Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Don’t you dare to forget you owe me two favors already!” and Jorge slammed the receiver so hard that the sound of cracking reverberated through the whole room. “Asshole!”

He took a few calming breaths and then took the receiver once again. After punching some numbers, Jorge waited until the sounds of connection changed to a slightly annoyed voice of his charge.

“What?! I thought we agreed I could have these days to myself!”

“Plans have changed. I need you in Idaho”.

There was a loud groaning.

“Be at yours in half an hour. Tell Carmen to arrange everything”.

Jorge huffed. “Call her yourself”.

“So am I finally allowed to drive AND call?”

“Cheeky bastard”, Jorge grumbled half-heartedly and got a chuckle in reply. “You won, I'll tell her. Drive safely”.

“See ya!” and the line went dead.

Jorge smiled with affection and made another call.

“Carmen, my lovely beautiful lioness! How's your day?”

“Could be better, Boss. So, stop with the pleasantries, please, I'm not in the mood”.

“No problemo. Shrimp is going to Clayton, Idaho…”

“When?”

“Two hours”.

There was a really heavy sigh on the other side of the line.

“Could you please at least once give me a day or so?”

“So? Will everything be ready?”

“Of course it will! Not sure which tickets I'll find… No plane?”

“Yes, still with that furball”.

“So the hotel with pets, noted. Which alias?”

“Use ‘Antonio’, it was cleared last week”.

“Got it. Anything else?”

“I'm leaving it to your judgement”.

“Gee, thanks”, Carmen's voice was really sarcastic as she ended the call.

Well, Jorge kept her for her competence first. As long as she did her job perfectly and didn't overstep the boundaries, Jorge could close eyes at her rudeness.

***

Santino, his charge, arrived exactly at 29 minutes of his own countdown, looking weary and frowning. His dyed black hair was pulled up in the bun, revealing shaved areas at both temples. 

Jorge looked at his new look with disdain.

“What is it?”

Santino tapped at the shaved area.

“New style. Saw someone and decided to try. You don't like it?”

“Unusual. But that's your hair, so I won't say anything…” Jorge nodded at the couch and moved to sit himself at the adjacent chair. “So, Santino…”

Santino raised his palm to stop him. Jorge sighed again. Teenagers…

“Okay, what is it now?”

“Felix”.

Jorge raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t Felix already used a month ago?”

Felix shrugged. “I decided I still liked it”.

Teenagers…

“Well, Felix, about your job. It's as usual. Diego once again decided to screw our partners, so we'll be screwing his ones in return. You remember Mark Verner?”

“The fake painter?” Felix studied his black nails with a bored expression.

“Exactly.”

“Want me to scare him or deal with him?”

“Up to you”.

At that Felix grinned and finally looked at Jorge. “What, are you in good mood or something?”

Jorge chuckled. “Consider it my thanks for your last job well done”.

Felix rolled his eyes. “Don't I always do it well?”

“That's true, you're the best damn guy I ever had in my command”.

At that Felix finally lost his bored expression and started to look what he really was: a seventeen years old boy, always hungry for praise. He looked away, embarrassed, and started picking at his nails.

Jorge couldn't help himself and reached to pat his charge at the head, disturbing the gelled hair in the process and getting indignant screech in reply.

“So, did you at least get a good rest?”

“Not really”, Felix swatted Jorge’s hands away from his hair and tried to restore it to its former style.

Ah, nightmares again. Come to think of it, it was that time of year again…

“You should never regret what you did”, Jorge molded his tone into one of compassion. “You did the world a favor by getting rid of that scum…”

“Yeah, I know…” Felix hunched himself. “But he still was…”

“He stopped being your father the moment he pulled you from school”, Jorge interrupted. “So stop mourning him. That man doesn't deserve any place in your memories, especially as a father”.

Like I am, he wanted to add, but decided against it. Felix definitely still hasn't let go of his family’s ties, but Jorge liked that boy enough to wait however long it would take for them to fade out. 

“Anyway”, Jorge patted his charge once again, this time on his shoulder. “Do you want to spend some time together when you return? That movie you were waiting for should come out already?”

Felix’s face brightened: “Really? I thought you didn't like period dramas?”

He definitely still didn't. 

“Well, you talked so much about that Duchess that I became intrigued. So how about I’ll book the theater for the two of us?”

“For the three”, Felix grinned. “Shanklin likes them too!”

Jorge chuckled. “As you wish, my boy”.

***

Jorge stood by the window, looking at how Felix crossed the parking zone to get to his bike. 

The boy looked all around it and then pulled his pinkies to the mouth and whistled.

At that the nearby dumpster rustled, and out of it appeared a ruffled possum. He went running at Felix at full speed until he leaped at his hands. The boy caught the possum in mid-air and held him at arms length, starting to explain something with another hand.

Jorge chuckled and went back to his desk.

That boy was definitely a handful, yet still was worth every trouble Jorge went through to keep him…

That reminded him: he should check whether the rest of the Pines were still under the impression that the young Stanley perished in the same fire with Filbrick. Felix didn't need some bad blood from his past to disturb his path of becoming Jorge’s heir…

But first he had another call to make.

“Good day… or possibly night for you, Diego. Remember me? I'm sending Cleaner Shrimp after one of yours”.

Chapter Text

The neighbourhood was quiet. Not in ‘they laid out a trap and waited’ way, but in a very ‘we’re just a boring quiet neighborhood where everyone now is working, studying or sleeping after lunch’ way.

The Shrimp hated it instantly.

He slowly circled the target’s house towards the backyard and hid himself behind some trees.

Still nothing - no sounds, no movements, nothing. Of course, that was also because the target left the house five minutes ago, but the Shrimp wasn't intending to drop his guard because of it.

The houses around also were too quiet, almost to the impression of being empty themselves - but that wasn't the case. That was the illusion of that boring peaceful life, the dream being sold to the fools that never had their hopes shattered by the reality of this world.

The Shrimp lowered his backpack on the ground and, after opening it, patted the furry head of his companion that jumped out and started pawing at the ground.

“So, you're restless too?” the Shrimp chuckled and nodded at the house. “That's our goal for the day. Can you…?”

Without listening to the end of the words the small possum went off running around the house until his tail disappeared behind the corner.

The Shrimp smiled and leaned on the tree, pulling on the pair of the black gloves and wrapping the scarf around his lower face.

In his childhood he always believed the animals to be like in the fairytales, smart and faithful companions to the heroes in their journey to glory and treasures and happiness. But no matter how much he tried to befriend a seagull or a neighbour’s dog, no one showed any sign of understanding something besides “here's food” and “stop biting me!”... Well, that was until that summer and that place. Where the Shrimp learned that while some animals were definitely as smart (and some even more) as humans, they weren't really striving to become companions. Shanklin was the sole exception, but then again, he didn't meet him at that place…

Shanklin came back after slightly more than ten minutes and lightly bit the Shrimp’s ankle to get his attention.

“So, anyone else in this house?”

Shanklin quietly screeched and run a circle in a counterclockwise direction. 

“Huh, thought so, he seems like a total loner”, the Shrimp nodded. “Any neighbours at the moment?”

Shanklin immediately changed his direction to a clockwise one and did at first two circles with a tail curled to his right side, then one another with his tail curling to his left.

“Good work, little guy”, the Shrimp made a mental note on this information and bent down to scratch Shanklin behind the ears. The little possum made a soft sound close to a purring one and pretended to bite one of the patting fingers. “I know I know, we still have a job to do… Alert me if anything happens, okay?”

Shanklin screeched his agreement and went off running once again. The Shrimp followed him with an amused gaze, but as soon as the little furry figure disappeared from his line of sight, the Shrimp’s expression, partly hidden by his scarf, hardened.

He picked up the backpack, checked that nothing revealed his stay at the current spot, and after a short preparation went running right at the wall, jumping at some crack in it, almost unnoticed because of the paint job, and reaching in the air for the frame of the second floor window.

His muscles knew the drill by now, allowing him to pull up and push at the window that was left open. Small mistake for a resident of a sleepy town. Big mistake for the Shrimp's target.

Climbing over the window’s frame the Shrimp softly landed on the floor.

According to his observations, the target - the one Mark Verner - should be absent for at least an hour. That was plenty of time to become familiar with the layout and to plan their meeting.

And the Shrimp slowly began his way of touring the house, starting with the bedrooms on the second floor and making his way downstairs.

Without real effort he found a basement where Mark’s ‘studio’ was hidden. Well, more like a counterfeit paradise - there were easels and brushes, the whole rack full of different cameras and the printer of some industrial type.

The Shrimp quickly poked through the rack with “completed works” and whistled from being impressed. That Mark was good: there were paintings and posters, some scrolls with old-fashioned smell around them, and even a few boxes with all sorts of documents inside. The Shrimp searched a bit more, but there was nothing there indicating any presence of fake money. Well, no surprising - that kind of ‘art’ was usually guarded no less thorough than a real bank or something.

The Shrimp chuckled when he found among the collection a sort of map, all burned around the edges and given an oldish appearance with some chemicals. There were every necessary attributes that could make any hopeful soul dream of the grand adventure: the dragons guarding the seas, the palm trees indicating a tropical location. The Wind Rose was partially torn off, yet the Shrimp could still draw it with his eyes close, so it didn't matter that the only direction left was the northwest. And the most important one: the red cross. Or the darkish-brown in this case. The symbol of the goal, of the promised treasure…

A bunch of lies.

The Shrimp crumpled the fake map in his hands and threw the ball of paper on the floor before stomping on it.

The naive kid that once was living in the Shrimp's space would be horrified by this action. But that kid didn't know yet that in every treasure chest was only a golden dust and a spider’s web, the only signs that one day the treasure was indeed there, before being taken by the ones swifter and stronger and smarter.

The ones like the Shrimp could only glare helplessly at the map, now completely useless, not daring to ask why there even was still a map with empty promises. Because asking that was selfish, because not every tale should be about you, Sta…

No. Nope. Not going there.

The Shrimp shook his head and swiftly blinked for several times. Those were Stan’s problems. And they were left behind, buried somewhere together with Stan's soul and Father’s body.

The Shrimp didn't need any map, he didn't need some fake treasures. He had his place, he had his people. He had Shanklin and Jorge and Jim. 

He didn't need something bigger.

After all, needing something bigger would be selfish. Stan was selfish once upon a time.

The Shrimp was not.

***

After checking every room the Shrimp found himself in the living room, casually tapping every surface with a baseball bat he found in some closet.

Currently he was glaring at the huge collection of vinyl records that Mark proudly displayed next to the player. Especially the BABBA ones.

The Shrimp hated them.

To his luck, he only had a few months of actually listening to them. And while at first the music and lyrics and the tempo were definitely pleasing to listen to, to sing along and dance to them, with time it became a chore. Because if BABBA was playing, no one was allowed to change the music. All because Great Uncle Mason was adoring them. And Grauntie Mabel was adamant that if her twin wanted to listen to them, he should. And that only Great Uncle Mason could decide when it would be enough for a day. The same Great Uncle Mason that could easily go down to the basement and forget that he put the BABBA record at all in the first place. 

The Shrimp still sometimes saw in his nightmares the following scandal when one day he had enough and decided to interrupt the three-hours-long repetition of “The Loser Left With Nothing” with literally anything else. Oh, Grauntie Mabel was ruthless and even made him apologise to Great Uncle Mason with a song of her own composition. And Great Uncle Mason had the nerve to just nod, accept his shameful apology and then still continue to forget stopping the records after starting them!

So yes, the Shrimp had half a mind of just putting a bat to the test and seeing how many swings would be needed to turn that hateful collection to just a dust.

But before he decided to go through with this idea, Shanklin's screeching pierced the air.

The Shrimp grinned, immediately forgetting about records, and hopped across the room to the chair, where he sat and crossed his arms before him.

And started waiting.

It actually took some time. First, Mark opened the main door. Then changed his shoes to something else. Then went straight to the kitchen, making all sorts of noises while doing something there. 

The Shrimp actually got bored there and started doubting whether he should've picked a different spot, but then Mark finally entered the living room, chewing some cereal from the bowl he was carrying… and now dropping with a startled scream.

“Hi, Mark”, the Shrimp grinned and rose to his feet, grabbing the bat by its handle.

“Who are you and how did you get here?!” Mark tried to catch a breath while frantically looking all around. “What do you want? If you need money or something…”

The Shrimp chuckled and made a couple of slow steps. It seemed like his hunch was actually correct: Diego didn't deem this one worthy of a warning. Or maybe Diego was sure that Jorge didn't know about Verner. Or maybe Verner was so sure he wouldn't catch attention that he didn't expect anyone to actually arrive.

In any case, Mark didn't know yet how screwed up he was. Jorge never sent the Shrimp out for the simple robbery - he had enough of the men to do that simple work.

No, the Shrimp was a sign that someone stepped into Jorge's waters and started dirtying them. The Shrimp was a way to deal with small parasites before they would have a chance to assimilate and become a real threat. 

The Shrimp was a warning from Jorge to step back before he himself took matters into his own hands. Before the real shark took a swim in those waters.

***

“See? It doesn’t hurt so much when you don’t struggle”, Shrimp left the bat by the wall and slowly stretched himself. His target finally ceased with his annoying screaming and now just clutched his arm that was bent in some definitely wrong ways. “I even saved you one hand, ain't I generous?”

Mark sobbed something incomprehensible and just wrapped himself tighter around the damaged limb.

A weakling.

The Shrimp was once too, if he were honest: he would cry and beg for mercy, but he at least was a quick learner and got that the punishment was to be beared and not evaded. That was a mark of a real man. Which Mark definitely wasn't.

“Why… why are you…” Verner lifted his teary face and glared with hatred. “You're just… a little worthless… piece of shit!”

The Shrimp laughed.

“That's it? That's like a top 5 of the weakest insults I've ever heard!” and he had a long history of being called any kinds of names. At first it stung. After some point it made him cry. But as soon as he let it destroy him and then to be rebuilt, he stopped caring.

He could be a bastard. He could be a scum. He could be a murderer, an asshole, a fuckface or worse. It didn't matter now. As long as Jorge needed him, the Shrimp could be called by any name.

He didn't even need a real name, once accepting Jorge's little joke of a cleaner shrimp as a given. Yet Jorge insisted on him having a ‘human’ name, so the Shrimp tried to find one new for himself. But they all were wrong. They were like an itchy blanket or dirty shirt - the people around liked seeing him wrapped in whatever name he had chosen. Yet there was no comfort in having it, no reassurance of owning it, no inner response of being called by it. The name was just another layer of clothes and clothes could be changed…

The Shrimp's line of thoughts was interrupted by a light vibration in his pocket.

The notification. Important one, as the Shrimp always muted all of them except several that he always opened as soon as they came.

“Be quiet”, he hissed at Mark, even though there wasn't any need for it - it wasn't a call. It was an alert from Pictogram. 

Oh, there was only one real reason for this notification to arrive, the only one subscription that he cared about! The Shrimp felt how the smile appeared against his will.

Jim! 

Without giving it a thought, the Shrimp tapped at the notification to open the app.

Hey, Jim posted a new selfie! And on his bike too! Oh, that guy was gorgeous and…

The Shrimp frowned and frantically tapped on the description. Please let it be the old photo, please let it be the one from any day except this one…

What a nice day for a sweet ride with my kind! I definitely did this photo right this moment to show the joy of living in the present!

The Shrimp locked his phone and put it away in irritation. That jerk! Didn't he say that he had a sick mom when the Shrimp asked to meet him? Granted, now the Shrimp was busy himself, but Jim did refuse even before Jorge made his request!

“That bastard! Did he lie to me?!” he shouted to the ceiling and punched the wall, leaving a hole in there from his fist.

“Whoever that was…” Marc whimpered from his position, “...he definitely is the same kind as you…”

“I'm not lying!” the Shrimp shouted while picking a bat and swinging it right on Mark’s leg. “Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about!”

Mark didn't shut up. He actually started screaming once again, that weakling.

And Mark definitely didn't know what he was talking about.

The Shrimp never lied. Once upon a time Stan did it all the time, but Stan was selfish, lying, cheating, jealous bastard. He was weak and had to hide behind lies only to hurt everyone around him. The Shrimp knew better. The Shrimp was strong enough to stop hiding behind pathetic lies and to finally face every horrible and ugly truth before him.

That meant the Shrimp just had to face it once again.

Jim lied to him… Or did he? Maybe it was a misunderstanding? Maybe Jim’s mom got better, but when Jim tried to reach the Shrimp, he got news about his assignment and considered himself to be free to do as he pleased?

The Shrimp should just call Jim and ask, right?...

Or would it be too selfish to ask for clarification? They didn't actually agree on something, and Jim wasn't obligated to announce his every step, wasn't obligated to anything at all….

Anything, except they were in relationship, weren't they?! Didn't that mean some sort of commitment?! Or were all the movies a big fat lie too?!

The Shrimp sighed in confusion. Relationship was easy only in theory. Jim promised him to always be nearby, to support and accept him. And yet there they were. Where was that damned support on this anniversary of Father's death?! Where was this closeness?! Why did he feel Jim was even further away than before?

“Do you have someone?” he asked Mark when the latter quieted down with his sobbing.

“Go… to… hell…” Verner whispered without hiding his hatred.

“With this attitude, probably not”, the Shrimp sighed and let himself fall down on a chair. “I just don't understand. Everything was great! I did everything he asked of me! And actually he was the first one to even ask…”

“Did you beat… him up too?” 

Ha, feisty! The Shrimp was starting to like that fellow. Too bad he didn't know when to keep his mouth shut and when to answer when prompted.

“Nah, Jim isn't someone you can beat…” the Shrimp waved his hand and sighed again, this time dreamly. “He's awesome! He rides a bike and he's got those arms! And his stare just… man, you've gotta feel it, it's something otherworldly!”

“So, and what… does that otherworldy… guy see in you?...” somehow Mark managed to sound smug even when wheezing.

“Oh, he sees in me plenty”, the Shrimp waved the question away. Mostly because this man didn't deserve to hear it all. And partially because the answer was complicated.

The Shrimp knew his strengths. He was capable and quick on his feet. He was quite good-looking and everyone mentioned that he had personality (even back then, but surely now it meant something different?). And most importantly, the Shrimp was good enough to be accepted by Jorge as his trusted guy.

Yet Jim never touched any of it when asked. Well, the looks sometimes were mentioned. Instead Jim praised his wit and loyalty, until he too stopped with the praises… And, looking back now, it was around the same time when the moments spent together started to rapidly dwindle.

Huh, probably that was it. Another person who decided he had enough of the Shrimp’s pathetic being. And he tried so hard this time! He was sure he did everything right! Grauntie Mabel, if she knew, possibly would be proud of him: he did all by her teachings - respect, personal space, forgiveness. But that wasn't enough for Jim, so it meant that Sta… that the Shrimp just was incapable of keeping anyone beside him...

“Hey… Kid?” Mark’s voice was suddenly hesitant. “What's your name?”

The Shrimp blinked and rubbed his eyes to chase away the stinging. What was his name this time? Was he asked for an alias or for a personal one? Not that it really mattered.

“Felix”. He probably should stop picking the ones that started with F. And with S too, for good measure.

“Felix, right… The Lucky One… Yeah, I am definitely concussed if I'm really going to try it…” Mark mumbled and tried to righten himself as best as he could. “How old are you, kid?”

17? 18? 19? He didn't care. He stopped paying attention soon after understanding that there was nothing special in his “own” birthday, filled with some bland wishes and leftover gift from the pawn shop. All while he told all about his celebration, where were sirens and table games and glittering cake…

“Old enough to decide your fate, keep that in mind”, the Shrimp felt irritation towards his target. He knew what Verner was doing - trying to find some connection to save his life. Not that the Shrimp had already decided in what state to leave that man - he was still pondering it. At least he was beforehand, until this whole Jim situation. Actually… Why not make it more fun? For him at least. “And speaking about your fate, how about a little game?”

Mark definitely was startled and tried to crawl a little bit away. “Hey, maybe… Maybe let's talk instead? Like… Aren't you too young for doing this? It's not too late to stop…”

“Are you taking me for a fool?!” the Shrimp swung a bat so it landed on a nearby shelf, crushing some of the records there and making Mark flinching. “Or worse, a stupid kid?”

“No! No… Listen!” Mark tried to raise his not broken hand in defense, clearly shaking. Once again he didn't know when he should've just shut up and listen himself!

“No, you listen”, the Shrimp hissed at him, dragging his bat to destroy even more of the records. “You're really starting to piss me off. So I'm giving you only one chance to save your life”, he paused, taking reassurance from fear in the man’s eyes. That fear meant that it was the Shrimp who was in control, who was winning. “You heard what I was saying about Jim, right? So, what should I do, huh? You're so big on giving unwanted advice, so maybe you have some for this too?” the Shrimp then smiled, not that it was noticeable behind the scarf. “And depending on its usefulness, I may consider to spare your pathetic life”.

“You're crazy”, Verner whispered, crawling even further away. “Please, just let me live, and I'll do anything…”

“You're still not taking me seriously”, the Shrimp rolled his eyes. “Didn't I just make you a perfect deal? One small advice for a life! Or do you prefer me to just break each of your bones until your body decides to just shut up?” to prove his point, he lightly tapped Mark’s raised hand with a bat, not dealing the damage, but promising it.

Verner gulped and frantically nodded. “Right… right… So, that Jim… What is your relationship…?”

“I'm not giving you any more info”, the Shrimp interrupted and then stopped Mark’s protests with another tap. “So, what do you think, eh?”

Mark desperately looked all over the Shrimp’s face, hunching under his gaze and cradling his injured hand. He clearly was thinking hard and thoroughly. If only he did it before deciding to piss the Shrimp off…

“Well, you definitely should call him”, Mark started. “Don’t accuse him, just ask about his day. Talk a bit, and then say that you're feeling insecure, that you want this relationship to work out…”

“Hmmm”, the Shrimp made a show of pondering. That advice was tempting enough to try it out.

Chapter Text

“Hmmm”, the Shrimp made a show of pondering. That advice was tempting enough to try it out.

Wasn't it what the Shrimp wanted? To just call Jim and to ask him, to get answers, to get reassurance?

Sure, that was a selfish way, making them talk about the Shrimp's own insecurities, but then again, it wasn't the Shrimp proposing it now.

It was advice from a third party, who didn't know any details or context. So it possibly was the most neutral advice anyone could give. That Mark should have only his survival as his interest so by all means that should be the best advice he could offer.

And the Shrimp wanted to follow it.

“Okay”, he made a most indifferent expression, trying to hide how nervous he was. “Let's try it out”, he took out his phone.

“Wait! Right now?!”

“How the fuck I'll check it's usefulness without trying?” the Shrimp shrugged while searching for the right contact. “You better stay silent while grown ups are talking”.

To Mark’s credit he actually understood it and leaned on the nearest wall, huddling himself and his broken arm.

Pitiful scene.

No matter. He still had some other limbs and the bones always grew back together.

The Shrimp turned around, focusing on the window covered by the curtains.

After a few moments of the line trying to establish a connection, the call went through.

“Steve”, Jim greeted him without any previous warmth in his voice.

Oh fuck. He knew the advice was selfish! He shouldn't have made this call! If only hanging up wouldn't be causing any worse kinds of consequences!

“Oh… hey… Jimmy”, the Shrimp gulped and tried to sound as confident as he usually was in Jim’s presence. “H-how’s your day?”

Mark had a nerve to snort behind his back. Oh, just you wait, the Shrimp would make him pay for everything if he would survive this conversation!

Jim meanwhile sighed.

“Steve, why are you really calling me?”

The Shrimp sighed and tried to gather his thoughts. Right, Mark’s advice was not helping. Back to Grauntie Mabel’s advice then. It never failed him!

“Nothing, I’m sorry to bother…”

“Stop.”

And oh god, that was the tone. Jim was terrifying when he was pissed off, and right now he was really close to being counted as such.

The Shrimp froze. 

There was another sigh on the other side.

“Steve. Just… Please. Stop lying and just tell me what it's really all about.”

Part of him wanted to argue that the Shrimp was never anything else but honest with Jim, yet one should never argue with the dear ones.

So he just hugged himself with a spare arm as some sort of self comfort and decided to force through the conversation. It was already going bad, he could just as well try and fish for the one answer he really wanted to know.

“...why didn't you tell me about your plans?” he whispered. “Aren't we dating?”

There was a silence on the other side, followed first by another deep sigh and then by Jim’s voice, this time tired and even with a hint of remorse.

“I'm gonna be honest with you, kid. I don't think what we are doing is really dating.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“You really don't get it? I once saw some spark in you, kid, and I hoped to be the one to help you to nurture it, to let it shine. But I'm tired of you keeping it buried, Steve. Not to mention, you still didn’t give me your real name…”

“Wait, are you saying you're breaking up with me? Over a name issue?!” the Shrimp didn't care that he started shouting. That was some madness! Didn't he try as hard as he could on their dates? Didn't he manage to come up with a perfect permanent name for Jim to use? What was all that nonsense about sparks or was it again some ‘death servant’ nonsense?!

“If that is what you're making of my reasons, then I definitely am breaking up, Shrimp”, Jim darkly chuckled. “I hope we won't be seeing each other again. Take care.”

And the call ended.

The Shrimp lowered the phone and pocketed it, starting to feel the numbness over his whole body.

“He broke up with me”, he whispered.

“Well… That's rough, buddy”, came from behind him.

The Shrimp instantly turned around on his heels, grasping at the newest emotional flame: the rage.

“He broke up with me because of your dumb advice!”

“Hey!” Mark actually tried to lift himself up on one leg and with the help of a wall. “Calm down! I cannot be blamed for that!”

“Why?! You told me to call him!”

“And you decided to do it!” Mark exhaled and put out his good hand in a placating gesture. “Listen, people don't go breaking up without reasons. If it wasn't for your call, it would be some day later…”

“Or I could just stay silent and Jim wouldn't break up with me ever!”

Mark had the nerve to groan. “Teenagers… Right, well! Doesn't it feel at least better to know the exact status of your relationship instead of guessing it?”

“No! How can it be better?!” 

How did knowing no one wanted him was better than hoping that someone still did want him?! Everything he ever did well just got thrown in his face, and that supposed to be better?! He tried to be the best boyfriend ever and got called a liar and implied to be a dumb kid!

“Felix! Please! You ordered me to give you some advice! I gave it to you! You promised to spare me…” Mark’s voice slowly was taking pleading notes.

And he was looking definitely pathetic, with his leaning on the wall and the broken arm pressed to his chest. And now that idiot was grasping at straws, without remembering their exact deal…

“You promised, Felix!”

…

“You know what, I'll show you that promise”, the Shrimp spitted through his teeth while changing his grasp on the bat to a more firm one. “I’m in the mood for trashing as much as I can. And as I'm really itching to deal with your records - did I mention how much I love BABBA? - you have a few minutes to start running before I’ll catch you and break every bone in your pathetic body. Ain't I generous?”

***

Mark was gone just as the bat crushed “The Loser Left With Nothing” into dust. 

The Shrimp didn't follow.

***

The Shrimp closed his eyes and let the warm water fall right on his face.

Yeah, and he once made fun of all those movies where people were crying in the shower after a breakup.

Not that he was crying.

No, he was just standing in the shower and getting himself cleaned up after a job done. Usually he would say “well done”, but this time it was probably just “done” at best.

The Shrimp sniffled. He shouldn't have called. Guessing where they were was definitely better than feeling hollow and pitiful and worthless.

It was almost as bad as it was when he came home after that summer. Well, at least this time it was just a boyfriend. Not his own twin that once promised to go everywhere together and then decided that his new friends and new family were more important!

No, he shouldn't think that way. It was for everyone’s best. Ford stayed where he belonged. With that nerdy friend and magical creatures and Grauntie and Great Uncle that appreciated every inch of him… And they treated Ford as nice as he deserved it. They loved him as well as he deserved it.

Not like Stan did it, all but suffocating and pressing and overshadowing…

Ha! Cruel irony - Stan was left because he was suffocating. The Shrimp was left despite trying not to be as such.

***

The Shrimp lost count of how much time in the end he spent under the soothing spray of the shower, only that when he finally left the shower cabin his fingers and toes were all wrinkly.

He flatly chuckled. Small joys of having Jorge as his benefactor (aside from greater joys) - that old guy always made sure that the Shrimp had all the comforts possible: nice bed, warm water, tasty food. Possibly, the most that the Shrimp ever had in his life. His home in Glass Shard Beach was nice in its basics (at least, when Mom was still present to keep their home affairs in due order), and the Shack was… dubious and old and smelled really funny (even if it was for some time a warmest place on Earth).

The Shrimp sighed and took the largest towel the hotel was offering. Deeply sighed for another time and started absentmindedly drying himself off, starting with his hair and…

He noticed something black on the towel and at first paused without understanding.

Then, as the realization came, he jumped to the mirror and cleared a spot from the condensation to check himself…

Oh great. The dye that he spent half a day applying and waiting and drying now was left only in smallest splashes amidst his dull brown hair that now already was showing the first signs of waiving.

The Shrimp punched the mirror in exasperation. That day was worsening by every minute! 

He hated his hair, he hated looking at his reflection and seeing another face that got everything and the bragging rights, leaving to his twin only the empty half of the room and rare calls and a proud title of the “dumbass left behind” in their school!

The Shrimp looked away and wrapped himself in the now dirty towel. Figures, he was always dirtying everything he ever touched.

Dragging his still wet feet the Shrimp went to the other room and dropped on the bed. He didn't even try at first to change his position from where he was laying on his stomach.

But then the soft purring and four clawed paws against his back drew him from his thoughts.

“Shanklin!” the Shrimp rolled over and catched his friend into his arms who immediately voiced his displeasure of being disturbed by screeching and playfully biting the wrist. “Yeah, sorry, did you want to take a shower too?”

Shanklin wiggled himself free from the Shrimp's hold and landed on his chest, where he walked a bit in a circle before laying there and curling himself in a small furry ball.

“Guess not”, the Shrimp whispered with affection and started lightly stroking his companion who immediately started purring once again. “Right, you're tired too”. 

The Shrimp sighed and, without stopping petting Shanklin, threw his head back on the bed and closed his eyes.

Oh, he would be lost without that fur ball, wasn't he?

Obviously, because the number of times Shanklin saved his butt was steadily rising.

And because some days Shanklin was the only soul that the Shrimp was ready to relay all his problems too.

And… the Shrimp sighed once again.

Shanklin did save him that day. When Stan was trembling and crying and refusing to leave the blazing building. It was that small possum that Stan took a habit of feeding in the evenings in the alleyway behind the pawn shop. It was that small possum that bit him and dragged him from his stupor and made him jump from the window.

It was Shanklin that led him to the remains of the Stan-o-War and brought him a stolen bag of crackers for the next few days. It was Shanklin that curled around his neck when Stan spent the nights bawling his eyes out. And it was Shanklin that bit the strange man when they decided to steal from his car from desperation…. Because Jorge (and that was Jorge) was definitely distracted while screaming from pain and that gave Stan an opportunity to steal his gun and demand to release Shanklin… And that was a story how Jorge noticed Stan and helped him hide from the police and then promised him a safe harbor and a satisfying job.

Speaking of Jorge.

No use to delay the call further, right?

The Shrimp carefully gathered Shanklin with one hand before wiggling a bit to reach for his phone. Luckily, it was not too far, so Shanklin wasn't disturbed too much and only hissed once in a warning. The Shrimp carefully assumed his previous position, petted Shanklin once again (as apology and as a source of comfort both) and without delay pressed Jorge's number.

Jorge answered almost immediately, confirming the Shrimp's assumption that the man was waiting for the call.

“Felix? Is it done?”

The Shrimp winced. No, that name wouldn't work either, even on the second try. He should find time to think of another one.

“Yeaaaa, I dealt with him”, he steeled himself in preparation. “He's alive, but with a broken arm and a completely trashed house. I thought that was enough of a warning, given that we just wanted to show him that we know his allegiance…”

There was a heavy pause on the other side of the line.

“We didn't want to show anything to Verner”, Jorge's voice hardened. “We wanted to show Diego that we could reach any of his men. Or did you forget?”

The Shrimp hunched on himself, feeling how Shanklin changed his position to curl around his petting hand.

“I… I'm sorry, but wasn't it enough? He's alive and can run to Diego and cry about how we targeted him?”

Jorge sighed in a heavy manner. “Well, it is done, so let's hope you're right. But Felix, my advice. You should never hesitate when giving someone a lesson. Bones can grow, things can be bought. And the best lesson learnt is about things one loses permanently.”

Yeah, the Shrimp knew all about loss, he didn't need a reminder.

“Are we clear, Felix?”

“Yes, sir, we are”, he whispered.

“Good”, Jorge hummed. “Well, maybe this is for the best. This way I still have some leverage over Diego as we spared his guy’s life. Yes, I can make it work. Good job, Felix!”

The Shrimp smiled with hesitation. Yes, that was a thing about Jorge. He was harsh and didn't tolerate any failure. But he was reasonable and fair. As long as the Shrimp didn't hide stuff from him, the Shrimp was safe and welcomed.

“Thank you! I won't let you down again!” he shouted with relief, wincing when his cry made Shanklin bite his hand again. “Sorry, little guy…”

“Still with the fur ball?” Jorge chuckled. “Did Carmen find a nice hotel for you both?”

“Yeah! It has a shower and TV and I even called room services for dinner!”

“Good, good, ask for everything you need during your stay there”, Jorge still was chuckling and then hummed in thought. “Speaking of your stay, you're still planning to return tomorrow?”

The Shrimp sighed.

“Yeah, I have a nice date with my couch and a big bowl of ice-cream scheduled”.

Jorge paused. “What happened?”

“Can I… Raincheck?” the Shrimp wasn't sure if he was capable of telling about Jim without wailing yet. So it was better to play safe. 

“Of course”, Jorge's voice softened. “Do you think there would be another bowl of ice-cream for me then? Or is your old man forbidden from supervising your date?”

The Shrimp actually laughed. “No! You're welcome to join us! And actually didn't you promise me a showing of the Duchess?”

“That I did… Anyway, before I forget”, Jorge's voice became serious. “Carmen asked to tell you that there's a small problem with train tickets”.

“Yeah?” the Shrimp frowned. “How small?”

“There’s no tickets for tomorrow, and for the next two days too, only if you're willing to bargain with the staff for some spare seats on arrival”.

“Great”, the Shrimp groaned. He liked travelling by trains, they were fast and promised an excitement of the journey. Finding a spare seat was not supposed to be included. “Other options?”

“I would propose taking a bus to Boise and then board the plane, but…”

“If I recall correctly, they still don't think of possums as acceptable pets”, the Shrimp groaned. “Well, if there's no other options left, I could find a way to sneak Shanklin on board, but that's too much hustle. What about other buses? Surely there are interstate ones?”

“One day I will find a way to get you two talking without me as a middleman”, Jorge groaned and shouted to the side: “He asks about buses!... No, interstate ones!.... Sorry, Felix, only if you want to wait for another day… Oh, and then for another day in Denver…”

“Pass”, the Shrimp scoffed. “If I need to do some hopping from one metal casket to another, I would like to do it the old fashioned way and hitch a ride!”

“No! I'm against it! That's dangerous and…”

“Dangerous?” the Shrimp chuckled. “So sending me with nothing but a knife to negotiations is fine, but hitchhiking is where you draw a line?”

“Still, you never know who will agree to take you along…”

“Exactly! That's the thrill!” the Shrimp chuckled. 

“So you're against bargaining for a train seat, but you're all for bargaining for a car seat?” Jorge huffed. “Well, that's your call. You're definitely capable of finding your way back. But I'm still thinking you'll have better luck with a train staff. Anyway, to be sure, we're not booking any plane tickets?”

“Wait a second, I'll ask my secretary… Mr Shaney-Penny, your opinion?”

The little possum yawned and nudged his little head against the Shrimp’s hand. The Shrimp smiled and reached for the blanket to cover them both.

“After a thorough discussion, we have reached the agreement. We'll be hitchhiking!”

Chapter Text

“If you say ‘I told you so’ one more time…” the Shrimp glared at Shanklin who screeched some more and continued running alongside, without forgetting to check the bushes on their way.

So far the hitchhiking didn't look so awesome as in the movies: his one current luck was catching a truck between Clayton and Sun Valley. Possibly could've made it even further but the cabin was reeking so strongly of smoke that Shanklin went mad and tried to claw his way out. And their driver wasn't appreciative of it. And then the Shrimp wasn't appreciative of their driver…

So making their separate ways was probably for the better.

The next few attempts failed because the drivers started to speed away without fully stopping at the first glance of possum near him.

And then the Shrimp tried to bargain with Shanklin to stay in the backpack. And the next attempt was going mostly smooth… Until the lady behind the wheel noticed his painted nails, pursed her lips and closed the window on him.

The next one was an obviously drunk driver that the Shrimp ignored himself.

So now he and Shanklin were just slowly walking along the highway, keeping their eyes and ears on the incoming transport.

Speaking of which: there was one that was going in their direction.

The Shrimp whistled to Shanklin and stopped, spreading his hand out with a raised thumb.

“If this one's a bust too, then we better start looking into some motel or whatever”, the Shrimp whispered to his friend who climbed up by his side and was already burrowing in his backpack.

The car, the dimly green pickup (first gen of Canyon if he recognised correctly) was slowly approaching them and it was obvious that it was also coming to a stop some steps before them.

The Shrimp smiled and tried to make himself seem as innocently as possible. And he skipped to the passenger’s window that was already rolled down.

He glanced inside and observed the Canyon’s driver.

It was a woman with light brown hair, long enough and braided. While it wasn't possible to determine her height to an exact measure, The Shrimp could still guess that it was some average one. In general, she looked in her thirties, and her slightly wider figure gave her a really soft appearance.

And most importantly, the Shrimp’s instincts were silent.

“Hi”, he smiled as politely as he could. “I'm looking for a ride. As close to Santa Rosa in New Mexico as possible?”

“Oh, I’m on my way to Arizona, so I can drop you somewhere there?”

Well, that definitely could work. The Shrimp nodded several times.

“Yes! That would be great!”

The woman chuckled and motioned at the door that the Shrimp was leaning against.

“Then hop in. Or do you have some baggage too?”

