when Fiddleford managed to let the sobs subside and Stanford shook the fear from his system, Stanford managed to mumble out the question “Bill?” only to feel Fiddleford grip him tighter, sinking his nails into his back a bit as he pulled his face into Stanford’s shoulder and nodded.

Stanford leaned his head against Fiddleford’s and sputtered out a shaky sigh.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I got you involved in this.”

Stanford held him tighter again. “I know they’re just nightmares, but they’re so real… It’s me he’s after… I understand if-”

Fiddleford choked back another sob into a whimper as he adjusted his clinging arms to practically wrap around Stanford’s neck. He pulled himself as close as he could. He couldn’t stand to hear the end of that sentence.

Stanford wanted to be happy at the reassurance, but the nightmare still sent disturbed shudders down his spine, which clearly wasn’t helping to calm Fiddleford down. Stanford recognized Fiddleford’s anxious shudders too and focused on taking long, deep breaths until Fiddleford eventually did the same before loosening his hold on Stanford and finally moving his face from Stanford’s shoulder. As he wiped the last remaining tears from his eyes and sniffed a grosser sniff than he intended, he finally let himself chuckle a bit.

“Sorry I used ya f’r a snot rag, Shu- er, Stanford.”

Stanford felt a stab of pain at his refusal to use the endearment. He couldn’t help but feel even after being the one he ran to that Fiddleford must be rekindling some with Emma-May. Still, he forced a reluctant smile and tried to keep his jealousy at bay.

“I don’t mind being your snot rag. Everyone needs a shoulder to cry on, and I was pretty distraught myself. I probably would have panicked more if you hadn’t been there.”

Fiddleford knew he was trying to be considerate by not pushing anything when he knew he was upset, but he couldn’t help but notice a bit more emphasis on the word “your” that made his face a bit rosy. Then a frown crept up on him as he thought about the conversation waiting for him upstairs.

“I guess I should get up there. I reckon I’m in a bit o’ trouble.”

Stanford was at a loss for words, so he opted for a sympathetic look, though he couldn’t help but wish that they could just stay down there together for a while longer. Fiddleford forced a half-smile before getting up from his spot and scaling the stairs.

Stanford stayed put for a few moments longer before he followed up the stairs to find Fiddleford and Emma-May already bickering as he snuck past them to grab a coffee and sit at the kitchen table with Stan.

“I thought ya weren’t supposed to have stuff like that.”

Stanford winced at the realization that he went for coffee on instinct, but he clearly wasn’t going to give it up now without resistance.

“I’m sure it’s fine. It’s not spicy and I don’t think it’s really negotiable after the night I had.”

He smiled a bit, but Stan clearly didn’t see the humor in Stanford not properly taking care of himself. Stanford rolled his eyes and set the coffee mug down before he even got a sip, pushing it towards his brother.

“And YOU!”

Emma-May’s voice rang through the kitchen as she pointed to Stanford, causing him to recoil and avert eye contact. She was put off a bit by his reaction, only now noticing after her conversation with Stan how many times her animosity had clearly made him anxious. She lowered her voice before she spoke again.

“I don’t like how close ya’ll are gettin’. Keep your hands off ‘im, alright?”

She wasn’t surprised that he kept his eyes averted. He never made much eye contact from the day they met, but she was shocked at how difficult it seemed for him to agree to such simple terms. Stanford just squirmed before looking to Fiddleford with a disguised look of pleading for help.

“Em, would ya just leave ‘im outta this. I know you’re mad, but you’re mad at me, not Stanford.”

After a while of bickering finally dying down to passive aggressive looks, Stanford tried his best to excuse himself from the awkward situation.

“Well, science waits for no man. I’ll be downstairs.”

Fiddleford leapt at the chance to leave the situation.

“Gotta work, Em. You know how it is.”

She scowled as she watched him walk away, knowing full well whatever he was doing, he wasn't getting paid for it, but she told herself there had to be some work-related reason for him to stay here or else she’d know she just wasn’t good enough.

Chapter Text

When the two made it downstairs, they were finally able to relax a bit being back in their element. They both thrived with the chance to work on whatever they liked for a change. They spent their morning like they would any other chatting about anything and everything they found interesting until Fiddleford thought to change things up.

“Is it dumb that I already miss us workin’ together on somethin’?”

Stanford was filled with warmth at the notion. He had no problem working alone, but it never hurt to hear that Fiddleford missed him.

“Certainly not. What are you working on? Maybe I could help.”

“Just programmin’ this here computer. Only has one set o’ keys though, so not exactly a two man job.”

“And you know I’m lost when it comes to those things. They’re just too slow to be efficient.”

Fiddleford couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh Shug, ya really learned all kinds of advanced studies an’ computers are where ya draw the line at learnin’? It ain’t that hard. Why don’t I show ya? You’re always tellin’ me all about your work that I don’t understand. Y’know biology an’ chemistry an’ shit. Before ya know it, everyone’s gonna have a computer an’ you’re gonna fall behind with your typewriter an’ pencils.”

Stanford rolled his eyes playfully.

“Fine. I’ll give it another try. How difficult could it be?”

Stanford wheeled his chair over and sat slightly behind Fiddleford, watching the screen over his shoulder. The feeling of Stanford’s hot breath across his ear and neck made it horribly difficult for him to focus as he tried to explain.

Stanford’s patience wore thin as Fiddleford struggled to explain, his nerves frying themselves. Stanford teased him.

“For someone who made a living with these things, you sure are having trouble explaining.”

Fiddleford scrunched his face playfully.

“Maybe you’re just havin’ trouble understandin’.”

Stanford kept his teasing smirk as he put his hands on Fiddleford’s shoulders.

“Are you calling me stupid?”

Fiddleford returned his teasing look as he turned more to face him.

“All I’m sayin’ is that this might go a bit smoother if ya weren’t breathin’ down m’ neck. If I didn’t know better, I’d think ya were tryin’ t’ get me all hot an’ bothered so ya don’t have t’ pay attention.”

Stanford huffed out a laugh, putting his hands back on Fiddleford’s shoulders, flashing him a seductive look.

“Well is it working?”

Fiddleford softened his gaze and put his hands on Stanford’s hips, guiding him over to straddle his lap while Stanford pushed his head back against the headrest in a deep kiss.

Stanford moved his hands to the back of Fiddleford’s head, running his fingers through his hair while he lapped at Fiddleford’s mouth. He tipped his hips forward to rub against Fiddleford, and pressed their chests together, pulling groans from both of them.

Fiddleford pulled him closer by his hips and kept him there by his shoulders, leaving Stanford gasping for air any chance he got. He only let him move as he started to unbutton Stanford’s shirt, but Stanford pulled away before he could finish for just a moment to stand and remove his pants and boxers. As he returned, he unbuttoned Fiddleford’s pants and pulled them down just enough to reveal him before sitting back down. Fiddleford spread his legs to make room for him to slip his hand behind Stanford.

Stanford quickly became a moaning mess as Fiddleford made quick work of stretching him, already thrumming hard against his sweet spot. He clung to Fiddleford, desperate to be as close as he could until Fiddleford pulled his hand away.

Stanford looked at him in confusion, his face flushed, and mind clearly reeling already. He got the hint soon enough and tried to stand enough to line himself up, but they paused as they heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

Fiddleford’s eyes flashed in panic. He stood, shoving Stanford off him and pushing him under the computer before he threw his pants in his face. He quickly zipped himself back up and moved his chair, pretending to be digging through a drawer by the door just in time for Emma-May to walk in.

“Alright nerds, it’s time f’r lunch. If y’ain’t gonna do nothin’ fun with the rest of us, ya might as well come eat with us.”

She was confused when she didn’t see anyone at first, but she peeked around the door and found Fiddleford sweating profusely and not hiding his boner well at all.

“Where’s the other one? I thought he was here with ya?”

“Ya musta missed ‘im. He left a while ago.”

Fiddleford was terrified she’d catch on. He felt like his lie was written straight across him, but Emma-May thought he always sort of sounded like he was lying nowadays. She laughed and set herself down on his lap.

“Be honest, Hon, how often are ya just down here playin’ with yourself? ‘Cause you’re really sportin’ one f’r bein’ down here alone.”

Fiddleford laughed, his nerves making it sound unnatural and forced.

“Pro’lly not as often as you imagine.”

She rubbed his neck and stared half-lidded into his eyes.

“You poor thing. I bet he works you like a dog. Don’t ya think ya should relax some?”

She turned to straddle him and pulled him in for a kiss. He returned it for a moment before snapping out of his trance.

“Darlin’, I ain’t got none on me. We pro’ly shouldn’t do this now.”

Emma-May smiled and pulled a condom out of her pocket.

“Well would ya look at that. Lucky me.”

Fiddleford seemed like he’d already forgotten Stanford was under his computer desk. Stanford was doing his best not to get caught while trying to find a way out, but they were so close to the door, there was no way he could slip past unnoticed. He couldn’t even curl up or lay down from his wounds acting up. Luckily being unceremoniously shoved beneath a desk seemed to kill most of his boner, but if that wasn’t enough, Emma’s moans certainly finished the job. He slapped his hands over his ears, but he still felt like they were right next to him.

Meanwhile Emma-May was clearly enjoying Fiddleford’s finger work as she worked to move his pants back down and get him ready.

“Alright Honey, ya can stop now.”

She was huffing as she stood and lined herself up and as she sat back down on him, they both shuddered and groaned. She draped herself over him as they worked their hips together in a moaning mess while Emma lifted the best she could as her legs started to give out.

“Oh Em, -hah- God you’re good! You’re so good.”

“Oh Honey, Oh Fidd. Fuck, I missed this.”

Fiddleford reached down to help her finish. She rolled her eyes back and threw herself back, letting Fiddleford hold her up as her legs shook. Fiddleford kept working his hips and fingers, letting her ride out her high as he tried to keep himself together.

“Em, -hah- you’re gonna have t’ get up. I -hah- I can’t wait anymore.”

Emma-May looked exhausted, but she managed to lift herself away as he finished with a violent groan. He unceremoniously tossed the soiled rubber in the trashcan next to the cabinet, cleaning himself off with a tissue before zipping himself back up. Emma sat back down, laying her head on his shoulder as she snuggled close.

“Oh Honey, I missed you. It pains m’ heart t’ think I gotta go back home soon. Why can’t ya just come home? It’s so cold here it even makes me miss Tennessee. If ya don’t like Cali we can move somewhere else.”

Fiddleford sighed. He was hoping he could just spend a moment with her without having to think about what came next.

“I know things ain’t lookin’ so great right now, but I’ll get another paycheck soon. I wouldn’t leave ya t’ fend f’r yourselves on your salary alone. We’ll get it figured out. I’m just glad I get t’ see ya now, even if it’s just f’r a bit.”

Emma-May barely grazed her lips against his, sending a shiver through him.

“I love you, Honeybee.”

Fiddleford kissed her back, keeping their lips pressed together far longer than she had.

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

Emma-May frowned.

“Ya don’t, do ya?”

Fiddleford sat back in surprise.

“Whaddya mean? Of course I think I think you’re gorgeous. You’re the pr’ttiest woman I’ve ever known.”

“I mean ya don’t love me anymore. That’s why ya won’t say it. That’s why ya don’t want me here an’ ya don’t wanna come home. Why won’t ya just tell me what’s wrong so we can fix this? What can I do? Was I not spendin’ enough time with ya at home? D’ ya want me t’ get a full time job t’ take the pressure off? I know I don’t look the same as I did six years ago, but I can try t’-”

Fiddleford kissed her hard, running his hands all over her.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with the way ya look, Darlin’. Don’t ya ever go thinkin’ that. You know you’re outta my league even now. Any man would be lucky t’ have ya. Work just gets stressful. We’ve been fightin’ a lot more an’-”

“Did you just marry me ‘cause o’ Tater?”

“Em! What on Earth put that kinda thought in your head?”

Her eyes became misty with just the semblance of tears as she held herself together by a thread.

“I thought you were gonna breakup with me back then when ya found out, but the next thing I knew we were graduatin’, an’ gettin’ married, an’ movin’. Ya wouldn’t want t’ leave a pregnant woman on ‘er own, ‘specially since ‘er criminal record an’ ‘fragile condition’ made it impossible t’ get a job despite ‘er degree. An’ the way ya looked so happy at our weddin’, but ya lit up more at your toast. Why d’ ya talk ‘bout ‘im like he’s the best thing that ever happened t’ ya?”

Fiddleford felt sick.

“Ain’t none o’ that true, Em. I wanted t’ marry ya. Sure Tater pro’ly sped that up a bit, but if I didn’t love ya I wouldn’t’ve spent four years with ya an’ stayed f’r six more after. I love ya, Em. I’m sorry I’ve been gone f’r so long. Honestly, I feel like I’m losin’ my mind in this town, but it won’t be forever.”

She threw her arms around his neck, as she silently cried. He kissed between her neck and shoulder a few times before she dried her tears and stood.

“Alright, enough cryin’. I’m goin’ t’ eat somethin’. D’ ya want anything?”

Fiddleford held her hands as she started to walk away.

“I’m alright, Darlin’. I’m not hungry.”

“Suit yourself. I’m thinkin’ the rest of us are gonna go t’ that diner t’ eat.”

She left after a moment and Fiddleford sat back in his chair, left alone with his thoughts for only a moment before he thought he heard muffled sobbing. At first he thought his conscience was tormenting him with the continued sound of Emma-May’s tears, but he was smacked with the realization that Stanford was still under the desk. He stood from his chair and rushed over to the desk to find Stanford muffling his sobs with his sleeve.

“Stanford, I’m so sorry. I forgot you were still here.”

Stanford didn’t want to speak. He finally let himself stand and push past Fiddleford to return to work as he did his best to stop his dry sobs.

“Won’t ya talk t’ me, Shug? I didn’t mean t’ leave ya there. If you’re upset ‘bout us gettin’ interrupted I can still-”

Stanford was enraged as he whipped his head toward him.

“If you think this is about sex then you’re an idiot. You know damn well I’m not in tears over not getting my rocks off. If you want to be an asshole, then go be an asshole somewhere else.”

“Stanford, I’m tryin’ t’ help ya when you’re cryin’.”

“Well you’re doing a shit job!”

Fiddleford frowned. Clearly he couldn’t say the right thing, so he just wrapped his arms around Stanford. He tried to fight it, gently pushing him away, but Fiddleford didn’t budge, and Stanford finally gave in, wrapping his arms around Fiddleford. He wanted to scream and shake sense into him. He wanted to shout ‘I love you’ on repeat until his voice gave out and still say ‘I love you more than she does’, but he held his tongue. He wanted to throw himself at him and run away. He wanted to slap him and have his tongue down Fiddleford’s throat at the same time.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I ain’t tryin’ t’ hurt ya. We’ve just gotten… unlucky recently.”

Stanford gave him the most helpless look he’d ever seen on him.

“I wish I could hate you.”

“Trust me, I hate me enough f’r the both of us.”

Fiddleford leaned in to kiss him, but Stanford pulled away.

“I think I should get back to work.”

Fiddleford gave up on trying to help. His gut was wrenched and his fear of losing Stanford for good bubbled back to the surface. He knew if he kept this going, someone was going to break, and with Stanford’s unusually common meltdowns, he was terrified it would be Stanford to break first.

Chapter Text

They spent nearly an hour in silence before Fiddleford made another effort to cheer him up.

“If you were ice cream, what flavor d’ ya think you’d be?”

The unconscious scowl Stanford had built on his face disappeared in his bewilderment.

“What are you talking about? Are you asking what flavor I like? What would even make you think of that right now?”

Fiddleford flew past the other questions in his answer, relieved he was just talking again.

“No, like, if in some other dimension, hypothetically ya know? What flavor would you be? I think I’d be somethin’ like butter pecan. I ain’t popular enough t’ be the big three. A bit more niche, ya know, but still simple.”

Fiddleford felt a wave of warmth pass through him as Stanford chuckled.

“I don’t know how you think of these things…”

Stanford’s shoulders finally relaxed with a quiet sigh.

“I suppose if I had to choose, my first instinct would be coffee, but I think that’s too common. Probably pistachio. Most people are revolted by the mention of it. They don’t even understand why it exists, offended by its mere existence… but I still like it.”

Fiddleford was dumbfounded that he somehow found a way to make ice cream flavors existential, but if anyone would take such a lightheart question so seriously. It would be him.

“Well I like pistachio too. I’m sorry about earlier.”

Stanford waved it off.

“It’s fine. I don’t really want to think about that right now.”

“Fair enough. Ya want some help on whatever you’re working on?”

Stanford let a soft smile sneak onto his face.

“I suppose. I actually need a few things in those boxes in the attic. I could use some help bringing a box or two down.”

“I reckon I can handle that much.”

As they headed upstairs, the house was quiet. Stanford felt his anxiety and stress drain from him as he relished having a moment of peace instead of the whirlwind the house had become with so many people in it.

“Finally. I feel like I can walk around again. Nothing like being a prisoner in your own home to make you appreciate walking through a house without having to look over your shoulder constantly.”

Fiddleford frowned, but didn’t respond. He knew it was his fault Stanford felt so trapped, but he didn’t see any way he could fix it for him.

When they made it upstairs, Stanford started sifting through boxes and pushing the ones he needed to the side.

“These ought to do for now. I know you cleaned out the other room up here, but I’m starting to wonder if I should move all of this downstairs somewhere.”

Stanford turned to see Fiddleford’s crestfallen look.

“Hey, what’s wrong? They’re not that heavy, but you don’t have to help if you don’t want to.”

“I’m sorry I’m causin’ so much trouble f’r ya. I really do hate seein’ y’all sad all the time. You’re usually so excited just t’ be here in a place ya feel at home in, an’ I’m just bringin’ in the outside world that ain’t never treated ya right.”

Stanford’s expression softened as he felt his heart melt. He told himself not to get close, not to set himself up to get hurt again, but every time Fiddleford showed his heart to him, he fell all over again.

“It’s alright. It’s not forever, and having you here is more important to me than having everyone else gone.”

Fiddleford smiled his usual sweet and smooth way, and Stanford felt his desperation return. He stepped closer and reached up to pull Fiddleford into a needy kiss. He kept tugging him closer as he pressed as much of himself up against Fiddleford as he could.

Fiddleford was stunned for a moment, but relief and warmth swelled in his chest as he gently kissed back. But Stanford wasn’t settling. He grabbed Fiddleford’s cheeks, hooking his fingers behind his ears, pulling him in as he shoved his tongue into his mouth. The sudden forcefulness caught Fiddleford completely off guard. He already needed to catch his breath, but Stanford was incessant. He finally pulled Stanford’s hands away from him long enough for him to breathe, but when he tried to pull away, Stanford bit him on the lip with an angered stare. Fiddleford winced and Stanford let him go.

“Did you just bite me? On purpose?”

Fiddleford searched every inch of Stanford’s face for an answer, but all he found was Stanford’s unwavering stare. Stanford pushed him down to the floor, aggressively pressing into another kiss, but more surprisingly to Fiddleford, Stanford pulled away, the same aggressive expression on his face, but he looked down at him and back up, reasserting his expression.

Fiddleford almost laughed, but he knew better by now that wouldn’t go well. Still, he found it beyond endearing that even when Stanford was being aggressive like this, he was still worried about how he was.

“Yeah, Shug.”

Stanford launched back into their kiss and with all his apprehension gone, he writhed against Fiddleford, going for as much friction between them as he could get from rubbing himself into Fiddleford’s jeans.

Stanford was huffing hard already at the exertion, breathing steamy hot air into Fiddleford’s mouth. Fiddleford could only imagine it had to aggravate his side, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop Stanford as he moaned through mouthfuls of Stanford’s tongue with each hot thrust of friction.

