Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Happy birthday, Sixer!” thought Stanley as he dutifully trudged behind the older Ford. By his own calculations he and his twin were now 21! Legal age for drinking! Woo-ho!

Too bad that the nomadic life he lived didn’t allow for getting roaring drunk, not without incurring in Ford’s silent disapproval as he tucked the younger man in for the night and watched over him for signs of alcohol poisoning or other illnesses.

The last time Stan had gotten drunk he’d been unceremoniously woken up in the morning by the pelt he used as blanket being pulled from his sleeping form and forced to march for half a day with a hungover by an unsympathetic Ford. That night he’d let it slip that yesterday was the eleventh anniversary from the day his father had sold him for 3$ to a sketchy man. He managed to bite the man’s fingers and hide in a trash can for hours before the creep had given up and left. His story had been received by Ford with a few minutes of stunned silence and the request for cuddles, which he happily accepted.

In the last two years Stanley had fallen out of his home dimension and into the Multiverse, had been found by another version of his twin, and started following him from universe to universe, each trying to find their own way home, the duo had encountered dozens of other Fords and Stans and Stanley had become used to the feeling of seeing his twin’s face looking back at him.

It didn’t hurt anymore when the other Fords scoffed and glared at him, the older Stanford Stan had started to call “his own Ford” glaring back and baring his teeth at them until they moved on or looked away.

It doesn’t hurt…

Stanley’s eyes caught on the flash of light again and he turned around, looking back at the black helmet of the other Ford, watching the man stalk his way in the market’s crowd, heavy boots scraping the dirt and dust as the older man – and it was an older version of his brother – marched forward, the alien crowd parting around him like the water with Moses. His palms started sweating, and he felt his heart pick up the pace.

With one last glance at his Ford’s back, he sprinted in the direction the other Ford had vanished into.

He looked wildly around, searching for a flash of black in the colourful riot of the market and feeling almost nauseous with nerves, his mind screaming at him that he’d lost him, Ford had left him behind AGAIN!

He was so concentrated trying to find the man that he almost jumped out of his skin when a gloved hand grabbed his arm. He spun around, getting in a fighting stance, and the older Ford raised his hands in surrender. They faced one another for what felt like an eternity.

“Hey, I think that-“ he started, feeling almost foolish when the older man took the helmet off with deft hands, flashing his grey hair and wrinkled skin, but the older man was giving him an encouraging smile, and the feeling of home home home did not wane and instead it grew louder, pulsating at the rhythm of his beating heart, so he steeled himself and finished the sentence.

“I think that you may be my brother.”

He expected the Ford to sneer, maybe scoff at him or roll his eyes, but the older man simply kept smiling, looking almost apologetic, and said kindly: “I am truly sorry, but I believe you’re incorrect.”

“Can you check?” blurted out Stanley, pleading eyes frantically scanning the other man’s face, looking for any sign of contempt or hatred. Looking at his hands for fists, for blows to come, for the stay away from me. The fingers were splayed open, in an almost pacifying gesture, showing him that no harm was coming.

The Ford gave him a sad nod, one hand slowly moving towards his pocket.

“Of course, here, let me-” He said, pulling out from his black coat the same device his own Ford had used on him and scanned one of Stan’s hair.

Stan didn’t dare to breathe as the machine made a soft humming noise. There was a ping.

The Ford’s face was frozen in the same polite smile. A minute passed, two.

Neither man spoke. The world moved around them.

Stan felt himself deflate.

“I guess I was wrong.” He said with a small chuckle, feeling his hopes shrivel up and die, shame colouring his face.

He started turning to go and look for his Ford when he felt a six-fingered gloved hand wrap impossibly gentle around his wrist, keeping him in place. He turned around, the other man’s face having paled considerably, eyes impossibly big looking back at him.

“Stanley?”

Sixer’s voice was hushed, almost awed as his eyes scanned his face like he wanted to sear it in his mind.

Stan smiled, feeling the tug of home home home settle in his heart.

“Heya, Sixer.” he saluted the other before someone pushed him from behind, sending him sprawling in the dirt.

His own Ford, the one he’d been following for the past two years, snarled in his twin’s face, having finally traced his missing shadow.

Sixer’s eyes didn’t move from his face and Stanley could see the exact moment when his mind shut down in favour of protect my baby brother!, something that had happened less and less since hitting high school before it petered out in their senior year.