“Nope, nothing else”, he shrugged and was already getting in, on the passenger's seat. Checking that Shanklin was still inside, he placed his backpack on his knees and closed the door after them.

“So, I'm Melody”, the woman smiled at him. “What's your name?”

Definitely not Felix. Well, it wouldn't matter anyway, he could just pick out the first one he’d come up with.

“Right, my name”, he chuckled, glancing at his reflection at the window and once again turning away from it. Stupid hair… Hmm… “Bruno”.

“That’s a really nice name”, Melody smiled. “Nice to meet you, Bruno”.

“Same”, the Shrimp nodded. 

“And you forgot to put the seatbelt on…”

“Oh, right”, he instantly groaned yet complied into pulling one across his body. “Wouldn't want to be fined…” 

“I don't care about fines”, Melody giggled. “But I can't allow such a cute kid to forget about his own safety!”

The Shrimp choked and felt his cheeks rapidly heating.

“I'm not cute! And I'm not a kid!” he instantly argued, ignoring both Melody's continuing giggle and the unease of some stranger being concerned about his safety!

That lady didn't know a thing about him! Not even a name! And yet…

He also ignored the warmth splitting inside of him and turned away, closing his eyes and pressing to the window.

Maybe that was a really bad idea, agreeing to this ride?

His friend stretched inside the backpack, and the Shrimp subtly patted him by pretending to be checking the zipper.

Well, he was through worse. The overly friendly driver was nothing compared to his previous struggles.

***

“...Oh, and that bush reminds me of a rabbit! Bruno, did you see it?...”

The Shrimp sighed and continued ignoring Melody. And she wasn't even noticing it or just didn't care, continuing to just chat and chat and chat.

About scenery and other drivers. About clouds and funny advertisement boards.

About her plans and her previous travels…

And after an hour into trip the Shrimp already knew that she was recently engaged, she liked pugs, she just quit her job at some burger stall, she thought LARPing (whatever that was) was the coolest thing in the universe, she recently saw the Duck Warriors: The Second Quacking four times in the row and she regretted not learning knitting from her mom.

The most pointless knowledge ever.

She also tried to question the Shrimp about his Bruno persona, yet he only agreed to let her know that yes, he wasn't a runaway. Yes, he was going to meet his family. Yes, he wasn't hungry. Yes, he didn't need anything.

The last one was hissed with poorly hidden venom, and maybe that was enough for the lady to stop with her bothersome questions and focus once again at the shapes of the trees they were passing by.

So far the Shrimp was still mulling over whether it would be worth it to ask to stop (or just epically jump out of) the Canyon, but so far the benefits were slightly more numerous. And also the silent presence of Shanklin was grounding, even if his little friend was definitely sleeping in the safety of the backpack.

So the Shrimp was instead trying hard to ignore everything distracting, focusing himself on the passing landscape.

Actually, given that the radio was on, sometimes he even felt like a main character of music videos, pressed to the window and just staring and contemplating about…

Well, about love lost during sad songs. And about good times lost during upbeat songs. And he really tried to think about some of his recent badass fights during epic songs… but in the end he still went and thought about some adventures in childhood…

And then…

The previous song about joys of waiting for the hurricane ended, and after a brief pause there was a new one.

The first accords made shivers run through the Shrimp’s spine.

Oh no, anything but this!

He pressed his eyes close with even more effort, at the same time clutching his backpack closer to him.

“My good friend, I want to toast…”

He tried hard to ignore it too, he would actually welcome the lady's chatting at this moment, anything but this!

“We both knew how all would end…”

“You don't like this one?” he felt Melody glancing at him.

“It’s fine”, he gritted through his teeth. How long was that one? 3’16? How many seconds passed?

“When nothing left to add…”

“You can change the station if you want”.

The Shrimp's eyes flew open and he stared at Melody.

“What? No! I don't mind! Keep listening…!”

“Much obliged for all you've done…”

“Nah, that station started to get boring two songs ago”, Melody waved. “So, Bruno, do me a favour and find some that's more cheery!”

The Shrimp gulped and stared at the radio…

“When nothing left…”

…and reached out and pressed the button to the next station, mentally wincing and preparing himself…

“I keep going after all that passed…”

“Oh! Belt-On John! Love that guy!” Melody cheered and started humming to the music. “Nice find! Do you like it, Bruno?”

He exhaled and just pressed back to the window.

Well, in all fairness the Shrimp started to like that song.

***

“You know, you can place your backpack on the backseat so you could backpedal and… I don't know how to end this sentence so it would be funny?” Melody was drumming her finders on the wheel while waiting for the lights to change.

He chuckled against his will. That still was funny! But the actual offer…

“No, thanks, it's not heavy”, he shook his head.

“But aren't your knees falling asleep because of it?”

“I don't mind”, the Shrimp repeated once again, pressing harder on his own words. And at the same time he once again lightly pressed on the backpack, letting Shanklin feel his presence. The little guy was awake yet aside from some wiggling still managed to stay silent and hidden.

“As you wish”, Melody shrugged and cheered as the light finally went green. “Yet take my advice. You should care more about your knees, or you'll regret it when you'll be like 60.”

“If I'll be 60, I’ll probably have more pressing matters to regret…” the Shrimp mumbled and then squinted. “You also aren't like 60… are you?”

“Maybe I am”, Melody whispered like she was sharing some kind of secret. “You can never know with us girls!”

The Shrimp laughed against his will. “Oh, my Grauntie said something like this too…” he stopped himself and sighed. “...But she definitely was closer to 60 than you…”

He turned away, falling silent. Come to think of it, how old exactly were she and Great Uncle Mason? Not in “older enough to order you to bed” kind of sense, but in actual years?

“You miss her?” Melody whispered. “Sorry for your loss…”

Huh?

“Oh no!” he exclaimed, waving his hands. “She's alive! …I think”, he sighed again. “She just… I had to move on… Out! Move out!”

Melody glanced at him with pity, making him wince in shame.

“Bruno… I’m still sorry”, she sighed. “Losing contact sounds way sadder… Yet…” she glanced once again. “If you miss her, why don't you reach back? I think she probably misses you too…”

“She doesn't.”

That was a fact. Grauntie Mabel didn't miss him.

Mom didn't miss him.

Shermie… probably didn't even remember him.

Ford didn't miss him.

Even Great Uncle Mason didn't miss him (to nobody's surprise).

How did the Shrimp know?

Because Jorge reached to them, to all of them asking whether they would be alright with the Shrimp staying with Jorge. He told them everything about how Stan Pines was a fugitive and had to disappear.

And also Jorge let them know how to contact their sinful relative.

Yet no one called. 

No one sent any postcards.

No one even called Jorge to know about his doings.

It was just… like they all sighed in relief and forgot about him, finally glad to cross him out from the family tree.

And… trying to contact them against their will would be selfish.

He shouldn't be imposing his existence on them if they wanted to keep going without him.

He shouldn't be trying to insert himself in their presence if they wanted to evade him.

He shouldn't be wishing to let them share anything with him if they were against it.

No matter how much he still wanted it. No matter that his present life was giving him almost anything he wished for…

He hugged his backpack too tight, making Shanklin screech in distress…

“Oh shoot!” he instantly released the backpack, letting it fall on his knees, and opened it. Shanklin immediately jumped out, trying to bite at his hand. So the Shrimp let him, sneakily starting to pet him with his other hand. “Sorry, little guy, I'm so sorry…”

“Is that…?”

Oh crap!

The Shrimp gulped and lifted his eyes to meet Melody's. Yet… she wasn't angry or disgusted or disappointed. She was looking at the Shrimp and Shanklin and actually was… excited? Too excited!

“Careful!” he shouted, staring at the road, and Melody swore, turning the wheel at the last possible second to get back to their lane and evade a collision with a truck.

They both exhaled at the same time and then glanced at each other.

“Wow”, Melody winced. “Soos would be so angry at me right now… But he would also say that we now need a celebratory meal! And I just see some diner before us! I hope you don't mind. Right, Bruno?”

He shrugged, glancing at Shanklin who stopped with his biting and just was laying atop of backpack.

That too was something that Grauntie Mabel would propose.

***

“So, who's Soos?” the Shrimp could stop himself from asking. 

They were currently sitting across from each other at the corner table and munching on fries and burgers that Melody insisted on paying for.

And the Shrimp was also sneaking some fries to Shanklin who was hiding in his half-open backpack next to his side.

“Well…” Melody swallowed and dreamily sighed. “Soos is my fiancé… Wow, I still can't believe that! I mean we dated and all for years, and I hoped we would be us forever…” she giggled and then picked up a fry. “Can you hold your backpack open? I want to try something.”

The Shrimp did comply. So Melody took an aim and then threw a fry at the direction of the backpack, missing and hitting the Shrimp in the shoulder.

“Oh, sorry!” she winced. And immediately threw another one that landed this time perfectly inside. Melody whooped and winced when the waiter glared at their direction. 

“So why don't you travel with him?” the Shrimp took another bite. 

“Well!” she giggled. “I'll tell you a little secret. Not only we're getting married! We'll also be moving back to his hometown! So he's in the process of settling things there and I'm going to deal with everything at our house and then join him with all our stuff!”

“Sounds nice”, and the Shrimp was surprised he actually was sincere. This Melody was nice and definitely deserved being excited and happy.

“Enough about me”, Melody took another fry and threw it again. This time Shanklin’s snout appeared from his hideout to catch it in the air. “What about you, Bruno?”

“Me?” he took a large sip from his soda.

“Yes, surely such a nice guy has a sweetheart too?” Melody smiled, definitely meaning nothing bad. Yet his mood instantly soured. And possibly he didn't manage to keep it hidden, as Melody’s smile dropped too. “Oh no… I know that look… You got dumped?”

“Thanks for rubbing it in”, the Shrimp glared at her and put his half-eaten burger back on the plate. He wasn't feeling hungry anymore.

“Sorry!” Melody winced and sighed while all her air was radiating guilt. “I mean… That always sucks and no matter what everyone says it will hurt for a long time…” she glanced at Shanklin whose nose was twitching in her direction and threw another fry. “Want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk”, the Shrimp crossed his arms and turned away, glancing around the diner. “It's over and doesn't matter anymore…”

“But it definitely does matter to you?”

He shuddered and looked back at Melody who was still staring at him with pity. Yet there was something in her gaze that prevented this pity to burn him down.

“Who cares about whether…” he still tried to shrug it off.

“Tell me about her”, she interrupted.

“Him”, he instantly corrected and winced.

“Great start”, she grinned. “So, is he blond or all dark and mysterious?”

“Blond and mysterious”, the Shrimp sighed and admitted. “He’s cool and all muscular and listens to hard rock and wears leather…”

“So, you're into bad boys”, Melody wiggled her eyebrows, making him laugh against his will.

“Well, maybe I am too the bad boy”, the Shrimp grinned and wiggled his eyebrows too. 

Melody’s glance went all over him and she grinned.

“Sure thing, honey. You're the baddest boy I've ever seen!”

Oh, that tone…

“You're mocking me”, the Shrimp squinted at her. “You don't believe me?”

“No, of course I believe you!” Melody snorted and yet tried to hide it by sipping at her own soda. “I definitely feel threatened by only your presence!”

The Shrimp sighed and slumped down on the table, passing a pickle from his burger to Shanklin.

Of course she didn't believe it. Damn his emotions, making him seem all pathetic and weak. And he knew he should've postponed the start of his trip and found some dye and…

“Okay, maybe you don't really seem like a bad boy”, Melody hummed. “But you are definitely the coolest boy I saw, honest!”

The Shrimp focused on her tone that was quite sincere.

“Really?” he perked up.

“Totally!” Melody nodded and threw a bit of patty at Shanklin's direction who jumped to catch it. “I don't know anyone who travels with just a backpack and a possum! And that alone makes you the coolest one in my books!”

The Shrimp grinned pleasantly and bit some more from his burger. 

The coolest! He could work with that!

***

“Yellow car!” Melody shouted. “On your left!”

The Shrimp’s head whipped in that direction. Damn, missed it again.

“That's tenth for me”, Melody grinned. “So, where was I?”

“How Soos fought the animatronics for your hand…”

“Right! So he picked up the chair and started screaming for them to release me…”

“Yellow car!” he interrupted her and grinned. “My sixth!”

“Good catch, Bruno!” Melody whooped and started laughing at the screeching from the backseats. “See?! Even the little guy applauds your progress! So, the Schmoxy released me and I grabbed the guitar…”

He turned a bit in his seat and grinned at Shanklin who was in progress of making a nest for himself from a blanket and Bruno's backpack.

“You're comfy?” he whispered and grinned as Shanklin's tail wagged.

***

“So, let's stay here for the night”.

The Shrimp stretched himself while taking a look over the motel near which they were currently parked. Well, nothing unusual, the most ordinary one, like thousands of motels on the roads.

“I don't mind”, he nodded.

“So, I'll get a room…”

“No, let me”, the Shrimp was still feeling like he owed her after their lunch and after a stop at the gas station. “It's definitely my turn to pay”.

Melody obviously was going to object, but then thought better and grinned.

“Well, I can never say ‘no’ when guys behave all gentlemanly around me”.

He grinned and winked. “That's me, the most gentlemanly gentleman the world has ever seen!” he got the expected bout of laughter and turned to Shanklin. “You know the drill, little guy, don't make me ashamed of you!”

Shanklin huffed and went running around the back of the motel.

“He's sure smart”, Melody looked at how he disappeared. “I mean I know animals sometimes are smarter than we think…”

“Yes, they are”, he shrugged. “Believe me, until some raccoon doesn't win against you in poker and leaves you with nothing else but briefs, you can never understand how truly smart they are.”

Melody laughed and went to gather her bag from the backseat.

Yes, laugh all you want. That raccoon was lucky they would never have a chance for a rematch.

The Shrimp chased away the recollection and went in search of the reception. 

Stupid raccoon. Probably haven't missed him too.

***

He looked all over the room. It was actually clean, if a little boring.

Two separate beds, TV, mini fridge even. Small bathroom with shower.

Enough of necessities to get through the night and move on.

Melody fell down on the closest bed to the exit and sighed. “The bed! Love them!”

“Luckily your fiancé won't hear it”, the Shrimp smirked and went to secure the second bed near the window that he opened for a fraction.

“Oh, you're young and naive and don't know life yet”, Melody groaned. “Soos and I both know that there are things more important than love.”

“Like beds?” he giggled.

“And pizzas”, she sighed and turned around. “Speaking of Soos, I need to call him.”

“I'll go find Shanklin then”, he nodded and moved to the exit.

“Thank you, Bruno”.

***

The first thing he did, however, was make some reconnaissance.

The second - make a call himself.

Jorge answered almost immediately.

“So, I'm still alive and in one piece”, the Shrimp grinned.

“Count me impressed”, Jorge deadpanned and then his voice softened. “I hope there weren't any problems?”

“None”, he leaned against some wall in the parking lot. “I’m with some lady and we've stopped for the night.”

“...Do I need…?”

“No, she's harmless”, the Shrimp shrugged. “And the place here is as boring as it can be. I'll be fine”.

“Right. So, ETA?”

“She'll get me to Arizona by tomorrow evening, so one more stop and one more ride I think”.

“Good. Don't be late. We still have plans”.

He grinned, feeling the warmth of appreciation. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything!”

The call ended, and only then the Shrimp went in search of Shanklin.

***

He did manage to find his friend and get him lost again and find again… for another five times. 

Yet by the end they both were grinning and tired and in desperate need of a shower.

The Shrimp put a finger to his mouth to let Shanklin know to be quiet, and the fur ball that was dangling from his other hand yawned in agreement.

Good, he needed to know if that lady was done or would he be bothering her by entering.

So he put an ear to the door and heard nothing, just some rustling for several minutes.

So the call ended and he wouldn't be a nuisance. Awesome!

He pushed the door and entered.

“We're back! If you don't mind, we'll take the shower…” yet then he paused, taking in the lady's state.

She was sitting on her bed, hugging her knees and crying. Quite silently, as even now there were no sounds of it. Just tears running down.

“What happened?” the Shrimp let go of Shanklin who landed on his paws and then they both ran to Melody. “Don't tell me your fiancé…?”

If that jerk decided to break up or something, the Shrimp would find him and…

Melody shook her head. “No”, she said hoarsely. “No, he's alright and Abuelita too… I'm sorry, he just told me something…” she wiped her eyes with a sleeve. “It's about our future neighbours and I got too emotional…”

“Right”, the Shrimp didn't know what to do. It definitely wasn't a matter of condolences and he didn't know enough of the circumstances to provide any consolation. Well, he could try at least something? “So, what happened? Can we help somehow?” Not that he really cared. But the lady did listen to his problems during the day and he owed her the same effort. He hesitantly sat at the edge of Melody’s bed, not too close to actually touch, but not too far to make his presence known. Shanklin didn't have these reservations and was already nudging Melody's feet with his nose.

“Oh, nothing really”, Melody deeply exhaled and reached to pat Shanklin on his head. “Thanks, little guy… It's just… Soos arrived when there was a town-wide remembrance event. They lost a family member some years ago. And… Oh god, I can't”, she started crying once again. “Soos told me about how they tried to raise his spirit to ask forgiveness and when it failed there was a boy that completely broke down… Poor thing, still believing in ghosts and such…”

The Shrimp frowned. He knew that Melody was wrong and that the ghosts were real. So if the summoning failed, it could mean three things. The ghost already went on… or he was too resentful and powerful to actively go against the summoning. Or there were some other interferences. He winced and silently wished for it to be the first out of three.

“That guy surely was loved”, he sighed instead. To think that the family and whole town gathered together, even for such a sad occasion…  He shook his head. No, he won't disgrace himself with jealousy towards a dead guy.

“Yeah, he surely was”, Melody sniffled, still petting Shanklin. “Sorry, I just keep thinking about it and everything is so sad and his family…”

“Wanna have ice-cream and watch some movies?” the Shrimp offered and immediately winced. That was such a childish offer, that lady surely would huff at him and…

“Thank you, Bruno, I'd love it!”

Huh?

“Then… I'll go and get some”, Bruno hesitantly went for exit.

“Oh, and please take a shower as soon as possible, you two really stink!” she somehow chuckled through her tears, yet still kept petting the little possum who was now just laying on her lap.

***

According to Melody, the best way of dealing with sad feelings was watching the most disturbing true crime available.

To her horror (and the Shrimp’s enjoyment) the most disturbing true crime available that night was ‘Greatanic’, the epic love of two poor souls that had the misfortune to board the newest ocean liner doomed to sink.

They cried both.

Shanklin had to bring them another pack of ice-cream.

***

Despite the teary night, the Shrimp woke up refreshed. He went with his morning rituals in the bathroom and then thought a bit. Melody was still snoring. And Shanklin was biting the blanket in his sleep.

He grinned and decided to let them sleep some more, going himself for the run and some exercises.

That was another part of his routine, keeping his body as fit as possible. It was after all his best instrument and the one weapon that would always be available.

After almost an hour of running, stretching and working on his different muscles, he was joined by his fur ball that leaped at him and burrowed in his hair screeching.

“I didn't vanish”, the Shrimp grinned and raised his finger to be bitten. “Aren't you always complaining I wake you up too early? By the way, did the lady wake up too?”

***

The lady did indeed wake up too.

“I hate this morning”, she grumbled, poking at her puffy eyes. “Don't laugh, Bruno. I still was crying even when you fell asleep!”

Bruno hid his giggles and raised his arms in surrender. “Do you need something?”

“Only if you want to be a gentleman once again and find me some coffee”, Melody yawned and went to the bathroom. “Coldest shower here I come…”

“There is a warm one there!” the Shrimp shouted at her back.

“I know”, she mumbled.

***

“This coffee sucks”.

Morning Melody was hilarious. 

The Shrimp looked all over her and felt pity at her state.

“I think we can stay here for some more hours?” he motioned with his head back at the motel.

“Nah, I'm fine”, Melody blew a raspberry. “We need to keep going! I remembered some tourist attraction some hours ahead of us, so we definitely wouldn't want to be stalling here!”

The Shrimp groaned. “Don't tell me you like all those tourist traps! They just want your money and give nothing in return!”

Well, maybe not all of them… But that one was a scam in even more ways!

“Well, that also would be a perfect spot to pause and relax”, Melody grinned at him, yet her eyes were definitely less sharp than yesterday. “Come on, it's a road trip! And what's a road trip without tourist traps?! Where's your adventuring spirit, Bruno?”

He huffed and looked away.

Where was it indeed? Did he even have it or was it always his pain-in-the-ass side that was just looking for troubles?

Not to mention that would cause a delay of at least several hours. And then they possibly would need to take another night break…

Jorge was waiting for him. And the Shrimp promised to be back as soon as possible.

Yet Melody was looking at him and obviously vibrating from excitement.

“I don't know”, he crossed his arms and glanced down at Shanklin who was yawning at his feet. Melody yawned next. And tried to hide it.

“Then you'll just have to believe me and see for yourself! You'll love it!”

The Shrimp groaned and tried to switch tactics:

“If you want so much to take a break, we can just stop at another diner and then…”

“Nope”, Melody huffed and dangled the car keys in her hand. “You forget one thing! The driver is the captain of the car and right now that's me! I'm pulling rank! We're going! And we'll take a break there!”

He snorted against his will. “Oh come on, that's hardly fair!”

“Why? There's no other competitors for the captain’s spot and there are no reasons for us to miss that attraction!”

After some thinking the Shrimp went to object the last part of the sentence.

Chapter Text

Stanford glanced at the direction of the Shack and sighed.

Even if the building itself was hidden between all the trees and everything, he still heard it.

Whispers of voices, soft and sad tunes still playing…

He hated it. He hated that day. Now and every year before it.

‘Stan Memory Day’? What an insult!

Stan deserved more than that! He deserved more than one day where everyone was sitting and crying and remembering that lively kid that was once running through streets for one summer only…

Right, maybe Stanford wasn't fair. That applied only to people who only knew him for that brief summer.

The rest… For their family it wasn't only for one day. It was for every day passed since getting the news and for every day until…

Stanford sighed. He hated being melodramatic but on this day he just couldn't help it.

If Mom and Grauntie Mabel were allowed to cry without stopping, then he too was excused with being too dramatic.

After all, Stan was his twin, no one knew him like Stanford and nobody loved him like Stanford. Even Mom… Although that too wasn't probably fair…

Stanford shook his head and continued with his task.

It should be perfect this time! This time he would account for all of his previous mistakes! And he upgraded the summoning spell itself! So no matter how much Stan didn't want to speak to him, no matter the interference - his ghost would be drawn to this circle!

And then…

Stanford didn’t hold too tight on his hopes, but he also found a binding spell. As long as he could find Stan’s spirit, he could use anything as a vessel! He already asked Fiddleford and the latter confirmed that building a human automaton was possible. Or if Stan wouldn't like this option, Stanford would think of something else! Pity that the original body was in ashes, but he could work with it!

As long as Stan’s spirit was still somewhere there…

Stanford hissed. Stupid Grunkle Dipper, he would be regretting giving up last year! Stanford would succeed! Stanford would prove that Stanley was still somewhere!

Stanley couldn't be gone, he couldn't vanish… He couldn't go and cease to exist leaving his twin behind!

Not when they didn't see each other for years before that! Not when their last call…!

No! Stanford refused to believe in it!

He just needed to do everything perfectly and then he could see Stanley once more, he could talk and ask him… And he could bring him back!

After drawing the last symbol on the ground, Stanford stood up and critically looked all over his work. He already had to start over twice, but this time he didn't need to.

The circle was perfect.

Step one complete.

Stanford went to his backpack and grabbed some candles, starting to place them in the previously dug out holes. And then lit them all with some matches. Ignoring how his hands were shaking and how the first seven matches refused to be lit.

Step two complete.

Stanford took his Journal from the inside of his coat and flipped to the needed page.

He practiced pronunciation for days and nights.

He remembered every word and pauses needed.

And he chanted the spell as flawlessly as he could. 

He felt the spell working and starting its search and the wind picking up and shivers going down his spine.

And then the lights went out.

Stanford held his breath and listened.

Aside from faraway sounds from the direction of the Shack there was nothing.

“Stanley?” he whispered, but his heart already knew the answer.

No spirit came.

He frowned and lit the candles once again and forced his voice to chant the spell once again.

And again.

And again…

No spirit came.

And when the box of matches suddenly became empty, Stanford threw it in some tree and slumped down on the ground.

He did everything right! He checked everything more times than Fiddleford with his blueprints!

It should've work!

The only reason it couldn't work was if the spirit was no longer exciting…

“No”, Stanford whispered, feeling the tears coming up. “No, no, no, he couldn't leave me!”

Oh, and he once wished Stanley to stop being clingy and suffocating! To stop following him and find something for himself!

And now… his spirit moved on. 

The books all said that it meant that the ghost found peace and didn't regret anything.

It meant Stanley didn't regret anything. It meant Stanley died and made peace with it.

It meant that Stanley decided not to wait for Stanford to join him.

And he called Stan selfish and narcissistic and shallow! And he hoped feared that Stanley would become so angry that he'd come back as a ghost with category no less than 3rd.

Yet Stanley moved on.

And Stanford couldn't reach him.

Not now, not tomorrow, not on the next year ‘Stan Memory Day’.

When did it happen? Has Stanford even had a chance for the spell to work if he came up with it last year? Two years ago?

How late was Stanford?

He would never know, wouldn't he?

He lost his twin. And he wouldn't even be sure he did everything he could to save him at least after death…

Usually Stanford was ashamed to allow himself to cry. Tears were unproductive. They only hindered the way of rational behaviour.

But not today.

Today he didn't want to be rational.

He wanted to cry and scream and rage.

He wanted to shout curses and apologies and pleas… But it stopped to matter.

Stanley wouldn't hear it. 

And so Stanford just hunched on himself and hugged his knees and wailed.

“Oh! Someone there?”

There was some rustling nearby.

Stanford desperately wished that this would be some gnome so he could kick it away and continue with his pitiful suffering.

“Oh, little dude… Wait. Are you crying?”

Huh, that was that new guy that just arrived at Gravity Falls. Grunkle Dipper mentioned that he was born and raised here but left in search of his own dad and now was coming back with a cute fiancée. Not that Stanford cared.

“Go away”, he grumbled and turned away with all his body.

“... You're Stanford, right?” the newcomer ignored it and instead came closer, whistling in appreciation at the remains of the failed ritual. “That's some spooky stuff, did you make it yourself?”

Stanford sighed and decided to ignore him. He knew the drill. Judging by initial reaction, this guy would praise whatever cleverness he noticed and then go lengths about how Stanford was a new Merlin or something…

“... Judging by your posture, whatever you tried to do, failed?”

Stanford sniffled and hid his face even further between his knees.

“Oh… oh, little dude! Sorry! Do you… Do you mind if I just sit there?”

Stanford had half of mind to just say ‘no’, but the newcomer was already approaching, quietly hissing when he slipped on melted wax. But then he did indeed sit beside Stanford, without actually touching him.

“... I'm Soos if you don't yet know, by the way”.

“Whatever”, Stanford mumbled. He was weighing the options of leaving and finding another quiet spot and of staying and ignoring. He was feeling like a bunch of mixed live wires, some already ripped and sparkling… 

“My condolences…”

“Shut up!” Stanford found the third option. The anger. “You don't get to barge in and pretend to care!” he jumped to his feet and pointed an accusing finger right at the face of the newcomer who was a man in his thirties, soft-like and with gopher-like features. “You didn't even know Stan so don't you dare…!”

“Then tell me about him, please”, Soos patted the spot that Stanford just vacated. “I know I didn't know him. For all I heard today, he was a really nice dude. So let me grieve for the missed possibility of knowing him.”

Stanford sighed and dropped back at his spot. His small outburst left him tired and he didn't want to argue. So after a little moment of silence he started his story.

“Stanley was my twin. He was bright and clever and bursting with all his energy…”

Chapter Text

“No reason?” the Shrimp huffed and raised his hand. “First, they are overpriced”, he curled his pinky. 

Grauntie Mabel liked to explain how that cost was reasonable and what expenses were included and what amount of profit was left after all taxes. And yet there were always some bold guys or girls or hags that started to complain.

One time Stan decided to make an experiment. He went through every price tag, adding one or two zeroes on the end of each. And just put on a show of grumbling and agreeing for a discount for every complaint received. 

Needless to say, his little scheme lived only for a day, until Grauntie Mabel checked the daily income and instead of being relieved became enraged and talked hours about the honest way of doing business.

Yeah, honest. Like she wasn't the one selling the memoirs of her steamy summer romance with the King of Mermaids (Stan tried to read it. And while the romance bits were actually nice, the rest… yuk!). Like she didn't dress Waddles the XIII (he wasn't the thirteen. Grauntie just liked that number) in period outfits and didn’t present him like a cursed royalty. Or like Great Uncle Mason didn't hide some of the real cool facts about their exhibits, such as unicorn’s horn of cool music or stuff.  

“Second, whatever they claim they are - that's a load of bullshit”, he curled his ring finger. 

Yes, both of the twins running the Mystery Shack weren't honest. They evaded ugly truth of cursed artifacts and told the most boring stories about their cultural values. They gave tours and paid the local forest guys to make an appearance and some silly show. 

Yet when Stan tried to spin a tale full of curses and magic and even with the bits of actual adventures instead of the Dictionary Excerpt given to him by Great Uncle Mason, he got scorned because he “was disturbing the integrity of genuine weirdness”. 

By the way, Ford by all accounts should have been enraged by that way of showing weirdness. Yet he actually was defending the Shack! He actually supported the downplaying and hiding of their actual wonders and was all for presenting it all as just another type of museum or such.

They argued. Stan tried to prove that showing the Weird Stuff while hiding their most exciting aspects was an insult. And Sixer took all his words as The personal insult. And then somehow their mutual hostile silence went for days and Great Uncle Mason got the story from Ford…. And Grauntie Mabel got the story from Ford… And Fidds got the story from Ford…

And nobody got the story from Stan.

It became very ugly. And while Stan tried hard to explain himself once again, that he never ever in his whole life tried to ridicule Sixer for his hands, that he would rather go and jump from the cliff then do it, somehow he still got punished by having to clean up the whole storage.

That actually led to another ‘Great Idea of Stan to prove his point…’

“Third, you really want to stand there with a whole crowd of mindless lunatics gasping and praising whatever stupid thing is there on the display?” he curled the middle one.

Stan took some spare parts, like bits of broken statues and Grauntie Mabel’s craft supplies, and made a nice and exciting retelling of his and Sixer’s dealings with the sirens. He even embellished some bits of Sixer's part in that adventure as a way of additional apology.

And he actually got Grauntie Mabel to agree to put his masterpiece on the display and he was sure that the visitors would love it and that would prove that the exciting story was the key to the success!

Yet as he hid himself behind the curtain and waited for the cheers and him being proved right, the visitors praised everything. The Gnome Comparison Chart, the Multi-Bear’s Painting (not as “he's in it”, but as in “he drew it”), the Scarf Knitted from Four-Leafed Clovers…

Everything. Except his “Call of Sirence”.

Well, he still heard something interesting from his hiding place…

Namely Great Uncle Mason groaning. “Stan just thinks he's so much better! When we spent decades perfecting the balance between true facts and legends!” And “Hope that will teach him some humility”.

And Grauntie Mabel not disagreeing. “He just needs to understand that pure enthusiasm is not enough”. And “He should've asked Ford for help. I think with due artistic vision it would've become a true success”.

Stan spent an extra hour hiding, not willing to let them know he heard them. He was ashamed to be called out like this. They were right, he only cared about how to prove them wrong and didn't think about how that was their business and how they knew better ways to run it.

“Fourth, they were right and you should have known better…” he whispered as he curled his index finger.

Stan eventually heard Ford tiptoeing into the museum and standing there and just… starting to giggle.

Sure, Stan wasn't such a great sculptor or whatever, and he never really cared for portraying his vision with precise accuracy (like Sixer), yet he still hoped that at least Ford would understand…

“Fifth…” he stared at his thumb, still raised, and paused. Didn't Sixer use his pun at least a dozen times for the next few days, every time glancing his way and smiling? Didn't Grauntie Mabel still place his little diorama in the living room? Didn't Great Uncle Mason declare war on local Gnomes when Stan blamed them for the diorama's disappearance (in reality he threw it out himself)?

He missed them.

“Bruno”, Melody called him when he felt silent. “You really don't want to visit it?”

Oh, Bruno wanted. Bruno wanted nothing more than to visit the Shack once again. No matter the smell or the scoldings.

But they weren't talking about it, right? And he really didn't want anything to remind him of what he has lost because of his faulty character.

“No”, he sighed. “I just can't.”

Melody stared at him some more and nodded. “Sorry, I didn't think…” she paused. “It's something personal, right?”

Bruno nodded. “I'm sorry”, he hugged himself and looked away. “Don’t mind me. I'll just sit in the car and wait until you're done visiting…”

“Nope, change of plans!” Melody stretched herself and hopped to the driver's seat. “I'll just visit it on my way back, and you and me are just going to take the most scenically pleasing route that we'll find!”

Bruno felt pleasant warmth inside. “You really don't mind? I know I'm being selfish…”

“Oh just shut up”, Melody groaned and yawned once again. “Everyone has feelings. That doesn't mean everyone is selfish!” she paused while getting inside the Canyon and waiting for Bruno to let Shanklin into his nest and then to take his own place. “Well, actually, maybe that makes everyone selfish too”, she drummed her nails on the wheel. “I'm definitely selfish!”

“You? No way!” he chuckled against his will. Melody? Selfish? This most pure and friendly person he ever met? She possibly just didn't understand…

“...I broke Soos’ car once so he would have no choice but to spend another day at my place. Belts!” Melody interrupted as she started the Canyon. 

Bruno obediently put the belt on.

“...I also once shoved a complete stranger to get the last bag of salted caramel. Not my proudest moment, but you just have to taste that stuff once and then you'll get me!”

Sure, that sounded bad. But still, she wasn't suffocating her own family, she wasn't costing them huge money and she definitely didn't cause…

“Oh, and one time I decided to go to the movies without warning anyone and forgot I promised my parents to get them to the airport. And they missed their flight…”

“Crap”, he winced. Father would beat him for the movies part only. At least Jorge would just make him work until he fixed the consequences of his mistake.

“Yep, they took my guitar away for a month. That was the worst month of my life!”

That was all? He sighed. Well, he had to guess from the start - their lives were definitely too different to be compared. 

“Lucky you”, he mumbled and turned away.

There was some silence, and he definitely felt being stared at.

“Bruno, I know it's not my place to ask…”

“Then don't”, Bruno groaned and closed his eyes.

“...Are you… Are you happy with your family?”

He ignored her and without looking reached out to turn the radio on. It wasn't her place to know about Jorge. 

And… he refused to admit that he didn't know the answer.

***

After some hours of being with his thoughts on his own, he had to admit something else. He missed the easygoingness of the previous day.

But Melody was generously giving him the space, just nodding to the tunes or randomly glancing his way.

And Bruno was hesitant to break the silence. Not that he didn't want it - he simply didn't know how.

Was he expected to start with apologies? In that case, for what? 

Or could he just skip it and propose another round of “Yellow car”?

Or maybe…

He glanced at Melody, trying to judge her current mood.

The lady was currently staring at the road, without paying him any attention. She was frowning.

Well, that answered it. Bruno decided that he liked silence very much, however uncomfortable it was to him.

Instead, he carefully turned around and glanced at Shanklin who was napping in his nest.

So, no company for now.

Bruno sighed and turned back, glancing at the road ahead. They were still following the highway that was mostly empty, with rare cars going in their direction and even rarer - in the opposite. 

Even both sides of the road didn't hold any interest, with some trees and cornfields seen behind them.

He noticed another yellow car and silently curled another finger, marking the third one he noticed.

Yeah, that definitely wasn't as fun as shouting it aloud.

He glanced again at Melody and sighed.

She still was just staring at the road as intensely as before.

And… her hands were grasping the wheel definitely with more force then the previous day.

Bruno frowned himself.

“Everything good?” he asked. 

“Huh?” Melody clearly was startled as she sharply straightened her posture. The car swerved, and the lady cursed and quickly returned it to the proper lane. She exhaled and nodded. “Yeah! Yeah! I'm fine!” she giggled, yet there was nervousness in all of it.

Bruno hesitated, yet then steeled himself. “That doesn't look fine”.

Melody sighed and hunched. “Well, I now regret not taking your advice and getting some more sleep. Coffee helped only so much”.

“Then let's stop and take a break!” he exclaimed. “Or let me drive! I have a licence…”

“Yeah. Good idea..." Melody nodded and made a sharp turn with the wheel, intending to get to the roadside. Without making a turn signal or checking the mirrors.

Bruno only managed to gasp in protest, before hearing a loud screech of brakes behind them and then being forced forward onto the belt with such force that he felt his ribs crackling.

He gasped from pain and then felt his head being slammed sideways on some surface too, immediately disorientating him.

There were moans of pain and screeching around him, and there were spots all over his vision.

He felt himself floating…

His ear got bitten, and Bruno shouted from sharp pain.

And the world became focused once again. 

“Oh fuck”, was his immediate reaction.

Well, he was still alive, that was definitely good. Shanklin was too, hissing and clawing at his cheek from his shoulder. 

He still was pinned to his spot by the seatbelt. Yet it didn't prevent his neck from becoming stiff from a previously uncomfortable angle.

It seemed that the Canyon got rammed and…

And…

Bruno slowly turned his head to look at another person.

Melody was unmoving, half-sitting by the help of her own safety belt and half-laying against the wheel. There was clearly some blood trickling down from her temple.

“Melody!” Bruno shouted and instantly coughed, getting no reaction. He stretched a hand and reached to her neck, searching for a pulse and exhaling in relief. Okay, she was only unconscious, that was manageable.

Shanklin once again pawed at him, whining in distress.

“Yeah, I know”, Bruno nodded and started once again checking their surroundings.

He didn't smell any smoke or other signs of incoming fire, but still reached and rotated the key, shutting off the engine.

Then he tugged on the door before him, frowning as it refused to bulge. So after releasing his seatbelt Bruno rolled down the window and squeezed himself through it.

Shanklin jumped out after him and screeched, biting his ankle.

