#nbthtf verse

[coniferouspines]

Hark, I herald from the heavens with fic news!

Little Heart

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

TIAGICWAP side fic wherein Stan gets turned into a toddler. Expanded from a snippet I posted here a while back.

[coniferouspines]

New This Is a Gift, It Comes With a Price alternative oneshot 🎉

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Ford only stared at him blankly. “You can go,” he said, “if that's what you want. I won't stop you, I won't chase you, I won't track you. You're free to leave if that's what you truly wish. If staying with me is such a hardship for you, then go.”

After months of being trapped in the hat-house above the fearamid, Ford brings Stan back down to earth and gives him a choice. He can either stay with Ford, or he can leave and be free. Stan chooses freedom.

[coniferouspines]

This Is a Gift, It Comes With a Price offshoot snippet 👀

Not sure if this one will ever make it into the main fic, as I kind of plan for out-of-body soul stuff to look different than this there, but who knows. Maybe it might make it in, maybe not. This scene has been microwaving in my brain though so I had to get it out.

“What is that?” Stan drifted up to where Shermie was staring very intently at what looked to be an odd rock set in a hand-like stone cradle. Whatever it was pulsed with a faint, unearthly light every few seconds.

“I don’t know,” Shermie said, hand on his chin and eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Ford brought it back from wherever he went. Weird looking thing.”

Stan glanced over his shoulder to where Ford was speaking with Ma on the other side of the room. He could always go ask his twin, but… nah.

“Wonder if it does anything,” he muttered. Impulsively, Stan reached out to poke the rock.

“Wait!” Shermie jerked next to him, lunging to stop him. “Ford said not to touch—!”

He was too late. Stan’s finger made contact with the rock, and he doubled over as a horrid, sharp tugging sensation manifested in his chest. It lasted for all of a few seconds, where he grabbed at his shirt in a panic, trying to figure out what was happening, the tugging inside him growing stronger and stronger.

And then a small, glowing orb-shaped thing came flying out of Stan’s chest.

“What is that?!” Shermie yelled, looking just as freaked out as Stan felt.

Stan had no answers, but somehow he knew that the glowing orb thing was a part of him. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. It was an intrinsic piece of him; a very precious and delicate piece that should not, at any point, ever be in the open like this. The sight of it sent a horrible feeling through Stan. It shouldn’t be out here, he needed to get it back!

Unfortunately, Stan’s body did not want to cooperate with him. Whatever had just happened had sent his head spinning, and the dizziness made him stumble and drop to the floor in his attempt to grab at the orb. He managed to brush against it with his fingers on the way down, but that only batted it away, and Stan shouted wordlessly as he watched it fall.

It must have been the desperation on his face that caused Shermie to act. His oldest brother jumped for the orb without thinking, catching it out of the air.

Stan was relieved for all of one second. The moment Shermie’s hand made contact with the glowing orb, a sheer sense of wrongness flooded Stan to the point he dry heaved. Wrong. It was WRONG. Someone else was touching something that should never be touched and Stan had never before felt so utterly, entirely violated. His very self felt like it was being defiled with Shermie’s hands around it.

It was so overwhelming and distressing and horrid that it was nearly painful, and Stan screamed.

The unexpected, wretched sound that ripped from his throat startled Shermie, causing him to drop the orb.

No, no, no, no! Everything inside of Stan shrieked as it fell again. It was going to hit the floor! It was going to get hurt!

His panic was echoed by someone else across the room, and from the corner of his eye, Stan saw Ford dart towards them at an inhuman speed, genuine concern painted on his face. Ford dove for the orb, and Stan let out of strangled sound, not wanting whatever that piece of him was to be touched again. As Ford’s hands clasped around it, catching it, Stan braced himself for the wave of horrific, nauseating wrong.

He was unprepared when he was bowled over by the most soothing, comforting sense of right he’d ever experienced. His entire body went limp immediately, slumping on the floor, basking in the sensation. It was better than any high he’d ever had, better than any drug he’d ever taken. Everything just felt calm, peaceful, good. Like heroin but better.

