Summary: A little oneshot based on an old prompt I posted. (It is Stan focused)
Basically Stan gets bored since Ford is giving him the cold shoulder and finally decides to take part in class.
It was supposed to be a Smart(er than average) Stan thing but I got too lazy to write more and just cut it short
One shot under the cut:
Growing up, they were two peas in a pod. Stanford was the brains, the cool twin with the cool extra finger and Stanley was the other one.
The two wouldn't go anywhere alone, even as toddlers it was hard to separate them when they needed to use the bathroomâ eventually they learned there were just some things they had to do alone.
Still, Stan was always there to support his nerdy brother. When Ford had a presentation after school, he would skip boxing practice to make it, if Ford wanted to attend a new science club, Stan would tag along despite having no interest, Ford had some new quirky interest and wanted to ramble, Stan was there to listen always even when he didn't understand it.
The point is, Stan never really changed. He stayed the brother he always was, always sticking close just in case his twin needed someone, always there making jokes when his brother was upset and always there to punch bullies when Ford was threatened.
He didn't change. Ford did.
Suddenly, Ford didn't like when Stan distracted him from getting in too deep in his head. Suddenly, Ford found his jokes too childish. Suddenly, everything Stan did was annoying to Ford.
It was one day when he got into trouble in class for, admittedly, taking it too far that Ford seemed to finally snap. Stan had been desperate, okay? Ford hadn't been talking nearly as much with him, avoided working on the Stan O War and would roll his eyes whenever Stan suggested something nerdy just for him! So Sue him!
Stan had been getting low grades, the usual, messing about in class, in classic class clown action, and trying to get his brother to laugh just a little at himâ Heck, Stan would've taken a slight huff with a smile! Then, the teacher ruined it for them all and sent Stan to the principal's office, whatever.
It was when Stan was finally free from the clutches of the principal that the trouble really began.
He raced out, catching Ford just in time to walk home together, called to him and barely managed to set his hand on his brother's shoulder before it was promptly smacked away by aâ get thisâ six fingered hand!
âYou always do this!â His brother had spun around, face screwing up into that angry owl look of his while Stan's hand was still frozen up from where it had been slapped away.
âFor once in your life, can you take anything seriously?!â His brother shouted, which was rare and Stan definitely didn't like considering how much he was shouted at by adults already. He was never a fan of shouts but he simply lowered his hand, staring at his brother as he caught his breath.
A few students paused to watch and Stan could hear the whispers and snickers, his ears growing hot as he controlled his expression and bubbling embarrassment in order not to turn into self-defence fury.
Stanford surely could have waited until they got home to argue, couldn't he?
âCome on, Sixer, I was just messing aroundââ
âThat's all you ever do, Stanley! Mess around! Mess things!â Stanford interrupted and then, with a cool and cruel voice proceeded to say âI refuse to be there to pick up after your messes anymoreâ
With that Stanford left, walking home alone despite the fact they had the same destination.
Okay. So maybe his attempt to get closer to his brother had been all wrong, yeah. Still, Stan was trying, Ford wasn't.
No, all Ford ever did was push him away but keep him on a leash, close enough to tug in case he needs him but making sure there is distance for God knows what.
Stanley didn't change, he stayed the same boy that Stanford would laugh, play and joke with. Stanford is the one who changedâŚ
So why is Stanford the one who is angry here? If anything, Stanley is the one who should be angry here.
It had been nearly a week of petty harrumph and cold shoulders from Stanford and maybe a little bit of self-reflection from Stan and a lot of working in the shop or cleaning the house before Stan came to a realisation while laying in bed late that nightâŚ
He is so fucking bored.
Usually, he and Ford had things to do together from playing around, lounging together, reading (Stan reading comics), to random exploring and so on⌠Now everything seemed rather⌠stale.
It was like that time when his brother was sick and Stan hadn't been allowed near him at all. Stan had spent so long just messing around, maybe being more destructive than usual before just⌠deciding to sit down and space out. His mother had said it had been the greatest two days of her life, the day when Ford was slowly recovering from his fever and Stan finally managed to behave.
And maybe Stan would've been offended, maybe he was a little still, but to be honestâŚ. Yeah. Valid. He was a nightmare as a kid.
It was during boxing that the boredom seemed to really creep in, though. The whispers of other students crawling up his spine a little more every day, the way some of the other teens would try poke him into fighting his own twin (âpersonally, I wouldn't let that slideâ), the happy expression of his mother from having Stan behave once again, the indifferent look of his father instead of the usual scowlâŚ
Stan stood in his usual pose, hopping foot from foot, and despite seeing the punch coming, he didn't react at all.
He was sent home. Busted lip and spinning head. Coach made sure to tell his father how disappointed he was and Ford didn't even bat an eye.
Unlike the night Ford snapped, his father didn't send him to his room without dinner. However, that usual disappointed scowl returned⌠Stan noticed it as his mother helped clean his face up.
