Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"There it is!"

Deep in the woods of Gravity Falls, a small blue backpack lay forgotten. It sat there under the wide canopy of pine trees, illuminated only by small dapples of sunlight that somehow persevered through the ever thick brush. In the weeks since it entered this dimension it had gathered dirt, dead leaves, moss, and other unknown markings made by the mysterious wildlife of the forest.

It would have been left for the elements to consume if not for a small boy, no older than nine or even seven, who raced through the woodland and hurdled over tree roots as the early autumn breeze stroked his hair. Jumping over one final tree stump, he landed right in front of the bag, hands on his hips and a wide toothy grin across his face. Band-aids (at least the visible ones) and dirt decorated his arms, fingers, and face, marking him no stranger to the great outdoors. Close behind him a significantly older man followed, his hair having grayed considerably and glasses crooked and cracked at the edges. He seemed just as skilled as his younger kin, but the smaller had endless bouts of energy, a gift of youth, and thus was able to run ahead without even breaking a sweat. He wasn't nearly as breathless as the elder was when he finally came to a stop alongside the other.

"Ha-ha! Beat you again Sixer!" The younger guffawed proudly, to which the older rolled his eyes.

"Oh, just wait until you're as old as me-" He grunted as he stretched his back, cracking it. "Won't be laughing so much anymore." His new life of rest and relaxation after so many years spent in survival mode was beginning to spoil him.

Stanley ignored his brother's comment and picked up his bag. It was covered in mud and dripping from leftover rain and other fluids. It didn't have much decoration besides a a few stickers of his favorite comics and a lizard-monster keychain attached to the zipper, probably from some weird Sci-Fi Horror movie Stan definitely wasn't allowed to watch. It was messy and gross, but Stanley slung it across his back like it was brand new.

"You're sure that's the bag?" Stanford asked through steady breaths. "The one that came out with you?" He hadn't noticed it fly out with Stanley the first time the kid fell out of the portal. He was already scared out of his mind losing his Stanley to the rift, and then that fear mixed with mind boggling confusion when he got a passed out child in return like the universe was playing tradsies with him.

"Yep! It's mine. Come on Six, it has me written all over it!" He took it off momentarily and showed Stanford that his name was literally scribbled over and over again across the front of the bag with a worn out pencil. He slipped it around his shoulders again and whatever was inside rattled and shook. "Ok, let's go home and open this baby!" He smiled up at his brother and began running back the direction he came, the tree stump once in the way now missing, to neither's notice. The only indicator it may have been there once before was a faint imprint in the ground.

"Again with the running, okay!" Stanford huffed, still out of breath. His body could use the exercise after all. He hasn't had much motivation to leave the house after losing his brother to the apocalypse, anyway.

The missing stump was strange, sure, but nothing too unusual when it comes to the woodland of Gravity Falls. Most everything was alive in these forests, and almost nothing is as it seems. Going to school empty-handed and claiming that your homework grew legs and ran away was a perfectly valid excuse in this town, because the tree the paper once came from was actually alive and sentient, and it was simply returning to the motherland it was once so forcefully separated from. Even stranger, for as many sentient beings as there were in the woods there were just as many that weren't. One tree could breathe and speak as well as a normal human being (if you were nice it would lend you its leaves and pinecones and invite you over next time to chat over tea and jam!) and the identical tree next to it could be completely made of metal, blending in with the crowd and harboring secrets lost to time. Nothing was normal here, most everything and everyone mad, and it was worn like a badge of honor. Magical trees weren't the case this time though. But that's not important right now. Keep reading and forget this paragraph for now, please.

Before Stanley could leave his brother's sight, the boy tumbled suddenly and fell face first into the dirt with an "oomf!" He was only down a second before he sat up just as quickly with a confused blink.

"Huh." His face now had dirt and tiny pebbles smeared across it- well, more than there usually is. Stanford ran up to his younger brother worriedly.

"Stanley! What happened, are you alright?" Ford reached out a hand and pulled him back up onto his feet. He began fussing over his little brother and looking for injuries but Stan insisted he could do it himself, thanks mom. Said boy proceeded to check himself over half hazardly before shrugging it off with a grin.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Not even a scratch!" There were multiple new scratches, they were just indiscernible from all the old ones. "That was weird though. I don't usually just fall like that. Must have been a rock I didn't see or somethin'." There were no rocks in the path when Stanley tripped, but looking around again there were suddenly rocks all over the path. Even Stanford noticed how odd this was. He blushed embarrassedly, remembering something.

"It must be the gnomes again, they tend to pull tricks like that, especially on me. I may or may not have built a...reputation for myself among their kind after I regularly kidnapped and experimented on them in my early years here." He admitted sheepishly. "But I swear it was completely ethical!"

"You took my wife and kids! Give them back!" A tiny voice shrilled from somewhere in the woods.

"...Completely ethical!" Stanford repeated after a pause. It didn't matter to Stanley anyway, he didn't even know what 'ethical' meant, both literally and...well...

After making sure he wasn't bleeding in more places than three, Stanley took off again without warning, leaving Ford in the dust.

"Last one to the shack smells like rotten eggs!" He hollered out behind him.

"Wha- hey!" Ford took up a sprint again, needing to keep Stanley in his line of sight. He made sure not to be the next victim of a trip with all the rocks in the road now. Stanley's fall and the strange appearance of rocks were soon left a forgotten afterthought by both of them.

When Ford caught up to Stanley again his brother had slowed to a walk. Stanford panted as he glanced confusedly at him, wondering why he stopped running. He looked back onto the path for a second, and then did a double take as he eyed Stanley again.

"Stanley, where did you get that thing?!" He pointed accusingly to the upside-down opossum in his arms.

"...I found it." Stanley totally didn't lie. "But look! It likes me! I think it wanted me to pick it up because when I ran up to it it got so happy to see me it fell over and stopped moving." He hugged the opossum that lay still as a statue, squeezing it as tightly as a child could. "I think we have a kinship going on. We're like brothers." He gasped. "Maybe this is Shanklin's son! Or grandson! Wait...how long do possums live again?" He looked up to his handy dandy scientist for answers.

"Opossums, Ley. And it varies from creature to creature. The average wild opossum survives only about two years, mostly due to predators, but ones kept in captivity can live three to four. The ones with the strongest longevity can even make it eight to ten years." Stanford stated matter of factly.

Stanley hummed. "Well I'll make sure this boy is the longest living possum in the whole wide world!" He held it up like a trophy, revealing its stomach.

Stanford stared at its pouch. "That's a female-"

"YEAH! BROTHERS FOREVER!!!" Stan interrupted, and Stanford resigned himself with a sigh.

The two continued their trek homewards, and Stanley, as he has for the past week, kept prodding Ford with questions about his life. A child's curiosity is unbound, and boy was Ford going to know it. And grow tired of it.

"So what am I like anyway?"

