A very belated birthday present for my wonderful friend @lockholmes! :D Some Stans bonding for you!
Since you left the ‘how’ up to me, I added it to my Harmonica Harassment series!
@garrulousgibberish prompt to go with their artwork! Go check it out~ It’s all good fun ♥ http://garrulousgibberish.tumblr.com/tagged/harmonica-harassment Tag for all the art~
Rating: G
Word count: 2,179
Summary: Stan’s newfound hobby is annoying Ford with his dreaded harmonica.
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Huh? What is that?
Ford hummed, eyebrows scrunching in his half asleep daze. He was sure he was catching the tail end of a dream as he lay there slowly awakening from slumber. He could feel the boat swaying, the waves gently rocking him back into his dreams where music seemed to prevail, for once filling his head with soft images of peaceful days instead of nightmares from the other side of the portal. He shook his head, trying to dispel the notion as he sat up. He’d slept enough, as comforting as that sleep had been, it was time to face the day.
Wait…
Ford’s frown deepened as he woke up further.
The music was still echoing around the boat.
He tilted his head slowly, listening out to the warbling notes. They weren’t at a port, nor would Stan have failed to wake him if another boat was approaching theirs. His head tried to run through a list of things that could possibly be causing the noise but the only logical and completely illogical answer all at once-
Was Stanley.
He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he stood up, stretching out to wake himself fully. He shuffled to the door with a yawn, the music still getting louder as he went. He felt he should probably prepare himself but it sounded so nice…he couldn’t quite bring himself to heed the dulled alarm bell ringing in his head.
He cracked the door open, peeking through and paused at the sight that met him, brain finally connecting the dots and realising his earlier theory had indeed been the correct one. Stan stood leaning against the railing, playing away without a care in the world in the morning light. Ford stayed where we was, locked in place at the door, thoughts of going out on deck crushed swiftly.
He didn’t want to ruin the scene.
He knew Stan would brush it off and pretend it never happened if he did that, if he went and confronted him. He’d probably never do it again either, knowing that the sound could wake his brother. Besides, even without the thoughts of Ford never getting another chance to watch him play, he looked so peaceful, stood there, eyes closing every so often as he sent tinkling musical notes skimming across the waves.
Ford didn’t want to take that from him.
He couldn’t take that away from him.
Even if Stan had been irritating him with the blasted thing for weeks.
He was sure he’d heard him play a few times on the boat but had never really caught him in the act. He had no idea where he’d got the thing, or if he had brought it with them when they started their journey. All he did know was that Stan had a habit of playing the darn thing when he was completely and utterly bored out of his mind. When the fish just weren’t biting and he had to be patient, or the day was just going especially slow for once. Sometimes these days were few and far between but other times when anomalies refused to rear their heads Stan got more and more bored and attention seeking by the day.
And he never brought out the harmonica to play it nicely.
Oh no, of course not.
With Stan it was, of course, to get a reaction, to mess with someone.
After all, what was more fun on a boring day than getting a rise out of your twin brother?
Not that that seemed to be its only use.
Apparently it was a good distractor in a lot of cases.
The first time Stan had used it, Ford had jumped out of his skin.
They’d been at a small pub, a fishing village in the middle of nowhere. Just stopping off for a night to clear their heads and relax after a particularly gruelling leg of their journey.
A fight had broken out, too much drink and highly strung temperaments pulling the strings as a shouting match echoed through the small area. Ford had hunched over his own nursed drink, one too many bar fights leading to one too many injuries through his travels. He’d learnt to keep his head down and his mouth shut.
Stan apparently never had.
A sudden sharp noise had reigned, a flitter of quick high pitch notes that set teeth grating and ears ringing.
Once, in the right pitch and intensity, the rhythm might have been a song.
But if that was the case as Ford rubbed his ears and shook his head- his brother had well and truly butchered it.
“Oi, cut it out, will ya? I came here for a quiet drink before we got back out to sea. I don’t want to get involved with a show. Take it outside or calm it down.”
Ford had sat stunned for a second, a hiss of a reprimand on the tip of his tongue as everyone went silent and turned slowly to them. He could feel the eyes prickling down his spine. The fighting stopped, the yelling from before mingling in with the remnants of the high pitch wailing of a harmonica as a hush settled over the entire building.
For a second no one seemed to know what to do. Other than Stan who sat there, not deigning to turn to the arguments occupants. He instead choose to nurse his drink at the bar where only the bartender and Ford could see his expression, a curl of a smile that made worry coil deep in Ford’s stomach.
After all it was one that welcomed the victory of them doing as they had been told but seemed to welcome the alternative of a fight just as much.
To Ford’s surprise, the men sat down, quailing under Stan’s performance.
Not that Ford could blame them. A stranger walks in and takes the wind out of your sails like that? Probably best not to test his limits. Besides, looking at his brother in that moment who gave every appearance of a weather worn fisherman in the midst of a town that prided itself for knowing the waters and what they could do, he could definitely pull of an aura of cold and quiet intimidation.
And they didn’t even know about Stan’s left hook and how easily he could back that presence up.