â
You may think it was a one time thing but Stan may or may have not let it occur more than once. He may have sat back, listening to his father shout about how he just had to be a failure in everything, including boxing.
âStop thatâ Ford muttered when he entered his room with a few too many bruises, nose stuffed with paper to stop the bleeding.
âIf you think you can get pity from getting beaten up, you are very wrong, Stanleyâ
Stanley did not stop.
A fight at school once or twice, boxing where he'd welcome the punches, dizzy spells from when his head was knocked too hard and maybe talking back to his father once or twice before standing back to receive a beating from him as well.
âStop that! It's distractingâ his twin would whine when his father spent a good while in a screaming match with him, only silenced by a belt.
Stan did not stop.
Eventually, whatever that boredom streak was, started turning internal.
Stan found himself biting his nails too far or scratching his scalp too much, testing random limits he may have such as how long he could stay underwater or how close he can get to a flameâŚ
It was one certain morning that the boredom finally hit like a wave, rolling him and pulling him under, hitting him against the rocks until he is stopped of anything human, that Stan looked to his notebook and thoughtâ
âMight as wellâ
Stan began paying attention in class. He began actually answering the problems on the board even though he couldn't see that well and the sheets of paper, taking notes of he wasn't busy doodling.
The first time he handed the answers on a little sheet over, he got yelled at for copying Ford which got said twin covering his work with his arm and turning his body against Stan like Stan wanted to steal all his pens and notebook.
Fortunately, Stan stayed behind to ask the teacher to move seats. He's sure Ford would be ecstatic over it and like that Stan could finally see the board.
The next morning, when the teacher made him and some girl in the front change seats, Stan didn't get to see his brother's satisfaction. Although⌠Ford seemed far more grumpy than usual by the time he arrived home.
There was a weird vibe settling in the school between Stan and his teachers. A sort of questioning and expectation from him.
Teachers began being nicer to him, being less snappy and making less back-handed comments, they didn't call on him as much or smack his hand with a ruler, Stan even managed to catch a little appreciative nod from his maths teacher and that's like getting a nobel prize for him.
At home, no one really questioned Stan. Then again, Stan supposes they were happy with the peace and quiet for once.
At home, there wasn't anymore loud laughs or dumb jokes, no random singing trying to coax a smile from Ford or their mother into a song. It was quiet just the way everyone must have always wanted.
Sometimes, just sometimes, Stan couldn't handle the silence. He would get in his car and drive off to the piercings where he could sit and watch the sunset while wasting his battery to listen to the radio. To listen to anything, anyone talking.
Other times he stayed home, unwilling to move and just stuck reading, writing or working on homework. Drawing didn't seem as fun nowadays, it wasn't so fun when there was no one to see his creations or encourage his stupid dreamsâŚ
Speaking of dreams, he wonders how the Stan O War is doing. The old gal must be rotting from the inside out if some teens haven't found her and made it their hang out drinking spot. Stan would bet the place was covered in piss and beer cans by now⌠the thought made his chest tighten.
Still, it had been a nice dream, leaving Glass Shard beach. An excuse he had made in order to help Ford find somewhere where he belonged when, really, it was just Stan being selfish again and wanting the safety of Ford and no one else to hurt them.
âWhat are you doing?â
Stan blinked, not having processed being talked to right away. Looking up, he found his twin hovering over him, looking down at where Stan laid on his bed.
Seeing his brother's impatient expression morph into annoyance, Stan realised he should probably answer.
âUh⌠readingâŚ?â Perhaps some sass managed to come out towards the end but it was all drowned out by the confusion.
âSince when do you read?â Ford huffed as though the very idea of it offended him.
âI've always readâ
âYeah. Comics.â
WhatâŚwhat was going on right now? Stan didn't know what to say or how to react to this conversation. He is a little hurt with the way Ford is talking to him, if he's honest, but with how everyone talks to Stan in the same manner⌠he supposes it was only a matter of time.
âIs this one of your new tactics?â His brother asked, arms crossing âfirst you let yourself lose in boxing matches on purposeâ I've seen it, by the way, you could've easily blocked a lot of those punches.â
âThen you start arguments with father like you have some death wish, scratch your scalp until it bleeds and now⌠now you readâ frustrated, Ford gestures towards the book Stan is holding.
âI meanâ moving seats in class, really, Stanley? Just how immature can you be? I'm the one who is upset with you, not the other way aroundâ finally, Stan sorta understands something Ford is saying because so far Ford has just been listing random shit Stan does.
âI couldn't see the boardâ Stan blinks again.
âOh yeah, sureâ Suddenly you can't see the blackboardâ
âI've never been able to see the board?â
To this Ford blinks at him, all annoyance gone in seconds, replaced by confusion.
âAndâ well, I thought you'd like the changeâ Stan sits up a bit to shrug.