With each movement, Stanford couldn’t stop thinking about what he wanted to say. I love you, I love you, I love you. But the more he resisted and the more he thought about why he had to, the angrier he became. He wanted to mark him and believe that despite what the ring in his finger said, they were more important.

Stanford moved his lips down to Fiddleford’s neck and gave him a quick kiss before he started sucking on him. Fiddleford hurried to put his hands on each side of Stanford's head and guide him away. Fiddleford shook his head at him, but Stanford only got angry. He started kissing at Fiddleford’s shoulder, but Fiddleford could feel him tense above him just before Stanford’s teeth grazed his skin. Fiddleford shoved him back hard.

“Stanford, don’t! Em’s gonna see that! Are you tryin’ t’ get us caught?”

Stanford started to speak, but they heard footsteps again.

“Shit! There ain’t nowhere t’ go! What d’ we do?!”

Stanford shoved him flat against the ground.

“I’m not doing this again. Remember that.”

He got up off the ground and pulled the window open before jumping out of it.

Fiddleford shot up from the floor in a panic, shoving his head out the window, but when he saw Stanford dust himself off on the ground, he threw the window shut before Emma appeared beyond the stairs.

“Oh! Ya startled me. I was just bringin’ up another blanket f’r Tater. He said it got a bit cold last night. What’re you doin’ up here, Hon?”

“Hah! Sorry, Darlin’. I was just movin’ these boxes downstairs f’r Stanford while he’s out.”

She rolled her eyes with clear distain.

“Stanford this, Stanford that. Make ‘im carry his own shit. He’s the one that’s all jacked now f’r some reason. Ya think he takes steroids ‘r somethin’?”

“It ain’t no big deal, Em. I’m s’posed t’ help ‘im. I am his assistant after all.”

Emma-May put a hand on her hip and frowned.

“Bullshit. You ain’t nothin’ o’ his if he ain’t payin’ ya.”

He rolled his eyes back.

“Would ya quit houndin’ me over cash f’r a minute. I’m workin’ on a way f’r us t’ get paid. You’d think I’d left ya with nothin’ when I came here the way you're carryin’ on. Now if you’ll kindly get off my ass, I’m gonna bring these downstairs an’ get dinner started.”

Fiddleford left without another word, bringing the boxes down with him and setting them in front of the stairs before he migrated to the kitchen where Stan was sipping on a soda.

“Where’s Tater?”

“Ha. He wanted to play hide and seek. I found him already so I’m waitin’ it out.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Stanford walking in the door, clutching his side with one hand and ushering Tate inside with the other. He glared at Fiddleford as he spoke.

“Missing something?”

Stan shot up from his seat.

“How did you get outside?!”

Tate grinned proudly.

“I saw ya walk past so I moved when ya left! I went out the backdoor an’ hid behind the dish thingy! Then Mr. Ford fell from the sky an’ found me!”

Stan shifted his concern to his brother, only now noticing that he was not only angered, but hurt.

“Don’t ask.”

Stanford sat at the table, trying to find it in himself to get over the situation while he watched Stan and Tate run around the house. When they both left the room, Fiddleford turned away from the stove.

“Shug…”

Stanford shot him a piercing look.

“Don’t.”

Fiddleford hesitated, but he kept talking.

“You know why I couldn’t let ya do that.”

Stanford huffed and averted his eyes. Fiddleford was growing more frustrated by the second. He couldn’t understand why suddenly he was acting as if anything was different than before.

“Look, I know this ain’t easy-“

Stanford looked back at him with the same piercing eyes.

“Stop. Just stop explaining the same thing to me over and over again. I understand that you think this is difficult, but I just want to remind you that I threw myself out a window for you.”

Fiddleford shut off the burner on the stove and walked over to the table.

“It means so much t’ me that you’re puttin’ up with all this f’r me.”

Stanford put his hands on his head and shook.

“No. Just stop. Stop trying to make me feel better. Why can’t you just call me names or throw rocks or something? Why are you nice to me when you don’t like me? Everyone else who wants me to suffer at least has the decency to brandish their hatred first.”

Worry shot to Fiddleford’s face as he wrapped his arms around Stanford.

“That just ain’t true. We’ve been friends f’r ten years. Of course I like you. I’d spend every second with ya just like I did before if they weren’t here. What do I gotta do t’ show ya that you’re important?”

“I don’t know… maybe just some time where I don’t have to worry about anyone else. Like things were before.”

“I think we can arrange that. You’re important t’ me an’ I don’t wanna lose ya ‘cause of a weird day.”

Stanford finally smiled a bit again.

“Why do I keep forgiving you? I’m a damn fool to keep coming back.”

“Guess I’m just lucky.”

Fiddleford gave him a quick kiss before he turned back to the stove to finish dinner.

Soon enough, everyone else filtered into the kitchen and Stanford gave up his place at the table, opting to sit on the counter and drink his shake instead.

“Mm. Good food as usual, Honey. I missed not havin’ t’ do all the cookin’.”

“Aw shucks, it really ain’t much. Honestly I miss cookin’ f’r groups. There’s lots o’ things I can’t make ‘cause there’s always too much of it.”

Tate interrupted.

“Ma, I’m done. Can I go upstairs now? I wanna look at those boxes upstairs before bedtime.”

“Sure Tater. I’ll be up t’ check on ya in a bit.”

Once Tate was upstairs, Emma-May scowled, putting her hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder and pointing a nod toward Stanford.

“Honey, can you get rid o’ him? He’s creepin’ me out starin’ over us when we’re eatin’.”

“Whaddya expect me t’ do? Shoo ‘im off like some kind o’ critter?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Em, I really need ya t’ start tryin’ t’ get along. You’re startin’ shit f’r no good reason. Stanford ain’t done nothin’ t’ ya.”

“Nothin’ ‘cept take ya two states away an’ get ya fired.”

Fiddleford covered his face with his palm in frustration.

“Not this again. When are ya gonna stop bringin’ that up?”

Stan looked past the two to share an uncomfortable look with his brother. Stan was busy thinking of a way out when Stanford took it upon himself to make his escape.

“Well, I guess I should go clean these wounds out again.”

Fiddleford jumped at the chance to leave the conversation.

“I’ll help ya. You’re gonna need-”

Emma-May interrupted him.

“No. I already told ya I don’t like ya bein’ together all the time. Me an’ Tate are only down here f’r a while an’ you’re gonna spend your time with your family, not with him. Stan can do it.”

All three men in the room gave each other uneasy looks at the suggestion before Fiddleford spoke up.

“Em, I get where you’re comin’ from, but it won’t take long. I have field trainin’ in medicine an’ first aid. I don’t think-”

Emma-May raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“So they released ‘im from the hospital only on the pretense that he was stayin’ with someone with field trainin’? Yeah, I don’t buy that. I’m pretty sure anyone can handle that.”

Stanford finally spoke up in protest.

“That’s completely irrational! No offense, but Stanley isn’t exactly the gentlest person. If you want someone to, I don’t know, punch a bear, then sure, Stanley’s your man, but this is an open surgery wound. Fiddleford has patched me up thousands of times before, I think it’s completely rational for me to trust his skills a bit more with this.”

They all turned to Stan, causing him to put his arms up in the air and show his hands were empty. They waited expectantly for him to speak before a nervous look crept onto his face.

“I wouldn’t really know what I was doing. I’ve been hurt lots, but I always just rub some dirt on it and figure it’ll be fine. I’ve never had a cut, like, close to my brain or whatever.”

Emma-May huffed and reluctantly shooed them off, but she quickly became perturbed as they returned downstairs and entered Stanford’s bathroom for the supplies when she knew Fiddleford had the same supplies in his bathroom just a few rooms away.

Chapter Text

Stanford pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing the dressing around his wound before he sat on the side of his tub. He absent-mindedly rubbed at the muscles on his shoulders that were a bit sore from sharing his couch for the night and from the fall he took earlier before he noticed Fiddleford staring at him with a smirk, his eyes half-lidded.

“You’re great at comin’ up with these excuses, ain’t ya?”

Fiddleford sat on the tub’s side in front of him and leaned in to lock his lips with Stanford. He ran his hand up Stanford’s chest while undoing his own tie. Stanford pulled away, putting his hands between them.

“Woah. Fiddleford, that wasn’t an excuse. I actually thought you were going to help me.”

Fiddleford’s face burned pink.

“Oh. Heh. Well why’d ya take your shirt off?”

Stanford looked bewildered as he glanced down to the dressing covering his side wound. Fiddleford covered his face with his hands and stood.

“I’m so sorry. I-I completely misunderstood. I’ll help ya-”

Stanford laughed heartily.

“It’s fine, Fiddleford.”

He reached out and grabbed Fiddleford’s hand, placing it on his cheek and rubbing Fiddleford’s palm with his thumb as he smirked.

“We can make time for that too.”

Fiddleford smiled through his embarrassment before Stanford leaned in to lock their lips together. Fiddleford pressed back in as he wrapped his arms around Stanford and ran his hands along his back, leading him up off the tub and over to the wall, pinning him against it, turning Stanford’s face bright red. Fiddleford was a bit surprised he took so well to it, but at this point, he knew Stanford nearly always reacted when he asserted himself. He pressed him against the wall harder as he pushed his tongue down Stanford’s throat, sending a whimpering moan through him.

Fiddleford held back a chuckle at the reaction, finding it humorous how quickly the interaction got him going, Stanford already lightly rubbing his crotch against Fiddleford’s leg.

When Fiddleford pulled away for a moment to catch his breath, he noticed Stanford glancing down at Fiddleford’s shirt. Fiddleford nodded before Stanford undid the buttons and leaned in for another kiss. When he could finally press his hands against Fiddleford’s bare chest, he raced to free both of them from their pants. Fiddleford rubbed up against him, both of them breathing hot air into each other’s mouths before Stanford reached beyond Fiddleford’s waistband and began stroking him, evoking a shuddering moan from Fiddleford.

Stanford leaned back in for another deep kiss, pressing his tongue into Fiddleford’s mouth as he pumped him before Fiddleford started thrusting into Stanford’s hand. Stanford took a moment to catch his breath, but as he pulled away, he heard Fiddleford moan.

“Oh, Em.”

Stanford pulled his hand away and shrunk back against the wall, his face filled with horror and disgust.

Fiddleford, still in the throws, hadn’t noticed what he’d said until his eyes fluttered open to see the look on Stanford’s face drop in fear.

“Stanford, wait, Stanford.”

He tried to fix it. He kept repeating his name, hoping it would erase hers.

“Stanford, please. I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. Stanford, I didn’t mean it.”

Stanford had already pushed his way away from Fiddleford, and hurried out of the room. He was in his bedroom, pawing at his hair, wracking his brain for what he could do as Fiddleford followed him.

“Stanford, please say somethin’. I screwed up an’ I wanna fix this.”

Stanford finally turned around, barring his teeth in a snarl Fiddleford had never seen before.

“You can’t just keep fixing this! You can’t just keep expecting me to stick around while you figure this out! I let this happen because I made a mistake. I was with you both and I hurt you, and he’s still haunting both of us, but I can’t just keep letting this happen. I’m not a snot rag, Fiddleford!”

Fiddleford tipped his head a bit, his face scrunched in fear of asking what that meant.

“You can’t just use me for comfort and throw me away when your family is around! A snot rag! An object! I- You need to make a decision. This is killing me. We’re not doing this anymore! We’re not sneaking around! I’m not letting you use me while she’s gone just so you can imagine her instead. If you can’t decide between us, then I’ll decide for you. This is done. I’m not a pet. I’m not an object. And I may not always seem like it, but I am a human with feelings. When your family goes home to California, just go with them.”

Fiddleford shook. He knew this would come eventually, but he just kept thinking he had more time, and now that it was over, he wasn’t sure what he could do. He wanted to get on his knees and beg him to come back, but he knew he had no right. Even if Stanford was with Bill at the same time, two wrongs didn’t make a right, and Fiddleford knew deep down he was stringing everyone along, hoping he’d never have to choose.

Stanford gathered his clothes, throwing them back on before storming upstairs, his hair still unkempt. Fiddleford stayed put.

As Stanford came up the stairs, he found Stan and Emma-May in a light embrace, Stan’s face bright pink with lipstick stains on his cheek and his lips as Emma-May pulled away.

Stanford screwed his face up at the sight, but he was too tired to care. He walked right past them as they pulled away and pretended the whole thing never happened before Stan spoke up, guilt cracking his voice.

“Where ya going, Sixer?”

Stanford’s voice was hard and stern as he spoke.

“Out.”

Stan and Emma-May shared a confused glance before Stan ran out the door after him.

“Wait up! I’m comin’ with ya.”

Emma-May rolled her eyes and went downstairs to check on Fiddleford and see what could have possibly made Stanford so mad, guilt settling hard in her stomach after another short-lived interaction with Stan. She knew something was wrong if this was the type of thing she was looking for, so she was hoping to set it right.

“Fidds?” she called down the stairs as she came up to Stanford's room.

“Yeah,” was all he called back.

She found him sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around him, tears streaming down his face.

“Y’all right, Hun? Did ya have a fight ‘r somethin’?”

Fiddleford sighed.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The room went silent for a moment before Emma spoke up again.

“Hun, I reckon somethin’s been goin’ on with us f’r a while now. I think I’ve been unfair t’ both o’ ya. I wanted t’ blame it on him, but I know we had problems in Cali too. I miss how things used t’ be with us, but I don’t know if we can ever get there again…”

She held his gaze for a moment, lifting his chin to make sure he was looking at her.

“If this is gonna work, it’s gonna have t’ be different. I know that now. Let’s just try again, wipe the slate clean one more time, and give this a try. No marriage counselors, no crazy toys, no same old rut. Just somethin’ new.”

Fiddleford put aside his unease as he was used to doing while balancing everything, and let himself melt as her lips grazed his cheek, then his lips, his neck, his chest.

She told herself the past didn’t matter because this was new. This was different. This was still the man she fell in love with back in college. She pushed him over, laying herself on him as she continued to kiss down his chest, desperately trying to think of something new, something different.

Fiddleford closed his eyes as he felt her lips pressing against him, desperately trying to rid his mind of his pain, and being out of reach of his memory gun, this would have to do.

She had it. She’d drop the pet names. She’d call him as he was.

“I love you, Fiddleford. I love you so much.”

The unusual formalness sunk into Fiddleford’s mind, soothing his brain into quiet. It reminded him so much of Stanford.

She slowly moved her hands along his chest, down his sides, and to his hips. As she let her hands wander lower, she was shocked at how hard he already was.

“Alright, I guess we can skip the foreplay then. Since when did ya get so sensitive?”

Fiddleford tried to block out the question. The less he thought, the better.

Emma grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, only now noticing that his tie was missing. She threw the thought away and focused on pulling him up. She leaned back, sending him on top of her, forcing him to open his eyes as he balanced on his hands and knees.

He forced his mind to quiet, the meditation tactics Stanford taught him finally becoming useful. He leaned over her and kissed down her neck to her chest, moving his hands down her sides to her hips.

She giggled, practically purring in his ear as she ran her hand down to his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers. She grabbed Fiddleford’s hands and led them to her jeans, leading him as he pulled them down with her underwear. She sat up a bit and pulled him into another kiss, sucking on his tongue. She backed away and gasped for air.

“Come on, Fiddleford, show me ya love me.”

Fiddleford felt guilt pool in his stomach. He cursed himself for letting that make this more exciting. He brought his hand down first. She groaned as he worked, already knowing exactly what she liked. He leaned down with a huff of hot air, sucking on her neck as he lined himself up and pressed into her. She gasped at the feeling, a bit less gentle than usual. He grunted and groaned as he focused on his pace, sending moans through her as she tossed her head back. He picked up the pace, already feeling himself getting close, especially as Emma-May squirmed beneath him to get the angle she needed. He changed how he worked his fingers. Her moans grew louder, and Fiddleford couldn’t keep himself contained anymore as his groans turned to moans. They were both so close, and as Emma-May tipped her hips up a bit more, it gave them both the friction they needed to practically scream in unison.

“Stan-!”

They both froze, staring wide eyed at each other, wondering if they really heard both of their voices. They were appalled before confusion set in. They both finished their thought as they trailed off, “-ley…” and “-ford…”, clearing up a bit of the confusion. Emma-May finally spoke.

“You’ve got t’ be fuckin’ with me. I was right?”

Fiddleford pulled out and sat back on the couch, letting Emma-May sit up before grabbing the blanket off the side of the couch and covering them up so they could talk, but he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about and it showed all over his face.

“You an’ him. I thought I was crazy. You two likin’ each other. I told m’self he couldn’t love no one an’ I couldn’t see ya with no one but a woman, but I knew I was kiddin’ m’self.”

The two sat unmoving for a moment as their world came crashing down before he spoke up.

“I didn’t have a clue ya were with Stan.”

“I ain’t with ‘im. We kissed twice, but now I’m guessin’ you’ve been with him.”

Another wave of silence passed over them, the awkward feeling threatening to drown them both before Emma-May finally spoke up again.

“How long? Was this ever real? Do ya even like women?”

Her tone was surprisingly calm for the situation. He answered truthfully, seeing no point in hiding it now.

“I liked ‘im back in college. He didn’t seem t’ care. I’ve always thought about it, but then I met you, an’ yeah, it was real. I fell real hard, but things were gettin’ rocky an’ I got that phone call… When I came up here, I started havin’ a real good time an’ before I knew it I was in over m’ head. I’m sorry, Em. I should o’ just told ya. I shouldn’t o’ done it at all. An’ f’r the record, I do still love ya, but apparently not the same way anymore, an’ apparently not enough t’ spare your feelin’s.”

The whole thing was solemn, not loud or angry or tearfilled like they thought their end would be. Then Fiddleford spoke up again.

“An’ you? How long ya liked Stan? Ya’ve only been here f’r about a week an’ Stan ain’t even been here that long.”

Her face turned red with embarrassment. “Yesterday. I know it ain’t been long, but I wasn’t gonna sleep with ‘im. More daydreamin’ I guess.”

She tossed a judgemental expression to him, making him sink with guilt, but as he thought more, Fiddleford screwed up his face in disgust. Emma scrunched her face in anger.

“Now don’t go givin’ me a lecture after you’ve been sleepin’ with someone else, ‘cause-”

He stopped her with the wave of his hand.

“No, I just… Stan? Really? Ain’t he kinda… dirty lookin’? Like he ain’t had a shower, ‘r a haircut, ‘r a house in God knows when?”

Her look of anger only intensified.

“Like you can judge me. You like that emotionally constipated nerd who’s practically feeble with the amount o’ times he gets injured despite all that muscle. And talk about hasn’t showered! I don’t see what there’s t’ like about a guy who can’t take care o’ himself. At least Stan would shower if he’d had one.”

They both stared at each other again for a moment before Fiddleford spoke up.

“I guess this means goodbye, doesn’t it?”

She softened her gaze.

“Oh, Hun. We’ve always gotten along when it ain’t ‘bout Tater ‘r relationship gunk. Why don’t we just call it at friends. I still want Tater t’ have a father, an’ I don’t want ‘im torn between choosin’ ‘r nothin’. I really was thinkin’ ‘bout movin’ up here, even when I wasn’t sure what would happen with us. We might still do that. He can be close t’ both of us. We can figure out a regular arrangement. An’ I’m sure we’ll be seein’ enough of each other what with us seein’ a pair o’ brothers.”

Both of their faces blushed pink at the realization that despite how different they seemed to be, they both fell for the same face.

They weren’t sure what to do next except to awkwardly shuffle back into their clothes. Emma-May kissed him one last time before they headed upstairs.