“I know!” Bruno hissed back at him. “I'm not leaving her! Calm down!” 

He quickly looked all around. Well, the car was still on the road, having stopped itself at some point and turned around by the force of impact.

To add to Bruno’s rage, he obviously saw the brake tracks, stopping some distance behind them, yet the offender itself wasn't anywhere around. The nerve of that one guy or whoever!

Nor were there any other cars.

Just great. He was on his own.

Bruno sighed and ran around the car, opening the driver's door. This one was working fine to his relief, so he turned to still unconscious Melody.

He briefly checked her over for visible injuries, noting the bruise on her head as the source of blood and the shallow breathing.

“Belt”, he hissed at Shanklin, who immediately jumped inside and pawed at the release button.

Bruno nodded, immediately catching Melody as her body began to drop and starting to drag her outside. 

Shanklin hissed, following them.

“Of course you’d do it more carefully”, Bruno grumbled. “Be my guest and try for yourself”.

After some more movements, Bruno laid down Melody some distance away from the car and frowned. She still didn't regain her consciousness.

So he started to check her condition once again, more thoroughly this time.

And got terrified on the very first check.

The breath was gone.

‘So, you did it once again’, the voice behind his shoulder sneered. ‘Nice to know I wasn't the exception, but just the first example…’

“No”, Stan whispered, grasping his hair. “No-no-no! That couldn't be happening!”

‘And yet it did. Poor girl, she knew you only for a few days and already was cursed by your existence…’

“No! There's still…” Stan gulped and closed his eyes. There were ways, there were…

‘Focus, Stan. In every critical situation one must keep a calm head…’ there was another voice, just as stern as the first one, but grounding and assessing.

Stan exhaled as if commanded and stared at Melody with resolve. Right, he knew what to do.

His hands went in the position once drilled in his head, one over another, in the lower part of a sternum, and while his brain was pulling out the memorised instructions, his body already went with the pushes.

One, two, all the way to thirty.

‘That’s right, keep the tempo, pumpkin. Allow your body to memorise it, so you won't be hesitating when it'll be truly needed.’

Two breaths and repeat once again: one, two, all the way to thirty…

And once again, not letting it up…

Distantly he heard some tires screaming and then shouts.

Yet Stan wasn't letting it distract him.

Two. Thirty.

Two. Thirty…

Melody gasped and her chest finally started to expand on its own.

He sighed in relief and immediately turned Melody on her side, bending her arm to serve as a pillow. After that he sat back right on the ground, allowing himself to relax a bit.

‘Good job, Stan.’ ‘You did well, pumpkin.’

‘Huh, so what, she'll probably die anyway…’

“Shut up”, he sighed and glanced around. Shanklin was quietly toeing towards Melody, nudging her forehead and whining.

And there was indeed another car nearby, a red sedan, with its owner speaking on the phone. Noticing that he was watched, the guy ended the call and went to Bruno.

“I called 911, they sent the car already”.

“Thanks”, Bruno nodded and checked Melody’s breathing once again. Still present.

“They also sent the police, as I noticed your car was rammed over… Are you okay yourself?”

“Yeah, been worse”, he sighed absentmindedly, but then he flinched. The police? Hell no! “How soon?”

“Well, probably ten or so minutes…”

He sighed and glanced at Melody once again. Still breathing. 

And the help was coming.

Ten minutes, he shouldn't be hesitating.

Melody was safe for now, and it was time to make sure it would be the same for him. 

The Shrimp stood up and cracked his fingers. And checked out the guy: not too tall, not too heavy. 

“Can you lend me a phone please?” the Shrimp tried to sound as non-threatening as possible and, when the guy nodded and reached into his pocket, struck the guy's neck in one precise movement.

The guy went down.

The Shrimp checked his breath and got to thinking. He had two options. One car in perfectly working condition and the other with signs of a road accident… and who's owner already got the worst by getting tangled with the Shrimp…

Yeah, his next choice was obvious.

He went to the Canyon to fetch his stuff and wipe any obvious signs of his presence.

“Hey, you’re going or what?” he shouted at Shanklin who was still sitting by Melody’s side. The possum screeched yet still joined the Shrimp at the newcomer’s car. 

The engine was still running, as the guy presumably left his sedan in a hurry. Good enough for the Shrimp, who jumped behind the wheel, threw the backpack on the backseat, waited until Shanklin found a spot and then took off, making the engine roar.

…

Well, that was sure another way to hitch a ride.

***

He dropped the car on the outskirts of the nearest city and took a bus to the next one. And then and only then he finally gave up and tapped on his “poisonous harpy” contact. He definitely needed some guidance from their best logistics gal.

“Yes?” Carmen hissed.

“Hi, it's the Shrimp. I need a transit”.

“Didn't you learn some manners from Boss? Or how I'm not a mind-reader and actually need some more info?!”

“Well, I'd give them to you, if you skipped your nagging…”

“You little…!”

After some more hissing and chewing out and spilling his coordinates, he got instructions to proceed to another bus station.

And as he waited for his next ride, he couldn't resist and follow with another idea.

He found the public phone and punched in some numbers that he found by quick internet search.

“Hi, it's the Hospital of Saint…”

“Yeah, I know. You had to receive a patient today, by the name of Melody…”

There was a rustling of the papers on the other side. Then…

“Sure, I see the name. But unless you are her family, we can't give you any updates…”

He definitely wasn't her family. But nevertheless it was reassuring to know she was in hospital. Someone else would now take care of her, way better than him.

He sighed in relief.

“No, that's enough for me, thank you”, he chuckled and reached to pet Shanklin in reassurance for both of them. 

There was some pause. Then: 

“I can pass some message with your name when she wakes up, do you want to?”

“Yes, tell her that Bruno is truly sorry.”

Chapter Text

It was hot. Too hot. Unbearably so.

He was feeling flames, licking at his ankles and promising the agony at the very touch.

And yet he didn't fear them. Not the heat, not the smoke, not the maddening red light, painting every surface.

He feared the door before him. The door that was increasing in its size with every moment, looming over him, making him shrinking in comparison.

He feared opening that door and at the same time he knew he would do it. And he did it. Well, he didn't actually open it, but it started creaking and disappearing and he knew that it was him who opened it.

There was room there. Once upon a time it was filled with laughter and love and with a very different kind of warmth. Now everything was gone, leaving the unbearable heat and mocking flames.

At least the dining table was still there, with the only person still accepting Stan as his family.

His Father was burning even as he was still reading the morning newspaper.

“If only I threw you out too, I would be still alive”, he said flatly as if he was discussing the weather or sports column. “Nice of you to pay me back in such a way.”

Stan was just standing there, frozen and powerless. He felt himself burning too. But it wasn't painful, it was actually nice and pleasant, as if he was being cleansed or something.

And then the other seat stopped being empty, and it was Melody, sitting across the table and taking a sip from a porcelain cup. She giggled.

“So, nice to know I wasn't special after all, being tricked by a cursed kid. To think that I could just drive away without stopping. And still be alive. Did I mention I was going to be married soon?”

“But you are alive”, Stan whispered, looking as the flames were consuming Melody too. “I saved you, I called the hospital…”

“Am I?” Melody chuckled at him. “Don't lie to yourself. You haven't any idea of my real state. Maybe I'm in a coma. Maybe I dropped dead a second after your call. Yes, sure, keep telling yourself that you saved me. It wasn't your life that was ruined…”

“Oh, that is what he always does”, his Father stated, still without any emotion in his voice. “He broke our family, he killed me, and now he's doing it all to strangers…”

“I didn't mean it!” Stan pleaded. “I tried to get you out! Both of you!”

“Silly boy”, Melody stared at him, still with her little pleasant smile. “Don't you know? No one cares how hard you try. In the end it doesn't even matter.”

“The only thing that matters, boy, is the result. And your result is bringing suffering, misery and death”.

“But…” Stan tried to argue. But how could he argue against facts?

He did kill them. Nothing could be done with that reality.

Nothing.

***

He woke up feeling himself empty.

“I'm sorry”, he whispered, staring at the ceiling, dark and cold and empty of flames, covered by moonlight. “I'm sorry”, he repeated, feeling his eyes beginning to sting.

Shanklin just nudged closer to his side, without waking up. So Bruno gently stroked his fur and tried to go back to sleep.

***

Upon seeing him, Jorge frowned.

“I meant it when I said your full report could wait until you get some rest.”

Bruno shrugged, letting himself fall on the couch.

“I did get some rest”, as much as he could. “So let's just do it and move on.”

Jorge sighed and sat at his chair nearby.

“If you insist. So, let's talk about Verner.”

Bruno nodded and told as much as he remembered. About scouting and breaking into. About waiting and starting their talk, about…

He paused.

“What happened next, Felix?” Jorge was still patient. Right, he already knew the brief version.

“It's Bruno now”, he mumbled and sighed. “I… I got distracted.”

Oh, and wasn't it curious? It was only a few days ago, but it seemed like an eternity had passed.

Jorge was waiting with a raised eyebrow. And Bruno knew that there was no reason to hide it.

“I… Jim and me broke up”. 

It didn't even sting anymore. No, it was now just a hard fact. Jimmy was smart and probably foresaw the risks of being together with Bruno. And decided to leave before the worst…

“Do I need to open a contract on that bastard?”

Bruno blinked in confusion and raised his head to stare at Jorge. The latter was staring back with a completely serious expression.

“What?”

Jorge sighed and patiently repeated. “The contract, Bruno. Do I need to hire someone to take that son of a bitch down?”

“I know what the fuck it means!” Bruno exclaimed. “I mean… Why? Didn’t you like him?”

“You really don’t get it?” Jorge groaned and rubbed his face. “Listen, boy, I liked him only as long as he made you happy. So I want the truth. Was it him that you meant by ice-cream and stuff?”

“Yeah… Yes, I meant him.” Bruno sighed and hid his face between his palms. “Sorry, I know, I know it all. Don’t let emotions rule my actions. And I did get over it, at least by now…”

“Boy.”

Jorge’s tone made Bruno look at him. The old guy was frowning, absent-mindedly cracking his knuckles. Noticing that Bruno was paying attention, Jorge nodded.

“I repeat.  Do I need to hire someone? Or would you prefer to get some revenge yourself?”

Some revenge?

Bruno made himself ponder it over. It was a serious offer. Jorge never joked with such matters. And would do everything possible to carry out his treat. So even Jimmy Snakes, the guy with significant non-natural abilities, could become a target, possibly even receive some serious damage. The question was of only finding the right person. And with Jorge’s connections and resources this question would sooner or later find the right answer.

So… Did Bruno himself want it? Or even do some payback by his own hands?

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

Was he angry or bitter enough to be wishing for it? Did he want Jim to suffer too? Or maybe there was even some possibility to make Jim change his mind this way? Did Bruno want it?

Did Bruno need it?

‘Tell you what, Steve. If you outrace me, dinner will be on me…’

Right, he chuckled. That was why he rapidly fell for Jim - the guy was the wildfire, the wind in one’s face, the warm sand slipping through one’s fingers when the concentration failed. Jim loved things with a burning passion: his bike, his music, his clothes. And just like fire, he was untamed, free and merciless.

He wouldn’t go back to the things that no longer held his interest. He wouldn’t return. 

Perhaps, Bruno knew it the second he started having doubts. Perhaps it really was time to just accept that fact.

Accept and move on. Accept that some things were done and could never be brought back. And just find a way to store good memories in his heart.

Just like Grauntie Mabel taught him.

And didn’t they make lots of good memories together? The nights out in the desert with only the stars as their companions? Racing both each other and the police at the same time? The quiet moments when Bruno felt the illusion of being loved?

“Bruno?”

He was startled from his memories. But now he was sure of his answer.

“No. Leave Jim out of it.” Bruno deeply sighed. “He and I are done. That’s final, and I agree with it.”

“That isn’t the answer…”

“No. That is the answer”, Bruno stared at Jorge’s eyes. “Thank you for offering, but don’t you dare to hurt Jim on my behalf.”

Jorge held his gaze for several minutes in silence, both of them refusing to look away. Yet it was still Jorge who sighed and gave up first.

“Only because you really sound like you've moved on”, the old man shook his head. “Although I’d still love to break the bastard’s legs…”

Bruno quietly laughed. “I see you’re in a really aggressive mood today. Did Diego…?”

Jorge loudly groaned and leaned back in his chair. “Boy, I hate that I have to spell it out to you. But I don’t need any reasons other than you being hurt.”

Bruno blinked.

Once. Twice. And some more.

Oh.

…Jorge was angry for him? Without even knowing the whole story? Just because he thought Bruno needed some retribution?

Oh...

Bruno swallowed and looked away, picking at his nails.

“Sorry for making you worry…”

“Stop”, despite the definite command, Jorge’s voice became softer. “Boy, I will always worry about you. That’s just the thing with us, old and sentimental adults. We will always worry no matter what…”

No. Jorge was mistaken. Or worse, lying. None of the adults…

‘Pumpkin, you scared us! Didn’t we warn you about the Pit?’

No! They all didn't care!

‘Stan, I told you not to go there at night! What if I didn't hear you?!’

No! They all lied and just wanted to make him believe in that lie!

‘Stanley, sweety, please bear with it just for a year or two! I’ll think of another way! I promise!’

Only to forget about him as soon as he disappeared from the picture!

‘Belts!...’

…Bruno felt himself punched right in the chest.

No, Melody didn't count. She was just so nice to everybody, yet probably would forget anything about him when they parted ways. At least now she would definitely remember him. If… if she would survive…

He was startled by the hand rubbing him by the hair.

“Stop with the moping, boy”, Jorge chuckled as he continued to ruffle the hair. “Just accept it. I will worry.”

Bruno made a half-hearted attempt to shrug Jorge's hand off but in the end just looked away with huffing.

“You don't need to”, he muttered, crossing his arms. “I'm capable of looking out for myself”. Not to mention, Jorge probably was lying too. He too would just forget about Bruno if the latter would fail or if someone better came into picture. Bruno didn't need some empty promises…

The hand ruffling him paused. And Jorge sighed.

“I hope one day you'll believe me, my boy. That worrying has nothing to do with your abilities.”

Bruno huffed. On the contrary, he hoped that the day when he would believe in such a blatant lie would never come.

Because the next step would be hoping he was worth worrying for. Worth being cared for.

Worth being present.

Worth surviving.

He sniffled and felt the hand on his hair continue with strokings.

“I think we definitely still need that ice-cream”, Jorge said after a while. “Let me just wrap up some matters.”

***

“That's just my life! Sort of…” Jorge exclaimed and hid his face in his palms.

Bruno nodded, sniffling and helping himself to another spoonful of ice-cream.

Shanklin quietly hissed at them and just continued to be munching in his fruit basket.

Aside from three of them, the viewing room was empty, with only the big screen showing them the pure perfection of period costumes and the speakers blasting every syllable of this new version of the Duchess regaining her confidence.

This particular movie was an adaptation of the really old one, with some plotlines changed and the characters being given deeper motivations.

Bruno actually saw the original version once, and while he scoffed then at the ancient quality of graphics and of the whole movie, that was actually his first glimpse into the genre that he started to like after several more movies.

So when he heard about the Duchess making her comeback in “The Duchess Commence”, on the big screen no less, he was really curious.

And now he was quite pleased with the realization that he liked the new version. Sure, the new plot was overcomplicated by the Duchess’s family problems with inheritance. And the Head Maid was definitely being hyped up for some sequel of her own. And Count Lionel’s backstory was making him almost sympathetic… Not to mention they switched the cotillion for waltz without any real reason and without addressing the implications! And while the scene in the rain was sweet, it wasn't making any sense!...

Yet Bruno was definitely enjoying it.

But even more he was enjoying seeing Jorge being completely enamored with the story.

“I’m not afraid, Madre”, he was whispering along with the heroine’s lines and busted into tears once again.

Bruno giggled at that. He possibly was the sole person on the Earth who ever saw Jorge Castillo, the self-proclaimed leader of one small but dangerous cartel, the man who slept with two guns and a knife, tearing up from some movie.

“I challenge you, Duke of Amaranthine, to the duel!”

Bruno perked up and once again threw his full attention at the screen. Finally, that conflict between Count Lionel and his rival was given a spot! And the duel! That was the coolest way of resolving it!

“Come on, Duke Meinhard”, he shouted at the screen. “Avenge for your humiliation at the waltz!”

“What?” Jorge choked beside him. “He humiliated himself there! He's the one who should make the amends!”

“You clearly don't understand the waltz customs”, Bruno huffed. “He was right to scoff at that pivot…”

“Ho, do I need to organise some ball of our own so our little Bruno could show off his own skills?”

Bruno was thankful to the darkness that hid his embarrassment.

“No! I don't have skills! I just read some bits…”

Jorge laughed, while reaching and patting him on the head. “Just say it if you change your mind.”

Bruno scoffed and stared back at the screen. Count Lionel and Duke Meinhard struck their rapiers and took the starting positions.

“Come on, Meinhard”, Bruno clutched his ice-cream basket and didn't dare to even blink. “Come on, you can beat him…”

“I’m sorry, my boy, but he'll lose”, Jorge chuckled. “That's the rules of the genre.”

And Bruno didn't have any time to object, too busy tracking the movements with his eyes.

Well, the choreography could be more thought out, but it still was captivating! And Meinhard was definitely better, he had the upper hand, he only needed one final strike…!

And the final strike came. But not by Meinhard’s hand.

“What?!” Bruno jumped to his feet, clutching his hair and ignoring the basket that fell down on the floor. “No! No way!”

“I beg your pardon, little duke”, Count Lionel stated without clear emotion, swiping his rapier in the air to shrug off the blood from it. “But the Baroness will have to cancel your wedding.”

No…

No! No! The Duke was too young and noble to die that way! He loved his fiancée so much! He had jokes and smiled warmly!

And made sure to talk to him and pay attention to him.

And called him cool. 

And cared for his opinion…

And he killed her too!

“Bruno! Bruno!” he heard distantly, feeling himself being helped to sit down. Feeling some hands being placed on his shoulders. Feeling little claws scratching at his wrist. Feeling his eyes wettening and blurring.

“She would be on her way to her fiancé too”, he whispered, not caring if he made sense. “She would be safe if she hadn't met me. What if there were complications? What if she's really in a coma? What if she's already de…”

He felt an impact, making his head turn away.

Then he felt a pain, blossoming on his cheek.

As he hissed, palming his stinging skin, the light went back on, showing the frowning face of Jorge before him.

“Calm down, my boy”, he hissed back. “Breath!”

Bruno took several deep breaths and nodded.

“I… I'm sorry”, he hunched on himself, wincing when the ribs protested in pain, hiding his face and reaching to pet Shanklin as a way of comfort. “I… I…”

“That girl, right?” Jorge sighed beside him. “Still thinking about that incident?”

“Yes”, Bruno admitted, feeling ashamed. He knew perfectly well that as soon as he passed to Jorge and Carmen all the details about the road incident and the following car theft, even more - as soon as Jorge passed him the news that their police contact would deal with every possible repercussion - he, Bruno, should've forgotten all about this happening.

And yet…

“Bruno, my boy”, Jorge hummed. “Sometimes I forget that you're just a kid. So let me give you some advice, that some of us learnt too damn late. Learn how to step over your conscience. You did what you thought was best. And that's good, you did your moral obligations perfectly. But did you think that in case of her survival she would just become a witness against you? Or how about next time, what if your target starts rambling about their kids? You'll go cry again and let the bastard take a chance at killing you?”

Bruno flinched. “Of course not!” he shouted. “But that's different! She wasn't a target! She was…!”

“Who, Bruno? Who was she for you to care?” Jorge’s gaze was burning his temple, as Bruno didn't dare to raise his head.

“...Nobody”, he whispered, flinching as his own words burned his throat. “She was nobody.”

He heard Jorge exhale in some relief. “Good. Good. I'm glad that you realised it, my boy. So what, you calmed enough to continue watching?”

Bruno glanced at Jorge who was still looking at him with his focused gaze. And then stared down at Shanklin. The little guy was curled under his palm, softly clawing at his fingers in a way of reassurance.

“Yes”, he whispered, leaning back in his seat and moving Shanklin closer, carefully hugging him to his chest. The possum quietly hissed at him and started pawing at the clothes’ layers to find a nice position for himself.

Jorge meanwhile shouted at the projector room’s direction, and the lights dimmed again, with the movie being played from the pausing point.

Bruno stared in silence as Count Lionel gifted some flowers to the Baroness. And how there was finally the right version of the cotillion scene. And how the Duchess had that cool moment from the trailers…

Yet in his mind he still played their conversation with Jorge. Everything would be so much easier if he could stomp over his conscience. He wouldn't be still thinking about that lady. He wouldn't be having those nightmares. He wouldn't be hearing his Father's voice anymore. Every ‘what if’ would be silenced, leaving him with a clear path to follow…

“How did you do it?” he whispered in the darkness. “How did you step over it?”

“Got betrayed by my partner”, Jorge huffed, with traces of long-lived and still hurting malice in his voice. “Thought we were friends, but he got another opinion.”

Bruno knew the feeling.

“And? What did you do?”

“Fed him to the sharks”, Jorge chuckled darkly. “He always loved feeding his fishes.”

Bruno flinched and stared back at the screen. The Duchess was dressing up for the inauguration, with the camera tracing every lace and ribbon.

“Bruno”, Jorge called out to him. “No one expects you to learn it immediately. But you have to notice how others do it every time. People easily step over their morals, beliefs and connections, as long as they get some profit from it. You doing the same is not a crime, it's a way for you to survive.”

Bruno thought about it. People did indeed step over everything. Over promises, over their family ties. 

Over their plans.

Over his dreams and wishes and intentions.

Over him. Over Stan, over Steve, over…

His twin did it without flinching. His Mom did it with tears, but still did it. His boyfriend did it without even looking him in the eyes. 

There was nothing wrong in Bruno doing it himself. He would be just cleaning loose ends that didn't lead anywhere anymore and useless emotions that only brought regrets and pain.

He still had Shanklin. He still had Jorge. That would be enough. They were the only ones he was allowed to hold on to. So everyone and everything else could be discarded…

So even if it would be hard to do, it would be worth it. Right?

...

And yet… Deep inside he still was a truly selfish kid. He didn’t want to.

Chapter Text

Bruno sighed and turned to the screen once again just as the camera showed the Duchess exiting the mansion all battle-ready. Metaphorically, as she didn’t have any battles to win, only the court to impress.

She was so strong, knowing what she wanted and how to reach it. She was the true protagonist, beautiful and inspiring.

And she was already at her culmination point, no longer hesitating, no longer wondering about her allegiances.

Bruno was a bit envious. But then again, he still could allow himself to imagine it for a little. Him, dressed all fancy (not in dress! In a cool coat, covered in gold and diamonds) and having an epic and dramatic camera shot, symbolising him ripping all the ties and connections and strolling on. Maybe jumping on a horse in one swift motion and riding away.

And then having another shot of his old family, all seeing him and begging for…

Bruno groaned and rubbed his face, ignoring questioning concern of Jorge and quiet scratching of Shanklin.

No wonder he still had troubles abandoning his selfish tendencies. He still couldn’t make those stupid ideas go away. He still thought sometimes that he too was deserving of some apologies and even of having a choice between accepting or denying them.

All those years working on himself and he still had those flaws.

Still grasping at straws. Still hesitating to stop with unnecessary hoping.

Jorge was right. Grauntie Mabel was right.

He should’ve moved on long ago. Store the good memories inside and be happy with them. 

Stop waiting for them to remember about him. Stop wishing for even a small sign…

He glanced at Jorge. Sure, he knew Jorge wouldn’t keep quiet if any of his old family would reach through him. But then again, maybe they did and Jorge simply forgot? He was busy, he had a lot on his plate.

“They still didn’t call?” he whispered, sure in his knowledge that he didn’t need to elaborate.

“No, sorry, my boy”, Jorge glanced back, with compassion in his eyes. “I can’t understand them. How could they live without checking even once on you?...”

Figures. Bruno tuned out the rest.

And to think Ford promised to call at least every month when they parted. There was definitely a fine print in that promise, some coded phrase that Sixer knew and Stan didn’t. Something about how that promise was only valid until Stan would be staying on the right side of laws, morals and humanity.

And to think that their last call ended in shoutings, over Stan’s inability to come visit Gravity Falls for another year in the row. It didn’t help that Stan was ashamed to properly confess how he still hadn’t paid their Father’s expenses for raising them all and how he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere until that debt still wasn’t settled. 

At least with Jim he got his closure, not the silent treatment… Not the still unanswered questions and doubts…

Bruno frowned, looking down at Shanklin and resuming his petting as he slowly felt the idea forming.

Sure, him calling first, against their wishes would just be calling for trouble, for further resentment and scoldings, for reminding him of his place and everything.

But then again, he would know. He would hear it and stop hoping once and for all.

And maybe then he would stop clinging to faint memories and regrets. Maybe then he could finally leave every trace of Stan behind. Maybe then he would finally sleep without nightmares.

He grimly nodded to himself and turned his attention back to the screen. Just as the end credits started to roll.

“You were right, that was definitely one hell of a movie”, Jorge chuckled.

“The original one was better”, Bruno argued out of spite. And not because he realised he didn’t follow the ending at all.

***

Bruno paused near the public phone not too far away from his apartment. His hand reached into his pocket, counting spare change there.

Shanklin hissed at him and ran to the booth, sitting near it and pawing at its base.

“Yeah, I know I know”, Bruno gulped and stepped closer. “One call and I’ll know for sure.”

Oh how he wanted to just turn away and leave it for later. Or for never. Just keep hoping and waiting. Not preparing himself for another round of heartache. It wouldn’t be like with Jim. It would be brutal. It would be deadly. 

It would be liberating.

He would know. He would suffer and cry and regret calling. But eventually he would be able to stop clinging to something he could never have back. He would be able to move on.

So he gulped and threw in a coin, then another.

And started with the numbers that he still knew by heart.

Shanklin climbed up by his leg then by his torso, coming to his shoulders and crawling around his neck in a supporting gesture. Bruno finished with punching in the number and petted his friend while they started waiting for the response.

The ringing went for a bit, making Bruno throw another coin to continue.

He didn’t allow himself to hang up - he knew he probably wouldn’t be able to find courage for another try.

And then it was picked up.

Bruno didn’t even manage to utter anything as the voice on the other end rapidly went with a speech of her own:

“Hi, you’ve reached the Mystery Shack! Sorry to inform you, but we’re closed for the family emergency! Call us in a week or so! Thank you! Bye!”

And the line went dead.

Bruno went dead too. Because… Because he hasn’t heard Grauntie Mabel in years. And yet he instantly recognized her lively manner of speaking. Her higher tone of being too preoccupied with something. Her attempt at hiding her worries.

And she didn’t even give him a chance, didn’t let him say it was him, to ask why they hadn’t called even once. 

So he didn’t even get his dreaded answer.

And at the same time he got another. They weren’t waiting for him. They weren’t expecting him to call. Whatever that family emergency was - he wasn’t a part of it.

He got the answer. On a plus side - it didn’t hurt.

On another side - there was nothing more inside of him capable of further hurting.

Shanklin screeched, jumping to the phone and pawing at it.

Bruno chuckled. “No, that… That was clear. That… That was better.” He stretched his arm towards his possum and the latter reluctantly climbed it, but not without hissing at the phone.

“Thank you, little guy”, Bruno laughed, feeling relieved that at least he had one friend that would stick to him through everything. Who would bite and hiss at everything he would deem a treat to Bruno. “Let’s go home.”

***

If it was a movie about his life, Bruno would imagine a scene of him going through all of his old belongings, mixed with sad nostalgic music and some overlaid scenes from previous movies.

But it wasn’t. And Bruno didn’t have any belongings since escaping the fire. He also wasn’t going to be as banal as putting on some sad music.

So in his reality he just laid in his bed for a day or so, going up only to feed himself and Shanklin before allowing himself to be swept again by his memories.

If he was asked about it, Bruno would say he was working on “letting only the good memories stay”.

In reality he was more wallowing than anything else. He decided that this once, this one day he was allowed. 

And so he let it all swallow him, until nothing was left. Only Stan, longing and left with rapidly fading remains of every hope he had kept for so long.

Him and Ford once again running through the forest, chasing fairies. Running through the town, grating on everyone's nerves. Running from Fidds and shouting at him to keep up. Running from monsters and getting shouted at them by Great Uncle Mason for being careless.

Him and Ford sitting through self-defence lessons. Through Great Uncle Mason showing them moves and ways of hiding themselves. Through Grauntie Mabel teaching them basics of first aid and how to make some makeshift weapons. 

Him and Ford sitting in the evenings in the attic, Sixer going through some of his books and Stan trying to see whether he could climb up the wall with bare hands.

Him and Ford and Grauntie Mabel and Great Uncle Mason sitting in the mornings for breakfast. With Grauntie Mabel doing newer and newer versions of her terrifying drink. And Great Uncle Mason finding another way to fail at a simple dish.

Him and Ford and Shermie and Mom and Father sitting in the mornings for breakfast. With Father never looking away from his newspaper. And Mom doing the most awesome pancakes and eggs and toasts…

Him and Shermie and Mom and Father sitting in the evenings for dinner. With Father groaning more and more at the missing ungrateful son. With Stan arguing. With Mom trying to calm them down. With Shermie wincing from all the shouting…

Him and Father sitting in the morning. In the evening. The only ones left behind. The only ones who had nowhere to run. The only ones counting each other as family.

“I’ll take care of you, boy”, he said. And Stan believed him. Believed when he was piled up with chores. Believed when it became obvious he wouldn’t be able to graduate and so it would be better to jump straight to working.

Believed when Father kept talking how everything was under control. Believed when he kept telling he cared.

Believed when Stan noticed a faulted wire and mentioned it and Father promised to fix it…

And every belief went in flames. That he caused by forgetting about the lit up stove.

Every belief in others, of Mom going back for him, of Grauntie and Great Uncle still caring no matter his selfishness, of Ford loving him and missing him - they disappeared later, in cold letters of a police warrant issued for one Stanley Pines.

If he wasn’t so lucky to meet Jorge, he wouldn’t even know about it, just being arrested some day and sent to prison and never seeing anyone again. Not that the last point did matter in the end.

The last time he saw Mom and Shermie was still when they moved out with their half of things.

The last time he saw Ford and Grauntie and Great Uncle was still when he was boarding that bus in shame, not smart enough to be allowed to stay with his twin. Not selfless enough to be allowed to stay there with his twin!

Still loved enough for some calls and rare mails. Still loved enough to be given promises. Not loved enough to be deemed worthy of following them.

Everyone would be better if Stan stayed there in flames, with his Father. Then there would be no promises left. No hopes shattered, no dreams crushed.

At least then Stan would be remembered for a while when it was time for annual mourning…

Come to think of it, maybe he would make a fine ghost, of the 10 category or even of a new one. Then Sixer would be interested in him once again, studying him and asking all about his abilities…

Shanklin bit him, making Stan scream and shake his hand and wincing.

Right, he had his friend here. He wasn’t alone. 

And eventually he would find efforts to get up and move on.

Stan sighed, continuing stroking the little guy, and for now allowed himself to catch another memory.

Him and Ford finding some unicorns and scamming them back, taking the mane and treasures.

Him and Ford hugging each other and crying from fright after being nearly drowned and saved by Fidds at the last moment.

Him and Ford accidentally raising zombies…

Him and Ford…

Him and Ford…

Him and Ford.

***

“So, back with us?” Jorge raised his eyebrow as Bruno strolled into his office.

“Yes, dealt with this letting go stuff”, he nodded.

“Already?” Jorge hummed with approval. “I have to say, I’m impressed. I definitely underestimated you and your resolve…”

“Yeah”, Bruno shrugged, decided not to mention how he still ached, still even hoped a little. But in the end decided to do as usual - by faking till he’d made it.

As long as he would keep holding onto his present from now on, he would eventually forget all about his past. The ache would fade, the lingering hopes would dissolve. And maybe one day his dreams would be free from glares and newspapers and everything else once again.

But Jorge didn’t need to know it.

“I’m actually glad you’re back in business”, Jorge motioned at him to come closer, which Bruno did, approaching and glancing at some paper before the old man. “Remember our good friend Diego?”

The one they tried to scare in place by targeting that Mark guy?

“Sure. What of him?”

“He sent an invite for negotiations”, Jorge took the paper and waved it in the air. “Said he bought a nice mansion in the canyons and wants us to come see it with a friendly visit.”

Bruno caught the paper and read it himself. Immediately wincing from over saccharine tone and mockingly calligraphic writing.

“Sounds like a trap”, he shared his first impression dictated by his instincts.

“Sure is”, Jorge nodded. “I've known that bastard for ages. He’s definitely planning to jump on us there if we go. Or to use our refusal as a reason for a full-out ambush.”

“So what will we do?” Bruno looked at the old man who grinned, showing his teeth.

“Well, of course we can’t ignore such a lovely invite. But it would be rude of us not to prepare some housewarming gift of our own.”

Bruno felt himself grinning too. 

“And you already have some plans?” he asked, feeling himself slowly working through ideas. Maybe they could sneak in and put some sleeping drought in water and get everyone incapacitated before striking themselves? Or same with sneaking, but getting a drop on Diego himself and leaving without alerting anyone? Or start with getting a more precise location and a map and…

“We’ll take his grandson as hostage”, Jorge tapped his fingers by his desk, definitely pleased with his own idea. “He lives near San Francisco. So you’ll drop by, take him and then you two will join us. Diego will love it, he’s surely missing his little star or something!” and he cackled from delight.

Bruno winced. Sure, that sounded like a sure way for getting at Diego and turning the obvious trap to their advantage.

But then again, how old was…

No. He shouldn’t be thinking of that.

Instead how about that? It wasn’t the only way.

Bruno already came up with several ideas on spot. If given more time and Jorge’s opinion he would be able to propose another one.

He hummed, slowly going over what he already thought out.

And it seemed Jorge noticed it too.

“Something on your mind?” he smiled with encouragement. “Come on, don’t be shy. Is it about Diego’s little guy or…?”

“I have another plan”, Bruno couldn’t help but tense. He still couldn’t believe Jorge appreciated his input, not ignoring it or even punishing him for it. Yet Jorge only nodded, as usual, making him continue. “How about bringing some sleeping stuff and mixing it in the food there? The invite mentioned a dinner…”

“First. Where are you planning to get the stuff?” Jorge curled his pinkie. “Second. The mansion will be crawling with Diego’s men before and during our visit. What about them?” Ring one. “Third. Poisoning food or water is an old trick. Diego probably would expect it.” Middle. “Fourth. Diego can decide to poison us too. So the best strategy for us is not to eat anything there. And Diego would just do the same.” Index. “Five. Actually, why not poison them too? Why do you propose a sleeping way and not lethal?”

Bruno sighed. That was expected. Jorge was too experienced and saw every problem with his plan. So he proposed another one.

Chapter Text

“Who was it, M?”

Mabel shrugged as she returned to the living room.

“Just some tourist as always, I think.”

And maybe she needed to behave more professionally, to promise some new exposition when they would be open again or propose to book their visit in advance. 

But she wasn't in the mood for professionalism.

“So, you talked to the detective in charge”, she nodded at Soos who groaned from the other side of the screen.

“Yes. He said that unless someone can describe to them the second vehicle, he can't do nothing.”

“Anything…” there was a quiet remark from the side, mostly ignored.

Mabel still glanced at her grandnephew who was hunched over the back of the couch where his best friend was rapidly punching on his trusty laptop.

Said best friend coughed politely at Ford who winced and hunched on himself even more.

Right, as they both were mostly quiet, they didn't yet manage to break into the police network or how it was called.

So Mabel turned back to the screen of their own laptop and glanced at her twin who was rapidly noting down every bit of information in his Journal.

“And the other witness who called the ambulance and performed CPR…” Dipper nodded all while frowning.

“Nope, when he arrived, he saw only her car”, Soos paused. “Although the nurse shared as she thought she initially heard him saying there was another guy who did CPR as real pro…”

Dipper's writing stopped. Fiddleford's typing paused too.

“Another guy?” Mabel asked, feeling nervous. Didn't the reports mention that there were no other persons? Only Melody and that one witness?

“Lads, did you…” Dipper rapidly turned to the couch, and Ford just shook his head, just as Fiddleford glanced up with irritation.

“I told you already, getting in any network is not about me punching some buttons. It's a crafty process and…”

Mabel couldn't resist and chuckled as her twin raised his hands in surrender.

“Sorry”, he said. “But let me know…”

“I will”, Fiddleford’s voice was enough of a hint that he wouldn't care who exactly would ask him again. He would go for the throat.

Mabel shook her head. The boys were growing up so nicely. 

Fiddleford was finally standing his ground, no longer that timid boy allowing his friends to just drag him around.

And Stanford… Oh, Stanford really was only steps away from becoming a truly dashing young man, with the quickest mind and suitable confidence. No longer afraid of speaking his mind or showing his hands. No longer reliable of other’s opinion on him. No longer waiting for other's advice before acting.

And…

Mabel hugged herself.

If only Stanley was still alive…

She had no doubts he would turn out just as dashing or even more. The kid was already shining, too brightly to be honest. He was brimming with ideas and tales, not caring whether they were acceptable or believable or even harmful. Not letting his twin have a possibility of thinking of his own opinion. Not letting their friend express his concerns.

Not caring whether he gave a truth or a lie as long as he was the center of attention. 

She and Dipper tried hard to make Stan to be more mindful of his character, so everyone could have a little space, a time to shine. So everyone would become a big happy family! They talked to Ford too, explaining to him how he shouldn't allow his twin to do everything as he pleased. How it would just ruin both of their futures in the long run.

And while Ford in the end finally saw the truth in their words, Stan didn't.

Stan refused to understand and give some space for others. He still believed that his behaviour wasn't harmful, that he acted for Ford’s benefit too.

Mabel thought it would change when Ford finally made a friend for himself. The older twin should've finally got some space for himself…

Yet Stan just declared that every friend of Ford was his own friend too and started to drag both of them around with even more insistence.

Even Ford, as much as he clearly loved his twin, started complaining about how unbearable it was sometimes, how draining, how exhausting.

And by the end of that summer Mabel and Dipper came to an idea. They just needed to give those twins a real opportunity to live as separate persons. 