âWhy would I like the change?â Ford immediately latched onto that as a reason to be upset with Stan again âWe have always sat next to each other! Always!â
Once again, Stan doesn't know what to say to whatever Ford is saying and⌠it's quite nerve-wracking really. He always knew what to say and what Ford meant but⌠right now he couldn't find the reasoning behind this conversation.
Not to mention, it was weird. Stan was sure he should be jumping at the chance to talk to Ford again, that he should be happy that Ford is talking to him, that somehow his actions dragged a reaction from his brother again.
âWaitâ you've been coming to my boxing matchesâ Stan closes his book and apparently that's not the right thing to say because Ford's face goes a little red from anger and he makes a frustrated sound.
âNO!â
âBut earlier you saidââ
âWhatever! Don't bother me! I'm studying!â With that, Ford cut their conversation (somehow it felt more of an interrogation) short and sat at his desk, grumbling to himself before muttering to Stanâ
A lot of the angsty âFord does kick Stan out at the end of Summerâ (either because weirdmagedeon doesnât happen, the Zodiac does work, etc etc) kinda operate off of the notion that like. Stan has like no savings and would be homeless
But like. What if Stan did have a lot of savings. What if he was so successful with the mystery shack and various other scams heâd run over the years of living in gravity falls that he actually not earned enough to pay Fordâs mortgage, the ridiculously high portal energy bills, and all the repairs heâd had to make to the shack over the summer, and he still had enough money left over that he actually had enough to like. Buy another house. What then
Like. Sure heâs stingy but thatâs not necessarily because he has no extra money, but more a kind of trauma response from so many years of having nothing, the mindset is just sort of engrained in him that no matter how much money he has he never truly feels âsafeâ and still feels like he has to pinch pennies in every way he can. And he had no money when Gideon stole the shackâbut what if thatâs because all of his money is literally hidden inside the shack. Like, he doesnât trust banks so itâs all hidden in hidden compartmentsâmaybe some of them even being in the basementâthat Gideon never found (or, if he did find them, simply wasnât interestedâhe has enough money, what he wants is magical power!). And so when he gets the shack back he got all of his savings back
Like. If he did have plenty of money what would happen when ford kicked him out. Would he still end up homelessânot because he couldnât afford to buy a new house, but because the shack was his, some place heâd made truly his own, where heâd spent half of his lifeâand he doesnât want to live anywhere else (and besides, even if he has enough money to buy a house and then some, heâs still jobless right now). And gravity falls⌠it may have been a crazy town in the middle of nowhere full of dangerous creatures and idiotic townsfolk, but it was his town. Would he want to live anywhere else? Would he simply be a homeless wandering, driving from hotel room to hotel room, because without the mystery shack, without gravity falls, without his family, he feels there is nowhere he will truly belong?
Or.
Funny option
What if he stayed in gravity falls
And just
Had another mystery shack built.
Can. Can u imagine
Ford is all angsty when Stan moves out and is regretting that he told Stan to but canât bring himself to take it back but now the house feels so empty without Stan and he misses him and maybe the shack wasnât so bad and maybe he made a huge mistake and what if heâs gone foreverâ
Only to discover that. Thereâs ANOTHER mystery shack being built?? And. Stan is just. Still living in town?
Heâs happy about this but also mad for some reason and has just a whole complicated mess of emotions about it. Like heâs glad Stan is still there but heâs also mad that he was angsting about Stan being gone for nothing and also isnât super happy about Stan opening his god awful tourist attraction again (at least itâs not in fordâs house this time but it still makes a mockery of anomalies, fordâs life work!)
Ford runs into Stan and proceeds to put his foot in his mouth. Just says the absolute worst things that just reinforce to Stan that ford doesnât care about him (something of course ford doesnât realize Stan thinks). Just like⌠asks Stan why heâs still living in town, but of course because of the tone ford uses without realizing it, Stan immediately gets snappy and defensive and is like âso? Just because you said I couldnât live in your house, suddenly I canât live in the town at all too? I get wanting me out of your house, since you own it and all, but you have no right to expect me to stay out of the entire townâone Iâve lived in 30 years, far longer than even you! What, âthis town ainât big enough for the two of usâ?
And then of course ford snaps back at him and it escalates into a whole argument
And then they just. Exist living in the same town. Stan has been burned by ford too many times and is convinced Ford doesnât love him so heâs just trying to avoid ford at all costs, and when he does see him heâs always pretty snappy at him.
