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Fiddleford let out a slow breath, sending a small cloud of condensation into the cold night air. With a shiver, he tightened his scarf and picked up the pace as he made his way down the block. He’d only been to the neighborhood a few times, and he silently prayed that he wouldn’t get lost. That was the last thing he needed, especially on a night like this.
He gave another involuntary shiver and hugged his arms. Why had he agreed to this? Probably because his mother had raised him to be polite. Or perhaps because he didn’t like confrontation. But as he was coming up with these excuses, he had to silently admit that he knew exactly why he’d agreed to it.
It was because Stanley Pines had pleaded with him, and between that over-eager grin and the mischievous glint in those big brown eyes, Fiddleford had found himself unable to argue.
The teen let out a sigh as he walked under a dim street lamp. “Well,” he said out loud, “think of it this way Fiddleford. At least if you do happen to get lost and die of hypothermia, you’ll die knowing that you were just trying to make your b-boyfriend happy.” As he rounded the corner he could’ve kicked himself for the way he felt his face heat up at that word: “boyfriend.” God, it made him feel like a silly elementary-schooler.
But that’s what they were, weren’t they? Boyfriends. They went on dates, talked about deeply personal things, cuddled… The fact that absolutely no one knew about it besides themselves and Stan’s twin brother was just an arbitrary detail. So, when Stanley had first suggested that he come visit him at the pawn shop while the rest of the family was at an award ceremony for Stanford, Fiddleford just couldn’t help but say yes.
The idea of spending an evening alone with his boyfriend was both exciting and nerve-wracking - they’d spent time alone before, of course, but that was usually at secluded spots on the beach or just outside of town, and things never went very far. Not that either of them minded; just being together was enough.
Just then he smelled it: a mixture of waffles, deli meat, and lead paint. Fiddleford looked up to see exactly what he’d been looking for: Pines Pawns, a dinky little shop wedged between the Hot Belgian Waffles Cafe and the Knuckles Sandwiches deli. The neon ‘Phone Psychic’ sign in the upstairs window was lit, as always, with a faint yellow from the living room lamps shining through the curtains. Fiddleford had been here a few times, to do homework with Ford or to meet up with the twins before a movie, and every time Mr. Pines had sat in his chair in the corner, staring Fiddleford down from behind his shades. But this time, he wouldn’t be there. This time it was just Stanley waiting for him - and as a result, the house had never looked more inviting.
Fiddleford went and knocked on the door to the pawn shop. After a pause, he heard the racket of someone clambering down the stairs, and a moment later the door burst open to reveal Stanley wearing a bow tie and huge grin.
“Well, if it isn’t the lucky man of the evening?” Stan leaned against the doorframe and threw a sly grin Fiddleford’s way. “Miss me?”
“Stan, I saw you at school five hours ago.”
“Come on, Fidds, I’m trying to be romantic over here!”
“Well, could you please do it inside? It’s freezing!”
At this, Stan looked guilty. “Oh, sorry,” he apologized, clearing the way for Fiddleford to come inside. Once he stepped into the shop, Stan shut the door behind them and the two boys stood in the dark, the shorter one shivering.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come pick you up,” Stan continued, guilt evident in his voice. “I had to let Ford borrow the Stanley Mobile so that he could get to the school early.”
“No, that’s fine,” Fiddleford said as he shrugged out of his coat and started to wipe the fog from his coke-bottle glasses. “The walk probably did me good anyways; I’ve spent so much time at my desk studying up for exams that I just about forgot how to stand up straight.”
“Pfft,” Stan scoffed. “Nerd! Spending all your time studying.”
“Moron!” Fiddleford shot back. “Never studying at all.”
The two glared at each other for a minute before breaking into grins. Stan pulled his boyfriend into a hug and murmured, “Glad you could come, Fidds.”
“Same here,” Fiddleford sighed, snuggling into Stan’s embrace. There was something about those big meaty arms and that pudgy stomach that always made Fiddleford feel right at home, and this time was no exception.