The two Fords circled each other, eyes calculating, fingers twitching, each trying to find an opening to attack. Before they could maul each other, a second Stan appeared, putting himself squarely between the two men.

Sixer gave a high pitched noise, lunging forward to grab the other Stan’s jacket sleeve and physically drag him away from the fight, growling at his adversary all the while. The other Stan seemed all too happy to let himself be dragged, whispering at Sixer, probably trying to redirect the attention to himself. Stanley figured it was his turn to step in. He got up and grabbed the back of his Ford’s coat vest, giving it a tug and trying not to flinch when the angry man twirled around to face him.

He took a step back and raised his hands half in surrender half to shield his face.

“It’s just me.” he said, immediately seeing Ford’s shoulders relax.

Ford then picked him up, potato-sack stile and started marching towards the alien-hotel they were currently staying. Stan obediently let himself go lax, the action having saved his life many times. Behind him he heard Sixer snarl, the noise making the hair on the back of Stan’s neck stand on end, and the other Stan utter a soft “here we go…”.

He didn’t have to check to know they were being followed.

Ford entered at the alien hotel with the force of a storm brewing, Stan didn’t have the time to wiggle out of his hold that two strong hands were yanking him back and right in Sixer’s embrace. Ford spun around, a hand resting on the laser gun.

The two Fords faced each other - shoulder squared and jaws set - for a moment, before the other Stanley wiggled around them and smiled at the receptionist.

“We’ll book a room, thank you.” he chimed in, flashing a dazzling smile.

The two Fords kept a whispered conversation in some alien language all the way to the new room, the Stans standing between them to keep them separated.

As soon as they arrived in front of the room Sixer and the other Stan – it was going to become confusing very fast, Stan had to think a nickname for the other Stan other than “the other Stan”. Scar-face? Scarry (a mix between Scar and Scary)? – smiled down at him (he was an inch or so higher than Stanley. Stan already knew it was going to be annoying about it. He didn’t think about how the two Fords, how his own twin, towered over him, almost as tall as Pa had been the last time he’d seen him) and said: “Scarry is a nice nickname, Kiddo.”

Stan felt his face flush, feeling both Fords’ eyes on him, their argument forgotten for a moment.

“Scarry?” asked Ford, tilting his head.

“I am sure we can pick up the discussion tomorrow morning. It’s time for me and Stanley to rest.” said Sixer, clapping his hands once and putting a warm-comforting hand on his back, all six fingers splayed open, and gently pushing him towards the door.

Ford seemed to recover from the day’s surprise and grabbed roughly Stan’s arm, before snarling in Sixer’s face: “Who do you think you are, coming between me and Stan like that?”

“He’s my twin.” chimed in Stan, gently tugging his wrist free.

Sixer nodded, smiling smugly. “I am.” he confirmed.

Ford’s eyes went from Sixer’s face to Stan’s, before he turned around without another word and stalked towards their bedroom, black coat billowing behind him like a cape.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” said the other Stan, eyes locked on the retreating Ford’s back.

Sixer’s shoulders tensed, glancing guiltily between the younger and older Stan.

“I can sleep on the ground if you would feel more comfortable sleeping in the same room.” he offered, only for the other Stan to wave the offer away.

“Hah! Nah, old man. I’ll get my own room, got enough money for it. Don’t worry about me, I’ll come and get you two in the morning. Also: congratulation! You found your brother.” And with these last words the Stan sauntered in the vague direction Ford went, probably going back at the entrance to ask for another room.

Stan looked at Sixer, who towered over him, and smiled at him before pushing him gently in the room and closing the door behind them. They had much to talk, and then Stan would apologize and then-

For the second time that day Stan was picked up and this time he was deposited in the bed, which was a round mattress in a sunken circle in the middle of the room, the edges paddled with pillows.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” asked Sixer, and Stanley nodded, crawling out of the bed-pit and into the in-suite bathroom, feeling his twin’s eyes on the back of his head.

Once they were in the bed, Stan tried to keep as much space between them as possible, trying not to be suffocating and crowd into Sixer’s personal space, trying not to be clingy even as every atom of him screamed for his brother’s touch, only for Sixer to gently pull his arm until Stan’s face was hiding in his chest, the strong beat of his brother’s heart against his cheek.