When they reached the top, Emma-May sat at the kitchen table again, pouring another cup of coffee as Fiddleford grabbed his jacket off the coat rack and his keys off the counter, prepared to drive around town to find Stanford, but to his surprise, when he stepped outside, Stanford was sitting in the passenger seat of his brother’s car with Stan sitting in the driver’s seat. Stanford had his legs curled up to his chest as best he could and was leaning against Stan with tears in his eyes. Though he couldn’t hear him, Fiddleford could tell he was sobbing as he spoke, hiding his hands underneath him like he always did when he was upset. When Stanford looked up and caught a glimpse of Fiddleford, he turned away from him and sat up away from Stan, causing Stan to look up and see him too.

Stan’s face dropped to a challenging scowl as he got out of the car and rolled up his sleeves, already preparing to swing a fist at him when Fiddleford threw his hands in front of his face.

“Wait! Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t mean t’-“

His pleading did nothing to stop Stan as he decked him across the face, knocking him to the cold hard autumn dirt.

Stan lifted his foot like he was going to stomp his skull in before he felt Stanford gently pulling him back. Stan put his foot down and walked back over to the car, leaning against the hood, waiting in case he needed to intervene.

Stanford put his hand out for Fiddleford to grab and lifted him back to his feet, but he didn’t speak.

“Stanford, I’m sorry f’r what I did. I was wrong an’ ya didn’t deserve that. I knew it while I was doin’ it an’ I know it still. I don’t have the right t’ come crawlin’ back t’ ya, but here I am… Em knows. That’s done. Also, apparently she’s been seein’ your brother, which was quite the surprise, but that’s neither here nor there. Em an’ I are done. I ain’t goin’ back t’ California. I’m sorry f’r everythin’, but I guess I’ll find a place in town t’ stay. I just wanna say goodbye an’ tell ya that I really do love ya, Stanford.”

They both shivered as a chilled autumn wind rushed between them. Stanford wouldn’t meet his gaze, and after a moment, Fiddleford turned to walk to his car until he felt Stanford’s hand warm his shoulder. He turned back around to face him just as Stanford pulled him in close and pressed their lips together before he ran his hands up to Fiddleford’s cheeks. When Stanford pulled away, their hot breath appeared as a cloud between them in the chill air.

“I love you too.”

Fiddleford let a smile spread across his face.

“Ya mean?”

Stanford cracked a small, sheepish smile and nodded slightly.

“Now let’s get inside before we freeze.”

Stanford’s face was already starting to chap from the wind whipping against his tear stained face, giving him a gorgeous pink tinge that Fiddleford finally didn’t have to hide his adoration of.

Stan gave up on the situation, deciding to go inside as he tucked his fists away into his jacket pockets as Fiddleford pulled Stanford close and kissed along his pink cheeks.

“I ain’t ever gonna upset ya ‘r hurt ya like that again, ya hear? If I ever do somethin’ like this again, ya just slap me silly.”

Stanford couldn’t help but be embarrassed by the sudden attention, tucking his head close to his shoulder as Fiddleford ran his hands up to his face and continued to kiss at his tear stains.
Fiddleford felt a shaky breath come from Stanford, so he drew back for a moment.

“Sorry, Shug. Too much too soon?”

Stanford turned his eyes away.

“No, no. I just- even after everything, I’m just a bit embarrassed that I’m still nervous when you kiss me like it’s the first time.”

Fiddleford melted at the words, a long, doofy, crooked smile crossed his face. Even when he didn’t mean to, Stanford’s weird way of making sense of things always charmed Fiddleford beyond sense.

Fiddleford leaned in to kiss him again, guiding Stanford’s face gently as he cupped his cheeks to face him, pulling back away after a gentle peck.

“I love ya, so much, Shug. I’m sorry I-”

Stanford put his finger over Fiddleford’s lips.

“No more apologies. I forgive you. After all, you forgave me too.”

He pressed his forehead against Fiddleford’s.

“Now let’s actually get inside. It’s cold out here.”

Fiddleford chuckled before he laced his fingers between Stanford’s, cupping the other side of Stanford’s hand with his free hand, leaning his head toward Stanford’s shoulder as they walked.

Chapter Text

As Fiddleford and Stanford stepped inside, they were met with Stan and Emma-May already all over each other. Stan had her in a dip as they kissed, lipstick stains already covering his bright pink face. The scene was over in an instant as they entered. They all shared an awkward, silent moment. They all sat at the table with nothing else to do but look at each other, if they even ventured that. But soon, they heard little footsteps heading downstairs. The four of them tried to act natural as Tate appeared around the bend of the stairs, but he’d always been an observant child and he quickly recognized the tension in the air, evident by his shoulders slumping over.

“Am I in trouble? I’m sorry I got back out of bed.”

Emma-May smiled a bit at his innocent question.

“Course not, Tater Tot. We just wanna talk f’r a bit. That alright, sweetheart?”

Tate looked apprehensive, but he made his way over to the table. Fiddleford wasn’t exactly planning on doing this right away, especially not after he was tired from not going to bed on time. He steeled himself anyway as the twins excused themselves down to Stanford’s room.

As the brothers finally closed the door behind them, they couldn’t help but both crack the same wide, toothy smile, wrapping each other in a tight hug before they started elbowing and shoving, to full on wrestling with whooping laughs as if they were kids all over again. It was only when Stanford tripped over the sofa, knocking the wind out of himself, that their wrestling ended, Stan suddenly growing concerned before Stanford caught his breath and laughed again, pulling himself up to lay back on the couch with a relieved sigh, Stan vaulting the arm of the sofa to sit next to him.

“I know there’s still stuff to figure out, but I can’t help getting ahead of myself. I don’t think I’ve ever been through so many emotions at once in my life. Is this what normal people feel like? A constant teetering between dizzying euphoria and crushing turmoil?”

Stan laughed.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be as serious as this, but yeah, that’s what it seems like to me. But what would I know? Nothing I’ve done up to now has really been normal either.”

Stanford shifted around a bit until he got more comfortable, closing his eyes and slowing his breath as he settled.

Stan hadn’t seen Stanford relax to that extent since he’d gotten to town unless he was sleeping, leading him to question for a moment if his brother had fallen asleep inhumanly fast, but he was quickly proven wrong as Stanford tilted his head to the side and opened one eye to look at him.

“Either way, it looks like we’re just going to have to get used to it, and all the changes that come with this odd situation.”

Stanford opened both eyes as he faced the ceiling, a half-lidded smile crossing his face as he thought of the man waiting for him on the next floor.

“Though things turned out just about as well as we could have hoped, I can’t help but feel for Emma-May. She may have picked on me more than care to remember, but I can’t help but feel like she gave up the most here.”

Stan sat up and raised a brow in offense at his brother.

“Now hang on there, Poindexter. I don’t know what you’re implying, but I-”

Stanford chuckled and faced his brother again.

“That wasn’t meant to be a slight on you. I just mean that you and Emma-May are new. She’s talking about moving here, giving up her home and her job for Tate’s sake, but also giving up a six year marriage for a brand new relationship. Not that I don’t wish you two the best of luck, but you haven’t really had the chance to get to know each other. Fiddleford and I have known each other for ten years. We’ve lived together, shared a bed, gotten used to each other’s quirks and routines, granted there is some new territory with romantic relationships specifically, but we already know we’re intimately compatible too.”

Stan slapped his hands over his ears.

“Alright, I get the point.”

Stanford chuckled again as Stan dropped his hands back down.

“Apologies. Point being, it’s a bigger gamble on her part, and as much as she’s made my life feel like Hell when she’s around, I do hope she can be happy. Then maybe she won’t feel the need to be so callous.”

Stan smirked and leaned back to look at the ceiling with the same half-lidded smile.

“Yeah, but she can handle it. She’s no stranger to playing the odds. She’s the grin and bear it type. They’ve had problems for years, but she stuck it out for the kid. Now that Fiddlesticks has no excuse to not watch the kid every now and then, she can finally be herself again and not just a wife and a mom.”

Stanford looked at his brother in surprise.

“I hadn’t realized you two had gotten so close. Maybe you two know each other better than I assumed. Either way, I’m happy for you, Stanley. It’ll be nice to get the chance to know Tate better too with him being around now.”

The two sighed with content for a moment before they shot a disgusted look at each other.

“Uh, Sixer, does that mean… We’ll both have the same kid?”

Stanford grimaced.

“Step, let’s not forget the step. Plus, let’s not just assume anyone is getting married. You two just met this week. Hell, Fiddlefore and I are just starting out officially. And technically, Fiddleford and I can’t get married even if we want to, so… I don’t know… I’m sure it’s fine. It’s not that weird really.”

The two sat for another moment, but as they both started to squirm, they sat up from their places and headed for the stairs.

“Welp, this got weird. Let’s go back upstairs.”

“Agreed.”

The two returned upstairs to find Tate pressed between his parents, clearly still upset from his subsiding sobs, but his tears had dried.

Tate turned his head up to face the brothers before he ran toward them, wrapping his arms around Stan’s legs and hiding behind him a bit away from Stanford.

Stanford was surprised at the clear reverse in the progress they’d made, but he put on a sympathetic face as he started to offer his hand to Tate, but as he hid further behind Stan, Stanford stood back up and looked away from him, trying to hide his hurt before he walked over to Fiddleford who spoke to him in a whisper.

“I’m sorry, Shug. Em wasn’t ready t’ tell ‘im ‘bout Stan yet, but I didn’t think about that before I told ‘im ‘bout us. I told ‘im it wasn’t his fault, but then I think he just started to blame you.”

Stanford looked at him in disbelief that it was really all out there so soon, but he tried to keep a reassuring expression. He knew it wasn’t about him, but Fiddleford knew he was upset as his expression cracked and reformed.

“I’m sure he’ll come around, Shug. He’s just upset. It might take some time t’-”

“I know.”

That was all he could bring himself to say without letting his hurt show through. Fiddleford nodded and wrapped one hand behind Stanford’s back, placing his palm against the back of Stanford’s hand and squeezing gently, hoping to help keep him grounded.

Meanwhile, Stan got down on his knee to talk face to face with Tate.

“How ya doing, kid?”

Tate sniffed and put his hands in his pockets as he looked down at the ground.

“I’m sad… Ma an’ Pa aren’t gonna live together anymore… Pa promised he’d only stay here f’r a few months, but now he’s not comin’ home an’ Ma says we’re movin’ here now, but they’re still not gonna live together. Is Mr. Ford makin’ Pa move here? Is that why he’s not gonna live with Ma anymore?”

Stan tried to hide his discomfort as he did his best to clear things up.

“I get why you’d be sad, and I’m sorry your pa promised something he couldn’t keep, but I know your folks would never wanna upset ya on purpose. There’s a lot of reasons your folks are moving here, but no one is making anyone do anything. Your pa wants to be here and your ma wants to be here, just not in the same house. It might be weird for a while, but I’m guessing your pa’s already told you that that’s what this town is all about. And if you move up here, then you’ll get to hang out with me some more. How’s that sound?”

Tate shuffled his feet and sniffed again.

“That doesn’t sound bad… I’m still sad though.”

Stan gave him a half-smile and patted him on the shoulder.

“And that’s okay.”

Tate finally smiled a bit and wrapped his short arms around Stan as far as they would go.

“Thanks, Mr. Stan.”

Stan’s eyes shined with pride. Tate let him go and ran back over to Fiddleford, hugging his leg on the side furthest from Stanford.

“Are you gonna stay this time when Ma and I move up here?”

Fiddleford felt a stab in his chest and his heart shatter into pieces. He managed to fix a lot of his mistakes, but earning back Tate’s trust wasn’t going to be as easy.

“Yeah, Tater Tot. I’m stayin’.”

Tater looked up to meet his father’s gaze, his tuft of bangs sweeping out of his face to reveal his scared and worried eyes.

“Promise? For real promise this time?”

Stanford could feel Fiddleford start to shake. He moved Fiddleford’s hand to his side and put his palm on the back of Fiddleford’s hand instead, wrapping his fingers into Fiddleford’s palm with a bit of force, trying to offer to let Fiddleford squeeze his hand if he needed, but he was quickly met with a death grip that left him wincing.

“I promise, Tater. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Your pa’s always gonna be right here, alright?”

Tate’s expression didn’t change as if he wasn’t sure he could believe him yet. He just kept staring at his father as if he could search his soul.

“If you’re livin’ with Mr. Ford now, does that mean he’s my new Ma?”

Stanford choked as the question hit him like a gut punch. He tried to stifle his coughs, but it only made it worse, making his face burn red with embarrassment before Fiddleford spoke up.

“No, Tater. Your ma is still your ma. Stanford’s gonna be around a lot more than before though.”

Tate tilted his head to the side. That sounded a lot like a mom to him.

“So, a bonus Pa?”

Fiddleford couldn’t help but chuckle.

“He’s just my boyfriend f’r now, Tater.”

Stanford squirmed a bit at the exchange. Hearing him say it out loud almost turned him to jello entirely. He didn’t think he could handle it if Tate asked what a boyfriend was. Would he even understand at that age what was happening at all?

Fiddleford felt Stanford’s hand start to sweat before he let go and tucked both of his hands behind his back.

Tate seemed to accept the answer and give his father’s leg one last squeeze before he let go and ran back to his mother.

“Do I get to decorate my new room, Ma?”

She smiled and straightened his cap.

“Course, Tater Tot. Ya get t’ decorate two rooms now. We’re gonna go house huntin’ tomorrow.”

Tate smiled a bit more.

“Can Mr. Stan come with us?”

She was caught off guard by the question. She turned to look over at Stan who looked away for a moment before turning back and shrugging.

“Sure, sweetheart. As long as he’s alright with it, but it’s time f’r bed now.”

Tate frowned, stomping his foot as he spoke.

“I don’t wanna go t’ bed!”

Emma-May was clearly becoming overwhelmed as she let out a heavy sigh to calm herself before speaking.

“Tater, you know it’s time f’r bed. I’ll give ya a choice. Ya can either go t’ bed now ‘r I can read t’ ya an’ then ya can go t’ bed.”

“No!”

All four of them shared unsure looks before Stan stepped forward.

“Aren’t ya tired kid? What would you even do if you stayed awake? It’s dark outside.”

Tate seemed to mull the question over seriously, but came up short. He turned back to Emma-May.

“I wanna sleep with ma an’ pa.”

They shared a pained look before she tried to explain.

“Tater Tot, we aren’t gonna be sharin’ a bed no more, remember?”

Tater looked weepy again, his lack of sleep making him act out as tears streamed down his face again. He ran to his father and wrapped his arms around his leg. He felt his heart break more at each tear.

“Would it help if I sleep with ya tonight?”

Tate nodded silently against his leg and followed quietly as Fiddleford brought him upstairs.

Stanford looked solemnly up at Fiddleford as he scaled the steps. Fiddleford flashed him an apologetic look before he disappeared.

Emma-May breathed a heavy sigh of relief as she rubbed her forehead.

Stanford looked to his brother, expecting him to make light of the situation as usual, but he was already headed to Emma-May’s side.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. You’re doin’ the best ya can.”

She moved her hand out of her face and looked up at him with an appreciative smile.

“Thanks. I just… I love my boy more than anythin’, but when he gets like this it all feels impossible, like I’m just treadin’ water an’ any little wave could just drown me.”

“I know how that is. It gets better. Is there something I can do to help?”

“Maybe just have a beer an’ a smoke with me? I could use a break after today.”

Stan gave her his usual enthusiastic smile.

“Now that I can do. Why don’t you take a hot bath first? I’ll be up anyway, so take as long as you need. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Stanford only just noticed that she’d been crying, silently with her usual strong expression, but at Stan’s offer, it was like a damn broke as she laid her head on his chest.

“I don’t think ya know just how much that means t’ me.”

“Well, you’ve been through a lot. I can’t remember how many times just having a shower, a beer, a cigarette, and some food would have made all the difference.”

She sniffed back her tears and held his hand as she started to walk away, but when she turned toward the bedroom, she turned back with a solemn expression.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just use the one downstairs. I’m sure Sixer won’t mind. I bet it’s hardly been used either.”

Stan laughed and elbowed his brother in his hurt side, making him wince.

“Sure. Just don’t touch anything on the way. Most everything dangerous should be in the construction room, but I wasn’t exactly prepared for this much traffic through my room, so just don’t touch anything and you probably won’t get cursed.”

She raised a brow at him, but being cursed honestly sounded better than explaining that she’d already been in his room or having to revisit the same shower she knew would just make her think of him. She resigned to letting the statement slide, especially since she could tell he was uncomfortable even agreeing to it.

“Thanks.”

She left without saying another word, grabbing fresh clothes out of her bag before heading downstairs. She hadn’t realized how much of a mess the place was before, but looking at it now, it reminded her of his half of the dorm room in college. The smell was truly offensive to her, making her wonder even more how everything came to this. The mixture of musty and sweaty scents being covered up by what smelled like a gallon of Pine scented cleaner and cologne. She made a beeline for the shower despite all the strewn about objects catching her eye from amulets to mysterious colored liquids, statues, and more than anything, books and papers everywhere. She was immediately disappointed that she’d forgotten to bring her own soap. She ran the water while she moped about how she was going to smell like men’s soap, but once she got in she realized she wasn’t going to stay long anyway. She just kept playing that moment in her head when she shut her eyes. Her mind kept wandering over her whole life wondering if she should have done something different. She felt tears threatening to well over, so she stood and drained the water. This clearly wasn’t helping and the strong pine scent now clinging to her just made her feel less like herself. She threw on something comfortable before heading back to the kitchen.

When she made it back up the steps, Stanford was waiting by the stairs, seemingly uncomfortably by his arms tucked behind him as he leaned against the wall.

“Oh. I wasn’t expectin’ ya t’ be waitin’ right here.”

Stanford wasn’t sure what to do with himself now. Stan was clearly more concerned with her and now that Fiddleford was preoccupied, he felt aimless.

“Apologies. I’m just a bit tired after today and I would have just gone to lay down, but I didn’t want to invade your privacy. I didn’t mean to seem creepy.”

Emma-May couldn’t help but laugh. Spying on girls in the shower was the absolute last thing she would ever assume of him.

“You’re fine, ya might wanna clean up in there sometime though. It smells more like sweat an’ BO than it does that cologne ya tried t’ cover it with.”

Stanford’s face turned bright red with embarrassment.

“Gee, thanks… I wasn’t exactly expecting my room to be a high traffic area when I got hospitalized.”

Emma-May actually felt bad seeing him embarrassed for once. She’d almost forgotten he was even in the hospital. She kept it to herself though, as she left him there to find Stan who was already playing solitaire at the kitchen table with a pack of cigarettes sitting out.

Meanwhile upstairs, Tate had requested a long list of specifics he needed before he would go to bed. Specific pajamas, a story, a song, another story, and Fiddleford was practically putting himself to sleep through it all with how exhausted he was. When Tate asked for another song, Fiddleford decided he couldn’t make it through another one.

“Tater, why won’t ya just lay down? I know what we talked about today might be a little scary at first, but I promise everything’s gonna be alright. Ya know ya can talk t’ me ‘bout it. Is somethin’ botherin’ ya still?”

Tate’s hyper expression dropped slowly.

“I'm scared. I don’t want ya t’ leave again. You promised.”

Fiddleford’s heart shattered all over again as he got down to talk more on his level.

“Tater, I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I love ya more than anythin’. When I made that promise, I didn’t know what was gonna happen now, but I do know that I wouldn’t have ever left ya behind f’r good. Your pa’s gonna be right here. Always. That’s more than a promise. Ya don’t gotta be afraid. That’s why I’m up here. I’ll be right here with ya when ya wake up. Now why don’t ya at least lay down, even if ya don’t get any sleep.”

Tate already seemed to be growing more sluggish with sleep.