And no matter how Mabel's heart broke over Stan’s crying to let him stay too - they all knew it had to be done.

Ford needed to learn to be his own person, not a half of a duo.

And Stan needed to learn how to let him do it.

It was supposed to be only for a year or so, because they saw both twins working on that, especially with Stan who slowly started to talk less about how bored he was at New Jersey and listen more to Ford's tales of his own adventures here.

It was working, despite a sudden decision of Caryn to push for divorce. 

It was working, because Stan still talked to his twin and stopped complaining and they planned their new big summer… At least a part of it…

But Stan then changed his mind. And gave some nonsense as his reason. Of finding a job and not having some money for the bus.

And seeing how Ford got upset over it, Mabel took matters in her own hands. She called Filbrick.

And judging by the man’s grumblings, Stan just didn't want to. He was really happy with his new job and he has so many things to do instead of visiting some insignificant town, for the whole summer nonetheless.

And Mabel was upset. She thought Stan at least was genuine in caring for his twin. Yet in reality…

She now wished to go to her grandnephew and sit him down and make him see how he should think more about his family than about his hobbies and everything. Make him remember how the family should be treasured and indulged.

She wished. She started planning: when it would be better to leave so the business would be still going and Dipper and Ford wouldn't be overwhelmed…

And then it happened.

The fire took two lives that day. And even though they knew immediately about Filbrick's fate as he was found lying in the living room, it took some days before Stan's remains were discovered.

It was too late then. 

And to make it worse, there was no one to blame. They said it was an accident, a mix of faulty wirings and a gas leak. It was dinner time when it started, so it was no more than a horrible chain of consequences.

There was no one to blame.

No one, except them all.

If only Mabel was quicker with her idea, maybe she would be present. Maybe she would be able to save a poor scared child who spent his last agonizing moments hiding in his room.

Maybe if they insisted, maybe if they asked more…

Dipper once said to her that he found no traces of Stan's spirit. He moved on. He didn't have any grudges left.

And Mabel broke down then, clutching at her twin's arms. Cruel irony, she wished so hard for Stan to lose some of his selfishness. And he did in the end, didn't he? If only he were still selfish, he would come to haunt them, to curse them, to ask for their attention… And instead he moved on…

She shook her head, chasing away the memories. Yes, no wonder that with a sad anniversary happening just days before, she still was going over everything in her head. One would think that with every year passed it all would've become easier. But no. Every year was just another year when Stan was gone. He would have now been as tall as Ford. Maybe a bit taller. Maybe a bit bigger…

No. Now was not the time for tearing up again. Soos needed them. To their luck Melody was alive and kicking.

So the question was of the reasons for her needing a hospital. And of the reasons why those reasons looked more and more suspicious with every minute.

Dipper was still mumbling over some possibilities while Soos nodded at them with enthusiasm.

“...maybe a road spirit or something?...”

Mabel shook her head some more. It was too complicated, she liked the version of the police covering something.

But until Fiddleford would break into…

“I'm in!” the said lad screamed in excitement, followed by Ford’s excited cheering.

Mabel immediately went to his side, looking down at the laptop's screen and feeling Dipper do the same on Ford’s other side.

“So, I'll go check on Mel. Maybe she'll finally remember what happened back there?” Soos waved at them. “See ya!” and he hung up.

Mabel just stared as Fiddleford’s fingers were flying over the keyboard. The strings of text on his screen were rapidly changing, and while she herself didn't have any idea what it was saying, she trusted the young man with his search.

“Here, try this one!” Ford suddenly exclaimed, hunching even more and trying to press himself on some button and getting slapped as a result.

“Hands off”, his friend hissed, but judging by Ford’s humming, he still went with whatever young Pines proposed. “Hmmm, oh, I see what you mean. The date of report and the date of changes…”

“...Can you find the stored version?”

“...Can you not doubt me?”

Mabel glanced at her twin who glanced back and shrugged. Yeah, they both had no idea what the younger ones meant. But maybe they didn't need to. The lads were capable enough to deal with it on their own.

“Aha!” Fiddleford cheered, and on the screen then appeared a document.

It was quite similar to the one Soos showed them before. Yet then Fiddleford scrolled some more and Ford started reading aloud.

“...came to a stop as that guy [note: name still unknown, male, estimated from 17 to 22 y.o., brown hair of middle length, brown eyes, average build, dressed in casual] was still performing CPR… As the girl started breathing again, that guy punched me out. And when I regained consciousness, the guy was gone, my car was gone! Did I mention there was a possum there [note: no concrete description of the possum given]?!...”

“So they scrapped that part from the report and the witness is now the one to give CPR…” Dipper pondered aloud. “What could be the police’s motives to change it?”

“One of theirs? The guy's too important somehow?” Mabel decided to share her thoughts. They probably were nothing, but they were talking about Soos' fiancée and she wanted to participate.

“Hmmm”, Dipper slowly nodded, but didn't otherwise indicate what he thought of her proposals.

“Can you check by timestamp? Like maybe something happened before or after that change?” Ford meanwhile was once again poking at the screen, getting slapped every time.

Yet Fiddleford still went with new lines of codings, opening and closing some other documents, while Ford rapidly read them and just shook his head, until…

“Huh, didn't know they stored calls there”, Fiddleford shrugged and pressed some keys.

And there were some voices.

“You found a really bad time to lose your personal phone!”

“Not my fault! Keep it brief then, Carmy!”

“Stop calling me that! And we need cleaning.”

“What? Let me guess. The Shrimp again. Why can't you teach him first some basics of not leaving trails?!”

“Say all that to the Boss! He'll be really glad to hear every complaint of yours about our little Shrimp!”

“What?! Are you crazy?! He will tear me in pieces! Anyway! What am I even looking for?”

“Caused some road accident on 15th and car theft. Two witnesses, one by name of Melody in a nearby hospital…”

“I’ll see what I can do”.

The record ended.

They all were silent.

Caused? The police knew who caused it and was covering him?

Mabel felt her hair rising in agitation. 

And that guy… Some punk thought he could cause a road accident and stay clean from consequences? Some punk that had some powerful names behind him so they just dictated it to the police?

Or was there something even more sinister? ‘Cleaning’ didn't sound lawful, it sounded like something from criminal movies.

Ford and Fiddleford were keeping silent, both thinking something over.

Yet Dipper was already bristling, his fists shaking and his face darkening.

“Who the fuck is Shrimp?” he hissed.

Mabel couldn't say it any better.

Chapter Text

Right. That plan with food tampering was full of holes. That was to be expected - Bruno did come with it on a fly.

And yet Jorge didn’t straight up deny it, he just questioned the weak spots. And that was reassuring.

Bruno nodded to himself. Okay, scratch that plan. What else could he think of?

Great Uncle Mason once told them: the base for every plan was to determine its exact goal.

What was the goal? What Jorge wanted from their meeting?

He wanted to show his superiority. That Jorge wasn’t the one to be underestimated. That Diego shouldn’t have tried to mess with him. That even by planning an obvious trap Diego shouldn’t have hoped to come out on top.

Jorge wanted to bask in his advantage. He wanted to parade his top-of-food-chain status.

So that was what Bruno had to reach.

His plan shouldn’t be just about beating Diego. It should be about how to do it in the most humiliating way possible.

Diego planned a trap? Then let him do it, let him think he had all the aces and the jokers in his hands, sleeves and wherever he hid them. Let him think he was winning and at the last minute…

“I see you came up with something good”, Jorge remarked, his tone full of pleased expectation. 

“I think”, Bruno nodded. “I won't argue your earlier points, I thought of something better”.

Jorge chuckled and waved at him. Bruno took it as a clear sign to continue.

“He's planning a trap. We don't know what exactly for now. But he'll expect you to prepare one too, right?”

“Right”, the old man nodded, looking at him with interest.

“What does he know about me?”

“About you?” Jorge paused. “I think he knows enough. But how much of the facts and how much of the rumors…”

“So when he sees the Shrimp with you…?”

“He'll watch your every step, believing we’d be hoping to catch him with his guard down. Not the best idea…”

“It is, if the real Shrimp is hiding”, Bruno smirked. The faint idea, suddenly born in his mind, was slowly taking shape. “If he sees the Shrimp before him, beside you, he won't be paying as much attention to everything else. Letting me sneak around and find out what he's planning. And make some changes to those plans…” he giggled in the end. “So when he tries to go with his trap, it won't work!”

Jorge paused, deep in his thoughts. Bruno held his breath, awaiting the verdict.

“I like your idea, but…” Jorge started counting off. “First, who will play the fake Shrimp well enough to fool Diego? While I don't believe he knows your face as you surely were careful enough on your missions…” Bruno nodded enthusiastically to show he was, “Right, but then again, the Shrimp is known to be a teen, a loud, sharp and confident one. I don't have anyone like this…”

“I have!” Bruno winced. Both from not expecting himself to interrupt Jorge and from not believing he remembered that guy in this context. But he was a teen, loud and sharp when needed… And the most confident guy Bruno ever knew. And… Well, it was no more personal business. It was a work matter now, and that guy was treating them as seriously as possible. He should agree if it were only a job proposal. And if Jorge liked this plan, that was the best option to draw Diego’s attention.

Jorge looked startled, but then just chuckled and went on. “Okay, we'll return to that later. Next point. Same one with your previous plan, actually. Diego's men…”

“I'll just need to study the location, wear the right stuff and wait for the opportunities”, Bruno did his own counting on fingers. “You said Diego bought that mansion? So he didn't build it himself. It's possible whoever owned it before didn't do it either and hired some people. And they should have plans for that mansion! At the very least, the previous guy could draw us a map of that house and I can use it!”

“So you're counting on somewhere out there existing a map of Diego's house?” Jorge raised his eyebrow. 

“No, I'm saying if it exists, it can be of help”, Bruno smirked. “If it doesn't, I'll just map it all out on my own!”

Jorge laughed. “You're really learning how to make a nice plan! Okay, then you are basically counting on two main points. On your ability to get around undetected…”

“I can do it!”

“I don't doubt it. But then what about the second point? Who's your distraction guy?”

Bruno took a deep breath. “Jimmy”.

He felt the air tensing.

“Jimmy”, Jorge repeated, with a rising menace in his voice. “You did say you broke up”.

“So what?” Bruno crossed his arms, trying to gather some more courage. “It's not me-and-him matter anymore, it's a working proposal. I'll be acting in your interests!”

Jorge stared at him for some time.

“You aren't trying just to meet him and beg him for a new chance?”

Did he? 

Bruno sighed. To be honest, some part of him probably would like to do exactly that. Maybe that was why he immediately thought of Jim? Maybe that's why…

No, it wouldn't be fair to Jim. He said enough. They were done. And so did Bruno. 

He didn't need Jim as his boyfriend. He needed Jim as a piece for his plan. He didn't have other candidates who could play him… At least, the Shrimp role.

For a second Bruno chuckled, imagining another person wearing his face posing as the Shrimp. Oh, the possibilities in that case! They would be so unstoppable…

He shook his head, chasing away the image of Ford dressed as him.

Jim would do. He had a right aura of danger and he was quick-witted enough to improvise. 

The question was…

“You're doubting that I can make him agree to the plan?” Bruno sighed, accepting the truthful point. “You’re right. He said he doesn't want to see me ever again. He easily could refuse to even hear me out…”

Jorge didn't say a word at first, his expression flickering between straight up murderous and thoughtful.

“Bruno, my boy,” he uttered at last with a heavy exhale. “Aside from this, are you confident in your plan? And what will you do if Snakes refuses to cooperate?”

Was he sure he could sneak in and find some useful stuff? 

“I can do it! No matter if Jim agrees or not, I'll just think of another distraction…” but was there any as good as Fake Shrimp? So Bruno sighed and admitted defeat. “Or we'll just go with your plan. I can do some kidnapping, I think…”

Jorge once again sighed, then rapidly stood up and marched to his desk. He took his phone and dialed some number.

“You. Little Snake bastard”, he hissed in the receiver.

What? Bruno almost jumped to his feet, ready to protest, but was silenced by Jorge’s gesture.

“Yes, glad you recognised me. I have a job offer, and you better think carefully about this one. My guy will call you later, and if you refuse to listen, I'll open a Snake hunt season, got it?”

Jim supposedly said some kind of agreement, because Jorge grinned: “Clever bastard”. And hung up with a force. After that he nodded at Bruno.

“You have one chance to get him on our plan.”

“Our plan?” Bruno felt his face splitting in a smile. 

“Yes, proceed with it”, Jorge went back to the couch. Bruno was grinning so hard he didn't mind the old guy reaching and ruffling his hair. “I'm intrigued, so you have my full authority to manage every step needed.”

“Thank you!” Bruno felt excitement moving him, and in the split second he went to hug Jorge who chuckled with warmth and patted his back. “I promise I won't fail you!”

“I know, my boy, I know.”

***

“Quick question”, Bruno looked at his reflection, licked his hand and tried to smooth his hair even more. “Do I look like a desperate guy or like a guy ready to negotiate?”

Shanklin, who was lying around his neck, yawned and scratched his leather jacket.

“Yeah, I think so too”, Bruno winked at his reflection and tried to hold on to the image of the confident and dashing guy before him.

Even if he didn't feel like one inside.

He didn't try to explain everything by the phone, just texting Jim a time. And receiving a location in response.

Which was now. And here. 

And Jim’s bike was parked in front of the diner. 

Bruno took some deep breaths, remembering everything he knew about negotiating.

Jorge did it brutally. He could allow the opponent to share his opinion, but then would strike down with his own, supporting his vision with a promise of consequences if one would refuse.

Great Uncle Mason did it with plans. He tried to predict every argument of his opponent and come up with a strategy for each one. But to be honest, that was why Grauntie Mabel was usually the one dealing with them.

And Grauntie Mabel… She loved compromises. She loved middle grounds. She loved Game Theories. She already had in mind the amount of losses she could agree to. 

Nothing of that would be working now. Even if Jorge promised Snake Hunt (and deep inside Bruno still chuckled at that term), Jim wouldn't be shaken by any threats. 

Plans wouldn't work. Jim could either agree or not. And because of that, there would not be any compromises.

Bruno had to win. Or his First Real Plan would be ending very soon. And Bruno refused to accept it. Not when that old man’s approval was on the line.

(Not when the alternative plan was… No, if Bruno succeeded, they wouldn't need another plan. And he would. He would.)

Bruno sighed for the last time and squared his shoulders. 

“Let's go”, he nodded at his reflection for the last time, to which Shanklin quietly hissed in agreement.

And then Bruno finally pushed at the diner's doors, making them swing open and entering himself.

The diner was mostly empty, so Jim was spotted really easily. He was sitting at the window table, scrolling on his phone and sipping on some soda.

Jim didn't even glance up to him, as Bruno approached and sat on the other side.

They sat in silence, Jim straight up ignoring him and Bruno searching for the right way to start the talking.

It probably shouldn't be surprising that the person that broke this silence was the waiter.

“Hi! Do you know that pets should be…”

“That's no pet, that's his supporting animal”, Jim muttered without glancing up.

Bruno couldn't help but snort at their old joke, a bit touched that Jim still remembered it and more than a bit surprised by Jim's mouth quickly turning upwards in a smirk.

“Really?” the waiter paused.

“Yep”, Bruno enthusiastically nodded, all while Shanklin stretched and wagged his tail. “Do you want a Doctor's note?”

“And you have one?” the waiter was getting more and more confused.

“Yes, just let me…” Bruno reached and took a napkin from a stand, which he then passed to Jim, who with a straight face took a pen from inside of his own jacket and started to write on that napkin. After a few seconds and some lines Jim passed the napkin to the waiter.

The latter blinked and groaned. “If your pet damages something, you'll be paying in full. Doctor’s notes, especially those childish ones, won't count!”

Bruno giggled, feeling Shanklin clawing his shoulders. “Don't worry, he's really friendly. Can I order now?”

A soon as the waiter took his order and left, Bruno turned to Jim who sighed and put away his phone.

“Hi”, Bruno smiled and winced internally. That definitely didn't sound as confident as he aimed.

Judging by Jim's new sigh, he thought just the same thing.

“Listen, Shrimp, Steve or whoever the hell are you. I don't care what you told your old man and how mighty he thinks he is…”

Oh, that didn’t sound reassuring.

“And I don't fucking care that you don't care!” Bruno hissed back, feeding into his still present sting of being dumped for strength, not caring if he was making any sense. He wanted to take some initiative because if he didn't… “So shut up and listen!”

Surprisingly, that indeed was enough for Jim to stare at him in silence and even with a bit of interest.

Okay, Bruno still has a chance. Good!

He exhaled and calmed himself a bit.

“Look, we're going against Diego. He invited Jorge to his place and in brief we want now to strike back. I need you to pose as me.”

Jim stared at him for some time, keeping silent. Then he shrugged.

“So what? That’s your little game, and it doesn't concern me…”

“I’m trying to hire you!” Bruno exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table and noticing Shanklin jumping down to the adjacent seat. “Don't tell me that you being a pro at being a merc was a lie too!”

And that got a reaction. Jim’s eyes flickered, showing a fire within and making Bruno shiver.

“I didn't lie”, Jim sneered, changing his relaxing posture to the one of promising danger: he straightened his back and posed his elbows on the table. “I just don't want to deal with you anymore…”

“Nobody wants!” Bruno shouted, ignoring the tightness in his chest. “You and everyone else! I get it! Believe me, I know it all! But it's not about me, it's about…” he paused for a breath and then for another reason: he didn't know what to say next.

What was it really about? About him proving his capacities to Jorge? About him wanting to stop Jim looking at him like he didn't matter?

It still was all about Bruno, wasn't it? 

“What's it about, then?” Jim definitely caught this too, although his tone calmed down somewhat, almost like he was interested in the answer.

Bruno sighed. He could lie, he probably could twist it into something less selfish and noble, but Jim already knew everything. He already knew his every faulty trait.

So maybe it would be easier to admit? And hope that for Jim it would be enough to mend their issues to some point?

“I want you on my side so my plan would succeed”, he whispered, staring back into Jim’s eyes, that were still burning deep inside. “Please, I know I failed as your boyfriend or whatever you thought we were, but I need you now. This is the first time Jorge accepted my plan as a main one for such a big event! And without you…”

“Kid…” Jim hunched, losing his posture. “You’re a real puzzle sometimes.”

“Huh?” Bruno blinked. 

They were briefly interrupted by the waiter who brought the order, though Bruno just glanced at his burger, that quickly was spotted by Shanklin, and then stared at Jim awaiting his answer.

The latter however didn't continue right away. He took some more gulps from his soda and only then leaned on the back of the couch.

“Kid. Humor me. When we… ‘dated’, as you called it, did you really care about it or was it just some fun for you? Or worse, a chore?”

“Of course I cared!” Bruno didn't need even a moment to ponder, as it was obvious. “I did everything to make you happy and all! I tried as hard as I could!”

“Yeah, that you did”, Jim hummed. “Always going about what I wanted and never giving me any hints about what you wanted yourself. Didn't sound like you intended for ‘us’ to last. You didn’t even put up a real fight in the end…”

“So what, I should've grabbed you and refused to let go?” Bruno bristled. “Against your wishes and everything?”

“And you know my wishes so well, aren't you…” Jim smiled with his mouth only and turned away. “Pity I never could guess yours.”

“My wishes didn't count…”

“Then why do you suddenly push for that plan if not for your wishes?”

Bruno sighed and looked down. He just couldn't understand Jim. Why was he asking? He was the one who called everything off. He was the one that started to distance himself. And why did anything of it matter when Bruno just wanted to hire him?

What did Jim want to hear? More apologies? He didn't seem happy when Bruno tried it. More explanations? Bruno didn't have them.

How could he persuade Jim if he didn't know what he was thinking? If he was angry, why did he start to sound sad? If he was resentful, why did he go nostalgic? If he didn't care, why didn't he agree immediately?

Bruno glanced at Shanklin who was just munching on some fries and ignoring him. Thanks for support, little guy, he mentally huffed.

And yet he still needed to come up with something. Jim wasn't leaving, and until then the chance was still there. If Bruno didn’t know the other guy’s thoughts, then he just needed to keep in mind what he really wanted himself.

“One job, Jimmy. I ask for one job. After that, whatever you want - I'll see to it. If you don't want to see me ever again? No problem. If you want to…”

“What about you, kid? What do you want?” Jim interrupted him, with his tone that usually meant he was losing patience.

“I told you, I want you on my plan”, Bruno stated.

Jim sighed and shook his head. “I don't know why I expected anything else…”

“Why? I told you, I need this plan to…”

“Okay. Your plan. How much do you want it?” Jim once again interrupted. “What are you ready to stake on it?”

On the plan itself? Or on what its success promised?

“Everything”.

Jim hummed, tapping his fingers several times on the table. His burning gaze was still studying Bruno.

“Let's suppose I agree. What do you need me to do?”

What? 

Bruno stared at the guy before him. Jim wasn't smiling or anything. He still was tapping, and he was frowning as if he was really thinking about this proposal.

Did it work? Bruno wasn't sure what exactly was ‘it’, but he needed to grasp at this opportunity.

“Right! Right, nothing too complicated. Just go with Jorge, pretend to be me and…” Bruno smirked, “see so no harm would be done to him.”

“Oh, so not only I'm you for a while, I'm also a bodyguard?” Jim sighed, but his tone was lighter, of a joking kind. “Well, I can do this. When do you need me to do it?”

“Three days from now. I still have another errand to run before it, so you can meet with Jorge and…”

“What's your errand?” Jim interrupted, moving to steal some of Bruno's fries and managing to evade Shanklin's claws followed by his indignant screech.

“Well, I have a Design Agency to break into. It's in Oakland, so I just have enough time to go there, get something and go back.”

“I'll go with you then”, Jim shrugged. 

“Why?” Bruno paused. “That is not what I'm hiring you for.”

“I want to verify something, and seeing you once again in action will do it. Consider it as a part of my payment”, Jim chuckled under his breath.

“Right, about that”, Bruno perked up. He still wasn't believing that somehow Jim was convinced. And to be honest, he should've been more concerned. But did it really matter if the plan was finally a go? And if the conversation went to the payment, his negotiating attempt was definitely successful! “How much…”

Jim stared at him, really intensely. His eyes were burning from inside as bright as the actual fire.

“Your name, kid. I want you to finally give me your name.”

Huh? Still on that nonsense? 

“Bruno”, he shrugged. “I go by Bruno now”.

Yet Jim’s stare didn't vanish, still aimed at him.

“No, the true one, the real one. I want it as a payment”, he said, and his tone was greedy, hungry, like he actually yearned for it more than anything. Weirdo.

Well, if that was the price? For Bruno's plan to become successful?

Silly Jim, he could've asked for something much more valuable than a name that no one cared about anymore.

“Stanley Pines”, it was given without hesitation.

Chapter Text

“Stanley Pines”, Jim repeated, and the way he said it made Bruno feel like he was doused for a second with a burning water. He flinched and shrugged, chasing away the sensations that went away as suddenly as they appeared. Jim smirked his way. “That's a nice name…”

“Yeah, yeah, hope you’re happy now”, Bruno looked away, feeling a sudden emptiness inside. How long has it been since anyone said it out loud? Since it was aimed at him? “Now you know it. Cool. I don't use it. Got it? So can you…”

“Stanley”, Jim’s smirk changed to a really soft smile, and that feeling, that burning one returned, only it wasn't drenching anymore, it was enveloping and... 

Wait a fucking second. That was definitely not just from his tone! What did Great Uncle Mason once say about names?

“You fucker!” Bruno stood up and reached to grab Jim by his shirt with both hands. “What did you do?!”

“Me? Nothing?” Jim raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. But his smirk returned. “I just finally…”

“You tricked me!” Bruno shook the other guy by his collar. “Undo this! Whatever that was! Right now!”

Jim actually looked caught off-guard by it, his smirk vanishing. And only after a brief moment of an almost blank state, he frowned and even sneered.

“That doesn't work like that, Stanley”, this time the feeling was not unlike being slammed into the wall and the resulting shudder was enough for Jim to shake off his hands, grabbing them and holding in a steel grip. “Now listen carefully. I…” Jim paused, looking all over Bruno, down to their hands and back to his eyes, and then his expression went blank once again. “I... Listen. Let’s treat it like my insurance. You, kid, are exactly the kind of guy that I’ll never work with without it. No matter our past. No matter my feelings. Not to mention your old man clearly has it out for me. That also means: no funny business, no bright ideas of making me a scapegoat, because I’ll find you or your soul now anywhere…”

“My soul?! That’s crazy! I wouldn't do anything to you! So why the hell do you need that kind of insurance?” Bruno exclaimed, trying to wiggle his hands, but Jim’s ones weren't giving.

“Why? You really dare to ask? When you only care about your plan and how Jorge sees you and nothing more?” Jim shook his head and finally released Bruno’s hands. “Like it or not, those are my terms. That’s how I’m gonna work with you. You don’t have a choice here, Stanley”.

This time the feeling was more like a tight hold, like all his body was grabbed, but instead of warmth this time, there was an emptiness, a vacuum-like sensation that was paralyzing, not even with fear - more like with regret and sadness and despair.... Bruno felt like his very existence was shrinking, unable to withstand Jim’s gaze.

And then…

“Hey!” Jim hissed, shaking his hand that was bitten by Shanklin. By doing that, he finally looked away, and the vulnerable feeling vanished, letting Bruno take several deep breaths.

“Good work, Shanklin, now bite him again!” Bruno shouted, while pulling himself away and hugging himself.

He fucked up. And he knew! He knew what Jim was! He knew that he wasn't just a tough guy! He just never thought…

He hoped…

Right, they were no longer dating or whatever. Their past didn't matter, just as Jim said it. They were now doing business. And any business was cruel and painful and didn't have any place for feelings. 

But… That hurt. That Jim thought he needed this insurance or whatever. Bruno would never…

Right. Feelings. Now it wasn’t the time for them. He needed to put himself together. He wasn’t done yet. 

He could do it. He needed to do it.

Bruno sighed and snapped his fingers, making both Shankin and Jim look at him.

“You have your insurance. I want some for my own”.

Jim, that bastard, snorted. “Oh, and look at this, now you finally learn to state what you want. Maybe I should've done it from the start?” The last words were pensive, like he actually was wondering about it. Bastard.

He was mocking Bruno now, and maybe he was right. Whatever Jim did right now, whatever advantage the knowledge of Stan's name gave him - Bruno had nothing to counter. He was just a human, who once prided himself on knowing Jim’s exact nature yet still failing to evade a trap.

Ford would know what to do in his place, right? Or if not him, then Great Uncle Mason…

“Kid”, Jim’s tone suddenly became a mix between soft and concerned. “You… are afraid? Of me?”

“Of course I am!” Bruno shouted, glaring at Jim. “I know what you can do with sinner’s souls, why shouldn't I be scared?!”

Something flickered in Jim's eyes, and he looked away, his hands swiftly evading another Shanklin's clawing attempt.

“Kid…” he eventually started.

“And stop calling me that! I'm not a kid!”

Jim snorted. “Stanley then…”

Bruno sighed, ignoring once again the following feeling, this one more like a small heated touch, brief and hesitant, by a shoulder. Why were they different? Sometimes hurting, sometimes almost nice? Oh, Ford or Great Uncle Mason would definitely have some theories already. Maybe even testing whatever it was that Jim was doing.

“That's not my name anymore, so stop…”

Jim laughed, loudly, with his whole body, like it was the most hilarious joke he ever heard.

“Ki… Stanley”, that feeling was there again, almost like the last one, just more intense. “I think we both know it's a lie”.

Bruno heavily sighed and looked down. Right, for supernatural beings the names were sacred, not to be easily changed or abandoned. And yet…

“I'm not Stanley”, he whispered. “I'm not.”

Stanley was gone. Stanley wasn't needed so his name just was better to be forgotten forever.

Stanley was the name that had family. Stanley was the name that was whispered with a shared mischief, that was shouted with worried alarm, that was uttered with a well-deserved reproach.

It wasn't the name for Jim to use.

And yet he had it. 

And still was silent. And looking at Bruno with a frown and unreadable expression.

“I won't call you by a fake name”, Jim eventually sighed. “For me that's like pretending that the sky is green or something”.

Something clicked in Bruno's mind.

“That's why you liked calling me all those stupid monikers?!”

“Not like you didn't refuse any of them”, Jim huffed, but then sighed for another time. “Yeah, come to think of it, Steve is close enough to Stanley, so it actually felt acceptable…”

“What does it give you? My name?” Bruno couldn't keep it anymore. He needed to know. He needed to be ready for whatever Jim was now able…

“Well, how to better explain…” Jim rubbed his chin. “You know I see souls, right?” Bruno nodded. He didn't know how exactly Jim experienced it, and the latter gave up a long time ago to describe it so it would make actual sense. But the basics? That for Jim it was a mixture of physical representation and one's soul? Yeah, that he knew. So Jim continued. “Names in short are a…” he frowned, searching for words, “Like a thread leading to you. Having it allows me to reach for your soul, to see it much more clearly”.

“And knowing where I am at every time too, apparently”, Bruno recalled some of previous words, to which Jim nodded. “What about saying my name? What does it do then?”

“Huh?” Jim actually looked puzzled. “Saying doesn't do anything. I'm not a witch or…”

“Then what the fuck was it?” Bruno once again jumped to his feet, pointing an accusing finger. “I definitely felt something! Every time you said my name!”

Jim just blinked at first and then…

In all their time together Bruno saw different expressions on Jim. Bashful, remorseful, outright sad, different states of anger, different states of being pleased. But never that one. Never the expression of the kid being caught with a hand in a jar.

Jim's cheeks reddened, and he swiftly took out his dark glasses, pulled them on and jumped on his feet too.

“You… you know”, he coughed, looking anywhere but at Bruno, “We better get started on our journey! I'll go and… And…” and he all but ran out. Well, more like strolled away with his long stride, with his usual style and coolness…

“The fuck?!” Bruno shouted at his back. Did Jim just run instead of answering?

Shanklin screeched too, in the direction of the guy that just left.

And there was awkward coughing to the other side of them.

“Ex-excuse me, did you finish?” the waiter was fiddling with their fingers, looking in every direction except Bruno. 

The latter sighed and took some bills from his pocket. “Yeah, we're done here.” Passing them to the waiter, Bruno whistled to Shanklin who took the last fry and ran towards the exit too.

“Smart one, that supporting pet of yours”, the waiter chuckled.

“You don't say”, Bruno sighed. At least that was the one companion that he actually understood.

***

He found Shanklin hissing at Jimmy's bike. And Jim himself was trying to chase Shanklin away with his feet. Which was giving him in return some serious clawing.

Bruno chuckled against his will, making Jim immediately glance his way.

“So, what the fuck was that just now?” Bruno crossed his arms, trying to achieve some intimidating posture. And glare. 

Jim sighed and leaned on his bike, the same old and classic Charley-Doneppeson he always rode.

“Look, can you… Just tell me what you'll feel, please?”

Bruno squinted. That sounded suspicious, but then again, Jim still hadn't returned to his usual confident posture. There was something there, something that bothered Jim.

And maybe… Maybe that something was the very lead that Bruno himself could use to get some leverage back?

“Okay. But if you try something funny…”

Jim sighed and looked at him. And then whispered: “Stanley”.

Bruno closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation. “Warm. Like something touching my back… And it's already gone. So, can I finally get my answer?” he opened his eyes and glared.

Jim, however, wasn’t done yet. “Can we try again, Stanley?”

“This time it's fainter, and I can't feel the exact place, but it's somewhere…”

“Stanley”.

Bruno frowned, taking a pause before answering. “Nothing?” And indeed, this time there wasn't anything. Like it should've been all this time. 

This time Jim’s exhale was obviously filled with relief. “Oh, then I can control it”, he muttered.

Bruno felt the irritation rising.

“So?! What was that? Were you trying to influence me or something? If you did something to my soul right now..!”

Jim looked at him, and now he looked plain sad, with his mouth turned down and somehow even his jacket looked duller. “You… You’re still asking?”

“Of course I am!” Bruno shouted. “How can I not?! When you said yourself you can reach to my soul or something and then you refuse to say what exactly you did! Insurance or not, I deserve to know whether I can trust…!”

“Stanley…”

“And stop using that name! I don't care…!”

“Can you allow me to use it if I make an Oath?”

What?

Bruno blinked, studying the guy before him. Jim was looking serious, pensive and… resigned?

“What?” he repeated out loud. “What oath?”

“You want assurance, that you're safe from my abilities”, Jim took some steps towards him, right until he was standing before Bruno. “And I'll give it to you. If you stop asking about what just happened and if you allow me to call you by your name. Deal?”

That wasn't what Bruno wanted. He wanted answers and he definitely didn't want to hear his old name again. But… He could still find out by some other way. And the name… That was just a name. Nothing more, nothing less. And if the result was getting the needed guarantie…

“Not only me then”, Bruno added, already nodding his agreement. “You mentioned Jorge in your own warning, so no harming him with your magic too!”

Jim actually chuckled. “Right, how could I forget. Do you want to include Shanklin as well?”

It sounded like a joke, yet Shanklin actually wagged his tail beside them and Bruno smirked. “Glad you proposed yourself. Shanklin too!”

Jim sighed, then outstretched his hand, with a palm open to the sky.

And Bruno put his own hand in Jim's. 

And maybe he had a recently seen movie to blame, full of proposals and tender whispers, but he half-expected the other guy to drop on one knee and all. Yet Jim just covered their hands with his other one and found Bruno's eyes with his own.

“I swear that I won't harm you or any of the ones dear to you as long as no threat from you or them is given to me. I swear to protect you and them as long as you want me by your side. I swear that you don't have to fear me as long as you don't try to harm me. I swear it all to you, Stanley Pines.”

And… every previous feeling following his old name being called was nothing compared to this one.

He was grabbed by burning sensations from every side, his skin tingling, his insides pulsing. He was both drowning in the heat and soaring above it, feeling covered and hidden.

And with that he felt it - he suddenly knew that those really weren't just words. No, they were now whispers crawling by his skin and covering his entire being. He couldn't really see them but he felt them, warm and promising, settling somewhere inside him. 

This time the sensation didn't just vanish. It was slowly fading, leaving behind funny tingling until he could feel only the warm hands of Jimmy, still holding into Bruno's.

The silence settled for some moments.

“Huh”, that was the only thing Bruno could say at the end, still overwhelmed by what just happened.

“Right”, Jim coughed and released him completely, stepping away and looking to the side. “Are you feeling ready to trust me now, Stanley?”

Bruno just nodded, still at loss for the actual words. He still had doubts. Why did Jim propose it? Did his name really was important enough to give instead such a serious Oath? Did Jim even notice that he promised much more that they initially discussed?

But all those questions could wait. 

Bruno hesitantly pressed a hand to his chest, still warm from inside from the received Words. 

The insurance of their partnership.

The promise of his safety.

The promise that couldn't be broken without consequences.

He slowly smiled, uplifted by this revelation. “Yes, I am.”

***

Once upon a time when ‘Steve’ and Jim were some kind of an item, it was usually Jim leading their way during the rides. He proposed the destination, he arranged the stops, and the only thing left for “Steve” was to follow.

Things have changed so much since then. Bruno wasn't intending to follow. And Jimmy didn't ask for it, only confirming that Bruno knew the route.

And given the recent revelations Bruno wasn't even going to check whether Jim hadn't lost him from sight.

If Jim said he was now aware of his whereabouts at every time, then he for sure couldn't lose him in traffic.

And so Bruno just could put his all into the ride, forcing his trusty Laziati to draw out its maximum speed.

Just the thing he needed. Just the thing he loved.

Him, roads, winds into the shield of the helmet and all his torso. Screeching of the passing cars that were rapidly left behind. The scenery slowly changing and sometimes staying as it was for ages.

Rumbling of engine, shaking of steel frame under his hands, between his legs. Bruno's every movement here counted, and his bike was answering to the slightest change.

In those moments there was no one there except for Bruno. Shanklin preferred just passing the whole ride asleep in the backpack. Jim was now somewhere far behind, his own bike’s roaring never reaching from there.

And Bruno… On the road, he was empty in the best way possible. The winds were blowing, the sounds were muffled. The thoughts were silenced.

There, on the road, Bruno was free from regrets and his past and wishes. For all those miles and hours and miles per hour he could forget about doubts and questions.

For now he only had a road, both a mileage and a countdown. And his destination was somewhere there, ahead of him. Waiting for him. Expecting him. For now staying as a vague idea with faint outlines.

Somewhere in the future his destination would finally rise before him.

But not yet. 

Not yet.

Not yet.

***

“So, that's your current target”, Jim hummed, biting from his hotdog.

Bruno nodded his agreement, munching on his own and simultaneously checking out the building.

The ‘Not Awful Designs by Gustave’ were situated in the two-storey building, curiously enough - of a really standard design like every other building in the block.

The only reason Bruno knew that was the one place he was looking for was the small signboard by the entry.

“Does he really do designing?” Jim chuckled and swallowed the rest of his hotdog.

“Yeah, I'm surprised too”, Bruno was still looking around. “Either he’s too sure in his trade for not needing any announcements…”

“Or his designs are not awful, they're straight up terrible…”

Bruno couldn't resist laughing. “I sure hope it's more as you say.”

“Why?” Jim threw a curious glance his way.

“If he's good and knows what he's doing, he has enough money to put up a good enough security system”, Bruno squinted at the windows that were covered from the inside with the tackiest curtains. “And if he's just bad, that possibility lowers.”

“You mean it still exists?”

“The possibilities are never zero”, Bruno finally finished his own treat, just as he heard a screech from the nearby alleyway. “Stay here”.

“Sure thing, Stanley…”

Bruno groaned. Sure, he gave his permission, and they agreed. And Jim did stop whatever he was doing while saying it. But that still felt weird. Unusual. Unsettling…

For now he just ignored it and turned to the alleyway where Shanklin was waiting.

“Did you get in?”

His friend made a clockwise turn.

“Did you get noticed?”

Counterclockwise.

“How many people on first?”

Two turns clockwise.

“On second?”

Counterclockwise.