“Damn!” Stan exclaimed. “You really are cold! Come on,” he said as he ushered Fiddleford towards the stairs. “We need to get you close to a heater. And besides: I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“What sorta surprise?” Fiddleford asked, unable to hide his curiosity.
“You just wait and see,” Stan replied, his sly grin returning as he pulled his boyfriend in closer. Fiddleford returned the look full on, his apprehension fading by the minute.
………………….
“In conclusion, I’d just like to say thank you to everyone for coming here tonight, and for your continued support!” Stanford finished his speech off with his best ‘Winner’s Smile,’ earning him several jeers from the audience. Of course, being a New Jersey native himself, he took this as a severe form of flattery. Once he was off stage he wiped his brow - speaking in public had never been his strong suit, and it was a miracle that he hadn’t thrown up half-way through.
Back onstage, the awards ceremony continued with his fellow winners receiving their various ribbons and medals. Ford relaxed and felt himself grinning - this night was going great! He was going to be given the top Science award for the second year in a row, he’d aced his opening ceremony speech, and Daisy Thompson had actually said , “Hello” to him without a trace of disgust! Not to mention that his parents had actually come to see him accept his award and had promised to take him out to eat afterwards. And with them here, Stan and Fiddleford would have a chance to hang out for a while without risk of anyone barging in.
Ford shook his head at the thought of his brother and his best friend. Knuckleheads, he thought, fondly. Ever since last year’s Homecoming, the two had been easily one of the sappiest couples Ford had ever witnessed. Honestly, it was a wonder no one else had figured out they were into each other. But that was for the best - who knew what would happen if someone outside their little trio found out the truth? He nearly shuddered at the thought. No, it was better this way. They could keep it a secret until Ford and Fiddleford finally got accepted into that college on the West coast and took Stan with them. Then they’d all have the opportunity to be themselves: an awkward freak, a hillbilly hippie, and a moron-in-love. Ford grinned to himself, unable to imagine a better future.
At the time he was completely unaware that out in the audience, his parents were in the middle of a heated disagreement.
“I thought I told you to grab my wallet,” Mr. Pines growled.
“You didn’t tell me nothin’!” snapped Mrs. Pines, never one to take guff from her husband.
“Well now there’s no way we can go out to eat.”
Mrs. Pines wagged a finger at her husband, a fierce frown creasing her face. “Oh, no you don’t, Mister! We promised our little Stanford that we were going to take him out to eat it, and by God we’re going to do it!”
“And how do you expect me to pay for dinner without my wallet, Ms. Psychic?”
“Why don’t you go use the payphone to call Stanley and ask him to bring it up here? That boxing match he wanted to watch shouldn’t be starting for another few minutes.”
“No dice; Ford had to borrow his car.”
“Well then, you’d better hurry home and get the damn wallet yourself!”
Mr. Pines stood up, grumbling as he made his way down the row, hopping over people’s feet. Once he made it to the aisle, he pulled out his keys and went to the back door, headed for his car. And home.
…………………...
“Ta-da!” Stanley cried, and Fiddleford heard the rustling of a sheet. “Okay, you can open ‘em now!”
Fiddleford obeyed, opening his eyes to a rather interesting sight: two plates full of canned spaghetti, a glass full of breadsticks, a lit candle, and couple of sad-looking roses.
“S-sorry it’s kinda lousy,” Stan grimaced. “It had to do it all kinda last minute. And I hope it’s okay that I used paper plates; I was trying to make it easy to clean up, y’know?”
“Stanley,” Fiddleford said in a tone serious enough to earn his boyfriend’s full attention. “I will have you know that this is perhaps the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I know, I’m sorr- Wait, you’re serious?”
“Of course!” Fiddleford gestured at the table. “Anyone could see that you put a lot of effort into it! Not to mention that you know I love canned spaghetti.”
