I've had this one under construction for a hot minute. Here's quite a bit more in the Horse Boy Stan AU. It takes places immediately following this write.
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When Stan and Angie returned to the ranch, Stan holding a paper bag full of burgers and fries in his lap, the large door to the main stable was open. Stan gently tugged on Angie’s reins, bringing her to a stop.
“We didn’t leave the door open, did we?” Stan asked.
“No,” Angie neighed. “We never do.”
“Guess your family’s inside, then. Maybe they’re looking for us.” Stan pressed his heels into Angie’s sides and clicked his tongue. Angie obediently trotted forward. They entered the stable. Angie came to a stop without being commanded. Stan could feel her confusion.
The other McGuckets currently at the ranch, consisting of the parents and youngest two sons, were crowded around Stan’s stall. In Stan’s stall was a bay roan pony stallion. It took a second for Stan to place the breed as a quarter pony. He was easily the most freaked out pony Stan had ever seen, his eyes almost pure white, rearing up frantically and moving constantly around the stall.
“Uh, when did we get a pony?” Stan asked slowly. The McGuckets and the pony looked at him. “And why is he in my stall?” The pony reared up again and came back down, slamming his hooves on the floor of the stall.
“Stanley, I just know this is somehow your fault!” the pony whinnied furiously. Stan’s jaw dropped.
“Stanford?” Stan croaked. The pony, which was apparently Ford, pawed at the straw covering the floor of Stan’s stall.
“Obviously!”
“Uh, not obviously, you’re a fucking pony!” Stan snapped. Ford whinnied wordlessly. Stan looked at the McGuckets. “How’d he get the gift?”
“Well, Fiddleford was just tellin’ us that he stayed on when ya tried to buck him off earlier,” Pa McGucket said. Stan felt the blood drain from his face.
“But- but the fae said I couldn’t give the gift to anyone!” he protested.
“He’s yer twin,” Angie neighed. Stan swallowed. “Remember, twins have special connections.”
“But it- it would’ve known-” Stan said weakly. Angie tossed her mane.
“The fae aren’t all-knowin’. I doubt it knew you had a twin.”
“I didn’t- I didn’t-” Stan stammered. Ford snorted.
“I knew it! It’s your fault!”
“I didn’t mean to!” Stan screamed. “I didn’t want to give you the gift! You sure as hell don’t fucking deserve it!” He yanked roughly on Angie’s reins, startling her. Angie protested, rearing up, but Stan stayed on. He dug his heels into Angie’s sides, tugging on her reins again. Angie’s training kicked in. She raced out of the stable at a full gallop.
The winter night air made the tears streaming down Stan’s face feel like ice. Angie was obediently galloping as he directed, but he could sense her simmering fury. She would make him regret treating her the way he did. They weren’t even that harsh towards the regular horses on the ranch, let alone the horses that were secretly human.
Once they were at the far end of the apple orchard, where the ranch’s boundary pressed up against the nearby woods, Stan pulled on Angie’s reins. She came to a stop.
“Get. Off,” she snarled. Stan dismounted. She glared at him. “Give me a reason to not kick ya into next Monday,” she whinnied viciously.
“I- I wasn’t expecting-” Stan managed weakly. After a moment, the fury in Angie’s eyes faded slightly. She sighed.
“There’s a chest near the biggest granny smith tree,” she said. “We store supplies in it, but under the false bottom you should find some clothes.”
“Got it,” Stan mumbled. He walked away, his mind racing. His body went through the motions, following the instructions that Angie had given him. When he returned with the clothes, Angie was in human form, shivering in the cold night air. He silently handed her the clothes and turned so she could get dressed.
“All right,” Angie said. Stan turned to face her. The clothes weren’t a perfect fit; they seemed to be for her brother Lute, who was slightly taller than her. But she looked warm enough in the worn jeans and brown flannel. She ran her fingers through her hair, getting out the knots she’d gotten in horse form. “We have to go back.”
“I know.” Stan glared at the ground. Like the year before, it was too early in the season for snow to stick for more than a couple hours, resulting in slightly soggy brown dead grass everywhere. He kicked a clump of dirt that had been pulled up when they rode into the orchard. “I don’t wanna.”
“Don’t act like a petulant child. Yer better ‘n that.”
“Ford definitely doesn’t think so.” Stan’s scowl deepened. “He really doesn’t deserve the gift. Not after what he did to me. And it’s not like he’ll even get any use out of it! He’s a fucking genius egghead brainiac, he’s not gonna do any horse shit, he’s gonna be busy using science to- to solve the world’s problems or whatever.”
“What did he do to you?” Angie asked softly. Stan suddenly wished he had four hooves so he could gallop away from the conversation.
“It- it doesn’t matter.”
“It clearly does, when it made the two of ya react like this,” Angie snapped. “When it made ya treat me the same way you did when ya got the gift.”
“I’m sorry,” Stan said quietly. Though he was more used to saying the phrase after living on the ranch for over a year, he still rarely used it. Angie pursed her lips, silently recognizing how difficult it was for him to say. She dug the toe of her boots into the dirt.
“I appreciate that.” She locked eyes with him. “We’re goin’ back.”
“Ang…”
“We need to know what happened while we were gone. Maybe- maybe somehow Ford picked up the gift somewhere else,” she suggested. Stan managed a small smile.
“I like that idea, but there’s no way he didn’t get it from the ride earlier.”
“Yeah…” Angie sighed. “All right, hand me the food and get into horse form.” Stan frowned at her. Angie shrugged. “You said you didn’t want to be in human form around Ford.”
“That was to keep him from knowing it was me,” Stan said.
“Sure.” Angie raised an eyebrow at Stan. “I’d also like to point out you said you wouldn’t ever ride me like that again.”
“All right, all right, I get it.” Stan handed Angie the bag of food. She suddenly pulled him in, kissing him deeply. “I thought you were pissed at me, babe,” Stan said when they finally broke apart.
“I am. But we won’t have many chances to do that, with my fam’ly ‘round and Stanford in the stable now.” She gently shoved him away, then turned around. Stan undressed and closed his eyes. After the familiar surge of pain, he opened them again.
“Good horsey,” Angie teased. Stan stood still as Angie saddled and bridled him with the same tack that had been used on her. She mounted gracefully, then dug her heels into his sides and pulled on the reins with as much force as she could muster.
Stan winced.
“Now ya know what it feels like fer yer rider to be a toddler what don’t know how to be gentle,” Angie said. Her grip on the reins loosened, but remained tighter than typical for her. She dug her heels deeper. “Giddyap, Hardtack.”
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Stan trotted into the stable. The McGuckets were still clustered around his stall, in which the pony that was his twin brother was still standing. Luckily, it seemed like Ford had calmed down somewhat.
Can’t have any horses or ponies freaking out for too long. It’s bad for them. Stan snorted at his instinctive ranch hand thoughts. No, Ford can freak out all he wants, the bastard. Angie pulled on the reins, bringing Stan to a stop. Her hand gently caressed Stan’s neck, her fingers running through his mane.
“If’n ya can’t be civil, don’t talk,” Angie whispered into his ear. “We don’t want this sit’ation to get any more sour ‘n it already is.” Stan flicked his ears to signal he heard her. As elegantly and smoothly as always, Angie dismounted.
“Good, ya came back,” Fiddleford said tartly. “Maybe don’t run off like that in the future.” Angie scowled at him. “Stanford deserves a full explanation fer what’s happened to him.”
“And I know ya gave it to him while we were gone,” Angie replied, her voice just as sharp as her brother’s. She began to remove Stan’s saddle and reins. “We had to cool our heels a bit ‘fore we could come and talk civilized.”
“Everyone could tell ya only ran off ‘cause Stan made ya, why are ya coverin’ fer his actions?” Fiddleford demanded, his voice getting louder.
“Fiddleford, simmer down,” Pa McGucket said gently, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I know yer protective of yer friend, but ya don’t need to be rilin’ up.”
“Those two get hot-headed at the best of times,” Lute piped up. “It’s fer the best they took a mo’ to calm down.” Angie rolled her eyes and brought the tack over to the corner of the stable it was kept in. Stan concentrated, grunting softly in pain as he returned to human form.
“You’re one to talk ‘bout bein’ hot-headed,” Stan said as he got to his feet. He could feel Ford’s shocked eyes on him, but made it a point to not look. Angie returned, now carrying some clothes for Stan, kept in a box by the riding gear. Stan began to slip on the clothes.
“So, what did we miss?” Angie asked.
“We gave Stanford the full rundown on how the gift works,” Ma McGucket said. “As well as how Stan got it, and how it must have been transferred to Stanford.”
“You sure he didn’t find a McGucket cousin or somethin’ to ride?” Stan asked as he pulled on a light gray flannel. There was a desperate note to his voice that he wasn’t happy about. The McGuckets shook their heads. “Well, shit. It- it really was me, wasn’t it?”
“Seems like,” Pa McGucket said. There was sympathy in his voice. Ford whinnied loudly, drawing attention to him.
“If you knew the means through which this…‘gift’ could be transferred, why weren’t you more careful in your actions?” Ford neighed. He stomped the floor of the stall with his hooves. “Unless you wanted to trap me in the body of a horse all along.”
“A, you’re not trapped,” Stan snapped. “You’re a smart guy, you’ll figure out how to get human again.” Stan heard Angie sigh softly at his raised voice. But it was too late, he could feel his anger rising again. “B, you’re a pony, not a horse. And C, I didn’t know you’d get the gift!”
“Even you had to have known what would happen!” Ford snorted. Stan ground his teeth.
“Shut your tiny fucking mouth, pony boy,” he started. Pa McGucket put a hand on his shoulder.
“Calm down,” Pa McGucket said firmly. His tone teetered on the edge of harsh. Stan swallowed. It was in his best interests to stay in the good graces of his employer, who also happened to be the father of his girlfriend. Even if no one knew he was dating Angie. Pa McGucket looked at Ford. “Yer not the only one what got the gift and didn’t want it. Stan didn’t want it at first, neither,” he said. "He spent a long time trying to get rid of it. Despite us warning him that fae don't take kindly to people disrespecting their gifts. Eventually, he wised up and stopped, but by then, he'd upset a fae so much it said he could never give the gift to anyone like he got it from Angie." He looked at Angie. "I reckon what Angie said afore was right. That fae didn't know Stan had a twin, so didn't take that into account when adjusting his gift. And since twins traditionally have powerful connections, well, that part of the gift weren’t changed."
"So...what am I supposed to do?" Ford asked in a small voice. Despite his anger, Stan felt a twinge of sympathy. He remembered how he’d felt when he first got the gift.