Meanwhile ford is angry at Stan but misses him and feels lonely living alone again and doesnât understand why Stan is being so difficult (he doesnât realize just how deeply he wounded Stan, he doesnât realize just how bad their relationship is from Stanâs perspective, heâs never doubted Stanâs love for him so he doesnât imagine Stan doubting his love) but Ford refuses to apologize to Stan or tell them that he misses him so he just. Keeps conveniently running into him. Yes hello Stan I noticed some mushrooms growing near your new home and I needed to investigate them. Hmm theyâre gone now. How mysterious. They must be disappearing mushrooms! Perhaps they went invisible or teleported away! I need to stay near your house for several hours to investigate this
And also somehow keeps ending up in/around Stanâs house and fixing things?? Like hello Stanley I was chasing an anomaly and it broke your window so I fixed it for you. Youâre welcome. And also while I was fixing your window I noticed a bulb was burnt out so I replaced it with one that will last for 1000 years.
(To make it even more ridiculous: maybe some of the stuff ford fixes is stuff that didnât even really need fixing or that ford broke himself. That light bulb was inferior to the ones ford invented! It would have broken anyway so if ford⌠sped up the process. Well, it doesnât really matter! Now Stan will never have to replace the light bulb again!)
And of course, because ford is such a caring brother, he also wards Stanâs house against magical dangers (that may or may not have actually been a problem at all) that Stan didnât want or ask forâbut really, Stan should be thanking him! With his brotherâs⌠charming personality, heâs bound to piss off a dangerous supernatural creature sometime, so really, why is Stan complaining that ford randomly showed up out of the blue and âstart sprinkling fairy dust and magical crap all around his house and chanting creepy shit like a weirdo.â Heâs just trying to look out for him!
(Ford thinks that maybe if he fixes enough things for him, if he helps him out⌠maybe Stan will stop being so angry at him. Ford is trying to show that he cares but going about it in the most roundabout way possible)
Bonus: it would be funny if Stan talked to the Corduroys and had them build the new mystery shack EXACTLY like the old one. Like, aside from the basement, the floor plan and everything is completely identical. Ford is annoyed by this and thinks Stan is just copying him. Stan just wants the familiarity, just wants to feel like he didnât truly lose the only home he ever made his own. Actually now that I say that maybe that isnât funny at all akdnskfnskfn
Stanford watched from the porch as his brother ran around the yard, happily playing on the new equipment Stanford had constructed for him. It had come about as sometimes when Stanley mentally regressed to a child, he would beg to go to the local playground. He didnât understand that it wasnât socially appropriate for a grown man to do so, or that he was too big for the slides there.
Stanley had always looked so downtrodden when Stanford told him no. It made Stanfordâs heart twinge having to look into those hopeful eyes and crush that hope each time. But he couldnât bring his physically adult brother to the playground and disturb the real children thereânot to mention the parents and what people would think of them.
After a dozen times of this happening, Stanford had had enough. Wanting to bring a smile to Stanleyâs face, he began to plan out and construct adult-sized playground equipment for his brother in his own yard. His property was certainly large enough for it, and then Stanley could play as much as he pleased.
The project had just been finished this morning, and a smile tugged at Stanfordâs lips as he sipped his coffee, seeing how excited Stanley was with his new playground. It was a little funny honestly, how Stanleyâs childishness had slowly started becoming endearing to him. Stanford remembered when heâd first picked Stanley up at the courthouse, and how disturbing heâd found his brother, watching him act like a child.
But now, after having spoken with doctors and psychiatrists and therapists⌠Stanford couldnât help but wonder if maybe things were better like this. He may not know all the details of what Stanley had been through, but he knew the kind of trauma his brother had been subjected to. How the things that had been done to Stanley had been so horrific his brain had regressed back to a younger mental state as coping mechanism.
Stanley didnât remember what had happened to him. Stanford had been told that this wasnât abnormal; that sometimes the mind would repress traumatic memories to protect itself. Stanleyâs therapist was currently working on trying to coax those memories back in a safe environment, in order to help him process them properly and recover.
But Stanford couldnât help but wonder if maybe Stanley shouldnât. If perhaps letting Stanley stay the way he was, regression episodes and all, would be kinder. Stanley was happy like this. Wouldnât it be cruel to force him to remember the trauma he had been through? To wipe away the innocence he had now?
Stanford sighed, conflicted. âStanley,â he called, âkeep both hands on the swing, please!â
âOkay!â Stanley yelled back, holding properly onto the chains of the swing, correcting himself from dangling precariously.
âThank you!â
Stanley beamed at him brightly, and fondness softened Stanfordâs eyes. Could he really ruin that smile? He wanted to help his brother, he wanted to do the best by Stanley that he could as Stanleyâs guardian. But what if the best he could do was to allow Stanley to remain as he was? What if trying to bring back his memories and stop the age regression made things worse for him?
Stanford wanted Stanley to get better, he did. He wanted his brother back the way he should be, as a grown man both physically and mentally. But⌠but was that unfair to Stanley? Was it more merciful to just let him be as he is now? He didnât want to withdraw Stanley from therapy, but was it right to make Stanley relive his traumas again?
