My Signature Dish: Grieving Stanford with a side serving of Supporting Soos.
Small angsty bonus for the Best Happy Fic Ever (lol no. The Other Side POV to The Shrimp - Choice 3)
Masterpost
Upd: forgot to add. Shanklin, I think I borrowed this whole summoning idea from your idea of Child House Build in Stan's memory.
Stanford glanced at the direction of the Shack and sighed.
Even if the building itself was hidden between all the trees and everything, he still heard it.
Whispers of voices, soft and sad tunes still playing…
He hated it. He hated that day. Now and every year before it.
“Stan Memory Day”? What an insult!
Stan deserved more than that! He deserved more than one day where everyone was sitting and crying and remembering that lively kid that was once running through streets for one summer only…
Right, maybe Stanford wasn't fair. That applied only to people who only knew him for that brief summer.
The rest… For their family it wasn't only for one day. It was for every day passed since getting the news and for every day until…
Stanford sighed. He hated being melodramatic but on this day he just couldn't help it.
If Mom and Grauntie Mabel were allowed to cry without stopping, then he too was excused with being too dramatic.
After all, Stan was his twin, no one knew him like Stanford and nobody loved him like Stanford. Even Mom… Although that too wasn't probably fair…
Stanford shook his head and continued with his task.
It should be perfect this time! This time he would account for all of his previous mistakes! And he upgraded the summoning spell itself! So no matter how much Stan didn't want to speak to him, no matter the interference - his ghost would be drawn to this circle!
And then…
Stanford didn’t hold too tight on his hopes, but he also found a binding spell. As long as he could find Stan’s spirit, he could use anything as a vessel! He already asked Fiddleford and the latter confirmed that building a human automaton was possible. Or if Stan wouldn't like this option, Stanford would think of something else! Pity that the original body was in ashes, but he could work with it!
As long as Stan’s spirit was still somewhere there…
Stanford hissed. Stupid Grunkle Dipper, he would be regretting giving up last year! Stanford would succeed! Stanford would prove that Stanley was still somewhere!
Stanley couldn't be gone, he couldn't vanish… He couldn't go and cease to exist leaving his twin behind!
Not when they didn't see each other for years before that! Not when their last call…!
No! Stanford refused to believe in it!
He just needed to do everything perfectly and then he could see Stanley once more, he could talk and ask him… And he could bring him back!
After drawing the last symbol on the ground, Stanford stood up and critically looked all over his work. He already had to start over twice, but this one he didn't need too.
The circle was perfect.
Step one complete.
Stanford went to his backpack and grabbed some candles, starting to place them in the previously dug out holes. And then lit them all with some matches. Ignoring how his hands were shaking and how the first seven matches refused to be lit.
Step two complete.
Stanford took his Journal from the inside of his coat and flipped to the needed page.
He practiced pronunciation for days and nights.
He remembered every word and pauses needed.
And he chanted the spell as flawlessly as he could.
He felt the spell working and starting its search and the wind picking up and shivers going down his spine
And then the lights went out.
Stanford held his breath and listened.
Aside from faraway sounds from the direction of the Shack there was nothing.
“Stanley?” he whispered, but his heart already knew the answer.
No spirit came.
He frowned and lit the candles once again and forced his voice to chant the spell once again.
And again.
And again…
No spirit came.
And when the box of matches suddenly became empty, Stanford threw it in some tree and slumped down on the ground.
He did everything right! He checked everything more times than Fiddleford with his blueprints!
It should've work!
The only reason it couldn't work was if the spirit was no longer exciting…
“No”, Stanford whispered, feeling the tears coming up. “No, no, no, he couldn't leave me!”
Oh, and he once wished Stanley to stop being clingy and suffocating! To stop following him and find something for himself!
And now… his spirit moved on.
The books all said that it meant that the ghost found peace and didn't regret anything.
It meant Stanley didn't regret anything. It meant Stanley died and made peace with it.
It meant that Stanley decided not to wait for Stanford to join him.
And he called Stan selfish and narcissistic and shallow! And he hoped feared that Stanley would become so angry that he'll come back as a ghost with category no less than 3rd.
Yet Stanley moved on.