"Learn to control the gift," Fiddleford said. "We'll help."
"But there's no way to get rid of it?"
“Just ask Stanley,” Fiddleford said. Ford turned to Stan, who nodded.
"Look, we might hate each other's guts right now," he said, "but I’ll tell you. It's not worth trying to find a way around it. All that'll happen is you'll get turned into other things or stuck as a horse- uh, pony for a month."
"Yes, well, it was you who tried to find a way to remove the 'gift'," Ford said. His snooty tone chased away the hint of sympathy Stan had felt for him. Stan clenched his hands into fists. "I might have better luck."
"Listen to him," Fiddleford said. Ford pawed the ground with his hoof. "At least learn to control the gift, then we can talk."
“Very well, if you insist,” Ford muttered. Stan scowled, frustrated by how quickly Fiddleford got Ford to back down. Ford tossed his mane. “I saw that Stan was clearly a different – what is the term – ah, breed from me when he came in earlier. Why?”
“I ain’t quite sure,” Pa McGucket said after a moment. Lute’s eyes lit up.
“Oh! I bet it’s ‘cause Stan gave him the gift instead of one of us! Angie’s Irish, so when Stan got the gift from her, it made him an Irish breed. But Stan ain’t Irish like us. So’s when he gave the gift to Stanford, it didn’t make him an Irish horse!” Lute suggested. Pa McGucket nodded slowly.
“That makes sense. Though why he’d specifically be a pony breed instead of a horse breed, I ain’t sure.”
“The gift could tell Ford needed to be cut down to size,” Stan said under his breath. Pa McGucket frowned at him.
“The gift ain’t sentient, Stan,” he said. Stan winced at his cool tone.
He’s gettin’ real fed up with my orneriness. Gotta back off.
“Until you learn to control the gift, you can stay in Stan’s stall,” Ma McGucket said to Ford. “Stan, you best sleep in yer room in the house.” Stan nodded. “Don’t you worry, Stanford, you’ll get the gift under control ‘fore ya know it! My husband and son can start yer lessons in the mornin’.” Ford nodded anxiously. Fiddleford walked up to Ford and began to speak to him in a hushed voice.
“Stanley, yer not to treat him any differently than the other horses,” Pa McGucket said to Stan, stopping him from eavesdropping on Ford and Fiddleford’s conversation. Stan crossed his arms.
“I don’t like my brother, but I’m not gonna fuck up the only job I’ve ever been good at,” he scoffed. Pa McGucket nodded.
“I could do without that exact phrasin’, but the sentiment is good. Loyalty is important.” Pa McGucket patted Stan on the shoulder. He and the other McGuckets filtered out of the stable. Stan followed them, but paused when he got to the door. He looked over his shoulder at Ford.
The pony stood in Stan’s stall, looking particularly small. Ford seemed to be doing a bit better after Fiddleford talked to him, but he was still clearly upset. His head drooped as he stared blankly at the floor of the stall.
Something in Stan’s gut ached.
His grip on the doorknob tightened.
He opened the door and went through, closing it behind him.
Uhhhhhhh here's more Horse Boy Stan. I've actually been sitting on this for a couple days lol. It takes place immediately following this.
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Stan, Lute, and Tuesday arrived at, according to Lute, who chattered the entire trip, the McGucket horse ranch. There was already somebody waiting for them when Lute led the two horses into the stable. A middle-aged man stood in the middle of the stable, his arms crossed. He looked very similar to Lute, with the same dark hair and large nose.
His dad, maybe?
“Howdy, Pa!” Lute chirped.
Yep.
“Lute, why did the auction house call me sayin’ I had to pay fer a new stallion?” Mr. McGucket asked. Lute gestured to Stan.
“I had to rescue Stan, here.”
“Stan?” Mr. McGucket looked at Stan. “Leo said the horse didn’t have a…name…” Mr. McGucket’s eyes narrowed, then widened. “Hoppin’ taters, he got the gift!”
“Ya see now why I had to get him,” Lute said. Mr. McGucket walked up to Stan. He circled the stallion, looking him over curiously. “He seems awful confused ‘bout his sit’ation.”
“Well, when the gift was new to the fam’ly, it was confusin’ to ‘em. Am I right that this is new to ya, Stan?” Stan nodded. Mr. McGucket stroked his chin. “Hmm. What’s Stan short fer?”
“Stanley. Stanley Pines,” Stan neighed. Mr. McGucket nodded.
“All right, Mr. Pines. I think we can get ya into somethin’ a bit smaller, but I ain’t sure how long it’ll last.”
“You- are you saying you can make me human again?” Stan asked eagerly.
“Until ya go back to bein’ a horse,” Mr. McGucket said. Suddenly anxious, Stan shied away from him. “Look, ya got the gift of switchin’ ‘tween horse ‘n human forms. Since ya got it recently, ya won’t be able to control it well just yet. It’ll take some practice, but ‘fore ya know it, you’ll be able to take either form as easy as breathin’.”
“What makes you say that?” Stan asked warily. He blinked. Suddenly, instead of a middle-aged man, a dappled gray stallion stood before him. Stan gaped.
“‘Cause that’s how it is fer everyone in my fam’ly,” the stallion neighed. Lute rolled his eyes. He walked Tuesday into a stall and began to remove his riding gear. The stallion, who was clearly somehow Mr. McGucket, cleared his throat, drawing Stan’s attention. “This is a very simple method to get ya to move ‘tween forms. It ain’t the best method ‘cause it don’t tend to last long, but I’d like to just get ya back to human to help yer mood, however brief it winds up bein’.” Stan nodded.
Even if it’s only five minutes, I’ll take it.
“Good! Okay, what ya do is ‘member how it feels to be human,” Mr. McGucket coached. “Standin’ on two feet, havin’ fingers ‘n toes, only really havin’ hair on top of yer head.” Stan closed his eyes. He visualized what it was like to be human, reliving the sensations that, after a week as a horse, he missed dearly.
A jolt of pain suddenly shot through him. Stan let out an agonized grunt. He fell to the floor, overcome by what felt like severe muscle cramps across his entire body. His skin prickled and burned, like he was being stabbed with needles all over. His chest ached as though he had been shot, his heart thundering like a champion racehorse. Then, it stopped.
“Excellent job!” Mr. McGucket’s voice said. Stan opened his eyes. He was on the floor, but instead of on four knees, he was on his hands and knees. Stan choked back a sob.
I’m never gonna take having hands for granted again, holy shit.
“Yer quite the quick study,” Mr. McGucket said, kneeling next to Stan. Stan felt himself begin to shake. “Lute, go fetch some clothes fer him.”
“He won’t stay human long, what’s the point?” Lute asked. Mr. McGucket frowned at him. Lute sighed. “Fine.” Lute left the stable.
“Oh. Right. I’m naked,” Stan mumbled to himself. The gentle evening air was chilly on his now fur-free bare skin. He looked at Mr. McGucket. “You are, too.” Instinctively, Stan averted his eyes.
Catching some guy naked in the locker room is one thing. This- this is different.
“Yer a bit thrown off by that, huh?” Mr. McGucket said with a chuckle. He got to his feet and walked over to where his clothes were sitting, neatly folded. “If ya plan to stay here long enough to get yer shiftin’ under control, you’ll get used to seein’ folks as god made ‘em. We don’t tend to be as concerned about the propriety of that.” Mr. McGucket began to pull on his clothes. Stan frowned at him.
“How’d you fold your clothes before you turned into a horse?” he asked. Mr. McGucket chuckled again.
“I have my ways.” The barn door opened. Now fully dressed, Mr. McGucket looked past Stan, towards the door. “I thought I told Lute to grab the clothes fer our guest.”
“I wanted to see the feller m’ self,” a female voice said. Stan turned around. A short, very cute blonde young woman about Stan’s age stood in the doorway. She met Stan’s eyes. A gasp escaped from her. The folded clothes she was carrying tumbled to the ground. “It’s you!”
“What do you mean?” Stan asked. He coughed, trying to clear the taste of alfalfa from his mouth. The woman crossed her arms.
“Yer the feller what rode me!”
“Huh?” Stan squinted at her.
“Are ya sure, junebug?” Mr. McGucket asked. The woman walked up to Stan and glared down at him.
“I’d know that face anywhere,” she snarled. Stan’s eyes widened.
“You- you were that yellow horse?” he choked out. The woman’s eyes were the giveaway. Once she got close enough, he could see they were the same blue as the yellow horse he had ridden a week ago, in a desperate attempt to escape from the police. She scowled at him.
“I ain’t yellow. I’m palomino.” She kicked the clothes away from him. “And ya don’t deserve my fam’ly’s gift after what ya did.” She turned away and stormed out of the barn. Stan turned back to Mr. McGucket. He swallowed nervously. The man’s face, previously kind and warm, had turned stormy.
“Is she tellin’ the truth?” he asked in a dangerous voice. Stan held up his hands.
“Look, I didn’t have a choice! I needed to get away and my car broke down!”
“So ya decided to steal a horse?”
“I wasn’t gonna keep it! I mean, I let it- her-” Stan quickly corrected the pronoun at Mr. McGucket’s thunderous expression. “-go as soon as I was safe!”
“That’s still theft, even if it weren’t fer long.”
“I swear, if I knew she was a person, I wouldn’t have just jumped on her!” Stan said desperately. Mr. McGucket pursed his lips. “I thought she was a regular horse! I didn’t-”
“I believe you,” Mr. McGucket said softly, cutting off Stan. “And I’d like to know exactly what ya were runnin’ from, but that can wait.” He frowned. “Of course, no matter how innocent yer intentions were, yer actions weren’t good. My daughter was upset fer days that some feller rode her like a pony at a fair.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Stan muttered.
“I know. It don’t fix things, though. Not right now, at least.” To Stan’s relief, Mr. McGucket seemed to have calmed down somewhat from his earlier furor. Mr. McGucket stood and retrieved the clothes. He handed them to Stan. “At least it explains why ya got the gift.”
“What do you mean?” Stan asked. He began to put on the worn and stained, but clean work clothes.
“The very first McGucket what got the gift, he got it from survivin’ a ride on a kelpie.” Stan frowned, confused. “A kind of fae what takes the form of a horse. Kelpies, they do whatever they can to get a rider off ‘em. But my ancestor, he stayed on no matter what. So the kelpie gave our bloodline the gift to take a horse form, too.” Mr. McGucket met Stan’s eyes. “My daughter told me that no matter what she did, she couldn’t get ya off. You survived the ride. You were given the gift.”