Ford was cradling the orb to his chest carefully, tenderly, and it felt like being cocooned in safety. None of Stan’s problems or fears mattered anymore; they couldn’t reach him like this. He was in a bubble of warmth and tranquility. It was as though an ache he hadn’t even known existed had been soothed for the first time in his life.

There was no overwhelming euphoria, just a deep sense of calm rightness. Stan smiled up at his twin dopily as Ford knelt down beside to him, Stan’s orb nestled next his heart with one arm like a precious treasure. With his free arm he pulled Stan upright, letting Stan flop into his chest happily.

Stan didn’t really understand what was going on, and there were no words to describe it. But Ford’s thumb gently stroked across the orb and Stan felt nearly whole. He felt so close to being complete, yet he wasn’t quite there and the gap made him want to sob. He pushed closer to Ford desperately, trying to reach for the thing he needed. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew he needed something. He needed to connect to something, needed to be complete.

“Shhh,” Ford soothed him.

“I need—!” Stan gasped, unable to properly convey himself.

“I know.” Ford smoothed his hair back, and carefully transferred the orb into Stan’s hands.

Stan clutched it close, but that wasn’t what he needed. It wasn’t enough. It was incomplete. It was only a piece of him. The other part was missing. (He needed his other half.)

“This is why we don’t go touching things we don’t understand,” Ford scolded him, but his tone was light and breathless, as if he too were affected by whatever was happening.

“What’s—?” Stan asked. He didn’t move from where he was. Ford was holding him and he was holding the orb and it felt peaceful. (But it wasn’t enough.)

“That’s our soul, Stanley,” Ford whispered. His eyes were locked on the orb with a look of awe and desire. “Your half of it.”

Ah. That would explain why it felt so wrong to see it. It wasn’t supposed to be out of his body like this.

“How do I put it back?” Stan did not want to leave it outside of himself for much longer. It felt too open, too vulnerable. (It had felt safer and more secure when Ford held it.)

Ford’s fingers brushed the orb—his soul—and Stan shivered.

“You could eat it,” Ford said. “But this half is anchored to your body, so you should also be able to just reabsorb it.”

Ford braced his hand over the one Stan was using to hold their soul, guiding them both to the middle of Stan’s chest. With gentle pressure, he pushed the soul onto Stan, and Stan felt something give way inside of him, his soul (their soul) slowly melting back into his body.

Immediately, Stan felt both full and empty. A piece of him slotted back into place where it belonged, but it wasn’t enough. Part of it was missing. The other half was still separated from him, and the ache of loss made Stan want to rip both himself and Ford apart, grab their split halves and force them back together. (He wanted to be whole.)

“Have we learned a lesson not to touch things we don’t understand?” Ford’s face was pinched and drawn, something sad in the furrow of his brows, like he was also experiencing that profound sense of loss.

“Should have warned me earlier.” Stan didn’t move away, his arms coming around Ford instead. He couldn’t bear the thought of being apart from (himself) his twin right now.

“My mistake for thinking you’d have some common sense,” Ford chuckled into Stan’s hairline.

Stan huffed but didn’t rise to the jab this time. He just wanted to be as close to Ford as possible, and he got the feeling Ford wanted the same.

Bonus!

Shermie watching this all go down: What the hell is happening.

Caryn: My baby boys have such a deep bond they’re connected by their soul 🥺 how sweet.

Shermie: Don’t get dewy-eyed about this! This is WEIRD!

[coniferouspines]

Little idea I got from the "what if Stan was suicidal" version of This Gift it Comes with a Price. Not specific to either version, I could see it happening in both.

Ford wants Stan to be an obedient little doormat who won't talk back?

Fine. Stans gonna to be an obedient little doormat who won't talk back.

Stan just snaps at Ford and gives him the ultimate silent treatment. Gets on the floor and dose not move. Doesn't talk to Ford. Just lays there and does nothing (if Sherman or his Ma asks he'll explain it to them but that's it).