Relief washed over Fiddleford as his head finally hit the pillow, but he knew he’d have to fight off sleep until Tate settled down, but to his relief, Tate snuggled up to him, and after latching on to his arm, quickly fell into light snores.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Tate flew awake, but was quickly reassured when he realized his father was still next to him, though he was clearly fighting the sleep that threatened to pull him back in.

“Mornin’, Pa!”

Fiddleford forced himself to sit up with a yawn, stretching himself awake.

“G’d mornin’, Tater. Ya ready f’r breakfast already?”

“Yeah! Flapjacks!”

“You got it, Half Pint. Just give your pa a little bit t’ get some coffee an’ I’ll have it ready soon.”

Tate ran down the stairs with his usual morning energy with Fiddleford following sluggishly behind. He started a pot of coffee and focused on breakfast, making enough for everyone when they finally woke up. Emma-May was the first to meet up with them. She tried to keep her conversation light, and she was quite surprised at how easy it was to just talk to him like a friend after everything. When Stan finally came upstairs, she felt her heart skip a beat just seeing him with his unkempt bed head. Stanford was the last to join them and he seemed the worst off despite being the first to sleep. He practically looked dead as he made himself coffee.

The others all sat down at the table as Stanford made himself comfortable by the coffee pot, filling his cup several times as they all ate.

“Are ya excited ‘bout house huntin’ today, Cricket?”

Tate seemed to finally be feeling better about the situation as wolfed down his food.

“Yeah! An’ Mr. Stan’s comin’, right?”

“Yes, Tater, Stan’s comin’ with us.”

Tate turned to his father enthusiastically.

“An’ what’re you gonna do today, Pa?”

Fiddleford thought it over for a moment before answering.

“I hadn’t really thought ‘bout it, but I guess Stanford an’ I’ll be gettin’ ya a real bed at the least.”

Tate eyed him suspiciously.

“That sounds a lot like what Ma did when I got my new bed. Why’s Mr. Ford doin’ all that?”

Stanford did his best to not listen to the conversation, knowing listening would only make his embarrassment worse, but there was no escaping it, and both him and Fiddleford quickly tensed at the new round of questions.

“Well, this is Stanford’s house, so I reckon he’d wanna help.”

“Are ya sure Mr. Ford’s not gonna be my new ma?”

Everyone suddenly felt the atmosphere shift with awkwardness. Emma and Stan felt her dismay at the question, but Stanford was just trying to keep himself from choking again on his coffee. Fiddleford already knew he was in a tight spot, but now he knew he’d be in twice as deep if he didn’t fix this now.

“Course not, Tater. Your ma’s always gonna be your ma. It’s like how Stan’s been around a lot more. Stanford’s gonna be around more too. That won’t change nothin’, alright? No one’s replacin’ anyone.”

Tate seemed to accept the answer before turning back to his mother.

“Ma, I’m done. Can we go now?”

“Sure, Cricket. I think we’re all ready now.”

Tate practically dragged Stan out the door as Emma called out to Fiddleford.

“We’ll be back later. I guess we’re stealin’ this one.”

Stan suddenly seemed ecstatic as he let Tate pull him out the door.

Moments later the house was quiet and it was just the two of them.

They shared an apprehensive look in silence that felt unbreakable until Fiddleford finally spoke up against his instincts.

“Well, at least it seems like he likes ya. I’m sorry we didn’t get t’ talk more last night. I guess I shoulda made sure ya were okay with me really ‘movin’ in’ instead o’ just assumin’.”

Stanford hadn’t really thought of it as him moving in until he realized that Fiddleford didn’t have anywhere to go and at some point all the things he left behind would have to be somewhere and his son would have to stay somewhere too, and when he considered how much money he had on him and the grant falling through, he couldn’t help but hear his father’s berating words in his head.

“Uh, it’s fine. I’m glad it seems like he’s not angry at me anymore, and uh, I’m glad that you’d want to stay here after everything.”

Fiddleford knew something was wrong. Something in Stanford’s voice told him he wasn’t being fully honest.

“Y’alright, Shug? Ya seem… worried? I know everythin’ happenin’ like this has been a lot, especially since we went from just bein’ friends t’ movin’ in together in just a few weeks, but…”

Stanford had a blank stare that Fiddleford recognized all too well as his spiral stare. He wrapped an arm around him and got him to sit on the floor, reaching around his back to grab one of his hands.

“It’s alright, Shug. Y’ don’t gotta worry. Just breathe before it gets too bad an’ ya talk t’ me when you’re ready.”

Stanford took a deep breath and shook himself.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I just got a bit flustered. One minute that kid’s scared of me and the next he’s asking if I’m his mother. I can’t wrap my head around it. I have to get him a real bed and clean out all those samples left in the attic. I should probably block off the lab completely just in case. Maybe a retina scanner? And if Stanley’s living here I’ll have to get another bed and find a space for him. I’ll likely have to clean out some storage for it which means I’ll have to move the blood samples, and God I guess I should… probably just throw it all out… I don’t really have a job anymore… I really will just be a housewife, spending all my time decorating a house for a family that’s only half mine and having no other purpose…”

Fiddleford held him tighter.

“Stanford, you’re spiralin’. Breathe.”

He started trembling.

“I can’t even afford this place now. God, what if I don’t find something to do and I lose this place? Then we’ll all be out on the street. We’ll be nothing. We’ll-”

Stanford felt his chest tighten as he gasped for breath.

Fiddleford moved behind Stanford, wrapping both of his arms around him, grabbing his hands and rubbing his thumbs in circles on the backs of them as he pressed his chest hard against Stanford’s back, breathing deep slow breaths.

“I’ll be worthless. What if I screw up? What if he gets hurt while he’s with me? What if we can’t afford food and he starves and we starve and it’ll all be my fault.”

Stanford squeezed Fiddleford’s hands in a death grip and gulped for air, but he still couldn’t seem to get a breath. After a moment of choking for air, Fiddleford could feel Stanford start to waiver as if he were going to pass out.

“Stanford, breathe, Hon! Come on now!”

He moved his hands to Stanford’s chest and put pressure on it, rubbing in slow circles and adding and removing pressure hoping to get Stanford to breathe just a bit, but in a moment he let out a horrible gasp, his eyes rolling into his head before his body fell like dead weight back against Fiddleford. Fiddleford started to panic until he realized that Stanford was breathing now that he was passed out and relief slowly washed over him.

“Oh, Shug… I know it’s a lot… We’ll get it figured out. I know we will. If ya can help me through panic attacks from monsters then I should be able to help ya get through yours from people.”

Fiddleford stayed rubbing Stanford’s chest for a while longer, slowly slipping back until Stanford’s neck was supported by his shoulder. Finally a few moments later Stanford awoke dazed and confused as he shook off the sudden sleep.

“What? Did I?”

Fiddleford shifted him a bit so both of his arms were free.

“It’s alright, Shug. Ya just panicked. We’ll get through this.”

Stanford looked up at Fiddleford pitifully.

“Fiddleford?”

“Yeah, Shug?”

“I don’t know the first thing about kids or families or relationships at all. I want this to go well. I just don’t want to fail at this like I have with everything else.”

Fiddleford kept rubbing his chest in circles, already preparing to fight off another panic spiral if it hit him.

“It’s gonna be alright. Y’ain’t failed at nothin’ an’ we’re doin’ this together. I didn’t mean t’ just put all this on ya at once. I should o’ talked with ya first before I ever agreed talked with ‘im, but ya don’t have t’ have Tater over here if ya don’t want once Em finds a place. I can always-”

“No!” Stanford shot up and turned around to face Fiddleford. “No, this is your house now too. Your family has a place here, especially your son. I’ll do better, I promise. I won’t keep freaking out. Even if my complete inexperience terrifies me beyond belief and reminds me of all my shortcomings and how my career has completely crashed and-”

“Stanford. Shug. Please try t’ breathe.”

Stanford closed his eyes and took a moment to control his breath.

“Sorry, sorry. I clearly have more than just this weighing on my mind. I’m so used to being told what I’m thinking and having it instantly soothed I think I’m getting worse at this again. I guess I just need to find the tail end of this spiral and work my way up.”

Fiddleford pressed his forehead against Stanford’s.

“If it’s a job you’re worried about, you’re plenty qualified f’r just ‘bout anythin’. Ya got plenty o’ PHDs f’r one man. Ya could always teach.”

Stanford made an unsettled expression.

“Not that I’d be opposed to apprenticing, but a whole class? I can hardly handle how full the house has been lately after six years alone, let alone a whole class of college kids. Besides, I’d have to commute and I don’t exactly have a car…”

Fiddleford chuckled.

“Alright, well I know ya love your research, but ya can’t publish it ‘cause o’ the chance o’ someone else findin’ this place an’ gettin’ tricked by Bill… unless we finish the portal first.”

Stanford’s eyes flew open wide.

“Have you lost your mind!? Bill will destroy this whole dimension if he uses it against us!”

A wide, shaky smile cracked across Fiddleford’s face.

“His plans were f’r a portal t’ whatever hellish dimension he’s in, but our plans can be f’r anywhere. We can apply for another grant an’ show ‘em the research you’ve already done. We can just tell the truth ‘bout it all an’ propose that we use the funds t’ refine the plans t’ stabilize the portal so we can control it.”

Stanford’s fear dropped to a frown.

“What about your computer business?”

“I’ll pick it back up once we’re done, maybe in a few years, no need t’ rush this time. The tech ain’t goin’ nowhere an’ by then ya can publish field research with no worries.”

Stanford could feel the elation rising in his chest.

“Fiddleford, you’re a genius!”

He reached out to put his hands on either side of Fiddleford’s face before pulling him in for a deep kiss.

Fiddleford’s eyes went wide with surprise before he melted into the kiss.

Stanford pulled away to look lovingly into Fiddleford’s eyes.

“I don’t know how I made it this far without you.”

Stanford leaned in close to kiss between Fiddleford’s neck and shoulder, rubbing his hands up and down his back.

“Mm. I don’t have a clue what I did without ya either.”

Fiddleford smiled as a shiver ran down his spine. He put his hand on the nape of Stanford’s neck and pulled him closer.

The faster Fiddleford’s breath grew, the harder Stanford started to suck, knowing full well he’d be leaving marks behind. Fiddleford chuckled as he felt Stanford’s tongue against his neck for just a moment.

“I know we’ve been together a few times before, but I guess I never asked ya what ya thought of it.”

Stanford pulled away again, his eyes half-lidded with a soft smile.

“Fantastic. How could it not be?”

Fiddleford blushed at his instant answer.

“Aw, shucks. Ya don’t gotta butter me up. I’m askin’ f’r real. You’ve gotta have preferences. Fantasies…”

Fiddleford winked, trying to tease him. Stanford looked away, his face flushed with shame.

“I- I don’t know. Do you?”

Fiddleford laughed.

“Mostly just the kinda stuff ya see in movies. Fireplaces, hot tubs, campfires, that kinda stuff I ‘spose. I guess if we’re talkin’ somethin’ different, ... an’ it might be kinda odd, but… I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t think about tryin’ food an’ what not…”

Stanford’s face burned red, but he didn’t speak up.

“Sorry if that was off puttin’. We don’t gotta do none o’ that. Em was never into none o’ that an’-”

Stanford barely squeaked out his words.

“No, that sounds nice. I’m just embarrassed about mine now…”

Fiddleford held back a laugh, trying not to embarrass him more.

“Compared t’ mine? Alright. Ya gotta tell me. I won’t judge.”

Stanford squirmed and spoke quietly.

“You know when you pinned me against that wall and when I tried to bite you?”

Fiddleford smiled.

“Yeah, I remember that, Shug.”

Stanford shrunk in on himself.

“Well, sometimes I think about, you know, that but like… ropes… or chains… and biting and scratching and… choking… and blood…”

He trailed off as he noticed Fiddleford’s expression change to look a bit disturbed. He hid his hands behind himself.

“I’m sorry. I’ll just stop there. None of that really matters anyway.”

“There was more?!”

Stanford stood from his place on the floor, shrinking in on himself more like a kicked puppy.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any-”

“Shug, wait. I ain’t mad ‘r nothin’. I was just surprised, that’s all. You’re always so gentle, I just can’t even imagine ya likin’ that. Have ya been holdin’ back ‘cause o’ me?”

Stanford wasn’t sure what to say, but he tried his best.

“I don’t know. I’m fine either way, promise. You have a lot more experience, so I tried to just follow you, and I figured you weren’t that into the… you know… rough stuff?”

Fiddleford’s eyes suddenly squinted half closed, his brows ruffling as he smirked.

“I can be if’n ya want me to.”

Stanford’s face burned as he turned away, but his face betrayed his excitement. Fiddleford got up just enough to grab Stanford’s collar and pull him down toward him, nearly sending him tumbling on top of him. Stanford’s face burned red hot and he felt his heart race, sending a rush of arousal straight through him.

Fiddleford pulled Stanford in again, forcing his tongue down his throat. Stanford gulped at Fiddleford’s tongue as he desperately ran his hands over Fiddleford’s back. He slowly lifted his fingers up to his nails and ran them carefully over his back until Fiddleford nodded, but Stanford still pulled away.

“You’ll tell me if you’re uncomfortable, right, or if I get carried away?”

“Yeah, Shug. I’ll tell ya, an’ you do the same. Don’t stop ‘til I pat your hip, alright?”

Stanford nodded before Fiddleford shoved his tongue down Stanford’s throat again and this time Stanford didn’t hesitate to sink his nails into Fiddleford’s back. Fiddleford flinched at the pain, and Stanford let go until Fiddleford pulled him back to whisper in his ear.

“What did I tell ya?”

His warm breath on Stanford’s ear sent a shiver down his spine before Fiddleford bit gently at his ear lobe. He let out a shaky breath before Fiddleford tipped him over and slammed him into the ground much harder than he was expecting. His legs started to shake.

Fiddleford grabbed one of their field packs from the floor next to them, pulling out a bundle of rope.

“Y’ ready f’r this?”

Stanford shuddered.

“God, yes.”

Stanford forced himself up far enough to start sucking at Fiddleford’s neck again,
Fiddleford grinded against him, holding himself up off the ground with both hands. As he pressed against him more, Fiddleford felt Stanford’s teeth press against the skin between his neck and shoulder.

Fiddleford smirked and reached one hand down between them, groping at Stanford’s groin, causing him to bite down hard.

Fiddleford gasped at the burning pain spreading in his shoulder, but he thrust his shoulder back toward Stanford when he tried to pull away. Still, Stanford pulled back and looked Fiddleford in the eyes, licking the bit of blood on his lips off.

“Type B. My favorite.”

Fiddleford couldn’t help but burst out in a laugh.

“You’re so weird, and Lord almighty is it hot. How d’ ya even know the difference just from tastin’ it?”

“I haven’t told you about all my past research.”

He leaned back in with a smirk and licked over the bleeding bite mark.

“Alright, I’m gonna have t’ keep ya off me, ain’t I?”

Stanford couldn’t help but smile into the crook of Fiddleford’s neck before Fiddleford pulled him off and slammed him back into the floor, shoving his tongue back down Stanford’s throat as he tied the rope around his arms and the nearest table.

Stanford gasped for air when Fiddleford finally backed away and pulled their pants down.
Fiddleford pinned Stanford’s arms down gently as he pressed up to him.

“That workin’ f’r ya?”

Fiddleford hid his nerves well. He was still afraid he’d hurt Stanford, but he put on his best smirk as Stanford replied.

“Harder.”

Fiddleford was caught off guard by the command, but he was a bit relieved that Stanford was being honest. He pressed him harder into the floor.

“Harder. Use your nails.”

Fiddleford winced as he dug his nails into Stanford’s forearms.

“Come on. Harder. Make me bleed.”

He almost sounded like he was getting impatient. Fiddleford listened and drew blood from the scratches. Fiddleford’s nerves were getting the best of him as he started to shake, but he reached his hand down anyway to start stretching him. He started slow with only one finger, but Stanford rocked his hips hard to settle onto it hard and fast with his growing impatience.

“More.”

Fiddleford obeyed, drawing a gasp from Stanford as he worked in more fingers. He slowly tried to work in the last, but Stanford worked his hips again to settle on it hard and fast, finally getting a good graze against his prostate and drawing out a moan, but it clearly wasn’t enough. Fiddleford pulled his hand away and Stanford gritted his teeth and braced himself, breathing heavy against the floor. Fiddleford hesitated for a moment, he knew he couldn’t be stretched all the way yet, but he couldn’t stop staring at how pretty he seemed like that. Stanford looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“Fiddleford, please. You’re killing me. Just do something. Choke me and make me cling to these ropes. Cut me and drink the blood. Something!”

Fiddleford was terrified of hurting him, but he’d been honest so far, so he tried to calm his mind and just be there. He slipped in, causing Stanford to let out a small moan as he felt the burn of his stretch and the dry friction between them.

“Ah! Choke me!” he practically begged as Fiddleford pumped into him.

Fiddleford reluctantly moved one hand off the floor and placed it over Stanford’s throat, pressing some weight into it as he sped up his thrusts.

“-hah- Fuck. Harder.”

Stanford commanded, the bliss already showing on his face.

Fiddleford was already starting to break from nerves along from seeing Stanford so pleased. He listened and leaned harder into his hand against Stanford’s throat, quickening his pace again.

Stanford gripped around the ropes as he moaned.

“Oh, Fiddleford! Fuck! Harder!”

Fiddleford struggled to keep it together as he held himself up by the hand against Stanford’s throat, the other hand moving to press down Stanford’s wrist as he thrust as quick as he could force his now erratic movements to go.

Stanford’s nails pressed into Fiddleford’s wrist, drawing more blood as Stanford gasped for air, no longer able to speak, and bucked his hips up to help meet Fiddleford’s thrusts. The other hand was pulling on the rope hard, threatening to topple the table he was tied to completely over. He would have let out a loud, howling moan if his windpipe wasn’t being crushed. He gave Fiddleford one last pleading look before Fiddleford changed his angle, leaning down close to Stanford and biting his shoulder hard as Stanford felt him grind hard against his sweet spot. Stanford managed to turn his head just enough to bite hard into Fiddleford’s hand, trembling as he finally released.

Fiddleford continued his rapid pace, sending waves of pleasure through Stanford through his high until Fiddleford finally released and collapsed on Stanford, unmoving until he felt Stanford’s knee tap his hip a few times. He quickly moved himself off Stanford’s throat and chest, giving him the chance to gasp for air.

“Sorry, Shug. I almost forgot ya couldn’t breathe there.”

Stanford panted as he caught his breath.

“Wow…”

Fiddleford chuckled, rolling off him and snuggling up close to Stanford’s side.

“That good, huh? Well it ain’t no fireplace, but I reckon ya look real pr’tty when you’re beggin’ like that.”

Stanford’s face turned red again.

“I could have gone for more, but yes, it was that good. I’m just sorry it ended up being all about me. You didn’t get anything you were talking about.”

Fiddleford laughed, reaching for a rag from the nearby pack so they could clean themselves before slipping his clothes back on and snuggling back up.

“I think ya earned it after all ya put up with. Plus, I reckon we got plenty o’ time, an’ plen’y more o’ your preferences t’ work through. You’ll have t’ tell me the others ya stopped on some time. I reckon you’ve got quite a few more than me.”

Stanford cleaned himself up too, put his clothes back on, and laid back down for only a moment before he suddenly jumped back up.

“Shit! How long has it been?”

Stanford darted around the house gathering supplies to clean the mess they’d made when Fiddleford let a laugh slip out.

“It ain’t been that long. Ya really are a worry wart ain’t ya, Shug.”

Stanford pretended to be annoyed by the teasing. After all, it was Fiddleford’s child he was trying so hard not to traumatize, but he knew he was being a bit over the top about it.

