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Breathe... BREATHE... In and out in and- Fuck-
Stan mentally screamed at himself to calm down, shaky limbs moving him out of his bed and down the stairs to the kitchen. He wanted to scream, he wanted to sob. But he couldn't risk waking the kids. Nor could he wake Fidds... God knows what he'd say about it. No. He'd get through this on his own, just as he always had.
His hand was tight around the stairs handrail, his knuckles turning white with the strength he gripped it with. He was almost down, stepping down onto the last step before he slipped, his shaky legs nearly buckling underneath him had it not been for his grasp on the railing. Though he couldn't quiet the yelp he'd let out- mentally cursing himself for the sound and hoping no one heard it. Shuffling into the kitchen he'd only just managed to remember how to breathe properly, though the memories still flashed through his mind. Blurry and hazy... But somehow still clear as day. As if they'd only just happened. He could still hear them, smell them, Feel them. He felt just as disgusting as the next month after the incident.
His heart pounding loudly in his ears, the only sound he was able to hear was his own heavy breathing as he leaned against the kitchen counter, staring into a glass of water he didn't remember pouring himself.
Stanley...?
Stan ran a hand over his face and up through his hair.
Stan-..
His face scrunched into a grimace. He could still hear their voices.... Voices? That wasn't them-
"Stanley-!"
A hand on his shoulder made the man flinch, turning and pushing the owner of the limb away as he pressed himself as far back into the counter as he could, his mind running a mile a minute through the possible scenarios of who it could be. His eyes frantically looked back and forth before settling on the figure in front of him. Tall... Lanky... Blurry...? His glasses- he'd forgotten then upstairs..
"Lee..? Hey it's okay it's just me.."
He knew that voice.. squinting his eyes the figure in front of him focused a bit more and he could make out the lanky frame of his Boyfriend. Couldn't tell much more than that though he could hear the worry in his voice, able to imagine the look on his face easily enough..
"F-fidds..." His voice cracked. It sounded broken.. he felt broken. He felt disgusting. God he was a mess.. He couldn't let fidds see him like this- he had to go he had to get away from him he had to-
"Lee calm down!" The hand was on him again. His arm this time. Stan's already panicked mind went into overdrive and he broke. Pushed fiddleford away, sidestepped him and all but ran out the cramped kitchen, retracing his steps through the house and to his office, ignoring the voice calling out his name as he shut and locked the door. He pressed his back against it, taking a trembling breath before sitting on the floor.
He could hear the footsteps on the stairs, coming towards the door before stopping in front. He could hear the knock at the door and Fiddleford's voice on the other side, speakin so softly in that calming way he always did. Stan could never understand why he'd want him. Especially now.. he was Tainted... He was hurt, wounded. He was a fraud, a scammer, a cheat.... Fiddleford deserved better than this broken old man.
Another knock. More words he couldn't focus on. When did he start crying? And more importantly, why couldn't he stop? Where were all these tears coming from?? . . . . Why'd the lock click?
Stan leaned away from the door so he wouldn't fall as it was slowly opened. Now being closer he could make out Fiddleford's face better.
"Lee.. oh sugar what's wrong...?" The man crouched to the ground, grunting a bit as he did before settling on the floor. There was a good arms length of a distance between them. Stan could only stare at his partner tears streaking down his cheeks.
He'd never told Fiddleford about what happened. Never told anyone. Fiddleford sighed softly, standing and Holding his hands out to Stan, letting the man choose if he wanted to be held or not. Stan had watched him carefully taking a moment to think before placing his heavy hands into Fiddleford's. He knew he wasn't in Tijuana anymore. He knew he was home, that he was safe and with the man he loved. That Fiddleford wasn't going to hurt him the way those men did. He knew Fiddleford cared for him, that he'd take care of him.
Fiddleford gripped Stan's hands in his own, his touch gentle yet firm as he helped him stand. Tugging on his arms lightly, he guided Stan back to their shared bedroom. Once the door was closed, Stan carefully pulled his hands away, sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze locked on the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
Fiddleford didn't speak, nor did he move from where he stood at the door. He was worried. What could've possibly scared his Stanley like that? The silence seemed to stretch on for forever before Stan had spoken up. "Fidds... There's somethin I haven't told you about.. it happened years ago.. before I even met you.." Stan's voice had a slight tremor to it. He kept his eyes on the ground as Fiddleford sat on the bed next to him.
Stan took his time, explaining to his partner what had happened to him years before. How he'd been kicked out his own home, was basically homeless, looking for any way to get some money... How he got into some trouble here and there and it led him to Tijuana. Stan had to take a deep breaths before continuing, instinctively reaching out to grasp Fiddleford's hand in his own, the southern man holding Stan's hand in both of his. Fiddleford Listened quietly, letting Stan speak about his experience, never interrupting, his thumbs rubbing small circles on the back of his hand as a small form of comfort without being too overwhelming.
When Stan had finished he squeezed Fiddleford's hand lightly, looking over at him like a kicked puppy, as if he were scared of what He'd see on his partners face. He expected disgust, anger, hatred even.... Not tears.
"You're not there anymore... Whoever they were.. they can't get you here.. not like I'd ever let em anyways..." Fiddleford spoke softly, his movements slow as he scooted closer to Stan, his eyes never leaving the other's. A hand came up to cradle Stand face, slow so he could pull away if he wanted..... He didn't. He leaned into the touch, grateful to have his Fidds there with him. He knew Fiddleford would never hurt him. He knew Fiddleford loved him, cared for him, would take care of him just as he does for Fidds. He knew he was safe with him. He knew he could trust Fiddleford. And he did. He trusted this man with his life.
After everything, Stan could only muster up a small apology. It was quiet, barely a whisper and only a single worded "Sorry..." But fiddleford knew he'd meant it. All this excitement and panic had exhausted him. God he was gettin too old for this shit... He leaned down to Fidds, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, his arms wrapping around his figure as he pulled them both up and away from the edge of the bed as Fiddleford maneuvered Stan and himself under the blankets.
The room was quiet. A comfortable silence head passed been them, a mutual understanding in the need for just.... Each other. Comfort. It didn't take long for either of them to fall asleep in a mess of tangled limbs. . .