“Good job”, Bruno smiled and squatted, offering a shiny red apple to Shanklin. Who sniffed his fingers instead and licked them. “No, no hotdog for you! It wasn't really tasty anyway!”. Well, he lied a bit with the last addition, but still his friend should be eating something besides greasy food.

Shanklin was placated by it and started munching on the offered fruit. Seeing this, Bruno smiled and returned to Jim.

“I'm still staying here”, the latter chuckled. 

“Continue doing that”, Bruno nodded and turned towards that one building. “I'm going in”.

“Scream internally if you need some help”, Jim replied. His tone suggested it wasn't a joke.

Maybe he should test it once or twice? Check if and how it should be working? Find out whether there are some conditions or nuances?

Well, not now. Bruno had his work to do.

He crossed the street and made his way towards the main entrance. As much as he'd love just sneaking his way now, there were some more preparations to perform.

The bell above the doorway chimed as Bruno entered and took a quick look around.

It was some kind of reception, with a small desk, some chairs in the corner and nothing else.

And no one was in the room.

Bruno exhaled, taking a time and checking around more thoroughly.

Security Systems. He didn't see any alarms or cameras. But that definitely didn't mean there were none.

So far he could only say about lock quality (not much) and that the windows didn't have any reinforcements or bars.

There was no phone behind the reception desk either. But they should have one! They had a landline number! If not here, maybe in the working space? Or somewhere else? 

With each new detail Jim's version was sounding more and more appealing.

There was finally a sound of clicking footsteps, rushing to this room. Right. He still needed a way to get further in the building. Without being caught or suspected. The absence of the phone in the room gave him an idea. Time for a little tragedy to play out!

Bruno rubbed his eyes with a force, giving them a mild irritation. And ruffled his hair to simulate distress. And hugged himself clenching his fists.

As soon as he finished, the woman (middle aged, hair started to gray, wore glasses and a shawl, a wedding band on her finger) finally entered the room and frowned, seeing him.

“I'm sorry, young man, but I don't think you're here…”

Bruno sniffled. “Please, do you have a phone here? My own went dead and I really need to call…”

The woman definitely was affected, given how her gaze softened. Yet she still wasn't completely hooked.

“Oh dear”, she cooed, “I'm sorry, we’re not a phone company and there's a public phone just next street…”

Huh, he almost got her, he was sure of it. He needed something stronger then. Preferably without resorting to crying. Fake or not, he still had an image to maintain.

Maybe…

Maybe he just needed some fuel for his acting. Come to think of it, he did have those memories. And one real reason for making a call. It wasn't really urgent or alarming anymore… For present Bruno. But for Bruno of several days ago? For that guy it was the truest urgency.

He just needed to convince both of them.

He recalled the screeching of brakes and the force of slamming. The fear for the driver, a need for her survival. The hesitation of leaving her, the regret of doing it. Everything up until…

“Please”, he repeated in a whisper, “I need to know if she's alive…”

Beat. Another. The woman sighed. She fell for it!

“Alright, young man, follow me…”

Bruno fought hard not to show his joy. In some ways the memories helped with it, reminding him of those moments full of fear and uncertainty. And then he just jogged after the woman, noting for himself the layout and the stairs and the other rooms and closed doors.

He was brought into a cabinet of sorts, with a phone on a desk and…. Bruno had a really hard time to conceal his excitement. There were several metal shelves designed to serve as an archive. That was probably what he was looking for! That was…

He mentally slapped himself. Patience, he would be returning here later. He still had to finish his part without arousing suspicions in the old woman who was still watching him. And to do that… Come to think of it, he actually didn’t need to pretend here!

Bruno picked up the receiver and dialed the number that he still didn't manage to forget.

“Hi, this is the Hospital of Saint…” the familiar voice answered. Good, he wouldn't need to explain everything.

“Hi, I'm calling again, about Melody”, he started and added after a quick thought: “It’s Bruno”.

“Oh”, the voice on the other line went a bit sad. Oh no, don't tell him… Bruno suddenly felt the real tears approaching. Don't tell him… “I'm sorry, I passed your message, but Melody doesn't yet remember you. Although the doctors say more memories should return after a while… Oh please don't tell anyone I actually disclosed it to you!”

“Oh! Oh, I won't. Thank you”, Bruno sighed with relief and ended the call. That was better. That was acceptable. That was…

“How is she?” the old woman asked him with a concern in her voice.

“Still alive”, Bruno smiled and wiped his eyes. “She’s still alive”.

***

Bruno tried hard to maintain his “one step from crying” look as he was escorted out and as he made a seemingly accidental stretch.

He started his walk down the street without looking around. And after a block he was joined by Jim who passed him a wiggling backpack.

To Jim’s credit, he didn't really ask anything, just raised his eyebrow, to which Bruno nodded and stretched for anew, with clear delight this time.

“They definitely suck as designers”, he said in the end. “No cameras, no alarms. The second floor probably is for personal quarters, and the needed room on the first…”

Jim hummed to some thoughts of his. “When we'll be making a move?”

“At midnight. So let's go back to the motel for now and rest”.

Jim nodded and the backpack too wiggled in agreement.

***

“...and after that, Shanklin, I need you to be my eyes on the second floor. Jimmy, you keep watch near the entrance…”

Shanklin shrugged one of his ears showing he was paying attention. Aside from that it seemed like the little guy was still napping.

Jim was checking something on his phone, periodically grumbling something as his agreement and nodding his head to the music blaring from the radio on the wall. Currently it was some song about force applied on the surface, and Jim even hummed to it.

Bruno was adding the details on the hand drawn map of the building, putting the spots for his companions there and a route for himself. So far it was a really easy job, no complications whatsoever. He would be done in a matter of minutes, if he’d be lucky. It all depended now on how quickly the needed papers would be found… 

He was interrupted by a faint but insistent knock on the door to their room, almost unnoticeable under music beats.

“I'm not expecting anyone”, Bruno immediately straightened himself. “Are you?”

Jim lazily glanced at the door, his eyes flickering with light for a moment. His relaxed posture didn't change at all. “No, that little spark definitely is not here for me.”

Bruno glanced at the watch. 19.38. They still had enough time until they had to move out. Granted, he planned on a quick nap, a late night snack and definitely not dealing with some disturbances.

But then again, the knocking didn't stop, getting even more frantic. And while Shanklin jumped down and ran to the door, pawing at it, Jim still wasn't moving from the spot on his bed.

Bruno sighed and went to open the door himself.

Chapter Text

“Stay quiet, both of you”, Bruno whispered to his companions. He quickly hid his map in the backpack and checked his pocket, immediately finding his trusty knife and getting reassurance from the simple gesture.

Jimmy chuckled like he found this situation funny, yet nodded and even put away his phone, his body taking a sitting posture that was just as relaxed as his previous laying one. On the first glance. But Bruno knew that the guy could easily jump straight into action from it if the situation was asking for it. 

Deep inside, he felt at ease - that meant if needed, Jim wouldn't hesitate to enter the fight. 

That meant Jim’s promise wasn't a fluke. Not that he’d doubted, with the Words still pulsing almost unnoticeably deep inside. Yet maybe he wondered what exactly his protection meant. Maybe he asked himself in which situations Jim would hold to his Oath…

As Bruno stepped closer to the door, Shanklin went quiet too, pawing slightly away yet staying just behind Bruno’s leg.

The knocking briefly stopped, and then it resumed, but it definitely started to lose its previous effort and speed. Like whoever was there started to tire and have second doubts. Bruno even had a slight idea to just wait a bit more in case the intruder would decide to leave on his own…

But he was already there and Shanklin was agitated. And Jim didn't seem threatened. So at least Bruno could shout at the knocking person for bothering them.

He was slowly preparing the sharp words as he quickly unlocked the door. And slightly opened it for a fraction, to assess the situation…

And then every biting word and every coherent thought left him, leaving only mechanical motions, one of them was apparently to open the door fully and leave it as that and stare and stare and…

Brown mop of hair was much higher from what he remembered it to be. The reddening from the definitely crying nose, sharp as their mother’s and twitching. The eyes, brown as they all had, were glistering and widening in a whole mix of emotions that Bruno simply didn't have the capacity to even start to unravel.

The boy slowly took all of Bruno with his eyes, starting with his head and lowering them, until he flinched and all but jumped on Bruno and latched on him like a small but still heavy koala, hugging with his small arms and legs.

“Stan! Oh god, I knew that was you!”

And Stan allowed his instincts to hug Shermie back, making sure that his brother wouldn't fall down.

His shirt was getting a sticky wetness, right where Shermie’s face was pressing. The boy’s whole little body started trembling, leaving no doubts that he started crying once again.

Bruno slowly started to unfreeze. He looked back and forth down the hallway and, after seeing nothing worth noticing, backed down into the room and closed and locked the door once again. All while still supporting his brother with one hand.

Why was Shermie here? Shouldn't he be… Somewhere? At home? Come to think of it, where he and Mom were supposed to live now?

And how did he recognise him and where? And in that case was he alone or with someone?

And…

Stan softly smiled, feeling how his brother clutched even harder. He couldn't deny how much he missed this little guy. Sure, given their age gap they weren't as close as him and Ford, and their parents’ divorce complicated their possible contacts… Yet that was Shermie that loved climbing to his bed and listening to his tales, at first enriched with Ford’s additions from the bed above, until they weren't. And that was Shermie that hid in his arms every time Father started shouting. And that was Shermie that cried most of them all during their last meeting.

Curious that their new meeting started with Shermie crying once again. Father would be disappointed… But then again, they all had disappointed him long ago, it didn't matter anymore…

Making sure to keep Shermie still held, Bruno slowly made way to his own bed, sitting down and immediately starting stroking him by his back and hair.

Shanklin jumped to the bed too, pressing to Bruno's knee and quietly whining.

“Yes, I know”, Bruno whispered to his furry friend. “Sorry, no pats for you for now”.

He then felt a stare on him and after raising his head confirmed it: that was Jim, looking with interest and even some curiosity, while his smirk became softer.

“Could have warned me”, Bruno whispered to him, to which Jimmy chuckled once again.

“I did”, he shrugged. “So, that one…?”

“My little brother, Sh… No name for you!” Bruno glared at Jimmy. “No funny business with his soul!”

At that Jim straight up laughed, yet it sounded slightly forced. 

“Stanley, do you believe so little in my oath?”

The Words pulled at his heart, and Bruno sighed, feeling them whisper in comfort. Right, he wasn't the only one given protection. And come to think of it, the wordings of it indeed would be covering Shermie too, if the need would arise.

“Right”, Bruno turned away, not knowing how to react to Jim's expression. And instead just stared down at his brother, whose trembling was slowly coming to a stop. “Shermie? How are you…?” 

And instead of calming fully down, Shermie's cries started for anew, loud and soulwrenching, his hands clutching with a sudden new force, making Stan continue with his slow stroking. He hunched a bit, ignoring his own wince, and closed his eyes, allowing himself to just listen to his brother and give him a reprieve and a comfort and a cover.

“Shhh, everything alright”, he started whispering at one point, humming along to the radio that was still playing, but at much lower volume. Was it Jim…?

This time, after several long minutes Shermie's cries started to fade, giving way to hiccups and quiet sniffles.

“Shermie?” Stan whispered, not allowing his stroking stop until he was sure that Shermie no longer needed it.

“Stan”, his brother nodded and slowly lifted his head, without, however, relaxing his koala-like hold. “I can't believe it…”

“Me neither”, Stan smiled. “Are you sure you are not some shapeshifter?”

That made Shermie smile a bit and enthusiastically shake his head. “No! No, I'm definitely me!”

“Sounds something any shapeshifter would say!” Stan mockingly frowned and started poking his brother as if checking it. Come to think of it, while there were no reasons for some other shapeshifter taking his brother’s form, were there guarantees…?

“He's not”, Jim mumbled, “stop worrying.”

Bruno sharply glanced at the guy. “Are you really…?”

“No, it was evident by your face”, the latter shrugged. 

It was fruitless to deny: the reassurance did calm him a bit. But at the same time…

“Who’s that?” Shermie half-turned to glance at Jim without releasing Stan. “Your friend?”

“Sure thing, little spark. My name is Jimmy. Me and Stanley are the bestest friends ever”, Jimmy grinned, not forgetting to wink at Stan who groaned.

Friends? Really? Of all the possible words Jim chose that one to describe them? Why not admit the truth and call them what they really were…?

Although no, he didn't really want Shermie to think about it. Because as much as the thought of his brother being disgusted with his choice was frightening, even more he started to fear a possible question, the most logical one, of why they ended everything. He really didn't want Shermie to know how Stan tried so hard once again and still somehow managed to make every single mistake ever.

Alright, not “exes”. But who..? ‘Co-workers’? ‘He hired Jim to do some work for him and some other guy who Shermie didn't know and shouldn't know’? ‘He’s the Ghost Rider and he is under some Oath to protect me…’?

Bruno refused to acknowledge how the Words flickered for a second, as if responding to the memory of warm palms and a burning stare. Nope, definitely not that one!

So, maybe Jim somehow was onto something.

“Yeah”, Bruno sighed and tried to hide his unease. “Friends. That's what we are, sure”. He smiled at Jim, trying to let him know that he approved his choice of words. But Jimmy was now refusing to meet his eyes, frowning and scratching his own cheek in deep contemplation. Weird. Didn't he himself propose the term?

Shermie, however, just nodded and smiled at the guy.

“Nice to meet you, Jimmy”, which in turn made Jim lose whatever thought he was having and grin back.

“And this is?” Shermie already was reaching with his hand to Shanklin and pausing in the last minute. The possum himself closed the distance and rubbed his head against little hand.

Stan chuckled. “That's Shanklin, he's my friend too. If he bites…” and Shanklin indeed lightly bit one of the petting fingers, “that means he likes you a lot!”

Shermie giggled and petted the possum for some more, before shaking himself and staring at Stan for anew.

“How…? Why…? What are you doing here?”

Stan looked away, gathering his thoughts.

“I have some business here”, he said in the end.

“What business? Don't tell me…” Shermie gasped and then started patting Stan all over.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Stan just accepted whatever his brother was doing. Which consisted of apparently also poking him in every limb, at the stomach and still a bit sore ribs, pinch his cheeks and even look quite intensely into his eye.

“Shhh, I'm checking everything, as per Ford’s notes”.

Stan sighed, feeling his mood dropping. Right, Ford. Who apparently taught their brother how to recognise some not-natural appearances. Who kept touch with Shermie. Who…

“How’s he?” Stan shook every thought away for later. He ached for some news, for having even an illusion of being close. Even if Ford didn't want any contact between them, he wasn't here and nothing…

“You’re joking?” Shermie screamed, his voice full of indignation and some sort of anger. He even punched Stan with his little fist in the chest, making the latter swallow a whimper. “You really need to ask?! Surely you know it!”

Did he? Stan looked away. Well, he'd suppose Ford was happy, living his perfect life with his perfect family at his perfect place. Was it time for him to attend some big college? Grauntie and Great Uncle for sure would help him to find the one for his fancy…

Shermie, however, was still talking:

“...I just don't understand. Why? Why did you do it? Didn't you know how we all would feel?”

Stan blinked, feeling some unease. Like he was missing some part of the conversation. Sure, he maybe did some questionable stuff lately, but that was not something Ford or especially Shermie could know. 

“What do you mean?”

Shermie flinched, his eyes glistening once again in a sign of upcoming tears.

“You… You didn't even think of us, did you?” at first he was whispering, but then his voice slowly started to rise, until he was shouting. “Or you wanted us to suffer? We got you had a lot of reasons to be mad, we got it and we all are sorry and believe me, we wanted to change everything. But we couldn't. It was too late! But now you're here and that means… Why, Stan, why? Why did you decide to make us all mourn…?”

Stan stilled, feeling his insides frozen. 

He finally got the missing piece. And how he wished he didn't. They… Oh, they thought he… He did it on purpose?

The images of that day, the fateful one, were instantly brought to the front of his mind. Why? Why indeed did he do it? He didn't know, he didn't want it, he didn't think it would end like that…

With Father’s body half-way from a table to a door, not moving. With Stan being too late at doing something.

Sure, they argued before and Stan got so pissed off he just stormed to his room and locked himself, all but forgetting about the stove…

But he didn't want it! He didn't want Father to die! Sure, they had some different opinions, but they were family, and everything was looking for the better, with Stan finding a job and finally paying for every expense…

He didn't have a reason to kill him! That was a sole person still having some use for him! That was the sole person still giving a damn about him!

And yet… He wished he had a reason.

If he did one, Father wouldn't be dead because of a mistake, because Stan was careless, because he was the worst, because he was cursed and his touch was rotten and everyone was fine without him and Shanklin shouldn't have found him and everything would be for the better and he too should've d…

“Stanley!”

Stanley blinked, feeling shaken by some unseen force. One of his hands was clutched with such effort it was screaming from being squished. 

And the fingers of the other hand were repeatedly being bitten, to the point where Stan felt the blood start to drip down.

But nothing was feeling as intense as the burning gaze staring at him, into him.

It was painful, agonizing, grabbing at his pitiful existence and just… holding it. Touching and burning and making him feel seen and bare and completely defenceless…

…And yet he couldn't stop his own pathetic nature that just leaned into the feeling, wanting to feel it even more, wanting his soul to burn, to get what he deserved, to…

The feeling suddenly disappeared, with the previously unnoticed warm hands leaving his cheeks, leaving him grasping for air and even whining.

Without it, he now felt cold and shivering, ripping his own hands free and hugging himself.

His senses were slowly coming back. And with it came the mortification. 

Shermie, Shanklin, Jimmy… they all saw it. Saw how weak he actually was. He should've been over it, with years passed and him moving on. He did move on. He did…

He whimpered.

“Sorry”, he whispered, not looking at anyone - only down, at his knees. “Sorry, I… I don't…”

Immediately Shanklin appeared in his line of vision, crawling into his lap and staring at him, quietly whining himself.

“Stan, don't…” his hand was grabbed again by his little brother. “No, it's me who is sorry! I didn't mean to… I just wanted…”

“Kid”, Jimmy’s flat voice made Shermie wince. “Not now”.

“Sorry”, the boy's voice became even sadder. But before Stan could actually argue with Jimmy about his tone, Shermie tightly side-hugged him, minding the Shanklin still present. “I… Won't ask. Ever again. Just… Just please don't disappear anymore! I get that you have a life without us, but at least call me once in a while…”

Stan glanced at his brother with a surprise, not sure he heard him correctly.

“You… You really want to… talk to me and everything?”

Shermie flinched and stared back, all wide-eyed. And then for some reason glanced to the side, where Jimmy stood with his back to them, leaning on the wall. 

“He… he's serious?” Shermie's voice was trembling. Jimmy made a strange noise that, to Stan’s surprise, made his little brother sigh and turn back. And even take Stan’s cheeks into his little hands. “Listen to me, Stan! Very carefully.”

The latter nodded, a bit shocked by the intensity in the familiar eyes. The little hands on his cheeks felt warm, calling into memory of the others hands that were there only a few minutes ago. 

Shermie nodded in response and cleared his throat as if preparing himself for a speech. “Good. You're my brother. You're my family. Nothing you can do that's gonna make me want to stop talking to you or love you less… Stanley?”

There was something wrong with Stan’s vision: Shermie before him, the room, even Jimmy at the edge of his vision who finally was looking at him again - everything was rapidly becoming too blurry to properly see it.

His throat suddenly became too tight to properly answer, but he needed… he needed…. 

Shermie didn't know what he was saying! He knew what Stan did! There was no way of really meaning that…

“I mean it”, Shermie continued with the staring, his voice wavering. “I know I'm not Ford and you never loved me as much as him…”

“That's not true”, Stan finally found it in himself to move, grabbing Shermie and hugging him with all his might, pressing him to his chest and hunching on him. “I don't need to love you as much as Ford. I love you as much as Shermie, and I missed you so so much…”

He felt tears pouring down, tracing the cheeks still warm from the handprints. He felt Shermie fiercely grabbing him back, also trembling for anew and leaning into him.

He felt Shanklin pressing to him from a side.

He barely heard light footsteps walking away and the door being opened and then closed.

He was still crying. 

This time it didn't feel shameful.

***

“Drink, both of you”.

Stan took an offered bottle, noticed it already being opened and managed to finish it in several big gulps to calm his aching throat.

Before him Jimmy chuckled.

“Don't choke on it, I don't want to do any duties today.”

Stan glared at him, making a slight nod to Shermie who was drinking from his own bottle, but with a drastically slower tempo and with really puffed eyes.

Jimmy winced, nodded, showing he got the reproach, and threw an apple to Shanklin who caught it on the fly and started munching.

“So, I got you as usual…” he reached into a bag once again, to which Stan shook his head.

“I'm not hungry…” 

“I don't care. Eat”. Just as Jimmy passed him a sandwich, Stan’s stomach growled, making its owner wince and Jimmy smirk.

“Shut up”, Stan looked away, embarrassed, and started with a wrapping. And maybe he actually was hungry: as soon as the smell hit him, he rapidly bit into it, reminding at the last possible moment to actually chew and not to swallow it as it was.

He half-mindedly watched Jimmy passing a similar sandwich to Shermie and then taking a bright red package to himself.

“Oh, what's that?” Shermie asked, not hurrying with his own meal.

“Peppers, do you want some?” Jimmy already tore it open and passed one piece to the little grabbing hands.

And Stan definitely was not in his top shape, because it took him too long to process the happenings and jump to his brother and actually slap down the red dried horror almost from his mouth.

“Stan! That was mine!” Shermie cried with a deeply offended voice, trying to reach for another one, yet Stan was quicker and grabbed the package himself. Looking at the label, he gulped in horror and then glared with anger at his ex-boyfriend.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he screeched. “You tried to feed the Carolina Reaper to Shermie?!” 

The laid-back look on Jimmy's face jumped to a really offended one, and he opened his mouth to reply, but then he seemingly got struck with a really delayed revelation. “Oh…”

“Don't ‘Oh’ me, Jimmy Snakes!” Stan poked him hard in the chest. “I told you how the human body reacts to this stuff! That's basically poison!”

“But… They taste so…”

“Hot! It burns!” Shermie screamed behind them, making both Stan and Jimmy jump to him.

Shermie’s whole face was red and he was crying, this time definitely not from emotions.

Stan didn't need to glance to the floor to know that the fallen down piece was no longer there.

He only needed a moment to grab his weeping little brother and run with him to the bathroom.

“You’re dead, Jimmy! I'll fucking kill you myself!” he shouted all while trying to make Shermie to retch.

“I definitely won't stop you”, came a dejected reply from behind a door.

***

“Mom would kill me”, Stan groaned, hunching on the floor of the motel’s hallway and rubbing his face. “And then she'd kill you too”.

“So how many times am I dead already?” Jimmy sighed, sitting at his side and staring as if through the wall. Possibly, he did exactly that, keeping an eye on Shermie that was resting in their motel room with the only truly reliable creature there.

“Too many”, Stan chuckled. “But then again, I recall you falling down a slope on a burning bike and walking it out without a scratch”.

“Which time was it exactly?” Jimmy hummed, and all the sudden Stan allowed himself a wishful thinking. Of asking for another chance, of trying better. 

But then again, they were done, and Stan didn’t want to beg when Jim was over it…

He sighed, to which he was nudged in the shoulder.

“Stan, what's wrong?”

He just sighed again.

“Nothing, don't pay attention…”

Jimmy groaned and slid even further down on the ground.

“Again with that? I hoped you finally started to trust me…”

He did. He did? Stan frowned, asking himself. 

Sure, he always thought of Jimmy as a capable guy and really amazing with his skills. And sure, that name issue was still making him guess his real intentions…

Stan glanced at Jimmy who was looking at him back, with half-lidden eyes.

He always trusted him to look over his back. That was of no doubt. But having heart-to-heart? Why? When Jim was too cool for his problems and being with him was like an escape and everything was great and…

He needed to know. Here, in the empty hallway, Stan realised: he simply had to know. He needed an answer to go on, to stop guessing.

“Why? Why did you dump me?”

Before him Jimmy sighed. It was a deep one, filled with a real mix of emotions. Stan thought he caught regret and guilt amidst it, but immediately started doubting it.

“It wasn't working, Stan”, he looked down and started fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket. “And… at that time I thought that I had to finally grow stronger and accept it.” He paused and almost said something else, but apparently changed his mind and fell silent.

Stan sighed. Just as he thought, Jim understood he was a problem and a hazard. 

“Was your mom sick at least that time? Or was it a lie too?”

“...I’m a ghost rider, Stan”, Jimmy humorlessly chuckled. “We don’t get born as humans, so…” he paused. “Have to admit, it wasn’t my finest moment. Sorry”.

The next question, of then why even lie about that, died as soon as Stan thought about it. It was obvious. But the next one wasn’t.

“Then why did you agree to come with me? You said you wanted to verify something. What was it?”

To that Jimmy smiled, but it wasn't a happy one.

“That I did”, he whispered. “I did verify it.”

“So what? What did you find out?” Stan asked when Jimmy didn’t elaborate for several minutes.

But then the latter for some reason changed the topic. “You know why love is dangerous? One glimmer of hope that you can have it returned, just one hint, and that's all it takes. You don't care about reasons and logic anymore.”

“Maybe?” Stan shrugged. That sounded like some silly line from the Duchess…. Wait a second. “Did you finally watch the Original Duchess?! Without me?! When?! Did you like it?!”

But Jimmy just sighed really deeply, hung his head, hunched his shoulders and stubbornly refused to reply.

“You should watch the new movie, it's good too”, Stan tried to resume the conversation. In vain: Jimmy still wasn't looking at him. So after another tense silence Stan felt a need to escape. “So… I… I'll go and check on Shermie and Shanklin”.

“Stanley… Wait”, suddenly his hand was caught while he was standing up.

Stan looked back with a raised eyebrow. Oh, now he wanted to talk?

“What?” he asked when Jimmy still was hesitating to speak or to let go of the hand. 

“I'm sorry”, the latter whispered, finally looking at Stan. “I shouldn’t have… I just thought… I’m not yet as good at reading souls but I should’ve understood…”

“What do you mean?”

“Earlier, I finally saw the core of your soul and…”

Stan instantly felt panic rising in him. He… right, Jimmy was there too, and Jimmy saw every rotten corner of his soul.

“Please don't”, he ripped his hand out of the hold. “Don't say anything. I know.”

“So what, you are okay with that?” Jimmy shouted, frowning and crossing his hands. “Now that I know where to look, I can't help but see it and…”

“I told you to shut up!” Stan interrupted, taking some steps back. “I didn't give you permission to look! That's my soul and sure, it's rotten and sinful and whatever you saw there! So what? That's me, always was and always were! Don't like it? Guess what! I don't care! And you can't do anything to it now! So shut up and just… leave me alone!” by the end his voice was trembling. “Please, just leave me alone. Don’t look at my soul anymore. I don’t want you to see it”.

Jimmy lowered his still raised hand and sighed. “...I'm sorry…”

Stan just nodded and rapidly went for his getaway, but Jimmy's words still reached him: “...but that’s not how it works”.

Stan flinched, but ignored him. It didn't matter. 

He already knew Jimmy didn't want to do anything with him. At least what Stan would’ve wanted him to want.

So whatever Jimmy wanted to do to his soul - didn't matter anymore. If he wanted to get at his sinful soul and purify it as his job required - fat chance! Shouldn't have given him the Oath! Which tingled inside him in a way similar to a reproach. Whatever! It didn't matter!

Stan forced himself to relax. So what, Jimmy finally saw every shameful bit of his soul. It didn't matter.

They were done. The only thing linking them now was this one job to be done. As soon as it is over…

The Oath protested, making Stan wince. For a second he reached back in hopes of reassurance…

No, that was stupid. Jimmy was right at remembering that quote.

However stupid it was - the quote was somewhat right. Hope was a grave mistake to have. A dangerous one indeed. So he should just stop being tempted. By hope, by unreachable love….

It won't do any good, Stan knew it perfectly…

“Stan?” as soon as he entered the room, Shermie coughed while looking at him and instantly grinned. “Come to us, we found a new cool show to watch!”

Shanklin hissed something in accordance from where he was playing the role of a fluffy ball and getting lots of strokes and pattings.

Pushing away his somber thoughts for later, Stan felt his cheeks stretch in a smile of his own, and he sauntered to his brother, making him give up some space on Stan's own bed. After a bit of wiggling, Stan pressed his little brother to his chest and hugged him from behind, placing his chin on a fluffy mop of brown hair.

“So, what’re you watching?” he squinted at the screen.

“Some show about a duck that is a detective! He's really smart!” Shermie giggled, trying to find a better position. He still was chugging from the biggest bottle of milk that Jimmy managed to find. And while it probably wasn't the best remedy for capsaicin irritation, Shermie definitely looked a lot better now.

“Okay, I'm in”, Stan smiled, feeling a pleasant calm spreading all over him. 

Everything was nice, with soft quacking from the screen and similarly soft possum hissings before him. Shermie was periodically laughing at the jokes or gasping at some twists but Stan really didn't care.

He missed it. He missed it. He missed it so much.

And he was afraid of the sudden hope, that maybe, just maybe, if Shermie was missing him too, maybe it wasn't just Shermie, maybe…

The door slowly opened for another time.

“Jimmy!” Shermie waved at him. “Join us, we found the best show ever!”

“You… won't mind me?” he replied, somewhat hesitantly. “You look quite cozy there, I don't want to be a bother…”

“Shermie’s right, you should join us”, Stan whispered, feeling his eyes fluttering shut on their own. “I'd like you here”. 

“Really?” the voice suddenly was much closer. “You really mean it?”

“Uh-uh”, Stan rubbed his cheek by Shermie’s top of the head, making the latter giggle. Nice. For some reason, that was the only thing that came to his mind.

There was a sigh, then the bed behind him dipped, and then he was carefully maneuvered back, until his back was pressed to a burning surface. Stan wiggled a bit, finding a comfortable spot, all without refusing to let his squirming brother go.

There was a quiet chuckle on his ear, and this was so familiar, but so much better, so nicer…

“Huh. The most hopeless idiot indeed…” there was a slight pause, and then Stan felt an arm circling him and keeping in place. “Rest, Stanley”. 

The Oath resonated from inside, gifting him a feeling of being covered, of being warm, of being…

“Oh, you’re sleeping?” Shermie noticed and tried to whisper. “I'll lower the sound. Sleep well!”

Shanklin purred in agreement, and by the sound of it he himself was on a way to a slumber.

And Stanley did rest.

***

Stan jumped at the ringing sound. Ignoring a protest from Shermie and a groaning from Jim who apparently got an elbow to his stomach, Stan dug out his own phone from the pocket.

Alarm.

Alarm? Oh fuck, thankfully he actually had a thought to put it as a precaution, or the time frame…

He shoved Jim to the side to crawl out and started stretching. 

“Right, so we're still on time! We have ten minutes until…”

“Until what?”

Stan flinched, looking back to his brother who was hugging the squirming possum. Oh, right, that was… what happened. It wasn't a dream, it wasn't a hallucination. But… Right, he wasn't here to rest and enjoy himself.

“Look, Shermie, I have to leave you for some hours, okay?” he leaned closer, stroking his brother on his messy hair.

“At two at night?” Shermie looked alarmed. “Oh no, you got tired of me already and you're gonna disappear and Ford won't ever forgive me…”

Stan winced at the name reminder. Right, there were questions that they didn't really talk about. Especially how his brother did find him. But that would better be left for later, when he didn't have a job to perform. 

“I'm not tired of you and I won't disappear”, he smiled with reassurance. “Just wait here for a few hours. Better even, try to sleep, and when you're awake…”

His stroking hand was suddenly caught by the smaller one.

“No”, Shermie looked at him with defiance. His whole body was trembling and his eyes were slowly filling with tears. “No! I'll go with you! I won't be a bother, I promise! But don't leave me, please!”

Stan flinched. Shermie couldn't know, there was no way, but those words… Weren't Stan himself pleading for something similar? For several times?

With no result whatsoever?

He couldn't do it to Shermie, could he?

Wait, what was he thinking?! He wasn't going for a walk! He had a job that his little brother was no part of. The whole point of going out at this hour was to escape any possible attention. 

There was no way! 

He sighed and tried to find the right words.

“Listen, Shermie”, he tried to free his hand. “You don't know what you're asking. So just be a good boy…”

Shermie sniffled.

Oh no. His brother was playing dirty! They both knew Stan was powerless to continue arguing after that!

He looked at Jimmy with alarm.

The latter blinked, but then reached out to Shermie and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Little spark, I assure you, it’ll be quick, and after all, there soon will be a two-part finale. I sure want to know who was that frog-masked…”

“I don't care!” Shermie glared first at Jimmy, then at Stan. “I refuse to leave you out of my sight!” he all but shoved Shankin at Jimmy’s chest and jumped down from the bed, starting to straighten his own clothes. “So I’ll just stay out of your way until you do your thing and then we all return…”

Stan sighed and looked at Jim. “Stay with him. If he refuses, make him behave”.

Chapter Text

“...and I get that our trip had to be too short this time, but you heard your Grunkle, they had a serious matter to deal with.”

“I don't care, we could just stay and wait for them to be done! Didn't you see? Ford needs us! He can say whatever he wants…”

“Honey, Ford is a big boy already, and if he says he can deal with his own issues…”

“So what, you leave him just like you left Stan?”

Caryn flinched, feeling like her youngest son’s words struck right in the still bleeding wound in her heart.

“... I'm… I'm sorry, I didn't mean that”, Shermie tugged on her hand with remorse, and Caryn knew he really didn't. But it was too late.

Shermie was right, wasn't he? Strip all the pretense and nuances, and that was exactly what happened. 

For all her promises of turning the situation around and somehow persuading her ex-husband to let Stan go, to let him live with them in California together, she didn't do anything.

Sure, she tried to look up into custody law or to scrap enough money to even get a legal aid, but getting a life in a new place, especially with a child, took every penny, drenched every ounce of strength, until she only could make a call and hear her free spirit’s voice and let him assure her that he was alright and he was healthy and he was happy.

She knew he lied. She knew he hid some truths, but she was…

No, it was pointless to lie to herself. She was weak and wanted to believe that she didn't need to try harder, that she still had time to get herself on her feet first. That Stan would be alright on his own, even with that man around…

She should have known better, and yet…

When the first news came, she was anxious. Sure, Filbrick died, and some part of her was mourning him, but those few days were filled with worry and anxiety because no one could tell where Stan was…

And then they found him. What was left of him.

A sad pile of ashes. All that was left of the boy with eyes sparkling in wonder and spirit ready to take on the whole world.

And… Some poetic part of Caryn would like to say that her world crashed, along with her remaining sons’ and Filbrick's Uncle’s and Aunt’s.

But in reality everything was already in ruins, no more of their family, with her eldest son choosing to stay on the other side of the country. With Caryn herself choosing between staying in a cage and finding a new nest.

It wasn't supposed to end like that, but it did and maybe… No, not maybe. The hard truth was that Stan was left there, and she never should've believed him and she should've fought for him harder. And maybe she should've just poisoned her husband instead of going for divorce…

But as Ford loved to say - the third conditional was ruthless. Her free spirit was gone, both as a person and as a spirit too.

And now Ford was showing the same signs, of lying that he was alright. Of pretending he was happy. The only time he was truthful was when he let himself grieve.

It wasn't surprising - after all, they always were inseparable. Until that summer. Caryn still felt ashamed that she actually agreed with Filbrick's Uncle and Aunt, seeing that Ford found a place free of mocking and dirty gazes. She too thought her twins could use the separation as a way of growing. 

But destiny laughed at them all, didn't it?

“No, Honey, you're right”, Caryn bent down so she and her youngest were on the same level. “You're so right. Ford definitely isn't okay, so let us wait for them to finish their business, and then we can ask him to visit us this time. Or we'll just go back, if he's busy. Okay?”

“Okay”, Shermie, bless his innocent heart, nodded and instantly smiled. Caryn ached from the brief reminder of the other bright smile, now gone forever. But it was her burden to bear, not her son’s.

“Then let us finish with our business and go home. Would you like some chili for dinner?”

Shermie enthusiastically nodded, already some steps ahead and tugging on her hand. Caryn chuckled: maybe this time she could experiment and add some stronger peppers to make their chili a real one?

But then again, she really needed first to get this one job done. It wasn't the first time she agreed to get to her client's home to do a reading, but it probably was the first one when she had to take several buses to get here. Luckily, Oakland was not as far away that it would require to book a hotel to stay the night.

Yet it still was far enough for Caryn to be wary enough and take Shermie with her. They discussed it already - while she would persuade the poor soul of urgent need for several new reads until she was satisfied with her probable future, Shermie would stay in the hallway or other room and busy himself with a book or an album and some pencils.

…But honestly, that road was icky, with the houses there looking more or less the same. How did people live here?

“Mom, look! What a funny guy!” her hand was tugged again.

Caryn moved her gaze in the direction where her youngest was pointing. 

Indeed, it was a guy, not that Caryn would call him funny. That one was more of the biker type, with a dark shiny jacket, red bandana over his long hair and dark sunglasses. He was leaning on the wall with an obvious lack of interest. And… Caryn frowned, noticing the backpack over the guy's shoulder that was definitely wiggling.

She didn't like the guy.

“Stop pointing and let's go”, she whispered and pulled Shermie after her, flinching when she felt a gaze burning her back. And… she prayed it was only her imagination, she really didn't need some of Ford’s weird stuff here, near their own home.

Her son didn't complain, so the rest of her search went without a hitch. They found the house, they met the owner. Shermie was left in the kitchen downstairs, while Caryn followed her client to the room on the second floor, preparing a pack of cards.

She was in the middle of her second reading, calculating whether she should promise a fateful meeting in the near future or a road full of longing, when there were loud footsteps and then the door was opened with a bang, making everyone present flinch.

“Mom! Mom!” that was Shermie, breathless after running up the stairs. His eyes were wild and wide open. “Come quick… at the window… just now… I saw… definitely him…”

Caryn sighed, feeling her client slowly coming to her senses and starting to think more clearly once again.

“Honey, please, your Mom is working. I'll come and look at whatever it is when I'm done…”

Shermie groaned, his eyes flickering quickly at the way he came. Then he rapidly turned on his heels and ran away with the speed he never possessed before.

Children…

Caryn shook her head and turned back to her client, eager to get back into the flow.