"What did we do all those years instead of sailing?"

"When did I start doing art as my job? And why? Pa says neither of us are allowed to go to art school cause we'll be poor for the rest of our lives. Ha! Look at me now! Or later, I guess..."

"So I NEVER got married? Never? I didn't even have a girlfriend?"

"Are we there yet?"

"Do I get ugly when I get old?"

"When do you think I'm gonna go home? Oh! What do you think my older self is doing right now?"

"Do I ever help you with your experiments? Hey, you better give me credit where credit's due."

"Are we there yet?"

"Did you ever experiment on yourself and now you have freakish superpowers? Oh my God, are you secretly a superhero???"

"How much do you get paid?"

Stanford swore he could feel the bags under his eyes grow heavier with each question. Those were all big questions he couldn't even begin fathoming a proper answer for.

"I told you already, Stan. I go to school, you run a business, eventually we both live in this house and work our own jobs. We get by." He grit his teeth. He loved the kid, but Good Moses was he getting on his nerves. Stanley tutted.

"Yeah, but you never say anything more than that."

"Well, what more is there to know? Our lives are quite mundane."

"Yeah, a Scientist who lives in the middle of a forest, studies awesome weird lookin' monsters for a living, and secretly has superpowers-"

"I don't have superpowers."

"Very mundane." Stan continued anyways. He rolled his eyes. "Whatever mundane means." He grumbled under his breath. He was gambling on it meaning 'boring.'

"Listen Ley, I'm tired from all this running and the questions you're asking all have long answers. Maybe I'll explain it to you some other time, but just drop it for now, alright?"

"Yeah, sure you will." Stan muttered, not believing him for a second.

Explain. Explain what exactly? Explain meant he was hiding something. However, that wasn't exactly news to Stan.

Stanley knew Stanford was keeping things from him. He kind of knew ever since Stanford vaguely told them their life story that day they were out painting. He had a knack for reading people like that. He didn't think Stanford was completely lying, he does have his art exhibit after all, but it was strange that Stanford kept evading all his questions. Especially the one about his superpowers.

His face would pale whenever Stan brought up their past or Heavens forbid the Stan O' War, and he looked almost guilty. It just aroused Stan's suspicions all the more. This was preposterous! HE was the one who was usually dishonest! And what is it with adults always telling you later when they really mean never?

Well, perhaps he's a hypocrite anyways. He's been keeping secrets of his own too. Like when he told Stanford that he didn't remember calling his own brother 'Dad' at all that one night, and that was ridiculous and Ford needed to get his ears checked. He also didn't say anything about pretending to be asleep out of embarrassment and then hearing Ford call him his son. Ford bought it, chalking it up to Stanley being disoriented from exhaustion and soon it was dropped, just how Stan wanted it to be. He can't believe he said that! Ford was his brother, they were twins, why on Earth did he call him 'Dad???' It makes no sense and it's TOO sappy for his comfort. But then...why did Ford call him his son...? He was still trying to figure that one out. Ford made no mention of it when he was interrogating Stan, maybe it embarrassed him too. Good Moses, why are feelings so stupid and nonsensical?!

Seeing as Stanford's mouth was sewed shut, and he couldn't pry it open no matter how much he prodded, Stanley gave up his gig with a frustrated huff and turned his attention back towards his pet opossum.

"I oughta name him." He piped up, his leftover anger slowly evaporating. He pondered in thoughtful silence for maybe like half of a second before snapping his fingers. "A-ha! Stanley!"

Ford quirked a brow and eyed his twin. "Seriously?" He questioned.

"It's genius! That way I'll never forget it! We'll be twinning." Stanley nodded like it was a foolproof plan.

The older sighed again. "Alright then, Stanley."

"You talking to me or to him?"

Ford saw their house slowly crawl into view. The grass was beginning to lighten up, and although most of the trees were pine, the ones that weren't were starting to change color too. Hues of red and yellow and orange sheathing their leafy green skin; a last 'hurrah!' before they they all departed from their parent and eventually died, unable to make it on their own.

"You probably shouldn't be naming that thing anyway, Stan. You'll grow attached if you do." Ford mentioned quietly, keeping his eyes on the target.

"Uh, duh! We're brothers now! That's kinda the plan. And besides, I was attached the moment I saw him! He's so small and fluffy and cute but his teeth are sharp and pointy like knives! It's the perfect decoy! If I was a hero he'd make for an awesome sidekick." Stanley rubbed his cheek against his 'brother's' fur, feeling its softness. It let out a faint hiss in turn.

"Aww, you don't mean that Stanley! I'm sure you'll like me and I just need to prove it to ya. I'll give you half...er, a fourth of my dessert tonight!" He held the small creature up to face him. "We're gonna be best friends!" He smiled brightly.

Ford felt a damp sense of guilt invade his chest as they walked up the steps of their house. The old wood cricked and creaked as they turned their backs on the enveloping nature, not noticing how some trees glitched or disappeared altogether. He let out yet another sigh and ran a hand down his face.

"C'mon, Ley. You've gotta let it go." Ford broke it to him before they could step inside. Stan's smile dropped suddenly as he looked up to Ford with widened eyes.

"Wait, what?" He asked disbelievingly.

He bent down to Stanley's level and gently placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "It's a wild animal, sweetie." He explained softly. "It wants to be outside, back in its natural habitat. Just look at it, it's trying to escape your arms. It wants to be let go."

Stanley's face wrinkled as he looked from Stanford to Stanley the opossum. It had seemingly broken the act of playing dead and was now wriggling in his arms, hissing and growling, trying to leave.

"But-"

"Ley." Ford spoke again with a 'don't push it' voice. "You're stressing it out."

Stanley paused, staying quiet as he watched the animal in his arms squirm. He gave it a soft squeeze, before humming dejectedly.

"Let's give it a treat first. Then...fine, I guess I'll let it go." He mumbled. "I just wanna give it a parting gift at least." Stanford patted his shoulder before unfolding himself up off the floor.

"We can do that. But we have to make it quick." He replied, already walking in towards the kitchen to gather fruit.

Within the next few minutes the twins were sat at the kitchen table with a platter of fruits and berries in front of them. Stanley picked a blueberry and held it in between his fingers. He jabbed it in Stanley 2's direction and the animal recoiled with a growl, opening its mouth to show its fangs.

"Careful, try putting it on your palm and holding it out to it slowly, that way it won't get your fingers." Stanford instructed, taking a blackberry and casually weaving it in between his fingers as he observed.

Stanley did as told and let the berry roll down into his palm. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he gestured out his hand towards the opossum. The second Stanley paused, sniffed Stan's fingers, and then quickly bit the blueberry and moved back with the fruit in its mouth, chewing all the while. Stanley lit up in fascination, before grabbing another fistful of fruits into his hand and offering it to the animal. He laughed out loud when Stanley 2 came up and took more of the offered sacrifice from his palm.