And Stanford couldn't reach him.
Not now, not tomorrow, not on the next year “Stan Memory Day”.
When did it happen? Has Stanford even had a chance for the spell to work if he came up with it last year? Two years ago?
How late was Stanford?
He would never know, wouldn't he?
He lost his twin. And he wouldn't even be sure he did everything he could to save him at least after death…
Usually Stanford was ashamed to allow himself to cry. Tears were unproductive. They only hindered the way of rational behaviour.
But not today.
Today he didn't want to be rational.
He wanted to cry and scream and rage.
He wanted to shout curses and apologies and pleas… But it stopped to matter.
Stanley wouldn't hear it.
And so Stanford just hunched on himself and hugged his knees and wailed.
“Oh! Someone there?”
There was some rustling nearby.
Stanford desperately wished that this would be some gnome so he could kick it away and continue with his pitiful suffering.
“Oh, little dude… Wait. Are you crying?”
Huh, that was that new guy that just arrived at Gravity Falls. Grunkle Dipper mentioned that he was born and raised here but left in search of his own dad and now was coming back with a cute fiancée. Not that Stanford cared.
“Go away”, he grumbled and turned away with all his body.
“... You're Stanford, right?” the newcomer ignored it and instead came closer, whistling in appreciation at the remains of the failed ritual. “That's some spooky stuff, did you make it yourself?”
Stanford sighed and decided to ignore him. He knew the drill. Judging by initial reaction, this guy would praise whatever cleverness he noticed and then go lengths about how Stanford was a new Merlin or something…
“... Judging by your posture, whatever you tried to do, failed?”
Stanford sniffled and hid his face even further between his knees.
“Oh… oh, little dude! Sorry! Do you… Do you mind if I just sit there?”
Stanford had half of mind to just say ‘no’, but the newcomer was already approaching, quietly hissing when he slipped on melted wax. But then he did indeed sit beside Stanford, without actually touching him.
“... I'm Soos if you don't yet know, by the way”.
“Whatever”, Stanford mumbled. He was weighing the options of leaving and finding another quiet spot and of staying and ignoring. He was feeling like a bunch of mixed live wires, some already ripped and sparkling…
“My condolences…”
“Shut up!” Stanford found the third option. The anger. “You don't get to barge in and pretend to care!” he jumped to his feet and pointed an accusing finger right at the face of the newcomer who was a man in his thirties, soft-like and with gopher-like features. “You didn't even know Stan so don't you dare…!”
“Tell me about him then”, Soos patted the spot that Stanford just vacated. “I know I didn't know him. For all I heard today, he was a really nice dude. So let me grieve for the missed possibility of knowing him.”
Stanford sighed and dropped back at his spot. His small outburst left him tired and he didn't want to argue.
“Stanley was my twin. He was bright and clever and bursting with all his energy…”
Results of choice 4: “Yes, tell her that Bruno is truly sorry.” (58,3% out of 12 votes).
It was hot. Too hot. Unbearably so.
He was feeling flames, licking at his ankles and promising the agony at the very touch.
And yet he didn't fear them. Not the heat, not the smoke, not the maddening red light, painting every surface.
He feared the door before him. The door that was increasing in its size with every moment, looming over him, making him shrinking in comparison.
He feared opening that door and at the same time he knew he would do it. And he did it. Well, he didn't actually open it, but it started creaking and disappearing and he knew that it was him who opened it.
There was room there. Once upon a time it was filled with laughter and love and with a very different kind of warmth. Now everything was gone, leaving the unbearable heat and mocking flames.
At least the dining table was still there, with the only person still accepting Stan as his family.
His Father was burning even as he was still reading the morning newspaper.
“If only I threw you out too, I would be still alive”, he said flatly as if he was discussing the weather or sports column. “Nice of you to pay me back in such a way.”
Stan was just standing there, frozen and powerless. He felt himself burning too. But it wasn't painful, it was actually nice and pleasant, as if he was being cleansed or something.
And then the other seat stopped being empty, and it was Melody, sitting across the table and taking a sip from a porcelain cup. She giggled.
“So, nice to know I wasn't special after all, being tricked by a cursed kid. To think that I could just drive away without stopping. And still be alive. Did I mention I was going to be married soon?”