Flustered, he tried to pull back, but before he could, Sixer was spooning him, hooking his chin on top of Stan’s head and intertwining their legs together like they were six again, both twins snuggling in the Stan Fort™, and felt himself relax, melting against Sixer, his touch-starved body greedily soaking up the physical affection.

The Ford he’d been travelling with hadn’t been great with physical affection, accepting a hug but never initiating it, and accepting cuddles at night only in rare occasions, citing the need to keep their guard up, but privately Stan thought Ford just wasn’t a fan of physical affection – and that was ok, he hurried to reassure himself. It isn’t like he is a little kid who needs someone to hold his hand!

But as he laid there, surrounded by his brother, he felt something crack in his chest. He sniffled, hoping it was quiet enough or that Sixer was sleeping already, but the tightening of his grip showed that he was not quiet enough. His heart gave a painful squeeze and his breath hitched in a silent sob.

“Oh, Stanley...” He could hear Sixer’s deep, rumbling voice resonate in his bones.

He sounded almost crushed, and Stan was reminded vividly of the night he’d broken the spinning thingy, but that had nothing to do with then: back then Ford had been furious, not sad!

He felt something move on top of his head, and he could almost imagine Ford nuzzling in his hair, burning his noise and inhaling deeply.

“It’s ok. I am here, you’re safe.”

That’s what did it.

Stanley sobbed, the noise impossibly loud in the quiet of the night, murmuring broken ‘m sorry between hiccups. Sixer was rubbing his back, making little upset noises and comforting him.

Stan falls asleep like that, tear tracks on his face and smiling in his sleep for the first time since he was sixteen, two fistful of his brother’s sweater in his hands.

Chapter Text

Stan’s face scrunched unhappily as his pillow tried to move. The pillow stilled.

Somewhere above his head, someone sighed. He smiled, nuzzling in the warm-soft-Sixer in front of him, and felt the arm around his waist tighten in response.

Someone knocked at the door.

The pillow moved again in small increments, as if it was trying to keep Stan from noticing its movements. Stan gave a small unhappy whine and the pillow went still again.

Even with his eyes still closed, Stan could feel Sixer staring at the top of his head, expression conflicted and he buried his smile in the older man’s sweater, sighing happily. 

The door slammed open, letting the corridor’s light in. Stan hissed, squinting his eyes against the assault. The Other Stan’s voice came from the door. He sounded still half-asleep. Stan wanted him to be fully asleep and to go away.

“As much as I love to see that you’re sleeping for once, we gotta go. This hotel has breakfast included and it closes in less than an hour. There could be something for us that's safe to eat.”

Grumbling, Stan pulled himself up from Sixer use the opportunity to escape. Jerk!

He hears the in-suite bathroom’s door open and shut, signalling he had lost in the sibling morning-war-to-use-the-bathroom.

“What a great start of the day!”

“Yes, Stanley. We do.” answered him Ford from the door, causing Stan to grumble some more.

He was probably already dressed, the early-riser-jerk! He never let Stan catch five more minutes of shut-eye.

“Urgh! He is just The Worst.”

However, once he opened one eye enough to glare at him, he saw that, contrary to his mental image, Ford wasn’t smiling smugly from the corridor, he was looking at the closed bathroom’s door with a carefully neutral expression.

Huh.

They found the restaurant after a bit of searching: it was on the floor above Ford's room in a side room with a red circle with a neon blue "x" on it.

Stan is pretty sure that, no matter how many years he spends in space, alien architecture will never make sense.

Of course Ford has no problem just strolling in the restaurant with his chin held high and mighty, perfectly ready to start the day. Do not think Stan had forgiven him for waking him up! He’ll have his Revenge!

The seating room is in one room and the buffet stile breakfast is two doors on the right. Alien architecture! Doesn’t make any sense!

Sixer seems to have used the time he was awake before Stan to come up with a line of questioning, so Stan barely has the time to sit in a chair - with six legs and a slightly curved back - that his twin sits at his right, glancing at his own left until the other Stan sits there with a fond roll of eyes. Sixer beams at his alternative self before turning his attention to Stan.

 “How did you end up in the Multiverse?” he asks him, one hand reaching to cradle his cheek, eyes clouded with worry.

