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Stanley settles in domesticity as if he was built for it. Which, to be honest, he hadn’t really been expecting. But it’d been a pleasant surprise nonetheless. It wafted over him like a warm, forgotten blanket—the smell of a home cooked meal, his brother’s pen excitedly scribbling down notes—it felt like home. It was almost overwhelming, truthfully, how well he fit into the dynamic that Ford and Fidds had in this odd little house. The only thing Stan could ever remember wanting, was a place for himself. And his brother of course. But without Ford by his side, Stanley had thought he’d finally found that place with Rick. They meshed well together. They understood each other at a deep, emotional level that neither ever would admit to having.
And for three years, Stan was happy. After being homeless for so long, it felt unreal to be surrounded by people who cared about him. Birdperson, Squanchy, and most especially, Rick. But no matter how much money he made, how much booze he drank, he couldn’t stop thinking about his brother. Every time Stan saw something new, and weird, his thoughts would go straight to Ford. How much Ford would love to take it apart and see how it worked. How he would rattle on, to anyone who would listen, about his wild theories.
Every new taste, every new smell, every new sense was something Stan found himself wishing he could share with him. But Ford was back on Earth. How was he doing? He’d probably graduated by then. Got himself a fancy degree. Where was he? What was he doing?
And so, with much cajoling where Rick was concerned, Stan found himself in Gravity Falls. He’d been thrown for a loop when Rick’s old lover, Morty, had made an appearance, but not for very long. He was unsurprised to find that Ford had been doing all sorts of research there that Ford seemed only too happy to talk about. And even if Stan didn’t really understand most of it, it was nice that Ford still wanted to share it with him. To share anything at all with him. Plus it was sort of cute the way he spouted nonsense with that excited gleam in his eyes and grin on his face.
Stan’s first trip into town was an interesting one. Ford was terribly scatterbrained when going on nothing but caffeine and protein bars for 72 hours with no sleep. And in those hours he’d managed to lose every last one of his pens, and needed to go get some more. Stan offered to go with him, being curious about the town his brother had chosen to settle down in. Apparently his brother was thought of as some tall, dark, and mysterious scientist because he hardly ever showed his face. His brother had merely shrugged at his questioning look and said that Fiddleford and Morty were always the ones making grocery runs so he’d never really went into town.
“Are you kidding me Ford? How many times have you even been to town?”
Ford blinks groggily, sleep clawing at him. He lifts a hand and stares at his fingers.
“This year?” He asks in mild confusion.
Stan stares. He opens his mouth, pauses, and then shuts it. In their younger years known his brother would’ve been a recluse in high school had he not dragged him out of their room, but this was ridiculous.
So yeah. Reconnecting with his brother had been going well so far.
In the next week it had become increasingly apparent that his brother was just as, if not more, nerdy as when he’d left. It filled Stan’s chest with something fuzzy, similar to when he looked at Fiddleford. And when he got Ford to smile, or chuckle at one of his jokes, he’d been taken back by just how much he missed the sound.
But no good thing could last forever, and it finally became time for them to leave. Stan’s chest had been tight the whole night. He didn’t sleep. He missed Birdperson and Squanchy, but he knew without a doubt he would miss Ford and Fiddleford more.
He’s still out of it when Rick comes by in the morning while he’s brushing his teeth. He almost thinks he’s still asleep when the other man surprises him with some Best Friend advice. They’d never done that sort of thing before. And Stan was a little awed by it. Morty had really done a number on him.
As Stan finishes up in the bathroom, Rick’s words stew in his mind. Had he really been that obvious towards Fiddleford? Man, he must have had it worse than he thought. Still, his place wasn’t here. It was in space. With Rick. And The Flesh Curtains. They needed him there. He couldn’t just abandon them. Although, Rick had Morty now. And no doubt they would be spending a lot of time together...
Stan sighs and rubs his head. He briefly wonders if it was easier not belonging anywhere, rather than belonging to two places and having to choose between them.