"Hehe! He licked me!" Stanley giggled and scrunched up his face as the opossum went in for a third helping. "It tickles!"

"Remember to wash your hands afterwards." Ford smiled, grabbing an apple slice for himself.

Soon enough the platter of fruits was emptied, both with the help of the opossum's munching and either Stan's not-so sneaky swipes. Stanley had just finished chewing on a slice of watermelon and spit out the leftover seeds.

"You remember our watermelon seed shooting contests?" He brought up randomly. "Heh, I was always a better shot than you. I bet I could shoot it as far as a football field." He put his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair. His eyes closed nonchalantly, peeking open every second to look at his new pet opossum.

"Yeah," replied Ford. "we're not doing that."

Stanford rinsed off the platter and rubbed it clean before storing it back into the cabinet.

"Alright, ready to say goodbye?" He put his hands on his hips.

Stanley suddenly scrambled straight, eyes wide open in shock.

"Wait, we're still doing that?" He asked worriedly. Ford cocked his head, before he exhaled frustratedly and rubbed his temples. Ugh, kids. Why do they always think no means yes?

"Ley, we've been through this. It's a wild animal, it can't stay here. We don't have the money or resources to look after it, and I doubt you've taken the time to research how to properly care for an opossum." He pointed out. "I don't even think it's legal to own an opossum in this state. Least not without a permit, maybe, if I'm remembering the laws of this time right." He scratched his chin momentarily. He looked back at his brother. "Either way, we had an agreement. It's time to let it go." He finished sternly.

He watched Stanley's cheeks grow red and he growled, stomping his foot on the ground and clenching his hands into fists.

"But I don't wanna!" He whined.

"That doesn't matter." Ford replied cooly, crossing his arms.

"Can't we keep him?!" Stan protested.

"No."

He growled again and whined some more, but Ford was not about to deal with an outburst. He walked past Stanley without a word and waited by the door.

"I'll be waiting for you when you're ready!" He called back. "And I know you will be because you're a big kid now who's too old to be having temper tantrums!"

He waited. And waited. And waited some more. Ten minutes passed and he genuinely believed Stanley was going to stay sat stubborn as a mule when he heard the floors creak. He turned his head and saw Stan slowly walking towards him, the other Stanley dangling in his arms. He was still quite cross with his brother and kept his eyes on the floor, not wanting to see his stupid smug grin.

"Good choice." Ford unlocked and opened the door. It had gotten windy and the world outside beckoned the animal's return. Stanley hesitated, holding the opossum tight, before giving it one final nuzzle and resting it onto the ground, where it quickly scurried down the steps of their front porch and disappeared into the grass.

"Bye Stanley." Stan whimpered morosely. He gave a small, disheartened wave before looking down.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Stanford shut the door and re-locked it. His brother kept his eyes stuck to the floor, arms crossed and shoulders tensed.

Stanford looked back down at his little brother, waiting for a response but only getting a cold shoulder in reply. He felt a bit bad for his sternness, as necessary as it may have been, and got back down on his knees to match his brother's height again. Admittedly, it all must seem pretty cruel and harsh from a child's perspective to let something you love go. He supposes he can't exactly blame the kid for his anger. He made his brother face him before he spoke.

"You did the right thing. You were very responsible." He said softly, placing a gentle hand atop Stanley's hair. Stanley 'humphed' and turned his head away from Ford, fixing his gaze on a spot in the corner. He didn't say anything or give any other reaction, and Stanford thought of what he could do to lift Stan's spirits. He smiled and Stanley suddenly broke out into a bunch of laughs and giggles and squeaks when Stanford attacked him in tickles.

"Stop it Ford!" Stanley choked out between laughs, trying and failing to shove his brother back. It only strengthened Ford's resolve, giggling along with Stanley too. Said brother pulled him in for a quick hug when he felt like the other had had enough, much to the younger's half-hearted protests.

"Gotcha." Stanford chuckled. He pulled back, freeing Stan who stepped out of his grip. It was hard to stay mad when that darn smile of his wouldn't leave his face. He'll get over it soon enough, Stanford was sure. It was always onto the next great thing with him. He patted Stan's shoulder again.

"Come on, let's go open that backpack of yours. Maybe there's something inside that can help us get you home." He really hoped not.

Chapter Text

Stanley had hung the bag on the back of the chair before he sat down to feed the opossum, so he simply took the backpack and flung it atop the table, pulling the zipper open just as quickly. Stanford flinched, watching mud and water and Moses knows what spread onto the surface. Ugh, it smelled awful. He was definitely making Stanley wipe that down later. And he was going to invest in an aromatic diffuser from that shopping site- what's it called? amaz...ing? amazonian? He was still getting used to this dimension's technology (it's actually quite primitive compared to what he's seen in the multiverse, believe it or not!).

"Get ready, moment of truth..." Stan hyped. He zipped open the rest of the bag and flipped the top over to reveal what was inside. Almost immediately, a bunch of coins and dollar bills came spilling out. And it was no small amount to scoff at either. This was a master pickpocket artist in the making, the fruits of his deceit on full display. Stanford hummed disapprovingly and Stanley blushed bashfully. "Heh...spare change?" He joked with a shrug before immediately backtracking. "Listen, I swear I only use my adorableness to fool those who deserve it! I'm a scammer, not a jerk!" He crossed his arms, but then paused. "...Well actually, now that I think about it-" Stanford just shook his head and began to dig through the bag himself, pushing all the stolen money out and onto the table.

"Hey! Easy, easy!" Stan protested, swatting Ford's big meaty hands away. "That's my hard earned gold you're throwin' around!" Ford chuckled. Stanley was fresh out of Jersey, so his accent was thick as honey. He sounded like Ma and Pa and imitated any adult movies he snuck off to watch, as children tend to do. Forty years away from home had slowly chipped and etched away at his dialect, and now there were only little dabs and flickers left of it. That in itself isn't abnormal, per se, but there's no doubt he's also had to mold his voice into a new persona with each state he visited to evade suspicion from either his enemies or the police, and that certainly didn't help its preservation. He practically forced himself to unlearn his own vernacular in favor of a new one, again and again and again. Ford despised that when he thought of it. He wasn't mad at Stanley, no, more so the people who made him loose so much more than just his home tongue. And despite what this Stanley told him before that one night, Ford still felt angry with himself too. He still felt like he deserved a slice of the blame, and might always feel that way. Still though...he had missed Stanley's voice. He had missed his childhood. It was nice to hear it again, and very cute.