“The cheap stuff is always better,” Stan agreed.
Fiddleford reached and pulled out the chair next to Stan. “As thanks for this extravagant meal,” he announced dramatically, “may I offer to seat you, my kind sir?”
“Why yes,” Stan replied, giving an equally dramatic bow. “Yes, you may.”
Snickering, the two sat down and began eating. They both slurped their spaghetti, eliciting noises of approval.
“Not bad, Stan!” said, Fiddleford between bites.
“If y’think this is good, just wait until dessert!” Stan reached under the table and pulled out a pink bakery box. “Bet you’ll never guess what I talked old Marco down at the bake shop into making.”
Fiddleford’s brow creased in thought, before his entire face became an expression of pure disbelief. “No.”
“Yes.”
“There’s no way!”
“Oh, yes there is!”
The teen ripped open the bakery box to find the most glorious sight he’d witnessed since he moved to New Jersey. “Homemade pecan pie…” he murmured, his voice quavering.
“You talk about it often enough that I decided I had to do get you one! ‘Course Marco’d never made one before, but once I brought him a recipe that I found at the library, he did it, and even gave me a discount!”
“Oh, Stanley,” Fiddleford squeaked, trying to hold back tears. “This is just amazing!”
“Aw, it’s not that big a deal,” Stan replied, though he was unable to hide his flush of pleasure.
Fiddleford wiped a tear away as he set the box to the side. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling as he said, “Y’know Stanley, I have to tell you - when we first moved here to Jersey, I thought my life was over. You have no idea how much I missed my cousins and everyone else back home.”
Stan nodded and took his boyfriend’s hand. “It was rough, wasn’t it.”
“Very. But then, one day, I was walking around in the cafeteria and I heard someone yelling at me to “Come sit my ass down, unless I thought I was too good for them.”
The jock chuckled at the memory. It’d been one of his finer moments. After a week of seeing the new hippie kid sitting by himself, he and Ford had conversed and agreed that they might as well try to make friends with the guy. And damn, if it hadn’t paid off!
“I really owe you guys a lot,” Fiddleford murmured, squeezing Stan’s hand.
“Hey, don’t think about it like that,” Stan reassured him. “You know we love having you around. God knows we were probably on the verge of getting sick of each other.”
“As if that could ever happen,” the shorter boy said, laughing at the idea.
After a moment of smiling at one another, Stan broke the silence to say, “I love you, Fidds.”
Fiddleford turned red and looked away, though he couldn’t hide his pleased grin. “Stan…”
“I mean it,” he continued, now holding both of his boyfriend’s hands. “You’re always there to help out, you’re considerate, you don’t mind that my family’s a little...unconventional.”
“Well, it’s not like I have room to talk.”
Stan grinned before saying, “I know people always say that kids our age are too young for this stuff, but I mean it: I love you, Nerd.”
Fiddleford met his gaze once more and looked him up and down. Stan was a sweaty, chubby jock who was just getting over his acne problems. And he was a short, noodle boy with uncontrollable hair. And here they were, holding hands across the table like two lovers in some romance flick. It was perfect, honestly.
“I love you too, Moron,” he whispered.
He leaned over to peck Stan on the lips, and soon the two were holding each other across the small table, their spaghetti forgotten, completely lost in their own world. So lost that they didn’t hear the slam of a car door just out front.
………………
“Stanford!” The young science lover looked around to find the source of the voice. Finally he spotted his mother waving to him from the edge of the crowd, her well manicured hands waving him over. He jostled his way around the people, his new medal knocking against his chest. After a moment he finally reached her.
“There you are, Stanford! Oh, I am just so proud of you, Baby,” Mrs. Pines gushed, reaching up to kiss her son on the cheek.
Stanford blushed and pulled away. “Mom, not in front of everybody.”
“Oh, you calm down. A lot of these kids would be grateful to have a Mama who loved them as much as I love my boys.”