And if it was best for Stanley to remain like this, always fluctuating between adult and child, was Stanford prepared to take care of him for the rest of their lives? Heâd accepted to be Stanleyâs conservator as a temporary position until Stanley was well enough to make his own decisions again. But what if that never happened?
Stanford knew that he would, in a way, lose his twin. He would cease to truly be Stanleyâs brother and become something more like a parent to him. He would be responsible for Stanley for as long as they lived, looking after an adult who didnât always know he was an adult. That was no small thing. He would be Stanleyâs dedicated caretaker, always having to factor Stanley into every decision he made.
Stanford stared down into the dredges of cold coffee left in his mug. He didnât know what to do. He didnât want to see that childlike, joyful expression on Stanleyâs face fade away forever. But it also wasnât about what he wanted; it was about what was best for Stanley.
âSixer! Look at me!â Stanley called happily.
Stanford looked up and squawked in alarm. At some point unbeknownst to him, Stanley had climbed fairly high up in a tree and was gleefully waving at him from a not-so-sturdy looking branch.
âStanley! Get down from there, youâre going to get hurt!â Stanford rushed off the porch to help Stanley.
Because in the end, helping his brother was all that mattered. Whether that meant Stanley got better or not.
Do you guys want Selkie!Stan WIP that I probably won't finish because I am always forgetting it? Do you guys want it? Do you?
Anyway- you're getting it. The introduction to the AU is much longer than the actual Stan content ngl
Selkie Stan One-Shot (Uncompleted)
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It was that dream again. He knew the moment he drifted off to sleep and heard the waves from back home.
Opening his eyes, Stanford Pines found himself out in the street, near the beach. He was in his pajamas, flashlight in hand and still sleepily rubbing his eyes as he made his way down to the sandy floors.
âStan?â His young voice called as he began to search for his twin in their little boat, the Stan O War.
Stanford already knew his brother wasn't there but the memory played out as usual.
It wasn't the first night this had happened, as Stanford grew up he couldn't help curse his brother's sleep walking tendencies though, feeling them to be a burden. His father had told him to just let him roam free after the third time it happened in a single week but this young Stanford was unable to leave his brother be. They were siblings, twinsâŚhe couldn't just leave him.
It wasn't an everyday thing. More often than not, Ford would find his brother snoring loudly like a walrus peacefully in his bed, the snores only having begun after his smoking addiction did.
As teens, when Stanford tried to ignore his brother but ultimately failed, he'd take his time getting dressed and putting on shoes rather than the uncomfortable sandals his brother opted for. He would then walk over to the beach, barely spare their childish project a glance as he headed for the water where his brother usually stood, water up to his knees as he stared off into the distance.
âAlrightâ he'd sigh tiredly, used to it by then âlet's get you back to bedâ and just like that, he'd carefully take his brother's hand and walk him back home.
Now, however, or rather- Before, as he was still a preteen in this dream⌠Stanford would look around the beach in confusion, freezing at the sight of a familiar silhouette.
âStanley?â
Stanley was standing in the water, waist deep and getting his pajamas, that he was so excited to match Ford with, all wet. He seemed to be still walking towards the pitch black ahead.
âStan?â Ford called again, hesitation just a step away from the waves and taking a step back any time they got too close.
âStan, what are you doing?â The boy was too confused, shining the light towards his twin and still not seeing where the sky and water ended âthis isn't funny, pa will be so mad when he sees youâ
But Stanley just kept on walking and walking until-
âStan!â
His brother slipped, a dip in the sand where the waves usually hit. Stanford knew as that's usually the area their mother told them to not swim in rare days she came to the beach with them to sunbathe
âI don't want to have to keep worrying about you twos drowning while I'm relaxingâ she'd nag. Stanley and Stanford always loved to swim past the area when she wasn't around, a reef with different fishes hidden just a little further out was waiting for them every time.
âLee!!â Ford cried out, dropping his flashlight in a panic and rushing in the water after his twin. In hindsight, he should've taken the light with him so he could see where his brother was in the dark depths of the water but all he could think about was getting to his brotherâs side, to keep him close and safe. All he could think about was losing his twin at that moment.
Blindly he searchedâŚand Stanford knows how that memory ends, he knows he ends up feeling around far too long for his brother and he knows he struggled with the weight that comes with swimming with clothes. He also knows the moment he felt a hint of skin against his hand and freaked out a bit, worried it was some sea monster rather than his brother but had grabbed on anyway until his hands felt around enough to conjure a picture in his head of a leg he had grabbed.
Stanford remembers how he thought he saw a pair of eyes shine in the darkness like a lighthouse before they drifted closed and the feeling of bubbles waved past his face. He remembers wrestling in the water to turn his brother upright so he could bring them both back to landâŚ
Stanley would cough as he hit the ground of the beach with Stanford, Stanford had never been more happy to be a nerd and having learnt CPR.