“But you are alive”, Stan whispered, looking as the flames were consuming Melody too. “I saved you, I called the hospital…”
“Am I?” Melody chuckled at him. “Don't lie to yourself. You haven't any idea of my real state. Maybe I'm in a coma. Maybe I dropped dead a second after your call. Yes, sure, keep telling yourself that you saved me. It wasn't your life that was ruined…”
“Oh, that is what he always does”, his Father stated, still without any emotion in his voice. “He broke our family, he killed me, and now he's doing it all to strangers…”
“I didn't mean it!” Stan pleaded. “I tried to get you out! Both of you!”
“Silly boy”, Melody stared at him, still with her little pleasant smile. “Don't you know? No one cares how hard you try. In the end it doesn't even matter.”
“The only thing that matters, boy, is the result. And your result is bringing suffering, misery and death”.
“But…” Stan tried to argue. But how could he argue against facts?
He did kill them. Nothing could be done with that reality.
Nothing.
***
He woke up feeling himself empty.
“I'm sorry”, he whispered, staring at the ceiling, dark and cold and empty of flames, covered by moonlight. “I'm sorry”, he repeated, feeling his eyes beginning to sting.
Shanklin just nudged closer to his side, without waking up. So Bruno gently stroked his fur and tried to go back to sleep.
***
Upon seeing him, Jorge frowned.
“I meant it when I said your full report could wait until you get some rest.”
Bruno shrugged, letting himself fall on the couch.
“I did get some rest”, as much as he could. “So let's just do it and move on.”
Jorge sighed and sat at his chair nearby.
“If you insist. So, let's talk about Verner.”
Bruno nodded and told as much as he remembered. About scouting and breaking into. About waiting and starting their talk, about…
He paused.
“What happened next, Felix?” Jorge was still patient. Right, he already knew the brief version.
“It's Bruno now”, he mumbled and sighed. “I… I got distracted.”
Oh, and wasn't it curious? It was only a few days ago, but it seemed like an eternity had passed.
Jorge was waiting with a raised eyebrow. And Bruno knew that there was no reason to hide it.
“I… Jim and me broke up”.
It didn't even sting anymore. No, it was now just a hard fact. Jimmy was smart and probably foresaw the risks of being together with Bruno. And decided to leave before the worst…
“Do I need to open a contract on that bastard?”
Bruno blinked in confusion and raised his head to stare at Jorge. The latter was staring back with a completely serious expression.
“What?”
Jorge sighed and patiently repeated. “The contract, Bruno. Do I need to hire someone to take that son of a bitch down?”
“I know what the fuck it means!” Bruno exclaimed. “I mean… Why? Didn’t you like him?”
“You really don’t get it?” Jorge groaned and rubbed his face. “Listen, boy, I liked him only as long as he made you happy. So I want the truth. Was it him that you meant by ice-cream and stuff?”
“Yeah… Yes, I meant him.” Bruno sighed and hid his face between his palms. “Sorry, I know, I know it all. Don’t let emotions rule my actions. And I did get over it, at least by now…”
“Boy.”
Jorge’s tone made Bruno look at him. The old guy was frowning, absent-mindedly cracking his knuckles. Noticing that Bruno was paying attention, Jorge nodded.
“I repeat. Do I need to hire someone? Or would you prefer to get some revenge yourself?”
Some revenge?
Bruno made himself ponder it over. It was a serious offer. Jorge never joked with such matters. And would do everything possible to carry out his treat. So even Jimmy Snakes, the guy with serious non-natural abilities, would easily become a target. The question was of only finding the right person. And with Jorge’s connections and resources this question would sooner or later find the right answer.
So… Did Bruno himself want it? Or even do some payback by his own hands?
He leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
Was he angry or bitter enough to be wishing for it? Did he want Jim to suffer too? Or maybe there was even some possibility to make Jim change his mind this way? Did Bruno want it?
Did Bruno need it?
“Tell you what, Steve. If you outrace me, dinner will be on me…”
Right, he chuckled. That was why he rapidly fell for Jim - the guy was the wildfire, the wind in one’s face, the warm sand slipping through one’s fingers when the concentration failed. Jim loved things with a burning passion: his bike, his music, his clothes. And just like fire, he was untamed, free and merciless.