“Okay, Mom,” Stanford laughed, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “I get it. So where’s Dad? We’re still going to the restaurant, right?”
“Of course,” she replied with a nod. “You’re father just had to run home and get his wallet; in the mean time you and I can go ahead and drive down there.”
“Alright, sounds-
Ford stopped in the middle of the parking lot when his mother’s statement finally sunk in. “W-wait, did you say Dad went home?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Mrs. Pines narrowed her eyes in confusion at the look on her son’s face. “Stanford, sweetie, are you alright? Y’look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Mom,” Ford said slowly. “We have to go home, right now.”
“What? But what about-?”
“Now, Mom!” Ford shouted as he began racing for the Stanley Mobile, his mother in tow. Every part of his brain was screaming in fear, and he almost hit someone as he raced out of the parking lot.
“Stanford!” Mrs. Pines yelled as the other driver flipped them off. “What in the Hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’ll explain later,” he replied, utterly distracted. “Just trust me when I say that if we don’t get home fast, something really bad might happen!”
At the look of fright in her son’s eyes, Mrs. Pines clenched her jaw and sat back in her seat, suddenly wishing that she really was a psychic.
…………………..
It all happened so fast. One moment they were kissing over the table, and the next they were standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding onto each other as if their lives depended on it. Fiddleford ran his hands through Stan’s slicked hair, while the larger boy had one arm wrapped around him while the other hand cupped his cheek, and damn if it had never been this good.
Then the door slammed open.
The two froze, unable to move or break apart in time before the heavy footsteps reached the kitchen. Then they both turned to greet the sound of keys clattering against the linoleum floor.
There he stood, Mr. Filbrick Pines, the cinder block himself. His face was emotionless as he took in the sight of his teenage son embracing his classmate. His gaze travelled slowly from them, to the table with the roses and dinner-for-two, to the bakery box on the counter, before going back to rest on the boys.
“H-hey, there Pops,” Stanley, stuttered, loosening his grip on Fiddleford and turning to his father. “Y-you’re home p-pretty early, aren’t ya? Forget your wallet?”
Rather than reply, Filbrick stepped around the table and farther into the kitchen, stopping just a foot away from his son. Then he spoke.
“What the hell?”
“I-I can explain this Pops! You see-
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Stanley? Is this why you’ve been sneaking around for months?”
“Y-you mean that-?”
“That I knew? Of course I knew! What kind of an idiot do you think I am? I knew you were sneaking around, and I let it go because I thought you were just being a normal teenager - or at least like your usual dumb self. But I never thought that you’d gone completely off the rails.” Filbrick turned his gaze to Fiddleford. “Or that you’d started running around with this little faggot.”
Fiddleford winced and didn’t try to fight when Stan gently pushed him back and stood in between him and Filbrick. Though the man’s face still remained relatively blank, Fiddleford could practically feel the rage rolling off of him.
“Listen Dad,” Stan said slowly, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. “I know that to you this looks bad, but-”
“But what?” Filbrick demanded, his voice raising in timbre faster than seemed possible. “But it’s not a big deal? It doesn’t matter at all that some little hippie turned my son into the fucking queen of the fairies?”
“Dad!”
“YOU LISTEN TO ME YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE!!” Filbrick roared and grabbed Stan by the collar, lifting him off the floor with ease. “IF YOU THINK FOR ONE SECOND THAT I’M GONNA LET THIS FRUITY SHIT HAPPEN UNDER MY ROOF, YOU’VE GOT ANOTHER FUCKING THING COMING!!” With that he let go of Stan’s collar, hauled off, and punched him in the dead center of his face, a sickening crunch sounding through the kitchen.
“Stanley!” Fiddleford cried.