“...I see a yearning heart…”

***

Dipper stepped back and looked all over his Board of Evidence. Always better to see how everything was connected…

“So, are you done with your dumb picture? Can we discuss business now?” came a sharp reply.

“That is how we discuss business, Paz”, Dipper glared at their friend who was sitting in the chair with an expression of boredom that was too obviously a pretence.

If their Mayor really didn't have any desire to be here, she wouldn't. And yet she was with them, scoffing, sipping from a cup of extra-refined tea that she had to bring with herself. Of course, she didn't brew it herself, allowing Mabel to do the honours, but the point still stood.

“Can we discuss it more quickly then? I still have several appointments to keep”.

Mabel obviously was trying to hide her giggles, and Dipper rolled his eyes. Once again, the role of the only one mature here would be falling to him…

“I agree, I want this to be over so I can get some beauty sleep…” came another voice, drawing the syllables and generally being as saccharine as ever.

“If you shared everything your boys have found…” Dipper started sharply.

“Hey, don't be rude”, Mabel interrupted him, instantly wincing when Dipper glared at her. Sure, with their all complicated history they all came to the point where Gideon was more of an ally than a foe, but Dipper still has his doubts about that man. 

However in this situation Gideon Gleeful, the man who built his business on shady deals and personal connections to black market and underground, was exactly the link to the desired knowledge.

And yet… He was a liar. A cheater. A man who'd bargain in one breath and break the same promise in the second.

…Dipper hated men like that. He knew a lot of Gideons during his life and became instantly wary when spotting one.

And to his horror he once saw all the signs in his grandnephew. Lies, ignored promises, the thrill of attention and spotlight. Sure, Stan never tried it out of malevolence, at most when he lost his temper… And yet Dipper knew where it all would lead.

Bad company. Shady business. Prison. Or even a knife in the gut.

Stan didn't deserve such a destiny. And luckily he had just a man to help him!

And Dipper tried. Ignoring the boy's obvious distaste for him, his craftiness at coming up with newer lies - Dipper still tried. 

He tried to show that lies wouldn't bring him a desired result. That going back on his word was disgraceful. That every good deed wasn't needed to be paraded around because one shouldn't be doing it for attention.

Dipper even reached out to his nephew and told him all about how Stan needed to be brought to the right path. And luckily Filbrick was a sane, rational man who instantly agreed. He also was rational enough to understand the benefits of letting the other twin stay with Dipper and get the most profound education a boy his age could ever get.

But then… Dipper sighed. Every plan should be built on the desired result. And its effectiveness should be counted by whether it was achieved. And judging by what they got… It was nothing more than disaster.

Stan shouldn't have died. Not at the age when he still was counted as a child. No, that sounded bad - Dipper generally didn't want Stan to die, not at that age, not at thirty, not at sixty.

Stan shouldn't have died from such a gruesome death, he should have lived and found his calling and become a better man and…

The worst was that Dipper still felt guilty. No, his plan wasn't a cause for Stan’s early demise, but Dipper still was responsible for the boy. He still believed in his potential and still loved him, even when Stan obviously didn't want to do anything with him, preferring the company of Mabel. Of course, she was more of his nature, just as outgoing and easy to find new connections…

And now it didn't even matter anymore. Dipper failed the boy. Every chance of getting through his defence and somehow winning his affection was gone. And yet… Dipper would gladly agree to be hated by Stan if that would mean he was alive. Or at least a ghost, but that too was now impossible.

Stan was gone. His spirit? Vanished. His remains? Not suitable for resurrection. Dipper was banned from contacting every Death Realm he could find and now even Reapers refused to answer his call. All to the pure result of nothing. Stan was gone.

Dipper gritted his teeth and chased away every thought linked to reminiscence. No, it wasn't a time for all of this. Sure, Stan was and always would remain his biggest regret. But now it wasn't about him.

It was about that devious Shrimp that caused such grief to their old friend. Sure, Melody wasn't dead, and all in all she was definitely lucky, and yet…

Dipper glared at the Board of Evidence.

In the middle there was… No, there weren't any photos of the guy - he always was too careful not to leave any traces. The accounts mentioned the average height and build for a young man going from 20 to 25, always some kind of disguise, in the form of scarfs or masks or hoods. The sole detail that really stood out was his pet. The possum. A really unique detail. But not really helpful to their search.

But then again, Gideon wasn't known for being any less than thorough. His informants really earned their reward.

So in the middle was indeed a photo. Of the man rumored to be in charge of the Shrimp.

Some Jorge Castillo, whose face Dipper didn't like right from the start.

But then again, there was nothing on the Board that Dipper liked. Not the list of the alleged Shrimp’s deeds, not the total amount of bounty given out for his head, not the accounts of Jorge’s rising influence all over south and west states. 

That was some mafia stuff, and Melody somehow got caught in it. Was she a witness? Was she a target? Was she a casualty? Nothing was reassuring, until they had their answers and…

“So, to get to him, we need to find this Jorge?” Mabel broke the silence.

“Obviously”, Dipper huffed. “You should ask instead ‘how’”.

Mabel got quiet, but suddenly Gleeful also decided to butt in.

“You know, I maybe have some sweet info for that too”, he started, and his voice was slightly hostile for no reason. 

“Okay, what is it?” Dipper turned to him. “Quick, the more time we're waisting…”

“Only if you ask nicely, Mason Pines”, Gideon singsonned with his stupid voice.

“Gideon, don't”, Mabel shook her head. “He's right, we don't have much time. Who knows…”

Gleeful groaned and crossed his arms to Pacifica’s amused chuckle. Or was it really amused? It didn't sound like usual…?

“Okay”, he said in the end. “So, rumours go that this Jorge is currently in a silent war with another guy. They are currently at standstill, with more or less the same level of power, but…” Gleeful smirked. “I heard something interesting is being brewed”.

“More to the point, Gleeful”, Dipper hissed. 

“This other guy, Diego, is hiring men for ‘a gathering’. You don't have to be a genius to get that he’s planning something and to guess against whom”.

“You want to say that he's out for this Jorge?” Mabel screamed. “Wait, we can pose ourselves as mercenaries and get hired…”

Dipper flinched. “No, that's stupid. Do you know where that gathering is gonna be?”

“Who in their right mind would ever post that?” Gideon laughed but immediately took out a small piece of paper. “Yet then again, luckily for you, I have been in the business for years, so I know where to look for traces. And what a funny coincidence. This Diego at the same time bought a large house in the middle of nowhere. No towns, no neighbours…”

Dipper ripped the paper from Gleeful’s hand. There was an address indeed, for now - just a random string of letters, but when he’d know the location…

“So what, you're going to barge there, guns blazing, in hopes that you'll also find that shrimpy guy and his handler there? A very logical plan”, Pacifica huffed from her spot.

“Well, we could…” 

“What, you have some other ideas?” Dipper groaned. 

“Yes, we can finally hear what your sister wants to say”, Pacifica very obviously rolled her eyes. 

Dipper flinched and looked at Mabel who wasn't meeting his eyes.

“M?”

“Well, instead of trying the direct approach, we can find how to temporarily join one of the sides to get closer and gather some more information”, Mabel frowned, finally looking him in the eyes. “I don't want anyone getting hurt more than necessary, so before trying to take everyone out, wouldn't it be better…?”

“Nonsense, me and Ford are capable enough to deal with any number of lowlife criminals…”

“You want to take Ford with you?” Mabel’s voice went quieter. Was she finally seeing his point? Good… “I’m going with you too”, she hissed instead, raising her head to meet Dipper's gaze.

“What? Don't be silly. Who's gonna watch over Shack…?”

“I don't care. If you're thinking of dragging Ford in the middle of a mob war, I won't let you do it without me!”

Dipper huffed in annoyance.

“M, I get that you're missing our adventures, but this is a serious matter. So don't be selfish…”

His cheek immediately went stinging, from both a hard slap and trails left by long nails.

Ouch, Pacifica still knew how to deal a mean strike.

“Reality check, Mason. Time for you to shut up and think”, she hissed, taking a scrap of paper Dipper still was holding. “I'll go and get someone to check on this location. So while I'm doing that, stop being a moron!” And without waiting for anyone to respond, Pacifica left.

Dipper was still rubbing his stinging cheek, when Gideon nodded at Mabel, made an ‘I’ll call later’ sign and left too.

Dipper sighed.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean…”

Mabel hugged herself. “No, no, you were right. Your plan is nice and as soon as Paz and Gid would do extra research…”

Dipper was just going to accept it, but as he opened his mouth, the still stinging cheek made him wince. Making him take a pause and letting his brain have more time for…

“Actually, your plan has merit”, he took a spare piece of paper and started on his notes. “Ford and I are better with a stealthy approach, so sneaking in would give us an advantage…”

“And what about me?”

“What about you?”

Mabel sighed. “... Never mind”.

Dipper nodded and went back to sketching a rough version of an Infiltration Plan. It wasn't a real plan yet because he needed so many additional details: which side would they take, how to approach, what type of building was that, how many people, how were they armed… To his chagrin, it seemed he needed another favour from Gideon to look into some of that. Maybe Mabel could ask him…?

But as he lifted his head, she too was nowhere around.

Dipper huffed: his twin again decided her own affairs were more important than the common goal. Well, at least it never was from malice and after a quick talk Mabel always remembered what really mattered.

So he carefully pocketed away his notes and went in search of his sister. As he passed a hallway, he noticed his portable phone, the one of the contemporary models. One of the lights on it was blinking. 

After unlocking it, Dipper groaned. Several missed calls from Ford’s mother. Did she have another one of her fake premonitions? Well, that definitely could wait…

“Dipper, we have a problem!” a shout from Mabel appeared much earlier than she herself ran through the door.

“What, the gnomes again?” he straightened his posture, already reaching for…

“No, it's Ford!” Mabel showed a list of paper in his face. “He ran away!”

Usually Dipper would tell her off for her childish behaviour, but this time he was very rapidly becoming too alarmed for paying attention to such details.

Ford’s note was brief and precise as usual, even if his usually flawless cursive was transformed into hasty scratched blocked letters.

‘Off to find my brother.’

Chapter Text

Jim blinked, and then his eyes hardened. 

“Stanley, what the...” he started, but after a quick glance toward Shermie he put Shanklin on the ground, grabbed shivering from sudden chill Stan by the hoodie and dragged him to the bathroom. Having closed the door after them, Jim slammed Stan into the nearest wall. “What the fuck, Stan?! You can't just…”

Stan glared back. “Why exactly can I not? Didn't I hire you? Doesn't that give me the exact right…?”

“So what, I agree to help you once and you think you can order me around? Like that? Do you even understand what you implied just now?”

“I think I implied that I don't want Shermie anywhere near what I'm going to do and that you need to assure precisely that for me! What, did you hear something else?” 

How could Jim not understand what was at stake here? They couldn't just take Shermie with them! And knowing his brother, someone should be watching him at any time, or he would just sneak out and follow them. 

Stan couldn't be watching, he had a job to do. And Shanklin, despite his every capacity, would be overpowered too easily. Or probably bribed - Stan was sure enough of his brother's abilities.

That left Jimmy, who not only had physical strength, but he also could…

Stan froze on the spot, suddenly terrified by a stray thought.

“Wait, don't tell me…” he stared at Jimmy's still blazing eyes, his frown, his sneering mouth. “Are you kidding me?! I didn't mean that! Whatever you mean! Don't you dare…!”

“Oh, now you get it”, Jimmy huffed and finally stepped away. “I can't believe it, do you even remember anything about what I was telling you about my kind? I'm starting to think you never really listened…”

“Oh shit”, Stan whispered, still horrified from his realisation. “I… Of course I listened… But you were always joking about how you could make anyone behave and you never specified… I'm sorry, of course that wasn't what I meant…”

“Apologie accepted”, Jimmy took a hand to his hair and ruffled it with clear frustration. “Just so we both clear, of course I will watch over him until your return. Just watch, no making him behave. But… Stan”, he looked in his eyes, “You could've just asked me”.

The Words trembled, making Stan regret his own choice of words even more. 

“I was afraid you would refuse”, he quietly admitted, both to the Words and to himself.

Jimmy just sighed instead of properly answering. In the end he just shoved Stan out of the bathroom into the sleeping quarters. “Go. And be careful. Or I'll have to take Little Spark with me to go and rescue you…”

“Har har har”, Stan rolled his eyes while picking his backpack and instantly getting another one in the way of Shermie who climbed at him shouting with alarm:

“Rescue?! Where are you going? I'm definitely not letting…”

To Stan’s relief, Jimmy indeed came to his rescue. He picked up Shermie by the back of his shirt and lifted him without any struggles. 

“We're just joking, Little Spark, like any best friends do”, he grinned at the wiggling Shermie. “Stanley’s gonna return very soon, so we're just…”

“Let me go you ugly meanie!” Shermie screeched at his captor and tried to hit him with his arms and even kick him too. “I'm not letting Stan…”

“Please go already”, Jimmy pleadingly looked at Stan. “This one is a mighty foe and I don't think I can hold him off long enough…”

Stan couldn't resist and laughed. “He is indeed. Shanklin, let's go!” 

His possum friend readily ran towards the door, pausing only to huff some encouragement towards the squirming boy that already managed to kick Jimmy in the chest.

Stan too went to the door and threw a final glance at his brother and his… and Jimmy.

“And no more Carolinas!” he hissed, only half-jokingly.

“I always learn from my mista… Argh!” Jimmy apparently just got bit by Shermie, so he now placed the screaming boy under his arm and started ruffling his hair with enthusiasm. “You know, fighting Cerberus was much easier…”

“Wait, you fought Cerberus? Like that big dog?...”

Stan closed the door, afraid that temptation of just staying there and joining them would be too powerful to resist. Shanklin whined, clawing at his leg.

“I don't want to leave too”, Stan agreed with his friend. “But we have something to do, remember? Jorge is believing in us, we can't let him down!”

Shanklin hissed and let go of Stan's leg, running a bit ahead. Stan laughed at his behaviour.

“I really don't get why you dislike him so much. You should give him a chance…”

Another hiss. Stan chuckled and shook his head, taking out his hand-drawn map from the backpack and checking it once again. While the light of the hallway was quite dim at this hour, it was enough to make out the lines.

“Okay, our plan is changed. You are on the entire lookout, and… Well, what do you know, that's just our usual plan!”

Stan grinned and pocketed away his map, already one step away from the darkness of the outside…

“Excuse me, young man?”

Stan cursed in his thoughts and slowly turned towards the voice. Who could even…?

“Did you see a little boy? Brown hair, like yours. Brown eyes, like yours… Huh, isn't that curious? Anyway, he went missing this evening and…” to Stan’s horrifying realisation, that person was dressed like a fucking cop. Probably was one too, as no other sane person would be strolling around at 2 o'clock in the morning looking for…

Shermie! Oh fuck, he should've predicted that! Of course his little brother didn't just magically appear at his door! Judging by the cops’ interest he ran away, and now everyone was searching…

Of course they would, Mom or maybe everyone else! That was Shermie, everyone loved Shermie, he wasn't Stan who could disappear and no one cared…

Stan flinched. Shermie did care, didn't he? Judging by his crying and clutching, he indeed was…

“Young man?”

Stan got startled by both a question and a biting on his ankle. He hissed and tried to subtly shake his leg to chase away the already fading pain.

“Yes? No? I mean I haven't seen anyone of that description!”

Yes, no involving any cops! Let them search all they want. Jimmy would never open a door to them, and Stan would return and then in the morning they would deal with everything, and Shermie would go back, and Stan would go his way…

Stan flinched, feeling a rising unease in his chest. Sure, Shermie said he'd loved to call once in a while, and Stan had no reasons to doubt that.

But then again, Ford did once promise it too. And he even upheld it. Until the moment Stan became a criminal and murderer and what if that would just repeat itself once again? What if…?

There was a feeling, somewhere at the back of his head, of being poked. It spread warmth, and yet Stan felt some worry rising from the sensation.

Right, Jimmy and whatever he was doing. 

Was he checking on him? Not the time, Jimmy!

Stan sighed and turned his attention back at the cop who was looking down at Stan's legs with a frown. 

“Anyway?” Stan tried to return to their conversation, to guess at which point they were.

“That's… a possum?” the cop said like they were deep in thoughts. “He just bit you? Don't you need to go to the hospital…?”

“Nah, that's one with me”, Stan waved his hand. “So, any more questions? I still have a… late night urge for snacks”.

The cop shook their head and gestured that Stan was free to go. Which Stan did, trying with all his might not to run.

And as soon as he left the building, he turned his attention to a warm feeling that refused to vanish. It was there, a steady presence, slightly tingling at the hairline.

Stan sighed and closed his eyes. Sure, it was kinda nice, but so distracting… Not to mention, Jim never did that when they were still dating, when he still cared, so why now? What was he trying to achieve? And how? Did the name knowledge really allow something like that?

And why did Jimmy forbid asking him questions? Was there some secret? Or he just didn't want Stan to know?

But… Jimmy denied only asking questions, not poking around. And…

Stan gasped, suddenly coming with an idea.

Why not try something himself? He imagined this strange feeling as a spot, as an uneven ball, filled with warm water? That would do, sure. And imagined himself poking back at it, while thinking a loud ‘Stop that’ with all his mind.

To his surprise, the feeling transformed, to a sharp chilling sensation, not unlike being startled. And then it retracted. 

And yet there was something lingering at the spot. The same warmth that slowly began to fade. Making Stan silently admit that he already started to miss it.

But still, he was losing time.

Stan whistled at Shanklin, and as they both started their jog towards the target, he felt his phone vibrate.

‘Cops knocked. I didn't answer. They went away’, a text came. And after a second: ‘How did you do that? :O’

Stan chuckled, pleased with the fact that Jimmy behaved as he was expected and also didn't avoid whatever just happened. And maybe Stan was a bit proud that he made Jim surprised. It was supposed to be a surprise, right?

Well, Stan definitely was surprised too. And wanted an answer to that question as well.

‘You said yourself. No asking about what just happened”, he sent instead.

‘:(‘ came as reply.

***

Infiltrating the places was easy as pie.

One would need to know the obstacles present, the possible threats and the route to the goal and back. Knowing them correctly was the biggest step towards success. And for all his years spent with Jorge Stan had mastered it all.

Well, of course Shanklin was always a huge part of every success, and who knew that feeding a little guy every night for months and hiding him from angry neighbours and even patching him when some stray dog severely bit him and little guy was with one little paw in his grave… that all of it would give Stan the most faithful friend and law-breaking partner?

Said faithful friend hissed from his hiding spot somewhere upstairs, and Stan grinned. The path was clear.

Picking a locking mechanism on a window took several tries due to its general rustiness. Not that it was complicated - Stan just didn't want any creaking to alert anyone. So slow and careful it was.

And soon the last obstacle was removed, allowing Stan to partially open the window and slip in with a calculated motion.

He was finally in, in the same room, serving both as a working zone and archive. 

After quickly checking that the curtains were lowered enough, Stan swiftly crawled to the archive shelves and opened the nearest one, in an attempt to gather the way of sorting the documents there with the help of a flashlight. 

“By state first? Really?” Stan shrugged and closed this one. Then again, it would be a lot worse if the sorting was done by year first or if there was none at all.

The next shelf didn't have what he was looking for, except showing that the states were also stored by the alphabet, so Stan skipped the next one and went straight to the last one. Or the first, judging by the storage system.

And he got it right. There it was, the ‘Arizona’ section. 

Stan grinned to himself and quickly poked in the several first folders to gather the next level of sorting. And that's when his luck went out. It was now indeed either by a year, or just put as it went, with no further structure. And as Stan didn't have information about the year, he prepared himself to just go quickly through every folder.

Fortunately, he didn't need to look through every page, just to find an address that was somewhere on the first or second or third page. 

Ford would be pissed at their structure. But probably not as pissed as Great Uncle Mason.

Stan for a second imagined their Great Uncle throwing every shelf open and starting a bunch of stacks made from folders, all while ranting about proper ways of searching and labelling and…

It was well into a dozen folders when Stan jumped from a loud ringing behind his back. He turned around and stared at the phone behind him that was ringing and ringing and…

Simultaneously there was now a whole array of the sounds from upstairs, groaning and voices and then even cracks and footsteps.

Stan looked at the still ringing phone with malice, carefully shut the current shelf close and after a quick look around dove under the biggest table. The one with the phone.

He did several deep breaths to calm down and waited. The steps went closer and closer, until the door groaned open and then the lights got turned on.

Stan had to shut his eyes even in the darkness of his hide and pressed even further away from the light.

The steps continued to approach. They were slow and scuffling, and judging by what Stan knew about this place, that should have been the owner himself, the architect. The husband of the old lady that met him earlier.

The owner approached the table, grumbling curses on the whole way and finally - finally picked up the phone that was still ringing. Who even called at such an hour?

“Do you know the hour?” the owner shouted into the phone, making Stan nod at the legs before his eyes. Exactly! That was exactly what he was thinking!

There was a voice, loud enough to be labeled as a female, but that was all. Stan couldn't recognise a single word, no matter how much he focused on it.

“I don't care of which town! I don't care for your title! I didn't vote for you! I'm hanging…”

More of that voice. It went for much longer, making the owner groan, yet Stan definitely heard how his voice started trembling.

“...I understand. Don’t… Yes, yes, jeez, I got it! Stop, I don't want to hear that again, please!”

The voice went again, a bit quieter, to which the owner's foot went tapping.

“...Yeah, I remember that one. Still got it. I'll fax it to you in the morning…”

Some quick words from the voice, and the owner sighed.

“Sure, good night to you too…” there was a definite beeping of a call brought to the end. “...Bitch”.

There was a slamming of the phone and then a silence. The owner just stood for a while, mumbling curses. Then judging by the rustling of the paper he wrote something down. After that he finally turned around and went to the door. 

Lights went off, the door creaked shut, the footsteps were now pounding on the stairs.

Stan exhaled and slowly crawled out. He was totally in agreement with the old owner. Whoever called at this hour (Stan took out his phone for a moment to squint at the time), definitely deserved to be called all sorts of names.

No matter, back to his own job!

Stan looked up, listening to the fading sounds, until it was almost as silent as before, nodded to himself at the single hiss of the possum from the outside, and silently stepped to the target shelf. Now where did he pause?

***

It took another dozen or so folders until Stan finally found what he was looking for.

He punched the air and mouthed a cheer.

And well, the folder was large, with blueprints and notes and a bunch of calculations. 

Stan walked around a room, searching for a large space on a floor, and after finding it, plumped down.

Having taken out a set of blueprints, he straightened them on a floor, took out his phone and started snapping pictures of it. He took several, of the whole plan, of details, of each of the rooms. There was a plan of the territory too, that Stan took a photo of as well.

Having finished with the obvious goal, Stan started pouring through the rest of the pages. The one labeled with “Materials”? Could be useful. The “Terrain”? Definitely was. The “Colour Scheme”? Pass. The “Cost Calculation”? Definitely pass. The “Amended Plan for Planting Trees”? Oh, he could use that too…

He went quickly, but thoroughly, snapping everything that caught his attention. He already took notice of several rooms suitable for Diego to take as his personal office or something. And of the relative location of every hallway, and of the vents and of the way around the territory…

Yeah, he could make everything work. The realisation made Stan grin, as he snapped the final pages (with photos of the finished project, and Stan had to make a note: it was ugly as hell), closed the folder and put it back to storage.

After quickly checking whether he left any of the signs of break-in and whether the outside is clear, Stan climbed out of the window and ran to the next alleyway. There he paused and faintly whistled.

After several minutes Shanklin joined him, climbing his back until he was perching on the shoulder and hissing in Stan's ear.

“Yes”, the latter grinned and raised his hand to pat the little guy. “Another mission done perfectly well!”

Shanklin stretched to playfully bite at his fingers, and Stan laughed. “Yeah, sure, you deserve it! I promise, the first thing we'll do in the morning will be finding you some snack! Or maybe Shermie and Jimmy still have some left…”

Stan was immediately distracted by a vibration in his pocket. The phone. It was a quick one, meaning a message of sorts.

He immediately took it out, first smiling at the realisation it was Jimmy, but immediately frowning after checking the text.

‘Stan. Don't return. There are at least 8 pers. and they are searching for a teen with possum.’

While Stan was reading it, feeling his blood freezing all over, another message appeared.

‘We sneaked out. Don't worry about LS’.

Stan exhaled and started typing, but immediately stopped and pressed a call button.

The reply was immediate.

“Where are you?” he whispered, not bothering with any greetings.

“Safe for now”, Jimmy whispered back. “Look, we got a tail, and I think I can shake it soon? Wait somewhere safe, I'll pick you up as soon as I can…”

“No, wait, let me think”, Stan took some breaths, hearing a small sound of agreement from the other side. So, the motel was compromised, yet Jimmy got Shermie out. Good. They were followed. Were they noticed when sneaking from the motel? Did the men connect them to Stan? “Are you far enough now?”

“Sure, got my bike after all”, Jim sounded proud, and there were some whispers at his side. “Yes, that's Stan… yes, I already said that… Stan, your brother worries, so can you just find a good spot and wait for us…”

“No, don't come. Keep Shermie away”, Stan sighed, feeling Shanklin scratching at his shoulder. “Quiet, please”, he hissed back. “Look, I'll find a way to you on my own. You said it yourself, whoever they are, they are looking for me. I can't risk them finding Shermie. You understand?”

“But…” Jimmy started protesting.

Stan opened his mouth to press at him, but remembered their earlier talk. “Jimmy, please”, he whispered instead. “Just go and shake the tail and hide, both of you. Text me a location, and I'll join you as soon as possible.”

There was a silence, first disturbed by tugging of the Words, making Stan gasp from them, then by a firm voice on the other side of the line.

“No”, Jimmy stated. “I swore to keep you safe, and that's exactly what I'm going to do.” The Words pulsed in agreement, hot and scorching, pressing on Stan's insides. “So I don't care where you'll be, I'll find you myself and…”

Stan gasped, suddenly imagining it all, Jimmy indeed coming for him. But where would Shermie be then? Left somewhere? What if he’d be found? Or if they’d come both? What if they cross parts with those men?

Stan still didn't know who they were, he didn't know how dangerous they were, what they wanted from him - but he had his suspicions. ‘The teen with a possum’ was after all a quite familiar description that he heard more than once.

No. Stan was capable enough to sneak away on his own. There was no need to put Shermie in danger.

“Stan? Do you understand me?” Jimmy hissed, supported by the increasing beating of the Words.

Stan paused, reaching for those Words and just feeling them, their scorching heat and promise embedded in them. Right, that's why they were not just a promise, they were something much more. 

And still, there was no need. How Jimmy couldn't understand that?

“Jimmy, I beg you”, Stan whispered, trying hard to think of a way to convince the other. “You know yourself that Shermie is the one who needs protection. And you know me. I'm in no danger as long as I'll stay in the shadows, and I can do that. But Shermie can't! And…” he sighed, feeling Shanklin pressing a paw to his cheek, and lowered his voice. “Jimmy, I'm scared. He can't get hurt, he's the only link to my family I have left. Please, you're the only one I can trust with him.”

There was a loud exhale, followed by slight lowering of Words’ intensity. Yet somehow it spread its warmth all around Stan’s being, covering him, and for a brief wonderful second nothing else existed besides Stan and this silent reassurance.

“Can you do that for me, Jimmy?” Stan repeated, already feeling in his heart that he was close. “I trust you with Shermie, and please trust in me in return”. Moved by his intuition, he found the Words again, imagined them as a thread and then tugged on them.

There was a chuckle in his ear, and a huff.

“Tickles”, Jimmy exhaled once more, and then his voice calmed down. “Okay. I… I'll do as you say. I will text you our location. But if you won't be there in…”

“...Let me guess, you'll come and find me”, Stan rolled his eyes, grinning already. The pressure of the Words lessened until it was back to a constant warm beating that Stan was already used to.

“Just keep yourself safe”, Jimmy hissed, “...and don't you dare to get hurt, or I'll beat you up myself!”

“Oh? And what about your Oath?” Stan laughed. “What about no harm to me?”

Jimmy hung up, but the Words answered in a way of them suddenly going up in flames and just as rapidly calming down.

Stan sighed and pressed a hand over his heart, where the Words’ presence felt the strongest.

“Why didn't you do that when we were dating?” he whispered.

At this moment Shanklin jumped down and glared at him, making Stan chuckle.

“I thought you didn't like riding on Jimmy's bike?” but Shanklin was right. With Shermie now safely away, Stan was free to act as he was used to. And truly, it was time to think of their own getaway. Pity his bike was still near the motel, so he'd have to find another option…

Stan paused and scratched his chin. 

Did he? Well, for starters he could verify whether his bike was still there and whether Stan could grab it without anyone noticing. And that way…

Stan smirked. Oh, indeed. That way he could check who the fuck was looking for him and how did they found him. Not that he intended to interrogate them, but quiet observation often gave even better results. 

So he squatted to be closer to Shanklin:

“Okay, here's the plan. We go back as quietly as we can. Goal number one: if the path to the bike is clear, we take it. If not - forget it, we'll take a long walk or steal something…” Shanklin stared at him, his tail twitching in sign of listening. “Goal number two: we try to see if it's anyone we know. Or not. If so, I still want to find out who they are”. He didn't doubt Jimmy on his evaluation of their danger. But knowing more would be of benefit, especially when he and Jorge were staging their own trap. “I can do that”, Stan grinned at Shanklin. “Are you with me?”

His friend shuddered and went clockwise, huffing after that and running further down the alleyway. Stan quietly chuckled, checking that his hood, scarf and gloves were all in the proper place. He had a hunt to give.

***

Stan stretched a bit, careful so his movements wouldn't leave the dark shadowed spot he occupied. And he did find a nice spot, on the roof across the street. Although the time wasn't playing to his advantage - it was pressing closer to dawn, with the darkness of the sky slowly preparing itself to the colourful brightening before greeting the morning sun.

And yet, the roof was still covered in the gray shroud, and the parking zone near the motel on the contrary was dressed by streetlights, enough to notice everything Stan wanted.

So far he counted five figures and two cars, no doubt belonging to them. And those idiots thought they were subtle, like no one could suspect them of their waiting game. Well, a casual bypasser maybe couldn't, but Stan was better. 

And yet so far both of his goals weren't really achieved. The bike was too close to one of the cars, so until he was sure that the driver was distracted (or until he'd come up with a plan to make a distraction), there was no point to approach. But Stan was counting on it - he liked his bike, that was Jorge's gift. Half for his birthday, half for making those negotiations succeed.

So if there was any opportunity - Stan would grab it. He wouldn't leave his metal friend there.

As for his second goal… Well, visuals didn't give a lot. Stan didn't spot any of the noticeable details to identify them on spot or at least to pass their description to Jorge. Well, maybe he could if he got closer, but…

‘Just keep yourself safe.’

…That would be an unnecessary risk. Stan was no idiot, to walk straight into their waiting hands.

And there was no sight of Shanklin yet: the possum went as always at the reconnaissance towards the motel itself. 

Okay, with the sky brightening for another little shade, Stan had to admit: goal two was a sham at the present, so as soon as Shanklin would return, they would work on the distraction scheme and get the fuck out of there. 

At least, that's what he thought before noticing one of the figures saying something to the other and leaving, crossing a street until they were right before the roof occupied by Stan. The latter froze, pausing with his breathing for a moment. Sure, it was a roof, but it was a two-store building, so he wasn't as far away now so he could allow himself to be careless.

The figure however didn't glance up. They took out a phone and pressed some buttons, before pressing it to the ear.

“Still nothing. The little shit didn't show up…” judging by voice, it was a woman, yet she was quite built up and tall. “... Absolutely. His friend must have tipped him off… No, didn't catch him either…”

Stan rolled his eyes. Couldn't they talk about something less general? It all was obvious, even if concerning. But could they drop at least a name?

“... Don't tell me what to do! I do my job, you do yours. Paint a welcome banner or serve a table for your party! Don't you have guests to please?...”

Oh. Maybe he didn't need names! Stan grinned under his scarf. So, those were most certainly Diego's. Smart bastard, if he managed to locate him. Well, maybe he could get some more…

“...Got it. Two more hours. If not, he's already left the vicinity.”

Stan bit his lips to prevent a giggle. Oh, that lady didn't have any idea!

“...Oh? Yes, the police said they looked as similar as siblings, yes… Lives nearby? How did you… Yes, you right, not my business. Send me address, I'll check it”.

Stan froze. What did he just hear? Similar as what? 

That didn't sound good. What address? What she'd be checking?

The lightbulb went off almost instantly. Shermie! Who was missing and searched, and…

Mom! Shermie was supposed to live with their Mom! And Diego's men were now intending to visit their home?

Stan felt anger rising inside him.

Oh hell no! He wouldn't allow it. Diego would send the address? So what if it would be deleted! Sure, it wouldn't be a permanent decision, but then Diego himself wouldn't do much as soon as Stan and Jorge would be done with him! Stan just needed…

There was a mental press in his head, hesitating, radiating worry, to which Stan pressed back with annoyance and much more force. Not now, Jimmy! Luckily, he got a hint. Yes, thank you, no distractions!

Stan glanced around, and just as the lady ended the call and turned back towards the motel - he jumped at her back, immediately going for the windpipe to press on.

He did that trick countless times, and while the most part of the success consisted of his ability and flawlessness of performance, there still was this other part: his opponent.

And while Stan did try his best to evade every possible sound, the lady still sensed something and managed to put up her hand just in time to mess with Stan's perfect hold.

And while Stan reassessed his possibilities, the lady quickly grabbed his arm and pulled forward, throwing him over her head to the ground.

Stan managed to turn over before landing in a crouching pose and quickly pulled out his knife: as he just lost his stealth advantage, he now needed another.

The lady laughed at him:

“Oh, look at that, the little shit did come out to play”, she raised her hands to crack at her knuckles. “I thought you’re much bigger, with all the trouble you keep giving”.

“Sorry to disappoint", Stan hissed and jumped into attack once more, this time aiming with a knife towards her shoulder.

The lady however was quick to dodge this strike and even the other, as Stan changed his aim mid-strike, and struck herself at his wrist, making him lessen the grip and drop the knife.

“For a boy you fight nice”, the lady laughed, making it clear with her tone that there was only mocking there.

Stan glared at her with hatred, stepping slightly away and raising his fists.

“Love your spirit, sure. But don't expect me to be sorry when you lose, little shit”, the lady spat on the ground and already struck out with a fist of her own, making Stan dodge to the side, “Pity your Boss will have to find another pet to play fetch!” 

Stan ignored her, slightly bending his knees to duck and dodge another strike and went with an uppercut which landed as he wanted, making the lady stagger back with a groan. Without giving her any break, Stan followed with a punch towards her solar plexus, but at the last moment she tried to block it, and the punch landed on her shoulder instead, resulting in her cursing.

“You fucker…!” she made a wide swing that Stan chose to duck under, yet he missed the other hand that bypassed his own attempt at blocking and struck

right

           at

                  his 

                         ribs.

Stan heard a shout, realising a second later his own voice, and staggered back, pressing to the wall with his shoulder and trying to gasp.

His chest burned, the air was missing, the vision was spinning, and above everything else…

The Words Screamed louder than everything. There was a scorching pressure, separate from them, that added to the agony of his nerves where the ribs broke.

And then he felt it, how the pressure changed. It was radiating everything: the anger, fear, but most importantly - he felt a promise, resonating with Words and singing in unison. This promise was covering him, trying to warp itself around the area pulsing with pain.

Jimmy, Stan realized, first with relief, then with panic. No, no, that meant…

“Don't come”, Stan whispered, trying to grasp the sensation, the Words, the only way of communication he had at present. And while he felt them shivering in response, they only solidified under his touch. “No, no, no…”

“What, feeling defeated already?” the lady taunted him, cracking the joints in her hand.

Stan took a deep breath and pressed at the wall as his support to take a right posture. 

“No way”, he hissed, mostly to a lady. Right, he still had chances, but not if…

He exhaled and imagined grabbing the Words, imagined wrapping them around his own fist.

“I’m fine”, he whispered and tried to will his own words or at least his intention towards his owner. The Words clearly resisted, and Stan pressed even more on them. “Don't come for me. Protect Shermie.”

For a small second the Words ignited everything inside Stan, his thoughts, his senses, his being, his broken bones and aching muscles, making him scream once again. It was almost like it was echoed by the entire world around him, pressing, burning, until everything stopped.

Stan stumbled to the side, until he was pressed to a cold wall, painfully gasping. The Words still sung, but how wrong they now sounded! If earlier they whispered like a well-rehearsed song, now it was raspy, faulty, missing a note here and there, and as Stan tried to poke at them, they screamed at him until he left them alone.

“...admit defeat, and I'll play nice”, the lady was scoffing at him, slowly advancing, clearly prepared for Stan to strike again.

Which Stan did. Right, this matter with Jimmy would have to wait, now he had to win, because if not…

Stan gasped, as the lady countered his strike with her own, luckily not to the still screaming chest, but to his stomach. It still made Stan haunch in pain, aggravating everything, and then he felt another blow, across his spine. He dropped, but still found the strength to roll away toward the wall, where he rapidly staggered back to his feet, his chest painfully heaving and his brain going mushy and dizzy.

Still, Stan raised his fists once again…

There was a loud screeching, and the next moment the lady screamed herself, as her face was now mercilessly clawed.

Shanklin! Stan thought with a warmth inside. Right, that was his chance!

He readied himself, staggering forward and preparing a loaded swing, but, before he did that, the lady managed to grab Shanklin and throw him at the wall with such force that Stan heard something break.

“Shankin!” he looked with horror as the little body basically slid by the wall and dropped down, not moving anymore. Stan took a hesitant step, then another, then dropped on his knees beside his friend, trying frantically to find any sign that he was still breathing…

“...Huh, and everyone said that this critter was your hidden weapon… Fucking idiots.”

The last thing Stan felt was a sharp pain at the back of his neck.

Then everything went dark.

***

“...need, he'll be begging to hear my conditions, when he'll get my message…”

Stan groaned, feeling his thoughts slowly coming back to him. Everything was hurting. Or maybe not everything, but his chest felt like it was aflame, and his neck groaned from an uncomfortable position… And his limbs, all four of them were itching…

“Finally, our guest decided to wake up”, the same unpleasant voice sneered, and Stan tried to move his head to look ahead. It was a pain in the ass to do so, especially as his eyes were struggling to first even open, and then to focus.