At first Ford isn't too phased. This is just a little temper tantrum, Stan will get over it. He moves Stan where he needs to go, shoves food down his throat, and waits Stan out.

After a few days Ford really gets pissed.

You can lead a horse to water, and you can take away its water, but you cannot force it to drink.

No idea how this would end, but I find it funny.

Bonus thought:

"Stop acting like a child!"

"Well you refuse to treat me like an adult no matter what I do, so why should I?!"

That's it, hope you have a nice day :)

Lmao this is so funny?? 😭 Childish of Stan sure but, well. If Ford is going to treat him like one he might as well act it. Ultimate ignore sibling move. Especially if Stan did get up and move around on his own, but only when Ford isn’t there.

As soon as Ford is around he goes back to doormat mode. Ford knows Stan is acting normal with Ma and Shermie when he’s gone, so it pisses him off. He has no problem with moving Stan around and feeding him and helping him out if Stan wants to act like this, but the refusal to talk to Ford is what gets Ford. Hates Stan ignoring him.

He tries to wait Stan out but man the silent treatment really gets to him. Especially if he knows Stan is still talking to the rest of the family when he isn’t around :)

[coniferouspines]

This Is A Gift, It Comes With A Price drabble.

Sort of an inverse to this one. It’s Stan’s turn to get hit with the baby beam 👏👏

“And this is?” Stan asked, gesturing to a giant set of double doors that were, quite frankly, rather ominous looking.

They were on the lowest level of the hat-house, where Ford’s labs were set up. As usual, Stan had been wandering around, and it hadn’t taken long before Ford had shown up out of nowhere to shadow him.

“These doors connect our home to the fearamid,” Ford explained.

Stan eyed them dubiously. “What sort of horrors are hiding behind there?”

“A staircase,” Ford deadpanned at him.

It was a bit odd to Stan that Ford would allow such a large exit out of the house to just be out in the open, where anyone in their family could find it.

“Right. So can we go down there?”

Ford smiled at him like Stan was being silly. “Of course not. There’s no need for you to go down there when everything you need is up here. The fearamid is not as… human friendly as our home.”

Stan set his jaw stubbornly and crossed his arms. “Well, what if I want to go down there anyway? Just to look around?”

“The doors won’t open for you.” Ford slipped his hands into his coat pockets and shrugged casually. “They’re attuned to only open for Bill and myself. You’re free to give it a try if you want, of course. But I warn you, I made sure those doors were completely baby-proofed to discourage any… wandering.”

Baby-proofed, huh? Stan rolled his eyes. He was great at breaking into (and out of) places. Picking locks was like second nature to him. He didn’t really understand what the whole “attuning” thing was about, but surely he could figure it out.

It was a little weird that Ford wasn’t discouraging him from messing with it, though. Something about that made Stan wonder if it was some sort of trap. But then again, Ford was cocky, and was probably just overly confident in his work and didn’t believe Stan would get the doors open. He might just want Stan to try just so he could boast about it after—which, ugh.

None of that was going to stop Stan from trying, though. Not when a clear escape out of the house had been shown to him. So, with a sideways glance at his brother, Stan sidled up to the doors and looked them over.

There were no visible locks or any sort of mechanisms that Stan could see, which was odd. The doors had elaborate hoop handles, but that was about it. It was rather suspicious, but without anything else to check out, the only option was to try the handles and open the doors. And so hesitantly, Stan reached out and grabbed one of the handles, giving it a tug.

The door didn’t move, but immediately a buzzing sensation rushed through Stan from his hand, like his entire body was being afflicted with pins and needles. He reeled back, letting go of the door handle and stumbling as he was overtaken by a dizzy sensation. There was a strange moment of vertigo, like everything swirled around him and the ceiling stretched higher than normal, and then suddenly everything snapped back into place like it had never happened, and Stan felt fine.

“What was that?” he asked incredulously.

Immediately, he slapped his hands over his mouth, shocked at the voice that had just come out of him. High and squeaky and… and childish?

Wait, his hands didn’t feel right either.