While Stan neatly re-stacked and organized his coins and dollars, Ford pulled out the first thingamabob he saw. Oh, of course. Toys. In fact, they took up most of the space in the bag. It was all the typical stuff that sold in the sixties. Robots that battled in a boxing ring, those were Stanley's favorite, a Captain Nazi Puncher action figure, and a drawing pad that erases its screen when shaken. There were other knickknacks like baseball cards used for trading (or selling, in Stan's case; he always knew how to price them for more than they were worth), some poor girl's stolen doll, a toy gun, darts with sharp tips (how were these sold to kids?!), a jump rope, a Mr. Potato Head, and clackers. Ford pulled them out one by one to examine and Stanley greedily grabbed for each of them, happy to see his beloved possessions again after so long and eager to play with them. Little quips like 'Oh, my action figures!' 'Hey, I forgot about that doll I stol- I mean found. Totally found.' 'Eee! I missed my clackers so much!' were heard throughout the room. The only trouble would be choosing which one to play with first, the sheer variety overwhelming him into an excited happy daze, like it was all eight nights of Hanukkah crammed into one.

While Stan settled with un-packaging his boxing robots on the floor, Ford searched through the remaining contents of the bag. Uh oh, there was candy in here. If Stanley found out, he'd go berserk. Some of this stuff probably wasn't safe to eat after being out in nature for well over a month at this point anyways. As carefully and quietly as he could, Stanford pocketed bubble gum, gummy bears, a chocolate-caramel bar, sour candy, chocolate cream eggs, and fruit pops. He may or may not have dropped a bag of jelly beans in a separate pocket for himself.

....What?

Stanford surveilled Stanley all the while and made sure he was still distracted with his game. Luckily, he hadn't noticed any suspicious sounding crunches or crinkles, and Stanford would decide later whether the candy was safe enough to be stored or thrown away. He felt a bit pleased, imagining the recognition and excitement on Stan's face when he pulled one of the treats out for a special occasion or reward.

Alright, next up was...

Stanford's face darkened suddenly when his hand came out holding a pack of cigarettes.

"Stanley, what is this?" Ford asked lowly. He held up the small box to show it to his brother. It dangled in between his fingers as if he were holding a reeking trash bag instead. They might as well be one in the same. Stanley's head turned obediently when called, but his face never lost its neutrality as he shot the object a mere glance before shifting his attention back to the toys.

"Oh, Pa told me to get that for him from the drug store and he'd give me a nickel for my time. It's no big deal." He answered simply with a smile. Honestly, it should have clicked when Ford first pulled out a bunch of toys that are definitely banned in 2012. When they were children, 'safety' was more a suggestion than it was the standard, especially when it came to kids. Stan was pulled straight out of an era where it was still acceptable for teachers to paddle students as a form of discipline, where kids could all sit in a truck bed going well over 70 miles per hour on the freeway, and people sprayed chemicals and pesticides with abandon on their war against nature. Drinking and driving without so much as a seatbelt was the norm, and afterwards the empty can or bottle was thrown onto the street without any qualms. Similarly with seatbelts, it was common to see children riding bikes without even a helmet on, pets (even dogs) typically roamed free, asbestos was present in practically every household, airport security was fairly light, and latch key kids were everywhere. If polluting the Earth was no sweat to the average man, then he held the same philosophy for polluting his body. If Stanford's remembering correctly, up until he was portaled it was completely normal for kids to buy cigarettes from their local convenience store for their parent, so long as they had a note of said parent's consent with them. Still though...

"If it's for dad, why do you still have it with you in your bag?" Stanford pressed with growing suspicion, yet still, Stan's expression never wavered.

"I thought it'd be fun to try one for myself, I'd look real cool like those tough guys in movies, and I'm sure the old man'll never notice just one missing." He shrugged. He would've been wrong about that, well about both of those things, but it's hard to get past his dad's eye when it comes to lying and cheating. His dad was a pawn shop owner after all, and he cared very deeply for precision and getting his money's worth, especially when it came to his kids.

"Absolutely not!" Ford replied sharply, his voice raised. This time Stanley swiveled his head towards his brother with raised eyebrows and a sudden frown. "I forbid it. Out of the question." Time away from home wasn't the only thing that scratched up Stanley's voice.

He remembers now. It wasn't unusual for one of their parents to hand them some money and tell them to buy them a pack at the corner store, but on special occasions when they were lucky, Stanley would manage to sneak a cigar out of the box for him and Ford to experiment with. Ford never understood the appeal of the tobacco and gradually fell off of it, but Stanley got caught in its trap. Soon, old worn out cigarettes by their windowsill became a daily occurrence, and the allowance Stanley was supposed to save for his new glasses was spent on packs that filled the trash can. And yet still no one blinked an eye, Hell, some congratulated him for it! It was like a coming of age ceremony, and Stan reveled in its glory. Damnit, if only Ford had known of the dangerous consequences then, he would've sworn off cigarettes forever! Especially for his brother, who went through a pack a day in their teens, a desperate last ditch attempt to seem tough. Tough enough to fit in, tough enough to fight off dad, tough enough to smoke away his problems and forget. By the time they were seventeen his voice was unrecognizable. Now on top of the stress of his brother not able to even recognize a photo of himself these days, there was the also the possibility of him being plagued by cancer, a karma he didn't deserve, that no chainsmoker deserved. Ley didn't know everything Stanford knew now though.

"What's the big idea?!" He complained as his eyes furrowed. "I told you it's no big deal!"

"It absolutely is a big a deal. Stan, these things are horrible for your body! You shouldn't be using them at all!"

"Well then why does Dad get to use them??!"

"Because Dad is an adult and that is his choice to make. You are a child, and there's no doubt in my mind that these are more harmful to you than they are to him, even if that's not saying much." He observed the pack of smokes again. Stan stuck out his tongue.

"You don't know what you're saying, Pointdexter! Those things are fine, they even say it's healthy to smoke'm!"

"Who?"

"The folks on TV." Stan answered with finality and went back to playing with his toys, switching from his robots to his drawing pad. "More Doctors smoke camels than any other cigarette." He repeated from a commercial he heard, mimicking the advertiser's diction. The people on TV were Gods to a child. Their word was like law to him, his timeline just a few years short of the living room war. "You're a doctor, aintcha? You oughta know." He colored in a bunch of random lines on his pad before shaking it clear to start over.

"No, not like that..." Ford rubbed his temples. He needed to explain this tactfully. "Stanley, come sit at the table for a second, I need to explain this to you." He pulled out a chair for Stan before sitting in one of his own. Stanley looked up as Ford waited for him, face beginning to pale. "You're not in trouble," Ford corrected himself. "I just wanna talk."

"Great. A lecture." Stan groused, climbing up onto the next chair. He plopped his arms onto the table, having no mind for any manners or etiquette, and rested a cheek in one to keep himself propped up. He glared at Ford with dull eyes, preparing to be bored out of his mind.

"I know the people on television sound professional and experienced in their field, but..." Ford just decided to be blunt with it. "The truth is that they're lying to you. They're lying on purpose to sell their product." Stanley snorted.

"What? That's ridiculous."