Stanley had ended up confused and disoriented when he woke up to Stanford yelling and crying at him, demanding to know why he thought a night swim was a good idea-
âWhy am I here?â He'd ask Stanford instead.
Then they'd go home at last, both shaky from the panic of the moment and the night breeze hitting their cold bodies, they'd huddle close to each other for warmth and open the front door to find their mother.
Their mother in no way was cruel, she was never as bad as their father⌠but in that moment, the moment Stanley opened the door for them as Stanfordâs hands couldn't stop shaking and his head couldn't stop spinning from the little air that entered his lungs, he saw her. Arms crossed, shawl over her shoulders keeping her warm, eyes out the window she liked to sit by when she received callsâŚ. She looked awake. She looked as though she had been awake for a while.
Stanford knew the window had a perfect view of the beach.
âYour brother is brokenâ she said, eyes distant⌠and she never clarified which of them she meant.
Instead of continuing the memories as it should, Stanfordâs dreams end with him in the darkness of the water and the feeling of bubbles hitting his face. Nightmares of his brother drowning following him when he isn't awake taking his hand to bring him home.
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Like most days, when Stanford has such nightmares, he wakes up with a headache.
âMorninâ, Stanfordâ Fiddleford McGucket, his lab assistant and old college friend, greets him in the kitchen and Stanford manages a tired smile at the scent of coffee that greets him as well.
âGood morningâ he sighs, pouring some coffee for himself as well. As usual, Fiddleford seems to notice his exhaustion but doesn't comment on it, instead he takes a sip of his own coffee before asking-
âYou ready to head on over north?â
North. Right⌠They had planned to take their boat further out to research some new species of seaweed they had discovered that had been carried by the current.
They were meant to have started the previous week when they set off from the river to sea but the sight of sandy beaches had brought the nightmares back to Stanford.
âYes, I will grab my coatâ Stanford sighed. Somehow, even far away, Stanley managed to disrupt his plans.
Fiddleford had some vague idea of what his nightmares were about, every once in a while Ford would have them again and his friend would find him on their dorm couch staring into nothing in particular.
On worse nights Stanford would wake him up with his crying, feeling foolish for missing the person that betrayed him.
âHe used to sleepwalkâ he whispered in the dark of the living room, surprised to hear himself talking, especially since his friend hadn't probed him to talk about it this time.
The rummaging in the kitchen had stopped, as though F had been surprised himself. It continued soon after and Ford had felt it was easier to go on when his friend wasn't looking at him or giving him much attention.
âHe'd always go down to the beachâŚfirst time it happened heââ he choked on his own words and shook his head âhe nearly hadââ he couldn't even say it and wasn't that pathetic? It had been yearsâŚStanley hadn't seemed as traumatised as Stanford had been with it.
âBefore he leftâŚwas kicked out-â Stanford corrected âhe was still having those episodes. Walking to the beach, through the waterâŚâ Ford went on in a hushed tone as his friend returned with a steaming mug of tea in each hand.
âSometimes IâŚI worryâ
The mug was hot as he took it, both his freakish hands wrapping around the ceramic, letting themselves burn to root himself to the present.
âI worry he still sleep walksâŚâ he whispered into the darkness, glad he couldn't see his friend's expression. Not that he was looking at himâŚ
âand I'm not there to pull him out of the waterâ
Stanford never did tell Fiddleford who âheâ was but Fiddleford never really did ask after that.
As he came to the deck of their little research boat, Ford with his heavy long coat lined with fake fur underneath as he wore some wool undergarments and a thermo cup in his gloves hand, Fiddleford soon joined him with his own coat made of real animal pelt that Stanford unfortunately had the pleasure to witness being gifted one Christmas he had spent with his friend. He never did spend another Christmas with the McGuckets after that.
The two went over their notes as they sipped their coffee, the cold icy wind hitting their faces. According to their research, this new species of seaweed could be quite nutritious and used for medicineâŚthere is just one problem-
âIt seems to be coming from this directionâ his friend pointed to a white area on the map.
The seaweed was coming from frozen areas.
This is a problem, how? Well; first, they wouldn't be able to obtain it as it would be under the freezing waters, and second, the seaweed itself would most likely be frozen in unachievable areas.
Stanford sighed. How did he end up here? Researching weeds of all things⌠He should be out there, exploring the extraordinary, the weird! He should be researching things like him⌠Anomalies.
He had taken this assignment because- well- it would get him closer to his dream of researching anomalies. There are countless sea stories talking about them, afterall, the fact that he has to sail around with a friend has nothing to do with his choice at all.
It's not like he wishes Stanley was here. That would be foolish.
âPerhaps its best we dockâ Fiddleford recommend âthere is land pretty close to here, three days outâ
âYesâ Stanford sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to ease the headache away âwe can decide on a new plan thenâ
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Norway was as cold as any of them expected, the grounds damp from the constant rain that comes and goes.