As he did so, he finally realised his position, being sat on a chair, with his hands…

Stan blinked, noticing before him a table to which his wrists were secured with cuffs. He tried and pulled at his hands, but the cuffs weren't giving, only pressing further into the skin.

Panicking, Stan tried to move his legs, but felt the same pressure over his ankles.

“Don't even try, Jorge's little Shrimp”, the man before him chuckled. “Or maybe do try, it's rather nice to see you struggle.”

And finally Stan glared at the man, instantly understanding who he was.

Tall, leaner than Jorge, but more or less of the same age. Diego’s hair was mostly black, but here and there the gray already started to claim some strands. 

“I feel like you recognized me”, Diego shrugged. “Which is a pity, because if not for my trusty Nessa, I wouldn't have a chance to know you face to face”.

Stan took a deep breath to calm himself. Right. That was bad. But first, he was alive and that was the most important. Second…

Stan froze and frantically glanced around, all over the room - some sort of living one. The walls were covered with all sorts of hunting trophies and rifles. There were no windows, and it was quite dark around, as the sole source of lightning was a lit fireplace. There was also an ugly coach where the lady from before was sitting, staring at them. The lady sneered, half of her face covered by bandages, along with left eye.

“Calm yourself, dear Nessa”, Diego laughed with a mockery. “Our guest is nervous here, and you're not helping…”

“Where's Shanklin?” Stan was horrified to realise he couldn't see his friend anywhere. That was terrifying, especially when his last memory was…

“Your garbage pet? In the trash which is just the place for both of you”, Nessa hissed. “I had to take shots because of that beast! And I have stitches now!”

But Stan ignored her, feeling the numbing emptiness swallowing his heart.

No. Not Shanklin! Not…

Stan whimpered, feeling his eyes starting to sting. Oh no! Not that! He refused to cry before those bastards!

He frantically blinked several times and glared back at Diego.

“What do you want?!” he shouted, gathering every bit of anger and hatred inside him, because that was better than being scared and pathetic and crying from pain. “I feel myself kinda in one piece, so you obviously want something from me!”

Diego laughed and raised his body from the chair he was sitting just before.

“I'd say you're quite smart, little boy, but only an idiot would miss that”, he approached and sat on the same table, just inches from Stan’s still cuffed hand. “Actually, let's talk a bit first. We found some interesting photos on your phone. And I'm not an idiot to miss that my old friend is planning something. Do you know his plans or did he send you blind on this errand?”

“Fuck you”, Stan sneered, feeling the previous feeling of despair spreading. As an attempt to comfort himself, he frantically searched for the Words, and to his relief they still were present. Ugly, rattled and hissing as nails dragging over the glass, but they were there. 

Don't come for me, they whispered as a drunken chorus. Stan flinched from realisation.

Those were his words. He did that. Somehow he changed them. And this horrible state of the Words - that was his own doing. 

What did that mean? Was Jimmy now under no obligation to find him and rescue? He probably was…

Stan bit his lip. No, that was good. That way Shermie and Jimmy both were safe, somewhere else…

“Stubborn boy”, Diego sighed in a mock exasperation and suddenly backhanded Stan, making the latter see stars and whine from it. “Then what about this one? Who's that Jim with a skull picture?”

Stan shrugged, trying to hide his dread. Oh, they went through everywhere, his messages too? Of course, Stan acquired a habit of deleting everything after a while, so there shouldn't be a lot, except those photos, his contacts, and… recent messages with Jimmy!

“He's nobody”, Stan looked away. “Writes me some dumb stuff at times.”

“Sure, and nobodies just call without stopping”, there was a laugh from Nessa. “Funny how you try to protect your little friend. Not that it matters. We sent the guys to check on his address”.

“Leave them alone!” only after shouting, Stan realised his mistake. Shit, he had to keep playing ignorant! But what did she… Oh. Jimmy promised to text him their location, and… Stan felt for the Words that once again screamed from his touch. 

“Them? Oh, so you admit your friend isn't alone? But that doesn't matter, we still…”

“Why ruin the surprise, dear Nessa?” Diego huffed, making the lady shut up.

“You still what?!” Stan pressed, trying once again to wiggle his hand or his feet out of cuffs. “They don't have anything to do with me or Jorge! Leave them alone!”

“You sure care for them”, Diego slowly whispered as if deep in his thoughts. “Not only for your friend, but also for that boy that the police are still searching for, right? I think it's Sherman? Oh, and I already gave the order to kill anyone my guys will find. What a pity. But then again, I can call them any time…”

Stan chuckled, suddenly getting the scheme. He just couldn't not to. Oh, so they thought they had him just because they did the fucking math and connected their resemblance? They wanted him to beg and plead, all while counting for their mercy?

Too bad that Stan knew something that they didn't.

The Words still were there. Dissonant, faint, but still present.

Protect Shermie.

“Good luck finding them”, he tried to lean back, ignoring how his chest protested, and grinned as confidently as he could. “Your guys won't be able to touch them with even one finger. I'd say more. Count your guys already dead”.

Diego stared at him, frowning.

“One last question then”, he stretched his neck towards both shoulders. “Even if I already feel I know the answer”.

Stan glared back, trying to show every ounce of hatred and despise he felt. He probably already knew the question, and if that was it, then Diego was right.

There was some shuffling from where Nessa was sitting - judging by the sounds, she was messing with something at the fireplace.

Yet Stan ignored her, refusing to back up and break the staring contest.

He silently cheered when Diego blinked and looked away for a moment, wrinkling his nose.

“So, little boy, want to work for me instead of that old loser?”

“Nope”, Stan grinned once again and spit, rejoicing when it hit Diego's shirt, quite pricey, judging by its fabric.

Diego sighed and then slowly reached to grasp Stan’s head from above. Stan tried to lean away, but to no avail - there was simply no room for it as he was once again pressing at the back of the chair. Diego's fingers were strong and merciless, as he grabbed him by the hair and then slammed Stan's head right into the table.

Stan screamed, feeling how the motion forced his chest to bend and disturb his broken bones there. The head went spinning from the suddenness, and he was pressed right into his hands and arms, and the nerves there too started protesting as loud as possible…

“Dear Nessa, your turn”, Diego was speaking to the side, yet Stan felt how his other hand pulled at the collar of his shirt and started ripping it, down and down…

Despite the room being warm and suffocating because of fire nearby, Stan felt chills dancing all over his now bare spine and shoulders, as the remains of the shirt fell down on his knees.

“What the fuck…?” he tried to struggle, to raise himself from his position, but the hand on his head was now pressing even harder.

There were steps that Stan recognised as Nessa’s.

“Left, right, center?” she asked, her voice not hiding some dark enjoyment that made Stan definitely panic. He repeated his attempts at freeing himself, throwing his head to every possible direction, yet the only result he got was another mocking laughter above him and Diego's second hand, pressing on his neck.

“Up to you”.

Stan wasn't in position to see Nessa or anything, actually, but he felt her standing behind him and had only a second to harden his muscles in an attempt to prepare his body for whatever…

The back of his right shoulder went burning. He felt skin and flesh beneath melting under a pressure that refused to move away.

Stan's throat burned too, refusing to let any air to his lungs that wanted some but were empty and felt as on fire from the shallow attempt at breathing.

It was a moment later when Stan heard his own screams, when the smell of burned flash reached him, when every pressure left him, and he completely dropped on the table, gasping and feeling his eyes and cheeks wet and his shoulder still was in agony, with every nerve ignited…

“Perfect”, Diego's voice was muffled. “Please take a nice picture for my old friend. I have to brag to him about my latest catch”.

Then there was a movement, and the same hand that was holding him down, now ruffled his hair. If it was anybody else, Stan could mistake it for affection. Here, he definitely felt it was anything but this.

“From now on everyone will recognise you for what you are, Cleaner Shrimp. Aren't you happy?”

But Stan’s mind was in no place to recognise his meaning.

***

Everything was burning. The world was burning around him and Stan was burning just as well.

His mind felt sluggish, heavy and drifting, not catching anything but just for a second, before letting it all go and fade away.

And yet Stan felt awake, he felt himself dragged at times. Dropped. Left. Laying. Turned. Lifted. 

There was one presence at one instance, groaning and cursing at him, and it was doing something to him, and Stan tried hard to get away, to crawl back or even put a fight back. 

But the presence was stronger and was shouting at him and still did something to his chest and his back, so pain relented and lessened.

This presence also made him swallow something, which made Stan choke, and as he went coughing, his mind finally caught on to the reality around them, and Stan finally focused on the presence.

“Oh, you're lucid, great”, the face was kinda familiar, and a voice too… “I hoped to never see you again, Felix”.

“Who are…?” Stan blinked, trying to force his brain into remembering, but immediately winced as it refused.

“And you don't even remember me…” the man before him shook his head. “I don't know what I expected. But no matter. Rest. I'll try to sneak to you tomorrow”.

Stan blinked once again, watching as the man lifted himself up with the help of a cane. Rather clumsily, as one of his arms was suspended in some kind of bandage. Oh, he got hurt recently? Poor man…

Stan winced, feeling a sharp pain in his temple, just as the man threw the last glance at him and left.

That left Stan alone, slowly trying to lift himself from where he was sitting and leaning on the wall. He blinked, noticing that apparently the man took away some light there was before, and now everything was dark, with some light poking behind the door.

Oh, he was locked then!

But when…

Stan winced at the hard recollection he was slammed with. Diego, his bitch, the motel… Shanklin! Shermie and Jimmy!

Stan immediately went for the Words, signing in relief at their obnoxious wailing. They were there, they were there, that meant Jimmy was somewhere, keeping them, keeping Shermie safe…

But not Shanklin, Stan flinched, feeling the unmoving pressure of guilt descending on him. His friend tried to help him and… 

Stan closed his eyes with a force. No, he couldn't lie to himself and pretend there was a possibility for Shanklin to survive. Even if he was alive after that throw, he needed help, as soon as possible, and if the bitch indeed threw him away…

Stan felt the first tears drop and did nothing to stop them. 

It was his fault, Shanklin did everything to help him, kept him safe, kept him alive, and that's how Stan repaid him? 

And all for what, for…

Stan frowned, why again did he…

Mom! He gasped, struck with sudden fear. They were going…

But they didn't need to now, were they? Stan suddenly chuckled. They had him, they had no need to search for him anymore. That meant Mom was safe. And Shermie was with Jimmy, they were safe.

The problem was with Jorge, because…

Stan felt his head spinning and tried to lower it, only to wince as his chest radiated with pain. Oh right. 

He slowly raised his hand to feel himself. 

There were bandages all over his torso, wrapping around, mainly over his chest and his shoulder, which Stan tried to touch…

He shouted as he touched a bump of fabric over his shoulder and left it immediately alone.

So, he was in pretty bad shape.

Nice analysis, he huffed, feeling himself miserable. He felt for the Words again, trying to find any of the comfort there…

Just for a little second he thought he felt it, light and warm, pressing to him and making Stan feel as the most special being in the entire universe…

And then it was gone. No, not even gone - Stan felt every Word Breaking, one by one. He saw the sound of every crack echoing through his being, heard the fire with which every little broken piece was consumed, until there was nothing. 

Nothing, not even ashes.

“Jimmy?” Stan whispered, refusing to understand. “Jimmy, please, give them back!” He tried to imagine the Words, as they were first, bright and powerful, as they became after he touched them, ugly and dissonant. But it was all in vain - he couldn't feel them.

“No…” no, it was the Oath, it couldn't be just taken. It could be fulfilled, that must be it. Shermie was finally safe and that's why…

Stan felt his own heart painfully skip a beat.

He knew he was lying. He knew the Oath was broken.

‘Protect Shermie’, he asked. That meant…

“No… not Shermie…” 

The darkness around him became blurry.

Maybe he was only bruised or wounded? Something little, something that could be ignored?

But the Oath didn't break after Pepper Poisoning, so it wasn't working like that!

Stan shouted in despair, not caring if he could be heard or witnessed. What was the point, if Shermie…?

There was a slow clapping before him.

“So you did it again. Who's next? My ex-wife or my only son worthy of something?”

Stan sighed and looked straight ahead, seeing too familiar glasses and yellow suit and the same hat. And everything in between.

“Did you need to rub it in?” he sighed, watching as Father kept standing in the middle of the room, with his arms crossed.

“Did you need to ruin everything once again?” Father’s voice was as unimpressed as ever.

Stan groaned and leaned back, careful not to let his shoulder touch the wall.

“You're dead, you know. So either you're my hallucination or a ghost.”

Father shrugged. “Does it matter?”

"No, you're right, it doesn't."

Chapter Text

1 - an amount that is left over after all costs and expenses have been taken away.

Shermie tried very hard not to show that he was scared. So far he has been really successful - Jimmy didn't notice it yet.

Although it was quite irritating that this guy kept dragging him by the hand while they were tiptoeing between buildings.

Shermie wasn't a little boy anymore, he could easily walk on his own without getting lost!

And he liked it more when they were on the coolest bike Shermie even saw: it was large and loud and Shermie was positive he saw flames flying from under the wheels…

Yet Jimmy at some point jumped down from it, taking Shermie with him, and…

Shermie was astonished though, when Jimmy waved with his hand, and the bike rode away all on his own.

After which they were now crawling. Pressing sometimes to the walls - well, Shermie was the one pressed, not that he complained - he was tired and he just wanted to drop somewhere and he wanted to see Stan because something was happening and Jimmy said they had to run…

“Let's rest for a moment”, Jimmy did something with a lock on some door, letting them in. Shermie immediately dropped down on the floor and clutched his knees. 

Everything was moving too far. Only in the morning he was with Mom, and he thought his brother was dead. And now everything has changed and Stan was alive and he went somewhere and now Shermie and Stan’s friend were running and Stan’s friend refused to tell anything…

“Safe for now. Look, we got a tail…”

Shermie glanced at Jimmy who in turn was speaking on his phone. The guy was clearly agitated, frowning and pacing around, and Shermie could almost see steam coming out from him. Huh, strange. But Shermie saw weirder stuff at Gravity Falls.

“Is that…?” Shermie slowly got to his feet and stepped closer. 

“Yes, that's Stan.” Jimmy glanced at him and smiled, reaching and ruffling his hair. Shermie groaned and swatted the hand away. 

“Where is he? Is he alright? We need to find him!”

Jimmy chuckled.

“Yes, I already said that”, and then he was talking back to the phone. “Stan, your brother worries, so can you just find a good spot and wait for us…”

This close, Shermie could hear the agitation in the voice on the other side. 

Whatever Stan was saying, Jimmy clearly wasn't liking it, his hand started twitching and his frown deepened. 

“But…” he clearly tried to interrupt, but apparently Stan wasn't having it. And from Stan’s words Jimmy’s expression became quite hesitant, almost fragile…

Shermie nodded to himself and grasped Jimmy's hand to comfort the guy. To that Jimmy flinched and stared at him, raising his eyebrow.

Shermie shrugged, trying to make it seem like that was nothing. He just grabbed the hand. For no reason. Not to ground Jimmy or himself…

Jimmy's hand grasped back lightly.

“No”, he replied to whatever Stan was saying, and his voice was strong, not betraying the trembling in his hand. That was so cool! Shermie was a bit envious. “I swore to keep you safe…” Oh? Like the knights in the movies? Jimmy just got some additional cool points from him. Which coupled with a bike and his look… How did Stan even get such a coolest friend? “...Stan, do you understand me?”

Whatever Stan understood, his voice wasn't now audible enough to even guess. So Shermie focused on Jimmy, how his hand was clenching and how he bit his lip clearly in displeasure. His eyes were narrowed to such a point that Shermie doubted he could even see anything.

And yet in the end the hand relaxed, and Jimmy closed his eyes, loudly sighing. Just like Mom when Shermie could finally convince her to stay a bit more late.

And then Jimmy chuckled, his face lightening a bit, the frowning lessening.

“Tickles”, he whispered at the phone. Shermie raised his eyebrow. Huh? Oh, they had some inner jokes? If Shermie did have any doubts about them being friends, they would be gone now.

The guy was still talking, and Stan replied something, to which Jimmy flinched, his whole posture hardening. “...And don't you dare to get hurt, or I'll beat you up myself!”

Shermie bit his lips to keep from giggling, and he definitely heard Stan laughing too and even saying something clearly meant to be teasing, yet Jimmy rapidly ended the call, threw the phone on the ground and punched the nearby wall, his fist clearly being on flame for a split second.

Shermie gulped, realising that he still was holding the guy’s other hand. The pair to the one that still was smoking and just left a crack in the wall, clearly scorched now.

“Who are you?” Shermie whispered, feeling a new fear joining every other.

To that Jimmy pinched his nose, exhaled with a clear effort and only then looked at Shermie, smiling once again, but his eyes were downcast. “A fool, Little Spark. A fool who just can't say ‘No’ to your brother.”

Shermie nodded. That definitely didn't answer his question, but then again, Stan trusted Jimmy, and Shermie trusted Stan. 

And the hand in Shermie's hand was still trembling, and that was a guy that actively listened to Shermie's theories about Ducktective’s partner and the guy that now was looking like a lost puppy and still was looking cool doing that…

Shermie nodded to himself. That would explain everything: the cool guy definitely was scared too. But to his luck, Shermie was here.

“Don't worry”, Shermie tugged on the joined hands. “I'll look after you until we find Stan”.

And look, his reassurance worked, as Jimmy quietly laughed and released his hand, only to ruffle Shermie's hair once again. 

“Oh, then I have nothing to worry about!”

Shermie grinned and puffed his chest. Stan would be so proud of Shermie looking after his friend!

***

No matter how Shermie hoped to just stay and wait for Stan, after some time Jimmy got them to move again.

This time they went to the roofs, and Jimmy even let Shermie climb his back while he was following a path that seemingly didn't have any destination.

Yet Shermie didn't complain. The back was warm even if covered by black leather, and the late hour was soothing. Shermie kept nodding off here and there, but Jimmy never said anything, continuing strolling and jumping and climbing and pausing here and there. Until they stopped at one of the roofs.

Shermie tried to see why they stopped, but Jimmy just kneeled down, letting Shermie jump down. 

“Did Stan call again?” Shermie yawned.

“No”, Jimmy sounded upset at that, but then smiled: “You can go back to sleep, I'll wake you up if I get some news.”

Shermie yawned again. That sounded like a nice idea, so he looked around to find a better spot.

And… he kept glancing at Jimmy, not sure how to ask or whether he could even.

“What?” Jimmy definitely noticed it.

“Can you hug me? You're warm, and the roof is cold”, Shermie looked down, embarrassed. Good, he found a nice reason. Because he didn't want to sit on the metal roof and not because he was scared…

Jimmy huffed and quickly dropped down, crossing his legs and opening arms. Shermie maybe was a little bit too quick with climbing there and pressing to a warmth, but then he was indeed hugged. And Shermie felt a sleepy drowsiness returning.

He periodically heard Jimmy messing with his phone, but more or less everything was quiet.

Until suddenly Shermie felt him flinching and instantly going from “warm cuddly body” to a “don't touch the stove, Shermie!”. The rapidness of it made Shermie lose any bit of sleepiness he still had and lean away.

“Jimmy?” he yawned, blinking and noticing how the sky above them was not as dark as before. Oh, it would be morning soon already?

Yet Jimmy just hissed something incomprehensible under his breath.

And then he rapidly stood up and ran straight towards the edge of the roof, not letting Shermie from his grasp.

And then he jumped right down. From the fifth floor no less.

Shermie screamed, closing his eyes and preparing for the impact, yet just as he felt the fall being rapidly stopped, he didn't feel pain, only heard the familiar roar…

He hesitantly opened one eye and realised that Jimmy landed straight on his bike, and was already taking off, still pressing Shermie to his chest with one hand…

Something happened, Shermie realised. He didn't know how Jimmy knew, but it was obvious and Shermie trusted…

And then the bike swerved, just as Jimmy’s entire frame went rigid.

Shermie could only scream and clutch harder, as the bike lost speed and leaned to the side, until Jimmy jumped…

No, Shermie realised, as his arm painfully was dragged across the pavement. Jimmy fell, and even then continued holding him.

As they stopped and Shermie finally could breath and try to ignore the burn on his arm, he felt Jimmy’s entire frame shuddering. Now, without the roaring of the bike and wind screaming on their faces, it was obvious how painful the guy was gasping, even whimpering, and Shermie at first was paralyzed with terror.

Yet as Jimmy hissed from some spike of pain, Shermie shook himself and escaped the tight hold of hands around him. 

Being free now, he tried to evaluate Jimmy's condition. He was hunching on himself, his hands, now free from his passenger, went to grasp his own chest.

And Jimmy’s face was contorted with pain, he was biting on his lip, and every inch of his skin was pale as death.

“Jimmy?” Shermie hesitantly shook the guy by the shoulder. “What's happened? Where are you hurt?”

He did try to remember what Ford was saying about injuries and sudden illnesses, but nothing seemed like what happened and…

“That bastard", Jimmy suddenly hissed, unclenching one hand to help himself get a sitting position. “That bastard, what did he…”

Shermie flinched from the amount of anger and pain radiating from the voice. 

Yet Jimmy wasn't done. He raised a shaking hand, his fingers outspread, then clenched them in fist and dropped the hand back to the ground.

“I can't look for him…” he whispered, and the anger dissolved, giving way to hesitation and fear and - Shermie dared to say - terror. “What did he do…?”

“What happened?” Shermie whispered, but everything was really obvious, so he then went straight to shouting. “My brother, Stan! What happened?!”

At that Jimmy finally glanced at him, his eyes…

Shermie flinched and fell back on his butt, instinctively trying to get away.

There was fire. Not literal, as when they went to do marshmallows or when the stove was burning. But the gaze was scorching, making Shermie feel like he was one step from being consumed by the flames and…

Jimmy blinked, and the sensation disappeared.

“Sorry, I… sorry”, he said in the end, still shaking even as he tried to get to his feet. It took him two tries, and he still staggered as he finally did it.

“You didn't answer”, Shermie whispered, getting up himself and ignoring the offered hand. “What happened with Stan?”

“I don't know”, Jimmy whispered back, “But at least I can feel Shanklin, so…”

They were interrupted by the sound of engine and tires screeching across the pavement.

“There that biker guy!”

“Get them!”

Shermie flinched in panic, freezing on the spot.

“Right”, there was Jimmy's voice. And while it now was low and flat, Shermie still heard it echoing all over the street. There was a promise of danger in it, and while that should be terrifying, at the same time Shermie felt how it wasn't targeted at him. It was almost like he was surrounded by it. 

“Step back, Little Spark”, still staggering Jimmy was already between Shermie and the men who left the car and brandished some knives and bats…

And then Jimmy threw his arm out to the side. His hand, previously empty, now held a longest chain, burning down its whole length, falling to the ground and twisting around, like a hissing snake.

Not only the chain, Jimmy's hands were covered in flames too. And his head… Shermie blinked, seeing how the hair was too catching fire and burning and was there a skull now?!

That was weird… but so cool!

“I'll make you all behave, you fuckers!” Jimmy hissed, and the chain went flying. 

***

“...Did you try to cook bacon with your hands?” Shermie screamed at Jimmy's ear, hugging him from the back.

The wind was blowing at his face, making it hard to speak, but Shermie had so many questions…

“Yes”, Jimmy hissed, his voice clearly annoyed, and pressed on the handle of his bike even more.

“And eggs? Did you try eggs?”

“Can you just…!” Jimmy caught himself from saying something. “No”.

“And if you go to the volcano, can you…?”

Instead of replying, Jimmy made the bike go even faster, so Shermie had no option but to lower himself back and hug tighter.

But that was so cool! And not like Shermie was asking something stupid! Ford did it with every weird thing he encountered and could interview!

Shermie paused, frowning. Ford… As much as he trusted Jimmy, he trusted Ford more. Maybe he could call him and explain and ask for help? Ford definitely wouldn't refuse, because that was Stan in trouble, and Ford… Oh, Ford didn't know yet that Stan was alive! Ford would be overjoyed and…

Shermie blinked, as he felt them stopping. And as he was looking around, recognizing the same motel they left some hours ago, Jimmy already went running.

Shermie immediately went after him, trying to notice Stan or his possum friend…

Jimmy led them into an alleyway, cursing with every step taken, until they were before a garbage bin…

Shermie knew it was bad, as Jimmy had to take several tries to even open the lid, and then jumped straight into a pile of trash.

After some moments of shuffling around, he climbed out, holding something to his chest.

No, not something! Shermie realised with horror, taking a small fur ball into his own hands.

Shanklin! The poor guy was definitely still alive, his entire frame unevenly twitching with shallow breaths, but apart from that he wasn't moving.

“Why?” Shermie felt tears starting to gather in his eyes. The slow realization that he tried to ignore for the entire night, that everything was falling apart in a way he couldn't prevent, gripped him tight straight by the throat. “Where's Stan?”

Jimmy ignored him, running further into the alleyway and returning after a while, taking out his phone and pressing something.

“Stanley got taken”, he hissed as soon as the call got picked up. “Yes, you old bastard, I know his real name! Focus on important stuff! Someone took him and I have no idea… Yes, I got it. I'll be there… Hurry up yourself…”

“Who're you calling?” Shermie whispered, pressing Shanklin closer, trying to pass to the little guy some warmth or at least the impression that he was safe.

“Stan’s dad”, Jimmy huffed. And…

What?

“Our dad died”, Shermie frowned. “We thought they both died, but if Stan’s alive, you mean our dad too…?”

Jimmy frowned too, and then suddenly he looked nervous and hesitant.

“Your dad’s named Jorge?”

“No. Filbrick”.

Jimmy cursed again, now turning away. “I definitely need to stop assuming anything about him.”

“So our dad's still dead?” 

“I suppose. Sorry.”

Shermie shrugged. Their dad being dead stopped being ground-shattering long ago. Stan's however… No one really managed to accept that, especially Ford and…

Shermie got a lightbulb.

“Give me your phone, I want to call too”, he made a grabbing gesture, careful not to disturb still unconscious Shanklin too much.

“Where's yours?” Jimmy squinted at him.

“I don't have one. Mom doesn't allow”.

Jimmy groaned and yet passed him the asked item, already unlocked.

Shermie glanced at the screen, feeling a pang at the chest at the sight of a photo of Stan as a background. He was grinning there, his grown out hair, dyed in red, waving all over his face from the force of the wind.

Another lightbulb got lit in his mind.

“You and Stan…?”

“Can you too stop focusing on the stupid stuff?!” Jimmy shouted, his voice uneven, his face red just as Stan’s hair in the photo. “You wanted to call or what?!”

Oh, shoot! Right!

Shermie nodded and started to make a number. He got them all memorized, as Ford said to him once that he could find a phone anywhere if he got lost.

So he recalled one and pressed the dial.

The response was almost immediate, so it seemed like Ford was once again spending the whole night pouring through books or on chasing some creatures around the forest…

“Shermie?! That's you?!” the voice was loud and panicking, and there were other voices in the background.

“Yes, I found a phone”, Shermie nodded. 

“Oh finally”, Ford exhaled with clear relief. “Where are you? We're going to pick you…”

“Stan's alive”, Shermie interrupted him. “He's alive, and he's got taken and I'm with Jimmy, that's his boyfriend…”

“Hey!”

“...and can you help us find him?”

The breathing on the other side was really loud, shaky and trembling.

“Stanley’s alive?” Ford whispered. “I think you are mistaken, he's dead and…”

“I think I can recognise my own brother!” Shermie shouted. “I don't know how, but that's him and he needs us! So can you help or not?!”

There was some more murmuring, and then Ford sighed, his voice no longer hesitating.

“Where are you? We're coming.”

“Where are we?” Shermie glanced at Jimmy. The latter sighed and asked for a phone with a gesture.

“I can't sit and wait for you, I have to… I can simply text the destination to you, if you want… Yes, that's me. No, I'm not exactly… Can you all stop focusing on that?!” Jimmy screamed, rubbing his face with a hand.

Shermie chuckled, feeling slowly being relieved. Ford would know what to do. Ford would make everything right. Ford would fix everything.

Shermie gulped and wiped his eyes. Shanklin in his arm stirred a bit, but remained unconscious.

Oh right.

Shermie got closer to Jimmy and ripped his phone out of his hands, ignoring his outrage. 

“By the way, Ford! What should I do if I have a wounded possum on my hands?”

“What? What have you been doing, Shermie?!”

2 - a system of communicating devices.

Jimmy was sizzling. Not on the outside, he tried really hard to keep his being in reigns so as not to frighten Little Spark even more. 

But everything inside was boiling, threatening to erupt and ignite everything around.

He failed. He fucked up so hard that his Boss would be outraged. Or laugh at his misery. Depending on her mood.

Jimmy knew Stanley was wild, that was what drew him to the guy. Jimmy knew him as unpredictable and incomprehensible and more dangerous than he appeared. With a faintly glowing spark of his soul that had all the potential to become a wildfire.

And Jimmy always wanted to solve him, to understand and get closer. To maybe witness that spark to grow and shine to its fullest potential.

Humans liked to call that interest as friendship or love or other stupid things, but Jimmy knew better. That was nothing more than curiosity because Jimmy could never rightfully evaluate Stanley’s behaviour and just wanted to know why he was like that.

And maybe with time Jimmy started liking Stanley's company, his humour and antics.

And maybe when Stanley hesitantly asked whether they were dating, Jimmy chose not to argue.

And maybe the episode when the poor Marquis was struggling with his feelings towards the Duchess - maybe that scene did strike some chord, making him wish for silly words and graceful gestures and another chance at understanding his feelings…

Yet that wasn't love. Love was a human emotion to have, because love required a heart to beat in harmony and a life to spend together.

Humans did have all that. Jimmy's kind didn't. But then again, they both had something other in common, a desperate need to define every feeling, even the smallest one. Although for really different purposes.

The most experienced of Ghost Riders could easily glance at the person and read his soul as an open book. His Boss was one of those, needing only a split second to understand one's character.

Jimmy… still struggled. No, he could recognise the bright parts, like strong emotions or the stench of lying, but everything fainter - that still confused him.

And Stanley didn't help. Jimmy tried several times to explain how he saw the world and how he had problems reading Stanley to which the guy always shrugged and responded how it didn't matter or how what he felt wasn't important or something on those lines.

And not to mention the name.

He didn't even trust Jimmy with his real name, giving only a faint reminder, not enough to be a real link, only a teasing.

And maybe Jimmy was a fool to give up that one time. But he just couldn't. It was simply painful to be around the guy who was unreadable and who didn't treat them - their label which Stanley defined himself - seriously.

Jimmy really thought he made the right decision. He was the Ghost Rider for Hell's sake! He didn't need some silly human hobby of dating!

And yet…

Don't come for me.

Jimmy flinched in pain. That was what he got for hoping. That was what he got for wishing to give himself one more shot at figuring Stanley. One more shot at witnessing his spark.

Oh, his Boss would definitely laugh.

That was why everyone warned the younger Riders that one shouldn't give an open-ended Deal out. No matter its exact nature - Oaths, Barters, Exchanges - everything should be closed, so the conditions would be set for eternity. Make the other promise something too in return, at least a smallest detail, they said.

And Jimmy was too stupid to offer the Oath as reassurance. And to let Stanley not to swear on his own conditions.

He knew Stanley was capable. He just never thought…

He felt the Twisted Oath that was whimpered in pain, along with Jimmy's every essence.

Did Stanley even know what he was doing? Did he understand the consequences?

Did he realise that he singlehandedly blinded Jimmy where it counted?

The latter sighed and tried again to feel for Stanley using his name as a guidance, but had to drop it immediately, as the Twisted Oath started suffocating him in warning.

Jimmy felt enraged again. Stanley.

He trusted Stanley and that was what he got.

The Twisted Oath and…

And…

No. He didn't have a broken heart. That was something stupid that only weak humans could have. 

Jimmy wasn't human.

He was the Ghost Rider.

He didn't have a heart to be broken.

Instead, he had a stupid pathetic lying infuriating human to save somehow and then announce that they were done.

This time for eternity.

***

They were first to reach the designated location, a small cabin a few hours away from the city.

Little Spark was sleeping in his arms, clutching Shanklin who was wrapped now in Jimmy’s bandana to cover some weird mixture that Little Spark did under Stanley's twin’s guidance.

And… that was another painful reminder. Jimmy apparently knew nothing about Stanley. About his family too.

He never asked, and Stanley never told. So Jimmy tried to gather clues by what he was mentioning here and there. And even there he failed.

Every time he tried to make a whole picture with new knowledge, the puzzle was falling apart. Stanley definitely had people worrying about him, ready to jump after him to try and rescue, and yet…

Stanley felt alone.

That one instance when Jimmy managed to glimpse at what his soul was covering behind the hardened shell of indifference - there was a whole pit formed from despair and acceptance and loneliness. It was frightening, as Jimmy never saw anything like that. And couldn't even imagine that Stanley’s being was made around it.

What happened? Why? 

And why Jimmy was still aching to get the answers? Didn't he decide twice already to get away from Stanley? 

There could be no benefit for Jimmy to continue trying. There would be only some temporary satisfaction from getting the answer.

But it wasn't worth endangering his own being like that. Breaking the Oath? Jimmy heard it to be agonizing and unbearable, not to mention the destruction of one's self as a punishment. But Stanley Twisted it, and the process was so painful that for a second Jimmy thought that it was it. The end for him, the one who failed at the Oath…

And yet it still was there. Crying, pitiful, ugly mocking of Jimmy's own promise.

Don't come for me.

That bastard. Always doing how he wanted, only saying that he cared for Jimmy's wishes, without really giving a damn.

…The bastard was probably frightened and scared, Jimmy suddenly thought with remorse. Where was he? Was Stanley alright? Of course not - Jimmy managed to feel the start of whatever happened, heard the pain vibrating through the name link.

Stan was in trouble, and Jimmy couldn't look for him.

He had a faint expectation that Old Bastard would come with some plan for such a disaster, and Little Spark all but burned with a hope for their eldest brother. 

And speaking of eldest brother…

Jimmy perked as he felt three presences approaching and then heard an engine. He glanced at Little Spark that was still sleeping on the couch, pressing unmoving Shanklin to his chest.

Yet another failure: he liked the little guy, and to see him now, weak and powerless, was unbearable.

Mindlessly, Jimmy waved at the possum to renew his Claim. That way no lesser demon would decide to pray on faint essence, fiercely fighting to remain in this realm. That was all he could do, and what a devastating thing to realise, that Jimmy could only take a life away, but not to preserve or restore it…

Jimmy shook his head and stepped outside, to meet the arrivals. He could already tell it wasn't the Old Bastard, so that supposedly was the twin. ‘We’, he mentioned. Who were ‘we’? Well, he was about to find out.

The car finally was in physical sight, a pickup with metallic paint on it.

And without even waiting for it to stop, one figure leaped from the passenger’s side and ran closer.

Jimmy was in no need of extra clues. That was Stanley’s twin indeed. Same face, more or less same kind of hair, same fiery agitation radiating… It was more interesting to gather the differences: like the all-consuming smell of Weird or like the fact that the hair was never touched by any dye…

“Where's he?!” the twin started looking all around.

Jimmy huffed. “Inside, sleeping…”

The twin started to run towards the cabin, but only made two steps before pausing.

“No, not Shermie. Where. Is. Stan?” with every word the twin stepped closer until he was glaring at Jimmy, and his anger was quite the same as Stanley’s too.

“That's what I want to know from you”, Jimmy hissed back. “You had some time to think, so now’s your time to shine! Little Spark was adamant you'd know the way!”

The twin opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by others approaching.

Jimmy glanced at them.

The first one was familiar, he noticed her from when he first spotted Little Spark. He'd guess now that it probably was their mother, but then again, he already failed in assumptions about their dad…

That woman was tall and anxious, her guilt shining brighter than her eyes. It was clear from the air of exhaustion that they all didn't sleep that night, and yet in that woman it was the loudest.

The third one was of Stan's and his twin’s age, lean and tall, reeking of panic, and yet it was tightly gripped by the guy’s determination. There was also a stench of Weird, but in a lesser amount, while the woman was completely missing it.

“That's Jimmy?” the woman asked as she approached. “Where're my boys?”

Jimmy scoffed in irritation, feeling several gazes full of contempt now focused on him.

The humans were strange, always complaining about how short their lives were and yet just adoring spending the precious moments over stupid talks.

“Do you have a way to locate Stanley or not?” he frowned back at the twin, who gulped and stared back.

“Of course, but I need some of his recent belongings, so can you…”

“We don't have any”, Jimmy stopped him. Whoever took Stan, they picked up his stuff too. And Stanley wasn't one with the habit of travelling with a suitcase. “Or you can try his pet, that maybe…”

“Aren't you his..?” the lean one frowned, joining the conversation. “Surely you have some gifts from Stan or anything?”

“Why should I have that?” Jimmy shrugged. Gifts were meaningless, he told that once to Stan, explaining how he as a Ghost Rider didn't see any value in them, and luckily Stan was a practical one, agreeing without arguing.

“What kind of boyfriends are you?” the lean one gasped in sadness and a small flick of anger. 

“We aren't boyfriends”, Jimmy tried to correct Shermie’s earlier words. They weren't. They couldn't. Stan tried to call them that, but he was mistaken. Humans should call themselves by that category only when they were in love, and Stan wasn't…

…

Jimmy hated that he desperately wanted another chance to glimpse at Stan's soul, to search under the Cracked Wall for signs, because Stan didn't lie about treating them seriously, and the possible key was somewhere in his soul, and Jimmy needed just a calm moment, not disturbed by Stan’s siblings or Stan’s enemies or Stan’s kidnapping… And that was really important here!

“Look, can you just do it without Stan’s things or not?” Jimmy glared at the twin.

“I… Our Grunkle is still way better than me in locating, so I called him, and they were already on their way, so they soon will be too. And I think he can do that…”

“So you're useless after all”, Jimmy resumed, feeling the burn of irritation all over. 

The twin flinched, staggering back as if struck, all for the lean one to come closer.