There had been shock for a few moments as Stan played with his harmonica before pocketed it and downing his drink. “That’s more like it.” He’d tapped his glass against the bar to get the still staring bartender’s attention and then pointedly asked him to give those who’d been fighting a drink to talk and calm down over, suitably finding a way to dispel any ill wishes that were probably being levelled at him.
To say Ford had been impressed would be an understatement, even with the utter perplexity as to where on earth Stan had pulled that harmonica from and why he had it in the first place.
Ford’s awe had quickly turned to horror though as Stan’s mind took a turn into more familiar routes later on.
Stan had proceeded, in a slightly tipsy state to continue his rendition on the way home, much to Ford’s chagrin and panicked shushing.
It had been Ford’s own fault really.
“I didn’t know you could play.”
“Wha-?”
“The harmonica. I didn’t know you could play.”
Ford had rolled his eyes at Stan’s slurred speech, holding his brother up slightly as they went. He wasn’t that far gone but he’d wanted to be sure they both got back to the boat in one piece.
All the more fool him because it meant his hands were occupied when, down a quiet street full of small quaint houses his brother had whipped out the harmonica with a grin and loudly sent it wailing through the hushed night at his words.
“What are you doing? Stop that!” Ford hissed, shaking his brother which only aided in adding another warble to the notes as he tried not to chuckle.
“I thought you wanted me to play?”
“Not now! And not- not that!”
“Well, what did you want me to play?”
“Oh, I don’t know! Something proper!”
“I am playing it properly.”
Unfortunately, as far as Ford was concerned, that was the precise moment when he figured out that he could annoy his twin with the aforementioned ‘musical instrument’.
His grin had split impossibly wide, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“The whole point of a harmonica is to see people’s reactions to it.”
Ford shook the memories from his mind and slowly closed the door again. Getting ready slowly took precedence as he let the music filter in for just a few moments longer, whilst he could. He would only get more harassment if he went through the trouble of disturbing him. And he really didn’t want another out of key song when Stan thought it was about time for him to stop researching a major find.
And so the day went without a hitch. Ford didn’t bring it up and Stan, obviously satisfied with his performance in the morning didn’t bring it out again either.
It was not the last day that Ford awoke to music.
But it was also not the last day he was hassled by Stan’s constant annoyances with the pesky thing either.
And one day it finally all became a bit too much for him to quietly fume over.
All Ford wanted was to finish his sentence and Stan kept making quick jarring noises that made him lose his train of thought entirely.
The words bubbled out before he could stop them.
“I know you can play that properly, you know.”
There was silence for a moment as Ford turned to Stan, eyebrow quirking upwards and his own self-satisfied smirk for once reigning supreme as he regarded Stan’s slack expression.
A myriad of expressions seemed to flit across Stan’s face as he connected the dots before his eyes narrowed at him, obviously calculating.
And then that damned smile had resurfaced and with horror Ford understood what it meant.
“No. No, Stan- don’t you dare-”
Stan took a deep breath, blowing as hard as he could into the piece and making a piercing racket that had Ford clamping his hands over his ears and wondering if people could hear the awful sound on the nearby coastlines.
“I know I can play it properly too.”
Ford glared at the grin his brother levelled at him as he twirled the harmonica between his fingers and left him to his work.
There was a moment when he debated following him, debated ripping the thing out of his hands and throwing it to the bottom of the ocean.
But knowing his luck, Stan would have brought another for that very purpose.
Plus it would also mean that he wouldn’t get to hear the morning music whenever the urge took over his brother. And that would probably make Stan unhappy not to have that little slice of peace each morning. Ford wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do with himself without it. Ironically for the racket he made with it, it somehow kept him out of trouble more than it got him into it.
Ford gave a sigh, turning back to his journal, trying his hardest to remember where he had left off. The light glinted off of another item though, catching his attention. His eyes hit the distracting object just as an idea sprung to life.
The kids didn’t believe him that Stan could play. Stan always denied it when it came up in their video calls, no matter how much Mabel pleaded with him to play, or Dipper disbelieved that he could. All he would do was send a crackling cacophony of annoying sounds through the line that the others soon put a stop to.
He was sure that if the kids knew though that Stan would have to give in to their requests.
A grin to rival Stan’s wound its way onto Ford’s face as he picked up the phone, tapping the screen as he thought through how exactly he was going to do this.
After all, Stan couldn’t deny irrefutable proof when it was staring him in the face.
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.
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Bonus: (If you’ve checked out the artwork/comic)
“You didn’t actually delete the video, did you?”
Ford shook his head as he watched the kids through the video call. “No, I told him I was planning to and he’d messed it up which he found highly satisfying.”
“Good, ‘cause we can just cut the end of the recording off.”
Ford grinned, nodding at his niblings, peeking around to make sure Stan wasn’t aware of what they were doing.
“See I didn’t know if that was possible, but I assumed you two would know what to do. I thought deleting it after all that effort would be a waste. I’m glad my assumption paid off.”
Mabel pushed her way on to screen, making Dipper yelp in the process.
“Well? What are you waiting for? Send it on over! I need to see!”
