Chapter Text
Filbrick Pines was 83 years old.
He had left Jersey back when he was 53.
For a man who claimed that Jersey was in his blood…fat load his Jersian blood did against the wrath of his wife.
Or the sorrow of his eldest son.
Or the innocent, genuine confusion of his youngest son as he grew up with pictures of brothers he only half remembered, one of them off to college and the other...
It was that blasted obituary that, back when Filbrick was only 53, had condemned him to be shunned by whatever was left of his family. Caryn was livid, screamed up a storm and hell and a handbasket his wife was far from a quiet woman but FIlbrick wouldn’t have been surprised if Stanford had heard it all the way up in his fancy place in..where was it again? Oregon?
The nerve of that boy, not even coming home to his grieving mother….not that Filbrick had a leg to stand on.
After all, Stanley’s death was on him, wasn’t it?
Stanley, the younger twin, Caryn's little free spirit and their middle son.
Stanley, the so-called fatter and sweater version of his twin; Filbrick never truly believed that. Sure, Stanford had the brains, but Stanley had shown promise when he was younger. Never did find out why that brilliance dimmed the older the twins had gotten. Stanley just needed a kick in the rear to finally branch out, reach his own full potential. With Ford off at that busy college Stanley would have finally been forced to be his own person instead of his twin's shadow or his little brothers babysitter.
Being known only as the dumb one or as the babysitter was nothing to be proud of. A man had to know who he was and that’s all Filbrick was trying to do, Caryn’s soft touch wasn’t enough to get it into the boy’s thick skull that his actions had consequences.
He just needed a lesson on learning how to think things through, that’s all Filbrick was trying to do. That paper, that goddamned paper, sitting there and mocking Filbrick for being so naive as to think that a 17 year old freshly kicked out with no degree and who always took thing too literally would have caught on to Filbricks lesson, or, in the event Stanley didn’t come home, room up with some friends and finally make something of himself.
The paper didn’t care about what Filbrick thought.
Facts didn’t care about what Filbrick Pines thought.
He did what he did,
He said what he said.
And he had no one else to blame for the bitter taste his actions left on his tongue.
The sky was blue, water was wet, and Stanley was dead. Those were the facts.
Stanley Pines, Caryn’s free spirit, Stanford’s protector turned betrayer, and Sherman’s babysitter for when Caryn and Filbrick were swamped with work, he was dead. Burned up, six feet under and mangled by a car that wasn’t even the Stanley mobile.
Stanley had left in the Stanley mobile. Where was it? FIlbrick couldn’t imagine his son willingly giving up his more prized possession.
Stanley had bought that car himself. Worked odd jobs, nearly flunked class and earned himself the switch, but he got it. Didn’t do a half bad job with the upkeep either.
It didn’t feel right, Stanley being separated from the old thing, hell, Filbrick was positive his middle child would have been buried with that car.
It didn’t matter.
None of it mattered, not anymore. Not when Filbrick had no family left, not when he had to liquidize the pawnshop because some big shot company wanted to bulldoze the lead paint district and turn it into some fancy spa and hotel.
He had effectively burned any and all ties he had to Jersey, it was only fitting that he finally left as well.
Canada wasn’t all that bad. It was no Glass Shard beach and the air felt wrong, the English was…odd, and not a damn person could make coffee the way Caryn. FIlbrick had tried to find an acceptable substitute, he had gone to so many cafes and coffee houses in the city. Not one of them knew how to make just a simple cup of strong black coffee with a metric-ton of sugar. Waste of time really, though it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. The hefty check those damn vultures handed Filbrick to leave the house and the pawn shop set him up for a pretty comfortable retirement.
Filbrick was bored out of his mind.
Maybe that’s why his mind started to wander. There weren’t any kids to scold, no wife to argue with, no business to run or customers arguing that no that chain is genuine gold and how dare you suggest otherwise.
No more distractions, just Filbrick and his sad, lonely brain that could barely remember the date anymore…oh.
Oh the date. It was June.
No wonder his mind decided to ruminate on the family he had so carelessly torn apart.
Stanford would’ve been…what, 60 by now? That made Sherman…what his 50s? Late 50s?
Stanford and Sherman would keep growing older and older. So would Filbrick and Caryn.
And Stanley would forever be….he’d forever be 27. Didn’t even hit 30.
Squandered youth…Filbrick was the one who put him on that path. He was the one dumb enough to think Stanley would have come crawling home with an apology on his tongue.
“Nah, I’m telling you, this place actually does coffee properly.”
“Your coffee consists of copious amounts of sugar- oh that’s where Mabel gets it from.”
“Hey! Don’t act like you don’t have a jelly bean addiction yourself, poindexter.”
Filbrick paused. That couldn’t be right.
No, no his brain was just fixated on the twins because their birthday had just passed. And what would they even be doing up in Canada-no. Stop that. He’s dead.
“Boys, please, you’re both grown men.”
“Ma, I don’t think these two will ever grow up.”
“Watch it Shermie.”
Shermie was a common enough name. There was nothing proving that the familiar gravel was….no, he was dead. Filbrick saw the body. He was not going to turn around just because stupid, pathetic, sad old man brain was still beating him up a mistake he had made over 40 years ago.
“Wait, is that-”
Filbrick was too old to believe in false hope like that.
“Lee- what are you-”
And he was definitely too old to believe in nonsense like miraculous escapes and such-
“Lee wait!”
A hand curled itself around Filbrick’s shoulder. He grabbed it tightly and turned to yell at the stranger who had the nerve to grab him out of nowhere.
The words died in his throat as his own face stared back at him.
“Filbrick?” Filbrick’s eyes flickered away from the uncanny mirror image of himself. Caryn.
Her hair was all grey, but the nails, red lips, and hoops were still there. She was supported by a man who looked to be in his early to late 50s on one side and on the other…
Filbrick zeroed on six fingers. He looked up. His own face stared back, but unlike the one that had grabbed his shoulder, this mirror image had his eyes narrowed in what looked like barely concealed anger.
Filbrick looked at his wife again. Then to who he was sure now was Sherman and Stanford.
That meant the man who had grabbed him…
“You ignoramous, you were dead!”
Here were the facts.
- Stanley Pines was in fact, not dead and had apparently been in contact with his mother and brothers.
- While a younger Stanley would have yelled back, this older Stanley just flinched and backed away, shoulders deflating, absolutely no signs of fighting back. It unnerved Filbrick, Stanley was and had always been a fighter. His actions were never subdued and cautious…at least back then they weren’t.
- Stanford had apparently inherited his mothers lungs because he had marched up to Filbrick, shoved him harshly and yelled, “You have no right talking to my brother like that!” loud enough the entire street heard.
And 4, Filbrick Pines was still terrible at communicating with his family. Because what he had actually wanted to say was thank all that’s good and holy that he hadn’t killed his son.
But judging from how protectively Stanford hovered over his twin the alternative may have been worse.
Shit.