Stan lets him, figuring that the shock of finding his younger twin gallivanting in an alien market was enough for Sixer - who had never been huge on public shows of affection - to want some hands-on time (that had always been Stan's thing and Stan knows that in the last months of their senior years Ford had started not resenting his affectionate nature just... shying from it? From Stan?).

One thing was sure: Sixer wasn’t going to hear any complains from Stanley!

“We are not sure yet.” answered for him Ford, sounding almost pained, who had to bring a seat - not made with human anatomy in mind - from a corner and was now sitting at Stan's right side.

Stan glances at him, before hearing Sixer’s growling. He looks back at his twin and sees his face pulled up in a snarl, eyes blazing at his own counterpart. His hand was still soft and warm on Stan's cheek.

Wordlessly, Stan nuzzles the hand, making a small, almost pained noise, and tries not to smirk at the way his twin's eyes snap on him. From the other Stan's not-so-muffled laugher he wasn’t particularly successful. Sixer didn't seem to mind being manipulated, however, as he made a low humming sound and raised his other hand to gently rake all six fingers in Stan's hair, successfully turning his brain into mush.

“How should I call you? We can’t be both Stan. It’s going to get confusing.” He said to his counterpart, who smiled. His smile was a little stained, his eyes a little too wide, and Stan glanced at Sixer to see if he’d noticed the same thing. Sixer was looking at the other Stan with a curious tilt of his head and Stan figured he’d get there soon enough.
“You can call me Lee, if you’d like. It’s what Ace calls me anyway.” Lee laughed, trying for bravado and ending right in desperate. Stan sat a little more straight at the sound, casually glancing around. Maybe Lee had sniffed troubles – Stan himself was pretty good at that, even if he had problems keeping out of them. Especially if it was the family kind of troubles – but nothing looked amiss. There were a couple of aliens sitting and eating, but they didn’t look dangerous and Stan quickly dismissed them.

Sixer gave a low whine, finally having caught up and Stan’s hairs stood on end, his mind blaring with find out what made Sixer sad.
He glanced at Lee, who was very studiously avoiding all the eyes on him.

“It’s ok Digit. I’m ok.” He said, gently batting away Sixer’s hands as he tried to fuss him, and Sixer made another upset noise.
Stan waited for the moment Lee was going to look at him to share a look of what would he do without us here? But it never came.

It finally clicked. He was scared of losing Sixer.

Stan looked, really looked at them. Sixer was moments away from jumping from his chair, hovering over Lee and snarling at shadows, trying to find out what had upset Lee, who was sitting weird - too relaxed, meaning that he a breath of air from vibrating out of his chair and trying to hide it.

Sixer gave Stan an imploring look, silently asking for his help. Yup. That did it. Stan had just got another brother. Weird how quickly it happened, but oh well! If it made Sixer and Lee happy he would sacrifice himself. For the greater good!
From Lee’s look of dread and hope he must have realized his current situation.
“Too bad! You just got adopted!” thought Stan, feeling just a tad vicious as he got up from the chair, attracting everyone’s eyes on him.
“Huh. I guess I am a triplet then. When we go back home we’ll have to sort the paper out.” He winked, relishing in his brother’s small chuckle and seeing the other Stan’s smile become more genuine, shoulders relaxing against his will.
He huffed, eyes rolling playfully as he scooted over just a little bit. Sixer immediately descended on him, sitting on the chair’s edge and starting petting Lee’s hair, murmuring affectionate nothing.

In the end, both Fords went searching for food that was edible to humans, scanning each plate and bring it to the table where Stan and Lee were eating and getting to know each other. Each time Sixer came back to Stan and Lee laughing, his smile grew impossibly large, almost vibrating in place. It was weird, given how ominous he dressed - minus the helmet that he had clipped at his side but not put on since taking it off yesterday.

Lee mentioned it was something it helped Sixer with his work, but before he could explain what that was, he froze, alien-fork halfway from his mouth, eyes growing wide, fixated on Stan.

Feeling like he was in a nightmare, Stan’s eyes follow his stare right where the weird alien tattoo he’d acquired before meeting Ford was visible from a hole in his sleeve. He looked back at the other Stan.
“Please. Don’t-“ he didn’t even finish the sentence that Lee’s voice was ringing out.