Stanley went reeling backwards and hit the floor. Without thinking, Fiddleford went to him, crouching over his boyfriend, who’s blood was now staining his white T-shirt. “Stanley, are you alright?” Fiddleford asked, close to tears. Before Stan could reply, a shadow loomed over them and Fiddleford looked up into the now un-shaded eyes of Filbrick Pines, who growled, “I think you’ve done enough.”
Before he could react, Filbrick had grabbed him and had him dangling above the floor. Fiddleford trembled as he stared into the steeled, merciless eyes of Stan’s father. In a voice that verged on demonic, he said, “Shoulda stayed in the South, twink.”
Then he felt himself practically flying through the air. The last thing he saw was Stanley getting to his feet and rushing Filbrick, knocking the pecan pie to the floor.
Then it went dark.
……………..
Stanford brought the Stanley Mobile to a squealing halt in front of the pawn shop and practically ripped the door open. From outside he could see shadows moving on the other side of the upstairs curtain, and the sound of yelling could be heard.
“Stanford, is that your father?” Mrs. Pines asked, fear and confusion coming over her face.
“It’s him and Stan!” Ford shouted back as forced the door to the shop open and flew inside. He ran through the aisles, shot up the stairs, and burst through the door to their home. What he found nearly made him faint.
Fiddleford was lying on the floor in the kitchen, a small pool of blood forming around the spot where his head had slammed into the cabinets. And in the living room, his father and his brother were in furious tussle, with blood already running down Stanley’s face and soaking into his shirt.
“Stop!” he shouted, lunging for the two of them. He grabbed his father’s arm and tried to pull him away from his brother, but Filbrick’s only response was to shove him off, sending Ford toppling backwards and over the back of the couch.
“PANSY!” Filbrick roared, grabbing Stan by the neck. “FUCKING FAGGOT!”
Stan struggled in his father’s grip, unable to breathe, unable to thing. Then he remembered the one good thing his old man had ever made him learn.
“LEFT HOOK!!!”
The punch caused Filbrick to stumble back, though it left Stan with bloody knuckles - his old man really was a cinder block.
Now that he was off of him, Stan backed up and stared at his father. Filbrick was standing stiff as a board, eyes drilling into him. Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw Ford get up from where he’d landed behind the couch and pause, unsure of what to do. For a long moment they were all frozen.
“To think,” Filbrick muttered darkly, “that I raised you. Fed you, clothed you, kept you under my roof. Called you my son. And then you pull this shit…”
Something woke up in Stan, and he glared straight back at Filbrick and spat, “Better than ending up like you.”
That did it. Almost at once, Filbrick had grabbed again, ready to give him a real beating. Ford was shouting at the top of his lungs, begging their father to stop, and all Stan could think about was Fidds’s limp body laying on the floor of the kitchen losing blood by the second. As his father pulled his fist back, Stan said a silent prayer, begging that his Fidds at least be spared in all of this.
And then, salvation came.
“FILBRICK!”
Everyone froze and turned to see GG Pines standing in the doorway, face twisted in rage. In a shaking voice she asked, “Filly, what the hell do you think you’re doing to my baby?”
“Your baby?” Filbrick sneered. “This baby of yours just so happens to be a pillow-biting pansy. Now what do you think about that?”
“What?” GG looked around and gasped at the sight of the little McGucket boy bleeding on the floor. “Filly, what did you do?!”
“I gave him what he deserved!”
“What he deserved?” Angry tears pricked in her eyes as she looked between the three boys, one unconscious and the other two terrified. Then she met her husband’s gaze and whispered, “You bastard.”
Filbrick’s brow raised. “What did you say?”
“I said you’re a bastard! Look at what you did to our boys, your sons! Look at what you did to their friend!”
“He’s not their friend, GG, he’s-”
“I don’t give a damn what he is!”
“But-
“NO! SHUT UP! If you don’t let go of my Stanley in the next five seconds, I swear to God, someone’s going to be cleaning your brains off the walls!”
The two were locked in an intense stare, and the longer it went on, the more Filbrick’s hands shook with rage.