-
There’s a think and a hiss of pain and Fiddleford whips around to find Ford clutching his shin.
“You alright?”
Ford nods. “I’m fine. I’ve suffered worse.”
Fiddleford frowns. He’d been in a low state since last night, but Ford has been progressively bumping to more and more things since...well since it’d been decided Stan and the rest of them were leaving. He almost didn’t know which of them was taking it worse.
He’d miss Morty of course, both of them would, but he knew Morty would be happy with Rick and he was glad for that. But for all the world Fiddleford couldn’t understand why thought of Stan leaving as well felt like tearing himself apart. He’d hardly known that man that long, yet it was unbearable to think that today was the last day.
Ford mutters incoherently under his breath and stalks out of the kitchen. Fiddleford goes back to his task of taking out the tray of muffins from the oven. He wasn’t sure how he wanted to approach his goodbye with Stanley. Every time they’d been in a room alone together in the past something electric had sparked between them. Fiddleford doesn’t think he would be able to handle it if he allowed that to happen again. Not today of all days.
Clearing his mind, he carefully scoops up one of the muffins and places it on a plate. He contemplates leaving a note, but figures that some things were better left unsaid.
The floorboards creak as he makes his way towards the guest room. He peaks inside and feels simultaneous relief and disappointment when he finds it to be empty. He shuffles quietly into the room. He doesn’t bother turning on a light as he would just be going back out again in a few seconds. He places the plate on the night stand beside the bed. Stanley would hopefully see it before they left. And by that time, well, by that time Fiddleford would gone as well. He doesn’t plan on sticking around to watch him leave.
Fiddleford eyes the bed a moment more, closing his eyes and imagining a different scenario, and unclenches his hands.
Right then.
He turns and promptly feels his heart slam into his rib cage.
Stanley stood in the doorway, looking larger than ever, and almost angel-like with the light of the hallway flowing into the dark room.
“Fidds?”
His breath comes out in a shaky rhythm.
“S-stanley! I was, er, just coming by to say goodbye!” He edges cautiously towards him, trying to determine how to slip by. “I made you a—u-um, I made you a snack for the road.” He reaches out and pats him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Do be sure to try to take care of Morty.”
Stanley blinks and Fiddleford swallows.
“Well goodbye then! And safe travels!”
He flees from the room, limbs all in a hurry, and then suddenly Stan is alone. He stares after Fiddleford, feeling confused and aching all at once. He looks back into the dark of the room. Atop the night stand on the plate, innocent and fresh, sits a muffin. Stanley approaches it, carefully picking it up and raising it towards his mouth.
The taste of strawberries blossom over his tongue and he nearly drops it. Several days ago, he’d mentioned in passing that strawberry muffins were he favorite. It was one of the foods he’d missed eating on Earth. He didn’t think Fiddleford had actually heard him at the time. Clutching the simple pastry in his hand, Stanley knew that he had.
He swallows it down but it doesn’t reach his stomach. Something else has filled him now. He stares down at the muffin and then back up at where Fiddleford had disappeared.
If you want something, go for it. Not trying won’t get you anywhere.
Rick had been right. He was an idiot.
He races out the door faster than he can ever remember running before. But he only ends up slamming into someone else’s chest and he gives his brother the briefest of glances as Ford rubs at his head and readjusts his glasses.
“Stanley, I wanted to talk to you before—“
“I’vedecidedtostaybutIhavetogofindFiddlefordI’llbeback.”
He doesn’t wait to see what kind of expression he leaves on Ford’s face. The only thing he’s focused on right now is finding Fiddleford before...before what he doesn’t know. All he knows is he has to find him now.
He races out the door, and seeing Morty, quickly asks him which way Fiddleford had gone. He’d barely known the other man, but he knew he wanted to give this a shot. And maybe, just maybe, Fiddleford was willing to take a chance on him too.