"You would think so, wouldn't you? But it happens more often than anyone would like to admit. In fact, people have been advertising false products since before televisions were even made. Have you ever heard of 'patent medicine' from the Victorian Era?"

Stanley tapped his chin.

"Oh yeah," he suddenly remembered it from history class the few times it actually interested him enough to pay attention. "Those quacks all sold big hoaxes. And then there was stuff people used every day that had actual poison in it! Ha! Man, those guys were stupid to actually believe that crap." He laughed.

"Hmm, you think so? What if I told you that's exactly what everyone in the future thinks of you?" Stanley choked mid laugh and shot his head up.

"W-what?" He asked, a smile still lingering on his face, wondering if it was a joke. "Whaddya mean??" Ford smirked.

"Most people in today's timeline think those in the past were fools for believing cigarette ads. It's been half a century since the sixties, and we've learned more about what cigarettes actually do to your body. Or I should say, the public has. Actually, there are many doctors even in your time who long knew about the real effects of cigarettes, but advertisers stuffed their mouths with money as an incentive to stay quiet."

Stan looked like he didn't believe this. "Well if people think I'm STUPID, then what's so bad about cigs anyway?" His voice broke a bit and cheeks grew red, he was starting to feel more humiliated than offended.

"I'll tell you." Ford answered. He opened up the pack and pulled out a single cigarette. "Look here. When a cigarette burns, it releases over 5000 chemicals." Stan slouched over, burying his head into his arms but leaving just enough room for his eyes to keep watching. Ugh, lectures really do suck. He hates it when he's held accountable.

"I'll unroll this one for you and show you." Ford then went about carefully unwrapping it until half of the paper was rolled off, revealing what's inside. "The part by the tan tipping paper and the phigwrap paper underneath is the filter you breathe through. But the main portion of the cigarette lies within the whitw cigarette paper." He took another cigar and used it to shuffle through the contents within. "This brown stuff you see here is tobacco-"

"I know, Sixer." Stanley groaned with an eye roll.

"I'm not lecturing you-"

"Yeah you are."

"I'm just saying what it is." Ford cut him off firmly. "This is serious, Stanley. I need you to pay attention to me." Slowly, reluctantly, Stan turned his eyes back to the cigarette. "Good. Now as I was saying...most advertisers typically stop at tobacco and go on to describe its rich flavor and why it's better than any other brand of cigarettes. But they won't tell you what you can't see, and that's all the poison that's added into this teeny tiny roll of paper." That captured Stanley's attention, who lifted his head.

"The tobacco itself is bad enough, it already contains a highly addictive substance called nicotine. There's also tobacco-specific nitrosamines, or TSNAs. That is responsible for cancer in the lungs and esophagus. There's other toxic chemicals mixed in there too, but lighting it up is the real nail in the coffin." He took the second smoke and held it up for show. "Burning one of these things creates even more dangerous chemicals that weren't there in the first place. When you smoke, you're inhaling carbon monoxide, benzene, methanol, methane, ammonia, acetone, arsenic, lead, tar- and that's not even all of it! You're killing yourself and the doctors of your time wouldn't tell you anything! Some of them even thought it was good for you despite the growing evidence!" He exclaimed. Now Stanley was second-guessing himself, or more so, the people on TV. His brother was a genius, he trusted Ford more than anything or anyone and always came to him when his mind was all twisted up like a pretzel. Seeing Ford say all this...was he really being lied to? And what about Pa, who went through pack after pack on the daily?

"So then...what does it do to you?" He asked rather meekly. Ford sighed, setting the smoke down. The better question was what it was gonna do to his Stan. He had to prevent this before it was too late.

"Some of your doctors might say it's healthy, but they're all wrong. It will ruin almost every organ in your body, that includes your heart, your lungs, eyes, mouth, brain, and even more than that." He pointed to each part of his body as he spoke as demonstration. "As far as I know it's linked to over a dozen types of cancer, and treatment for that is not only expensive and difficult but if you don't catch it fast enough than it's only a matter of time until it turns you into a shell of yourself. It hurts the immune system, makes you lose hair, rots your teeth, and can give you joint pain too." At this point he was just counting it off his fingers. Even though he spent 30 years across the multiverse and away from Earth, Ford held possession of knowledge no mortal on this realm could even begin to fathom. His education of human anatomy and how it reacted to every chemical put into it was minuscule compared to all else he could relate. Not to mention smoking was already becoming more taboo by the year by the time Ford left; commercials for cigarettes had already been banned.

"Ah, another thing, smoking absolutely destroys your voice. The chemicals and poisons in cigarettes will swell your vocal cords, damaging their tissues and scarring them. It'll make your voice sound all hoarse and raspy."

"Huh?!" Stanley jumped incredulously. "But I saw another commercial saying it'll make your voice sound all deep and hunky! Like the bulls singin' in the ad!"

"They lied too." Ford replied simply. "We have the privilege of living in a future where we now see the long term effects of smoking, and we see how many lives it's ruined. People have lost their voice, their autonomy, even their lives. All because people cared more about money than telling the truth." ...Ok maybe it was a bit ironic to be telling Stanley this.

"Oh...huh..." Stanley sighed and laid his head on the table. "Dang it. I guess I'm pretty stupid then..." Ford immediately wanted to dismiss the thought.

"No, it's not your fault. It's not that people in the past were 'dumber' than people in the future, certainly not. Humanity has always and will always be full of fools, I fear." He'd call himself one of them, honestly. "As time went on, people have only traded one ignorance for another. That's how it's always been throughout human history. In 50 more years people will have the privilege of looking back on us and seeing where we went wrong. We just do the best we can while we're here until we know what works better." Ford's reassurances meant nothing to Stanley now though. He still felt like a humiliated fool for his naivety. He had just been totally classed by his cool, smart older brother. Pulling off arrogance is a hard feat to accomplish in the first place, but falling completely on your face...

"But Stanley, I do have to ask you to promise me something." Ford gently tapped Stan's arm, and Stanley glanced at him halfheartedly.

"Lemme guess, I took up smoking like all those other idiots, huh?"

"...Well, that depends on what you do with this knowledge going forward."

"I'll take that as a yes then." Stan muttered.

"Look, just please, please promise me you'll never smoke another cigarette, knowing what you do. No matter what happens to you or...or whatever happens between us later on in life, I want you to take care of yourself. Even if we spend time apart for school or work I want you to know that I've never stopped caring about you, stopped worrying about you, what you were up to, if you were safe." He took Stanley's hand and intertwined it with his own, squeezing it. "Please Stanley, promise me you won't."

He was being ambiguous, avoiding what he really he meant again, refusing to explain more, Stanley knew that. It was irritating him. But seeing the stressed, pained, almost sad look on Ford's face, Stan faltered.

"Yeah. Okay, Sixer. I promise." He didn't know if Ford really believed him or if he was just choosing to give himself some peace, what with Stan's reputation. Either way, he smiled with relief and ruffled Stanley's hair.