“ACE!” he barked, jumping on his feet.

Stan closed his eyes, head hanging low in resignation as he heard the scuffle of boots on alien-linoleum.

“Here he comes.” he thought, feeling a pang of nostalgia. How long since his brother had showed anything remotely like worry for him? Five years? More?

A part of him wanted to feel annoyed at being clearly babied, but the feeling of being cared for again was still too new for him to be upset.

Sixer busted in the seating zone like a dark nightmare, eyes scanning the room for any signs of dangers before landing on Lee, the traitor, who pointed a finger at Stan. Stan gave his brother a little wave, silently mourning his freedom.

“Stan got a weird alien-looking tattoo thing-y.”

Immediately his brother descended on him, fussing and clutching like a mother hen. Stan let himself be manhandled, prodded, and scanned. At some point Ford arrived and the two Fords started discussing Stan’s weird tattoo, both in English and in another alien language that did noting to hide that they were cussing each other out.

“I am fine.” whined Stan, finally tired of being prodded and pushed around, trying to wiggle out of his brother’s hold.

Sixer let him go, worried eyes following him, but unwilling to dig his nails in Stan’s arm to keep him in place like their mom used to when Stan got in a fight.

It had always seemed a little counter productive, how mom would help him feeling better by giving him another reason to wear some make up, but she knew what she was doing. Look at how well Stan grew up!

After what felt like hours, Sixer and Ford conceded that the tattoo didn’t seem dangerous and if Stan got it two years ago, it probably wasn’t immediately dangerous. Stan seized the offered freedom and ran with it, loudly agreeing with the Fords when they mentioned needing to finish the shopping that – Stan – got interrupted the day before. 

 Stan tries to not feel guilty about burdening his brother, and he was almost successful! This is the story he is going to stick to, no matter how many worried looks Lee gives him.

Even in the early hours, the Market was fuller than the day before, aliens moving from stall to stall like a heartbeat, dragging Stan and his entourage in the middle of it. Stan felt himself smiling, eyes scanning the crowd, looking for faces and expressions, hands, words and gestures. It felt good being in the middle of something like this, being a part of something bigger than himself.

Ford had always hated being in a crowd, and even if he couldn’t understand why, Stan always made sure to keep an eye on him, steering him out of the worst of it when it looked like he was getting overwhelmed, shielding him from anyone and letting him take a breather in a quiet secluded corner.

Ford didn’t even glance at him as he made through the crowd, disappearing in a few moments, and Stan tried to swallow the bitter taste of being left behind. A six fingered hand ruffled his hair and, looking up, he saw Sixer looking at him, a sad expression on his face.

“Will you be ok?” he asked him and Stan nodded, smiling.

Sixer’s hand lingered, petting his hair and caressing his check, before he started walking away.

“Don’t leave the market and if anything happens yell for me and I’ll hear you. Both of you!”

Lee gave their brother a salute, laughing heartily: “Yes Poindexter, yes sir!”

Sixer’s laugher followed as the duo as they started looking for anything interesting currently on sale.

Stan's eye was caught by something shiny and he discreetly looked at his left.

There was a stall with a collection of what looked like make up. What caught his attention was a lipstick that looked like it came from Earth: pink, in a fake-golden plastic tube.

Stan was struck by a thought: “It would look good on me.” and his gut clenched painfully, as he looked around to make sure that no one had seen him ogling at makeup, the fear of being found out and beaten up etched in his skin and broken bones.

Sixer was nowhere to be seen, Lee was a few paces behind him, hands firmly in his pockets, and Ford was talking with an alien a couple of stalls on their right. He seemed to be bargaining with them for a cool-looking part of the gun he was making.

Stan tries to catch Ford's eyes, but the big nerd was too busy arguing with a literal alien to even look in his direction, so, when he was sure one was looking, he struck.

He barely managed to lift the lipstick when a bigger hand closed around his wrist, causing him to jerk and drop it back.

Lee laughed loudly, gesturing with his other hand to a near shelf, discretely covering their joined hands and giving his wrist a warning squeeze. Stan yanked free his wrist from the other's grip and quickly put both hands in the huge jacket's pockets to try and hide their shaking.

He felt light-headed and the light was suddenly too bright, the crowd too loud. Stan was struck by the need to sit down, which Lee seemed to understand immediately as he guided him in a secluded part of the market with a comforting hand on his shoulder.