“I- I don’t want it!” Stan burst out. Mr. McGucket sighed.
“There’s an awful lot we still have to talk about. But I think it can wait. We don’t know how long it’ll be ‘fore ya return to a horse, and I reckon ya want some human food.” Stan’s stomach rumbled. Mr. McGucket managed a small smile. “Come on in the house. We’ll get ya somethin’ to eat what ain’t alfalfa.”
ANYWAYS if you wanted more Horse Boy Stan AU stuff, here you go! Stan finally getting his job as ranch hand!
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“Well, I’ll be!” Stan snorted awake at the sound of a loud southern drawl. He sat up. Mr. and Mrs. McGucket were standing in front of his stall, looking at him. “Ya made it through the night human, Stan!”
“Yeah, I- I guess I did,” Stan mumbled. He stretched, trying to dispel aches from spending the night on the concrete floor. Sleeping in the stall was far less comfortable as a human than as a horse. “So does that mean…”
“I reckon ya got the gift under control!” Mr. McGucket said cheerfully. Stan stood up. He walked over to Mr. and Mrs. McGucket. “We’ll get ya some food ‘n maybe a bit of cash ‘fore ya get back on the road.”
“Oh.” Stan looked away. “Yeah, I can- I can get going.”
“Mearl,” Mrs. McGucket scolded her husband. “Give him a moment to breathe!” She smiled at Stan. “Take yer time. We won’t rush ya out.”
“I was only jumpin’ to gettin’ ya ready to go ‘cause, well, you’ve already been here an awful long time,” Mr. McGucket said quickly. Stan looked out the open barn door. Red and orange leaves covered the ground outside. A few new ones gently fell from the tree that Stan had stood under for shade during the summer. “I mean, ya got here back in May!”
“Yeah,” Stan muttered. “Who woulda thunk it’d take me months to figure this shit out?”
“Ya still picked it up awful fast,” Mrs. McGucket said. “Faster ‘n we expected.” Stan nodded silently. Mrs. McGucket frowned. “There’s somethin’ troublin’ ya. What’s wrong?”
“I, uh…” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “I need to pay you guys back.”
“What?” Mr. and Mrs. McGucket asked at the same time. Stan groaned.
“I can’t- you guys paid thousands of dollars for me. And then probably thousands more taking care of me. Just so that you could teach me how to…” Stan waved his hand vaguely. “Control the gift or whatever.”
“It was worth it to help ya out,” Mrs. McGucket said. Mr. McGucket nodded.
“We weren’t goin’ to let ya go out in the world unable to control what form yer in! You’d just wind up fer sale at another auction! A young feller like you, with his whole life in front of him, why, it’d be wrong to waste yer years as a horse.”
“Still.” Stan took a deep breath. He stared down at the floor of the stall, scattered with straw. “Just- just tell me how much I cost in total, and I’ll- I’ll figure out a way to pay you back.” It felt weird, insisting on paying someone anything, let alone thousands of dollars. But the guilt was overwhelming, particularly after how close he’d gotten to the McGucket family. “How much is it?” Stan asked. His voice broke.
“Well, we’d have to sit down and do some calculations,” Mrs. McGucket said.
“Okay. I can- I can muck out my stall or something while you do that.”
“Or…” At the tone of Mr. McGucket’s voice, Stan looked up. There was a twinkle in the middle-aged man’s eye. “You could muck yer stall and all the others, while, say, earnin’ a salary.” Stan frowned at him.
“What?”
“All our kids are either moved out or at college durin’ the school year,” Mrs. McGucket said. “We get by hirin’ local folks to work the ranch. But none of ‘em got the gift. You, on the other hand, do.”
“What are you saying?” Stan asked. He had a feeling, but didn’t want to say, just in case he was wrong. Mr. McGucket beamed.
“How’d ya like to work off this, uh, debt of yours?” he asked. “As a ranch hand!” The way he said the word “debt” made it clear Mr. and Mrs. McGucket still didn’t think Stan owed them anything.
But I’ll still be able to pay them back. And…it’s not like I had any real plans for where to go next. I might as well stick around for a while until I figure that out.
“Deal,” Stan said firmly. Mrs. McGucket’s smile could have lit up the whole stable.
“Oh, that makes us so happy to hear! We were hopin’ we could convince ya to stay.” She pinched Stan’s cheek. “All of us grew awful fond of ya. And we really would prefer a ranch hand with the gift. It makes the horses more comfortable.” The stallion in the stall next to Stan’s, a pinto named Beans, whinnied in agreement. Mr. McGucket chuckled.
“Sounds like Beans would be sad to see ya go, too.”
“Yeah, I’d miss him,” Stan said. Beans was the first one to properly befriend Stan. The McGuckets, though generous and hospitable, took some time to warm up to him, given how he had gotten the gift by riding the youngest McGucket child without permission. Beans, however, sought out Stan early on, often giving him horse lessons.
“Well, now that yer stayin’ as our farmhand, we’ll have to get ya trained up on how to ride a horse,” Mr. McGucket said with a wink. “It’s a requirement.” Stan shrugged.
“I don’t think I’ll mind being on the other side of the saddle.” By now, Stan was an experienced steed in his horse form.
“Enough chattin’ in the stable,” Mrs. McGucket said. “Let’s go in the house fer some breakfast. We can discuss the terms of yer employment there.”
“Sounds good.” Stan grabbed his blanket and pillow. “Uh, are there any hotels around or-”
“You’ll be stayin’ in the house,” Mr. McGucket said. He and his wife stood back so Stan could exit his stall. “When we’ve hired locals to be ranch hands, they’ve stayed in the house. So’s they can be ‘round fer emergencies. After all, we’ve got a couple pregnant mares right now. Ya might need to supervise a birth in the middle of the night.”
“Oh. Uh…”
“Not on yer own, of course,” Mrs. McGucket said. The three exited the stable and began to walk towards the farmhouse. “You’ll start off with the simpler tasks fer the most part.”
“I reckon a good chunk of yer responsibilities will feel awful familiar to ya,” Mr. McGucket said with a grin just like his two youngest children’s. “After all, ya just spent months bein’ on the receivin’ end of ‘em.”
Ehhhhh fuck it, here's some self-indulgent angst in my Olympian Falls AU.
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Mearl parked the truck in the driveway and looked at his youngest son in the passenger seat.
“Don’t forget, we’ll tell folks ya fell from the loft in the barn again,” he said. Lute scowled.
“I know. That’s what we told the hospital,” he spat.
“Look, tellin’ the truth is important, but in this case-” Mearl started. Lute threw the passenger door open.
“I know,” he ground out. “We can’t tell the truth ‘bout how my arm got broke. Folks can’t know it happened ‘cause a monster attacked the farm. Again. No, we have to tell ‘em I got hurt doin’ somethin’ stupid.” Lute stormed out of the truck, slamming the door behind him. Mearl sighed. He knew that it would be an adjustment to have Angie living at home again, after years of her staying in New York. But he didn’t expect Lute, whom had been raised as Angie’s twin, to be struggling the most.
Tensions had been high when Mearl returned from New York with Angie. Specifically, tensions between Angie and Lute. Angie’s other siblings had been happy to see her, but her twin dodged her constantly, refusing to be alone with her as much as possible, leaving the room whenever she talked about camp, and even avoiding talking to her altogether.
It came to a head that morning, when a monster attacked the orchard where Angie and Lute were harvesting apples. Lute was slammed into one of the apple trees, breaking his arm, before Angie was able to kill the monster. Angie brought Lute to the house, near hysterical. Sally stayed home to calm her down while Mearl drove Lute to the hospital. The entire drive there and back, Lute had sulked, staring at the floor like it personally offended him.
Mearl suddenly felt a sense of foreboding.
Lute was awful upset at Angie. It might not go well when he sees her. Mearl grabbed the keys from the ignition and sprinted after his son. He could hear Angie frantically apologizing the moment he stepped inside.
“I’m sorry, Lute, I- I can’t heal like some of my siblin’s at camp,” Angie’s voice sobbed. Mearl made a beeline for the living room. Lute stood in front of the couch his mother and sister were sitting on, visibly seething. Tear tracks shone on Angie’s cheeks. Sally gently rubbed circles on Angie’s back, trying to soothe her.
“Then why’d ya waste time tryin’?” Lute snapped. Angie bit her lip.
“I thought- I thought if it’d work fer anyone, it’d work fer my twin. I mean, Dad is a twin, so-”
“Yer not my twin.” Lute’s voice was full of cold anger. Angie let out another sob. “Yer not even my full sister!”
“Lute,” Sally scolded.
“How can you defend her? She ain’t yer daughter, Ma!”
“She is.”
“No, she ain’t! She’s some- some Greek myth what came to life!” Lute said furiously. “And she can’t even protect us from the monsters what come here. The monsters what come here ‘cause of her!”
“I- I killed the one today,” Angie said weakly. Lute’s eyes blazed with fury. He leaned in.
“You ran away from it!”
“I had to get- get some distance so’s I could fire an arrow. I ain’t good at melee fightin’.”
“Then why’d you run without me?” Lute’s voice broke. Angie’s eyes welled up with fresh tears. “You left me!”
“I didn’t-”
“No, you did! You left, just like ya did years ago to go to that- that camp!”
“I-”
“You should’ve stayed there,” Lute spat. Angie’s head drooped. “Better yet, when ya showed up on our doorstep, Ma should’ve divorced Pa ‘n sent the both of ya far away!” Mearl’s heart plummeted. Sally gasped. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Angie jumped to her feet.
“I didn’t ask fer this!” Angie screamed. She ran out of the living room, nearly colliding with Mearl on her way. The front door slammed. Angie’s sobs gradually grew fainter until he couldn’t hear her anymore.
“Lute Everrett McGucket, that was completely unacceptable,” Sally snapped. Lute glared at her.
“I’m only tellin’ the truth. And Angie knows it. I’ve read those books ya got on Greek mythology. Her- her father-” Lute’s face contorted, as though he had tasted something sour. “-is the god of truth. I bet she knows a lie when she hears one.”
“Ya might feel like that’s the truth, but it don’t make it,” Mearl rumbled. Lute looked over. His eyes widened in panic.
“I- I didn’t know you were there, Pa. I didn’t mean-” He let out a large sneeze. “I didn’t mean-” He sneezed again. “What in the-” Lute sneezed three times in a row. “What’s-”
“That sounds like when Harper gets hay fever,” Sally said. Lute sneezed. “But ya ain’t never had it ‘fore, and the pollen count ain’t high right now.” Mearl stifled a groan.
“It was Angie.”