"That's my boy." He said softly. He took the two cigarettes and shoved them back into their pack. He then took the pack, crushed it between his fists, and tossed it into the garbage where it belonged. "Besides, you wouldn't believe some of the ridiculous things people are saying and doing these days. Have you seen the internet? I have, it's a relatively new invention. It's incredible how emboldened people are by the thin veil of anonymity. The power goes straight to their head! It's like talking to an old friend of mine all over again."

-

"Last but not least it's! It's-!" Stanley was drumming the table as Ford pulled out the final items of the bag. It was something light and thin. His hands fell still on the table as his face dropped once again, his energy being replaced by a burdening dread. "Oh." Ugh, he forgot. "Summer Homework." He said it like the words were gross soggy vegetables in his mouth. "You can just put that back. Or better yet, toss it like you did the smokes. Preferably with fist-crushing too." He pumped his fists into the air. Ford wasn't listening, opening the folder in his hands and taking out the sheets of paper.

"You haven't even started on any of these." Ford noted, skimming through them quickly.

"Don't need to." Stanley shrugged. "Ford's just gonna do it all for me. That's what he does with all our homework. Don't worry 'bout it." Stanford frowned. He remembers that. He typically loves school and at first didn't mind the extra work, in fact, it stimulated him. But as they got older and went on to middle school, then to high school, the work not only got harder but it began to pile on, and Ford stopped appreciating the extra work as the pressure to succeed began to choke him by the neck. He had started losing sleep, living on coffee to finish both his and Stan's deadlines in time, meanwhile Stanley just goofed off and lived on an idealistic daydream Ford had long let go of by then. It wasn't fair, not to either of them.

"You know, maybe instead of making your brother do everything for you, you could put the effort in to do it yourself?" Ford suggested, slowly, calmly, not wanting to set Stan off or make it seem like he was attacking him. "Ford...had a lot on his plate already at the time. And it's only going to get more daunting the older you two get. If you just try to do the work on your own, it would really help your brother. And who knows, it might help you get better with school too." He eyed Stanley hopefully.

"Blegh." Was all Stan had to say at first. "You know I'm no good with that stuff. It's pointless. I have tried, I just get it all wrong every time. Ford says he doesn't care, so I don't care either. In fact, why don't you just do it now?" He answered stubbornly. He remembered all those times he failed his math tests. Even when he tried, it made no difference. He just failed and failed and failed, and it was always rewarded with a beating. Ford frowned, his hope crumbling, and looked back down at the papers. It was all pretty easy to him, just elementary school math and english. He could get through it all easy peasy, no problem. The issue is that it wasn't helping Stanley. Stanley claimed it was making life easier for him, but in the long run, it was only making things harder. Stan wasn't letting up though, he seemed stuck in this...'learned helplessness,' if that was right. Ford brightened suddenly, his resolve returning.

"How about we come to a compromise then. I know how to do this homework, and you don't. Instead of just doing it all for you, I can help you work through it. Your tutor, if you will." He presented. Stan snarled.

"That's just a dumb waste of time." He mumbled. "I don't get why you can't just do it. It's not like it's hard." Stan flushed. "For you." He added in quietly.

"Well, it's that or you're turning in empty homework to your teachers when you return. You'll fail." Ford baited sternly. He wasn't going to give in that easily either. Whether Stan knew it or not this was for his own good. And Ford was still being generous!

"Fine, then my Ford'll just do it when I get back. You ain't the boss of me. At least he doesn't complain." Stan grouched. Ford rolled his eyes, his composure breaking.

"Come on, Stan! I'm being nice to you, offering this! Why won't you stop being selfish and at least try for once in your life!" He snapped. Oh yikes, he hadn't meant to sound so harsh with that last bit. But Stan's attitude was really getting to him, even if he was a child. But still, he said what he said, and it was giving him deja vu. A flicker of hurt flashed through Stan's face before he stood from his seat and snatched the homework out of Ford's hands faster than the older had time to react.

"I said no!" He yelled back.

"Stan, give that back!" Ford lunged for the papers, but Stanley just dodged him. He was quick and small, not a good combo. He was flustered and angry, and that only fueled Stan's devilry, feeding off the attention.

He laughed out loud as they danced around the table in an endless game of tag. Stan stuck out his tongue, blew a raspberry, and dodged a provoked Ford's grab.

"Stanley, that's enough! We're not doing this back and forth charade around the dining room!" Ford seethed. Hmm, well if not in the dining room, then why not outside instead? That's what Stanley thought as he reached for the door handle and dragged it open. The wind from before had moved onto greener pastures, or so Stan thought.

"Stan-!"

"Nooooooo!!!!! I'm not doing it!!!" Stanley called out, laughing all the while as he ran outside, holding the papers over his head. "Gonna have to catch me if you want em! And I've got a better track record than you, Pointdexter!"

"This isn't a game! I'm serious! Get back here!"

"That's loser talk!"

Ford outwardly groaned. He was just about fed up with the kid. But he bolted when Stan began to dash into the street.

"Stan, stop! That's dangerous!"

Stan just kept giggling, trying to laugh away the sting he felt from his brother's words and accusations. He was already upset with Ford for keeping secrets and lying about it. It would have been better if Ford was at least a good liar. Even if he knew deep down Ford was right, he'd vomit before admitting so. That was not who Stan was. Things like feelings, focusing on the things that hurt you...that was all for losers and pansies. That's what Pa always said. Ford deserved to be prodded and provoked. It's what he got for being all secretive.

"W-woah-!"

Stanley stopped suddenly when he wobbled and almost stumbled over something in the road, regaining his balance only just in time. His laughing died down, replaced by adrenaline. His smile died too when he looked down.

Ford caught up to Stanley, out of breath and confused.

"Stan...why..why did you..." The words practically died on his tongue, too shocked to even close his mouth. Stanley had gone dead quiet, barely holding onto the papers in his shaking arms anymore as he stared down at the dead opossum lying on the side of the street.

Chapter Text

Stanford deduced that the opossum, or Stanley 2, must have had an unfortunate accident with oncoming traffic. It seemed that during his time away, his Stanley had installed a road or path that made travel to the Mystery Shack more accessible for both him and potential customers. Whether he did this legally or not, Lord only knows, but Stanford's er ~intuition~ inched towards the latter. When the Shack was still reserved for him and him alone, he constructed it in the middle of the woods for the purpose of being isolated. Blushing red faces, stumbling over his words, hiding his freakish hands behind his back- he just couldn't deal with people. But all the effort he put into his own isolation eroded away after he departed because Stanley was an extravert at heart who needed to pay the bills somehow. Now whenever a gust of wind came blowing through the house, no one could ever be sure whether it was just a gust of wind or a distant car. And it had been particularly 'windy' out when they let Stanley 2 reunite with the rest of the fauna.