“Hey, you worry just as much as I do when it doesn’t involve things like this. I just don’t want to screw this up. I don’t have a clue how to be a parent. The least I can do is try not to make his life any worse.”

Fiddleford’s smile dropped.

“Stanford, ya don’t gotta be a parent if’n ya don’t wanna. You’re gonna have t’ see ‘im, obviously, an’ probably spend time with ‘im, but just ‘cause we’re together don’t mean ya gotta be his parent. If takin’ on that sorta thing is what ya want at some point, that’s fine, but ya don’t have t’ take this on all at once. Tater’s still got me an’ Em. Y’ain’t gonna screw ‘im up just by bein’ ‘round.”

Stanford finished cleaning and put everything away in its proper place before returning to lay on the floor next to Fiddleford.

“Sorry, Dear. I just got carried away again. I really do want to be a part of your entire life though, including being there for Tate. I just don’t want to cross any boundaries with him.”

Fiddleford’s face turned warm pink at the new title of Dear, giving Stanford another quick kiss before getting up off the floor.

“Come on. Let’s get ya thinkin’ ‘bout the here an’ now. No matter what comes next, I think we’re gonna need extra beds in this place.”

Fiddleford offered his hand to pull Stanford up off the floor again.

“I suppose you’re right. I won’t have much left after that, but we can worry about the future in the future, right?”

Stanford smiled cheekily at him, hoping Fiddleford would notice how hard he was trying not to worry.

“Exactly.” Fiddleford assured him as they walked out to the driveway.

As they stepped out, they each took a few steps in opposite directions before they realized they were heading for separate cars.

“I can drive, Shug. Ya did just faint a little while ago.”

Stanford raised a confused brow.

“And you think we’re fitting two new mattresses and frames into your little bug? We couldn’t even fit a twin in there.”

Fiddleford mimicked the same expression back at him.

“An’ ya think we can fit much more in Stan’s car? I don’t think so, Shug. We’ll just t’ get it delivered.”

Stanford’s face dropped.

“Absolutely not. You know I can’t afford that right now. You’re a damn engineer. You can figure it out. We’ll tie it to the roof or something.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes at Stanford’s stubbornness.

“Then we can tie it down t’ my car. You just wanna drive, an’ ya know I ain’t lettin’ ya in my car, right?”

Stanford chuckled and gave Fiddleford a kiss on the nose.

“I’m really not that bad of a driver. At least I didn’t crash mine when I still had a car, but just so you know, it’s adorable when you’re frustrated.”

Fiddleford looked away bashfully, feigning annoyance as they piled into his car, taking off for the store to pick out two queen sized beds along with cheap frames, sheets, and quilts. The whole thing made Stanford practically sick as he saw what little money he had in his wallet dwindle to nearly nothing. He swore he could hear his father cursing him in his ear for being irresponsible, but he put the thought aside as he loaded the car while Fiddleford strapped down the mattresses to the car roof.

Once they were sure it would hold, they returned to the cabin exhausted from their day of discussing what looked best, what was affordable, comfortable, or what matched the rooms in the cabin despite them knowing and discussing several times that it was going to change anyway. By the time they made it back, the sun was already beginning to set and the others had already made it back. Tate ran around them telling them all about the house his mother bought as they struggled to fit the beds through the front door and tried not to let their tempers snap from their exhaustion.

“It’s right in town so I can walk t’ school with the other kids instead o’ takin’ the bus like in Cali!”

Tate stood almost directly behind his father who was supporting half the weight of a mattress while walking backwards, nearly stepping on Tate, causing him to drop the corner of the mattress and fall backward.”

Stanford heard the crash from outside, but he couldn’t see over the mattress now jammed in the doorway.

“Fiddleford, are you okay?!”

Fiddleford sat up off the floor, rubbing his hip and the back of his head before he returned to the mattress.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Shug!” He hollered before turning to his son.

“Tater, could ya move outta the doorway, please? I’m tryin’ not t’ step on ya an’ I don’t wanna drop this on ya.”

Tate dropped his head with a crestfallen look.

“Yes, Pa.”

But it wasn’t long before his giggles could be heard through the house again as Stan lifted him in the air and wrestled with him while Emma-May worked on frying catfish for dinner.

Once the mattresses were inside, the rest was simple, although putting the frames together may have been a tedious task for most people, it was a simple one with Stanford and Fiddleford working together rather seriously as if they were building another portal from scratch. Though they did eventually enlist Stan and Tater’s help to move the beds after they realized they should have built them in the rooms they would be in.

Moving Fiddleford’s old bed to the attic was a task on its own, but moving the sofa from Stanford’s room to what was now planned to be the living room was even more of a pain with its awkward shape and extremely heavy base. They were all relieved to finally have the worst out of the way as they moved one new bed into Stanford’s room and one into Fiddleford’s old room on the main floor. By the end, all four of them were ready to collapse on the couch, but Emma-May called them for dinner first.

The Pines were last in line for food, sharing a concerned look about the idea of eating catfish, but neither spoke up as they sat at the table, a rolling lab chair temporarily pulled up that Tate insisted he wanted to sit on because it was special.

Both Fiddleford and Emma-May caught on quickly to the brothers’ apprehension, but she spoke up first.

“Come on now. It ain’t gonna bite ya.”

Stan picked a whole piece up with his fork.

“Are ya sure about that? Ma and Pop always told us that fish were poisonous.”

Fiddleford slapped his knee and laughed at the comment.

“It ain’t poison. Sounds like your folks were just tryin’ t’ keep ya outta trouble.”

Stanford got an excited look as he put a finger in the air.

“Actually, the fish definitely were poisonous back home. That beach was horribly polluted. It’s honestly a miracle neither of us contracted hepatitis or septicemia just being there everyday.”

Emma-May and Fiddleford shot each other worried glances before she spoke up again.

“Well this ain’t no Jersey fish, so just eat it, will ya? I didn’t go through all that trouble f’r nothin’. If ya weren’t settin’ up Tater’s room I would o’ told ya t’ make somethin’ yourselves.”

The brothers still seemed weary, but they weren’t about to get on her bad side. They each ate without any further complaints, but it was clear by their faces how they really felt about it. Stan wolfed the meal down with sparkling eyes. This was practically a delicacy compared to anything he’d eaten in the last few years. Stanford on the other hand seemed to be having difficulty with the texture, though once he got used to it, he managed to finish most of it, only picking around the parts that were particularly mushy, stringy, or off colored while the others cleared their plates entirely.

After plates were cleared, the two brothers headed for the couch out of old habits. Though they’d been apart for ten years, and there was no tv yet, they recalled finishing dinner each night and sitting around the sofa watching whatever their father put on tv for the night. But they quickly broke out of their trance as Fiddleford waved them over to the door, Emma-May and Tate already heading for the porch.

They shared a confused look, but followed outside, seeing Emma and Tate walking around the yard grabbing sticks before Fiddleford joined. The brothers silently asked each other if the other knew what was a happening, but as they reached the conclusion that this was just as foreign to both of them, they followed, picking up sticks, unsure what for, until they all returned to find a spot on the porch, each pulling out their own pocket knife and whittling away at the sticks.

After a moment, Fiddleford looked up from his project to see the brothers looking between them and each other, unsure of what to do. Stan pulled his own pocket knife out and went to sit down, but Stanford was at a loss. He usually only carried a multitool with a knife attachment if he was doing field work.

“Sorry, Shug. I forgot ya don’t just carry one around. I’ll grab ya one from inside. I should have a few extra.”

Fiddleford returned quickly with the spare knife so Stanford could start on a project too before Stan spoke up.

“So… is this some kind of family business or something?”

All three looked up in confusion before Stanford spoke.

“Or a ritual to satiate some southern urban legend?”

The three couldn’t help but laugh, turning both of the brothers’ faces red with embarrassment.

“It’s just somethin’ we do together. We both grew up whittlin’ as a pastime so we just started doin’ it together too I ‘spose.”

They both shifted nervously. Their presence felt like an intrusion. It was hard to fathom that the picturesque family in front of them was breaking apart, but even harder to imagine themselves fitting into it. From the outside, it just seemed too perfect.

As the night dwelled on and the air became a bit too chilly to justify the porch any longer, they headed inside for the night, sending Tate off up the stairs to get ready for bed while the others were left trying to figure out where everyone would sleep for the night. Emma-May chimed in first.

“Movers should be here in the mornin’ so I’ll have a bed by tomorrow night. ‘Til then, we’re gonna have t’ figure somethin’ out.”

Stanford shrugged off the situation.

“I’ll just sleep on the couch. I’ve done it for six years. I can handle another night of it.”

Fiddleford raised a brow in irritation.

“Stanford, that’s the whole reason we got a bigger bed. Ya know, f’r two people?”

Stanford lifted his arms in confusion.

“Alright then. Why don’t they share Stanley’s new bed then? It’s the same size. For two people, as you say.”

They all gave an uncomfortable glance. He sighed in defeat, realizing that there was likely some unspoken reason for why that would be uncomfortable.

“Okay… then Emma-May can sleep on the couch.”

Her brows quickly turned furious.

“Not in your lifetime I won’t. I ain’t sleeping nowhere that smells like you.”

Stanford was quickly growing frustrated.

“This whole house smells like me. It’s my house! Just- ugh, fine! Fiddleford and I will sleep on the couch, you can sleep downstairs, and Stan can sleep in Fiddleford’s old room.”

Fiddleford interrupted.

“Shug, I don’t think we’re both gonna fit on that couch for a whole night. I’m a might taller than Stan, an’ I gotta be honest, I think we’d all be a bit uncomfortable with her sleepin’ in our new bed.”

Stanford pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Then you’ll sleep in our bed.”

“Next t’ Em? Ain’t that gonna be a might awkward?”

“Yeah, I ain’t doin’ that neither.”

He gritted his teeth in complete disbelief that this was still carrying on.

“Why does it matter?! We’ll be asleep! So no one sleeps on the couch and I’ll sleep in our room too and Emma-May can sleep on the air mattress so you two won’t be by yourselves. Happy?”

Emma-May immediately protested.

“I ain’t sleepin’ in a room with you two. I ain’t ‘bout t’ grab a first row seat t’ my ex-husband’s night life with his new boy toy.”

Both Fiddleford and Stanford seemed disturbed by her phrasing, but Stan couldn’t keep himself from laughing, earning him a punch in the shoulder from his brother.

“What? That was funny!”

“Alright, then you can sleep on the air mattress and give Emma-May your room.”

Stanley wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“I don’t want to watch you either.”

“We’ll be sleeping! How are none of you getting this? You sleep on the couch then. Emma-May will sleep in the new bed in Fiddleford’s old room and Fiddleford and I can sleep in my room. Everyone happy?! Is everyone finally okay touching objects that I’ve touched and sleeping in a house that I own on objects that I purchased?! Because if you have a problem with it still, I have a tent you can sleep in! Oh wait, I forgot, I still bought that, and you’d have to sleep next to each other, oh yeah, and we’ve already used that tent before! God forbid it reminds you of what we’re all aware happened?!”

Emma and Stan gave each other a shocked and disgusted look at his outburst before turning to Fiddleford for some sort of backup, but Fiddleford plastered his hand over his mouth so he wouldn’t laugh uncontrollably. The room was silent for a moment as Stanford breathed hard, believing he’d finally ended whatever this back and forth was, but Stan couldn’t help but speak up.

“Do I need to be worried about what's on that couch now?”

Stanford’s brows turned down as he shot a threatening glance at his brother, daring him to complain again.

He shrugged, trying to play it off.

“I’m just asking.”

Stanford held himself back from completely losing his cool, but it didn’t help much.

“Why does it matter?! Everything is clean! Cleaner than any hotel you’ve stayed in in the last ten years! We’re all adults, okay? No one seemed to have a problem when we moved Fiddleford’s bed upstairs and we all know they’ve slept together since they’ve been here.”

Now he had clearly made everyone uncomfortable, enough so that Emma-May turned on her heels and took the air mattress back upstairs for Tate to sleep on.

“Stanford, I know you’re frustrated, but why d’ ya gotta say uncomfortable stuff like that?”

Fiddleford couldn’t look him in the eye, beyond embarrassed that the obvious was stated out in the open without apprehension.

“What is so uncomfortable? It’s been washed. I just don’t understand why you’re all being so difficult about this. No one showed any remorse when I had to listen to you two, but the mere idea of us is that upsetting to everyone that they can’t even sleep?”

The room was silent again. Fiddleford’s guilt was eating away at him again.

“Ya gotta understand, Shug. I’m happy this is finally workin’ out, but things are different f’r me an’ Em. It’s gonna be difficult t’ let some stuff go.”

Stanford’s expression was unreadable. He listened silently before he turned for the door, pulling his coat on and grabbing Stan’s keys.

“Stanford, where are ya goin’? Ya can’t just keep runnin’ out the door when ya get upset!”

Stanford ignored him, closing the door and disappearing in Stan’s car.

While Stanford was out, Stan resigned to lay on the couch despite his earlier protest, but neither Stan nor Fiddleford could sleep. But as they finally heard the car pull up, they relaxed a bit. Stan felt the cold night air rush in as Stanford raced through the door.

“Woah, Sixer. It’s cold as hell out there.”

Stanford was breathing hard, the cold air burning his lungs, his glasses fogged over his angry expression.

“Are you okay?”

Stanford let his back slide down the door as he sat on the floor.

“No, Stanley, I’m not okay. I just spent every last cent I had on a new couch and a bed for a kid that isn’t mine… I spent at least an hour trying to load them and secure them on the car… Dad was right. I can’t even afford groceries now.”

Stanley’s face dropped.

“Sixer, I think they were just teasing you before. I don’t think anyone actually expected you to do that.”

He was still half-asleep with tiredness, but he quickly tried to shake it off.

“Well that’s not what it sounded like to me! It’s too late anyway. I’ve only been doing this for a day and I’m already falling apart. The kid doesn’t even like me, Stanley, and now I’m gonna drive him away because we won’t even have a house and-”

Stanley’s face filled with worry.

“Sixer, calm down. We’ll figure this out. I’m practically an expert on living broke.”

Stanford’s eyes shook with panic.

“Stanley, I don’t mean to lessen your life experience, but I really don’t want to live in your car.”

Stan sighed and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“It’ll be fine, Poindexter. I’ll help ya move the stuff in and then we can work on selling the old stuff in the morning. That’ll get you by for a while until we can figure something else out.”

Stanford took a deep breath. How did he not think of selling the old ones?

“Stanley, I’m glad you’re here.”

Stanford let himself practically fall against his brother as he wrapped his arms around him.
Despite how upsetting it was to see Stanford so distraught so often, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of joy that his brother needed him again.

“Thanks, Sixer.”

His voice cracked a bit against his will so he pulled away from him before the tears had a chance to take over.

“Welp, we should probably get that stuff in before it rains.”

Stanford refocused himself before turning back to the door.

“Right. I suppose we should. Thank you for helping.”

Stanley laughed.

“Course! I am the strong one after all.”

Stanford raised an eyebrow with a smirk.

“I wouldn’t push it if I were you or we’re going to have to settle that in the morning.”

It took longer than they expected to get everything set up in the house, completely wearing them out after all the work they did before. The couch was moved into place, facing a wall Stanford hoped to buy a tv for if he ever got the money. The new couch was much softer than the old one, although it looked older. The bed was nothing fancy, but it was new and hopefully would keep Tate from having to sleep on that uncomfortable air mattress when he stayed. Once the new couch was put into place, Stan could feel himself starting to fall asleep as he laid against its soft cushions.

“This is way better…”

He didn’t even say good night before he was snoring loudly. Stanford sighed and shut the light off as he walked down stairs to his room, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw Fiddleford sitting up waiting on him.

“You scared me half to death!”

Stanford gripped over his heart as he tried to slow his breathing again. Fiddleford’s face dropped to a disapproving look.

“An’ you scared me half t’ death. Where did ya go? Why d’ ya keep runnin’ off?”

Stanford crawled into bed and laid facing Fiddleford.

“I’m sorry I left. My intention wasn’t to worry you. I was frustrated and I didn’t want to take it out on anyone. I just wanted to fix the problem so you wouldn’t be upset anymore… I went back to the store and bought another new bed and couch.”

Fiddleford’s eyes grew wide.

“Stanford, you didn’t have t’ do that! How could ya afford that?!”

Stanford looked away.

“I really can’t, but I don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable here. I want you all to feel like this is your place too, not just mine. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I still can’t say I understand why it makes everyone so uncomfortable, but if you all need a new couch and Tate needs a new bed, then I figured it’s my responsibility to get it. I’ll try to clean up in here too. I hadn’t realized it was so egregious before.”

Fiddleford shook his head with wide eyes.

“Stanford, ya can’t just make decisions like that on your own anymore. You’ve got other people livin’ with ya.”

Stanford started to grow frustrated again.

“Yes I know, and no one pays rent either so it’s just me and my now nonexistent salary failing to keep this place together.”

Fiddleford sighed.

“That’s not what I meant. Look, I’ll pay ya f’r the bed ya got Tater an’ the couch ya bought. An’ if’n it takes ya a while t’ find the money f’r rent an’ what not, I’ll take care of it.”

Stanford frowned.

“Fiddleford, I can’t ask you to do that.”

Fiddleford’s eyebrows laced together in anger.

“Y’ain’t askin’ me nothin’ an’ I ain’t takin’ no f’r an answer. I’m gonna help pay f’r this place. We’re supposed t’ be partners an’ I’m startin’ t’ get offended that you’re not treatin’ me like I’m a part o’ this. We ain’t exactly startin’ from scratch, Shug. We’ve been livin’ together f’r a while and known each other f’r ten years. We’re kinda startin’ out in the fast lane an’ I really need ya t’ meet me there… unless you’re wantin’ things t’ slow down... Then I s’pose I could stay in a hotel until I found a place t’ rent.”

Stanford scooched close.

“No. I want you here. I want this for us and I don’t want things to go backwards… I don’t know why I’m struggling so much with this. Maybe it’s because I lived alone for so long, but I just keep telling myself I have to do this. I have to make this work. I have to make everyone happy. I have to pay for this place. I know I shouldn’t think like that, but I don’t know why I can’t stop myself.”

Fiddleford tried his best to be sympathetic.

“Shug, I don’t mean t’ push your buttons, but if I had t’ guess I’d say it’s a pride thing. I ain’t ever met someone who gets so full of ‘imself one minute an’ hates ‘imself the next. Your pa put a lotta pressure on ya t’ be a provider when ya were just a kid. Y’ain’t gotta be whatever he told ya ya had t’ be. I love ya whether ya got money ‘r not.”

Stanford’s frowned, but stayed silent. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended, flattered, or embarrassed.

“But I ain’t no housewife an’ neither are you. Ya don’t gotta be embarrassed ‘bout sharin’ expenses. I work, well, at least I did, an’ I’ve got a bank account o’ my own. I’ve got plenty right now t’ cover this plan an’ take care o’ Tater just fine. It ain’t no reflection on ya in any way. I had some set aside from a few patent sales years ago. It’s how I moved t’ Palo Alto in the first place.”

Stanford’s face filled with worry.

“Are you sure? It was still my decision. You shouldn’t have to-”

Fiddleford put his hand on Stanford’s shoulders and shook them in frustration.

“Yes I’m sure, Stanford. From now on we’re makin’ decisions together. Hell, we could get a joint account if it made ya feel better, but we’ve gotta start workin’ together.”

Stanford softened his gaze.

“I don’t deserve you. You just keep giving me more chances and I just let you down.”

Fiddleford frowned and ran his hand along Stanford’s cheek.

“Oh, Shug, that ain’t true. It’s easy t’ be in love, but it ain’t always easy t’ work together. I had six years t’ get better at it an’ apparently I didn’t do so well. This is just your first go ‘round. It’s gonna take some time. Just quick bein’ so damn stubborn an’ let that ego down a notch, Doctor.”