“What?!” Lute squeaked. He rubbed his suddenly red and watering eyes. “But- but-”
“When I visited her fer Thanksgiving last year, one of her camp friends told me she accidentally gave hay fever to someone she was upset with. Feller was sneezin’ fer over a week ‘fore Angie realized she was the one what done it.”
“Of course she did it,” Lute muttered. He sneezed. “It- it weren’t enough that I broke my arm, were it?”
“She didn’t mean to make ya sneezy,” Sally said. “And she certainly didn’t intend fer ya to break yer arm.” Mearl looked over his shoulder. The front door had some damage to its hinges; Mearl had noticed Angie breaking things more frequently than she used to, particularly when she was upset.
If she messed up the door and got Lute sneezin’ already, there ain’t no tellin’ what else she might do in her state. A surge of fear pulsed through his chest. And there ain’t no tellin’ what attention she might attract.
“We need to go after her,” Mearl said.
“Sure, go after the one what keeps causin’ me grief,” Lute said. Mearl frowned at him. Lute backpedaled. “I mean- I-” He sneezed. “She just needs to cool down. She’ll come back.” Sally looked at Mearl.
“Lute’s got a point, darlin’. Angie might just need some time to herself.”
“But-” Mearl started.
“She can take care of herself,” Sally said gently. Mearl hesitated. “She’s been on quests, ‘member? She’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know…”
“If she ain’t back in an hour, we’ll go lookin’,” Sally said. Mearl sighed.
“Fine.” He gave Lute his most disapproving look. “In the meantime, yer goin’ to yer room,” he said firmly. Lute stomped off, sneezing intermittently the entire way. Mearl walked over to the couch and slowly sunk down on it. Sally rubbed his back. “When did things get so complicated?” he moaned.
“The moment ya found our daughter in a golden cradle on the doorstep,” Sally replied. Mearl looked away. “Mearl?”
“Sometimes I think the same thing as Lute,” he said quietly. “That I should’ve taken Angie and left y’all. Then- then none of this would’ve happened.”
“True. But what would’ve happened would be worse,” Sally said. Mearl looked at her. Compassion shone in her eyes, a far gentler blue than Angie’s. “Our children would’ve grown up without a father. You ‘n Angie would’ve struggled to get by. No matter what those negative thoughts might say, it’s fer the best we didn’t tear the fam’ly apart.”
“Yer right,” Mearl said. He gripped his knees. “I just- I hate seein’ the twins like this.”
“Lute never really addressed his complicated feelin’s after we told him ‘bout Angie. He tried to hide ‘em away. But he can’t hide ‘em anymore, and they’ve twisted and turned after years of bein’ shoved down.” Sally sighed. “It don’t help they’re both teenagers. Their age is dif’cult without dealin’ with Greek mythology monsters ‘n whatnot.”
“True,” Mearl conceded. Sally leaned against his shoulder. He looked at the clock above the television. “One hour. Then we go lookin’ fer her.”
-----
Max was idly playing with a dagger when the butler knocked on his bedroom door. He quickly shoved the weapon in a desk drawer.
“Yes?” he said. The butler opened the door.
“Young Master Hillcrest, you have a visitor,” the butler said primly. Max stood up.
“A visitor?”
“Miss Angie McGucket.” Before Max could get too excited, the butler cleared his throat, looking a bit uncomfortable. “She seems to be in some distress. Your grandfather is with her.”
Grandpa Stanley? Max’s blood ran cold. Oh, shoot. It must be a Greek thing.
“Thanks fer tellin’ me. I’ll go down to see ‘em right now,” Max said. The butler nodded. He stood to the side so that Max could rush past him. Max sprinted down the hall and large staircase to the first floor. He paused in the foyer, which was empty of demigods. He looked up at the butler, watching from the second floor.
“They’re in the sunroom,” the butler called. Max nodded.
Should’ve figured as such, with her father. Max headed for the sunroom. When he arrived at Camp Half-Blood last summer, the last person he’d expected to see there was his best friend’s twin sister. He’d been told Angie McGucket was staying at a fancy boarding school in New York City. But the lie fell apart the moment he saw Angie sitting at a picnic table with a group of other mostly blond kids.
Angie was a demigod, like him. And like him, her parentage was a closely guarded secret. If the truth ever came out for either of them, it would have dire consequences for their families.
“He wasn’t thinkin’, sweetheart,” Grandpa Stanley’s voice said as Max approached the sunroom. He was like Max, a demigod, though while Max had yet to find out his mother’s identity, Grandpa Stanley had known for decades his father was Hephaestus. When Max questioned why there were multiple demigods in their family, Grandpa Stanley merely shrugged.
“Some fam’lies ‘re favored by the gods,” he’d said.
“That’s a good thing, right?” Max had asked. Grandpa Stanley’s face had darkened.
“It very rarely is.”
Max cast aside the memory when he reached the sunroom. He stood in the doorway, watching Grandpa Stanley comfort Angie. The sunlight that filled the room seemed drawn to her, shining like a spotlight.
“Angie?” Max asked. Angie looked up. Max felt his heart do a backflip. When Angie first went away to camp, they’d been children. Too young for Max’s fondness for her to be much of anything. But now, his affection had surged into infatuation. Angie was the perfect girl: smart, powerful, beautiful, and kind. Any room she walked into grew brighter. Any song played by her was more lovely. Any person she spoke to was the better for having met her, no matter how brief.
It was no wonder she was one of her godly father’s favorite children.
“I’m- I’m sorry,” Angie whispered. She rubbed her eyes. Max walked over to the couch the two were sitting on. He grabbed a nearby wooden chair and sat down. “I- I didn’t know where else to go.” She took a shuddering breath. “I need to call camp, but I can’t- I can’t risk drawin’ more monsters. I know- I know Grandpa Stanley made a- a monster security system, so’s I figured I could use yer phone…”
“Why do ya want to call camp?” Max asked. He had a feeling. It had taken some convincing before Angie agreed to try spending a school year at home, instead of at camp.
“I need- I need to ask Mr. Chiron to send someone to bring me back,” Angie mumbled. Max’s heart sank at the confirmation of his fear. “It was foolish fer me to think I could stay here.”
“What makes ya say that?” Max asked. Angie looked down at the floor.
“I- a monster attacked the orchard this mornin’, while Lute ‘n I were harvestin’ apples.”
“But you got the monster, right?” Max asked. Angie nodded. “So, it’s fine!” Angie burst into tears.
“No, it ain’t!” she wailed. “Lute got hurt! And- and he was so upset, he- he said he weren’t my twin and- and he didn’t want me here!” Max scowled. Lute was his lifelong best friend, but that didn’t mean he could look past something like this. “It’d be safer ‘n- ‘n better fer everyone if I weren’t here.”
“Don’t let this single instance sway ya,” Grandpa Stanley said gently. Angie sobbed. “It’s growin’ pains, that’s all.”
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt ‘cause of me.”
“And they won’t,” Max said. Angie shook her head.
“Lute already did.”
“That’s ‘cause he don’t know how to protect himself,” Max said. “If we teach ‘im and the rest of yer fam’ly some fightin’, that’ll be enough fer ‘em to avoid gettin’ hurt.” He looked at Grandpa Stanley. “Right?”
“It would definitely help,” Grandpa Stanley said. Angie sniffed loudly. “I’m sure Lute didn’t mean what he said. He’s just adjustin’. All y’all are.”
Don’t give him the right to make Angie cry.
“Think about it, Angie,” Max said. “Do ya really want to go back to camp? Spend the rest of the year in a mostly empty cabin?” Not many half-bloods were too powerful to prevent them from staying with their mortal families. There would only be a handful of people still at camp right now. Including the person Max wanted Angie to bond with the least: one of the co-head counselors of the Hermes Cabin, Stan Pines. Angie’s knee bounced anxiously. “Or do ya want to stay here in Gumption, with me ‘n yer fam’ly?”
“I want to stay,” Angie whispered. Max beamed. “But- but I ain’t ready to go home just yet.”
“Take all the time ya need,” Grandpa Stanley said. He got up. “I’ll call yer folks to let ‘em know where ya are.” Angie nodded mutely. Max waited until Grandpa Stanley was gone.
“If ya want me to beat up Lute, let me know,” he said. Angie chuckled weakly.
“He’s yer best friend!”
“Yeah.” Max reached out and rested his hand on Angie’s bouncing knee. It gradually slowed down. Angie met his eyes. Max smiled at her. “But us demigods have to stick together.”
Stan idly chewed some feed as Mr. McGucket mucked out the stall next to his. He was still struggling to hold his human form for more than an hour, so had to stay in the stable instead of the house. But thankfully, the McGuckets treated the inhabitants of the stable like royalty.
Angie walked through the enormous open stable door. Stan eyed her warily. The youngest McGucket child had yet to warm up to him, even after a week of him on the ranch. She ignored him, instead walking up to her father.
"Pa, the farrier is here," she said. Mr. McGucket set aside his shovel.
"Already?"
"He says he wanted to get an early start, since he's shoein' a horse what ain't fully broken. Give him plenty of time fer misbehavior."
"That's fair. I'll go talk to him. Get ready to bring Stan out." Angie nodded. Mr. McGucket walked out of the stable. Stan looked at Angie.
"What's a farrier?" he asked. Angie tilted her head, her expression mildly bemused.
"The feller what puts horseshoes on," she said. Her tone made it clear that she thought everyone knew this already. More than the others, she seemed to forget that Stan didn’t know as much as she did about horses.
Which isn't saying much. Everything I know about horses, I've learned since I turned into one. And that's still not a lot!
"Oh." Stan looked down at his hooves. "And, uh, how does he do that?"
"With nails."
"Nails?!" Stan whinnied. "As in a hammer and nail?"
"Yes."
"And it goes in-"
"-into the hoof, yes," Angie said, nodding. Stan shied away, bumping into the back of his stall.
"Uh, I don't need any."
"It ain't optional, Stan. It's fer yer health. I mean, there's a reason horseshoes have been used fer centuries."
"Nope, I'm good!" Stan neighed. Angie approached his stall, her face now filled with concern, rather than confusion. She leaned on the gate.
"Ya don't need to be so scared," she said softly. Her voice was gentler than Stan had ever heard from her before. "It don't hurt."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, I've got shoes. All of us do." Angie shrugged. "It's just part of our hygiene as folks what turn to horses." She cocked her head, looking at Stan thoughtfully. After a moment, she clicked her tongue. Without thinking, Stan walked to the front of his stall. Angie stroked his face. "Look, ya won't even feel it," she said gently. "I promise." Angie smiled. "In fact, I'll stay with ya, okay? The entire time."