Stan ripped his hands away to stare at them. They were tiny and soft with stubby fingers, drowning in sleeves that were suddenly too large for him. In fact, all of his clothes were now too large for him, and Stan could only look down at himself helplessly as his brain pieced together what happened.

“You tricked me!” he cried out angrily, pointing at his brother.

Ford was smirking, his eyes filled with a wicked glee. “I did no such thing. I very much told you exactly what would happen. I warned you the doors were baby-proofed.”

“This is what you meant by that?!” Stan scowled. “So now I’m a baby?”

Ford looked him up and down. “You’re about three or four, I’d say.”

Stan scowled harder, not impressed. Ford had totally tricked him! He'd known this would happen and had encouraged Stan to try the doors on purpose!

Ford cooed loudly, one hand coming up to rest on his cheek as he gazed at Stan fondly. “Look at your little angry face! So cute!”

Oh no.

Stan was filled with a sudden dread. He knew where this was going. He could see it in Ford’s expression and in the twitchiness of his body. It was time to run.

He turned on his heel and booked it as fast as he could. Unfortunately, with tiny legs and big clothes now in the way, it wasn’t very fast, and he could hear the unhurried footsteps of his brother follow him.

“Stanley,” Ford sang, “come here!”

“No!” Stan shouted back, trying to run faster.

The footsteps got closer.

“Stanley!”

“Go away!”

Large hands snatched Stan right up into the air and he squeaked in surprise, kicking his feet as Ford raised him above his head.

“Look at you!” Ford sounded way too delighted. “You’re so little! My baby!”

“I’m not your baby!” Stan yelled back, thoroughly offended.

He smacked at Ford’s arms with his small hands, but it did nothing, and Ford simply brought him down to cradle Stan to his chest.

“Of course you are, baby brother. Look at those baby teeth, and those chubby little cheeks!”

Stan made a disgruntled sound as fingers gently pinched his cheek. Ford’s eyes were alight with a joyful mania that was almost scary. It took a moment to place what about it that was so off-putting, but eventually it clicked in Stan’s brain. Ford was gazing at him with greed, as if Stan were a priceless treasure he’d found and wanted to hoard all to himself.

Stan huffed and smacked Ford in the face, but it was ineffective. In fact, the hit only seemed to provoke Ford, who clutched Stan tighter and leaned down to pepper little kisses all over Stan’s head and cheeks.

“Ewww!” Stan complained, trying to push Ford’s face away. “No! Gross, Ford!”

“You’re just so cute.” Ford nuzzled their noses together, swaying back and forth and rocking Stan. “It’s been a while since one of you tried the doors.”

Stan blinked. This had happened to someone else before? “Who—?”

“Sherman,” Ford answered, already knowing what Stan was going to ask. “He’s tried a couple of times, but not for a while. I think he got annoyed with constantly turning into a baby.”

“Probably got annoyed by you and your overbearing coddling,” Stan muttered.

If Shermie had been in this situation, Stan could not imagine he took it well. Shermie was not a particularly tactile person, and he could only imagine how overwhelming this treatment from Ford had felt to him. No wonder he hadn’t tried again for a while.

“Put me down,” Stan demanded.

“Absolutely not. Your tiny legs will get tired walking all the way back upstairs. Big brother will carry you.”

Stan groaned loudly and wiggled, but Ford’s arms cradled him through it, not giving in the slightest. A hand patted his back to calm him, and eventually Stan sighed and let himself collapse against Ford. There was absolutely no way he was getting out of this.

“Don’t worry,” Ford said softly, carding his fingers through Stan’s curls. “This wears off after a day. I’ll take care of you until then.”

[coniferouspines]

This Is A Gift, It Comes With A Price side quest.

A little oneshot WIP set in the same AU.

The door to Stan’s room slammed open, and Stan jumped in surprise at the unexpected sound. It was Ford, obviously. His clingy twin was the only one who would just walk into Stan’s room without knocking. He glanced up briefly in acknowledgement before looking back down at his book.