Fiddleford smirked as he spoke, his face lighting up as Stanford’s face turned bright red at the nickname.

“Well that’s certainly not going to help the ‘ego’ problem.”

“Yeah, but ya look so darn cute when ya get all flustered like that.”

Fiddleford leaned forward and nuzzled his nose against Stanford’s.

“Just get some sleep, Shug. We’ll figure it out in the mornin’.”

Stanford could already feel sleep tugging at his eyelids as Fiddleford snuggled close, wrapping his arms around him, slipping one leg between Stanford’s legs, and swinging the other overtop them.

Stanford hummed contently as Fiddleford laid his head against his chest.

“I love you so much.”

Fiddleford already had his eyes shut, sleep hanging tight on his vocal cords as he barely got the words out.

“Love ya too, Shug.”

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.

Chapter Text

Back at the cabin, the attic had finally been cleared, giving Tate the incentive to race up the stairs to explore the new space while the others brought in Fiddleford’s things, Stan helping fill Tate’s new room, Fiddleford finding space for all the clothes he’d forgotten he’d left in California, and Stanford putting away any dishes or odds and ends where they fit amongst what was already in the house, sometimes moving or throwing out his own belongings to make room for Fiddleford’s.

When all was said and done, Stan left the house after a phone call that Stanford assumed was from Emma-May, leaving just the two alone with Tate for the night.

The evening started out rough with Tate hiding in his new room. Fiddleford, still feeling the weight of guilt on his conscience, tried his best to coax him out for an opportunity to reestablish some trust.

“Hey, Halfpint, ya wanna help me an’ Stanford cook dinner?”

There was no response. Fiddleford’s stomach dropped at the sadness and guilt that ate at him, but he wasn’t going to push it. He didn’t want to risk upsetting him more.

“Well, if’n ya feel like it later, ya can just jump in when you’re ready.”

With further silence being the only reply, Fiddleford stepped away from the door and headed back downstairs to the kitchen where Stanford was already gathering ingredients. He turned with a soft reassuring smile to Fiddleford as he walked in with slumped shoulders.

“Is everything alright, Dear?”

Fiddleford sighed, trying to let his worries fade away naturally to focus on spending time with Stanford instead. But the worries won, and he knew he couldn’t hide them from Stanford. He tried to force a smile, but it quickly faded.

“Actually, not really, Shug. Tater’s upset with me. I told ‘im I’d be there today an’ after that nightmare, I kinda just ran out t’ come back here. I think I made things worse with Tater ‘cause of it. Now I think he’s avoidin’ me even though he seemed excited t’ be comin’ back with me.”

Stanford lowered his brows in a sympathetic look, putting his hand on the side of Fiddleford’s face. Fiddleford leaned into the warmth, letting his eyes drop to half lids while he listened to Stanford’s soothing voice.

“I’m sorry, Fiddleford. If I had told you sooner, none of this would have happened.”

Fiddleford opened his eyes fully again, his face falling serious.

“This ain’t your fault. I keep makin’ promises I’m not keepin’. It don’t matter the circumstance. They’re my promises t’ keep. I only hope Tater can forgive me an’ you can forgive me if my mistakes are drivin’ more of a wedge between you an’ Tater, or between us f’r that matter.”

Stanford lifted his other hand to rest on Fiddleford’s other cheek as he stared intently into his eyes.

“There is nothing to forgive. I’m certain Tate will forgive you in time. I clearly don’t have parenting experience, but I know you care about him more than anything else in the world. I’m certain he’ll come to see that in his own time. As for me, you shouldn’t have to worry about that. It’ll either happen or it won’t. We’ll be okay.”

Fiddleford felt warmth rise to his cheeks at Stanford’s reassurance. He could feel himself melting in the palms of his hands, his mind finally quieting.

“I love you so much. I don’t tell ya enough how good ya are at takin’ all my worries away.”

A goofy grin spread across Stanford’s face. He pulled his hands away and tucked them behind his back. His face turned pink as he laughed nervously.

“And you are certainly good at flattery.”

Fiddleford was surprised by how quickly the comment flustered Stanford, but once he saw the reaction, he couldn’t help but let a sultry half-lidded smirk cross his face.

“It ain’t flattery if it’s true, Shug. You’re the smartest, handsomest-”

Stanford squirmed, his face burning red. He brought one hand up to conceal the new shade, to no avail.

“Fiddleford, please. We’re supposed to be cooking dinner.”

Fiddleford’s smirk only worsened to a full grin as he shoved his hands beneath Stanford’s shirt, rubbing them up Stanford’s firm chest. Stanford gasped quietly at the sudden feeling, making him stand up straighter before he threw his free hand down to block the obviously growing bulge in his pants.

“Fiddleford! Tate could be down any minute. We can’t ju~ust-”

One of Fiddleford’s hands reached down past his waistband and grabbed at him, only making his problem worse. He was already breathing heavy from the sensation, and as Fiddleford started stroking him, he couldn’t help but throw his head back in a moan. He braced himself against the counter behind him with one arm as Fiddleford rested his head against Stanford’s chest. He took in every gasp, shuddering breath, and rapid heart beat as he stared down at his work. Stanford grabbed for the back of Fiddleford’s head, grasping at his hair desperately as Fiddleford added another hand and swiped his thumb over Stanford’s head.

Fiddleford let go for a moment, receiving an involuntary whine from Stanford at the loss, but Fiddleford wanted to look at Stanford’s pleasure-wrecked face that was now desperate for more. Stanford felt the near painful throbbing between his legs increase by the moment, only worsening the shaking he suddenly noticed in his knees. He finally cleared his mind enough to register that something was happening, so he fought his head back upright to see Fiddleford gazing lovingly directly into his eyes. Stanford let out a quiet whimper as he felt the throb worsen.

“Fiddleford, please. Please.”

Stanford felt Fiddleford’s hands reconnect with him, stroking him once before he crumbled over Fiddleford’s shoulder, dug his nails into Fiddleford’s shirt and began to thrust violently into Fiddleford’s hand with focused and desperate grunts.

“Fiddleford. Can- Can you- hah- can you-”

Stanford couldn’t spit the words out before Fiddleford tightened his grip slightly and twisted against him, causing Stanford to yell out, quickly quieting himself by biting hard into the skin between Fiddleford’s neck and shoulder. Fiddleford turned to kiss up and down the side of Stanford’s face, driving him to thrust harder until he was practically thrusting up against Fiddleford. Fiddleford could tell Stanford was getting close just from the desperate gasps beneath his full mouth, but before Stanford could even let go to warn him, Fiddleford used both hands to stroke and play with Stanford’s slit. Stanford gripped harder into Fiddleford’s back and bit further into his shoulder, sending streaks of blood down his chest that soaked into their shirts. Stanford shook and clenched as he released. Fiddleford continued to stroke him through his high.

“God, you’re amazing, Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford’s face turned bright pink as he listened to Stanford praise him between huffing breaths. But soon, Stanford landed back with a clear mind, causing him to hide his face again with one hand in embarrassment. Fiddleford quickly caught on to the sudden discomfort and moved his hands away.

“Y’ okay, Shug? I thought ya was havin’ fun?”

“Apologies. I got so focused on myself that I didn’t help you at all.”

Fiddleford’s smirk returned as he grabbed Stanford’s hand and moved it from his face and led it up his shirt.

“Well it ain’t too late f’r that.”

Stanford smiled before locking lips with Fiddleford, letting his hands wander Fiddleford’s chest. Fiddleford was clearly already relishing the touch as he turned them so he could lean against the counter while he pulled Stanford close. Fiddleford finally pulled his lips apart from Stanford’s to catch his breath.

“Stanford, get to it, Shug. We don’t got all night.”

Fiddleford smirked, rubbing his hard crotch against Stanford’s leg. Stanford chuckled and ran his hands down lower.

“Right, sorry. I just like kissing you.”

Fiddleford stared half-lidded into Stanford’s eyes.

“I like kissin’ ya too, Shug, but I’m already riled up, an’ if I don’t start fuckin’ somethin’ I’m gonna lose it. So it’s you ‘r me, n’ I’d prefer it be you.”

Stanford chuckled again before settling on a more sultry expression.

“I think that can be arranged.”

In a moment, Fiddleford was throwing his head back and bracing against the counter as Stanford moved past his waistband and started to stroke him. Fiddleford let out a whimpering moan each time Stanford brushed his fingers against a sensitive spot. Stanford noted each one of them, waiting until Fiddleford was huffing and begging for something more to change the angle of his strokes, focusing all his attention on the sensitive spots. The sensation sent a wave of euphoria through Fiddleford making him scream. Stanford quickly covered Fiddleford’s mouth with his free hand, looking down at him with his head tilted up in a smirk that drove Fiddleford wild. He was a gasping, moaning mess beneath Stanford’s hands. When he finally ran his fingers across his slit again and focused on the sensitive spots, Fiddleford sprawled flat against the counter in his release. He screamed again, but was silenced by Stanford’s lips pressing against his and his tongue down his throat. Fiddleford pulled Stanford in closer by the back of his head, thrusting his own tongue into Stanford’s mouth. Stanford pulled away to catch his breath after Fiddleford hadn’t slowed down a bit.

“I can’t believe you’re not worn out yet. You’re not ready for more, are you? We have to make dinner some time.”

Fiddleford stared lovingly and breathlessly up at Stanford before he wrapped his arms around Stanford’s shoulders, lifting himself up away from the counter and up close to Stanford. They spun for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, Stanford’s head resting on Fiddleford’s shoulder as they snuggled close.

“I’m good, Shug. Ya just got a way o’ keepin’ energized.”

Stanford giggled with a wide smile and pressed his nose against Fiddleford’s, rubbing them together before pulling away.

“I suppose we should go change before making dinner.”

Fiddleford laughed, pulling at the collar of Stanford’s shirt.

“Careful there ‘r ya might get me all excited again.”

“I can’t make any guarantees. I’ve been told I’m quite the heartthrob. Of course that’s all hearsay until I can get you hooked up to a heart monitor.”

Fiddleford giggled at the joke. He just loved when Stanford said something that would seem so absurd coming from anyone else. He held Stanford’s arm close to his chest the whole way down the steps, only letting him go when they actually had to change.

When they made it back up the steps and started dinner, they clung to each other like their lives depended on it. Fiddleford started with the chicken, but moments later, Stanford had his hands wrapped under Fiddleford’s arms and resting on his chest as he kissed down Fiddleford’s neck.

“Shug, I love ya, but I need m’ hands if’n ya ever wanna eat.”

Stanford continued, only pausing for a moment to reply.

“Mmm… I don’t need real food. I’ll just live off you instead.”

Fiddleford cackled at the tickling of Stanford’s 5 o’clock shadow.

“Well the rest of us here on planet earth have t’ eat real food, so let m’ arms go ‘r else I’ll have t’ rub my salmonella-covered hands all over ya! So go make the coatin’. I even wrote down a recipe this time so ya could help.”

Stanford groaned, giving Fiddleford one last long kiss before he let Fiddleford go to start on the coating. But as much as Fiddleford was pestering Stanford to get started, he already missed Stanford’s touch. So he rushed the prep and washed his hands so he could hang on Stanford’s back while he measured the dry ingredients.

“What happened to ‘the rest of planet earth has to eat?’”

Fiddleford groaned as Stanford rolled his shoulders to push Fiddleford off while he walked around the kitchen gathering the spices he needed.

“I changed my mind. I missed ya.”

Stanford set down the spices and charged at Fiddleford, lifting him in the air and spinning before setting him back down. Their laughs filled the house, and Stanford pulled him close, kissing him again.

“Dear, we really do need to finish dinner. Even if we don’t need food, Tate’s going to starve before we even start frying anything at this rate.”

Fiddleford’s face flushed with embarrassment.

“I gotta be honest, I kinda forgot he was here f’r a minute… Is that terrible ‘r what?”

Stanford smiled gently, cupping Fiddleford’s cheek with his hand.

“That’s not terrible. We’ve been living together on our own for months. He’s been quiet upstairs all night, and you were kind of occupied earlier.”

Stanford couldn’t help but smirk and blush as he mentioned it, but Fiddleford seemed horrified.

“Good Lord, he could o’ walked in on us! An’ I was screamin’ an’ everythin’. Oh my god, Stanford, what if I’ve traumatized ‘im? I can’t keep hurtin’ ‘im like this.”

Stanford pulled Fiddleford close, wrapping him tightly in his arms.

“Hey now. Give yourself a chance here. He’s still upstairs, and I took care of the screaming. He probably didn’t even hear anything. Plus he’s six. He wouldn’t know what was happening anyway. No one is traumatized. You did nothing wrong. What are you so worried about anyway? I’m sure you and Emma-May were together at some point in the last six years.”

Fiddleford shrunk away with a red face.

“Course we were. We were on the rocks, but we weren’t that bad. It’s just, before now I was doin’ everythin’ right. Everyone told me I was a good husband an’ a good father. I really tried t’ be until I finally snapped. I didn’t give up nothin’ t’ be those things, an’ yet I felt I needed t’ give myself somethin’ selfish. I put ‘im through a lot when I came here. I lied when I said I was comin’ back. I think deep down I might o’ known that then. But I still lied, an’ left ‘im wonderin’ when I’d be back, then I tore ‘im away from home, put ‘im through a divorce, an’ well, I just ain’t done nothin’ right f’r ‘im since I left. I just can’t mess up again. An’ I really don’t want ‘im hatin’ you over my decisions.”

Stanford gave him a sympathetic smile and a kiss on the forehead.

“I know it’s been a complicated road to get here, but I really don’t think you should have to worry about all this. You’re doing everything you can for him. He’s safe, he’s loved, and he’s cared for. I hope I’m not stepping out of line here by saying this, but from what I’ve seen, I think you’re a great father. It may not be a high bar, but you’re leagues ahead of my father, and everything turned out fine for me.”

Fiddleford snorted back a laugh before letting it explode out.

“That’s sweet, Shug, but your pa royally screwed with your head an’ you certainly did not turn out fine. If Tater turns out with as many complexes as you’ve got, I don’t think I’ll be able t’ live with m’self.”

Stanford chuckled.

“Well I’m glad you’re feeling better, even if it’s at my expense. I’d be upset, but I did have a meltdown over buying furniture, so I think it’s safe to say you may be right on this one. But still, I think you’re doing a great job. You’re wonderful, Fiddleford. Don’t worry so much.”

Fiddleford melted as he always did. Those soft brown eyes, that sweet low voice, that warm touch, and the perfect soul behind it all, his one weakness, but those glistened trusting eyes bore straight into him and the guilt started to eat him alive as they sparked a memory. Stanford pulled him in close and kissed up his neck again, only making the shame in Fiddleford’s stomach sink deeper.

“You really are amazing, Fiddleford. You’re sweet, smart, and terribly handsome. You’re what’s made all of my years since meeting you bearable. I lo-“

Fiddleford pushed him away by his chest.

“Stanford, I got another confession t’ make.”

Stanford’s heart dropped. He thought they were done with this. No one else, no more secrets, no more surprises. Fiddleford said it himself that they were a team now, but Stanford couldn’t stop the feeling of dread rising in his chest.

“I know why I’ve been forgettin’ things, an’ it ain’t just cause I’ve gotten used to livin’ a certain way… Stanford, I know ya told me t’ throw that damn memory gun out, but I didn’t. An’ I kept usin’ it.”

Stanford looked horrified. He drew back from Fiddleford a few steps as he spoke.

“Why? Why would you keep that dangerous thing? And you’ve been using it? On who?”

Fiddleford could feel tears welling as he saw the adoration in Stanford’s eyes fade, replaced by the fear he put there.

“Well, it started out with just me. I wanted t’ forget some things t’ help my anxiety so I could work better. Then, it just felt nice t’ have a clear mind, so I started erasin’ more. I was gettin’ tired from all the late nights, an’ I wanted to impress ya, so started usin’ it on construction workers so we could finish the portal an’ the bunker faster. I told a few people in town ‘bout it, an’ they’ve been usin’ ’em too. An’ when I couldn’t think ‘bout nothin’ else, I used it t’ ‘rase my feelin’s, but they always came back. I must’ve fallen in love with ya over a hundred times by now… I only used it on ya a few times. Once so I could keep it, an’ a few others when ya caught me usin’ it.”

Stanford’s horrific expression quickly changed to a betrayed frown.

“I- I’m trying to understand, Fiddleford, but I just don’t. I just don’t understand why you would do this.”

Fiddleford rubbed one arm with his other hand, trying to show his remorse.

“I know it doesn’t make sense. Not if ya ain’t used it before. But once I knew how great it could be t’ live without regrets, get do overs, an’ not be held down by thoughts I didn’t want… I couldn’t stop. But I ain’t been usin’ it. Not since you’ve come from the hospital.”

Stanford flinched with hurt.

“Is that why you were gone for so long? Did you forget me?”

Fiddleford averted his eyes. He didn’t want to say the truth, though they both knew it already.

“Just until I found your blood in the grass… an’ then when ya came home with those bandages on, then it all came back t’ me.”

Stanford felt like he’d been hit by a train.

“You wanted me gone… you wanted to forget me. You did forget me…”

Fiddleford quickly grabbed Stanford’s arms and stared intently into Stanford’s eyes as he reached to grab at both sides of his head.

“Stanford, Shug, it ain’t like that no more. Em an’ I are done. I’m not torn, I’m not afraid o’ gettin’ caught, an’ I ain’t runnin’ from this no more. I’m sorry f’r lyin’, I’m sorry f’r usin’ the damn thing, an’ I’m sorry I kept it from ya ‘til now. But I love ya more than anything an’ I’m tryin’ t’ do better.”

Stanford averted his eyes. He didn’t want the tears that Fiddleford couldn’t keep back to sway him.

“I think I need to clear my head. I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back.”

Stanford headed to the door, grabbed his coat, and left in one motion, leaving Fiddleford alone to sob as he collapsed to the kitchen floor. He suddenly heard little footsteps thumping against the stairs. He gasped back a new round of sobs, trying to dry his face with his sleeve before Tate could see him, but he failed. His face was red and puffy, his tears continuing to drip as Tate walked up to the pile his father had formed on the ground.

“Y’ okay, Pa? Why ya cryin’?”

Fiddleford tried to keep his red face hidden by looking away, but he knew he wasn’t really hiding anything.

“I’m alright, Tater. Your pa just did some things he shouldn’t’ve, an’ now I’m facin’ the consequences.”

A look of anger crossed Tate’s face.

“Was Mr. Ford mean t’ ya? I bet it’s his fault you’re cryin’.”

More guilt crushed at Fiddleford’s gut.

“No, Tater Tot. Stanford’s been nothin’ but kind t’ me. It’s my fault I’m upset, an’ I upset him too.”

Tate wasn’t sure what he should actually believe, so he decided he would just sit on the floor too and hug his dad until the tears passed.

“Thank you, Cricket. I’m sorry ya gotta see me like this. I’ve put ya through more than ya deserve. I have with all of us. I’m real sorry, Tater.”

Tate tilted his head in confusion.

“Everyone gets sad, Pa. An’ Ma says that everyone makes mistakes sometimes. We just gotta ‘pologise an’ try t’ do better. Like when I called Jimmy dumb at school. I felt real bad when I saw how upset he was, so I told ‘im I was sorry. I don’t think he forgave me right away, but now we’re friends again, an’ I made sure t’ try not t’ call other people names no more.”

Fiddleford couldn’t help but smile.

“I think ya might be right, Tater. I just hope y’all can forgive me.”

Tater smiled wide and wrapped his arms as far as they would go around him.