She's got a nice smile. Wish I saw it more. Stan nodded.
"Angie, bring him out!" Mr. McGucket's voice called. Angie raised her voice to shout back.
"Sure thing, Pa!" She slipped a halter onto Stan and clipped a lead on. "If ya don't try to run away, I'll sneak extra molasses into yer feed tonight."
"...Deal."
Angie led Stan out of the stable. A man was standing a short distance from the stable, talking to Mr. McGucket. A small trailer was set up by the man, as well as a small table, on which some scary-looking equipment was lined up. Already, Stan could feel his nerves growing at the sight. Angie, somehow sensing his anxiety, stroked his neck, making shushing sounds.
“Hardtack is a bit nervous,” she said to her father and the farrier. “I figured I’d stay with him. Keep him calm.”
“Perfectly fine with me,” the farrier said. He looked at Mr. McGucket. “That son of yours has a knack fer findin’ diamonds in the rough.” Angie carefully guided Stan, backing him up so that he was near the trailer but facing away from it. “It’s just a shame this feller was found roamin’. He had to have come from a good pedigree.” Stan felt a tap on one of his back legs. As he had been taught by the McGuckets, he held up his hoof. From there, he couldn’t tell what was happening, only that his hoof was being held in place.
“He’s got a free spirit,” Mr. McGucket said. There were some strange noises coming from the farrier. Stan turned his head, only for Angie to move to his side, obscuring his vision. He snorted at her. Angie merely smiled and stroked his face. “I reckon whoever had him was strugglin’ to break him. That’s prob’ly why we ain’t heard ‘bout any stallions with his description goin’ missin’.”
“Ya can still rent out an unbroken stallion fer stud,” the farrier said.
“Ya won’t get as much as ya would if he was broken. Folks tend to prefer horses what came from a sire and dam what could be trained,” Mr. McGucket replied. The farrier chuckled.
“True enough. Miss Angie?”
“Yes?” Angie said, looking over at the farrier.
“How goes breakin’ this feller?”
“What makes ya think I’m breakin’ him?” Angie asked.
“He seems awful fond of ya.”
“Oh, I’m just good with horses, that’s all.”
“Yer whole fam’ly’s got a knack I ain’t never seen ‘fore,” the farrier drawled. “If you ain’t breakin’ him, who is?”
“Lute ‘n Pa ‘re workin’ on him. I’ve been too busy trainin’ fer competition to help.”
That’s a lie. She just doesn’t want anything to do with me. Stan eyed Angie, who was gently holding his face still, keeping him from looking at whatever scary things the farrier was doing. But I guess that’s not completely true, either.
“Ah. How goes the breakin’, then, Mearl?” the farrier asked.
“Quite well, actually. Sure, Hardtack here is spirited, but he clearly wants to learn how to take a rider.”
“Think you’ll run him in competitions?”
“Maybe. Depends on how well he gets along with our other horses, since he acts like a loner at times. We’re a bit worried that he might be better off with a fam’ly what only wants one horse. If that’s the case, we’ll sell him after we break ‘im.”
“Smart. That’ll raise his value.”
“Hopefully we’d be able to get more ‘n what he cost,” Mr. McGucket said with a nod.
That was the current plan. To get Stan used to switching between horse and human forms. Then, once he had it under control, the McGuckets would lie that they sold him because he didn’t fit in with their other horses, so that no one questioned where “Hardtack” went once Stan left town.
But with each day that passed, the plan was sitting heavier and heavier in Stan’s stomach. The McGuckets paid a lot of money to get Stan from the auction, and were spending even more to house and feed him. At night, when he was trying to fall asleep, Stan could hear Filbrick’s voice in the back of his mind.
“You’re still relying on other people to get by. You cost these people thousands of dollars, and you’re just gonna leave the second you can? What kind of man are you?” Stan closed his eyes. They snapped open as he felt the farrier gently lower his hoof.
“One down, three to go,” the farrier said. He tapped Stan’s other back leg. Stan obediently lifted his hoof. “You weren’t wrong, Mearl. This feller wants to behave proper. He wants to do right.” Stan’s head drooped.
Yeah, but it’s never worked out, has it?
-----
The farrier was gone, along with his torture devices. After being brought back to his stall by Angie, Stan waited patiently for her to remove his halter and lead. Once she did, she beamed at him.
“I reckon ya behaved better ‘n any of our actual horses,” she said. Stan stomped his newly shod hooves.
“You were right. I didn’t feel a thing.”
“I knew ya wouldn’t. He’s the best farrier ‘round.” Angie shrugged. “Sure, he costs more ‘n some of the other farriers in the area, but it’s worth it.” The grass Stan had grazed on that morning churned in his stomach.
“Yeah…” he mumbled. Seemingly oblivious to Stan’s shift in mood, Angie leaned forward, her eyes twinkling.
“Turn human.”
“Huh?” Stan asked, taken aback. Angie grinned. It was the same mischievous expression Lute made when he teased Stan.
“Just trust me.”
“…Okay.” Stan closed his eyes and concentrated. His body was overcome by a familiar surge of pain. When it faded, he opened his eyes. He was human.
But who knows how long it’ll last.
“Why’d you want me to turn human?” Stan asked, getting to his feet. Whenever he switched between forms, he collapsed to the ground from the pain. The McGuckets didn’t seem to have that problem, but they had years of experience. Angie’s grin broadened.
“Look at yer hands and feet,” she instructed. Stan looked down. He frowned. His fingernails and toenails looked like they were painted with a dark gray, metallic polish.
“What the hell?” he muttered. Angie giggled. Like her smile, it was nice.
“That’s what happens to the shoes when we’re human,” she said giddily. She held out her hands, splaying her fingers. Her fingernails had the same appearance as Stan’s. “It might look like nail polish, but it ain’t. It’s iron.”
“Why do the horseshoes turn into a weird nail thing?” Stan asked, staring at his fingernails. He gently tapped one. It felt like metal. Angie shrugged.
“A horse’s hoof is basic’ly a big fingernail. That’s why ya can’t feel the shoe bein’ put on.”
“Wait.” Stan frowned at Angie. “Do horses walk on their fingers?” Angie giggled again.
“I prefer to think of it as walkin’ on tip-toes constantly.”
“I had no idea.”
And I was a horse less than a minute ago.
“Yeah, it’s a mite odd.”
“But still, the horseshoes aren’t nail polish, so why do they look like it?”
“Well…” Angie drawled, “Pa suspects it has somethin’ to do with the shoes ‘n nails bein’ made of iron. Iron is a weakness of fae, and our gift comes from a fae. But since we ain’t fae, iron don’t make us sick, it just…acts a bit dif’rent ‘n it might be s’pposed to at times.”
“So, you don’t know,” Stan said flatly. Angie grinned. Stan clenched his hands into fists a few times, enjoying the frustratingly rare sensation. “No one in town questions your whole family having painted nails?”
“We tell folks that there’s a hereditary defect in our fingernails ‘n toenails, so’s they need a protective coatin’ to keep from breakin’,” Angie replied.
“Huh. That’s smart.”
“My grandpappy came up with it. He was gettin’ sick of wearin’ gloves in public all the time.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s not really in style anymore,” Stan mumbled. His leg suddenly spasmed. He fell to the ground. Angie leaned over the gate, looking concerned. But the spasm was just the beginning of Stan returning to horse form. Angie stepped back and turned away, giving Stan privacy as he transformed. When he finished, Stan got to his four feet (or toes) and whinnied. Angie turned back around.
“Eventually, you’ll get the hang of stayin’ human,” she said. Stan sighed.
“I dunno.”
“You’ve only been at this fer a week. It took Lute ‘n I years!” She winced. “Not- not that I’m sayin’ you’ll take years. Lute ‘n I, we just enjoyed bein’ horses a bit much. And we were younger, too. I reckon you’ll figure it out in a couple months at most.” Stan shook his body all over, trying to settle back into being a horse.
“Fingers crossed. Or, hooves crossed, I guess,” Stan muttered. Angie chuckled. At her laugh, Stan couldn’t help but blurt out what had been bothering him since she brought him to the farrier. “Why are you being so nice to me?” Angie cocked her head.
"Hmm?"
"You've been icing me out the entire time I've been here. But you were nice to me about the shoes. And just now, you showed me the thing with the fingernails.” Angie’s lighthearted demeanor evaporated. Her shoulders sagged slightly. She stepped away from Stan’s stall.
"I don't like what ya did to me," Angie said after a moment. Her voice was quiet, but unlike before, it wasn’t because she was trying to keep him calm. She sounded almost mournful. "It was humiliatin', someone grabbin' me and ridin' off on me when I was in horse form. It- it was also awful scary. I didn't know if ya meant to keep me or not." Angie sighed. "But...ya were so nervous earlier, over somethin' I knew ya didn't need to be worried 'bout. I wanted to keep ya calm and show ya somethin’ fun to make the experience less negative.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Stan said. Angie straightened. She glared at him.
“I know that! I just don’t like seein’ our horses distressed, that’s all,” she snapped. “I don’t- this don’t mean I like ya, okay?”
"Maybe I should get distressed more," Stan said, “if it’ll make you be nice to me.” Angie huffed and crossed her arms.
"That just cost ya the extra molasses I promised ya." She stomped away. Stan watched her leave, frustrated and saddened to have their dynamic so quickly fall back to normal.
One of these days I'll learn my lesson and stop poking people. He sighed. But not today.
I was minding my own business at work today, just doing something, idly thinking about my nonsense. And then out of nowhere, like a burst of divine inspiration, an exchange that would take place in my Accidental Abduction AU appeared in my brain. And then I wrote a whole scene so that I could put that interaction in something.
So here's a random, out of the blue Accidental Abduction AU write. It takes place immediately following this one. Enjoy.
——————————————————————————————
Stan followed the girl alien through the spaceship halls. At first, the ship had reminded him of the things on Star Trek. The general shape and construction of the hall and rooms still did, but it wasn’t quite as fancy and clean. The ship looked a bit worn, like it had been used for a long time. There were also intermittent decorations, most of them looking like they were either purchased at a craft fair or made by children at school. Stan slowed to look at a vase that had been tucked away in a corner. He would have expected the vase to house some weird alien plant, but the flowers inside were regular Earth roses.
“My mother loves that kind of flower,” the girl alien said, noticing Stan’s distraction. Stan’s attention quickly snapped back to her. “We do not often go planetside when we are near Earth, but whenever we do, my father insists on procuring some for her. He even found seeds a few trips ago, which has allowed my mother to grow her own. They are not the same, though. Something about our atmosphere or climate makes them grow…different.”
