Old Ford x Mullet Stan
Setting: Stanley turns on the portal a few days after Stanford went through, time went by faster on the other side.
This is the second chapter, the first isn't that important??? I'll post it on AO3 (once they let me in).
Hope this is ok? First time writing Stancest
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No time had passed at all.
Well, that is not completely correct. Some time had passed but it was nothing in comparison to the thirty years Stanford had spent through the multiverse.
He had aged, held onto the ire just like he led onto the feeling of betrayal the previous years. It was for the best that he was stuck here now but he still couldn’t help but feel the familiar frustration towards his brother who had not only pushed him in but abandoned him to the multiverse.
Except…that hadn’t been it at all.
Growing up, Stanford Pines had been frustrated by his twin brother multiple times. His stupid jokes that always made him laugh, the bright smile that made his heart soar, the way his body was appealing to him when it shouldn’t have been…
The clinginess, the betrayal and the lack of communication, the lies, the no contact and the not listening…
Granted, now he had a few years to think about the way Stanley’s face had brightened up before it crumbled as he was handed the journal. Stanford doesn’t remember his exact words but he knew they hadn’t been… the best. Still, Stanley should have just taken the journal! None of this would have happened if he did!
Stanley.
The last time he had seen his twin, he hadn’t really paid attention but now…
Stanley looked rough. He was pudgier, boxer-build with fat muscles, stained clothes and a mullet. A mullet. He had a scruff going and tired eyebags, pale skin that looked nothing akin to the freckled tan Stanford (drooled) envied over, he always got sunburnt and it just wasn’t fair.
Stanley had looked so…unStan-like. Desperate and pathetic, near tears as and full of guilt as he hugged Stanford. All emotions for the world to see, all negative emotions that Stanford had never seen that is. Overall he looked…weak.
Stanley wasn’t weak. Stanley’s personality took over rooms, his voice was loud and unashamed, he never apologised and his smile was bright and toothy. This Stanley was nothing like that…Maybe Stanford was in an alternative universe afterall…
“Eugh” he recoiled at the thought of the man he had seen. Nothing like his Stanley. How was he supposed to be angry and bitter with him when he looked like a kicked puppy whenever he looked over? Pathetic.
A knock brought Stanford out of his musings and he quickly glanced towards the door, hand at his hip to grab his trusty gun until he noticed the mullet-head peek in.
“What?” he sighed, annoyance seeping though.
“I thought you might be hungry” Stanley entered, setting a plate of food before him, it could hardly be called a meal “we don’t- there wasn’t a lot of food, I’ll have to head to town to get more” he tapped his fingertips together the same way he always had which unfortunately was adorable. Eugh.
“Yes. You may go”
“Wow. No thank you?”
“For this? It hardly calls for gratitude” Stanford gestured to the sad thing on his plate, relishing in the scowl that took over his brother’s features.
“I should’ve let you starve” he gritted out, walking to his bed with angry little stomps.
Stanley was in clean clothes now, Stanford’s to be specific. His old ones were in the wash all thanks to Stanford, had he not thrown in that sad dirty pile of laundry (in that same duffle bag) his brother was sure to be wearing those disgusting clothes.
The clothes didn’t really fit Stanley the way they should, awkwardly too long and tight in certain areas. Stanford looked him over, trying to determine what his size was, it was tight on his back and arms, his big arms stretching the fabric, but the sleeves went over his hands which implied Stanley was smaller than Stanford had been (huh, who knew?), his pajama pants were tight on Stanley’s thighs and ass, Stanford may have stared a bit longer than necessarily.
“That’s my bed” he said just as soon as Stanley had laid over the blankets.
“Are you going to sleep now?” Stanley actually froze, entertainingly enough.
“No. It’s still my bed” he crossed his arms, watching his brother’s scowl return tenfold and fighting back a smirk.
“UGH!” He stood suddenly, doing the same adorable stomps out the door “you can be a real ass, you know?!”
“Funny you say that” Stanford watched Stanley’s buttocks out the door. Fatass.
_____________________________________________________________________
Bringing the portal apart is a breeze. It should be…but Stanford still has to fight the foolish feelings he had the days he built it that still lingered.
Shockingly enough Stanley helped. Not that Stanford wanted him to but-
“I’m good at breaking your stuff, remember?” and well…it didn’t hurt to force his brother to exercise while helping.
Stanford sat at his desk, overlooking the machine as he planned their next move, which parts that needed to come apart safely next. A mountain of metal laid on one side, Stanley carrying the heavy pieces of metal towards the pile-
“Not that one” Stanford called, watching his brother sweat and his biceps strain with the heavy equipment he carried over his shoulder.
“Huh?” his brother breathed, exhausted, pale skin tinted and glossy.
“That’s in the other pile” Stanford pointed behind him where all the metal he gathered from the spaceship crash was.
With a childish groan, Stanley readjusted his grip and marched towards said pile, Stanford’s eyes followed. He took in the veins that popped, trembling of muscles as he carefully set down the object and that fat ass. He nodded his approval and returned to work…
It was a slow day, Stanley kept distracting him.
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The multiverse was an accepting place. The 80s were not. Mostly.
The dry laundry was hung on some line across one of the rooms. Stanford would have not noticed if he hadn’t gone up, which he never does, but Stanley hadn’t come with his daily meal so he had to make do by himself (no wonder Stanley had given him that sad excuse of food, what were these options? How had Stanley survived on these?).
It glistened when clothes shouldn’t glisten and so it had piqued Stanford’s curiosity.
On the clean laundry line was a body suit, black and leathery with hints of red and ribbons. It was not Stanford’s which only left one other variable…
“Probably from a past lover” he hissed but then took a proper look at it. It was Staley’s exact size.