The people there seemed polite, happy to help when asked but also seeming to run from interactions. As they set up camp to take a night off from the constant sway of the waves, Stanford couldnt help but think about the legends of trolls⌠it was nighttime, if they were real surely he would see one.
Did he want to see one?
Fiddleford was going off about their surroundings, commenting on how lovely it is to have moss everywhere rather than the dry, almost hay-like, grass everywhere to make you struggle to sleep with. Each rock covered in moss lump played with Stanfordâs imagination and he found himself sketching little ideas of what a troll may look like based off each shape while his friend photographed anything and everything to have some sort of evidence to show about their studies to their college.
Their campfire cast shadows around them, making their surroundings appear much darker and scary than it actually was.
âFish cake?â
âYes, thank youâ Stanford thanked, taking the offered snack as he kept doodling the weird lump on the âbeachâ - it could hardly be called a beach really, there was barely any sand and the water was surrounded by volcanic rocks. It was honestly more mountain and boulders with nearby water than a beach.
The lump moves with the light of the fire and Stanford chuckles to himself as he munches on the awful texture of the fishcake. He is sure Stanley would've pulled a prank to scare him by now or began making stories about trolls approaching themâŚ
He's also sure Stanley would've sleep walk right into the waters as soon as he let his guard down⌠messing their travels like he messes up everything else.
âIt's not his faultâ Stanford thinks he hears a young naive voice say and quickly shakes his head, instead focusing on the advancing lump.
He turns to watch his friend set up his camera to photograph the stars, a telescope right by its side and-
Stanford does a double take. He looks at the lump. The one that's wobbling towards them.
Flabbergasted, all Stanford can do is blink at the dark shadow that's shuffling up the beach and towards the forest area where they are camping. It couldnât beâŚ.could it?
Quickly, Stanford grabbed a flashlight and stood, coat fluttering in the wind from where he left it open to lounge. His eyes widened with wonder, his heart raced. YesâŚit must beâŚ
A troll!
âI'm going to the beachâ he announced in a hurry, already running down to the beach, not listening to Fiddleford's scolding or complaints- he had important things to do! Those things were called: Science!
Slowing down to a jog, Ford panted as he turned on the flashlight and pointed it around, trying to find the moving creature in the darkness.
There!
Stanford gasped as the light squared in on theâŚ.theâŚ
Seal.
A regular seal. Well- a baby seal, specially⌠one with white fluffy fur and big black pupils that look up at him all shiny and adorable and-
The baby seal flopped over and began to slap at its chubby belly. Stanford stood by, watching.
âUhâŚâ he looked around for the baby's parents but saw no other seal but the adorable fluffball.
SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP
âI can assure you, I am no threatâ Stanford tried, lifting his hand to show he was unarmed. Perhaps it was not good to teach a young pup that humans were safe⌠Stanford hears they are hunted for their coats oftenâŚ
âWellâŚexcuse- I- I didn't mean to bother you-aand I'm talking to a sealâ he realised, immediately dropping his hand and allowing the disappointment of finding a seal and not a troll roll in.
âI need sleepâ he sighed and turned around to walk back up to camp, walking away from the seal pup.
Glancing back, Ford noticed the seal roll back onto its belly and huff through its nostrils, a nice curt nod that made it seem as though it was saying âthat's right walk awayâ. Stanford chuckled, shaking his head.
âNice beach walk?â Fiddleford asked, not looking away from the peephole of his telescope, only doing so to take notes of what he saw. Ford looked up at the bright night sky, taking in the stars.
âI supposeâ Stanfordâs reply was laced with disappointment "I thought I had seen something but turns out it was just a baby sealâ
There was a crash and the fluttering of paper, Stanford jumped and looked to his friend. His friend who looked back at him. Wide eyes and looking ready to squeeze his eyes out.
âYou saw a baby seal?! And didnt tell me?!â
âIm telling you now-â
âAnd why do you sound so dissapointed?!â
âWell-â
âARE THEY STILL THERE?â Fiddleford squinted into the distance, hand on his forehead
âI guess-â
And there he goes. The man sure can run when he wants to. Stanford stood by, watching his friend run to shore before turning to look at his hand where he held the flashlight.
âHm⌠Iâm sure he'll come back for itâ
It was later when he was cozy writing in his journal, in his little sleeping bag inside their tent, that Fiddleford returned looking just as disappointed as Stanford had earlier.
âThere was no baby seal, Stanfordâ he whined âand even if there was, it was too dark for me to seeâ
âI'm sure I saw oneâ Ford lift a brow at his friend's drama, watching him unroll his own sleeping bag just to collapse on it and sulk âand I doubt a seal could move away that fast on land, you probably just didn't look hard enoughâ
He got a middle finger in response so Stanford showed Fiddleford all his four middle fingers in return.