“You guys go to Earth?” Stan asked, walking again. The girl alien began to walk as well. “Like, beam down on the planet?”
“We do go down to Earth, but we land rather than teleport down. My parents are, hmm, hopefully this translates properly. They are…old school. They do not like the teleportation function.”
“Yeah, parents can be sticks in the mud sometimes,” Stan mumbled. He frowned at the very inhuman alien girl. “How the hell do you guys visit Earth without the government capturing you to dissect or whatever?” The alien girl smiled, but this time, to Stan’s relief, hid her needlelike teeth.
“We have our ways of visiting without drawing suspicions.” The hallway suddenly opened into a wide room. A white table, laden with exotic-looking food, was set in the middle of the room, ringed by white stools. Underneath the table was a slick dark red rug and decorations like those in the hallway hung on the walls. An alien with magenta hair like the girl alien and light pink skin was cleaning the kitchen area in the corner. Next to the kitchen area was an entry to another hallway. One of the walls was actually a large window, looking out into the void of space. Stan was tempted to walk over to the window, but before he could, the very first alien that Stan had met on the ship spoke.
“Ah!” said the alien, the father of the family. He was sitting at the table, as was the alien girl’s brother. The alien dad smiled at Stan. “You have finally brought us our guest.”
“He was distracted by the roses.”
“I would imagine he was surprised to see something from Earth on our ship,” said the pink alien cleaning the kitchen. Judging by her voice and general appearance, she was the mom of the family. The alien mom turned around and scowled at her son and daughter. “I am so disappointed in you two for not letting us know early enough to return this poor boy home.” The alien girl and alien boy bowed their heads sheepishly. Stan stood in the entryway awkwardly, uncertain of what to do.
“Please, come sit,” the alien dad said. Stan hesitantly walked over to the table and sat on one of the stools. At first, the seat of the stool was far too low for him, but it automatically adjusted for his height, getting taller until he could reach the table properly.
Makes sense they’ve got their chairs set short. They’re all way taller than me. Stan glanced around, mentally taking stock of the aliens’ heights. The girl and boy were both at least six feet, while the dad was at least seven and the mom was nearing eight. Are women taller than men for this species? The alien dad coughed politely, drawing Stan’s attention.
“When we first met, I was too flustered to ask for your name. Would you mind sharing it with us?”
“Uh, Stan.” When Stan didn’t elaborate, the alien mom prompted him.
“Earth names from your culture tend to consist of a given name and surname. Could you provide us with your full name?” the alien mom asked.
“How do you know about- y’know what, never mind. My full name is Stanley Pines. But call me Stan.”
“Stan,” the alien mom said experimentally. She smiled. “How quaint.”
Dunno if I agree with that assessment, but I’m not gonna argue with the people I have to rely on for the next year. Ugh, I’ve got to depend on these guys for a full fucking year!
“Well, Stan,” the alien dad said, “you will likely be unable to pronounce our names, so we shall have to come up with a workaround for that. Now, however, it is time to eat. We have done our research and made some food that should nourish you well.”
“None of this stuff is gonna poison me?” Stan asked. He suspiciously eyed the item directly in front of him, which looked like a small loaf of bright red bread with blue flecks.
“Correct,” the alien mom said with a nod. “I am familiar with what foods humans can and cannot eat and have removed all items harmful to you from the table.”
“Um. Okay.”
“We will serve you,” the alien boy said quickly. “That way you do not have to worry you are doing something wrong.”
“…Okay,” Stan repeated. He sat silently as the aliens filled a metal plate with the items on the table. When the plate was placed in front of him, he stared at it. Almost everything was a color that made alarm bells go off in his head.
If I saw food on Earth that looked like this, it would either kill me or cost about a thousand bucks. He grimaced. But I don’t really have a choice. Stan picked up the utensil he had been given, which was just a spork, and scooped up the bright orange mashed potatoes with dark red gravy. He hesitantly took a bite. His eyes widened. The “potatoes” tasted like caramelized onions, while the “gravy” had a strong beefy yet cheesy flavor. It combined to form something Stan recognized. This tastes just like French onion soup! What the hell?
The first bite was enough to awaken Stan’s stomach. His hunger now roaring and curiosity about the food piqued, Stan quickly scarfed down everything on his plate. To his delight and confusion, all the food was delicious and most of it tasted like something he’d had on Earth.
“I knew the mashed rom would be a winner,” the alien mom remarked as she watched Stan inhale his food. “It is my mother’s favorite.” Other than that, the alien family left Stan alone during the meal, talking amongst themselves instead of trying to pull Stan into the conversation.
Under most circumstances, I’d be offended. But I’m honestly just relieved. I don’t want to talk to these guys. Stan looked at the alien boy and girl, the closest things he had to peers on the ship. The alien boy noticed and nodded silently at Stan before turning back to his sister. Not right now, at least. I need some space to deal with all this.
Stan finished his first serving, as well as his second and third, before he was satiated. Now that the growling in his stomach had been resolved, a new and urgent need made itself known. Stan crossed his legs and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the alien family.
“Do you need something, Stan?” the alien dad asked.
“Uh, yeah. Where’s your bathroom?” Stan asked. The aliens all cocked their heads curiously.
“Do you need to bathe?” the alien mom asked.
“I mean, eventually, but not right now.”
“Try a different word,” the alien dad suggested. “Often, the translators work literally, and turns of phrase or odd terminology are translated incorrectly.”
“Um. The restroom?” Stan tried. The alien boy frowned.
“You mean your bedroom?” he asked.
“No! I- ugh.” Stan sighed.
I was trying to be polite. I don’t want to put my foot in my mouth like I usually do. But polite clearly isn’t working.
“I need to take a piss,” Stan blurted out. The aliens all blinked.
“Oh!” the alien boy said. “You are asking for the toilet.”
“Yes.”
“I will show you the way.” The boy alien got up from the table. His sister scowled at him. “What?”
“You offered just to get out of cleaning the dishes,” the alien girl said, crossing her arms.
“No, I did not! I-”
“Neither of you are going to get out of any chores,” the alien mom said. “Your father can help Stan.” The alien kids groaned but began to clear the table. The alien dad and Stan both stood.
“Follow me,” the alien dad instructed. Stan followed the alien dad out of the dining area/kitchen and back into the same hall that he had been through before. “Luckily, your room is next to one of the- what did you call it?”
“Um, a bathroom?”
“An interesting name, given the baths are elsewhere,” the alien dad murmured.
“On Earth they’re in the same room.”
“Odd. Regardless, your room is next to one of the…bathrooms on the ship. The room that actually has the baths, however, is past the eating area. Will you need to bathe before going to sleep?”
It’s been a while since I had a bath that wasn’t just baby wipes…
“Uh, yeah.”
“I will send my son to fetch you from your room after he and his sister have completed their chores.” They arrived in front of yet another circular door. Like the previous doors Stan had seen on the ship, the alien dad placed his hand on the door, causing it to light up purple, then blue, then finally descend into the floor. Before Stan could step into the bathroom, the alien dad spoke again. “I must apologize again for the circumstances under which you came into our lives. Rest assured, we will do our best to make you feel comfortable, perhaps even like one of the family.”
“…Sure.”
“If not family, then at least friends,” the alien dad said. Stan nodded.
“That feels more likely.”
“Then that shall be our goal!” the alien dad said jovially. He smiled as warmly as he could with his nightmarish teeth. “I will be leaving an item you can use to entertain yourself in your room. Please let me know if you would prefer something else.”
“…Sounds good,” Stan mumbled. The alien dad walked away. Stan entered the bathroom, the door closing behind him.
After using the toilet – which was thankfully very Earthlike in design – and struggling with the door a bit, Stan left the bathroom. Now that he had figured out the trick to opening the doors, he entered his bedroom without any issue. There was something placed on the desk in front of the massive window. Stan walked over to it and picked it up. His eyes widened. It was a sketchbook. A small box of writing utensils that looked similar to crayons had been set beside the sketchbook.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Stan walked up to the window. He stared out silently for a few moments. Off in the distance, he could make out some asteroids. Stan walked back to the desk. He sat down, picked up one of the weird space crayons, and set the tip to the paper. The lines were jagged at first, as he got used to the alien writing implement. But eventually, a rough sketch of the asteroids formed. Stan sat back with a small smile on his face.
Last Stanuary, I hadn't created the particular AU this prompt takes place in yet. But it's quickly become one of my favorites, so naturally I had to use it! What is it? Why, it's my Accidental Abduction AU, where Stan gets accidentally abducted by aliens shortly after getting kicked out and just sorta decides to stay on the alien planet.
For this prompt, I wasn't just inspired by the main "Connection" one, but also by the sub-prompts of "Father Figure" and "Twins".
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Stan slammed down his hand.
“Read ‘em and weep,” he crowed proudly. The father of the alien family Stan was staying with, whom Stan had nicknamed Merle, looked at the cards Stan had laid on the table.
“What is this one, again?” he asked.
“A full house.”
“Full house…” Merle mumbled to himself as he checked the notes Stan had given him. After discovering that he had a deck of cards in the Stanleymobile, Stan insisted on teaching the alien family how to play card games with him. The alien children were busy with school, so right now he was teaching the alien parents. It was slow going; card games apparently weren’t a thing in their culture. Luckily, the alien parents worked from home, so they had time to sink into learning poker.
But after getting the game ruined multiple times because Merle or his wife had to ask Stan what their hand was, Stan wrote up some notes for them to follow during the game. Merle had been exceedingly proud of it, commenting that Stan was learning how to write in their language much quicker than most.
“Hmm. Yes, I concede,” Merle said, setting his cards down. Stan grinned. “I cannot help but wonder how much of these games you have been making up as we go. You win every single time!” Though Stan was picking up the alien language in its written form, he was struggling to understand it when spoken, so he had to use his translator. The translator worked well, but made the aliens sound formal to the point of robotic.
“Nah, that’s how it was back on Earth, too,” Stan said breezily. Merle chuckled. His wife, whom Stan had given the Earth nickname Sally, walked into the living room. She kissed Merle on the cheek and ruffled Stan’s hair.
“How is your Earth game coming along?” she asked.
“Stan beat me again,” Merle replied. Sally laughed. “We should see if your mother wants to play with him.”
“Oh! That is an excellent idea,” Sally said. She frowned. “I do not know why I did not think of it myself.” Sally gently tapped Stan’s back. “Up, Stan. It is time to make midday meal.”