He wouldn’t go back to the things that no longer held his interest. He wouldn’t return.
Perhaps, Bruno knew it the second he started having doubts. Perhaps it really was time to just accept that fact.
Accept and move on. Accept that some things were done and could never be brought back. And just find a way to store good memories in his heart.
Just like Grauntie Mabel taught him.
And didn’t they make lots of good memories together? The nights out in the desert with only the stars as their companions? Racing both each other and the police at the same time? The quiet moments when Bruno felt the illusion of being loved?
“Bruno?”
He was startled from his memories. But now he was sure of his answer.
“No. Leave Jim out of it.” Bruno deeply sighed. “He and I are done. That’s final, and I agree with it.”
“That isn’t the answer…”
“No. That is the answer”, Bruno stared at Jorge’s eyes. “Thank you for offering, but don’t you dare to hurt Jim on my behalf.”
Jorge held his gaze for several minutes in silence, both of them refusing to look away. Yet it was still Jorge who sighed and gave up first.
“Only because you really seem like you're already moving on”, the old man shook his head. “Although I’d still love to break the bastard’s legs…”
Bruno quietly laughed. “I see you’re in a really aggressive mood today. Did Diego…?”
Jorge loudly groaned and leaned back in his chair. “Boy, I hate that I have to spell it out to you. But I don’t need any reasons other than you being hurt.”
Bruno blinked.
Once. Twice. And some more.
Oh.
…Jorge was angry for him? Without even knowing the whole story? Just because he thought Bruno needed some retribution?
Oh...
Bruno swallowed and looked away, picking at his nails.
“Sorry for making you worry…”
“Stop”, despite the definite command, Jorge’s voice became softer. “Boy, I will always worry about you. That’s just the thing with us, old and sentimental adults. We will always worry no matter what…”
No. Jorge was mistaken. Or worse, lying. None of the adults…
“Pumpkin, you scared us! Didn’t we warn you about the Pit?”
No! They all didn't care!
“Stan, I told you not to go there at night! What if I didn't heard you?!”
No! They all lied and just wanted to make him believe in that lie!
“Stanley, sweety, please bear with it just for a year or two! I’ll think of another way! I promise!”
Only to forget about him as soon as he disappeared from the picture!
“Belts!...”
…Bruno felt himself punched right in the chest.
No, Melody didn't count. She was just so nice to everybody, yet probably would forget anything about him when they parted ways. At least now she would definitely remember him. If… if she would survive…
He was startled by the hand rubbing him by the hair.
“Stop with the moping, boy”, Jorge chuckled as he continued to ruffle the hair. “Just accept it. I will worry.”
Bruno made a half-hearted attempt to shrug Jorge's hand off but in the end just looked away with huffing.
“You don't need to”, he muttered, crossing his arms. “I'm capable of looking out for myself”. Not to mention, Jorge probably was lying too. He too would just forget about Bruno if the latter would fail or if someone better came into picture. Bruno didn't need some empty promises…
The hand ruffling him paused. And Jorge sighed.
“I hope one day you'll believe me, my boy. That worrying has nothing to do with your abilities.”
Bruno huffed. On the contrary, he hoped that the day when he would believe in such a blatant lie would never come.
Because the next step would be hoping he was worth worrying for. Worth being cared for.
Worth being present.
Worth surviving.
He sniffled and felt the hand on his hair continue with strokings.
“I think we definitely still need that ice-cream”, Jorge said after a while. “Let me just wrap up some matters.”
***
“That's just my life! Sort of…” Jorge exclaimed and hid his face in his palms.
Bruno nodded, sniffling himself and helping himself to another spoonful of ice-cream.
Shanklin quietly hissed at them and just continued to be munching in his fruit basket.
Aside from three of them, the viewing room was empty, with only the big screen showing them the pure perfection of period costumes and the speakers blasting every syllable of this new version of the Duchess regaining her confidence.
This particular movie was an adaptation of the really old one, with some plotlines changed and the characters being given deeper motivations.