There of course were telltale signs of Stanley 2's fatal encounter marked all over its body too, if the blood wasn't an obvious enough sign. Their small body was completely deformed and left lying in an unnatural position, clearly the result of broken bones, and their chest remained completely still instead of the rhythmic rise and fall that indicated a steady heartbeat. It was just too coincidental for the creature to suddenly drop dead by the side of the road without anything to trigger its fear or simply because nature decided at that moment it was their time.

Trees around them shook with the wind- an actual gusts of wind this time. Some trees in the distance turned brown, then red, then green, then brown again before- oh! Suddenly they no longer existed in the first place. Some stray leaves bustled busily across the street before melting into the ground. The ground shook ever so faintly, but this mini earthquake ended no quicker than it began, and it remained undetected by the humans who inhabited the surface.

The opossum was dead and it was too late to save it. Nothing could be down for it now. The real trouble for Ford came with how he was going to approach Stanley about this. The poor boy must be in despair, and he would need to comfort him like a proper parent would. Everything else, their silly stupid fight, fell away then and there and no longer mattered to Ford. Stanley was hurting. Slowly, he reached out and laid a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Oh, Stanley," He breathed. "I'm so sorry..."

The small boy didn't respond at first. His shoulders initially tensed at the contact. He clenched his fists and sucked in a sharp breath, continuing to stare down at the animal wordlessly. Ford couldn't see his face, so he leaned over to get a better gander on Stan's reaction.

"Are you okay?" He asked gently. Of course Stanley wasn't okay, what a foolish question. But then Stanley whipped around to face his older brother and to Ford's surprise, he was smiling.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He replied nonchalantly. "I was already over it anyway, so I don't actually care." He shrugged.

Stanford didn't miss the slight tension and strain in his voice, but Stanley was so good at faking a smile he could have fooled anyone with its genuineness. Ford swallowed uneasily.

"Are you su-"

Stanley's feet thudded against the grass as he quickly marched past Ford and back to their house. The homework was still in his hand and he waved it up in the air behind him.

"I'm fine, old man! Come on, might as well get this chicken scratch out of the way so I don't have to do it later." He called back bubbily as he hopped up the porch steps and danced through the doorway.

His demeanor and eagerness had changed so suddenly it almost unnerved Ford. Well, at least he wanted to do his homework now, right? That was a plus. Still, big unsure footsteps followed the path of its smaller, more confident counterpart and traced their way back into the shack.

Closing the door behind him, Ford turned and saw that Stan had already settled himself at the dining table, legs swinging as he sat on a chair too tall for him and tapped his fingers against the wood impatiently.

"C'mon, c'mon!" He rushed his brother who, in his opinion, was taking a century and a half to pull up a chair and sit down next to him. He wanted to get on with this already, needed to occupy his mind, that way there'd be no room left to think about any other stuff that would get him all worked up.

Ford set himself down in the nearby chair and gave Stanley another concerned glance before picking up the sheets of paper and adjusting his glasses to have a look.

"Alright, let's start with math first, shall we? Get the hardest part out of the way first, right?" Stanford smirked slightly and nudged Stanley. Honestly Stanley's score when it came to school was zero across the board, but he always particularly loathed math. Even if he at least tried with English and other subjects, he wouldn't even peek at his math homework before sliding it to Stanford to complete for him. Maybe he was getting spoiled rotten by Stanford's endless heaps of help. As independent as he liked to act, he was always relying on someone...like an added weight.

"Let's see what we got here-" Stanford quickly flipped through the work sheet. "Ah, decimals, fractions, and percentages. Now, you're going into..."

"5th grade. My Ford and I just finished 4th."

"Right. Seems fitting enough. Hmm. I should have some textbooks in my bedroom that could help with this if we need it." He placed a hand on Stanley's back. "Would you be a dear and go get them for me? They should be the first three books on the row second from the bottom on my bookshelf. You'll know them when you see them." Stan nodded with an 'ok,' and slid off his seat, running out of the room and down the hall. He could use the occupation.

Stan ran his fingers along the walls, feeling its texture as he passed room after room, tracking down the bedroom. He had gotten used to most of the place by now, but a few things still stood out to him. One, this house was so dingy. The wallpapers were old and torn, revealing its true wooden interior, and he couldn't help himself a few times when he stopped to pick at some of the loose seams. It was too satisfying. It wasn't just the wallpaper that indicated how bad of a shape the house was in. The whole place looked like a tornado ran through it. Stanley sometimes had to step over broken glass or dodge a random hole in the floor, and some rooms didn't even have doors on their hinges, let alone a wall to support one at all. The only place that was well kept was the shop and museum, oddly enough. Appearances must need to be kept up somehow if they wanted to pay the bills, Stanley assumed. If Stan and Ford really lived here together, they definitely didn't take care of their house very well. And that's the second, more suspicious thing. Ford wasn't the most cleanly and organized person out there, but he was certainly a lot better than Stanley was. He never would have let their home fall into this much disrepair, his pride simply wouldn't allow it. Not only that, but so much of the furniture was so...Stanley. Too Stanley. The shop was one thing, but it was hard to find anything in the house that reflected Ford's tastes. There wasn't even a single bookshelf in the living room, for crying out loud! There was something Stanford wasn't letting onto and it annoyed Stanley to no end. While pondering about it he very nearly passed the room he needed, giving it an absentminded glimpse, but his hand grabbed onto the doorway tight and he pulled himself backwards to have a second peer.

Finally, something that screamed 'Stanford.' It might as well be the only thing. Stanley wasn't allowed in the lab, Stanford told him it was 'too dangerous,' and he was gonna 'get himself hurt' and all that nonsense adults ruffle their feathers over. Stanley argues that he's being oppressed by the authority and its in his youthful nature to rebel. Stanford's room was so dark and mysterious. Stanley guessed that's what most people feel when they get a first impression of him before realizing he's just a huge nerd who doesn't know how to act around people. When Stanley first woke up in this world, all he saw was a dark figure looming over him, and it immediately activated his fight and flight mode because yes, he had both. He lunged at the large figure (because he wasn't afraid of nothing!) and attacked and punched and clawed and screamed until he was finally pulled off, which was no easy effort for the man to accomplish, not to brag. The old unfamiliar man held the boy by the collar of his shirt, keeping him at arms length, but even then Stanley still didn't give up his fight. He kept throwing futile punches and yelling out obscenities as he swung this way and that, trying to loosen himself from the stranger's grip. It wasn't until the man gave him his hand that Stanley got distracted by its six fingers, not before trying to chomp on it and getting scolded of course.