“I’m getting up, I’m getting up,” Stan grumbled. He got up from his chair, as did Merle. Merle smiled at him. When Stan was first abducted, he’d been terrified by the aliens’ needle-like and very large teeth. Now, however, the sight was normal. “What are we making today, Merle?”
“An exotic delicacy with ingredients that are difficult to find and very expensive,” Merle replied. Stan winced.
“Uh, do you really want me to help cook, then?” he asked. “I’m pretty new to this.” Something that had surprised Stan about the alien culture was that males typically prepared meals. The culture as a whole didn’t seem to have very firm gender roles, which made this lingering one particularly odd to Stan. But as a male, Stan was expected to pitch in with cooking.
“You will want to participate,” Merle said firmly. Stan followed him to the kitchen. “The recipe is on the top shelf,” Merle said, rummaging through cabinets for cookware.
“Great,” Stan muttered. He grabbed his stepstool. Even the shortest of the aliens, like the ones he’d named Lute and Angie, were at least a foot taller than Stan. He’d been given a stepstool after accidentally injuring himself early on trying to get something out of his reach. Stan set the stepstool down and climbed onto it. The recipes were stored in what looked like very thick floppy disks. On the top shelf, there was only one recipe. Stan grabbed the disk and climbed back down. Merle emerged from the cabinets with a skillet and large baking dish. “So, what are we making?” Stan asked again. Merle smiled.
“Why do you not tell me?” he said cheekily. Stan looked down at the recipe disk. He placed it on the counter and pressed a button on the side. Promptly, a hologram flickered to life above the disk. Stan squinted at the writing.
“I think I recognize the word parthok.” Parthok were the fluffy sheep-like creatures that the alien family had been tending to when they were in Earth’s solar system and accidentally abducted Stan. It had been explained to Stan that parthok migrated but would get lost on their way home if they didn’t have help.
“Yes, parthok is part of the recipe.”
“And…” Stan squinted further. “Does that say ‘covered stew’?”
“Correct!” Merle frowned at Stan. “Why have you made your eyes smaller?”
“Sometimes this hologram stuff is tough to read.”
“Hmm. Perhaps we should take you to the physician,” Merle said. “Poor eyesight is, as I understand it, common in humans.”
“Pfft, like there’s anyone on this planet who can be a human doctor,” Stan scoffed. Merle smiled. “…Is there?”
“Darling!” Merle called. Sally poked her head in the kitchen. “Please call the physician your mother recommended. Stan should get his eyes examined.”
“Honestly, he should have a full examination,” Sally said. “We should have called the physician the moment we arrived, rather than blindly trusting Stan to tell us if he was injured or ill.”
“I’ve told you the truth!” Stan protested. “…Mostly.” Merle chortled and thumped Stan on the back.
“Of course you have kept some from us! You act like the juvenile you are, Stan.”
“The physician will also be able to give us some more guidance in human care,” Sally said. “My mother has been very helpful, but after so long, she has forgotten much.” Sally’s gaze landed on the recipe on the counter. Her eyes widened. “Are you making my mother’s parthok covered stew recipe?” she asked.
“Yes. I felt that it might drag Stan out of his somber mood somewhat. He has been so glum lately, with the children at the educational facility and the weather so poor.”
“He’s also right here,” Stan muttered, crossing his arms. “What makes this parthok covered stew so good, anyways?” Sally and Merle exchanged a look.
“Well, the first thing would be that it has a different name,” Sally said. Stan frowned, confused. “My mother translated it as best she could, but the original name is…” Sally furrowed her brow in concentration. “Shepherd’s pie.” Stan’s eyes widened.
“That’s- that’s an Earth recipe,” he said. Sally nodded. “Why does your mom have an Earth recipe?”
“Because Earth is her home planet,” Sally said softly. Stan’s jaw dropped. “I am…half-human.”
“No way,” Stan breathed. “That one guy said that people on this planet haven’t accidentally abducted humans before me, though!”
“My mother was a purposeful abduction. She was collected from Earth to be sold. Much like those scoundrels who attempted to take you at the market.”
“Holy shit,” Stan whispered.
“By the time my mother was rescued, she opted to stay on this planet. She had been entrenched in our culture so long that she felt she would do poorly on Earth. Not to mention, she greatly appreciated that the female inhabitants of this planet had more freedoms than the females of Earth.”
“Yeah, that checks out,” Stan muttered, thinking about the arguments his father had with his mother. He cleared his throat. “Now it makes sense why you keep talking about your mom when something human comes up.” He could still remember the aliens panicking when he caught an illness normally mild in their species. When his symptoms took a turn for the worse, Angie and Lute mentioned that their mother was calling their grandmother practically every hour for advice.
Back then, I thought it was just ‘cause grandmas know what to do when someone gets sick. But Sally’s mom must’ve gotten that illness and had it hit her hard, too.
“Yes, well…” Sally shook a finger at Stan playfully. “Do not try to distract me from setting up an appointment with the physician any longer. I know how juveniles will do all they can to avoid seeing the physician.” She disappeared back into the living room. Stan looked at Merle.
“There’s really a doctor on this planet that knows how to take care of humans?” he asked. Merle nodded.
“There are very few humans on this planet, but on some planets, they are far more common. The physician we will take you to has had training on other planets. He even has experience tending to hybrids.”
“Huh. I guess that’s kinda cool?” Stan said after a moment.
“Before our children were born, Sally and I got into contact with this physician,” Merle said. He opened the cooler-like box that perishable goods were stored in. As Merle handed Stan various ingredients, Stan set them on the counter. “After all, our children would be hybrids, and we wanted to be prepared for any problems caused by that.” Merle closed the cooler’s lid. Stan set down the last ingredient he’d been handed, a package of parthok meat.
“Your kids are hybrids?”
“Yes. They are a quarter-human.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Luckily, the children had no problems caused by their hybrid nature.” Merle grabbed a knife from a drawer and rapped the counter twice. The counter hardened to become like a cutting board. “Please rinse the vegetables.”
“Yep.” Stan brought the vegetables over to the sink and began to wash them off.
“In fact, strangers do not typically notice the children are hybrids,” Merle continued. “With the exception of Angie and Lute, of course. Their human heritage shows in their stature.” Merle chuckled softly. “I feel confident saying that the only individuals on this planet shorter than them are more human than they are.”
“Sally’s pretty tall.”
“She gets that from her father,” Merle replied. Stan brought the vegetables back to Merle. Merle had set aside a knife for him to use as well. Stan grabbed a rom, his favorite vegetable on the alien planet. It looked like a bright red potato but tasted like caramelized onions. He began to peel it.
“Kinda stinks Angie and Lute didn’t get any of that height.”
“I think my genetics are to blame in that regard,” Merle said. He was an eighth child, and the shortest of them all. Stan met Merle’s very tall family at a holiday gathering a few weeks ago, where he had been the center of attention. Every one of Merle’s relatives had been fascinated by the human in their midst. “I was just glad that all the children had twins.”
“Why?” Stan asked. He set aside the rom peel and pressed the counter. A hole opened up underneath the rom peel, allowing it to fall into the trash. Stan started dicing the rom.
“You have not been told, have you?” Merle said. Stan looked at him.
“Told what?”
“My species never has one offspring at a time. It is always at least two. Sometimes it is more than two, but never less.” Merle sighed. He brushed aside the scraps from his own vegetable. “Poor Sally. Because her mother was human, she was not guaranteed a twin. And she did not get one. Her other siblings did. But not her.”
“…Oh.”
“We were so worried our children would suffer the same fate. Sally was distraught at the idea. To grow up the only one on the entire planet without a twin? It was…traumatizing to her. Much of our culture is based around the fact we are with someone from the moment we are born. She was shut out of so many things. But thankfully, our children never had to experience such a horror.” Merle looked at Stan. “Though now it seems those fears about taking care of someone without a twin have come to pass.”
“I mean…” Stan mumbled. He looked down at the partially chopped rom. “I’ve got a twin. On Earth.”
“Really?!” Merle gasped. Stan nodded. “You seem fine separated from them, but that makes no sense.”
“It’s- it’s complicated. I don’t wanna get into it.”
“Twins have a sacred bond.”
“Yeah, well, my twin sorta screwed up that bond,” Stan snapped. “After what he did, I might as well not have a twin. Hell, as far as I’m concerned, I don’t.” A silence fell. Just as it was stretching long enough to feel awkward, Merle spoke.
“This family is truly the best place for you.”
“‘Cause you guys know about humans,” Stan muttered. He finished dicing the rom.
“Yes, but it is more than that,” Merle said slowly. Stan looked at him. “We are not the most, how should I phrase it? Average family. Angie and Lute are short. My son you have yet to meet, he is the first of our species to ever live on Earth full-time. My other children similarly defy what is typical. Even my wife does so, as she has no twin.” Merle smiled at Stan. “And neither do you.” Merle handed Stan another vegetable to chop. Stan placed it on the counter. He blinked in surprise when he got a closer look at it.
“Where’d you find carrots?” he asked.
“I told you that this recipe has strange ingredients.”
“Carrots aren’t strange.”
“On Earth, no.” Merle tweaked Stan’s nose. “But remember, Stanley, you are not on Earth anymore.”
Like promised, here's the second part to the Shining Armor AU thing I posted yesterday. Left y'all on a cliffhanger a bit, but don't worry, it gets resolved. Using a plot point I haven't mentioned yet on here...
Happy 2023!
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Mr. McGucket leaned back in his chair. He and his wife had been silent for the most part during the story, but as Stan and Angie explained how they just wanted to be together, Mrs. McGucket began to shift in her seat.
“…and that’s it,” Angie finished.
“Sally, I think you know what we need,” Mr. McGucket said softly. Mrs. McGucket nodded and stood. She left the kitchen. Mr. McGucket raised an eyebrow at Stan and Angie. “The two of ya have been married fer over a year now. Why the sudden rush to want yer relationship to become recognized by the king?”
“Well, I got betrothed to a noblewoman-” Stan started.
“Don’t insult me, please, son. Even here in Gumption, we heard ‘bout how Prince Stanley’s engagement to Lady Carla was broke off fer undisclosed reasons.” Mr. McGucket clasped his hands politely. “I’m just curious as to whether a certain kind of congratulations are in order.” Angie smiled weakly.
“They might be,” she said softly. Mr. McGucket beamed.
“I’m awful glad to hear that. And don’t worry, Junebug, yer ma ‘n pa have it handled.”