As soon as he saw a chair that looked like it wouldn't break under his weight, he sat down, not even bothering to hide how shaken he was, only trying to breathe and not fucking spiral in a panic attack as Lee shielded him from possible onlookers, keeping an eye out for exactly the kind of trouble that Stan had tried to get them into.

"Breathe kiddo" he told him, glancing back at him.

He tried to glare at the older man, or at least to snark that he hadn’t needed any help – even if it was a complete lie – but gave up, choosing to concentrate on not passing out, which would have been the last straw.

"’m sor-ry" he managed to choke out, causing Lee to give him another worried look over his shoulder.

"Nah, don't worry. Nothing happened. Nothing is broken. We're good. You're good.

This whole place is infamous for its security, Starboy warned me at least a dozen time not to steal anything and to go to him if I needed more money.

No matter who you are or how good you are - and you were good there, Kiddo, make no mistake - they'll catch you."

Lee sent him another look, before adding with a too-casual tone of voice: "Didn't your Ford warn you about the local security?"

Stan felt like his face was ready to combust as he meekly shook his head.

"I don't think so, no. But maybe he did and I wasn't listening." and silently added: “or maybe he thought I would be caught and it would teach me a lesson about not stealing.”

From the look Lee gave him the older man heard his thought loud and clear.

Embarrassingly, Stan felt his eyes well up and he turned his face to look at the ground, discretely trying to blink the tears away, but, as always once he got himself started, the tears just kept coming.

It was something that had always felt humiliating: how prone to tearing up he'd been since hitting teenagerhood.

It was like a switch had turned when he became 14 (after overhearing his father saying to one of his poker buddies how he should have dropped Stan on his head when he was a baby, it would have saved him a lot of money) and he kept tearing up about nothing (real men don't cry was one of his father's lesson that Stan hadn't managed to learn - and one of the most painful to forget!).

Sixer had initially taken the new emotional him in stride, shielding him from prying eyes and trying to cheer him up, but as they became older, his brother has seemed to become just as embarrassed by Stan's tears as Stan was and had started averting his eyes when Stan was tearing up, at one point even straight up leaving the room after telling him to get himself back under control!

Now Stan was trying to rein in his emotions as they battled in his heart when he felt two warm hands cradling his face, calloused thumbs sweeping at his tears, as Sixer seemed to appear from thin air.

He dared to look up and saw his twin's warm, concerned eyes looking back at him. As if his body had been waiting for him to be there, a new wave of tears hit Stan, who felt his breath hitch. Sixer made a low worried noise before lowering himself to stand face to face with Stan, and kept sweeping at his tears.

Stan tried to reassure him that he was fine, that he was just being a baby about nothing,

"Are you ok? What happened?" he asked them.

It was Lee who answered, as Stan was still struggling to speak coherently.

"I saw Stan try to get the other Stanford's attention and being ignored, so he tried to do what a Stan does best." he said with a small shrug, before adding faux-casual: "His Ford didn't deem important to inform him about the security".

Sixer’s face darkened and Stan felt himself tense up, his stomach dropping at the bottom of a bottomless pit.

"Didn't he give you any money? What if you needed to buy something?"

Stan gave a very deliberate shrug.

"If  I need anything I can either go to him for the money or I can try to shoplift it."

Sixer opened and closed his mouth without a sound for several seconds before he gulped. He tried to scold his face in a blank mask, but Stan could see the storm of emotions raging just under the surface.

"I see." he said, voice controlled but cold, before putting a hand in one of the internal pockets of the coat and pulling out a disk the size of a child’s closed fist, offering it to Stan.

“Here, you can use this to buy what you need, I’ll just get another one.” he said, smiling at Stan even as his shoulders tensed before relaxing forcedly. He got up in a fluid movement, giving Lee a firm nod. He leaned one last second to nuzzle Stan's forehead before turning on his heels, black coat billowing around him, looking for all the world like a soldier preparing to go to war.

"Keep him company. Call me if anything happens." He ordered Lee curtly before disappearing back in the thick of the crowd. For a few seconds there was silence between the Stans before Lee gave a low whistle.

"I wouldn't want to swap place with Ford for anything in the Multiverse."

Silently, Stan agreed with him.