Until finally, he let go.
Stanley stumbled back and away from his father, Ford moving to support his brother.
“Boys, take your friend to the hospital,” their mother said, and she did not have to repeat herself. Stan scooped Fiddleford off of the floor and Ford supported him as they made their way out of the shop, leaving their parents standing in silence.
Once they got to the car, Ford had to convince Stan to drive while he sat in the back attending to Fiddleford. During the drive, Stan kept looking back in the mirror, begging any god that would listen to save Fiddleford. Because hell knew that he hadn’t done him any good.
………………..
Fiddleford woke up to the smell of bleach and the sound of a heart monitor beeping. He opened his eyes and looked around, his vision bleary. He squinted and turned his head slowly, startling at the sight of Stanford sleeping in a chair next to his bed. The memories of the evening came rushing back and instinctively reached out and tugged on his friend’s coat to wake him up.
“Huh?” Ford mumbled groggily, rubbing his eyes. “What… Oh, you’re awake!” Ford’s face broke into a smile. “Thank God! You have no idea how worried we were! How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a train,” Fiddleford groaned. “But nevermind… Are you okay?”
“Huh? Oh yeah, I’m fine.”
“Stanley?”
“Him too. He’s off getting his nose patched up.”
Assured that everyone was going to be alright, Fiddleford let out a long breath and sank back into the covers. His thoughts reeled. How had things gone so wrong so quickly? How could everything that they’d worked so hard to hide?
And how could he possibly ask either of them to be here for him?
Thinking about everything had happened was a bad idea, because soon he felt his face crumpling against his well, and a tear slid down his cheek.
“Hey, it’s okay Buddy,” Ford said gently, having noticed. “I know you’ve been through a lot, but we’re here for you, okay? We’re gonna get through this.”
“Why?” he asked weakly.
“Huh?”
“Why are y’all doing this for me?” he managed, distress causing his accent to come on strong. “Why are y’all still here? I don’t…” he paused to take in a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t understand…”
Ford leaned over in his chair and put a hand on his friend’s arm. “What don’t you understand?” he asked gently.
“I ruined your family,” Fiddleford said, his voice breaking. “I ruined everything.”
“Dut up!”
This weird announcement had been issued from Stanley, who was now standing in the doorway with his nose covered in bandages. If Fiddleford hadn’t been so distraught, he probably would have laughed.
“I mean it!” Stanley said, going to the other side of the bed. “Dis wadn’t your fault! My dad’s an addhole!”
“Okay, Stan,” Ford soothed. “Remember they don’t want you talking too much at first.” He received a grumble in return. Ford turned back to his friend and said, “He is right though. None of this was your fault. We had no way of knowing that Dad would go home early, or that he would react so terribly, or...anything else! Granted, you guys maybe weren’t as careful as you normally are, but that’s hardly the issue here.”
“But…”
“No duts!”
“That’s right, no buts.” Ford squeezed his friends shoulder as Stan took his hand. “Buddy, we’re here because you’re our friend, and we both care about you. Don’t feel guilty about what happened - because quite frankly, if that’s the way he’s going to behave, I’d much rather have you in the family than him.”
“Dame here!”
Fiddleford looked back and forth between the two smiling faces, one bedraggled, the other bandaged and bruised, both looking at him as if they were ready to take on the world together.
“It…” he said quietly. “It’s not like we can’t still go to college, right?”
“Exactly!” Ford agreed. “This doesn’t mean our plans have to change.”
“I’m dill driving,” Stan announced, grabbing Fiddleford’s hand. The two smiled at each other and Stan leaned over so that his nerd could press a kiss to forehead. Fiddleford did so and gently pulled Stan’s head down to rest on his chest.
Ford leaned back in his chair, watching as his two favorite people quietly rejoiced in the fact that they hadn’t lost each other. He gave a tired smile and closed his eyes.
Nope; he certainly couldn’t imagine a better future for the three of them.