Then he did a rapid double-take, the book falling from his hands in shock.

Ford was striding into the room like nothing was wrong, a scowl on his face and muttering to himself under his breath. But his clothes hung off his frame, his black coat trailing behind him, too-big glasses sliding off his nose.

Because he was tiny.

Stan’s jaw dropped as Ford, looking maybe seven or eight years old, turned to face him.

“Stanford?” he squeaked out in utter confusion and shock.

“Close your mouth, Stanley, you’ll catch flies,” Ford huffed.

Stan sputtered, waving his hands around helplessly. “I just—You just—What?”

Ford was unfazed. One small, six-fingered hand emerged from the pile of clothes he was drowning in to uselessly adjust his glasses. “Bill and I had a disagreement,” he explained.

As if that explained anything.

“So you’re a child now?!” Stan was trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Only physically. It’ll wear off by tomorrow,” Ford said.

Stan didn’t know what to say. His brain was still trying to wrap itself around the situation his eyes were registering. “You’re so small,” he breathed.

It was true. He couldn’t ever remember his brother being so small. But then again, at the time Ford had actually been that age, so had Stan, so of course they wouldn’t have seemed small to each other back then.

A thoughtful look came over Ford’s face, like he hadn’t considered it. “Am I?”

Stan watched his little-big brother shuffle over to the nearest mirror, staring at himself. After a minute of Ford analyzing his new (old?) body, he turned back to Stan and held his arms up beseechingly.

“Pick me up,” he demanded.

Stan didn’t move. “But you’re—I don’t… Why would—?”

Ford frowned, then widened his eyes and stuck his lower lip out in a pout. “Hold me!”

Ah. Stan caught on to what Ford was doing. He crossed his arms and tried his best to look unaffected. “Don’t think you can manipulate cuddles out of me just because you’re small. You just said you aren’t actually a child.”

Ford lowered his arms, shoulders slumping. “Am I not doing this right?” he mumbled to himself.

Ford turned back to the mirror, and Stan watched as his brother actively worked on altering his expression to something more childlike and pouty. It was a little weird to see, realizing that those expressions didn’t come naturally to Ford; that Ford had to work to create them.

But it did work, and Stan felt something stab him directly in the heart when Ford finally turned to face him with the biggest puppy-dog eyes Stan had seen. Ford’s cheeks puffed out a little as he pouted. It was cute. Too cute. Oh no. His evil brother shouldn’t be so cute.

Ford walked towards him, briefly tripping over his big clothes and wobbling. Stan couldn’t tell if it was an act or if Ford had legitimately tripped. But it didn’t really matter, as Ford was soon in front of him and tugging on his shirt.

“Stanley,” Ford whined, reaching up for him.

Stan crumbled, picking Ford up, all his internal urging to stay strong and not give into his brother thrown out the window.

Ford beamed at him, very pleased at getting his way (as usual). His glasses slanted sideways on his face, too big to stay properly in place. It only made him look more endearing, and Stan couldn’t help the way it had him tenderly cradling his small brother.

“Carry me around today, okay?” Ford demanded of him. Stan didn’t find himself annoyed by it though, not when Ford placed little hands on his cheeks and leaned up to kiss the tip of Stan’s nose. “I love you!”

Something fiercely possessive protective unlocked in Stan’s chest, a strange dark feeling writhing up inside him. He tried to shove it down, ignoring the quiet voice inside him that whispered “mine”. He reminded himself that Ford only looked like a child, he wasn’t actually one. But that didn’t stop a part of him from howling that Ford was small and helpless. That Stan needed to keep him safe, needed to keep him loved and protected by his side.

“Whatever you want, Ford,” he ended up saying. “I love you too.”

[coniferouspines]

🚨New This Is A Gift, It Comes With A Price oneshot alert🚨

“Midas is King and He Holds Me so Tight” is an alternate oneshot set in the main fic’s timeline but diverges at some point after Stan has been living in the fearamid with his family to answer the question:

What if Stan was suicidal?

Based on a little convo with @lesssicotic 😉

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works