Bruno actually saw the original version once, and while he scoffed then at the ancient quality of graphics and of the whole movie, that was actually his first glimpse into the genre that he started to like after several more movies.
So when he heard about the Duchess making her comeback in “The Duchess Commence”, on the big screen no less, he was really curious.
And now he was quite pleased with the realization that he liked the new version. Sure, now the plot was overcomplicated by the Duchess’s family problems with inheritance. And the Head Maid was definitely being hyped up for some sequel of her own. And Count Lionel’s backstory was making him almost sympathetic… Not to mention they switched the cotillion for waltz without any real reason and without addressing the implications! And while the scene in the rain was sweet, it wasn't making any sense!...
Yet Bruno was definitely enjoying it.
But even more he was enjoying seeing Jorge being completely enamored with the story.
“I’m not afraid, Madre”, he was whispering along with the heroine’s lines and busted into tears once again.
Bruno giggled at that. He possibly was the sole person on the Earth who ever saw Jorge Castillo, the self-proclaimed leader of one small but dangerous cartel, the man who slept with two guns and a knife, tearing up from some movie.
“I challenge you, Duke of Amaranthine, to the duel!”
Bruno perked up and once again threw his full attention at the screen. Finally, that conflict between Count Lionel and his rival was given a spot! And the duel! That was the coolest way of resolving it!
“Come on, Duke Meinhard”, he shouted at the screen. “Avenge for your humiliation at the waltz!”
“What?” Jorge choked beside him. “He humiliated himself there! He's the one who should make the amends!”
“You clearly don't understand the waltz customs”, Bruno huffed. “He was right to scoff at that pivot…”
“Ho, do I need to organise some ball of our own so our little Bruno could show off his own skills?”
Bruno was thankful to the darkness that hid his embarrassment.
“No! I don't have skills! I just read some bits…”
Jorge laughed, while reaching and patting him on the head. “Just say it if you change your mind.”
Bruno scoffed and stared back at the screen. Count Lionel and Duke Meinhard struck their rapiers and took the starting positions.
“Come on, Meinhard”, Bruno clutched his ice-cream basket and didn't dare to even blink. “Come on, you can beat him…”
“I’m sorry, my boy, but he'll lose”, Jorge chuckled. “That's the rules of the genre.”
And Bruno didn't have any time to object, too busy tracking the movements with his eyes.
Well, the choreography could be more thought out, but it still was captivating! And Meinhard was definitely better, he had the upper hand, he only needed one final strike…!
And the final strike came. But not by Meinhard’s hand.
“What?!” Bruno jumped to his feet, clutching his hair and ignoring the basket that fell down on the floor. “No! No way!”
“I beg your pardon, little duke”, Count Lionel stated without clear emotion, swiping his rapier in the air to shrug off the blood from it. “But the Baroness will have to cancel your wedding.”
No…
No! No! The Duke was too young and noble to die that way! He loved his fiancée so much! He had jokes and smiled warmly!
And made sure to talk to him and pay attention to him.
And called him cool.
And cared for his opinion…
And he killed her too!
“Bruno! Bruno!” he heard distantly, feeling himself being helped to sit down. Feeling some hands being placed on his shoulders. Feeling little claws scratching at his wrist. Feeling his eyes wettening and blurring.
“She would be on her way to her fiancé too”, he whispered, not caring if he made sense. “She would be safe if she hadn't met me. What if there were complications? What if she's really in a coma? What if she's already de…”
He felt an impact, making his head turn away.
Then he felt a pain, blossoming on his cheek.
As he hissed, palming his stinging skin, the light went back on, showing the frowning face of Jorge before him.
“Calm down, my boy”, he hissed back. “Breath!”
Bruno took several deep breaths and nodded.
“I… I'm sorry”, he hunched on himself, wincing when the ribs protested in pain, hiding his face and reaching to pet Shanklin as a way of comfort. “I… I…”
“That girl, right?” Jorge sighed beside him. “Still thinking about that incident?”
“Yes”, Bruno admitted, feeling ashamed. He knew perfectly well that as soon as he passed to Jorge and Carmen all the details about the road incident and the following car theft, even more - as soon as Jorge passed him the news that their police contact would deal with every possible repercussion - he, Bruno, should've forgotten all about this happening.