“I already forgive ya, Pa. I like m’ new rooms an’ it’s prettier outside here than in Cali. An’ now I get t’ see you an’ Ma.”

The dams broke and tears flowed down Fiddleford’s face again.

“I love ya so much, Tater.”

“Love ya too, Pa.”

The two stayed for a moment longer until the tears dried up again and Fiddleford loosened his hold.

“Where’s Mr. Ford?”

Fiddleford sighed, pulling himself up off the ground.

“He stepped out f’r a walk. I reckon he’ll be gone f’r a while.”

Tate’s eyes lit up.

“A walk? Like in the forest?! Can I go after ‘im, Pa? Please! I wanna go explore!”

Fiddleford quickly grew concerned.

“Tater, it’s dark out already an’ it’s freezin’. Your Ma would kill me if she knew I let ya go out there.”

Tate puffed out his cheeks in a pout that made Fiddleford chuckle. It reminded him of how Stanford always did the same thing when he didn’t get his way.

“The full moon’s out. It’s light enough. An’ I’ll wear my coat. Please, Pa! Pleeeeease! I won’t tell Ma, promise!”

Fiddleford couldn’t ever say no to that little face, not when he had his heart set on something.

“Alright, but I’m comin’ with ya. Y’ain’t quite old enough t’ be runnin’ ‘round on your own.”

Tate smiled wide and grabbed his coat, practically dragging his dad out the door. Fiddleford was exhausted before they even stepped outside. The cold seemed to zap any bit of strength he had left for the day, but Tate was wired with energy, taking off into the woods. Fiddleford tried to run after him, but even with his most determined stride, he fell behind, hollering for Tate to stay close, but in a moment, he was nowhere to be seen.

Further into the woods, Stanford was still grappling with the whole situation, trying to wrap his brain around the why’s and how’s as he shivered. But a few steps further and he was startled by something slamming into his leg. He whipped around, only just realizing he’d left all his weapons in his pack instead of his coat pocket.

“Who’s there?!”

His eyes were wide and focused as he searched all around him before seeing Tate shaking with fear just in front of him.

“Oh. It’s just you. What are you doing out here? This is no place for you to be wandering around on your own.”

The fear drained from them both before Tate pouted again at the words.

“You’re out on your own, though!”

Stanford chuckled.

“I suppose you’re right about that, although I am quite a bit older. I can’t deny your enthusiasm, however, we’re both ill equipped to be out here, so how about I walk back with you. I’m sure your father is probably worried sick about you by now.”

Tate shuffled his feet.

“Can’t we explore some more first? If you’re mad at Pa, he said he was sorry an’ he’s gonna try t’ do better.”

Stanford smiled and ruffled his hair.

“While it’s kind of you to try and help, it’s irrelevant to us heading back. Perhaps I can take you exploring in the morning when I have my supplies and it’s a bit warmer?”

Tate beamed at the image of it.

“Yeah! That sounds great!”

“Wonderful! Then let’s turn back.”

Tate looked up at him with big sad eyes.

“I’m too tired to walk anymore.”

Stanford was bewildered, screwing his face up in confusion.

“But you just said you wanted to explore. You would have had to walk for that.”

Tate continued to whine.

“But that was before. Now I’m tiiiirrred.”

Stanford was at a loss for a moment before he resigned to a sigh.

“Alright. I suppose you can hop up on my shoulders.”

Tate seemed skeptical at how quickly that trick seemed to work.

“Are ya just gonna tell me I’m too heavy t’ carry once I get up there like Pa does?”

Stanford laughed.

“No offense to your father, but I think I’m a bit stronger than him nowadays. You are relatively tall for your age, but you certainly don’t seem heavy. If I can pick your father up with no problems, I think I can handle carrying you a little ways.”

Tate’s eyes lit up in awe as Stanford helped him up onto his shoulders.

“Woah! You must be super strong! Can ya really carry, Pa?”

“Ha! Sure can! Just a few months ago when he broke his arm on an expedition, he passed out and I had to carry him the whole way back to the lab.”

“Woah… you’re like a superhero!”

Stanford tried to keep from laughing.

“I don’t know about all that. I just try to eat healthy and stay active.”

The journey through the woods was relatively smooth, though Tate started to shiver around halfway back. Stanford stopped to set him down and was about to remove his coat to give to him when a loud, deep howling came from nearby. Stanford swiveled toward the sound and threw his arm in front of Tate in case something charged out. Tate’s shivering worsened at the sound. He whispered a worried question to Stanford.

“Mr. Ford? What was that?”

Stanford continued to let his eyes dart about, trying to focus on any movement despite the dark.

“My guess would be a wolf? But from the sound of it, it must have gotten into the crystals just east of here. Who knows how large it could be.”

Tate wrapped his arms around himself and he started to choke on tears.

“Mr. Ford, I’m scared.”

Stanford wasn’t sure what to do now. He was used to Fiddleford cowering at creatures, but he wasn’t used to tears, and certainly not rational fear from such a small child. He didn’t want him to be upset, but the louder he was, the more in danger they would be.

“Uh, it’s alright. I won’t let it near you, but I need you to keep quiet.”

He tried to hold in his sobs, but every once in a while, he would let one escape. Stanford could feel the hair on his neck rising. He was hardly ever this unnerved by the creatures of Gravity Falls, but now that Tate was with him, it seemed entirely different.

“We’re almost out, just keep quiet a little longer, okay?”

Tate nodded through his tears, but when they heard Fiddleford’s familiar scream, they both started to panic. Stanford scooped Tate up in his arms as he ran back into the woods toward the sound. He quickly swung him up to his shoulders again.

“Is Pa gonna be okay?”

“If I have any say in it, he will be. But I need you to hold on to me as tight as you can, okay?”

Tate grabbed onto the back of Stanford’s coat collar and crouched as close to him as he could, nodding onto the back of Stanford’s hair. Stanford ran as fast as his legs would carry him until he burst out into a clearing where he saw Fiddleford being carried in the mouth of a wolf the size of a car.

“Put him down you mangy mutt!”

Stanford knew talking to it was no use. It was a wolf after all, but he hoped it sounded cool enough when he thought of it on the spot knowing he needed to make some kind of noise to catch the wolf’s attention. Just as the wolf turned to look at him, he turned on his heels and ran the other way. Fiddleford’s stomach dropped, anger and panic flooding over him.

“Are you seriously running away after-!”

The wolf dropped him hard on the ground and charged after Stanford, apparently activating its hunting instinct. Stanford weaved around trees making his way back over to Fiddleford.

“Quick! Get in a tree!”

Stanford rushed past him, launching himself onto a tree, the wolf still hot on his heels. Fear flashed in Fiddleford’s eyes as he cowered by a tree, apparently too focused on the wolf to climb. Stanford barely got to a high branch in time to miss the bite swinging toward him. He pulled Tate off his shoulders and set him on the branch.

“Listen, I need you to be really brave for me, okay? I know it’s scary, but I promise you’re safe here. Don’t move from this branch until I tell you to, okay? Can you do that?”

Tate stared at him with wide, frightened eyes, tears still streaming as he shook.

“I’m scared! Don’t go! Please!”

Stanford’s eyes fell in sympathy.

“I know you’re scared, but you can still be brave. I’ll be right back, I promise, but your pa’s in trouble, and he needs my help, so I need you to stay here. Okay? Promise me you won’t move.”

Tate could hardly bring himself to nod, but with the small gesture, Stanford launched himself out of the tree just as the wolf was turning from the tree to Fiddleford still huddling on the ground. He whistled, grabbing the wolf’s attention again as he ran toward the lake. Fiddleford finally got the courage to stand, but it was no use now as he watched Stanford disappear into the trees followed by the wolf.

“Stanford!”

The silence was deafening as he shook before he realized he still hadn’t found Tate.

“Tater! Where are ya?!”

“Up here, Pa!”

Fear flashed over Fiddleford’s face again, unsure of how a six year old could possibly have climbed that high.

“Thank God you’re okay. Tater, get down here right now! What if ya fall!?”

“Sorry, Pa, but I promised Mr. Ford I'd wait ‘til he came back.”

Desperation flooded over Fiddleford. He couldn’t imagine losing both of them at once. It was too painful to ever consider.

“Tater, it ain’t safe up there.”

Tate’s face turned bright red.

“Mr. Ford promised it was safe, an’ he promised he was comin’ back! Then I promised I wouldn’t move ‘til he came back, an’ I’m keeping’ my promise, Pa!”

Fiddleford sighed, and awkwardly made his way up the tree, sitting down next to Tate.

“Then I guess I’ll have t’ wait with ya.”

They sat in silence for what seemed like eternity, growing colder by the minute from sitting still and feeling the wind whip across them.

“He’s comin’ back, isn’t he, Pa? He promised. He’s gotta come back.”

Fiddleford felt a sickening feeling in his gut. The same he felt waiting in the hospital with no sign of how he was.

“I dunno, Tater. Sometimes people get hurt an’ they-“

“NO! He’s gotta come back! Ya can’t just make promises an’ not keep ‘em! He’s comin’ back!”

Fiddleford wrapped his arms tight around Tate as he held back tears. It had been long enough. Stanford should have been back. He felt worry and sickness gnaw at his chest while he tried to fight off the creeping grief that approached with each second they spent waiting in the silent dark.

Then they finally heard a sound. Just the rustling of leaves. The concern of Stanford’s fate was left on his face until he saw Stanford break into the clearing again. Tate and Fiddleford burst into tears at the sight of him as he limped over to the tree.

“You can come down now. It’s safe. Can you manage on your own? I’m not sure I can climb at the moment. Where’s your father?”

Fiddleford couldn’t stop his voice from shaking, but at this point, he didn’t care.

“I’m up here! We’re both up here. I’ll try t’ get us down.”

Tate clung to his father for dear life, only making the climb down more difficult. Stanford was frozen with nerves, tensing with each foothold, terrified that they might slip and fall, but Fiddleford managed to make it down before practically tearing Tate off him and setting him on the ground with a labored huff before he ran to Stanford and held him tight.

“Thank God you’re okay. I thought f’r sure when ya took that long…”

“Heh. Takes more than a wolf to bring me down. I did get my leg bit, but it’s nothing a little disinfectant can’t fix.”

Stanford kissed him on the forehead and stared lovingly at him.

“I won’t lie to you. I was hurt when you said you wanted to forget me, but we’ve been through more than most people deal with in a lifetime since then, and you’re here now. I’m over the past. I love you more than any mistakes either of us have made. Now let’s get home. Come on Tate!”

Tate looked up from the dirt he was drawing in to run up to Stanford.

“Can ya carry me again?”

Fiddleford chided him.

“Tater, you’re too heavy f’r that, an’ Stanford’s hurt.”

Stanford scoffed.

“What’s a couple extra pounds? I’m fine. Here, hop on.”

He crouched so Tate could jump up on his shoulders. He stood and carried him just fine besides the limp. Fiddleford watched lovingly as Stanford dramatically told about the wolf’s defeat to Tate.

“Well I stand corrected then.”

Back at the house, Fiddleford took care of Stanford’s leg and any other stray scratches or bites before leaving Stanford to start again on dinner while he gave Tate a bath. Finally when Fiddleford came back to the kitchen, he was ready to start frying. Tate jumped at the chance to help with dinner. When Stanford saw him peeking around the corner, he was the first to offer him that chance.

“Want to learn how to cut vegetables? You get to use a big knife!”

Tate ran into the kitchen, pulling up a chair to stand on so he could reach the counter as Fiddleford watched apprehensively.

“Stanford, I know he’s got a little pocket knife, but that thing’s huge, he’s gonna end up hurtin’ himself, ‘r you.”

Stanford scoffed.

“Nonsense! Mom let me and Stanley handle our kitchen knives all the time at his age and we were fine.”

Stanford was already reaching for a large sharp knife.

“Stanford, I don’t mean t’ question your upbringin’, but it ain’t the 60s no more an’ most parents nowadays don’t let their six years play with knives as big as their heads.”

Stanford didn’t let up as he pulled the pile of washed vegetables over to the cutting board in front of him.

“He won’t be playing with it, he’ll be cutting vegetables. Plus he’s already excited, aren’t you, Tate?”

“Yeah, Pa! Can’t I help?”

Fiddleford let out a nervous sigh.

“Fine, but if someone gets hurt, you get to explain t’ Em how it happened.”

Stanford beamed at his victory.

“Fine by me! Now watch carefully. You hold it down like this, and watch your fingers while you slice like this. Don’t press straight down or lose control. Run it through instead.”

Tate watched intently as Ford cut up a potato and slid a new one over.

“Your turn. I’ll help you with this one and then you can try on your own if you like.”

Tate grabbed the knife from him, Fiddleford nervously watching out of the corner of his eye before Stanford put his hands over Tate’s, guiding him as he sliced the second potato perfectly.

“Great job! Want to try one on your own?”

“Yeah!”

Stanford pulled over another smiling over at Fiddleford with an excited gleam that gave away just how happy he was to be teaching him something.

“Go ahead. This one’s all yours.”

It was a perfect job, unusually skillful for a six year old.

“Perfect! Way to go, Champ!”

Tate looked up with glittering eyes at the nickname, causing Fiddleford to hold back a laugh at how cute he found it all, not wanting to discourage them.

“Now I’ll show you how to chop an onion!”

The evening seemed to slip by as they finally finished cooking and sat down to eat their steamed vegetables, mashed potatoes, and fried chicken. Though Stanford wished Tate could have helped with the whole meal, Stanford barely trusted himself around raw meat or hot oil with his lack of cooking experience, let alone a six year old, but Tate didn’t seem to be disappointed as he raved about how much fun it was.

After dinner Stanford revealed one last surprise he bought with the money from the old furniture, an old tv set. It wasn’t much, but it was the one thing Stan had requested for the house so he figured he owed it to him for getting the furniture sold. They all gathered on the couch and let Tate pick what to watch, and soon Tate and Fiddleford slowly fell asleep to a cheap sci-fi movie marathon. Stanford’s tiredness caught up to him, but he couldn’t sleep. He just wanted to take in the moment for as long as he could until he could feel himself growing tired. He slowly pulled himself up and carefully carried Tate upstairs, tucking him into bed before he returned to the couch. He gave Fiddleford a light nudge, but when he stayed asleep, Stanford decided to carry him downstairs before falling asleep himself.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Stanford and Fiddleford tried to sleep in as long as they could. For the first time in what felt like forever, they finally had a moment to take care of themselves. Still yet, Fiddleford found himself awake at a decent time with Stanford snoring violently next to him, drool trailing out one side of his mouth. Fiddleford stared silently and lovingly at him as he snuggled close, wrapping his arms around him and laying his head on Stanford’s shoulder.

Moments later, Fiddleford heard someone calling for him in the house. He recognized it was Emma-May. He tried to keep his voice down, but he knew yelling to her all the way upstairs would definitely wake Stanford up. Luckily, she made her way downstairs, so Fiddleford could just tell her to come in.

When she opened the door, she threw her hands in front of her face as he sat up, causing the covers to fall and reveal his thin bare chest.

“Jesus, Fidd, ain’t ya got any decency at all?”

He let his annoyance rest clearly on his face.

“We ain’t doin’ nothin’. He’s sleepin’ f’r god’s sake. What d’ ya want, Em?”

She screwed up her face in disgust as she noticed Stanford drooling in his sleep.

“Real classy one ya got there, huh, Fidd?”

Fiddleford raised a brow, still letting his annoyance show clearly.

“I know f’r a fact Stan does the exact same thing, Em. So what d’ ya want?”

She rolled her eyes with a smile, she was clearly just trying to tease him anyway.

“I came back with Stan. I was gonna pick up Tater an’ get ‘im enrolled, but he told me he was promised explorin’ today? An’ I’m not really sure what that means.”

Fiddleford threw his head back in a groan, dragging his hand up his face in frustration.

“Course he would promise that. Shit. Alright, why don’t ya just tell ‘im we’ll do that after gettin’ ‘im enrolled? I suppose I should probably explain the whole schedule thing t’ Stanford when he wakes up.”

Stanford finally started to stir at the sound of his name. He blinked himself awake, wiping his mouth before turning over and scooching close to Fiddleford, nuzzling his head into his side.

“Mm, good morning, Dear.”

He was only half awake. The light in the room proved too much for him, so he kept his eyes shut as he kissed up Fiddleford’s side. Fiddleford’s face turned bright red as Stanford ran his hands down to Fiddleford’s thighs and smirked.

“Did you just wake up or are you already excited this morning?”

Fiddleford sat up straight, his face burning hot.

“Shug, we got company.”

Stanford tilted his head in confusion, trying to figure out if he was missing a double meaning before he reached to his side table to grab his glasses and blink his eyes into focus. He jumped back and yelled at the sight of her.

“What are you doing here?!”

She raised a brow at him.

“I’m here t’ pick up my son, but someone promised ‘im ‘explorin’ today. I’m pretty big on keepin’ promises nowadays, but he kinda needs t’ be enrolled in school.”

Stanford laughed.

“I fully intended to keep my promise. How was I supposed to know he was going back with you today when no one told me? I thought yesterday was your day.”

She put her hands on her hips and gave him a death stare.

“Yeah, an’ he stayed here anyway.”

Fiddleford put his palm over his face in frustration.

“Em, let’s not do this now. Just take ‘im t’ get registered. It shouldn’t take long. We’ll take ‘im out an’ we’ll bring ‘im back tonight.”

Stanford gave them a screwed up look.

“Why don’t we just homeschool him? We’re both qualified to teach far beyond basic elementary school and he shows immense potential to surpass what public school could offer him. I would have done anything for that kind of opportunity at his age. Public school will only hold him back. He clearly takes after your intellect, with more opportunities than either of us had access to at that age, he’d be on a path where he could lead any academic field of his choice!”

Emma-May instantly filled with rage.

“Why don’t we homeschool ‘im?’ I’m sorry, I don’t believe there is a we here. Last time I checked, ya weren’t in labor f’r eighteen hours, so I don’t think ya get a say in this.”

Stanford’s offense showed evidently on his face.

“I’ve studied biology, so I’m fairly certain Fiddleford didn’t either, but regardless, I’m offering a solution to your problem and offering to prepare Tate to be successful. How am I in the wrong here?”

Emma-May drew her arms up.

“Fidd, shut ‘im up now before I do it for ya.”

“Well… doesn’t he kinda have a point? My parents didn’t know enough t’ teach me themselves an’ if’n I had the chance t’ learn at my own pace, who knows what could o’ happened. I don’t wanna send Tater t’ public school if it’s gonna hold ‘im back.”

Emma-May walked over and ripped the pillow out from behind Fiddleford, sending him back to hit his head on the board behind him. Emma-May reeled back with it and hit both of them in the face with it.

“You geniuses think ya know everythin’, but ya don’t. Tater’s plenty smart. What he really needs is friends. He’s scared o’ people an’ lockin’ up here in a cabin in the woods without anyone else his age ain’t doin’ ‘im no favors. He ain’t gettin’ nowhere if he can’t figure out how t’ talk t’ people. Maybe that’s what’s so wrong with you two. Ya never learned how t’ treat people so you’re just miserable, lookin’ down on everyone else cause they know how t’ live. Have either of ya gone a single day together without hurtin’ the other one? Well good luck bein’ shitty t’ each other an’ everyone around ya, but I’m raisin’ my son t’ have a heart an’ enjoy ‘is life.”

She turned on her heels and stormed out of the room and up the stairs, but Fiddleford jumped up and followed after her.

“Wait, Em, this is too big a decision t’ make when you’re this upset.”

“Yeah, an’ that’s comin’ from the guy who was fine with his new boyfriend makin’ decisions f’r ‘im while he’s jackin’ ‘im off.”

“Oh come on, Em. You’re exaggeratin’.”