“How?” Stan asked. As if on cue, Mrs. McGucket returned, holding a small box. She sat it on the table. Stan leaned in to inspect it. The box was made of wood and intricately carved. Some of the symbols along the sides of the box looked familiar to Stan, though he couldn’t put his finger on where they came from. Mrs. McGucket opened the box and removed what was inside: a golden tiara with glittering sapphires the same color as her eyes.
Stan’s jaw dropped.
“Ma, why’d ya get yer crown?” Angie asked, perplexed. “I remember that from when I was small. It’s just a dress-up thing.”
“No, it’s not,” Stan croaked. Mrs. McGucket placed the tiara on the table. Stan continued to stare at it, taking in the fine detailing of flowers and birds. He had never been very skilled at history, but this tiara was tied to one of the few things that he had found interesting from his tutor. “It’s the crown of the missing princess of Lirone.”
“What?”
“I learned about this in my history lessons. Decades ago, the crown princess of Lirone vanished, presumed dead. She had been behaving a bit oddly before then, but no one could tie that behavior to her going missing. She went into the forest and never returned. When she went missing, she was wearing her crown, which had sapphires, birds, and flowers.” Stan waved a hand. “Something about symbolizing water, animals, and plants. That was when my lesson started getting boring again, so I stopped paying attention.” Stan frowned at Mrs. McGucket. “How come you have it?”
“Well, it is mine,” Mrs. McGucket said softly. Stan blinked. “Do you recall the name of the missing princess?”
“Sally,” Stan replied. Mrs. McGucket nodded regally. “No way. There’s no way you’re the missing princess!”
“Sally and I met one day when she snuck out to walk amongst the commonfolk,” Mr. McGucket said. He smiled, his eyes misty with memory. “I thought she was the prettiest person I ever did see. And fer some reason, she was interested in speakin’ with this poor peasant boy. We managed to continue to see each other and we fell in love.”
“That was the odd behavior you learned about in your history lessons,” Mrs. McGucket said. “I had to get creative to find ways to meet up with Mearl.” At some point, her thick accent similar to her husband and daughter’s had disappeared. Now, every word she said was crisp and carefully pronounced.
Just like Ford. No. Just like a royal heir.
“But I knew that this would not last forever,” Mrs. McGucket continued. “So I decided to fake my death to be with the one I loved.”
“That’s what I suggested!” Stan burst out. Angie gently placed a hand over his.
“Darlin’, please, quiet down,” she said softly.
“Did it allow me to live my life in peace with my true love?” Mrs. McGucket said to Stan. “Yes. But was it the right move? Honestly, I don’t know. I feel like there may have been a way for me to stay with Mearl but also not make my friends and family grieve my apparent death. And I know for certain that I can resolve the problem you two face without Stan faking his death.”
“Does it have something to do with Angie apparently having royal blood?” Stan asked. Mrs. McGucket smiled.
“It might. Now, if you’ll excuse me. My husband and I will accompany you back to the castle, but I’ll need to prepare for the journey. Mearl, please show the happy couple where they will be staying, maybe give them some pocket money to go to the shops.”
“Of course, dear,” Mr. McGucket said, kissing Mrs. McGucket on the cheek. Mrs. McGucket placed the crown back in its box and left. Mr. McGucket stood. “Come with me.” Stan and Angie stood as well. They followed Mr. McGucket through the house, to a small but well-kept guest room. “You two can stay here. If you were only betrothed or courtin’, o’ course, ya wouldn’t be allowed to sleep in the same room. But since yer married with a lil one on the way…”
“Pa, please, not too loud. I can’t let anyone know ‘bout, y’know. Not yet,” Angie said nervously. Mr. McGucket kissed her forehead.
“Sorry, honey. As I was sayin’, since yer wed, you can sleep in the same bed. I’ll be back in a mo’ with some pocket money like yer ma suggested.”
“We have our own coin,” Angie said. “Stan’s a prince.”
“Not in this house, he ain’t. He’s just my son-in-law.” Mr. McGucket looked Stan in the eyes. “My son-in-law who should’ve asked fer my blessin’ ‘fore marryin’ my daughter.”
“Pa!”
“But I’ll let it slide this time, due to circumstances.” Mr. McGucket exited the room. Stan sat down on the guest bed.
“So, that went way better than I expected,” he said.
“Better than I could have dreamed,” Angie said. She shook her head. “I just can’t believe that the crown m’ sister ‘n I used to play with was actually part of the royal jewels of a neighborin’ kingdom.”
“I can,” Stan said. Angie raised an eyebrow at him. “I mean, you’ve always been pretty as a princess.” Angie smiled. She walked over to Stan and kissed him.
“Even when I was a knight, killin’ people and sweatin’ in my armor?” she asked. Stan snorted.
“You kidding? Especially then.”
-----
Stan bowed before the thrones of the king and queen. Angie knelt on the ground beside him, shaking.
“I’ve never been so offended,” rumbled King Filbrick. “My finest knight, a woman? And my own son didn’t just know, he was complicit in continuing the deception!”
“Father-” tried Ford, who was standing at Filbrick’s side.
“Silence.”
“Yes, sir,” Ford mumbled.
“Then, to make matters worse, my son broke off an important engagement to a noblewoman so that he could pursue his knight! And marry her!” Filbrick continued. Angie’s shaking worsened. All Stan wanted to do was embrace her, but he knew that if he moved to comfort her, it would only enrage his father more.
Where the hell are Angie’s parents?! Though they had traveled back to the castle together, Mr. and Mrs. McGucket parted ways with Stan and Angie to complete preparations for the plan they still hadn’t fully clued Stan and Angie in on.
“Count yourself lucky you are my only spare heir, Stanley,” Filbrick said. “Otherwise, you would be banished.”
“And what of the knight?” asked Queen Caryn.
“Beheaded, obviously,” Filbrick said, sounding almost bored. Angie collapsed. Bile rose in Stan’s throat.
Dammit! He and Angie had discussed their backup plan, should Angie’s parents be late. They had hoped to avoid using it, but there was no choice now. I have to do something before they drag Angie off in chains. Already, Stan could see movement from guards in his peripheral vision. He straightened and looked Filbrick in the eyes.
“Father, you can’t!” he cried out. Filbrick clenched the arms of his throne.
“And why not?” he growled.
“Because Angie carries within her the one third in line for the crown,” Stan said. Gasps sounded around the royal court. Even Ford’s eyes widened in shock. Filbrick’s face paled, then reddened. He stood.
“A peasant woman is pregnant with my grandchild?” he asked dangerously. Before Stan could say anything, the large doors opened. Stan turned. Mrs. McGucket strode across the room. Her tiara sparkled on her carefully coiffed hair. She wore her finest dress, which, being the wife of a farmer, was not fine at all. But with her demeanor, she elevated it, to the extent that she didn’t seem commonfolk. She looked the royal she truly was. Stan bowed to her as she passed.
“Banjolina Quinn McGucket is no peasant,” Mrs. McGucket said as she stood before the king, queen, and crown prince. “For she is mine, and I am-”
“Sally!” Caryn sobbed.
“Caryn?” Mrs. McGucket asked, blindsided. Caryn jumped up from her throne and rushed to Mrs. McGucket, embracing her tightly.
“I thought you dead!”
“I know, and I am sorry,” Mrs. McGucket said softly. “It was the only way I could think of to be with the one I loved.” She gestured at the back of the room, where Mr. McGucket stood. Mr. McGucket bowed, but didn’t approach. “You should thank my daughter, as she was the one who insisted your son not do the same as I did.”
“What?” Caryn whispered. She turned to Stan. “Stanley, you planned to fake your death to be with your knight?” Stan nodded. Caryn covered her mouth.
“Caryn, what is this all about?” Filbrick demanded. While his parents were distracted, Stan helped Angie to her feet. Caryn looked at her husband.
“Filbrick, I would know this woman anywhere. We were the closest of friends in our youth. She is Sally of the House of Turner, the missing Crown Princess of Lirone.” Mrs. McGucket curtsied elegantly.
“I bring the crown I wore the day I disappeared myself as proof.” She smiled at Caryn. “Though I see now it was not necessary.”
“Lady Knight!” Filbrick barked. Angie snapped to attention. “You are this woman’s child?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Angie replied, bowing. “Her youngest.”
“Then you are no peasant.”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“…I see.” Filbrick sat back down on his throne. “You are to be relieved of your duties as knight.” Angie bowed her head. “As a gesture of goodwill, however, I will not strip you of your knighthood.” Angie’s head shot up in shock. “We have been on poor terms with Lirone for decades. If this union will allow us to finally set up trade routes with our neighbor to the south, I will gladly do all I can to speed it forward.”
“We’re married,” Stan pointed out. “The union’s happened already.”
“Have you no sense of propriety, son?” Filbrick asked. “While the secret marriage will allow your child to be born in wedlock, it will not suffice in the slightest for a royal affair. We must begin arrangements and send word to Lirone immediately.”
“What of Angie’s twin brother?” Ford asked. Filbrick looked at him like he’d forgotten Ford was there. “Is Sir Lute to be removed of his duties as knight, now that he is a prince?”
“He may continue to be a knight here if he wishes and the Lironian royal court allows it,” Filbrick said dismissively. He stood. “Caryn, come with me.” Caryn gave Mrs. McGucket one last hug before joining the king. “Stanford, Stanley, tend to our guests’ lodgings. And speak with our head of staff as to new accommodations for Stanley and his wife. Their current rooms are insufficient for a wed prince and princess.”
“Yes, sir,” Ford and Stan said, bowing. Filbrick and Caryn left the room. Ford, Lute, and the McGucket parents joined Stan and Angie.
“When were ya plannin’ on tellin’ us we were royal?” Lute asked his parents.
“Honestly, never,” Mrs. McGucket said. “We worried it would only complicate matters. But I suppose we found the one situation in which it solved more problems than it caused.”
“Yes, indeed,” Ford said. He took off his glasses, polished them with his shirt, and then put them back on. “Stan, Angie, how long have you known about the child?”
“A few months,” Angie mumbled.
“And ya didn’t think to tell us?” Lute yelped. Ford put a hand on his knight’s shoulder.
“Lute, I’d imagine they opted to stay quiet until they knew they would keep the child,” he said solemnly. Angie and Stan nodded. Lute paled.
“Oh. I see.” Lute cleared his throat. “Well. The king was correct. My parents will need someplace to stay. Should I take ‘em to the red guest suite?”
“I believe that will suit them, yes,” Ford said. “Meanwhile, I will take the happily wedded couple to speak with the head of staff so they may finally live together as husband and wife.” Stan intertwined his fingers with Angie’s.
“And it’s about damn time,” he rumbled. Angie leaned her head against his shoulder.