And yet…
“Bruno, my boy”, Jorge hummed. “Sometimes I forget that you're just a kid. So let me give you some advice, that some of us learnt too damn late. Learn how to step over your conscience. You did what you thought was best. And that's good, you did your moral obligations perfectly. But did you think that in case of her survival she would just become a witness against you? Or how about next time, what if your target starts rambling about their kids? You'll go cry again and let the bastard take a chance at killing you?”
Bruno flinched. “Of course no!” he shouted. “But that's different! She wasn't a target! She was…!”
“Who, Bruno? Who was she for you to care?” Jorge’s gaze was burning his temple, as Bruno didn't dare to raise his head.
“...Nobody”, he whispered, flinching as his own words burned his throat. “She was nobody.”
He heard Jorge exhale in some relief. “Good. Good. I'm glad that you realised it, my boy. So what, you calmed enough to continue watching?”
Bruno glanced at Jorge who was still looking at him with his focused gaze. And then stared down at Shanklin. The little guy was curled under his palm, softly clawing at his fingers in a way of reassurance.
“Yes”, he whispered, leaning back in his seat and moving Shanklin closer, carefully hugging him to his chest. The possum quietly hissed at him and started pawing at the clothes’ layers to find a nice position for himself.
Jorge meanwhile shouted at the projector room’s direction, and the lights dimmed again, with the movie being played from the pausing point.
Bruno stared in silence as Count Lionel gifted some flowers to the Baroness. And how there was finally the right version of the cotillion scene. And how the Duchess had that cool moment from the trailers…
Yet in his mind he still played their conversation with Jorge. Everything would be so much easier if he could stomp over his conscience. He wouldn't be still thinking about that lady. He wouldn't be having those nightmares. He wouldn't be hearing his Father's voice anymore. Every ‘what if’ would be silenced, leaving him with a clear path to follow…
“How did you do it?” he whispered in the darkness. “How did you step over it?”
“Got betrayed by my partner”, Jorge huffed, with traces of long-lived and still hurting malice in his voice. “Thought we were friends, but he got another opinion.”
Bruno knew the feeling.
“And? What did you do?”
“Fed him to the sharks”, Jorge chuckled darkly. “He always loved feeding his fishes.”
Bruno flinched and stared back at the screen. The Duchess was dressing up for the inauguration, with the camera tracing every lace and ribbon.
“Bruno”, Jorge called out to him. “No one expects you to learn it immediately. But you have to notice how others do it every time. People easily step over their morals, beliefs and connections, as long as they get some profit from it. You doing the same is not a crime, it's a way for you to survive.”
Bruno thought about it. People did indeed step over everything. Over promises, over their family ties.
Over their plans.
Over his dreams and wishes and intentions.
Over him. Over Stan, over Steve, over…
His twin did it without flinching. His Mom did it with tears, but still did it. His boyfriend did it without even looking him in the eyes.
There was nothing wrong in Bruno doing it himself. He would be just cleaning loose ends that didn't lead anywhere anymore and useless emotions that only brought regrets and pain.
He still had Shanklin. He still had Jorge. That would be enough. They were the only ones he was allowed to hold on to. So everyone and everything else could be discarded...
So even if it would be hard to do, it would be worth it. Right?
“Will you step over me too when there’ll be some profit?” he said half-jokingly.
“When you say it like that, it sounds logical”, he nodded. He would learn.
And yet… Deep inside he still was a truly selfish kid. He didn’t want to.
I’m sorry that I was selfish
I’m sorry you don’t eat shellfish
Anymore
I don’t know if you are treating yourself to lobster on this last day of 2017; if you aren’t, then you should have a bit of Selfish Shellfish by Barbelle, by Veronica Vale actually for Aice O’Hara (Gwenlyn Cumyn), who’s as little a brilliant writer as Karen Knox is an improviser extraordinaire. I do love this though, and have been known to sing it randomly, so Veronica is certainly more talented at writing songs than she believes! And it certainly is a treat. Check out the video too, it is a feast! Happy New Year’s Eve!!!*
It should have posted on New Year’s Eve. Fucking queue! It’s still is good though!