đź Ëđ â･đ â･đË đź
There was some rummaging going around. Stanford groaned, covering his head with the extra blanket he packed.
âFiddleford, keep it downâ he complained loud enough for his friend to hear it outside.
There was movement next to him. A squeaky yelp that Stanford recognised.
Someone shook his shoulder, Stanford quickly sat up to find his friend still in his sleeping bag, eyes wide. Stanfordâs own eyes widened.
âI thought that was youâ he whispered as the noise outside continued âif it's not you thenâŚwho..?â
âOr whatâ Stanford quickly reached for his glasses, blinking rapidly as his world focused once again. The light of the rising sun peeked through the small gaps of their tent and the thin layer.
Outside, galumphing about, was the same seal as yesterday- No no, wait. Thatâs not a sealâŚ
Two extremely human (and normal) tiny hands poked out from the fur, wriggly fingers readying to dig into their backpack. Stanford watched, vaguely aware of his partnerâs panicked whispers as he watched the seal(?) with human hands(??) go through their things.
âWhat is it?â Fiddleford finally let his own curiosity win past his fear, pushing his head against Fordâs to take a look outside as he fixed his own small glasses.
The anomaly outside curved in a way no seal should be able to, both men watching in horror as it grew two small feet, tiny toes poking out of the fur as it shoved its head inside of their bag. Suddenly-
âHurra!â the anomaly popped back up, two arms holding up one of their lunch boxes, their head falling off to reveal brown curls and a wide smile on a-
âItâs a childâ Fiddleford gasped as the kid rearranged themselves to sit propped up against the bag, legs stretched out in a way it was so obvious they were wearing seal-fur that it made Stanford feel like an imbecil.
Stanford squinted as the child struggled to open the tupperware, slamming tiny fists at it when their tiny fingers couldnât pry it open before using their all too sharp teeth, gnawing at the plastic like an overly excited puppy. Slowly, Stanford crept out of the tent, waving off Fiddlefordâs hushed warnings to not scare the child (âYouâre no good with children, Ford! Let meâ) as he wondered if he should let the infant know there was a latch on the lunchbox.
The infant stopped, freezing as soon as they noticed Stanford. Two big brown eyes lifted towards him, teeth still around a corner of the plastic box.
Now that he was closer, Stanford could make out the details of the childâs face. Such as how their nose curved downwards and their full cheeks were covered in freckles that stretched and became more of spots towards their ears that were smaller and more round than any human ear should be or how their tanned skin glistened in the first rays of the Norwegian sun, brown curls dusted in white from dried sea water.
Stanford could also make out how they were more masculine than feminine, probably a boy, and how sharp his teeth were or his small hands had a darker tint than the rest of him, sort of like the spots near his ears.
Curious of all was how similarly this anomaly resembled him when he was younger⌠Although with the way the kid was acting, the sun-kissed and freckled skin Stanford never quite achieved during his summer breaks, and how casually he seemed to act despite stealing Stanfordâs things right in front of him, resembled someone else entirely. Resembled Stanley.
With a quiet gasp, the boy scrambled to his bare feet (isnât it freezing?), dropping Stanfordâs tupperware and puffing up his chest in a way that made his round cheeks puff up adorably with it. Then, suddenly, the anomaly/boy began to drum his belly rapidly, the thick fur of his coat muting the sound to be less potent in comparison to the sealâs yesterday. Stanford blinked.
âUhh..â
THUMP THUMP THUMP
Unsure on what to do, Stanford finally glanced back to Fiddleford for help. His friend seemed to have already been in the process of leaving the tent, sighing as though he knew this would happen.
THUMP THUMP THUMP
âHelloâ Fiddlefordâs voice was a pitch higher, his hands resting on his knees as he crouched a bit to the anomalyâs height âWhat are you doing here, little boy? Arenât you cold?â
âWay to be creepyâ Stanford muttered to the side, crossing his arms
THUMP THUMP THUMPTHUMPTHUMP
âI am not creepy!â Fiddleford turned his way with a hiss
âWhat are you doing here all alone, oh little boyyyâ Stanford made a bad imitation of a witch from the fairytales, it was, admittedly, childish.
THUMPTHUMP ⌠THUMP THUMP
âI did not sound like that!â
THUMP
âDebateableâ
THUMP ?
As the two of them argued, the small anomalyâs little belly slaps grew weaker before they came to a stop completely, his head spinning from Fiddleford to Stanford as they got into another of their little childish quarrels.
Stanford ignored the ache in his chest as he remembered such fights with his twin⌠Their last fight had been far from childish though.
He found himself missing said fights.
Somewhere in between their quarrel, the small anomaly must have decided this was the green light for them to go on with biting the tupperware. They casually took a seat, propped themselves back against Stanfordâs bag and began gnawing at the lid once again.
[To be continued? If I survive??? Probably???? Only âŹ9.99?? A cookie???]
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