Stanford stared at it, the cut was high and probably revealed the bone structure of the pelvis well but most likely strangled what was between. The chest was revealing and very feminine like but considering how his brother had gained weight it would probably fit him.
Hm…
Stanford took the bodysuit off the line, curious. His brain, logically, attempted to conjure an image of his brother in it. Against his will, of course, it is the same as being told not to imagine a polar bear and immediately doing so.
It would hug his body, his curves, leave his arms and sturdy legs out, hairy chest maybe a bit pressed together and…
With a quick shake of his head, Stanford ignored the heat that crawled its way into his cheeks and proceeded to hide the suit in his room. He wanted to know why Stanley had this, of course, but he couldn’t help but think of something better…
Stanley had been out. The door rattled as he closed it and returned with groceries, Stanford pointedly did not comment on the items he pulled off his jacket as he stood against the door frame and bided his time.
It had been exactly one hour and twenty six minutes before Stanley began rummaging through the house, biting his lip and trying to act casual as he nervously looked around. Stanford made sure to drink his coffee upstairs just to watch.
Then, another thirty or so minutes before Stanley finally came to him.
“Sixer”
“Hm?” Stanford looked up from his notes he had been pretending to read, feigning nonchalance as he looked up to his brother.
“Where- have you seen- have you been to the laundry room?” his little brother (because that’s what he was now, wasn’t it?) tapped his hands together.
“Laundry room?” He lift a brow “I don’t recall having one”
“Where I hung the clothes” his brother groaned and rolled his eyes “I can’t find…one of my clothes”
“That’s strange” Stanford knew all too well he sounded as though he knew something right that moment as Stanley quickly snapped to attention, eyes wide “I haven’t been but… maybe I can help you find it. What did it look like?” he asked innocently, watching color flood his twin’s cheeks.
Stanley pursed his lips, hands fists by his side. He would either have to admit to Ford what sort of clothes he owned and why or just never find his little coquettish suit.
Seems he decided on the latter, leaving with his usual stomps and grumbles, ears a bright red they looked like cherries ready for harvest.
Stanford licked his dry lips, waiting for nightfall to leave the bodysuit by where Stanley slept. He considered hiding all the other clothes but the suit next time.
_______________________________________________
Nothing was working. Stanley was still the clammy pale ghost of the boy Stanford once knew. Sure, he was more…emotive but he still lacked…something. Stanford wasn’t sure.
Using one of the magnetic guns, Stanford moved the pieces of metal down, ignoring his brother’s whines about how he could have used them. Fool, how else would Stanford get to watch his muscles. Get back to health. Healthy muscles, Stanford needed to monitor the health of them.
“Silence, little brother”
“Little-?!”
“I am thinking, hush” Stanford furrowed his brows in annoyance, as Stanley almost argued with him. He will call him as he pleases, thank you very much.
Stanley was carrying something smaller than the previous day and yet his face was red and he was breathing haggardly as though he had just ran a marathon. Something wasn’t adding up…
“Tired already?” he teased him, watching to see if that set his lazy brother back to work.
It did not. Stanley grumbled weakly but kept the same pace.
Something uncomfortable settled deep in Stanford’s gut, he didn’t know what but just knew Stanley was the cause of it. Shocker. It made the frustration return as always, of course Stanley had to find ways to slow down his work, does he not see how drastic the situation is?
A clatter jostled him out of his thoughts. Stanley dropped the metal.
“Idiot! Do you know how valuable this type of metal is?” he hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Sorry” a slur and then a thud.
Snapping his head up, Stanford took in his brother on the floor and quickly rushed over. The uncomfortable feeling doubled and his heart hammered in his chest, he felt, all of the sudden, younger than he was as he knelt beside his brother.
“Stanley! Stanley! What’s wrong?!” he asked frantically, cradling his brother’s sweaty head and laying it on his lap. It was warm.
Quickly, Stanford placed his hand against Stanley’s forehead, feeling the heat from it before he even touched it.
“You’re sick…” he muttered in disbelief, watching Stanley’s long lashes flutter to open his eyes “You idiot! Why didn’t you say anything?!”
“Ford?”
Great, he is incoherent. Stanford sighed, brushing a strand of hair out of his brother’s face. Stanley looked awfully small, that’s not how he was supposed to be…
“I dunfeel soguud”
“I know” Stanford sighed, something abnormally soft and young in his own tone “come on, let’s get you to bed, Ley”
“Mhh”
Carefully, Stanford helped his brother up, watching with concern as his head lolled back and forth, how in the world had he not noticed his state was beyond him. Eventually, though, it was clear they were getting nowhere with Stanley’s noodly limbs and he supposes it’s time to show how much he has grown in the multiverse.
Look how the tides have changed, it is Stanley that needs him and not Stanford him.
With a deep breath, Stanford picked his brother up, a small prideful smile making its way to his face as he succeeded. It was, however, short lived as his baby brother let out a scream so similar to the ones who haunted his nightmares that Stanford nearly dropped him right then.
“What?! What?!” he asked frantically and finally was able to connect the uncomfortable feeling in his gut with worry as panic set over.
“Shoulder- shoulder-” Stanley said between breaths, eyes wide and unfocused.
Quick as he could, Stanford moved his hand off the abnormally warm shoulder, watching with horror as his brother’s body went limp in his hold.
Heart hammering in his chest, Stanford doesn’t really remember the climb back up to his room. He hears himself talk, hears the quiet reassurances to his brother, soft and tender as he sets his brother down and feels his heart break at the whine his brave Stanley lets out.
Everything feels like a blur as he fight to get the clothes off his twin, trying his best to cool down his temperature until-
Bright and angry red, bubbling and sick green. A burnt mark he knew too well…
“You idiot..” he whispered, sliding a shaky hand over the spine of his brother, too afraid to go anywhere near “it’s infected.”