Stanley usually only visits this room at night, when he goes to Stanford for comfort after his nightmares, so he doesn't have much of a clue of what it looks like in the daytime. Stanford's 'bed' wasn't much of a bed at all- more of a couch, but Stanley was so small they both fit on it fine. Stanley supposed that was just like Stanford, to not bother sleeping in a bed. At home, he all too often fell asleep at his desk doing homework and Ma had to pick him up and carry him to the top bunk. He was never very good at taking proper care of himself, always 'forgetting' to eat, sleep, rest...

Something twisted in Stan's gut and it felt like a weight was just dropped onto his chest, kicking the breath out of him. What was this? He's never felt like this before, much less over his brother's awful sleep schedule, why is he feeling like this all of a sudden now? It certainly wasn't his fault his brother was a workaholic. He couldn't explain it, much less did he want to, so he shrugged it off. It probably wasn't important.

The room was full of strange objects and bottles and trinkets Stan couldn't identify. It must all be things from the future. His Stanford would've had a field day if he was in Stanley's place right now. It was all a bunch of strange out of this world science-y gadgets that Stanley had never even heard of like walkmans and floppy disks. Stanley casually grabbed a strange device that read "flip-phone" and opened it. He pressed some of the buttons, waiting for something to happen but the screen remained black. Unimpressed, he closed the lid and tossed it back onto the desk he found it, cringing slightly when he heard glass shatter. The thing was dusty anyway, whatever it was it couldn't have been that important to Stanford. It technically wasn't history he was preserving, at least not to him.

His eyes scanned miscellaneous items, papers with coffee mug stains, a stained glass window, vials and jugs with strange liquids inside them, a triangular prism that gleamed rainbow when tilted in the light just right...and finally his gaze landed on the bookcase. He went to grab the three books as Ford instructed, not thinking much of it at all until something shined gold out of the corner of his eye. Now Stanley simply wouldn't be Stanley if he were to ignore a lustrous glimmer that promised riches, so of course he had to drop everything and investigate. Sitting on the very tip top of the shelf, Stan spotted three leather-bound books ornate with what he hoped was gold. He couldn't read the title from the spine, but now that it had gotten his attention he's not just going to do the just thing and mind his own business. He's not some noble and righteous prince. What he was, however, was short, much too short to reach the books from his height. Even on the very tips of his toes, his fingers barely brushed the bottom on the books. He swiveled his head about the room and focused on some stray books laying about. He collected them like they were hidden items in a game, and one by one, he stacked them atop one another and used them as a stepping stool. With a slight groan he stretched his whole body and just managed to reach the far left one and pulled it off the shelf, blowing the dust off.

3. That was all the title read, written atop a six-fingered cutout made of golden leaf paper. Stanley humphed. So much for golden riches. Un-intrigued, he went to shove the book back on its shelf but underestimated how heavy it was. It toppled out of his hand and slammed down onto the floor. Stanley cringed, waiting to hear Ford call out from the dining room and come see what mischief the boy had gotten himself into again but nothing happened. Letting out the breath he was holding, Stanley jumped off the stack of books and picked the book back up. It had flipped onto a random page by then and Stanley gave it a sparing glance before climbing back onto the stepping stool he made. However, looking back down at it again Stanley noticed it had pictures. Being only nine years old, a book instantly becomes more fascinating to a child when it has illustrations in it, and it was only in Stan's nature at that point to pause and take a second look. It was only then he realized the page it had flipped onto was a drawing of his brother! It was his brother's older form, the one waiting for him in the other room. Stanley read the title and, well it was his brother's writing alright. The whole page was written in the poppycock his twin called cursive, but the headline was his brother's full name, and the rest being what Stanley could only assume was a brief autobiography.

Now it was here Stanley realized the true gold that sat in his hands. This was practically a goose that laid golden eggs right in front of him, and who was he to pass up an opportunity as good as this? All this time, ever since Stan set foot in this dimension, he's never been given a single full proper answer as to what his life was like in the future and he couldn't for the life of him understand why it required such secrecy...unless he wasn't being given the full story. If this was really his brother's secret diary, it had to have something about him in there, and more importantly, it had to have the truth. Yeah, he was going to do it. He was going to take this book and find out what was rightfully his to know. He deserved it after everything that's happened, after being taken away from his home and everything he loved, after being isolated in this place for damn near a month, his only other friend an opossum that would still be alive if Ford just hadn't made him let it go-

"Is everything ok in there?" Stan jumped when he heard Stanford call out to him. "Do you need help finding the textbooks?" Stan heard the distant scrape of chairs pushed against the wooden floor and panicked.

"No! I got it, it's just a little heavy! Stay where you are, I don't need your help!" Stanley snapped back quickly. Came out a bit meaner than he wanted it too, but that's okay. He was thankful for his 'tough kid' reputation at that moment. Stanford wavered in his place.

"...Alright then." He heard the older reply hesitantly, before plopping back down in his seat. Stanley gave a relieved sigh, before making quick work of tucking the journal under his arm and hopping off the book pile. He didn't have time to haul three big books to his room, so this one would have to do...for now, if he remained this fortunate. He needed to be secretive. Briefly a thought ran through his mind about how wrong this was, that he was messing things up with his brother more than he already had, but Stanley instinctually dispelled them. He justified it to himself; it's really more of Stanford's fault for not just telling him in the first place. If Stanford was simply more honest and stopped walking on eggshells around Stanley, than Stan wouldn't have to resort to lengths like this. And he wasn't stealing per se, he was just borrowing it for a while, and then he'd give it back.

Oh...that sounded familiar. He didn't dwell on it.

Something odd about humans is that we instantly become more cautious and paranoid when we know we're being naughty, even if there's no threat or justified reason to be. Stanley was completely in the clear; Stanford had no reason to be suspicious of him so he stayed sat in the dining room peering through Stanley's other homework while he waited for the boy to return by his side. Yet still, Stanley tip-toed out of the room and slowly crept his way towards his bedroom, journal in hand. If his foot so much as made a squeak against the wooden floor or he the book nearly slid out of his arms and fell, Stanley would freeze in place and jolt up like a startled kitten, waiting and keeping a sharp ear for any discontented noises from his brother. Then slower and even more carefully than before, he scaled the hallways like it was full of secret traps. Sometimes it felt like the whole shack was shaking with how wobbly his legs felt. When he finally got to his bedroom he leapt inside and silently slid the journal under his bed. He made sure to drape his blankets off the side of the bed so that they were covering the book. He couldn't have any ghost ratting him out to his brother now could he? He took a step back from the bed and briefly scanned over his work before backing out of his bedroom. He eyed it one last time before turning and heading back down the hall.

Now that the tricky part of his mission was over he could focus on the next objective, which fortunately was far easier and didn't require him to become a thief. When he got back to Ford's room he worked obediently, grabbing the required textbooks and piling them on top of each other. They honestly weren't that heavy to Stanley, but he could definitely pull a convincing balancing act in front of Ford if need be. Books in arms, he left the room and made his way into the dining room to reunite with his brother, his secret safe with him for now.