Stan hopped up from the couch when he heard the commotion, meeting them in the hall.

“Why are we yelling about jacking off? Cause whatever happened, it wasn’t me. I just finished my coffee.”

Emma-May whipped her head around to face him.

“Your sorry excuse f’r a brother is tryin’ t’ tell me how t’ raise m’ kid an’ this piece o’ shit is agreein’ with ‘im just cause he was gonna jack ‘im off this mornin’.”

“That ain’t true, an’ ya know it, Em!”

Stan stood between them before Stanford finally made it up the stairs, still shirtless, but now with sweatpants on unlike Fiddleford who was still only in boxers. Emma-May instantly shot him a look.

“Someone get ‘im the hell outta here before I kill ‘im.”

“I was just trying to help. I don’t understand why you’re so upset. He really would excel if he could work at his own pace. He’ll be plenty socialized between the four of us. It’s not like I’m suggesting something outlandish.”

“Maybe I’m upset ‘cause y’ain’t his parent, so ya c’n stop tryin’ t’ act like it. Ya don’t see me askin’ Stan f’r advice ‘bout m’ son.”

All eyes turned to Stan. He threw his arms up, showing his empty hands with a frown.

“Hey, I’m not a part o’ this, but have ya thought about askin’ the kid what he wants?”

Stanford seemed bewildered by the comment.

“He’s only six, Stanley. I don’t know if-”

Fiddleford put his hand on Stanford’s chest, interrupting him.

“I actually think Stan might be right, Shug. Why shouldn’t he be able to choose what’s most important to ‘im. He can always change ‘is mind when he’s older.”

“He doesn’t even take his own baths, and you’re going to let him choose what’s best for his future?”

“You let ‘im use the damn knife ya got stabbed with on ‘is own an’ ya don’t think he can make that decision?”

Emma-May spun on her heels again, turning with blatant rage to Stanford.

“You let my son do what?! That’s it, I’m killin’ ‘im.”

Emma took a running swing to Stanford’s head, but he dropped just in time. She retaliated by lifting her knee, hitting him hard in the nose, sending blood splattering on her knee and on the floor. He yelled out, pressing his hand to his nose instinctively as he stumbled back. She kicked him in the chest, sending him to the floor before she pressed her boot into his throat, making him gasp for air as he choked.

“You really thought ya could just do whatever ya want, huh? Well I got news f’r ya, Shug, Y’aint- … are you fuckin’ hard right now?! What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

She quickly drew her foot away, letting Stanford gasp and sputter for breath. Everyone was staring with disturbed expressions now. Stanford shrunk back, crossing his legs and putting his hands in front of himself as his face burned with embarrassment.

“I don’t think giving you an explanation will make this situation any better…”

Emma-May gave him a look somewhere between murderous intent and nausea.

“Try me.”

Stanford sheepishly looked up at Fiddleford who seemed beyond confused and genuinely concerned.

“I… Well, Fiddleford always calls me that, and a while ago we did some things that involved… choking, and my mind just wandered.”

Emma put her hands out in front of her and turned away in disgust while Stan covered his ears.

“Godammit. Why’s it always gotta be a sex thing with you two. Ya really ain’t got no decency at all do ya? You’d be shunned ‘round where I came from had ya been sleepin’ ‘round like that, ‘specially f’r before you’ve even had your third date.”

Stanford gave her an angered look with his eyebrows laced together.

“Didn’t you get pregnant in your last semester of college? I don’t think you're winning any abstinence awards. I’m not one to judge, and quite frankly I could care less what you do with your life, but if you have a problem with the way I live mine, maybe you should keep your nose out of it and you wouldn’t know so much. He’s not your damn husband anymore. You can’t police us.”

She stopped for a moment before crossing her arms.

“Fine. Sleep with whoever ya want, ya whores.”

Stanford looked at her with livid bewilderment.

“Really!? That’s how you’re going to be? This isn’t even what this argument was about! You know what? I think you’re just angry that your son finally likes me. Maybe you’re even afraid that I’m taking him away from you because he’ll like me better? And maybe you’re insecure because you're still holding onto the fact that your husband was cheating on you for me. Maybe you’re jealous, upset even, that I’m better than you. You burst into my room to tell me that what I do is wrong, mock my intellect, and shame me for my private life. You can hold your feelings of inadequacy over my superiority, or you can move on and accept the fact that I won!”

Emma-May’s expression returned to rage before Fiddleford stepped between them and stared down in hurt to Stanford.

“You won? What did you win, Stanford? You an’ Em’s little feud? By datin’ me?”

Stanford snapped out of his spite and was suddenly flooded with guilt.

“That’s- That’s not what I meant! I was just trying to get to her. I would never do something like that just to show I’m better than someone… though it doesn’t hurt the argument.”

Fiddleford wasn’t sure if he should scream or cry, but he settled on raising his voice slightly enough that his voice wouldn’t crack as tears spilled down his face.

“Just stop talkin’! Ya never know when t’ just shut your mouth. I’ll help ya out, next time, stop talkin’ before ya tell someone you’re just with ‘em t’ prove a point!”

Stanford pulled himself off the ground and held his hands out in front of him as he approached Fiddleford.

“Fiddleford, please. I really didn’t mean it like that. You know I would never-”

Fiddleford backed away.

“I know ya keep secrets, an’ I know you’ve got an inhuman need t’ prove you’re the best t’ everyone. An’ I know you’d do just ‘bout anythin’ f’r it if’n ya c’n help it.”

Stanford felt his heart ripping out of his chest at the hurt look Fiddleford flashed at him.

“Dear, I-”

Fiddleford’s brows and eyes sharpened through his tears.

“Don’t you fuckin’ ‘Dear’ me. Ya know exactly what you’re doin’ callin’ me that when I’m upset.”

Fiddleford turned to Emma-May.

“Em, go take Tater t’ enroll. He’s upstairs. Tell ‘im Stanford won’t be takin’ ‘im out.”

The hurt pooled in both of their chests as Stanford desperately pushed down impending tears.

“Fiddleford, this is getting out of control.”

Fiddleford’s tears had dried. He looked at Stanford with an unfeeling expression.

“Then ya shoulda thought o’ that before ya needed t’ win so bad. I want ya out.”

Stanford flinched in offense.

“What do you mean you want me out!? This is my house!”

Fiddleford didn’t move an inch.

“I’m payin’ the bills. My stuff is here. My son’s stuff is here. You’d lose it in a week anyway. Just go.”

Stanford didn’t refute. He knew Fiddleford was right. His face burned red as silent tears stained his face. He turned and grabbed his coat and his large field pack before leaving quietly.

Stan was frozen until the door was closed. He looked back at the two in the house, Fiddleford glaring at him and Emma-May stunned at how out of control the situation got. Stan shot her an apprehensive look before running to his room,grabbing his duffel bag of things, and running out the door after his brother.

“Sixer! Wait up!”

Stanford wanted to be mad. He wanted to lash out and push his brother away. Every bit of self loathing reappeared in him as he spiraled rapidly from the ego-high he felt moments ago. He knew this was just the culminated punishment from all his misdeeds and shortcomings. He knew he didn’t deserve to have his brother’s help after he turned his back on him years ago. But he couldn’t scream. He couldn’t yell. He was desperate. He wanted someone to tell him it would be okay and he wasn’t as awful as he felt in the moment. So he just sat and waited for Stan to catch up. But when he caught up, he didn’t say a word. They sat in silence on the cold autumn earth, each of them hoping the other would think of something to say. After moments alone with his thoughts, Stanford broke. He shook and sobbed and gasped for air, clawing at his chest desperately as if he could pull his heart out of his chest to stop his despair. He stared at the sky, hoping somehow to find an inexplicable answer of what to do next, but when he found nothing, he turned to the ground.

“Stanley… I don’t know what to do. I have to get him back.”

Stan stayed quiet for a minute, wondering if he should tell his brother what he wanted to hear or what he thought he needed to hear.

“Sixer, I don’t think you can. I know you always think there’s a way to fix things, but sometimes you just have to cut your losses and start over. I’ve done plenty of things I’m not proud of, but goin’ out with someone just ‘cause someone else liked them… I don’t think you can come back from this.”

Stanford looked at his brother in disbelief.

“I can’t just give up, Stanley. I swear I didn’t mean it like it sounded. I-”

Stan put his hand on Stanford’s shoulder.

“You’re just making it harder on yourself. We can leave and find something else”

“But what about Emma-May? You would just leave her?”

Stan looked away with intense sadness in his eyes.

“She’s the best gal I’ve ever met, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to leave. I’m sure I’d get into trouble again sometime and have to leave anyway. That's why we didn’t tell the kid.”

Stanford shook his head in disgust.

“No. You’re not giving this up because of me. Go back.”

Stan looked at him in pure confusion.

“I don’t have somewhere to go back to.”

“Go back to Emma-May’s! I can take care of myself. I’m a grown-ass man and if you could make it on your own at seventeen, I think I can figure it out ten years later.”

Stan’s expression dropped.

“I just got you back. I can’t just let you leave. I don’t want to-”

Stanford tuned him out. He knew his brother would never leave him by choice, so he didn’t give him one. He put on his best angered expression.

“I don’t need your help, Stanley! In ten years all you managed to do was get yourself into prison. I built an interdimensional portal. I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to get back on my feet without a felon’s advice.”

Stan was caught off guard between hurt and shock.

“Hey! You had a free dorm for four years! And you didn’t even think of that thing on your own, let alone build it! You wouldn’t last a week doing what I did on your own!”

Stanford rolled his eyes.

“Yeah right. I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to keep myself out of jail with twelve PHDs as opposed to the high school dropout.”

Stanford laced his brows together in rage.

“Fine! If you think you’re so smart, see how well you last on your own! I’m going back to my life to people who actually care about me. Who has the better life now, Sixer?”

Stanford wanted nothing more than to apologize and have his brother by his side in whatever plan he inevitably formed, but for once, he wanted to think about someone other than himself first.

“Of course you would think having some hussie for a girlfriend is comparable to having a real legacy.”

Stan was filled with blind rage. His mind blanked as he reeled back. Stanford knew he could dodge it, but he let Stan’s punch hit him square in the gut, knocking him to his knees.

“Maybe that’ll teach ya to keep your mouth shut!”

Stanford turned his face away to hide his breaking composure.

“I highly doubt that.”

“You know what?! Fuck you, Stanford! I actually thought you cared, but you only ever think about yourself! So Fuck! You!”

Stan kicked him in the gut for good measure before turning around and heading back to the cabin to get his car.

As soon as Stanford knew he was alone, he let out a pained wail of agony before he let himself be consumed by his sobs. He didn’t have a clue how much time passed by the time his tears dried enough for him to see, but he knew he would have to figure something out before he froze to death. He hadn’t brought the tent or his sleeping bag in his dramatic exit, but he was almost grateful that he didn’t have to choose between freezing to death and being reminded of what led him to this point. That was, until he thought of the only other place he could go and he realized that freezing to death wouldn’t fix what he’d done.

Stanford set out for the bunker. He checked his journal again to make sure he had the proper code only to realize that he’d left without one of his precious journals, the latest installment likely still resting on his bedside table at home. What used to be home. Stanford shook off the sick feeling and told himself he knew the code forward and backward at this point. He made it in just fine, leading to the room he and Fiddleford shared for so long. In hindsight, Stanford chided himself for not seeing Fiddleford’s feelings with the single bed he’d brought down there, but it wouldn’t have been the first time they’d shared the same bed. Now, Stanford rolled into it with loneliness pulling at his mind, his chest, his stomach. He didn’t know where to go from there other than to try and relish the one thing he could still have: sleep.

Chapter Text

Stanford awoke into a familiar dream. He was in absolutely no mood to be dealing with Bill, but it seemed like he had no choice unless he could force himself to wake up. After exhausting himself before, however, even though it was likely still morning, he doubted that would be an option.

“Just show yourself, Bill. I’m not sure why you insist on hiding at the beginning of these dreams. I always know it’s you anyway.”

Bill finally appeared, purposely appearing far behind Stanford to try and throw him off, but the longer he knew Bill, the more he became predictable. He was likely annoyed by Stanford pointing out the unnecessary theatrics and was trying to catch him off guard with another nonsensical choice that just made the interaction more awkward now that Bill had to float all the way over.

“Well, looks like someone fell asleep on the wrong side of the bed. Aren’t you glad to see me? After all, I am the only one left who cares if you're alive.”

Stanford didn’t say a word. He just turned his eyes down and away from Bill.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? I know you’re better than that. Come on, talk to me, Fordsy. You know you always love our talks.”

Stanford was caught up. He’d only been alone for a few hours, and yet, his life had come crumbling down around him. He told himself he wouldn’t forget what Bill had done, what he had threatened, but he couldn’t help but wonder how much of a threat he could actually be when his mind was protected. And when he really thought about it, Bill warned him this would happen.
“I don’t have anything to say to you. Can’t you just let me sleep?”

Bill smirked with his eye.

“Oh! feisty today. Are we upset that I told you they would turn on you eventually? Not sure why you’re mad at me, though. I was looking out for you. I’ve always been here for you to fall back on. I warned you, Sixer. So do you believe me now that I have your best interest at heart?”

Stanford felt the familiar tug at his heart that Bill used to have with him. He didn’t want to believe him. Because if he did, there was no way back. And if he did, then Bill was right and he was unlovable by anyone but him. And if he did, then the world might truly be worth destroying. Bill floated close to Stanford, doing his usual spin, but Stanford did not follow. He stood in place, waiting for Bill to return in front of him.

“I can’t trust you. Did you forget that you tried to tear me apart? That you wanted to destroy my world?”

“You know I was just angry. A fit of passion, really! Who hasn’t lashed out during a romantic quarrel? It wouldn’t be so bad if your feeble human body could take what a god dishes out. Quite frankly, your reaction was pretty melodramatic, but don’t worry, Fordsy. I forgive you!”

His sly look echoed through Stanford’s chest. Bill floated slightly higher than Stanford, putting his hand out to lift Stanford’s chin, forcing Stanford to look up at him.

“You know I’m right, Sixer, but you don’t have to be alone. I know who you really are. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Bill swiped his tongue across his eye.

“I know you’re better than them. You’re better than all of this. You’re meant for greater things that only I can give you. Don’t you feel like you belong somewhere when we’re together?”

Stanford didn’t move. His mind felt like it was tearing itself apart, freezing his actions. Bill leaned in closer, pressing his eyelids against Stanford’s lips. Stanford barely parted his lips to speak before he felt Bill’s tongue jam into his throat. Stanford gagged at the sudden intrusion, backing away, but Bill quickly pulled him back in, though this time, he tried to stay gentle. Though not usually his style, Bill was desperate, and he knew what Stanford had become accustomed to. Stanford didn’t pull away this time. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. For a moment he convinced himself he was back home, and the lips against his were Fiddleford’s, but the image quickly faded as the usual taste in his mouth remained without the slight twinge of tobacco he had grown so used to. He was angry at himself. He didn’t want to pretend like running back to Bill was okay and pretend as if he really thought he was with Fiddleford. He hated that Bill was being kind and gentle with him to remind him of home.

Stanford wrapped his arms tight around Bill, violently pulling him close and shoving his tongue into Bill’s mouth. Bill hummed in approval.

“Mmm. I knew you’d come around.”

Bill shoved his tongue back down Stanford’s throat as he let his arms elongate, wrapping tight around Stanford’s limbs. Stanford thought he might suffocate before Bill finally backed away, sending a shiver through him as Bill’s warmth left him. He felt his desperation worsen as every part of his brain tried to pull him in. The smell of fire surrounded him as Bill got close again and Stanford felt a near-painful throbbing between his legs. His legs shook uncontrollably and he started to breathe hard. His brain and his crotch were both screaming for him to do something to relieve his tension.

“Woah! Looks like fire works, huh? Get it? Anyway, I can help you take care of that.”

Stanford frowned. He was desperate, but he wasn’t that desperate.

“No, Bill, just let me wake up.”

Bill shot him a skeptical glance.

“I think we both know that’s not what you want. You don’t have to feel guilty, you know. You’re not with him anymore. You can do what you want, if you know what I mean.”

He lifted his brow suggestively at his joke.

Stanford hissed through pain now. He knew Bill was going to make him beg, which would normally humiliate him, but wasn’t beyond anything now.

“Bill, please. Please just let me wake up.”

Stanford shut his eyes tight as a wave of discomfort passed through him, the heat pooling in his stomach driving him mad as he groaned at the pulsing beneath him. When he opened his eyes, he was back in bed, still throbbing and breathing heavily. He squirmed, hoping to relieve any of the pressure, but he quickly realized this was not going away on its own. He looked over at the second pillow sitting next to him and once the thought came to his mind, he couldn’t put it away. He rolled over to it, letting himself writhe in bed, rubbing himself hard against the mattress, but the faint scent of Fiddleford’s cologne left on the pillow just made the situation worse. He wanted to scream as his brain felt like it was frying itself at the overwhelming scents of fire and cologne fought each other. He groaned and propped himself up on his forearms, pushing the pillow down beneath him. He thrust a few times at the pillow before it slipped away. He was growing increasingly frustrated, not only from embarrassment at how much he was losing his mind over this, but also at the increasing desperation he felt.

He sat up on his knees and held the pillow in front of him, grinding hard into it, but it wasn’t enough. He grabbed the pillow again and held it over his face, taking in the scent again as he reached his other hand down and stroked himself. He desperately thrusted into his own hand. He gasped and moaned, but nothing seemed to help. He threw himself back down on the bed when he remembered he had lotion in his pack. He threw everything else to the side, slathering the lotion over his hands before he pressed his face into the pillow and reached behind himself to press in a finger. One by one, he pressed in more until he reached his prostate, finally eliciting loud moans as he worked his sweet spot and used his free hand to stroke his front, burying his face deep in the scent of the pillow. He finally let out one last euphoric cry as he released, only realizing afterward, coming down off his high, that he’d ruined the only set of clothes he’d brought with him.

The whole situation left Stanford feeling even worse than before. Whatever Bill had done to his brain to make that happen apparently also caused headaches, but he managed to drag himself out of bed long enough to use the stored bottled water to clean off his clothes and hang them dry, leaving him exposed until he climbed back into bed. He tried to find some comfort in the lingering scent of the sheets, but it was already fading, being replaced by his own musk.

Meanwhile at the cabin, Emma-May had already left with Tate when Stan showed back up. He walked in without announcement, interrupting Fiddleford’s huddled tears from the couch. When he heard the door open, he seemed almost hopeful at the silhouette at the door, but he quickly sunk back down at the sight of him.

“Don’t worry. I’m not staying. I just need my keys.”

Fiddleford frowned.

“Are ya runnin’ off with ‘im? ‘Cause if ya are ya should at least let Emma-May know y’ain’t comin’ back.”

Stan looked on with anger raging in his eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere with him. He’s a jackass.”

Fiddleford was shocked at Stan’s response. That was a pretty sudden change from only talking for a few minutes.

“I dunno, Stan. Maybe I was too harsh on ‘im. I know he’s done some messed up things before, but even when he was on drugs he confessed t’ me. What he said was still douchey, but I can't help but think I might’ve overreacted by kickin’ ‘im out.”

Stan shrugged.

“I’m pretty sure he’s just a jackass, but if you’re gonna make up again, I’m still gonna crash here cause it’s better than the car.”

Talking to Stan just made him miss Stanford more. He couldn’t take anything he said seriously, and all the charm of Stanford’s odd side was completely absent, replaced instead by general unseriousness. Even his voice was just a bit too gruff to be Stanford’s, but when he looked too long at Stan’s face, he could almost pretend Stanford was still there. He shook himself. He was still upset, and he didn’t know what to believe. If Stanford could lie to hospital staff, why couldn’t he lie to him?