“Listen here, you rocker wannabe”, he growled, his hesitation rapidly being covered by pure anger. “Boyfriend or not, don't you dare to…”

“I don't care”, Jimmy sneered, interrupting the lean one, and turned back to go inside. But as he did that, the rapid lightning composed of the Little Spark ran last him and all but jumped at the twin.

“Ford!” Little Spark shouted. “You came! And now we can save Stan, and everything would be alright…”

Jimmy winced, observing how quickly the twin was being covered in guilt. No, he wouldn't feel anything for Stanley’s family. He decided. He was done being burned…

“...And you just can't imagine how cool Jimmy is! The coolest! He can do the chain thing and prepare bacon with his hands and…”

Jimmy hid himself in the cabin, ignoring the shouts in his back. 

Instead he found a secluded spot up in the rafters and tried to look for Stanley once again. 

The Twisted Oath grabbed his insides once again, giving him nothing pleasant in return.

***

“Hey, asshole!”

Ceasing another attempt and relieved that the pain lessened as soon as he did that, Jimmy dropped to the ground, landing on his feet without flinching.

The twin tsked at him, yet he radiated enough of surprise for Jimmy to smirk at him.

“I know”, he said and strolled into the main room, not caring about the additional splash of surprise beyond him. He felt it, the arrival of the Old Bastard and how it collided with the simultaneous appearance of the other two presences, and now the space before the entrance was burning with hatred and anger and aggression.

Jimmy gulped, hoping that the twin wouldn't notice it.

He steeled himself before crossing the doorway…

“Here you are, Snake bastard!” he had only a second of preparation, before he had to dodge the fist coming into his face. “You had one job! You had to protect him…”

“I don't answer to you, Jorge”, Jimmy sneered at the Old Bastard, pressing into his being and feeling with satisfaction how the men flinched as if being stricken, his anger doused by slightest pinch of fear. “I was hired by Stanley and I swore to him, so don't you try…!”

“Hired?” the other old man interrupted him. He was reeking of Weirdness, just as a similarly looking granny beside him. “Aren’t you his boyf…”

“Stop calling me his boyfriend!” Jimmy shouted, half in rage, half in desperation, feeling sparks of surprise and curiosity all around. Feeling the Twisted Oath stirring again against his being. “We are not. Not after what that little bastard…”

He felt being struck. First he felt a surprise in himself, then the quite astonishing amount of pain (really, the Weird Man could punch a lot), then the rising anger aimed at him all around, with Weird Man being the edge of it…

“Don't you dare to call Stan that way”, the Weird Man pointed his finger right between Jimmy's eyes. Oh, that's why it was as painful - the Man was wearing several rings, and Jimmy felt them shimmering with power. Oh, the Man definitely knew his way around Weird, wasn't he?

And yet that wasn't the most surprising…

“Are we clear, Death Boy?” the Man hissed, provoking several new waves of astonishment and even fear, but Jimmy absentmindedly nodded, not caring about it.

The Twisted Oath wailed at that strike. Or, especially, the part that was buried under - Jimmy's Oath. It wanted to be fulfilled and dissolved, but the part overwritten by Stanley violently kept it in place.

That meant…

Jimmy glanced up at the Weird Man, who was back screaming in the Old Bastard’s face. The latter was broadcasting his intention to strike the Weird Face… (huh, that one had better sound to it!)

“...So what, I took him and I raised him! What do any of you care about now?” 

“...Oh, don't you try to play innocent, Castillo! We know all about your criminal empire in the making! You just had to drag Stan into it!”

Jimmy looked at the Weird Face, really looked. Sure, he didn't know his name, so everything about him was still dimmed and unfocused, yet past the loud anxiety and sharp hatred there was a stinging guilt and… down there was a bright warm mix of hope and something even warmer.

Jimmy blinked and looked at the Weird Granny, who was on her knees besides Little Spark, looking over Shanklin.

Oh, he was surprised to see there the same strange wall-like obstacle that Stanley wore around his being. It shimmered a bit differently though, and as Jimmy carefully felt around it, there were cracks too. And looking through it, he saw the sickening guilt and slowly brewing determination, and then he found the similar ball of warmth.

But why then…?

Jimmy turned to the twin who was standing beside him, a few steps away and deep in thoughts.

Ford, was it? Seemed like a part of it, given how his being was feeling clearer than his relatives’ ones, but not in full focus yet. Past the agitation and fear there was a firm layer of stubbornness, ready to pounce. And the hopeful shining was there too, spreading from the inside and feeding into everything.

“Why then?” Jimmy spoke to the twin who was startled from being addressed. “Why in his core he felt like he was all alone and deserved it?”

The silence covered everything, but Jimmy stared at the twin, noticing how the guilt sprouted from him and from most of the presences.

“Because he was alone”, the twin gulped, twisting his hands before him. Jimmy briefly glanced at them and mentally shrugged. Another difference to the pile. “I think… I think he really felt ignored as we spoke the last time…”

“It wouldn't happen if we knew he was alive!” the Weird Face shouted. His voice was loud and confident, yet Jimmy now saw the same guilt feeding everything. “If we only knew…” the Weird Face turned and tried to punch the Old Bastard who caught the fist. “If only you didn't steal him for your schemes!”

“I didn't steal him!” the Old Bastard shouted back, still as hard to read as always. Jimmy glanced at the usual wall of indifference and rolled his eyes. And he really thought this one to be Stanley’s dad. Was he at fault when Stanley clearly liked the Bastard and tried so hard to please him? “He was alone, just a frightened kid that kept talking about how now he had nowhere to go and how he had no one left!”

What?

“I looked into you all, you know!” the Old Bastart clearly wasn't done, though his indifference went cracking, letting out even more anger and contempt. “The broken up family that decided to take each one kid of their choosing! Did the boy's father even choose him or was my boy just left as an afterthought?! I found him, I gave him shelter, I gave him purpose. I definitely gave him more than any of you!”

Jimmy looked away from Jorge, refusing to agree with him despite everything. Sure, purpose. Also a knife in Stanley’s hand, and a target on his back…

“Purpose?!” the Weird Face shouted. “What kind of purpose could you even give him, when you're the lowest criminal! Did you make one from Stan too…?”

“Oh, he definitely didn't learn stealing from me”, Jorge huffed. “Just as fighting, breaking in or lying. I wonder who taught him that?”

Jimmy flinched from a new wave of guilt spreading around. And from the curiosity aimed at him from the twin.

The Weird Man was preparing another outburst, when there was a loud noise from Jorge.

Jimmy hated how everyone instantly quieted down, watching as Jorge took out his phone and gasped.

Jimmy hated how Jorge's own wall of indifference went cracking even further, showing hope and apprehension and dread.

“Yes?” he answered abruptly, and instantly the hope dimmed, making way for the blackest shade of malice. “Diego. This number is not yours. Let's drop the pretence. Where is he?”

Oh fuck. Jimmy never really cared about those old geezers’ deeds. They were just humans arguing, another conflict that resulted with time for more work for Jimmy and his kind… 

And yet if he knew… He'd beg his Boss to find a contract on this Diego. Or if not… Well, screw them, the punishment for Unjust Reaping would be worth it if Stanley wouldn't now…

Diego definitely was talking, and Jimmy didn't need his hearing to gather clues. Jorge was already telling everything with the way his emotions were rapidly changing.

Fear. Diego had Stan. Guilt. Stan was hurt. Anger. Probably threatened with more hurting. Indignation… Huh, more threats? And then more fear, followed by fiery resolve and shadowed by quiet resignation.

“...No. We'll meet like we're decided. Get my boy with you, and we'll talk business. You'll get it, but only if I see him alive…”

More panic, framed by several gasps. Jimmy refused to admit how he himself was succumbing to this pitiful emotion. He should be well above…

“Huh? What motivation?... Diego? Diego, don't you dare…!” it seemed the call ended, but not even a minute later there was another quick sound, likely from a message.

And as Jorge glanced at it, his indifference shattered, enveloping him in a mess of terror, guilt and defeat.

Jimmy didn't register how he approached to Stanley’s… not dad, but now he was clutching the phone and staring and that was definitely Stanley’s shoulder, his skin of angry crimson red and the lines that didn't exist before, crossing the skin all over, almost pulsing with darker deeper red of burn.

He distantly felt surrounded by splashes of fear. But didn't care.

He knew of branding, his kind was practicing it as a lesser means of punishment, as a warning. And he heard humans did it too.

But seeing that on Stanley…

The ugly lines were mocking, curving and turning, crossing until they formed a picture.

The Shrimp.

The mocking of the title that Jimmy hated when it was used. The title that Stanley was using instead of his beautiful name.

And now it was there. On his skin. On his body. Like it was defining him…

Like it was everything Stanley was.

Like that was a mark of Sin, and that was wrong, wrong WRONG!

Jimmy saw cracks covering the photo and pressed tighter, making the screen and the phone fall apart in little pieces of  plastic and metal.

He took a deep breath, quickly noting how the air around him was wavy. And turned to Jorge, who stumbled back, radiating even more panic.

“Will he be alright if you comply?”

Jorge had obvious troubles speaking as he was mostly gulping instead. But then… “No. He implied that Bruno… that my boy would be dead regardless…” more terror, just as Jimmy felt his own anger rising. “But he agreed to meet me…”

That was worthless. More stupid talks, while Stanley…

“You, Weird Face”, he turned to the old man, who was now less in panic, but radiating intents of grabbing some belongings of his and attacking. Not that it would matter. “Do you have anything to locate Stanley?”

The Weird Face dropped some of his intent to become really pensive.

“Yes, I recalled several spells and rituals to do just so…”

“So what are you waiting for?!” Jimmy roared. More fear and alarm. The weak scaredy cats and not humans!

“Well, I still need some time for preparations and we didn't find one or two ingredients for…”

Jimmy saw red. Felt everyone staggering even further, but he didn't care.

Humans were stupid and always focused on unimportant stuff!

Time was of the essence here, Stanley was alone, in the hands of the real Sinner that wanted him dead!

Jimmy reached for Stanley. But Twisted Oath made him gasp in pain once again, even drop to his knees as Jimmy tried to persist.

That was futile. He felt it. He wouldn't be able to reach even if he ignored every warning - he would be Punished before he'd reach…

“What are you trying to do?”

Jimmy glanced up.

The twin. And while he was definitely terrified, just as everyone, he was reeking of resolve and curiosity and hope. Aimed at Jimmy.

“Whatever I'm trying, it's not working”, Jimmy groaned and punched his knee from irritation. “I can't. The idiot Twisted it, and I can't do anything, even if I swore…”

The Oath, original one, buried and tied, sang its sad tune. Reminding Jimmy of his failure and…

And…

He looked closely at how Stan's Oath held his own. How it kept Jimmy's words from dissolving.

And then Jimmy raised his eyes up to the twin… to Ford. 

Determination. Resolve. Jimmy needed more. He needed to be sure…

“Name”, he staggered in his attempt to get on his feet, but he did it, now staring at the eyes that were so similar but not enough. 

“Don't you dare!” the Weird Face shouted. “Don't give it to him, or he’d have power to manipulate your soul!”

Jimmy huffed. Again that prejudice? Stupid humans, always so weird about the integrity of their souls when they were the ones doing so much damage to it. Ghost Riders didn't have the need to correct anyone's soul. They were Punishers, not rehabilitators. Well, Reaping could be counted. Probably. If the destruction of the soul and its following rebirth could be counted as such.

Ford, however, was radiating his thinking attempt. 

“You can do something with it?” he frowned, covered in hesitation and rising hope.

“Trust in Jimmy! Stan certainly trusts him!” Little Spark shouted too, from the side. Jimmy glanced at him and was surprised by the blinding ray of faith aimed at Jimmy himself. It was pure, mixed with hope and admiration and trust.

And to further his surprise, Ford’s aura shifted, getting rid of any hesitation and giving way to a hard feeling of stubbornness.

“Stanford Filbrick Pines”.

Instantly Stanford's soul bursted with deepness and shades, letting Jimmy see it clear as day. He saw doubts and caged fear. He saw walls of pride and spiky arrogance. He saw as hope and guilt were both originating in a slowly dissolving pit of grief. And he saw love, warm and solid, almost tangible and easy to touch, aimed at the remains of the soul that should've been near but disappeared leaving only a void behind.

Huh, then Jimmy could try it. No, not try. He'd do that.

“What are you ready to stake to save Stanley?” Still, he wanted to know for sure. 

“Everything”, Stanford didn't waver, his resolve and hope didn't flick or faint. 

Good.

“Mutual Oath then”, Jimmy kept watching. “I'll swear to give you the means to find Stanley. But only if you'll swear on doing everything possible to save him”.

Stanford nodded, and his being sang of acceptance and readiness and… only a small bit of hesitation and fear.

Sensible lad. Who now struck out his hand.

“What's that?” Jimmy raised his eyebrow, ignoring a panic from the Weird Face and Weird Granny.

“Uh… a handshake? For the deal?” Stanford shrugged.

“We do Oaths in Words, idiot,” Jimmy huffed in irritation. “Why the fuck do I need a physical contact for that?” really, a bunch of idiots. Although there existed quite a lot of species that were doing exactly that. So maybe they were not as stupid to fear that. “Ready?”

Stanford was reeking of embarrassment now, but he lowered his hand and nodded. And Jimmy continued. Or maybe started?

“I swear to give you a way to find Stanley and in return…”

“In return I swear to find Stanley, my twin, and do everything in my power to save him in any way it matters”.

Jimmy stared in shock as the Oath was wrapped now, around each of them, firm and solid and closed, written in eternity without any possibility of tampering. The eyes across him were firm. Stanford knew what he just said and was sure and…

Jimmy smiled, fully reassured from now on in his decision. And nodded.

“I take it back, you're definitely not useless”, he smirked and then ignored everything but Stanley.

He reached for him, for the funniest guy with a sad smile. For the guy knocking out men twice his size and crying over stupid mushy dramas. For the guy that was left scared and alone and now branded as a sinner by his own kind and yet still shone the brightest in Jimmy's eyes.

The Twisted Oath grabbed Jimmy once again all over, wailing and warning and trying to stop him, but the New Oath held it now in place, letting Jimmy to proceed.

He searched through the Mortal Plane, guided by the whispering of the name, until he found it. 

The small flame of life, still flickering, stubborn and wild and so weak and so beautiful. Jimmy hesitated for a second, looking at the soul that he grew accustomed to at some point to have beside him, only now recognising how disturbing it was to not feel its presence…

The Oaths groaned, fighting at each other with increasing urgence, and Jimmy huffed with regret.

He reached and Marked Stanley and looked back at his hand. One more thing left.

He willed his own feeling of the Mark into existence and watched as it materialised in the physical realm, on his palm. It immediately started pointing, eager to start hunting for its target.

“Here, catch”, Jimmy threw the twisting Mark at Stanford, watching with amusement as the guy almost failed to actually catch it.

The New Oath was fulfilled by Jimmy Snakes.

The Twisted Oath roared, feeling its shackles disappear and grabbed at its Oathbreaker, making him hiss in pain and grab back at it, trying to lessen…

“Jimmy!” he heard Little Spark and felt him crying, and there were even more splashes of fear and regret and… sadness? Really? They should be glimmering from joy!

They were going to save Stanley, and that was what was important! 

Stanley was important. This Oathbreaker felt for him again, trying to find his usual soothing against the agony slowly tearing him apart. He felt for Stanley’s flame and stroked it, marveling at how beautiful it was despite every damage.

How right it felt to feel it. How desperate he hoped for the flame to keep burning despite everything.

‘Everything’, both twins said without hesitation. And now he understood the feeling.

One more piece for the big puzzle of Stanley Pines that this Oathbreaker probably never was destined to complete.

“Jimmy?” that was Stanford, he was sad too, which made his gratefulness almost unnoticeable. “Do you want me to pass something to Stan on your behalf?”

This Oathbreaker shrugged and smiled as the last effort.

“Nah, he never listens to me anyway”.

And then he was no more.

3 - a device that is used for catching and holding things.

Stanford stared in horrified bewilderment as Jimmy - the rudest, most unpleasant guy, Death Incarnate or similar - the one who did some of his Death Magic to locate Stanley - now was rapidly consumed by flames, climbing from his soles up by his entire body until he was completely engulfed.

And it wasn't like mere minutes before, when Jimmy literally ignited too, his hands and head burning and his every word breathed with fiery sparkles, and his eyes burning through everyone he gazed on.

No, it was obvious by Jimmy's face that this fire was now hostile to him, bringing pain and…

Stanford held his breath as he noticed Jimmy's figure starting to dissolve.

He saw it then. The sharp words covering and shackling the guy all over, pulsing with black angry energy, screaming and wailing and wishing for the Punishment to be given…

Don't come for me Don't come for me Don't come for me…

And if Stanford did have any doubts left about whether Stanley was indeed alive, these words would settle everything, as they were composed of too familiar handwriting.

That was definitely Stan’s hand, and Stanford was sickened to his core, because…

His twin, his very much alive twin wished for them. Seriously enough to… to…

Stanford gulped, focusing on Jimmy who was flinching in agony, yet tried hard to make it seem like he wasn't feeling that.

The guy that definitely knew what was waiting for him and still did it.

For Stanley.

Stanford wanted to ask Jimmy so much. Who they were, if not boyfriends, as Shermie assumed. How come that Jimmy cared so much to do all this?

Who exactly was Jimmy and what exactly did he just do?

But it wasn't important. The little faint black chain in his hand was twisting, rounding in circles or flattening, clearly in some impatience, yet its end was steadily pointing in one direction. At Stanley.

Jimmy did that. And now…

Stanford stared at the remains of the guy before him, most of him already burned away, not unlike the paper being thrown in the fire.

“Do you want me to pass something to Stan on your behalf?”

Jimmy stared at him back, and despite everything his eyes spoke of calm acceptance. He even hugely grinned as he spoke.

“Nah, he never listens to me anyway”.

Stanford was ashamed to admit he wanted to chuckle, but before he could think of a reply, the rest of Jimmy dissolved in flames, leaving in the air only the ashes that were quickly vanishing from existence too.

Leaving the Oath in Stanford’s soul behind.

There was silence now, disturbed only by Shermie's loud crying.

Stanford sighed and felt the chain poking at him. Right! He was left with something more urgent! It was no time for mourning! Jimmy gave everything not for them to hesitate any longer!

“So, what next?” Stanford glared at the adults, at Grunkle Mason and this Jorge that both stood with strange expressions. Only a minute ago they were aiming both at their throats, and now they quietly stood, each staring at the spot Jimmy no longer occupied. “Focus, people! Stan needs us!”

“He was a fine bastard indeed”, Jorge whispered to himself and shook his head. He frowned and looked at Stanford’s palm. “Is that thing real? Was everything real? All this magic?”

Grunkle Dipper huffed. “You just saw the actual Ghost Rider being burned in Divine Punishment and still doubting?”

Stanford made a mental note to ask their Grunkle a lot of questions after everything, as he definitely understood much more of what had happened just now.

“I saw people burning just fine on their own!” Jorge sneered. “Okay. So that chain thing definitely isn't pointing to the place me and Diego agreed on. What's now? How far away is my boy Bruno?”

“Stop calling him that!” Grunkle Dipper hissed. “Stan's not your boy and never was! He's Stan Pines, he's ours!”

“Then why did he abandon that name as soon as he was able to?!” Jorge went once again with pointing fingers. “He hates that name, and I can't fault him for that…”

“Does it matter?” Stanford interrupted them, realising one point of merit in the criminal’s speech. “Jorge's right. I can't tell how far is Stan”. Maybe Jimmy could tell, but there was no point in dwelling…

“But he's somewhere there, right?” Grauntie Mabel rose from where Shermie was back again hugging on the fluffy ball, still wrapped in the red fabric, that was apparently Stan’s pet. The possum. So in Stan's taste, really… “That's our most accurate way to reach him, isn't it?”

Grunkle Dipper paused, frowned and heavily exhaled. “That's right. If we follow the Death Boy’s directions…”

“Why do you call Snake Bastard that? Sure, he's dead now, but show some respect…”

“Because he's not dead and anyway that's not how I'm calling him!” Grunkle Dipper sneered, rolling his eyes.

“What?” Stanford blinked. Not dead? But they just saw…

“He's not a human to be dead, he's the Ghost Rider. That's just a force of nature, a spirit capable of only mimicking humans. If you think of him as a person, then the lightning or hurricane should be counted that too”, Grunkle Dipper waved away. “But that reminds me. I know that Ghost Riders' job is hunting the most vicious Sinners, so if he's claiming they weren't dating, why did that guy go for Stan?”

Jorge went to reply, obviously something snarky, if Stanford read his expression correctly, but then instantly paled.

Stanford immediately understood he wouldn't like it.

“Oh no”, Jorge groaned. “Don't tell me…” 

He immediately got shaken by a collar, courtesy of one Grunkle Dipper.

“What? What did you make him do?”

Jorge blinked, but then pushed Grunkle Dipper off.

“I did nothing. By the time I met him, his father was already dead. I guess patricide can definitely be counted as a grave sin.”

Stanford stilled, feeling the world around him coming to a complete stop.

“Wait… What are you even talking about! There's some mistake!” he shouted. “We saw reports, it was an accident!”

“The accident or not, Bruno caused it”, Jorge looked at him, all serious and haughty. “Whether he wanted his scum of the father dead or not, his actions led to his death. And some stupid report won't change anything! Playing pity and pretending he did nothing wrong is something only the pathetic idiots could allow themselves to think! The real world doesn't work like that, so thankfully he realised everything very quickly!” he paused, heavily exhaling and looking away.

“You are wrong”, Stanford heard his voice as if from aside. “I know my twin, and what you've said is complete and utter…”

“Do you?” Jorge looked back at him, with clear curiosity. “Do you really think you know him? Several years apart, him casted aside, both of you all grown up, and you still think…”

“It shouldn't have happened that way!” Stanford screamed. “Stanley shouldn't have died! Disappeared! He should have been with us and then he wouldn't have been kidnapped and that's all your fault!”

The last word, however, stayed within him. Your fault.

Yes, it was his fault. Stanford’s own fault.

He should've tried harder, he should've searched better. He had years, and if he only got one inkling that Stan was alive…

No, even earlier. He shouldn't have listened to anybody. He never should have wished for them to be separated, he never should have…

He felt himself hugged.

“You never should have, yes”, Shermie whispered, his voice wavering and hesitant. And how did he hear his thoughts? “And Mom wishes we'd never moved away. And Grauntie always prays to go back in time. And I don't even have anything like that because I don't know what I could do differently. But…” Shermie let him go and turned around. “Stop fighting already! You know what Stan did when I got this fire poisoning?” What? “He first made everything possible so I'd get better! And only then dragged Jimmy out of the room to slap him!” That statement raised so many questions… “So can we save Stan first and make sure he's alright?” Shermie sniffled. “After all, he left me with Jimmy so I'd be safe. And if Jimmy was with Stan and Shanklin, they’d never be hurt… So it's all my fault, only mine!” 

Stanford didn't hesitate for even a second, before pressing his crying brother to himself.

“You can't be at fault”, he whispered. “You know Stan, that's who he wa… is. He chose to protect you, and…”

Stanford sniffled, stricken with sharp realisation. Stan could just as easily not do that. Sure, Stanford didn't have enough understanding of what happened exactly for Stan to be taken, but his twin was quick with his thinking. There were countless ways for him to act, and yet he chose… He chose to let himself be unprotected instead of their little brother who he didn't see for years.

That meant… No matter what Jorge was implying, no matter what Stanford's own fears were screaming.

That was still Stan. The same wonderful, crafty, selfless twin that Stanford never stopped missing. Just too late with a proper understanding. And now there was a second chance, a real opportunity to make everything right.

If only he wouldn't be late once again…

The Oath whispered in accordance, pressing and pointing, just as the chain, making Stanford to start paying attention…

“Shermie's right, but not that he's at fault”, Grauntie Mabel sighed, now being the one to hold Shanklin. “But we need to move. We have a direction, so sooner or later…”

“And what if we're late?” Grunkle Dipper pressed a fist to his chin, plunging into thoughts. “He's probably not alone and…”

“Of course he's not alone. Someone is definitely watching him. So… I'll buy you all some time”, Jorge interrupted, his voice as steely as ever. “I'll meet Diego, so he'd think I'm playing by his rules.”

“How much could you stall?” Grunkle Dipper glanced, still with clear disdain, but definitely restrained himself from adding anything biting.

To their surprise, Jorge hunched on himself. “Not much. Not if he has Bruno. He got me this time…”

“I'll go with you. I'm good at stalling”.

Stanford glanced at Grauntie with surprise, and judging by Grunkle's gasp, not he alone. Grauntie’s eyes were frowned and didn't offer any opportunity for arguing.

Although Grunkle Dipper did exactly that. “But I thought we'd be searching for Stan together…? You're good with first aid and I planned…”

“There would be no one to give medical aid if Stan would be dead because his current guardian failed at stalling”, it was evident how Grauntie flinched, trying and stopping herself from crossing her arms. Instead, she pressed them at her sides and puffed her chest. “I know my strengths, Dipper. I'm not asking. I'm going.”

“That's the spirit”, Jorge chuckled. “I'm glad to find myself in such pleasant company…”

“Stop. I'm doing that for Stan. And for the chance to beat you as you deserve as soon as we'll rescue him”, there was a clear promise in her voice.

“I’m not a weakling to be beat by an old hag”, Jorge mumbled and sighed. “So, we're two going to buy some time.”

“And the rest… Except Caryn and Shermie, of course”, Grunkle Dipper glanced at the ones he mentioned, “will be following the Death Boy's sign…”

“Pardon for interrupting”, Fiddleford coughed from where he was standing at side, making Grunkle Dipper shout from surprise. “Yes, imagine that. I'm still here. As I brought some earpieces for communicating, we have a way to let you know exactly when we'll find them…”

“...And we'll be able to instantly warn you of any developments on our side!” Grauntie Mabel exclaimed. “Nice job, Fidds!”

Grunkle Dipper nodded, still in thought. “Yes, everything is logical, too logical even. The exact logical that the enemy could be expecting…”

“Pity that Bruno isn't here”, Jorge sighed. “He came up with a brilliant plan to infiltrate Diego's only within minutes from learning the parameters…”

Stanford lowered his gaze. Hearing every detail hinting that apparently Stan was tangled in criminal ways was still too painful. Stan was better than that, he was supposed…

“What plan.” Without waiting for a reply, Grunkle Dipper once again turned to Jorge. “Stan was always going for loopholes everyone else missed. What was his plan?”

“A decoy”, Jorge went with explanations. “That's why he brought in Jimmy, he should have posed as Bruno's double…”

“They are not exactly similar”, Fiddleford quietly huffed.

“The question was not about visuals, but about attitude. Jimmy could do that, as long as Shanklin… Well, not like it'd help us…”

Yet Grunkle Dipper was still frowning.

“What would Diego do if you suddenly appeared before him with another Stan? Would it give us any benefit?”

“Huh? Would it indeed…” Jorge went deep into his own thoughts. “He's definitely certain that he got the right guy, and he heard my reaction. But then…” the criminal suddenly paused. “Oh, that guy will surely understand I'm lying. And he obviously will give an order to kill Bruno, that's no doubt, but before that…” the guy smirked, “the old idiot won't resist enjoying me digging a grave for myself while I try to convince him that our fake is real.”

“Oh, then it'll give us some more time… That's good, that's exactly what we need! Ford, can you do that?”

“Kidding?” Stanford huffed. “No way, I'm going for Stan!”

“Ford, it's no time to argue, we need every advantage…”

“What part of ‘No way’ didn't you get?” Stanford felt irritation all over him. “Didn't you see me swearing to save Stan? And even if I didn't, no way! That's my twin, he needs me at his side, not playing decoys!”

Grunkle Dipper groaned: “Why are you being so difficult! Who else can pass as Stan…?”

“Actually…” Fiddleford's voice made them both turn towards him. Stanford’s friend was standing near Grauntie Mabel and patting her fluffy patient. Who definitely stirred and… “He just bit me!”

“He likes you then”, Shermie whispered and instantly jumped to his feet. “Shanklin! You're awake!” And the boy ran to Grauntie.

“What do you mean?” Grunkle Dipper hissed, clearly agitated. “Do you have a better idea?”

Fiddleford shook his hand, still wincing, and shrugged, his face taking a hardening expression. “We don't need Decoy Stan. We need a young man, who has a possum as a companion. Who kept his face hidden for all the past years. Brash and confident. Or, specifically, we need to imitate that guy. We need the Fake Shrimp. Isn't that so, Jorge?”

What… what he just said?!

***

“Next turn to the left”, Stanford checked once again the map on his phone. Not that he had doubts, but he needed to be errorless in this, because they already made a wrong turn towards the dead end, and every mistake meant Stan being on his own even longer… Why Jimmy…?!

He glanced at the twisting chain (‘snake’, Shermie called it) and instantly felt bad. No, Jimmy already did so much, so asking this ‘snake’ to be a literal navigator would be unfair.

Mom meanwhile turned a wheel to make a turn and pushed Grauntie Mabel’s car to go even faster.

“Where next?” she glanced at the side.

Stanford carefully observed the chain that was now turned slightly right against their current direction and then scrolled further on the map. The first turn would be to the mall, and Stanford doubted it would be it, but the second turn led to a small suburban town, and maybe, just maybe that could finally be it…

“Straight for now”, he said and sighed.

Shermie, who was sitting behind, groaned.

“The nerves of them! Couldn't they keep Stan somewhere closer?!”

“The kidnapping doesn't work like that, sweety”, Mom smiled, yet her voice betrayed how terrified she was. 

“Exactly, they seek the place far enough or hidden enough so their victim wouldn't be found until… Oh, sorry”, Grunkle Dipper understood all by himself that that question didn't need such an answer.

The silence was uncomfortable, and Ford glanced again at the chain. Did it turn slightly more to the right or was it his imagination?

“Still, I can't believe that the Shrimp was Stan all that time!” Grunkle Dipper obviously was restless, being delegated to the backseat too as not having nor active driving licence, not the Tracking Device from the Ghost Rider. “Our boy! Now one of the hardened criminals with a bounty over his head…”

“I prefer a criminal son over a dead one”, Mom sharply interrupted him, and both Stanford and Shermie hummed their agreement. That made Grunkle Dipper pause.

“Yeah, I… I definitely agree”, he mumbled in the end. “I just… All this time, and he was alive. Why didn't he reach us, or anybody for help?”

And that was the question that kept plaguing Stanford. He was plagued by a lot, actually.

By Stan being alive, for starters. That was a big one, the one that still felt too good to be true. All those years full of wishes, full of regrets. Searches for spells and ways to find at least Stan's ghost or something.

And now Stanford was given it. Not even a way to talk to a fading spirit. No! 

Stanford was blessed by a full chance of redeeming himself as a brother, to find real, living, breathing Stan. Not a clone or a parallel one, not a magically restored or resurrected one.

No, that was the same one Stan that left Gravity Falls so many years ago and that Stanford missed every day since.

There were so many things that were still unclear, but everything could wait. Because…

Because every second was tickling down to the dark opportunity that Stan would be dead once again. This time for real…

The earpiece in Stanford’s ear went alive.

“We arrived”, Fiddleford told him. “No one got killed yet”, he added, with a suffering in his voice.

Stanford winced, he probably could imagine their ride, even more awkward than theirs.

“They arrived”, he passed to the others. And pressed on a button to reply: “We're still going. No news”.

“Ask him about Shanklin! Is he fine?” Shermie shouted from his seat.

“Shermie asks…”

“I heard”, Fiddleford chuckled. “He's definitely fine, keeps biting me all over. I fear I need to be taken to a hospital…”

“Shanklin's safe, Bruno kept him checked out regularly”, there was a faint voice in the background. “So you'll be fine. Shanklin, stop! I get that you're worried for Bruno…”

“For Stan!” that was Grauntie’s voice, flat and exhausted like they kept this argument going for ages.

“Argh! That didn't help!” Fiddleford shouted. “Stanford, I'm off! I have a beast from literal hell to pacify! And some stalling to help, that's too!”

The earpiece went silent, making Stanford nervous.

Right, they were already at this timemark, and yet they still didn't know where Stan was…

“So, how's Shanklin?” Shermie even stretched to pat Stanford by the shoulder. “Are they petting him enough? He likes that! And scratching behind the ears too!”

Stanford imagined his poor friend covered in little bitemarks and winced.

“I… I think Shanklin feels himself well enough”, he replied. 

“Good”, Shermie nodded and sat back. “Stan's so cool, right? A possum as a pet, and Jimmy…” he felt silent. “He's gone, right?”

“He is, I'm sorry”, Grunkle Dipper's voice was surprisingly soft. “Their kind is quite strict over their Oaths, and it's actually the first time I even saw one being punished for breaking it…” there was a pause. Stanford turned around to see their Grunkle pressing Shermie to his side and slowly stroking him by the hair. 

“Stan will be very sad”, Shermie whispered. “I can't imagine having such a cool boyfriend and then not being even there when he died”.

Stanford glanced at their Grunkle who looked back. They both nodded at mostly the same time: it was probably the best to let it go now. They had more urgent matters than Shermie's strange misconception…

“That Jimmy definitely was not who I would like to see with my free spirit”, Mom coughed. “At least I’d love to see someone more polite and attentive, but if Stanley really liked him, I guess I could see him as a son-in-law…”

“Mom!” Stanford shouted, exasperated. Not her either! “That guy is definitely not the one suited for Stan! You’re such a bad judge of character…!”

“Excuse me, young man!” Mom huffed, bypassing a car at high speed. “I am an excellent judge of character!” and then another. “Not my fault I prefer my men as I like my coffee, bitter and…”

“Mom!” Stanford really hoped that Grunkle Dipper closed Shermie’s ears.

“What?” Mom, however, just giggled. “For example, take a look at this Jorge. You could feel this kind of reliance just pouring from him…”

Stanford glanced at their Mom with horror.

“Please tell me you're joking! No way you're finding the guy who took Stan from us charming!”

“Sure, I was joking”, Mom nodded, yet her voice was hesitant. “But…”

“But what, Caryn?” Grunkle Dipper groaned. “I agree, that man looked after Stan and made sure he was well fed and everything, but that's it! He did it for his own schemes! That's no reason to be charmed by him! Or grateful!”

Stanford expected their Mom to readily agree, yet she kept silent. For several minutes, at least.

“He kept my son alive. That's all that matters to me”.

Stanford awkwardly looked away. When said like that…

No. He refused. He wouldn't be grateful to that shady man. At least not until Stan would finally be safe…

The Oath poked, demanding his attention.

Stanford glanced at the chain that definitely was turning…

“Next right!” he shouted, feeling hope and fear and everything. Because this noticeable turning meant they were close, they finally were.

“Good job”, he whispered to the chain and, guided by a strange feeling, patted it by the links curved as if they were a snake's head indeed. 

The Oath felt pleased.

“Can I pet the snake too?” Shermie shouted right in his ear, making him scream and almost drop the chain.

***

“This one?” Grunkle Dipper tried to reach for the chain and poke at it. Stanford quickly moved his palm away. “Are you sure?”

“I am”, Stanford was indeed, feeling the Oath pressing and pleading.

“Right”, Grunkle Dipper stared again out of the window. At the house in the middle of others. On a perfectly peaceful street. In some quiet town. In broad daylight. “So, Stan is there.”

“Any ideas on how we sneak in there without anyone noticing?” Stanford drummed his fingers by his knee. “We can try to go around, but we don't know how many people are inside.”

“Oh, that I can find out, wait for me!” and without waiting, their Mom left the car, strolling with confidence towards the house.

“Caryn!” but Grunkle Dipper was too late at stopping her. So he groaned. “Great, she's just going to alarm anyone there…”

“No! Mom is awesome at making people talk!” Shermie protested, and Stanford nodded.

“I think she'll be fine. She doesn't make her trade because she's actually psychic, you know?” he looked as their Mom was already knocking. Though it was a while before the door opened, revealing the man, about thirties, quite unremarkable, if not the fact that he was leaning on the cane and that one of his arms was suspended by a medical bandage.

“Did Stan do that?” Shermie whispered. “Oh! He is probably already fighting to free himself!”

Stanford winced, he actually hoped for the opposite, for this injury to be unrelated. He still had troubles accepting that his twin, hot-headed and always ready to let his fists do the speaking, apparently was letting even more things to talk in his stead.

“I don't think so”, Grunkle Dipper pondered aloud. “This type of bandage should mean a hospital visit, and that's not a deed of half a day…”

The man was however still talking to their Mom, he clearly was nervous, looking periodically back inside. Pity they couldn't hear their talk…

There was a loud, horrifying noise, closer to a snap, making Stanford reach inside his pocket for the metal surface. Grunkle Dipper already was pressing Shermie down on the floor, his hand back with a stun gun he always preferred.

Before them, Mom and the man were thrown on the road, away from the house that was rapidly being engulfed by the fire.

Staford gasped in horror and ran out the car and towards their Mom, noticing Grunkle Dipper doing the same.

“What happened?!” he shouted, helping Mom to get on her feet. Thankfully, she didn't seem injured…

The man shouted as soon as he saw him. “No way, how did you…!”

“So that's our confirmation”, Grunkle Dipper took a man by a collar and shook him. “Where's he?! Where's the boy?!”

Stanford glanced down, at his wrist where the chain attached itself. It was still pointing, right at the flames.

“I'm going in”, he shouted at his relatives, tearing a long stripe from his undershirt and tying it around his face.

“Wait, I'm going too”, Grunkle Dipper was a bit slower, but he repeated the action, with the bottom of his coat as a victim. And with a slowly gathering crowd as their witnesses.

“Be careful”, Mom coughed, helping the guy to get to his feet… and a cane. “But don't you dare to return without Stanley!”

The man suddenly went even more pale and tried to hobble past them towards the house.

“Where are you going?! Stay here! And pray we'll be merciful afterwards!” Grunkle Dipper quite rudely grabbed him by a shoulder. Oh right, that was one of the kidnappers…

“Nessa! She's there! She's still there!” the man tried his best to free himself. His best wasn't a lot, given that Grunkle Dipper kept holding him with no effort. “Please, I beg you! On anything I still have left! Save her too!”

“No promises”, Stanford hissed and went running in. He had only one priority.

And its name was Stanley.